BREAKING CURSED BONDS

by Elisabeth Zguta

  She turned her gaze to the other side of the room, pleased that Jeremy hadn’t noticed her distraction. He was busy talking with the owners, and complimenting them for their wonderful restoration efforts with the home. He walked back across the room and took her arm.

  “Enjoying this old place?” he said.

  Emilie nodded, reassured by his kindness. Jeremy led her to the terrace, where they would have afternoon tea in the hedged courtyard. Emilie sat down in a garden chair and unfolded and straightened out a tourist map she had taken from the lobby. She studied it, searching for walking directions to the cathedral. Keeping busy helped her to stay focused instead of being absorbed by the life forces haunting the place.

  The sun was warm, so Emilie pulled her hair up away from her face to keep cool. She raised her face toward the sky with closed eyes, to let the sun soak into her skin for a moment. Ignoring Jeremy for the moment, she knew he was watching her. He finally turned and pulled out his phone. Emilie heard the buzz of the dial tone. Jeremy called Father Eddie and asked about his connections in Bordeaux, then chuckled softly at Eddie’s response.

  He finished the call and disrupted Emilie’s meditation. “Father Eddie knows a deacon from the nearby cathedral. They were friends from seminary years ago.”

  “He’s our rabbit’s foot. We’re lucky he’s helping with this part of the trip,” she said.

  “How about we contact the deacon later? Let’s take a day off,” he said.

  Emilie was more than happy with that plan.

  They began their day by exploring the nearby public gardens, and then ventured into the city streets to enjoy the sights. They had a romantic and elegant dinner in the French bistro Jean Ramet, located near the River Garonne. They were served a seasonal meal of bright red peppers and dark green beans infused with spices, accompanied by a lively local wine. The area was famous for great wines. They enjoyed an evening stroll after dinner, and then ambled back to their room, where they retreated for a romantic night together, and then a restful night’s sleep.

  The next morning they woke early and wandered down to the hotel’s long gallery for breakfast. The morning light bounced glittering sunbeams that shined off the three crystal chandeliers that hung from the high ceiling. Emilie watched the colored reflections playing on the white tablecloth, dazzled, and forgot all about eating her breakfast. Lost in a cloud of whimsy, of Jeremy running through a field with her as the warm sun soaked into their skin, she dreamed.

  “Em, eat up. We have a long day ahead of us, you need the energy.”

  Jeremy pulled her out of the fantasy. They were served omelets, fruit, and croissants with their juice and coffee. Soon, they were ready to start another day’s journey.

  They walked a few blocks to the St Andre Cathedral, a church of varied styles. The front, referred to as the Royal Gate, was built in the thirteenth century and constructed in front of what remained of the original Romanesque edifice. The steeples were taller on either side of the entrance, trailing high into the sky, slimming as they reached the top. The sides were from a later construction, finished in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, and decorated with gargoyles designed to protect the place from evil. The north entrance had a high, large center window that looked like a lace doily filled with glass.

  This older center doorway was grand, with floral details in the stone that arched up toward the spires. Passing through the large wooden doors, they met the deacon in the entry. A stout man dressed in black robes with red sashes, he was polite but nervous as he spoke to Emilie and Jeremy in English, explaining the church was busy this time of year, due to Bordeaux’s International Organ Festival. It was to begin shortly. The best organists from all over Europe attended every year. Since they were expecting a crowd, he suggested that they go directly to the old cemetery.

  “Father Edward already called and explained what you’re looking for, so I searched the records and, although there is no mention of Dominique in the files, I did find something. The oldest known de Gourgues family members from this church were laid to rest in a very old cemetery, in the outskirts of the city.”

  He handed them a hand-drawn map with directions for how to find the old cemetery. “Take this, and I hope you find the answers you’re seeking.”

  The deacon wished them luck, then made the sign of the cross and blessed them. Jeremy and Emilie returned to their parked car and sped down the roadway, heading west, away from the city’s center.

  “Okay, follow Rue Georges Bonnae. Look, there’s a cemetery on the left,” she said.

