BREAKING CURSED BONDS

by Elisabeth Zguta

  “I’m not sure we have time to get involved with that kind of pedigree paperwork,” Jeremy said. His lips were tight, his face worried.

  The priest looked up at Emilie and spoke again.

  “Father Lefevre suggests there may be some burial records available in Bordeaux that may help us,” she said.

  “You know, Em, over the years these places have been riddled with so many wars and destruction, that lost records and artifacts are unfortunately a commonplace occurrence. It’s possible that Dominique de Gourgues was buried with his family, even though his name isn’t listed. I wish Uncle Thad was here, he was a master at this kind of research, his little mysteries.” His smile returned.

  “Well, we’d better be going then, we have work to do,” Emilie said.

  “Adieu Révérend. Merci pour votre aide.” Father Lefevre smiled and bowed his head, just slightly. Then he raised his arms and gave them his blessing, with the sign of the cross. They crossed themselves, smiling, and took their leave.

  “His last advice was to visit the Basilica of Saint Martin before leaving for Bordeaux, just in case. It sounds like a wonderful church,” she said.

  Emilie felt hopeful. They headed for the Basilica of Saint Martin. If their luck continued, they might find something in the ruins. If not, she still held out hope for Bordeaux.

  As they walked away from his office, Emilie noticed a man who looked a lot like the guy who had shadowed her at the university the other day, and on the trolley in New Orleans. She stared, trying to get a good look. He noticed her, turned around, and was gone. Your imagination is going wild again, she said to herself.

  Emilie drew in a deep breath, and exhaled.

  “Do you think this could work?” she asked Jeremy.

  “I do. Let’s check out the Basilica of Saint Martin, just to see if our luck holds out,” he replied. “We might find something in the ruins. If not, we’ll go straight to Bordeaux.”

  A chill run up her spine, still feeling as if they were being followed. She looked over her shoulder, but no one seemed interested in them, so she dismissed it. Everything that had been happening, visiting Mr. Labue and Miss Boniverre, conjuring Voodoo hex bags, translating the journal, and then the burning of the bones in Florida, it was all taking a toll on her nerves. She didn’t trust the reliability of her senses any longer, after they had been so heightened and taxed by recent events. She hoped she was right, and she and Jeremy were truly in no danger.

  They walked through the vibrant city of Tours, filled with colorful shops and displays of beautiful art. They meandered until they arrived at the front entrance to the new basilica via Rue des Halles. The facade of this church was different from Saint Gatien’s. The Saint Martin’s Basilica was built with a Neo-Byzantine influence, ornate but an entirely different type of appeal. Built over the original site of St Martin’s tomb, the original church was now only ruins beyond. Only the tower of the old basilica survived, along with a Renaissance cloister, which was located on the grounds. If the captain had been buried there, the remains would be near the original ruins.

  They walked toward the front entrance. The huge columns on either side of the building were a strong force that supported the bulky strength of the structure. The ornate trim at the edge lent the fortress some ornamental distinction and conveyed the building’s importance. Hopeful, they entered the basilica.

  The interior pillars on either side of the aisle space were massive anchors, and held up the prominent wood-beam ceiling above. The glass windows told the story of Saint Martin in brilliant blue and red colors, a vibrant legacy of miracles. Together, they walked to the front of the church and genuflected with a quick prayer and sign of the cross.

  Emilie noticed that a stream of light from an opening in the center dome above shone down upon Jeremy’s head. His expression looked angelic in the beam. She worried she may be corrupting him with all this curse business, and hoped she wasn’t destined to hell for warping him. He finished with the sign of the cross, and then they left through the back entrance.

  Just beyond the back wall, they noticed the tall old tower at the end of the street, with its crumbling walls and ragged edges. The exposed brick that remained was like a jagged razor edge against the blue spring sky. The rawness of the fragmented structure was softened by the moss and greenery spreading around the base.

