by Celia Roman
Imagine that. Fame and Anne an item, back in the long ago days before his daddy died and Fame dropped outta college to come home and tend his family. How come nobody ever told me?
Riley scooted closer and ran a fingertip along the top edge of the picture. “This explains a lot.”
“Do it?” I asked.
“Why Fame and Dad don’t get along, anyway.”
I huffed out a breath. “I’d lay good money on a far piece laying between the time this picture was took and the time them two started feuding.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “We’ll probably never know.”
Maybe so and maybe not so. Only time’d tell.
I set the picture on the coffee table, then curled up on the couch beside him. The lights on the tree flashed red and green and white, throwing their colors across him, and Old Mother’s words popped into my noggin.
Trust the light.
Had she meant Riley with his fiery auburn hair near about brushing the sky? And if she had, what did it mean? I looked at him real good, doing my best to measure what my heart held without giving none of it away to him. Riley always been good to me, starting that day at the lake when I snatched a snake outta the water before it bit him. He looked after me, he did, same way I looked after him, and I wouldn’t do that if I didn’t trust him. Would I?
Riley twisted around, sipped his bag open, and tugged out a present. “For you.”
I took it from him like he was handing me that self-same snake. “What is it?”
“Open it and find out.”
I measured its weight first, found it heavy in my hand, and couldn’t for the life of me figure out why, so I picked at the tape holding the wrapping paper together and opened the plain brown box it concealed.
Pure pleasure ripped through me faster’n spit as I pushed aside the tissue paper cushioning a six shooter. Still, I couldn’t act too pleased, could I? Might give him the idea I was easy, and I had no intention of being so.
“I already got a few of these,” I said, and danged if the happiness welling up in me didn’t spill over in my voice, in spite of my best efforts elsewise.
“I know, but not one I’ve given you. Besides, this one is special.” He nudged the box with his finger. “Take it out.”
Well, if he insisted, how could I not?
I slid my hand into the box and wrapped my fingers around the gun’s grip, and something electric shot through me, charging ever ounce of blood in my body. Missy’s ring warmed against my skin and that voice inside me purred, and the room took on a soft glow, though whether that was from the thoughtfulness of Riley’s gift or some supernatural doings, I hadn’t a clue.
Words tumbled outta my mouth before I could stop ‘em. “I love it.”
“I thought you might, especially when the dealer told me its history.” I opened my mouth to ask about it, and Riley leaned in and shushed me in the best way possible, with a kiss. When he was good and finished with me, and I was so happy my head was spinning like a top, he leaned back and said, “I’m staying the night.”
A slow grin crept across my tingling lips. “Are ya now?”
“Yup. It’s our first Christmas together and I don’t want to miss a minute of it.”
I buried the handgun in its box and set it aside, then spent the rest of the evening making sure our very first Christmas Eve was the best it could possibly be.
Epilogue
Early Christmas morn, I snuck out of a warm bed, leaving Riley snoozing peacefully under the covers. Last night, after an awkward visit with his family and a more pleasant one with mine, we snuggled up on the couch with only the Christmas tree lights for company. One thing led to another, but before it could get too far, his hip seized up on him and I had to put him to bed with pain pills.
I didn’t mind, even if he did. Our relations was coming along fast enough, thank you very much, and I weren’t in no hurry to rush ‘em.
Real quiet like, I tugged on warm clothes and my boots, then tiptoed into the kitchen and gathered together some of the Christmas cookies I made Henry. Out the door I went, being careful as I could not to wake Riley.
The morning was crisp under a gray sky. Rain later, maybe, which a body nigh on expected this time of year in the mountains. Too warm for snow, more’s the pity. If ever there was a time for a white Christmas, ‘twas this’un.
I bounced down the porch stairs and up the trail, and wallowed in the peace filling me. At Henry’s memorial, I squatted down in front of the little angel guarding his spirit and placed the cookies on a special holiday plate at its feet.
