Grace Before Dying Page 5

  “And Lucy Pevensie played by Lily Stuart. A round of applause, please.”

  Ashland whistled as I elbowed him. Parents were specifically asked not to whistle at this event, applause only. There were even signs up to remind parents about this, but Lily grinned proudly. My little rebel. She gave us thumbs up and took another bow. This time with Katrina, Bryan, and Collin, the other young man who played one of the Pevensie children. What a magical night! Camera lights flashed all over the auditorium. It was like the paparazzi had arrived.

  “She was amazing,” I cried as we watched the rest of the cast and crew step forward to receive their applause. ‘Truly amazing.” Ashland grinned in agreement, but the expression on his face quickly morphed into something else altogether. He was no longer smiling, no longer cheering Lily on in her moment of triumph. I touched his arm lightly and could feel him trembling slightly. Was his old medical condition returning? I prayed to God that was not true. I could not live through that again.

  “Ash? What is it, baby?” AJ sat in the seat beside us, equally sedated. What was going on? He was just jumping up and down in his blinking shoes and clapping for Lily.

  “Lily isn’t alone,” my husband whispered in my ear. Shoot. I knew what he meant, that a ghost was hanging around our niece. Now AJ was curled up like a ball on the seat. AJ saw him or the ghost, too—I mean, he was his father’s son and we knew he had our abilities. What he’d seen disturbed him.

  We all three watched soberly as the rest of the parents and families clapped and cheered. Lily’s expression shifted too. Glancing over her left shoulder and then her right, it appeared that she might sense the ghost too. I was the only person that could not see a dang thing, only feel the creepy crawlies. But where was the ghost? So far, I could see nothing, just a bunch of excited teenagers wearing interesting costumes and fantastic props. Scanning the busy, festival-like scene I spotted nothing out of the ordinary.

  “Where? I don’t see anything?”

  “He’s behind her. He’s wearing…”

  I blinked at the sight. I didn’t mean to cut him off, but as soon as he said that I easily spotted him. The boy wore a faded white shirt, maybe tan, and faded gray pants; he wore them high too, as was the style from the 1940s. He appeared younger than Lily, by a few years at least, but he appeared neat and his hair was perfectly combed. He looked like a young Andy Griffith, to be honest. That’s the best way to describe him.

  But his face wasn’t friendly; it was more like focused, almost angry, but why? He was reaching for Lily, but her friends pulled her forward to the edge of the stage as the crowd offered up one last round of applause. The boy was gone. Vanished completely. I wondered who else may have spotted the ghost boy stalking Lily.

  People were beginning to stream out of the auditorium as did the three of us. We had to get to Lily, I can’t say what I would say to her when I made it, but I had to hug her, see her. Maybe warn her. Ashland scooped up AJ and pushed ahead of me, his hand extended behind him. I grabbed it. I could see he was using his old football moves to navigate this crowd, only politely. And Ashland was quite handsome and somewhat of a local football celebrity. More than one person greeted him by name and I knew for a fact he didn’t know half of them.

  We made it to the head of the line and congratulated our niece. She was the picture of joy. Her young face glowed with excitement. “Did you see that last scene? Do you think it was too much? I did a little improv there. I’m sure Aunt Detra would have loved it. Bryan! You were amazing!”

  Before I could tell her about baby Chloe, Bryan was there and Lily kissed Bryan on the cheek. It was innocent enough. The dark-skinned boy’s broad smile showed his approval for the surprise kiss. Although I was shocked that Lily would kiss a boy in front of me, I wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it.

  “You remember Bryan, don’t you, Aunt CJ? This is my Uncle Ashland. And Bryan this is my cousin AJ. Say, Aunt CJ, Katrina’s mom is taking the performers out to pizza after. Is it okay with you if Bryan comes? His Dad said he could, but he has a curfew, and Katrina’s mom said you had to approve. There’s Katrina! Hey, Katrina! My Mom and Dad are here!” People were tugging on her and congratulating her. We literally couldn’t have a conversation, it was so loud and there was so much energy—yes, that’s right, so much energy and excitement in this school right now.