  Jeremy let go of her hand. “Search the ground for any hint of a burial structure or evidence of an old cemetery plot or tomb,” he said.

  “There seems to be nothing here.” Emilie walked within the ruin itself, imagining where the original altars and burial vaults might have been. She looked with a keen eye, not exactly sure what she expected to find.

  “Em, over there.” Something had caught Jeremy’s eye, and he pointed across the ruin’s span.

  “What? I don’t see anything.”

  “There, see that piece of cracked marble jutting out from the ground. It’s possible that it’s an old marker.” His face lit with excitement. Jeremy looked around to check for tourists milling about as they both moved closer for a look. He squatted, balancing on his heels, and wiped clean the visible surface, making what was left of the engraved markings more legible.

  “Can you read this?” he asked.

  “I’ll try, but it’s hard to decipher any words.” Emilie looked over his left shoulder and scanned the marks on the stone, but they were smoothed by centuries of weathering, the crevices stained with mildew.

  “Wait a minute,” he said. “Let me pull away some of this ground covering the bottom of the stone. There, this part isn’t as worn.” He brushed more dirt away with his hand, revealing inscribed words on the section of the thick marble.

  “Are there more words below?” Emilie asked.

  “Yes.” He leaned in for a closer look.

  Emilie’s anticipation rose. She was surprised when the name appeared, despite it being the reason for their journey. “Dominique de Gourgues,” she said aloud. She froze for a moment, staring at the engraved name. Her throat tightened and tears threatened. The idea had seemed impractical from the start, but maybe this was her destiny, her part to play in the de Gourgues story. She glanced at Jeremy, and noticed that his gaze was on her. She leaned down and kissed him. “Thank you.”

  Appearing pleased, Jeremy took off the backpack he carried, opened it, and pulled out a trowel.

  “Do you see anyone around?” he asked.

  “You’re safe. No prying eyes.”

  He cleared more ground from the marble slab. A date appeared, along with the French inscription sculpted into the hard, cold stone. Emilie lightly stroked her fingers over the etched words and read them softly to Jeremy as she translated:

  ’In honor of a man who lived helping others in their search for freedom and liberty before God, and a spirit brother with men of the new world.’

  “Is this a grave? It sounds more like a marker recognizing his efforts aiding the Huguenots in America,” she said.

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Jeremy said. He looked around and noticed a group of tourists who had entered the area, standing about twenty yards from them. He pointed at them. Emilie looked up and nodded.

  “Discretion is impossible right now, with so many tourists,” she said. Her gaze spanned the lawn, and she saw a man standing there watching them. She stared back at him, trying to determine if he was the same man she thought she’d seen repeatedly since the trolley in New Orleans, or if he just reminded her of him. It couldn’t be. She pulled on Jeremy’s sleeve and pointed, but when he looked up the man was gone.

  “You have a thing for my sleeves, or what? What is it?” he asked.

  “Never mind, he’s gone.”

  “Who’s gone?”

  “Just a man. He was standing on the other side of the lawn, it doesn’t matter.”

  “How are we going to do this with so many people strolling around? We aren’t even sure if this is a grave. As you said, it could be a monument or plaque of some sort.
Do you have any ideas?”

  “Maybe we should ask for permission from the church? Father Lefevre seemed reasonable, maybe the same will hold true of this basilica’s priest, too?”

  “I don’t know if we dare,” Jeremy said. “What if they turn us down? I have a better idea. How about I come back at night when it’s quiet. Don’t worry, I won’t get caught, promise. I have no desire to spend any time in a French jail.” He laughed at the idea, but Emilie didn’t think it was funny.

  “I think we will come back tonight is more likely.”

  Ignoring her retort, Jeremy started digging beneath the stone marker. “I’m checking if there is even room for a grave underneath.” A moment later, “I found something hard. It might be a stone box for holding remains. More likely, it’s part of the old foundation.”

