Footsteps of Angels (Marietta Book 2)

by M. L. Bullock

  FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS

  Marietta Series

  Book Two

  By M.L. Bullock

  Text copyright ©2021 Monica L. Bullock

  All rights reserved.

  A Cradle Song

  Sleep, sleep, beauty bright,

  Dreaming in the joys of night;

  Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep

  Little sorrows sit and weep.

  Sweet babe, in thy face

  Soft desires I can trace,

  Secret joys and secret smiles,

  Little pretty infant wiles.

  As thy softest limbs I feel

  Smiles as of the morning steal

  O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast

  Where thy little heart doth rest.

  O the cunning wiles that creep

  In thy little heart asleep!

  When thy little heart doth wake,

  Then the dreadful night shall break.

  William Blake, 1789

  Chapter One—Marietta

  This was an inauspicious day—the heat was overbearing and there was no late summer breeze. Another day with no rain. If this continued, this would be disastrous for the crops. Not only that but the milk soured this morning, and many of the animals were sick from a mysterious malady. A crippling malaise that left some of the beasts without blood and bone. Not so mysterious to me. I knew the cause but there wasn’t anything I could do to stop it. I calmed the servants’ fears and offered up any sensible lie or excuse I could imagine. They were a suspicious lot, as they should be. Suspicious of me, of my son.

  Too much blood had spilled here at the place attached to my name.

  My bloody wedding gift. A mansion as cursed and bleak as it was elegant and beautiful. If I had the chance to encounter my husband in the afterlife, I would most certainly kill him again.

  How could he have done this to me? To our children and grandchildren.

  Yes, my concerns were for the newest member of the family. Baby Lancaster wanted to enter the world. Unfortunately for us all, the fate of our family rested on my daughter in law’s childlike shoulders. Mary had some sense of what existed here, but she refused to listen to me, to learn the full truth. It was not a topic of discussion she welcomed. She didn’t trust me either.

  Mary didn’t know what I’d done for her. For my sons.

  Portia’s absence had separated me from John Lamar. He blamed me for her disappearance and rightly so. I could not predict what the Beast would demand. I tried so many things over the years--even offering my own blood, but the Beast would not appear for me during these drunk offerings.

  But ah, I was not a true Lancaster.

  Dormancy was the best we could hope for. Seven years of peace. At least that had been true in the beginning when I rid myself of Xavier’s bastards. The Beast had accepted those and dutifully disappeared.

  Where was John Lamar? Toying with a new girl, no doubt. Fool. My eldest son was always one to shirk responsibilities and satisfy his urges. So much like his father. Only John Lamar did not leave quite as wide a trail of children behind him, not like his father.

  Mary moaned beside me, and I squeezed the girl’s hand to remind her that she was not alone. She must accomplish this task. A live birth was necessary, the continuation of the legitimate bloodline. A future caretaker, someone to keep the peace between the Beast and the family. Hopefully she would have a boy. We needed a boy.

  “You are doing fine, Mary. Just fine. Keep your eyes open and bear the pain. It will only last a little while.” I whispered into her ear as I patted her forehead with a damp cloth. There wasn’t much else I could do except encourage the tiny woman to bring forth my grandson.

  The Beast had taken Portia and her child. It’s not as if I’d known that would happen for a certainty. There was nothing to be done about that, but it bothered me that the full seven years had not been honored. It only been a few months since the last sacrifice and the sounds of war drums were heard often these days.

  Ghostly war drums.

  Things were not unbalanced between this world and the next. Not right at all. The slaves knew it too. They took their own protective measures against the angry spirits that dwelled in the shadows of this place. I did not forbid them. If they could fend it off I would not object. How could I?

  “Not my name,” she murmured between grunts. “Not me. I don’t belong here! Don’t let it take my baby! Please, Marietta!”

  “Hush, Mary. Don’t talk nonsense, girl.” I scolded her in low tones as she continued to clutch my hand. “All will be well. I promise you.” My maid Sally and I exchanged a knowing look but neither of us spoke. Mary continued to bear down but progress remained slow. She was so small, so very tiny.

  Perhaps the afterbirth would satisfy the cursed thing. The dead animals, the days without rain were cause for concern. I shivered and crossed my fingers against that very thing.

  I must continue my work until Mary took her place but I was tired. Oh, so tired. My sacrifices had carried the Lancaster family thus far. My poor Sophie.

  After that, I’d managed to keep the creature at bay. But the Beast’s unpredictable appearance wreaked havoc on my heart and mind. Poor Sophie. This was not the way things were supposed to be.

  My late mother-in-law tried to prepare me, just as I tried to prepare Portia and now Mary. But the thing chose to kill Portia--and her baby.

  What about Mary? She could no longer shirk her responsibilities.

