Grace Before Dying

  Grace Before Dying

  The Gracefield Hauntings Series

  Book Three

  By M.L. Bullock

  Text copyright © 2020 Monica L. Bullock

  All Rights Reserved

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to Victoria.

  The spookiest best friend a girl ever had.

  I love you.

  And Tracey...you are a lifesaver!

  Chapter One—Carrie Jo

  Every time I stepped into my home office I felt a bit like Rebecca, the naïve waif who fell in love with Manderley. My renovated workspace was definitely my happy place. Yes, my office was a bit like Rebecca’s morning room with lots of light and just the right balance of comfort and functionality. Hands down this was my favorite room at Seven Sisters. It took a bit of elbow grease to accomplish this task, but it was all worth it. Quite a bit of work. I walked through the room with a sigh of satisfaction. Yes, everything is as it should be. Thankfully, all traces of Jeremiah Cottonwood had been eradicated and nothing remained of the Delarosa family anymore either.

  No more ghosts were lingering in the rooms. Seven Sisters was finally our place, Ashland’s and mine—this is a place for the living. This was no longer a house for the dead.

  Now that the business was expanding and Ashland and I gave up our office space in downtown Mobile, having this office here at home just made sense. No overhead and let’s face it, Seven Sisters was quite a showpiece. It would definitely impress our intended clientele. Strange that this renovation hadn’t meant to have such a profound effect on our lives, but it did. We were just going to do a few things here. Just a few, to erase the remnants of Jeremiah Cottonwood.

  At first, I only wanted a decorative mantle, a new piece with the appropriate historical details and once that was installed I began to have a true vision of what this room could be. No hulking desks and dusty shelves for us. Our study got a facelift and even Rachel had to agree it was as if this room had always been here, exactly as we created it.

  Ashland and I are in the restoration business. Continuity — historical continuity, means something to us both. You can improve a place and try to do so respectfully. Sometimes things come out a bit messy like at the Myers Ranch. I pitched the idea for the beams in the main room — I mean I lobbied heavily for them — but even after just two being installed I knew it was all wrong. It didn’t belong. It wouldn’t go.

  But not this room; I got it right from the start. Thankfully my office space was perfect and in my mind at least, we had completely eradicated the horrible things that happened in this very room.

  I took in the sight of the ceiling-high French doors that led to a new little garden. Yep. Seven Sisters had yet another garden, but I was making this one my own. Or rather, Ashland and I were making it our own. He planted gardenias while I arranged a few pieces of statuary around the benches. It would be a work in progress for years to come.

  Years to come. I can’t believe it. Seven Sisters really was our forever home. How lucky am I? Despite all the ghosts and the battles and the mysteries, we belonged here.

  We had so much to be grateful for; all of us did. My fingers lingered over the beautiful Chippendale desk as I arranged my notebooks neatly in a stack.

  Terrance Dale would’ve loved this fireplace. It had dual columns; the hearth featured scalloped metal painted white to match the top. The whole fireplace was a thing of beauty. It was mostly made of wood, intricately carved in a floral motif. One that reflected other unique touches I knew well. The upstairs bedroom doors were topped with similar floral motifs. I’m certain that the person who built those original doors and the decorative pieces around them did not have some sort of mystical symbolism in mind. But to me, living here hundreds of years later, they had meaning.

  Why was I feeling the need for such emotional reflection this morning? Be happy, Carrie Jo. Stop and smell the roses. Be grateful for this time and this place.

  It was my destiny to be here with Ashland; to be a part of Seven Sister’s history. But night after night I wandered these halls in my dreams hoping once again to reconnect with Calpurnia or Muncie or one of the other friendly dead that haunted these halls. There had been a time when the ghosts here at Seven Sisters were restless and willing to show me their lives, but now my dreams were silent. The ghosts were at peace and I was alone in my dreams. How selfish to want them to come back. I was deeply ashamed of that, but it was the truth.

  My son, despite his young age, had an active dream life. My niece inherited the gift too. I worked hard at not pushing myself into their private dream worlds. It was wrong to step into someone else’s dream unless you were invited. Only when necessary.

  It wouldn’t be right to stave off my lack of a dream life by intruding in theirs. But why the compulsion to dream walk? Where would I go?

  You are a piece of work, Carrie Jo.

  I loved Ashland; probably more today than when I first married him. I had loving friends and a growing family along with a business that was thriving, despite the many challenges that had come our way. That should be enough. Leave the dead alone.

  What about them? Callie and so many others here at Seven Sisters. This was not a happy home for them. Why should it be for me? Why do I deserve what they did not?

  Was I experiencing a strange sort of survivor’s guilt? A paranormal PTSD? Maybe, but declaring that I might be did not make it any easier. Ugh. Enough with the armchair psychology, Carrie Jo.

