Reborn (7 page)

My head ached with the implanted image of the work-worn faces of the tortured innocent from the dream. When I felt calmer, I peeled my back off the soaked bedding and got up. Dawn was still hours away, but as tired as I was, I didn’t want to go back to sleep, for fear of another nightmare.

Cool tap water felt good on my face. I splashed it again, and watched the liquid drip off into the sink. His face was more chiseled, rougher than mine, he was taller, his body broader, but those eyes…

lifted my head from my hands and got up from the kitchen table, stretching the kink out of my neck. Songbirds serenaded this piece of the world from a feeder outside the window, as they did every morning. I leaned over the counter, peering through the square panes of glass, my thoughts shifting from the nightmarish visions that kept me company throughout the night and cheated me out of sleep, to look for Excalibur. Dawn draped the yard in its warm glow, promising a fresh start, quelling darkness and everything that dwelled there. As if he felt me searching, the stallion lifted his head from munching breakfast near the willow, pointed his nose toward the bungalow, then resumed grazing.

The fresh scent of a spring garden, blooming in a soft earthen bed, right below the window, floated inside with the birds’ chorus. The splendor of the moment filled me with hope. Maybe today I would find myself.

I got an early start tilling the vegetable garden on the south side of the property. This was Melba’s root garden. Among the sweet potatoes, carrots, and turnips she said she would plant, she also named an abundance of herbs. The corner I worked at now, she had called her healing garden.

As I churned the dirt, the day brightened, and the image of Desiree filled my head, becoming stronger and stronger as the morning wore on. The earth I dripped sweat upon became her satiny skin; every pebble I turned up was a lilac fingernail, and the grass surrounding me was her striking eyes. I picked up the small rocks and placed them in a pile at one corner, while worms went into a can, half-filled with dirt, for fishing later.

The sun was already hot, so I shed the shirt, but kept on the T-shirt, whose sleeves the previous owner had ripped off. When my stomach growled in hungry protest, I remembered the loaf of bread and jar of peanut butter Melba had left on the counter for me and headed for the house. As I neared, I heard two females arguing, one voice fighting to overpower the other. I couldn’t make out what the women said, but I did hear my name mentioned by both parties.

I stopped in front of the line of red dust that crossed the back door to the apartment. The arguing ended abruptly. Suddenly feeling unwelcome, I decided to put a hold on the bread and peanut butter and go fishing instead—something Melba showed me how to do the previous day. I picked up the rod from its hanging spot inside the shed, grabbed the can of worms, and went to Excalibur. I didn’t know why I felt the need to explain my actions to the horse, I just did. And as I knew he would, Excalibur followed me into the woods.

When I reached the spot at the river where I first met Melba, I found an old path in the dense bush and followed it upstream, to the place she showed me yesterday. After about a mile’s trot through a forgotten part of the forest, I came to a small inlet. The trees here were taller and grew closer together, sheltering darkness, gloom, and most likely, secrets. Melba’s grandfather, Rasmus Smith, had lived somewhere nearby. And unlike yesterday, when Melba had been with me, today I felt unseen eyes watching me, and they weren’t Excalibur’s. But nothing looked unusual as I searched past the tree trunks into the shade. I tried shaking the paranoia and busied myself with the task at hand.

According to Melba, this was the widest part of the river for miles, and no one came here because the area was secluded. So the waters brimmed with catfish. Yesterday, Melba had shown me how to worm a hook, and cast the line, but the task had felt natural to me, as if I’d known how without her teaching.

In no time at all, I caught two generously sized catfish from my perch on a rocky ledge. Proud of my catch, I held the two fish, gutted, and speared through with a sharpened stick, out to Excalibur, who exclaimed with a loud snort and curled-up lips.

“Don’t like fish, boy?”

He appeared to shake his head to one side and make a half-turn in the direction of Melba’s.

“Fine, then you don’t have to eat them,” I said with a grin.

As I turned toward the path back, a chill breeze fell over me, and a shudder tore across my shoulders. When I turned to look into the forest behind me, the darkness seemed to thicken, but stayed amongst the trees. I kept to the river and hurried back, and by the time I reached the familiar water hole, the eerie feeling had diminished.

Sunshine streamed into the pool and encompassed the surrounding woods.

I was in need of a bath, and the sparkling water looked inviting. Excalibur had even stepped into the flow a few yards downriver. Modern conveniences could wait. I shed the clothing and walked into the waist-deep pool with the pebbly bottom. Using a chunk of moss, I scrubbed off the morning’s toil, then ducked under and floated in the center, suddenly feeling weary from lack of sleep. But being tired was my only ailment. My body had completely healed, thanks to Melba’s tincture and special tea, and I felt strong in strength and will, and surer than ever of my name. Which reminded me of a conversation Melba and I had held the previous day; she worked at Solomon Brandt Estates, and promised to take me there. I would remind her later.

As I lay half in and half out of the water, peering at the treetop canopy through slitted lids, bushes rustled and sticks snapped. Startled, I lost balance and went under, resurfacing with a splash.

Rivers of water ran from the ends of my hair down over my upper body, a cough suppressed in my throat.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Desiree stood at the end of the path, one hand covering her mouth, her bright-eyed stare glued to my chest.