“Here ya go, baby,” I said. “I’m sorry for not visiting in so long. A lot’s been going on, ya know? And I—”
I shut my mouth over the words about to spill out, how I been seeing him in nightmares, bloody and twisted and bearing only a passing resemblance to the boy what’d been mine for too short a time, and how the warnings was piling up around me, warnings of the dangers of holding on too hard to the past.
That weren’t something to dwell on, not on this holiest of days, so I launched into a lively retelling of tracking down Spearfinger. When I was done, I pushed myself upright, intending to settle on the bench so’s I could share some more tidbits with him.
A cold wind blew up around me, swirling dead leaves along the ground, and a child-like voice whispered, “Mama.”
I closed my eyes and reached out to him, reached out to the spirit of my boy still lingering here on this spot where a monster claimed a life what shoulda been too sacred to take. “I’m here, baby. Mama’s here.”
The cold wrapped itself around me, burrowing under my skin into the ache resting heavy in my heart. “Don’t leave me,” he whispered, “Mama, please.”
His plea rode the wind digging into my bones, burying itself deep. “Henry!” I cried, and he answered in the only way he had, through the very air surrounding me. A gust hit my front, shoving me back a pace, and I stumbled along the ground. The first hint of fear pricked my heart. I whirled around, staring into the woods, searching for him or his ghost or something I could reason with.
The wind died down, and in its place, the forest fell silent and grim.
“Henry?” I said, real tentative. “You there?”
“Mama,” he whispered, only it weren’t my boy speaking. ‘Twas the voice of that devil what’d overtook Old Mother that day on the porch, when something dark possessed her and near about took my life with it.
My heart thumped into a hard gallop, and for the first time in my whole life, I was afraid of somebody I loved.
I backed away from the angel guarding what was left of my baby. Henry, dear sweet Henry. What’d he become?
I pivoted around and walked back to the trailer, too aware of the wind swirling around me and the hairs standing straight on my nape and the fear clinging to me where none had rested before. The trailer’s door opened as I bounded up the porch stairs, and there stood Riley dressed in naught but a pair of dark blue boxer briefs. Without a second thought, I launched myself at him and buried my face in his bare chest.
He held me to him and murmured soft, comforting words, then said, “What is it, baby?”
I swallowed around the knot lodged in my throat, shook my head against his chest, and managed something close to the truth in a thin, trembling voice. “I don’t know.”
“Hey, shh, it’s ok.”
He eased me inside, tugged my jacket off, led me down the hallway, and before I knowed it, we was back in bed, him curled around me. Little by little, the tremors melted away and I warmed as the fear faded into nothing.
What’d happened on the trail weren’t my imagination, not this time, but it was something best mulled over on another day, when I had my wits about me and could face whatever was going on with a clear head and a clearer heart. I rolled over to thank Riley for his patience and found him propped up on one elbow beside me.
“It’s too bad Missy’s expecting us in half an hour,” he said.
I arched m
y eyebrows. “Oh?”
He grinned real big and slid a hand down my side ‘til it landed on my hip over my panties. “Yeah, and too bad about last night, too.”
It took me a minute to piece together his meaning, then I laughed and smacked a kiss to his cheek and hugged him real tight. “Merry Christmas, you old goat.”
“Merry Christmas, Sunny.”
And it was.
# # #
Thank you for reading Cemetery Hill. If you enjoyed it, please leave a review for it here.
Dedication:
For Richard, whose help was invaluable in creating Sunny’s story.
About the author:
Celia Roman is the pen name of author C.D. Watson. She lives in Western North Carolina in an historic farmhouse built by her great-grandfather. Find her online at:
www.celiaroman.com
The Sunshine Walkingstick Series
Greenwood Cove
The Deep Wood
Cemetery Hill
Also available in this series:
Death Omen
Get Death Omen for free.
If you enjoyed the Sunshine Walkingstick Series, you may enjoy the Daughters of the People Series by Lucy Varna. Keep reading for a free preview of the first book, The Prophecy.