  I picked up a familiar ceramic figurine and held it in my cupped hands. The puppy came from a collection of ceramic and porcelain puppies that decorated the alcove in the Blue Room. This puppy stood on his back legs and held a tiny red ball in his mouth. It was my absolute favorite piece in that collection. The children didn’t bother my treasures, but I felt extra protective of this particular copy. As if he belonged to me and me alone. How silly was that? He was made almost two hundred years ago. If he was inspired by a true animal that creature would be long dead. When I first learned how to dream walk I used him as a focus object. Although my dream walking was limited these days, I could do it quite easily without the need for such an item.

  Maybe I should get a real dog? We had one sweet boy briefly while we lived in our Victorian home, but the loss of him, the sudden and painful loss of the puppy had been too much for me. It was proof that I was not fit to be a pet owner, but the kids had been after us. They wanted a dog.

  Or a pony.

  And if I wasn’t careful Uncle Ashland would make sure that Lily Rose had a pony... or three. I guess there wouldn’t be much harm in that, except for the upkeep. There was plenty of room outback for a small pony or a large dog.

  Ah, that’s a battle for another day.

  I patted the dog with my fingertip and then returned him safely to his little shelf. As I carefully placed him in his spot I noticed the rock. The strange object had not been there a few seconds ago. It couldn’t have been. What did this mean? Nobody tinkered with my collection—they certainly wouldn’t be adding rocks to it. No one came in here much except for those that worked with me on occasion. This painted rock did not belong in this particular collection of treasures and certainly not in my office. I drew back slightly as I eyed the half hidden rock which lay behind a few of my favorites.

  How did this ugly thing get in here? This lone shelf was pretty high—too high for either of the children to place it here. Oh, I know this thing! And I know for a fact that this particular rock had been boxed up and placed in the attic. I am the one that boxed it up!

  I picked up the rock and turned it over in my hand. Yes, I knew this rock — I knew it well. It was a totem rock, an ibofanga offering. I knew this detail from my paranormal experience and dream work at Gracefield
. My niece Lily had painted something similar and gifted it to me before I left for Selma. I knew she’d been influenced to do so, but then I had no idea who was doing the influencing. I saw more examples of this particular type of rock painting at Gracefield, Amara Cooper’s house in Selma. In the deserted spring house too. Back when they were in use the rocks were stacked there, one on top of another, as a sort of barrier — at least that’s what I believed in the beginning. Now I wasn’t so sure. Nobody knew.

  Turning it over in my hand again I touched the paint. It was so dry that it flaked off quite easily; this was proof that it was quite old. Probably as old as some of the ones I found at Gracefield.

  Amara!

  I didn’t like the way this stone made me feel. Oh, it had a kind of energy about it! True energy! Not like before. I mean it had been ominous looking, but I did not recall it having any kind of power. Unwilling to return it to its undeserved spot on my shelf I deposited the thing on my desk. I was still staring at it wondering how in the world it made the journey from the attic to my office when I heard Detra Ann’s voice behind me.

  “Carrie Jo? Are you going deaf or something? I have been calling your name for the last five minutes. I swear you are a workaholic. Almost as bad as me. Lily is ready now, but she’s having difficulty with the second half, so smile and nod — even if she messes up her lines. They sure gave the first-timer a lot to memorize!” Detra Ann eyed me with some concern, but then again she always looked concerned. She used to be a lot more carefree, back before she got married and had Chloe, but then again that’s what having a family will do for you. And it must be extra tough for Detra Ann who was a natural lie detector. Her husband Henri didn’t get away with anything. My blonde, leggy best friend was as good as gold, but not very trusting at times.

  Luckily for us, she kindly offered her acting and pageant skills to Lily to help her prepare for her first school play. I’d been surprised when my niece came home all excited about it. Lily wasn’t usually the kind of girl that liked to be out front. That’s what I believed at first. Ashland always told me I was wrong about that. Lily was not afraid of the spotlight. She had just never been allowed to enjoy it.

  “Of course I will. I know how big of a deal this is for her. I’m not working but…I was just wondering… well, never mind. I’ll come back to this later.” Detra Ann’s questioning expression did not encourage me.

  Ashland and AJ were gone today. It was ladies only at Seven Sisters. Yep, we had the place to ourselves. I rarely got to hang out with Detra Ann and her daughter Chloe anymore.

  “What is that?” Detra Ann’s eyes followed mine and she picked it up to appraise it. “It looks old. An old paperweight?” She turned it over in her hand. Well, if this was a genuine artifact she would know. She was an antique dealer. But then again, how many antique dealers sold rocks?

  The Devecheaux business -Cotton City Antiques- was booming, and a good thing, too. Recently, they had to change the business name from Cotton City Treasures to Cotton City Antiques to avoid a potentially troubling lawsuit over branding, but the changes were superficial only. Detra Ann and Henri were the proud owners of a truly notable antique store. I loved the place and wanted to see her succeed. I had a ton of items for her. There wasn’t much sense in holding onto a collection of dress mannequins or a spinning wheel. I loved all the things in the attic, but this place was enough of a museum without all those things in every corner.

  And things like that painted rock? I had no idea what to do with this. This wasn’t the rock Lily had painted. It wasn’t a family treasure at all. And just finding it here caused a worrying, gnawing sensation to grow in my belly. The kind I used to experience before a “happening.”

