THE
CARNELIAN
LEGACY
CHERYL KOEVOET
Copyright © 2013 Cheryl L. Koevoet
Author Photo: K. Evenhouse
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ISBN: 978-1-4497-8089-0 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4497-8090-6 (hc)
ISBN: 978-1-4497-8088-3 (e)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2012924219
WestBow Press rev. date: 03/19/2013
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Jacksonville
Chapter 2
Carnelia
Chapter 3
Andresis
Chapter 4
Arrie
Chapter 5
Darian
Chapter 6
Monsters
Chapter 7
Truce
Chapter 8
Abbadon
Chapter 9
Savino
Chapter 10
Confessions
Chapter 11
Proposals
Chapter 12
Departure
Chapter 13
Ripples
Chapter 14
Frozen
Chapter 15
Conversations
Chapter 16
Apprehensions
Chapter 17
Crocetta
Chapter 18
Encounters
Chapter 19
Beauriél
Chapter 20
Dowry
Chapter 21
Intrigues
Chapter 22
Celino
Chapter 23
Resignation
Chapter 24
Glimpses
Chapter 25
Burials
Chapter 26
Surrogates
Chapter 27
Excursion
Chapter 28
Masquerade
Chapter 29
Disclosure
Chapter 30
Maraya
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
THE
CARNELIAN
LEGACY
In loving memory of my father,
Frank Hettick Jr., who always taught me
that one person can make a difference.
And for my mother, Shirley,
who continues to demonstrate daily
what it means to love unconditionally.
Your beginnings will seem humble,
so prosperous will your future be.
—Job 8:7 (New International Version)
CHAPTER 1
JACKSONVILLE
IT WAS THE LAST place in the world she wanted to be.
Marisa MacCallum wiped away the tears that blurred her vision and stared at the mahogany casket. Maybe he was waiting for them at home. Maybe tomorrow she would wake up to find it had all been a dream. But it wasn’t a dream.
It was a horrible nightmare.
Already a week had passed, and still she couldn’t believe he was gone. Her dad’s bright blue eyes and infectious grin were still fresh in her mind. Sure, the doctors had been surprised by how fast the cancer had spread, but they couldn’t have predicted he wouldn’t last another six weeks. His death had taken everyone by surprise and she secretly wondered if he’d just given up in the end.
Somehow, someway, Marisa had to move on. The tall, slender high school graduate had been accepted to the pre-med program at UC Irvine the year before, but when her father’s cancer had appeared, her dreams of becoming a doctor shattered in an instant. She made countless trips to the hospital and tried to keep their home functioning as normally as possible. She’d been so busy managing their household that senior year at South Medford High now seemed like just a blip on the radar.
And she had no clue where her life was headed.
As the bagpiper’s final stanza of “Amazing Grace” melted away into peaceful silence, she dotted her cheeks with a crumpled tissue. It had been his favorite hymn. She leaned back to check on her brother Mark. But his puffy eyes and quivering lip made her feel even worse. Still, no one was going to see her cry.
She heard Uncle Al sniffling next to her. It couldn’t be easy losing a twin, she thought. Now that her dad was gone, she and her brother Mark were the only family the forty-eight-year-old real estate agent still had left. She took her uncle’s hand in hers and gave it a loving squeeze.
Alistair MacCallum glanced down at his niece. She was so much like the sister-in-law he’d lost years ago in a car accident. Before his brother Alan had discovered he had cancer, she’d been a beautiful, bouncy teenager with freckles, long chestnut hair, and hazel eyes that sparkled whenever she dropped the punch line of her latest joke. But almost overnight, Marisa had been thrown into the adult world of hospice care, cooking, cleaning, changing light bulbs and balancing checkbooks. The twinkle had all but disappeared from her eyes and instead they reflected a wisdom that stretched far beyond her years.
Alistair had grown accustomed to losing loved ones in his life, but saying goodbye to his only brother at this stage in his life was unbearable. He had always been highly protective of his brother’s kids, but now that both parents were gone, Alistair was determined to be there for them. He wanted to make sure they still reached for every opportunity that life had to offer them.
“Amen,” said Pastor Holman.
Marisa buttoned her dark wool coat and hurried down the hill toward the parking lot, anxious to avoid her father’s co-workers. Although the staff of Rogue Valley Realty meant well, she just couldn’t stand to hear over and over again what a terrific guy her dad had been.
For the past decade or so, the real estate duo of Alan and Alistair MacCallum had helped several families purchase homes in their sleepy southern Oregon town of Jacksonville. Most of the people in the area even knew the brothers by name. Both of them, but especially Alan MacCallum, were known around town as honest men of integrity and all-around nice guys.
But no amount of kind words could ever bring her father back. And since her dad wasn’t here anymore, Marisa just wanted to get out of the creepy cemetery and never come back.
“Risa! Wait up!” It was Danielle. She had been Marisa’s best friend since third grade. The short brunette with a pixie haircut panted, tried to catch her breath as she studied Marisa’s face with concern.
“Are you leaving already?” Danielle asked.
“Yeah, sorry—I didn’t know that you’d come.”
“I got here late. You okay?”
Marisa shook her head. “I gotta get outta here. Call you later?”
“Sure. And again, I’m really s
orry about your dad.”
“Thanks.”
Marisa hugged her briefly and hurried off toward the parking lot. She slid into the passenger’s side of her uncle’s Land Rover and quickly shut the door. She sunk down in the seat as she scanned the crowds for her uncle and Mark. They must have stopped to talk.
She groaned. They were chatting with Mrs. Finchley. The way that woman liked to talk, they could be there for a while. Marisa wanted to go home. But it wasn’t really home anymore.
Not without Dad.