  Wait a second! Did I hear that right? Yes, that’s right. Mom and Dad? She never called us that before. I wasn’t upset about it, but I was surprised. In a good way. There were too many children around and AJ was clinging unhappily to Ashland—we couldn’t tell Lily about the ghost we noticed hanging around her. Not out here in front of the other children. She already tended to be a loner, like me. I didn’t want to encourage that in a moment when she was living life and not thinking about the paranormal.

  “Should we pick you up tonight? Or do you still want to stay with Katrina? I mean, we don’t mind if you came home late, do we, Ashland? We can wait up for you, sweetheart.”

  Lily frowned a little like that was the worst idea she’d ever heard. “No, ma’am. You said I could stay with Katrina. Are you losing it, Aunt CJ? Did you bring my overnight bag?”

  “Yes, we left it with Katrina’s mother before the play. Listen, call me later. I need to talk with you.” I whispered, but Ashland was next to me, his warm hand on my shoulder. His eyes told me to wait, so I did. I wanted to tell Lily everything right away. I hated keeping secrets from the people I love. What would I say? “Hey, that ghost boy we saw on the video was here tonight!”

  Oh my God! That’s where I’d seen him from. The video! I’d shown it to Ashland too. Surely he recognized him. Another questioning look in his direction let me know that indeed he did remember.

  “We better get him home. AJ’s not feeling well. I hope he doesn’t have Chloe’s cold,” Ashland said as he hugged Lily and pattered on the back. Lily’s trusting face smiled up at him and then she came to hug me.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Don’t worry about me, please. AJ, you can sleep in my room tonight if you want, but stay out of my pens. And don’t mess with my desk.”

  AJ waved at her before she left holding Bryan’s hand. Her new boyfriend appeared entirely shocked by all the attention he was receiving from Lily and quite happy about it. That made me smile too.

  As we put AJ in his booster seat and buckled him in I told Ashland I planned to wait to go to Gracefield.

  “One more day won’t hurt. Just one more to figure out what’s going on with this ghost at the school. ”

  I spoke in low tones and I thought AJ was asleep; he usually fell right to sleep when we strapped him in but he was still awake apparently. “He comes on the balcony, Mommy. He throws rocks at the windows. Lily saw him too.”

  Ashland glanced at me as he pulled the car out of the school and began the drive home.

  “AJ, are you playing a game with me? Is that what you’re doing?” I tried not to make a big deal out of what he was saying, but I couldn’t let that go.

  “I’m not playing a game, Mommy. Nevermind.”

  I undid the seatbelt strap and crawled into the backseat with my son and sat beside me. “I believe you, AJ. I do believe you. So does Daddy.”

  “Mommy, wear your seatbelt.” He said practically like the little old man he was and I obeyed.

  “Better?”

  “Better.”

  I held his hand oblivious to his father watching us in the rearview mirror. “I’m sorry you had to see the ghost, AJ. Does seeing ghosts make you afraid?”

  “Only when they come in my dreams. Make the dreams stop, Mommy.” AJ’s vibrant blue eyes studied my face, his determined chin jutted out, his mouth shut tight.

  I wish I could, Baby Boy, I wish I could.

  “I love you, AJ. Mommy will sleep with you tonight, how about that?”

  “Okay, Mommy. But not in my room.”

  “How about a camp out in the living room? We can even make a tent!”

  AJ clapp
ed his hands in excitement and we talked more about our living room camp out. Even Ashland agreed to join in on the fun. It’s not like there wasn’t plenty of room in the Blue Room and it was generally the family’s favorite room. While we chatted I played out the scenario in my mind. I’d have to be careful not to sleep beside him. I’d be close, close enough to step into his dreams if I felt he was in trouble.

