Garden of the Moon

Garden Of The Moon

by

Elizabeth Sinclair

Kindle Edition

Copyright © 2009 by Marguerite Smith

ISBN: 978-1-62390-004-5

Cover art by Kellie Sharpe

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

Published By Salt Run Publishing LLC

http://saltrunpublishing.com

DEDICATION
:

To the people who worked the hardest to see this book published both in print and e-book formats: my critique partners Dolores Wilson and Vickie King; and my e-book guru Kellie Sharpe, my heartfelt thanks.

And, as always, to my husband Bob.

Thank you all. Love you.

Also, to Helen Rosburg for letting me borrow her incredibly perfect haiku for the opening of this story.

Prologue

St. Claire’s Bayou, Louisiana, 1855

A veil of low-lying, white mist hung over the murky, black waters of St Claire’s Bayou. The stink of decaying leaves, trees and the decomposing bodies of dead animals permeated the humid air. A full moon, milky-yellow and so big Sara Wade believed she could touch it, hung like a giant child’s ball in the star-studded, black sky. Since she’d been instructed not to bring a lantern because she might be detected, she’d been very relieved when the full moon appeared in the night sky to light her way.

Her grandmother had called the thirteenth moon of a calendar year a
seer’s moon
. Gran said that its appearance marked the time of year when the gates between the mortal world and the spirit world opened. Sara would test Gran’s theory later. At the moment, she was just grateful that the moon’s light served to guide her steps through the swamp.

The moonlight cast an ominous luminescence over the bayou. The unusually bright light sharply defined the eerie shadows of the moss-draped water oaks, turning them to ghostly specters that, when the breeze blew, seemed to sway and hover silently above her. Here and there Sara could make out cypress knees poking through the misty veil that lay low over the black water, as though they were not tree roots, but were instead arms and legs striving for release from the dark waterways flooding this primeval forest.

As she made her way through the thick growth, the low-hanging, Spanish moss, damp with the moisture of a late afternoon rain, slithered over Sara’s cheek. She shivered and hugged her shawl closer around her body, but stayed on the path she’d been instructed to follow.

The soggy ground squished beneath her feet. Cold water seeped into her flimsy shoes. Her new, pink satin slippers would be ruined by the time she returned home, and her mother would be furious, but Sara didn’t care. She’d made a promise, and using the concealment of the swamp was necessary for it to be fulfilled. Besides, her mother’s disapproval over her ruined slippers would be nothing in comparison to the rage she’d rain down on Sara if she knew
why
she’d come into the bayou.

The disembodied animal sounds all around her drew her attention back to her surroundings. The slither of something long and slippery through the mud. The crackle of twigs beneath the weight of an unseen creature of the night. The chirp of tree frogs echoing through the darkness. The low growl of a stalking, hungry beast. The plaintive howl of an animal pierced the bayou night and then moments later was answered by another eerie howl from somewhere in the distant darkness.

Holding up the hem of her gown so as not to trip over it, she pushed her unease from her mind and stepped carefully from one bog to another, balancing herself with her outstretched arm. Something slipped through the swamp beside her. She peered down into water as dark as her father’s Creole coffee. A very long, very large, scaly tail skimmed over the surface and then disappeared beneath the gloomy depths as if unconcerned by her intrusion into its lair.

Not far ahead of her, a halo of yellow lantern light peeked through the tangle of trees. Here and there, glowing red alligator’s eyes glared back at her as if trying to warn her away. But Sara pushed on toward the light.

“Miss Sara?” The quivering female voice was barely audible and saturated with fear.

“Yes, Lissie, it’s me.”

Sara stepped into the circle of light. On the ground, a lantern at her feet, sat a trembling. wide-eyed, black woman. The tracks of recently shed tears glistened on her cheeks. Despite the woman being twice Sara’s petite size, her hunched shoulders made her look a lot smaller. Her clothes were soiled and torn, what Sara’s father would have called rags and had them thrown away and replaced. The
tignon
covering her dark, curly hair, as the law dictated, had once been red, but now, due to the dirt ground into it, the color appeared more like dark burgundy. Her bare feet were caked with dirt and dried blood.

Sara had seen Lissie working in the neighboring plantation’s fields and guessed that her back carried scars from the whip her owner took delight in applying to his slaves, good and bad, to
keep them in line
. Was it any wonder, when the opportunity presented itself, that her husband and son ran? Too bad Lissie had been too sick to go with them.

Thank the good Lord that her own father didn’t believe in mistreating his people.

Lissie raised her gaze to Sara. The woman’s dark eyes reflected stark fear. Sara had no need to guess what generated the fear. If the woman’s owner, Sebastian Dubois, caught Lissie, she’d suffer immeasurably under the whip for being here.

Sara smiled in an attempt at reassurance. “I promise that no one will know about this meeting but you and me.”

For a while, Lissie stared into Sara’s eyes, as if assessing how much she could be trusted. Seemingly satisfied that Sara spoke the truth, the woman’s shoulders relaxed, and some of the fear vanished from her expression. Her dark eyes grew big and hopeful. “Dey says you gots the sight.”

Sara sat on a tree stump beside Lissie. “Yes, that’s true.”

“Can you tell me if my Moses and Noah is alive? Did dey git to freedom?”

Sara laid her hand on Lissie’s. “I’ll try.”

The black woman’s skin was cold and clammy, and her hand trembled in Sara’s. Lissie’s intense worry for her loved ones was almost palatable.

She smiled weakly. “God bless you, missus.”