Heat rushed through my body, surfacing in my cheeks. Instinct made me look down. I stood in a shallow part of the pool, the water just grazing my hips. I had to get to the shore, grab the clothes, but I was naked and speechless.

Desiree lowered her hand from her mouth and hooked a finger on the end of a curl, twisting it, looking shy and seductive all at the same time. She crossed one bare leg in front of the other. A grin spread across her face and into her eyes. “Do you always… do this?”

“Bathe?” Her question confused me. Bathing seemed like a natural thing to do.

“You’re bathing? In the river?”

“Where do you bathe?”

“In the tub, shower.” The curl she played with fell in place with the others as she let go and shook a playful finger at me. “Oh I get it, you’re a naturalist.”

When I didn’t answer, she said, “A nature nut? Nudist? No?”

“I’m a man who was in need of a bath. That is all.”

One thin eyebrow rose. “Okay. If you say so. I used to swim here myself when I was little.”

The pool was hardly big enough for me to swim in, but for Desiree as a little girl, there would have been plenty of room.

She took a few steps closer, stooped, then picked up the light gray T-shirt from the lump of my discarded clothing.

“I suppose you’d like to get out,” she said balling the T-shirt in her hands. Then she threw it in my direction.

I caught it as the hem hit the water. As I stood there feeling awkward, Desiree turned, giving me a little privacy. While she plucked tiny leaves off a bush in front of her, I hurriedly got into my clothing, all except the T-shirt, which I used to dry myself.

While she faced the opposite direction, I took the opportunity to look at her. The short pants she wore, similar to the ones she had on last night, hugged tightly to her behind, but her luscious hair held most of my attention. In the dappled light, it looked as if someone had sprinkled jewels over the deep apricot ringlets spilling down her back.

She glanced over her shoulder, catching me ogling. My cheeks warmed again.

“I’m sorry I disturbed you. I was just, ah, looking for you, actually.”

I rubbed the T-shirt over my hair in an effort to dry it. “For me?”

She turned to face me.

“Yes. Well, Auntie Mel told me the truth about how she found you.” She didn’t seem too upset over the news. “I guess we’re not cousins after all.” Her grin widened. “I already knew, anyway.” A light laugh passed through her glossed lips. “I can usually tell when my aunt is lying.”

Not knowing how much Melba had told her, I let her continue.

“So, you really don’t know who you are or where you came from?”

Apparently, Melba
had
told her everything. “I’m Solomon Brandt, of that I am certain. But I know not from where I came.”

She mumbled something; I only caught, “somewhere in history.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, I said I’m a history major at Savannah State. Maybe I can help you remember. Your name, for instance; it carries a lot of anger and bad mojo around these parts.” She glanced into the trees on either side of me, then spoke lower. “Are you a descendant of the first Solomon Brandt?”

“Descendant?” I was more confused now than ever.

“Yeah, like half of my ancestry is Scottish and the other half is African American. This,” She picked up a handful of red hair, “is compliments of the Scots.” She let it fall back to her chest. “I’ve traced my Scottish line all the way back to Robert the Bruce… you know, the guy from
Braveheart
?” She waited for my reply with a smile on her face.

I shook my head, not understanding anything she spoke of.

“Hmm.” She pursed one corner of her lips and grabbed her hips, reminding me of her aunt. “Well, anyway, have you been to a doctor to see if you hit your head?”

“No.”

I pulled the damp T-shirt over my head and stretched it down my chest. Something Desiree said reminded me of the feeling I had of being watched back at the fishing spot, and the darkness that followed me across the estate before I arrived here. “What did you mean by bad mojo?”

With a look of reluctance, she answered. “Like karma or bad vibes. Let’s just say, the name Solomon Brandt doesn’t sit too well with the locals.”

“Why? And who are the locals?”

“Solomon was a vile disgrace of a human being. He hurt a lot of innocent people, including some of my African-American ancestors. The locals, most of them, are descendants of the slaves, the people he hurt.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

She shrugged a shoulder. “Yeah, well, that’s history, right?”

Was this man she spoke so bitterly of the man from my nightmare? Was that heartless human being my ancestor? As I digressed into the disturbing thought, a distant voice tugged me back.

“Desi…”

Desiree spun toward the sound.

“Oh, no! It’s Auntie Mel. I told her I was going to pick bergamot.” She took a quick glance around, and when she seemed to find what she needed, she squatted and pulled a wild plant, root and all, from the ground. “This will have to do,” she said, holding up the green leafy stem.

“Desiree…” Melba called again.

“Coming,” Desiree sang out.

Desiree led the way down the path toward Melba’s. We were halfway to the house when she caught the toe of her strappy shoe on a tree root and stumbled forward. Before she hit the bush in front of her, I caught her arm and hauled her up. As she steadied herself, her back fell against my chest; her head of curls brushed my face. She grabbed my leg for support, digging her fingernails into the jeans, although I barely felt the delicate pressure. Maybe because of the intoxicatingly sweet scent of her hair under my nose. I expanded my lungs, moving against her back, hauling in the floral scent, losing myself in the moment.