  He pulled his hand out of the hole and brushed away the dirt as he continued. “For centuries, family plots had one large stone flush to the ground bearing the family name and crest. One person’s corpse was buried right on top of another’s. The beginnings of the concept of ‘family togetherness.’”

  Emilie made a face as if revolted, then smiled. “But that couldn’t be the case for the de Gourgues family because the plot is in Bordeaux according to the records. I think we need to change our plans.”

  Jeremy stopped for a moment, and squinted his eyes with his head raised just a bit. He looked adorable when thinking, she thought.

  “Okay, I agree this is probably a monument rather than the actual grave. I hope his remains were sent to his family’s plot in Bordeaux, because that’s all we’ve got. Sometimes local written records have more information than what’s listed in digital archives. We should check down there, it’s not that far from here.”

  Emilie nodded her agreement. “Yes, it’s best to be certain before we start a major dig here. Besides, I don’t have any particular feelings about this spot.”

  “I agree it’s better to be sure.” He chuckled softly with relief before a look of confusion crossed his face.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “These feelings you get when you know something is right, is that something that usually happens to you?” he asked.

  Emilie cleared her throat. “Not always, but often. I’m an empath. I can’t read minds or anything like that, but I can feel people’s emotions, instead. I get a sense of what they’re going through. The only problem is, I most often don’t know the reason for the emotion in the first place. It drives me crazy not knowing why I am feeling something. At times it’s downright painful, and it’s hard to keep my spirits up when I’m near depressed people. I’ve been trying to learn how to block negative things. But, other times it’s a little different. I can just tell when something is off, or if it’s in sync. Just like I know you were meant for me.” She looked up at him, grinning, and searched his face for a response. She felt like a fool until he smiled back at her.

  “Jeremy, when you touch me, I feel like I’m in heaven.”

  He leaned in and kissed her. “That’s a nice thought.”

  Jeremy gathered the tools, stood, and pulled Emilie up too. They left and headed back toward the hotel.

  Emilie didn’t notice whether the man still lurked nearby spying, she was too wrapped up with Jeremy right now.

  They stopped at a wonderful restaurant on the way back to the hotel, where they shared a French dinner with a delicious local wine at a restaurant off Place Plumereau. The evening turned magical. They enjoyed swapping stories with each other, as they talked away the evening. The past two days of this trek had given them the opportunity to become familiar with each other’s joys and heartaches. The more they discovered, the closer they became.

  “Em, I can’t wait for you to meet my family. They’re going to love you. I think my kid brother William will fall in love with you first.”

  Jeremy’s face lit up when he told stories of his family. Emilie wanted to meet them all. It was clear that family was important to him, that was one of the things she loved most about him.

  “As soon as we get this mess over with, I think a trip to meet your folks will be perfect,” she said.

  Jeremy beamed. “I hope you like Surrey. I loved growing up there. Maybe someday we’ll have kids of our own.” He glanced at her and watched for a response.

  Her face burned with embarrassment, not knowing what to say. His warmth was so overpowering she couldn’t help but smile back. Maybe there is hope for a normal life and a family of our own. Still, she had doubts that shadowed her and the idea that she could ever have that kind of happiness.

  Emilie remembered her younger years before Mother died, which held many good memories, and she’d never let them go. She shared a few stories with Jeremy. He listened, and laughed, and made her world feel warm again.

  “Excuse me,” Jeremy said as he wiped his mouth with the napkin, “I’ll be right back.” He left the table. Emilie sat a moment glowing in her happiness.

  “Hello, Miss de Gourgues.” An unfamiliar baritone voice addressed her, abruptly pulling her from her reverie. Emilie looked up. The speaker was a tall, dark-haired man with an olive complexion, a straight and pointed nose, and peering eyes. He was well dressed, in a fashionable suit. He extended his hand.

  “Do I know you?” she said.

  “We met once, many years ago. I’m Tom Bennett, my son was your brother’s roommate in college.”