A sneak preview of The Prophecy
Maya Bellegarde stepped off the private jet and breathed in the sweet air of late spring, bracing herself against the heat boiling up from the tarmac. The flight from the States to Stockholm hadn’t been bad. Long, but not bad, and it had given her plenty of time to think.
Dani Nehring halted beside her, yawned, and pulled her body into a bone-popping stretch. “So, Swedish men or Swedish food?”
Maya didn’t bother with exasperation. The younger Daughter was irrepressible, her sunny personality a reflection of her bright looks. Dani’s blonde curls, crystal green eyes, and easy-going smile drew stares wherever she went. In many ways, she was an ideal companion, optimistic and always quick on the uptake, and maybe that was her biggest flaw. Very little came between her and a good joke, the bigger the better. Maya had learned early on to never drop her guard around Dani, unless she wanted to fall victim to a good-natured prank.
A trim woman approached from the hangar, her ebony hair pulled into a high ponytail, her pale face set in an impassive gaze. She was an inch taller than Maya’s own five foot seven inch frame, slender and graceful, her body fit beneath a loose white cotton shirt and olive green cargo pants. The woman bowed and her ponytail swung forward, brushing the ends over one shoulder.
Maya returned the bow. “How have you been, Indigo?”
Indigo’s sapphire eyes glinted in the bright sunlight. “Very well, Maetyrm. How was your flight?”
“Largely uneventful, even with Dani cracking jokes from takeoff to landing.”
“Hey, now,” Dani said, and Maya shot her a quick grin.
A slight smile tilted Indigo’s serious features into soft humor. “I’ve already made arrangements for your stay. Two rooms inland close to Sandby borg and a late model Volvo sedan, exactly as Director Upton requested.”
“And the dig?”
“As soon as you’ve settled into your cabins.”
“So, no men, then?” Dani asked.
Maya rolled her eyes skyward. “Business before pleasure.”
Dani grinned and flipped her blonde curls back. “I have to brush up on my Swedish first, anyway.”
As soon as the luggage was loaded, Indigo slid into the driver’s seat of the Volvo. Maya slipped into the back, leaving a chattering Dani to the front. During the drive southeast from Stockholm, Maya tuned one ear to Indigo and Dani’s conversation as they shared gossip old and new, and focused on their destination, an archaeological dig at Sandby borg, the site of a fifth century land fort that had been abandoned after a brutal massacre.
When Indigo had contacted Rebecca Upton, head of the Institute for Early Cultural Studies, to report a promising gravesite at the borg, Maya had volunteered to visit and examine the skeleton and any artifacts. She’d tried not to get her hopes up. Over the years, she’d visited a lot of archaeological sites only to come away disappointed. This one was different, though. There was something here, something the People could use. She could feel it in her bones, and a Daughter’s instincts never lied.
They crossed Öland Bridge, a six kilometer road connecting Öland Island to the Swedish mainland. Maya brought her attention back to the conversation as Indigo pointed out landmarks in the small villages they passed through. They took the perimeter highway north, then a series of smaller roads inland. Within twenty minutes, a small group of rental cabins appeared on the side of the road. Indigo pulled up beside one and parked.
Dani stepped out of the rental and wrinkled her slim, straight nose. “I thought Sweden was, like, old. This looks like downtown back home.”
“Not everybody can live in medieval castles, Dani,” Indigo said.
They checked in at the main cabin, dropped their luggage off in their separate units, and freshened up in Maya’s room. The cabins weren’t air conditioned. The June heat had driven the interior temperatures to a nearly unbearable level, in spite of the efforts of a single desktop fan placed in each room.
Dani tugged the neckline of her t-shirt away from her chest. “Man, tonight’s gonna be miserable. How do you stand it?”
Indigo smiled, flashing dimples. “We have air conditioning.”
“Spoiled,” Maya said.