  An hour later we were home and in our pajamas. We ate some snacks, brushed our teeth, and made tents and pallets in the Blue Room. It didn’t take long for AJ to fall asleep, he was exhausted. Ashland and I didn’t talk much. I assumed at some time during the night he would go for one of his ghost walks. If anyone could get to the bottom of an actual ghost haunting it was Ashland.

  As for me, I would dream. Only I wouldn’t be visiting AJ’s dreams tonight. A stronger spirit was summoning me to take a dream walk with her.

  White Fire! I will help you but don’t hurt my friend, Amara. Don’t hurt my family!

  Those were my last thoughts as I began to slide into a honey-hued dream world.

  Chapter Eight—White Fire

  The low hum of unseen whisperers disturbed me, but I had no strength, no voice. And I was not strong enough to command the watchers to leave. Finally, much of the smoke had cleared; Old Face did not remain to welcome his grandchild into the world. My belly twisted inside as the child erupted from my body in blood and water. I managed to prop my body up on my elbows, my damn hair plastered to my face, neck, and back. I wore no clothing, as was the custom when giving birth amongst the Creek.

  I was the daughter of Old Face. Bringing a child into the world should be treated as an honor, but there was no tittering of welcomes, no joyful laughter to herald this momentous occasion. No men at all, only a few women, all childless, the least joyful in our tribe. Even a woman called Empty Arms had come to witness the birth. What did this mean? How had she earned the right to witness such an important event? Why were these women my witnesses and not my own family? No cousins, no father, no aunts, and uncles?

  Only Kinta and the barren few.

  No matter, my son had arrived. I breathed a sigh of relief as the warm flow of blood poured between my legs. Kinta lifted my child, but I could not see his face. Ah, but he was a boy! That I could see! I could see the child’s dark hair, his brown skin shone in the dim firelight. He squalled as Kinta wrapped him hastily with a worn piece of soft deerskin.

  “Give him to me, Kinta. Give me my son now.”

  “It is not a son, but a girl, White Fire. And I must obey your father’s wishes.” Kinta rose to her feet with my child in her hands. He continued to cry- my son cried for his mother and screamed in frustration.

  “You lie! I have seen myself! You will give me my son, Kinta! Give him to me now! Empty Arms! Help me!”

  The older woman bowed her head, as did all the women except for the chief’s wife, Kinta. She twisted her upper body as she rose to her feet. Kinta glanced down at me, her narrow eyes squinting even smaller. She gave me a sardonic smile. Wait! She knew my language. She knew our language! And all this time I believed she did not know our language. Not well enough to mock me now. Not well enough to understand when I slighted her by speaking so lowly about her to my father. I had never liked the woman and made no secret of it. And now I knew why. She had an evil heart.

  I screamed in frustration as my weak body refused to obey my wishes. Any other day I would fight Kinta to the death. Scratch her eyes out, pull her tongue from her mouth, or tear her limb from limb; but I could not reach her. Birthing blood flowed from between my legs and I felt myself weaken with the loss of it. To humiliate myself even further I urinated as I wept and shouted at my stepmother. The unthinkable was about to happen. My physical body would finally let me down. I began to pass out. My consciousness was slipping away. I would enter the black and be unable to save my child. My boy. Bone of my bone, blood of my blood.

  Through half-closed eyes, I could see the tent began to empty. Outside, in the distance, there was a wailing song. Not a joyful sound — not the kind of song one would expect to hear at a birth. There were no festive drums, no light pitter-patter of children’s hands. Only women, crow women who mourned for the dead. The women followed after Kinta, one by one. I was left alone, naked and sweating, my only company now was the fading smoke. My heart fell into darkness.

  The birth of my son occurred at night, but when I woke again daylight peeked through the open flap of my father’s tent. I can recall nothing, but I was once again fully clothed and someone, presumably not keen to had kindly cleaned my body. My hand went to my groin, the soreness was evidence that I had given birth to my son. I touched the area gingerly noting that someone with a touch of kindness within them had kindly padded my trousers with soft nesting material to staunch the bleeding. No, this would not be keen on his work at all.