  She smiled even though she felt as if she should start running. “Yes, that’s right. How are you, Mr. Bennett? Visiting France for pleasure, or on business?” She took his extended hand. A sudden uneasiness filled her. She watched his eyes grow dark. He grinned at her, but the smile never touched his eyes.

  “I am always doing business, Miss de Gourgues. I noticed you sitting here, and wanted to stop by and give my regards. Your brother Robert said you were upset these recent days, over a family curse?”

  Emilie pulled her hand free, startled by the mention of her brother, who was obviously sharing family confidences with a stranger. Then she remembered Michelle expressing concern about Jackson’s father. Something was definitely amiss. She recovered her manners.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Bennett, you have caught me off guard. You spoke with Robert about me? Why in heaven would he do that?”

  His smile morphed into disdain. Emilie swallowed the lump in her throat. He leaned in closer.

  “Perhaps I’ve spoken out of turn; you’ll have to forgive my presumptuousness.” There was no apology in his tone. “It was an unexpected pleasure to see you. I’m sure we’ll run into each again soon, Miss de Gourgues.” He bowed his head and touched her hand again.

  Immediately, an evil like nothing else she had ever experienced before, poured from him. She jerked her hand away. He bowed his head again, still leering unapologetically, and then walked away without another word.

  Jeremy walked past him on his return to the table. “Who’s that?” he asked, clearly reading the disturbance on her face. “What did he want? Are you okay?”

  Emilie closed her eyes for a moment, and recovered when Jeremy placed his hand on hers. “I’m fine now that you’re here. That was Tom Bennett. His son went to college with Robert.”

  “So, what did he want? How did he upset you?” he said.

  “No worries, he just stopped to say hello. It’s just that he seems so . . . evil. When I held his hand, I felt threatened. Never mind, it’s crazy. All is well, so why should I try to jinx things?” she said.

  Jeremy got up and helped Emilie out of her chair. “Come on, let’s go rest a while. Tomorrow’s another big day.”

  They walked back to the hotel hand in hand. Emilie wondered what was going on in Memphis while they were gone, how her father was holding up, and what her brother was up to. Bumping into Tom Bennett had jarred her resolve, and made her anxious to get the task finished. She hoped Bordeaux would hold the answers.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The next day, Emilie and Jeremy rented a car and drove to Bordeaux.
Jeremy navigated traffic on the A10, while Emilie researched on her laptop. Centuries ago, the de Gourgues family had been aristocrats and so were most likely affiliated with St Andre’s Cathedral, the church most prominent in the years of Dominique’s life. Entering the city limits, they parked at a reserved spot and found the Petit Hotel Labottiere, a unique bed and breakfast. Emilie managed a last-minute reservation for one of the two guest rooms. She wanted an out-of-the-way place just in case they had been followed.

  They entered the front doorway, and right off noticed what looked like a priceless wall clock in the entry hall, made of dark wood and exquisitely accented with gold leaf. Emilie had already learned that Jeremy loved looking at antiques, he said it reminded him of his treasure hunts with Uncle Thaddeus. Emilie was charmed by the place too, but not by the treasures. Instead, the spirits in the old converted mansion greeted her.

  After signing the register, they retreated to their room and took their leisure, settling into the small suite that was quaint and homey, a refreshing change from the ordinary chain hotel or the fuss of more prestigious accommodations. They both agreed that a little downtime was in order before they trekked across the city looking for the grave.

  The owner gave them a tour of the mansion, telling them stories as they examined the antiques throughout the house. There was a large harp displayed in the salon and many odd paintings hung on the plastered walls, eclectic pieces of furniture throughout.

  Emilie began feeling emotions that still emanated from the room. Centuries of heartache lingered from abandoned lovers and fevered revenge, as well as loathing that left a residue time hadn’t been able to wash away. She didn’t enjoy these kind of interruptions, and pushed them from her mind.