  “That can’t be it, we still have quite a ways to go.”

  “Right. Okay, follow this road, it turns into Avenue d’Ares.” They traveled ten more miles and ended up on D213. “After Passage de Marchegay turn left, that’s right down this street,” Emilie directed.

  “Was that a left or right?” he quibbled.

  “A left, smartass. Yes, now another left.” They followed the directions until they reached their destination, and parked the car. They walked for a mile and found the spot. It was a sparse area with no houses nearby, and block walls fenced off sections along the road. Hidden to the street with overgrown bushes, almost invisible, was a very old church graveyard, tucked away from all the city turmoil.

  They found an entrance and walked down the old time-forgotten road, now so overgrown with grass that it more closely resembled a path than an actual road. To either side lay graves, the weather-worn headstones cracked, some just lying flat on the ground partially covered with moss, others barely distinguishable. Crowded together, it looked more like a potter’s field of pauper’s graves than a respectable cemetery.

  The road was lined with big old trees with roots bumping into the gravestones. Lilac bushes were in full bloom, now reaching high into the sky from many years of growth. Oddly, this old cemetery filled with decrepit stones seemed peaceful as the sun filtered through the tree branches, bringing serenity to the place.

  The trail ended at an iron gate that was tilted off its hinges and half stuck in the ground, buried in the dirt that had accumulated over time.

  “Emilie, can you climb over the stone gate post without hurting yourself?”

  “Please give me some credit. I climb higher to reach the horses I ride!”

  She laughed the remark off, and felt his regret for mentioning it. Clambering over the gate post they found themselves in an even older section of the cemetery, confirmed by the dated stones. Larger family stones carved of marble filled the central area. Mausoleums fortified with massive doors crafted of wood and iron pins established the perimeter of the overgrown field, keeping the dead in and the living out. It reminded Emilie of the cemeteries in New Orleans, filled with grand statues and graves, only this church plot was definitely forgotten, neglected and overgrown with brambles, wild grass, weeds, and thorny bushes.

  “Ouch! Great, just great, this isn’t going to be an easy feat, walking through all this! And trying to read the stones at the same time!” Emilie said.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Just a thorn, is all.” She pulled out the barb and sucked her thumb, tasting her own blood, as she thought about the spirits that now dwelled here. They had all been alive once, too.

  Jeremy picked up a stick, long and strong, a perfect hiking staff. He used it to push back the overgrowth, making a small path they could walk through without too much trouble.

  “Keep looking as best you can, try to make out any names on the headstones. We’ll find it here somewhere. According to the deacon, all the old graves of the wealthier families are here. Chances are the de Gourgues family of those days had a larger mausoleum, seeing as they were one of the most prominent of the day.”

  “That makes sense,” Emilie said. “Let’s start with the larger ones first to save time.”

  Jeremy pointed toward the largest mausoleum in the old churchyard. A statue of an angel stood on each side. The one to the left held a cross and the other’s hands were folded in prayer, both car
ved in white marble. The mausoleum snuggled into a slight hill, the ground protecting its rear like a sheath made of earth and grass. The wall was crumbling. An intricately carved wooden door was at its entrance. Its massive thickness kept it from decay, although the dark corners exposed to persistent shade had begun to soften. Shady moss and ground vines covered the tomb and permeated an earthy smell.

  As they walked closer, the illusive inscription became salient. The name engraved above the doorway on the front facade, although weathered and stained from years of exposure, clearly read ‘de Gourgues’. Jeremy stopped thrashing the pathway, and leaned on the staff.

  “Do you see that?” Emilie stood motionless, her finger pointing up to the inscribed name. She turned and looked at Jeremy. He returned her gaze and smiled, then he turned away for a moment, and gave Emilie a quiet moment.

  Overwhelmed with a sense of belonging, hot tears stung the corners of her eyes and gently rolled down her cheeks. She wiped them away with the back of her hand, and turned away. Emilie felt providence, astounded with the site. It was her family, her descendants, her history. How many of my ancestors are buried here, forgotten in time, she wondered. Flooded with emotion, she stared straight ahead in deep reflection.

