by Lisa Shea
We all deserved love.
We all deserved compassion.
Marc pressed a kiss on my forehead and turned to Alex, on his other side.
Her eyes were shining.
Her fingers were touching, just almost, the ghostly figure by her side.
For Josephine was here with us. Along with Anna and Sarah. We’d worried they would vanish away after the ceremony, or after our long, long night of discussion over several bottles of Chateauneuf du Pape afterwards, amidst laughter and tears, revelations and memories.
But they’d stayed. They’d stayed and talked, remained and just enjoyed. Sometimes Sarah and Anna were at the B&B’s library, enjoying a game of chess. Or sometimes they were lounging in Josephine’s living room, where the Bryane altar to merchandising was slowly giving way to a more balanced mixture of natural herbs and local sculptures.
But today it was about commemorating the past and looking forward to the future. To building a better tomorrow where every person would be heard. Where every life would be treasured.
Gertie finished her presentation, and the space resounded in applause. Prudence gave her a tender hug and a kiss on the cheek. It took them several minutes to get through the handshakes and hugs, but at last they came over to us.
Gertie asked me, “What did Anna think? She lived through it, after all. Women were accused of causing her harm.”
I looked over.
Anna’s face was shining with emotion. She nodded.
I smiled to Gertie. “You touched us all.”
She looked over to Marc. “And you, young man. You’re staying, right? Your sister is going to need help replanting that herb garden.”
I held my breath. We hadn’t talked about it. I hadn’t wanted to raise the subject. Everything was just too perfect, and the thought of him saying no …
He smiled and looked down at me. “If that’s all right with you …”
I whispered, “All right?”
He chuckled. “I’ll take that for a yes.”
I leaned into him, and it was as if the sun eased from the clouds. As if golden light showered down on us.
Bryane wandered over, his eyes twinkling. “Seems like business has quadrupled over the past few days. Suddenly everyone wants to get their hands on Salem memorabilia.”
Prudence chuckled. “Maybe that will take the sting out of us making Elizabeth’s drawings available to the public for free. They belong to the whole world. Those stories are part of our culture’s history. Something we should all learn from.”
Gertie teased, “And not for making commemorative Bryane plates for only $49.99.”
He put up his hands. “Hey, I was only going to charge $39.99 for those.”
Cassandra giggled. The coins at her hip jingled as she moved.
There was a movement at the far end of the drizzled cemetery.
I turned to look.
A ghostly form was trudging away from us along the glistening street. She wore a thick, heavy cloak and was hunched in as if against a bitter cold.
Marc turned his head. “What is it?”
I blinked.
She was gone.
“Did you see her?”
He shook his head. “See who?”
I stared against the rain, but she was nowhere to be seen. It was as if she’d simply vanished.
Marc asked, “Amber?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. My eyes are just playing tricks on me.”
Gertie smiled. “Well, in that case, let’s all go back home to celebrate. I bought a new chess set for the girls, and I want to see how they like it.”
Anne and Sarah squealed in delight, and Josephine wrapped a fond arm around her daughter.
I looked up at Marc, and a deep-seated peace entered my soul.
Everything would be all right.
Thank you for reading Spirits in the Material World. The next book should be released soon!
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Dedication
Heart-felt thanks to:
Ruth, who always provides feedback and support for all my projects.
To members of my Sutton writing group and Boston writing group who provide valuable feedback.
To Sue Roulusonis, Stacy Mary, and Linda Roisum.
To my boyfriend, Bob, who has supported me in my dreams for over twenty years.
And most of all, to my loyal fans on Facebook, Twitter, GoodReads, and other platforms, who provide valuable feedback and enthusiastic encouragement. Together we help make a difference!
About the Author
I adore Salem. I live only a short distance away and have been there many, many times. My ancestor was Ann Foster who perished in jail during the Salem Witch Trials. Ann was a grandmother at the time and while she originally professed her innocence, once her daughter and granddaughter were accused Ann jumped in to protect them. She admitted that she was the witch and should be locked up. She was 75 years old. After a few months of the bone-soaking damp, unhealthy conditions in the jail, she passed away.
It’s worthwhile to note that the initial Pilgrims fled to the Americas in order to live a life of religious freedom – and they immediately began to persecute others for the ways in which they followed a life path. Many of the first judicial acts in the new colonies were to expel the Quakers, to drive off other groups, and to tamp down anyone who was ‘different’. During the years from that first apocryphal step on Plimoth Rock in 1620 to the first accusations of witchcraft in 1692, the seeds were being sown.
A key message which draws me to the pagan and Wiccan religions is that of acceptance of all. Every person has worth. Every person has value. We need to support the weak amongst us and share our strength. We are all part of the same cosmic energy. We are all made of stardust. In the blink of an eye, we will all return there.
I support battered women’s shelters.
Free Books
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