  I sat up, my stomach sore and aching. My entire body was sore and aching and my mouth so dry. As if she read my mind, Empty Arms offered me a bowl of water. My thin, shaking fingers accepted the wooden bowl and I slurped the water down. She gave me another and I drank it too. “Empty Arms, where is my son? Bring him to me. I command it!” Empty Arms returned the wooden scoop to the pail and rose from the mat beside me. She respectfully bowed her head, yet she did not obey me. I wept like a child. The older woman offered me a bowl of food, but I refused it.

  “I must know. You must tell me! Where is my son?” Still, no answers, no kind words of encouragement. No assurances that my baby lived. It was as if Empty Arms had taken a vow of silence. Why would she not speak to me now? I had never been cruel to her, never given her cause to be uncaring towards me.

  How many days had I been asleep? It was a question I did not bother to ask.

  Glimpses, brief memories of things returned to my mind, but I could not unfold them. Many days must have passed. Was that possible?

  There was a sleeping mat beside mine, from the pattern of the blanket I assumed it belonged to Empty Arms. Had she been assigned to care for me? Naturally, Kinta would not. And she had my son! And I remembered the wailing as if someone had died! But I was alive – where was my son?

  The shadow darkened the open tent flap. A man’s familiar frame walked inside. Empty Arms made a sign of respect to Old Face and to the man that accompanied him, Gray Cloud.

  “My daughter, my White Fire. My wife says you refused to nurse your child. You have refused to acknowledge him.”

  “Lies! No, I did not! Your wife lies to you, father! Bring me, my son — my arms ache for him!”

  “In light of your refusal to give the child a name, or nurse it at your breast, it has been given no name. It will not be called my grandson, nor shall it be your son. A mother, the child’s true mother has taken the infant and left the tribe. If she survives, she will care for the child with no name and treat him with love until the day, if he wills it, the child with no name can return to request his naming trials. If the Creator allows him to overcome his trials he will receive his name. But that will be many years from now. Many times we will travel in the great circle. I am certain I will never see the child with no name and neither will you.”

  I struggled to stand on my two wobbly legs as I did my best to face my father and Gray Cloud with some dignity. Others were coming into the tent now and more by the second. Kinta and her silly friends along with many braves, many that I once considered my friends before this wicked betrayal. “Why are you doing this? I am your daughter? It is me — White Fire! I am your daughter! Why would you do such a thing, Old Face?”

  Unmoved by my begging, Old Face continued his speech. “I will not cast you off, daughter of mine. Lizard Woman would never let me rest if I were to banish you. We will speak of this no more; you will marry. Never again will the daughter of Old Face have a son or daughter with no name. You will marry. You must choose and you must leave my tent.” Kinta hissed her disapproval, along with a few other women. I see… She wanted him to banish me. It wasn’t enough that my child has been s
tolen from me. She works against me. But why?

  The world seemed a strange place. As if I woke up in a different world, one that did not acknowledge my true self and denied me love of any sort. “Father,” I whispered, but it did me no good. His wrinkled old face did not melt with warmth at the sound of my voice. No, I had never encountered this side of my father. I had seen him render quick judgment before against many, but those had been criminals. True criminals that deserved punishment. But he had never ruled against me and why should he?

  I had been a good daughter to him. Other women had children with their lovers. They were not required to marry or to name the father. Although it was expected, I had not believed it to be necessary. Gray Cloud watched me as if now, after all this, I would ask for him. As if I would name the stolen child’s father now when it was too late.

  Oh, but I did not want him. I wanted nothing to do with him, Breaker of My Heart. Killer of my soul.

  And then I saw something I did not expect to see. A strange sort of exchange. A glimpse that showed me what was truly happening here. Gray Cloud and Kinta’s eyes met, but there were no words exchanged. Only purpose. Only desire.