  Mary’s child didn’t want to enter this world, but it was time. He could not hide from his destiny any longer—whatever that may be. Mary wasn’t trying hard enough. She’d been at this for hours and there was barely any movement. Eventually decisions needed to be made. I was glad that John Lamar was absent. I could see now that it had been wise of him to leave this bloody work in my hands.

  None of these Lancaster men had the stomach to do what needed to be done.

  “Look again, Sally!” My servant obediently lifted the girl’s bloody sheet and peered at her thighs.

  “She needs to push--I see the top of his head! He is crowning, ma’am!”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. I was covered in sweat and the room smelled like iron and blood. What now? Would I do the unthinkable? Would I sacrifice the woman for the child?

  Of course, I would.

  John Lamar would not stop me even if he were present. He was rarely here anymore and when he was, he barely spoke to either Mary or me.

  Portia had stolen his heart.

  Did he care at all for Mary or her infant? Who could say?

  I worked so hard to bring them together. Mary was the one the bones selected. They spelled her name out more than once. The bones led me to Mary Fairbanks, but this woman…she wasn’t who she claimed to be. I feared that whatever spirit drove the Beast knew this. Could this Mary trick the runes? Or the Beast?

  I had been hopeful when John met Mary, he seemed interested, curious. A bit distracted from Portia who held such power over him for so long. John Lamar had a heart attachment to Portia, and I assumed he fancied himself to be in love. He declared such to me a week after the elegant quadroon arrived. Portia had been John Lamar’s chosen but she wouldn’t do. Her blood would not satisfy the beast.

  “This is on you, John Lamar.” That had been my answer. To my mind, men were not capable of love or fidelity, but I had to admit John thought himself truly in love.

  To his credit, John did put up a fuss when Portia disappeared. He suspected my hand in it but he could not prove it and, in the end, he stopped asking about her.

  So did Mary.

  She seemed relieved that Portia was gone too. She knew because she’d seen it happen. Mary knew
what happened to Portia and she said nothing.

  As expected, John toyed with Mary for a few weeks and then moved on to someone else. Mary did not have the beauty and sophistication that Portia displayed. Poor Portia. She too believed herself in love with John Lamar but luckily, I knew her secret. A dark secret that kept her quiet whilst I worked my plan. Silly woman. In the end, it had done her no good. The Beast took her.

  The young woman was not as strong as I’d hoped. Too small, with no hips to speak of, rather childlike, anatomically speaking. But how could I have known any of this from mere letters? I couldn’t very well ask such a question, especially while impersonating my own son. What a bit of irony. I impersonated John Lamar while Mary, this Mary impersonated the true Mary Fairbanks. Two tricksters we were.

  Yes, what irony. I, the great and haughty Marietta Lancaster taken in by a common trickster.

  I gripped the young woman’s hand and commanded her to push. “Mary! Mary? Wake up, girl!” The young woman roused, her eyes flickered but then they rolled back in her head, and she screamed with all her might.

  “It’s here! Can’t you see it?” My daughter in law screamed a few more times and with that declaration Mary passed out once again. Once again, I placed the smelling salts under her nose and demanded her to wake up. She must do her part—I couldn’t do it for her.

  Yes, I had done all I could to appease the Beast that resided in the boneyard. But it was unpredictable, this horrible Lancaster curse. It manifested in horrible ways. Despite the heartache and the difficulty, I long ago stopped bemoaning my fate as caretaker here, I ceased begging heaven for help. I accepted what I must do for my children and grandchildren. I was a murderess. One of the damned.

  I accepted that and willingly got blood on my hands. This had not been my fight. I hadn’t caused it. This curse came with the land. The house before this one too; the small one, it had been cursed as well. Xavier Lancaster built Marietta for me, built it in my honor. But there had been no honor in it. All Xavier had done was bound to me this horrible fate. He invested all his fortune in seizing all the land around us. But the land came at a price.

  An immeasurable, unspeakable price.

  “Yes, my sweet, Marietta. This is all for you.” That’s what he told me a days after he married me, but it soon became clear to me that it was no honor. It was no honor at all.

  It swallowed me up that day.

  Xavier led me there. He told me nothing about the boneyard. Nothing about the beast that lurked in the dirt of the clearing between the two small forests. Without concern, Xavier watched as I screamed, frozen to the spot. It came up from the ground, tearing up the dark soil with abandon as it reached for my ankles. Gripping me mercilessly, I stared at the tall, thin being. A shadow really but a shadow without strength and teeth and claws. It climbed up my legs and laid on top of me, it’s black eyes boring into my soul. Still screaming, it scratched me with one long fingernail, clawed the side of my face and touched the bloody nail to its lipless mouth.

  Sally’s screams brought me back to this perilous moment.

  “The head, it is emerging, mistress! Now is the time, she must wake up!” Sally declared, her eyes wide, her voice loud and booming. She always spoke too loudly; the woman couldn’t hear very well but she was even louder under pressure.