  Suddenly, spirits overpowered her mind, and her body turned into a pathway for rushing streams of energy. She heard the voices, and sensed the echoes of yesteryear’s emotions. They assaulted her with pain, anger, and happiness, all at once. The vibes filled her mind so quickly she was unable to hold onto her own thoughts.

  Emilie was stunned by the multitude of voices reaching out to her. Her body jerked, seized by the temperaments of the spirits, and she opened her mouth wide but was unable to mutter a word, only strange sounds gurgled. Inside herself, she screamed and pushed, making way for her own mind to take control again. Emilie used every ounce of strength to regain her reason.

  Jeremy noticed the change. He rushed to her side and grabbed her arm. Immediately his strength radiated into her, and restored her balance. They stood in front of the gravesite, still for a moment.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  His brow was furrowed, and she realized this kind of episode must be scary for him. She was thankful he tried so hard to understand, but he’d never fully comprehend the bloodcurdling fear and emotional trauma that hung in this place. They needed to get this done quickly, before she collapsed again from the haunted spirits that resided here. She drew in a deep breath.

  “I’m fine. We need to finish this now.”

  Emilie struggled to make sense of the past uncovered so far: the tribe, the ceremony, the chief and the captain, she and Jeremy had brought all of that here, carried it to this place. She knew she had to finish this. Looking up, she saw Jeremy looking back at her.

  “I’m more than worried about you,” he said. He stood beside her, patient, caring, and lovingly faithful. She knew him, as if they had been soulmates together for eternity. His face reflected his tenderness; strength radiated from him and recharged her resolve. He was saving her life and he didn’t even know it.

  “Thank you so much for being here with me. All this curse business is bizarre, I never could have done this without you. I just want you to know I love you dearly. And I am fine.”

  Jeremy smiled back.

  “Good. I love you, too. So, right, let’s get this over with as quickly as we can.”

  He used the staff to clear the remaining weeds leading to the door of the crypt. Ferns and small trees sprouted from the crevices in the building. The mausoleum stood ignored for centuries, not even a lock on the door to show that anyone cared for the contents of the tomb. No glass in the windows, just tall and narrow openings to let in minimal light.

  Yanking at the old rusted iron latch, Jeremy pulled and tugged until the door started to budge within the weather-swollen doorframe. Slowly he opened the door, gaining purchase with each try, until there was enough space for him to squeeze through. Once inside, he pushed the door out until it was half open and some light exposed the inside wall. An unpleasant earthly smell escaped from the tomb, released from the enclosed vacuum of time. Looking back at Emilie, Jeremy said, “Here we go.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  They entered the tomb together. Regret spiked through Emilie. It took only a moment for her to understand it wasn’t her own emotion she felt, but the spirits from the tomb.

  On the far side, a crevasse carved into the wall held an altar, once used but now only crumbling pieces of stone. Compelled to go over, she walked to the corner breathing in the stale, muggy air. She covered her face with her sleeve and adjusted to the heavy atmosphere. Emilie bent down and picked up a piece of rubble.

  Waves of energy emitted from near the old dais, where superstitious beliefs lingered. It was difficult for her to think in this space, assaulted by continuous emotional turmoil that endured through time.

  She returned to Jeremy and inspected the side walls for a trace of the name Dominique, or for anything with the date 1593 etched in it. Lined on the walls were large marble tile squares. Each hoary square had a sullied brass metal plaque etched with a name. Jeremy groped the wall with his fingers, brushing away the dirt and vines to read the plaques.

  “Emilie, look. Dominique de Gourgues—we found it!” Jeremy said.

  Emilie noticed his weariness as she returned to his side. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “I’m fine. Let’s get this done.” He took off the backpack and pulled out a small crowbar. Perspiration from his exertions dripped down his face and back. Every move inside this space was amplified by the lack of fresh air. Jeremy firmly gripped the bar in his wet hands. His breathing was heavy, so he took a few deep breaths, adjusting to the room’s environment. Turning his attention back to the wall with determination, using the tool, he leveraged it into a space between two abutting tiles.