This was a new realm for Sara. She’d never used what her mother sarcastically referred to as her
affliction
like this before. Normally, the ghosts of the earthbound dead simply showed up. She helped them through whatever was holding them here and then sent them into the light. Never having actually summoned a spirit before, Sara prayed she could help bring peace of mind to this troubled woman. That it was the night of a seer’s moon might be helpful. Gran always said the spirits were especially communicative on such a night, but, until now, Sara had never had to test it.

With Lissie’s hand clutched tightly in hers, Sara closed her eyes and concentrated. Silently, she called out to Moses and Noah. If they were still living, then neither would appear, and she could put Lissie’s mind to rest. If they did appear…Sara didn’t want to think about what that would mean.

For a very long time, Sara focused on Lissie’s men. Slowly, the sounds of the swamp blurred, then faded, then ceased completely. A profound silence filled the night. A blanket of warmth enclosed her entire body. Sara became weightless, as if she were floating on a cloud. Shadow and light moved in a rainbow-colored flashes behind her closed eyelids.

“Lissie?”

Sara’s eyes snapped open. The tall, semi-transparent figure of a black man stood beside Lissie. His clothes were tattered and his eyes glistened with unshed tears. He moved to Lissie’s side and laid his hand on her shoulder.

A brilliant smile transformed the black woman’s face. “He’s here, isn’t he?” Lissie looked around. “My Moses is here. Dear Lord, I can feel him.”

“Yes, he’s standing beside you,” Sara said, trying to keep the sorrow from her voice.

Lissie’s joy at her husband’s appearance had blotted out what it meant. Since Moses’ spirit had materialized, that could only mean one thing…he was dead.

Moses looked at Sara. His expression had transformed into one of intense sadness, as if he knew what Sara was thinking. “Tell her I didn’t make it to Canada, but our Noah did. He’s livin’ with Lissie’s sister.”

For a moment Sara couldn’t get her vocal chords to work. Emotion lay in a hard lump in her throat. She’d never before had to tell anyone their loved one had passed on. Finally, she cleared her throat and pressed Lissie’s hand. “Moses says that Noah is in Canada with your sister.”

Tears rolled down Lissie’s face. “Oh, thank the Lord, dey’s safe.”

Sara swallowed hard and held on tighter to Lissie’s hand. “Not both of them. Moses…didn’t make it.”

Lissie stared at Sara for a long moment, the whites of her eyes large and questioning against her dark face. “You means my Moses is—”

Sara nodded. “It’s the only way he could be here with you now.”

Lissie’s plaintive wail echoed through the swamp. Sara had never heard such profound agony. It was as though the woman’s soul had broken open and was bleeding her pain into the night. The agonizing sound shimmered over Sara and slammed into her very soul, weighing her down like a huge invisible rock.

Moses gave her an imploring look. “Tell her I’s fine, Miss Sara. Tell her I’s goin’ to glory. Tell her I be waitin’ fo her.”

Sara repeated his message to his wife. His reassurances seemed to calm Lissie a bit. Now, she simply clutched her middle and rocked back and forth, sobbed quietly, and chanted. “My poor, poor Moses. God rest his soul. God rest his soul.”

When Lissie’s sobs had quieted to no more than an occasional hiccup, Sara looked to the spirit of the man still standing beside his distraught wife. “She’ll be fine now. It’s time for you to go into the light.”

Moses looked down at his wife, and then nodded. To their right, a huge circle of blinding white light appeared. Slowly, he turned and walked into it, disappearing from sight. The light closed in on itself and faded away.

Lissie shivered and rubbed her arms. “He’s gone, ain’t he?”

Sara patted Lissie’s hand. “Yes. It was time for him to move on, Lissie.”

The words had barely passed Sara’s lips when she caught a movement to her left. Fearing they’d been discovered, she jerked around, her mind already scrambling for an explanation that would preclude punishment for either her or Lissie.

But what she saw was not her father or Lissie’s owner, but a stranger. This man was not Moses. This man was well-dressed, white and handsome, and looking at her as though he knew her. He was also transparent.

Sara’s heartbeat picked up. A myriad of unexpected emotions clogged her throat: peace, love, and a profound sadness. She opened her mouth to ask who he was, but no sound would emerge.

Then he smiled. “I’m waiting,” he said, then, like the bayou mist in the light of day, he simply evaporated.

Moongate,

threshold of eternity,

promise forever unbroken.

~Helen Rosburg

Chapter 1

Harrogate Plantation, St. Lucius Parish, Louisiana, 1855

Sara Wade slipped closer to the edge of the carriage seat. Tension gripped her entire body. Excitement flowed through her like warm, mulled cider on a cold October night. She had waited so long for this day and now that it had finally arrived, she had to pinch herself to make sure it wasn’t just another of her wild dreams.

Strange dreams had been a part of Sara’s life for as long as she could remember. It wouldn’t have surprised her if she suddenly woke up in her bed in her father’s house in the Garden District of New Orleans, instead of in the family carriage driving up the long, oak alley to Harrogate Plantation.

Chills rippled through her to the bone. She closed her eyes tightly.
Please, please, don’t let that be the case this time
.

“Laws a mercy!” The whispered expletive came from the young black woman seated beside Sara.

Her eyes popped open, and she turned to her maid. “What is it, Raina?”

Sara’s father, Preston Wade, had gifted her with Raina the day of his daughter’s birth, and the slave, who had been only four years old at the time, had been her devoted personal maid and friend ever since. To leave Raina in New Orleans would have been unthinkable, like leaving part of herself behind. Not to mention that, even though Sara’s mother had virtually pushed her out of the house, Patricia Wade would have never allowed Sara this freedom without Raina to stand guard over her mistress’ virtue, even though Patricia was certain that, living in the outback of St. Lucius Parish, her daughter would
wither on the vine
before she ever found a suitable husband. Suitable being defined as rich, well-placed, and tolerably good-looking.