  “Mary!” I touched the pouch to the young woman’s nose, but she would not stir. She was still alive though, and her body still worked to push the baby out. Mary back arched slightly, and she moaned incoherently. At least a part of her heard my voice.

  “Thank goodness! Here it comes, mistress!”

  I continued to coax Mary to wake up, it would be better for the baby if she did wake but she only moaned and babbled. I could not make out her words, I felt the stirring in the air. This place had always been a home for ghosts and otherworldly things.

  A home for death.

  The rocking chair in the corner of the room moved back and forth erratically and there was no breeze. No moving of the air. Nary an open window. Sally’s eyes widened at the sight but I reminded her to stay focused on the task.

  “The baby! Keep your eye on the baby! Don’t let him go!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sally answered as she flipped the sheet back. The rocking chair continued to bang against the wall. Suddenly the window slid open with a rough crashing sound which caused me to gasp in surprised fright. The light-yellow curtains flapped in the wild breeze. Suddenly a driving rain hit the house—a sign that supernatural forces were at play. I suspected that if I were to look out the window, I would see that it was only raining on the house, not the entire property. but there was nothing to do but continue to plead with Mary.

  “Wake up, girl! Wake up, Mary!”

  I clung to the girl's hand. These past months I had worked so hard to bring this pregnancy about. Many times I had to intervene in arguments between John and Mary. Finally, we would see the fruit of their union.

  To her surprise she and Mary had settled into an uneasy partnership but a partnership, nonetheless. For whatever reason, Mary wanted John more than anything and she believed—like many women do--that by delivering his child, by providing an heir for him and the Lancaster family he would love her.

  I encouraged this belief because it served my purpose, and I felt no guilt about it. It was better for everyone if Mary did believe that all would be well. If she believed that John loved her.

  What happened to my son? John Lamar, my sweet boy. The one that once loved and trusted his mother. My heart hurt at the memory of our former closeness, but he had seen too much. He knew too much but that had not been my fault. I had done everything within my power to prevent his ever finding out, but John Lamar was a curious child.

  Curious enough to see with his own eyes what was hidden in the boneyard.

  He would never understand, never appreciate all that I had given for him and for Oscar. Of course, Xavier was long dead. Happy to deliver all this misery into my lap. Despite his coldness, I loved him above all others. Even my Oscar. Yes, just like Mary, I loved John Lamar with all my being, but I would never gain his trust again.

  At least I had Oscar and he was far from here.

  Yes, John Lamar was ruined. Completely and utterly ruined. He would never be a good man as he had proven since Xavier’s death. John Lamar would never be reliable, never committed to the continuation of his lineage, not like me but I had hoped that would change. If not for him, for Oscar’s sake. Yes, I loved John Lamar but if he would not help me keep the Beast at bay then I would have to turn to his brother. When death comes for me, someone must take my place. Someone had to give the blood and bones to keep the wretched peace.

  Maybe this was all for Oscar, after all.

  If blood must be given, let it not be his nor his children. When I’d seen how things went with my older son, I didn’t allow a day to pass. I had taken great pains to send Oscar away--to protect him from his brother’s influence. A son was needed to continue the line, to protect us all. What would happen if there were no more children? Would the Beast demand their blood instead? I did not know what to expect. Truly, I did not.

  Oscar was at school in Georgia, but he would be home soon, and I would have to find some way to keep John Lamar silent. Yes, I had done my best to make my expectations clear to him, but he refused to talk about it.

  “I don’t want to know anything else! I don’t want to hear about it! This is superstitious nonsense, Mother!” He had never spoken to me so disrespectfully, but I did not push him on the matter. “Where is Portia? Tell me you didn’t have a hand in her disappearance! What are you doing in that boneyard? Why all this talk of evil and death? I would have been happy with Portia! Did you kill her? Did you harm her? I swear, Mother! If you touched a hair on her head…”

  I refused to answer him but neither did I deny his accusations. Let him think what he wanted. I hadn’t expected his resistance. Initially I planned on lying to him, telling him what he wanted to hear—or didn’t want to hear b
ut when it came down to it, I could not. He’d seen for himself what lay in the boneyard.

  What waited for us all.

  But I wanted him to know what I had done for him. I wanted him to know about the curse his father left in my care. I derived a strange satisfaction out of seeing his face break, to see the awareness break his spirit. Yes, he knew the truth and there was no turning back.

  Poor Mary. Poor John Lamar.

  John's son would not be taken! Despite their separation! The baby would need to be protected! When the time came, I would be ready. At least I’d bought them some time--seven years. That was the length of the curse. Seven years. But it had only been five!

  Surely, Portia’s unexpected sacrifice would suffice.

  It would be enough. It had to be.

  I made mistakes before. The Beast did not always play by the rules. Rules I had to figure out largely on my own. Oh, I couldn’t bear to think about it. Not now. Not when my grandson was about to arrive.