  Carefully but forcefully, he pushed with his weight until the stone popped out. Jeremy dropped the bar. It clanged to the floor and then he grabbed the heavy marble tile, absorbing its weight with his legs before it could smash to the ground. He laid the heavy marble stone down and dragged it across the hard floor. Returning their attention to the wall, Jeremy and Emilie moved in closer to scrutinize the space. The opened grave exposed a thick, tarnished metal handle.

  Some kind of force was released into the space, joining the other lingering spirits already hovering. A stream of emotions whirlpooled into rivers of feelings and flooded Emilie in a rush. Her energy drained away in the tide as she struggled with the haunting waves that threatened to drown her. She grabbed Jeremy’s arm again for strength.

  They looked at each other. Emilie realized he was in trouble, too. With questioning eyes, he held up a finger to let her know he needed a moment. He panted for more air, and grabbed hold of his knees as he leaned forward to catch his breath.

  “I’m not sure what’s in here, but it’s got to be what we’ve been looking for,” he gasped. “Are you ready?”

  The walls closed in on her, but she pushed back the feeling and took control. “Ready when you are, let’s do this quick,” she said.

  They took hold of the oxidized handle, its edges rusted, brittle, and rough. Shaves of iron dust littered the floor, as they moved the handle up for a good grip. Pulling hard, like tugging a file drawer filled with lead, the tomb slid open. Slowly it pulled forward, crowding the crypt with a cloud of dust. Gagging at the smell, they covered their faces and tried to acclimate to the transformation.

  “Are you okay?” Jeremy choked.

  Waving her hands in the air, Emilie tried to breathe. The dust was smothering her. “I’m fine, are you? This stench is so strong.”

  “Let’s give it a minute,” he said.

  He grabbed the sleeve of her cotton blouse, now smeared with dirt, and led her out of the mausoleum. They coughed out the putrid air, and took a few deep breaths to clear their lungs.

  “My God, the air in there is so thick,” Jeremy said. He coughed some more.<
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  “Not only is it stifling, but I sensed so much turmoil in there. It’s like swimming against a tide of black doom.”

  Jeremy watched her as she took in deep breaths and cleared her lungs. Suddenly she was embarrassed, afraid he wasn’t pleased with what he saw. Had he noticed the stress on her face, and in her eyes? Noting his obvious concern, she smiled, hoping he’d be comforted. He gave a smirk back as he took in a few more deep breaths of fresh air before he spoke again.

  “Okay, let’s try this again,” he said. He pulled two disposable teal colored masks from the backpack. “But first put on this pollen mask for some protection.”

  “You’re quite the boy scout. You seem to have everything in that bag.”

  They snapped the elastic strap around their heads and trudged back into the death den to finish their awful task. The dust had settled a bit, but a heavy smell still permeated the space. The narrow windows on either side of the doorway offered little light and even less air flow. Looking into the box, they saw the petrified corpse. The conditions had preserved the captain’s body like a mummy.

  Emilie was curious and reached in to touch the discolored cloak that wrapped the leathered corpse of the captain. It crumbled under the slight touch of her fingers, so dry from years of confinement. Some bones penetrated through the frayed wrap, now visible between the cracked folds of the dried cloth. A brooch made of gold caught Emilie’s eye, as it reflected the single sunbeam that peeked through a small gap in the doorway. It was etched with a design that looked like a coat of arms, and adorned with colorful gemstones.

  “This trinket must have been important,” Jeremy said as he carefully removed the treasure. “Emilie, here, take this. It’s an heirloom, you should keep it. There’s no sense to leave it here to burn. It wasn’t part of the ceremony. Take it, put it in the backpack.”

  He handed her the jewel. She took it in her shaking hands, repelled. “I’m not sure I want it. I’ll feel like I robbed the grave.”

  Jeremy tilted his head. “We are robbing a grave.” He smiled and tapped her shoulder playfully, trying to relieve the tension. “Just kidding. Relax, okay? Really, if it is left here, it will only be destroyed by the fire. This is the one piece of history we can salvage. Besides, this can be proof to your father.”