  “It just turned up in here. I thought I packed it away. It’s from Gracefield.” I got the goosebumps and rubbed my arms. Time for a change of subject. “Hey, when are you sending the truck over? I’d like to empty that attic soon, or at least some of it.” I’d made the quiet decision to use that space for something more than a dusty storage room. I was going to turn that forgotten floor into Lily’s art studio one day. Maybe. Probably. I wasn’t sure yet, but I was eager to empty the attic of all the junk so the real treasures could be appreciated without having to dig for them.

  “I’ll talk to Henri. It’s nice of you to contribute, CJ. Of course, you know I can’t let you give those things to me. You’ll split the sale with me. I won’t let it be said that I took advantage of my friends. Now come hold the camera.” Detra Ann’s eyes sparkled strangely as she turned the rock over a few times. But then she deposited it on the desk and it landed with an odd clunk. She didn’t offer any clues about it, but I could see the wheels turning.

  “Camera? When did we decide to film this? This isn’t Schindler’s List, Detra. Just a middle school play.”

  But there was no arguing with her. Miss Pageant Professional was going to do this thing her way. I eyed the stone on my desk as I closed the French doors that led into my office. I would deal with that later.

  For now, I needed to think about Lily. She deserved my attention. But the loneliness was lifting because I knew without a shadow of a doubt, I would be dream walking soon.

  It had been a long time since I’d heard from Amara but there was no avoiding this. My soul whispered the truth, I would be taking a trip soon.

  I was Selma bound.

  Chapter Two--Carrie Jo

  Lily called us from the other room and I could tell by the whiny tone in her voice she was losing patience with me. Yeah, I would have to call Amara later—I needed to hear that she was not in danger, not trying to challenge the spirits of Gracefield.

  Why else would I be finding rocks in my office? Rocks associated with Gray Cloud and White Fire. Not a good thing if you were an inexperienced dreamcatcher like Amara. Man, I thought we put all this to bed. I thought we set him free? Did this mean that Gray Cloud, aka the Widowmaker, had returned? If this rock was meant to be a sign-- if it had meaning…well, who knows? I was only speculating. Maybe I had left it down here and put it on the shelf with my favorite collectibles?

  Hell no. That’s not what happened at all. Amara could be in trouble and if so, I had to be there. Us dreamcatchers were a rare breed and we had to stick together.

  We joined Lily and Chloe in the Blue Room. Lily paced the floor reading her lines aloud and then stopping after a few passes to close her eyes and recite them from memory. Naturally, Chloe was into everything she could get her hands on. Would the child ever grow out of the terrible twos? She had a curious mind and equally curious fingers. And a healthy disrespect for time out.

  “Chloe! I should have left you with your father. Come sit with Aunt Carrie Jo,” Detra Ann pleaded with her daughter, but she was far too busy removing the magazines from the coffee table to indulge her request. “Lily, I’ll read Mr. Tumnus’ lines and Carrie Jo will record us. That way you can review your work. It will help you, I promise. You’re doing great, sweetie.” I tapped on the camera hoping to find the right lighting setting.

  “Mommy! I want snack!” Chloe sassed in her defiant yet sweet voice. When she spotted me holding the camera she said, “I want to do that.” Chloe’s chubby fingers reached for the camera, but I knew better than to surrender an expensive piece of equipment to her.

  “Chloe Devecheaux! Stop tearing up those magazines and sit down right now!” The child began to cry, but Detra quickly pulled some snacks out of her expensive purse.

  “Here, don’t get them everywhere. Ugh, I’m sorry about the magazines, CJ. You come and sit with me right now, or I’m going to call your Daddy.”

  “No problem. I went through this with AJ. She’ll get past the terrible twos. I promise.”

  Feeling sorry for the child I offered her the flashlight on my end table. I’d forgotten to put it away the other night when I went out looking for that stray cat in the garden. “I’ll let you hold the spotlight. But don’t shine it in anyone’s face, okay?” Chloe gave her mother the side-eye and made her wa
y to me. I pushed the button a few times to show Chloe how it was done. Naturally, she had to do it by herself, but her baby fingers couldn’t quite master pressing the button. Not without some concentrated effort. Good. That will keep her busy for a while.

  “Go ahead, Lily. We’re ready now.” The three of us hunkered together on the couch as Lily cleared her throat and set her papers down on the coffee table. She stepped back and Chloe pointed the flashlight at her while I pointed the camera at her. I had to remind her to avoid shining the light in Lily’s face and she shined it on her chest instead. Mostly. Lily landed the part of Lucy in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. It was a beautiful play and a big part for a new actress. I had faith in her. She was going to nail this if she could remember her lines. Luckily for her and the rest of the school kids, the “play” was merely a few scenes selected from the book.

  “I say! These are trees! And this cold stuff is snow! This must be an enormous wardrobe. Should I look around for a bit? There’s the other room—I can always get back if something goes wrong. Let’s see…now, why would anyone put a lamppost in the middle of a forest? I don’t think that…”

  Detra Ann piped in as her character. “Goodness gracious me!”