Dani groaned. “You’re not gonna tell us one of those ‘good ol’ days’ tales, are you?”
“Maybe later, if you’re really bored,” Maya said drily. “If it makes you feel better, you’ll be spending part of the night watching the camp instead of here sweltering in the heat.”
“She may not need to be at the dig tonight.” Indigo dropped onto the edge of the room’s only bed. “Looters have hit a couple of nearby digs, so we’ve been taking turns staying on site at night. It’s my turn tonight.”
Maya nodded. “Still, I may have Dani do a little recon after dark.”
“She can keep me company, then.”
“Sure,” Dani said. “Soon as I have a good look-see.”
The dig was a short drive from the cabin. Indigo slowed on approach, allowing plenty of time for Maya and Dani to study the outer ring of Sandby borg’s ruins. The crumbling foundations of ancient walls rose from the grass, a long-unneeded protection for the interior buildings. A handful of tents covered tables stacked with tools, plastic and cardboard storage boxes, and computers. A trailer was located on the opposite end of the site, near a small storage shed. Only a handful of people were on site, some engaged in fine digging, others apparently sorting and cataloguing. One young woman sat alone about fifty yards from the main dig in an open, rectangular pit, her bent head and shoulders visible above the earth.
Indigo brought the Volvo to a halt in the graveled parking area next to a handful of other vehicles. The three women got out, and Maya and Dani followed Indigo into the main part of the dig toward the tents. As they approached, two men looked up from their work at one of the tables, one ancient and stooped, the other on the upside of middle age.
The older man retrieved a wooden cane from its resting place against the table and leaned into it as he faced the women. “Indigo, my dear,” he said, his English heavily accented, his sagging features animated under a mop of silver hair. “You’ve brought us quite the treat today.”
“Dr. Lindberg, this is Dr. Maya Bellegarde from the Institute for Early Cultural Studies and her assistant, Daniella Nehring. They’re here to examine the anomalous burial.”
“Of course. I remember. So much excitement here now. The days run together.” Dr. Lindberg gestured to the younger man by his side. “This is my colleague, Dr. James Terhune. I brought him in to consult on that burial.”
“Pleased to meet you.” James grasped Maya’s hand, his own calloused and firm. The warmth of their grip spread up Maya’s arm. Her heart skipped and
her skin tightened, and a delicious flutter of nerves tingled in her abdomen.
The heat generated by the simple touch intrigued her. She studied James from beneath lowered lashes, assessing him carefully. He was taller than her by about four inches, slim and athletic. Intense chocolate brown eyes peered at her out of a thin face with high cheekbones, an aristocratic nose, and a mouth that wasn’t quite wide enough to overpower his other features. He hadn’t shaved in a day or so and his rich brown hair was slightly unkempt. The ends brushed over the collar of an untucked, blue cotton shirt worn over jeans and hiking boots. His hand slid away from hers, creating a warm friction along her palm, and her stomach jumped.
“Likewise.” Maya tucked her hands into the pockets of her cargo pants, curling her fingers around the heat lingering on her palm. “We’re anxious to see the site.”
Dr. Lindberg pointed the end of his cane toward the grave. “Come, then. James and I shall escort you. Indigo, would you be a dear and set up refreshments for our guests?”
“Certainly, Dr. Lindberg.”
“Supper tonight,” Maya said.
Indigo nodded and bowed. “Yes, Maetyrm. Dani, gentlemen.” She pivoted and strode toward the trailer, her movements efficient and precise.
Dr. Lindberg smiled fondly after Indigo. “Such a good girl, always so helpful. Very bright, too.”
“I’ve found her to be so myself,” Maya agreed mildly. The girl he’d just sent on errands was twice his age, though Maya had a feeling that wouldn’t matter one whit to Dr. Lindberg, even if she could tell him. His fondness would undoubtedly color his opinion and he’d still think of Indigo as a young woman and not the century-and-a-half years old warrior she was.