Minutes later, her uncle and brother finally managed to slip away. Not a word was said as the trio drove down to their historic brick home on the north side of town. The autumn foliage that colored the hills reminded Marisa of her rapidly-approaching eighteenth birthday, but a big celebration was the last thing on her mind.
Uncle Al covered the distance in less than ten minutes and parked the car in the street in front of their house. Mark said nothing as he stepped out onto the curb and loosened his tie. At sixteen, he was already an inch taller than his sister and people who didn’t know better were starting to think he was older.
“I’ll go make us some lunch,” said Uncle Al.
Just as he was unlocking the front door, Marisa spotted her father’s weather-beaten rocking chair on the porch. She bolted up the stairs toward her room and collapsed onto the window seat, burying her face in her arms. A moment later, there was a soft knock at the door.
“Aren’t you gonna eat?” her uncle asked, peeking in.
She wiped her eyes. “I’m not hungry.”
“Risa, you haven’t been eating much lately and I’m startin’ to worry.”
“I’m okay, Uncle Al,” she said, grabbing her jeans.
“Just come and sit with us then.”
“I’m going for a ride. I’ll grab something when I get back.”
“Honey, I don’t think you should be alone so soon after”—he didn’t want to say it—”everything.”
“I’m fine. I just need some space.”
“Well, if you’re sure...” he trailed off. He studied her for a moment. “I’ll make some sandwiches and pasta salad and stick them in the fridge for later.”
“Thanks.”
He stopped. “Oh, and Marisa?”
“Yeah?”
“I hope you’re not planning to ride up into those woods above Gold Hill. You know your dad didn’t want either of you two up there by yourself.”
“She’s always going up there to ride,” Mark said, barging in.
“Not always,” she said. She glared at her brother. “C’mon, Uncle Al, everyone knows it’s just a bunch of superstitious nonsense.”
“It’s not nonsense. And don’t think for one minute I’m gonna let you do all the things your dad didn’t let you do,” he said, wagging a finger at her. “You two may think that you’re adults, but you’re still underage and still under my protection.”
“You don’t have to worry—I’m not seven anymore,” Marisa said. “Besides, I’ve got my phone with me.” She gathered her long, wavy hair into a ponytail and grabbed her riding boots.
“I know you’re not,” Uncle Al replied quietly. “In fact, you remind me more and more of your mother every day.”
And every bit just as stubborn, he thought.
“Why don’t you two go eat your lunch?” Marisa suggested.
Mark shrugged and headed down the stairs.
Uncle Al hesitated as he studied her reflection in the mirror. Maybe she was right. Maybe all she needed was a little bit of space. He shook his head and closed the door behind him, still muttering to himself.
She grabbed her One Direction concert tee out of the laundry basket and slipped it over her head. She pulled on her track sweatshirt and skinny jeans and rummaged in the closet for her riding cape. It had belonged to her mother years ago, and she always wore it whenever she went out on Siena. Danielle thought the cape was frumpy, but Marisa didn’t care. It was warm and comfortable. She threw it around her shoulders and grabbed the leather satchel she’d bought for ten bucks at a flea market in Portland.
“Ugh,” she groaned. The battery was drained on her iPhone. She dug her solar charger out from under some papers on her desk and slipped it in its vinyl case.
She turned to leave but stopped when she spotted the purple book that shared shelf space with her track ribbons and equestrian trophies. Her father had given it to her the same day he had been diagnosed with stage four prostate cancer, but she’d carelessly tossed it aside. It had meant something special to him, so the least she could do was read it.
Marisa grabbed the book, dusted it off, and shoved it into her satchel as her feet flew down the creaky old stairs. “I’ll be back in time for dinner,” she called to her uncle. She snatched her riding gloves lying neatly on the coat rack.
“Be careful!”
“I always am.”
She jogged down to the beat-up Mustang her father had bought over in Coos Bay the year before, hoping they could fix it up. But with all the doctors’ visits and chemotherapy eating up every spare moment, there just never seemed to be enough time. She loved that beat-up ride and never wanted to get rid of it.
She turned the key in the ignition. The low rumble of the Mustang broke the silence of their sleepy neighborhood as it crawled up toward the north side of town. The air smelled crisp and fresh. It was still a bit misty from the rain showers that had saturated the asphalt the night before.
With one hand on the steering wheel, Marisa watched as the sunlight reflected off her diamond ring in the form of tiny rainbows flicking and bouncing across the dashboard with every turn in the road. The ring had been her mother’s. Her father had given it to Marisa the same day he’d given her the book.
Marisa wore the ring on her right hand to prevent the town gossips from starting some wild rumor that the MacCallum girl had gotten engaged. Her father had always joked that whenever a person on the north side of town sneezed, the south side already knew about it before someone even had the chance to say “God bless you.”
As she cruised north up the old highway through the beautiful Rogue Valley, she glanced in the rearview mirror and noticed a silver car in the distance. She’d seen the same expensive-looking car around town a lot lately, but she didn’t recognize the driver. They lived in a tourist town that was constantly under invasion by rich Californians and it was probably just some hotshot photographer up shooting nature pictures for a few weeks.
When the Myrtle Ranch Stables homemade sign came into view, she slowed down and turned off the highway onto the familiar gravel road. Hers was the only car in the lot as she hopped out and hurried up the dirt path. She slid the stable door open and a smile spread across her face when she saw the chestnut-colored mare in her stall.
“Did you miss me, girl?”
Siena snorted, blinking softly. Marisa quickly saddled up and headed out on the trail. After she had reached the edge of the meadow, she concentrated on the steep path that wound and twisted its way several hundred feet up the mountain. Soon they reached the top and the terrain started to level out. She admired the incredible view out over the valley and took a couple of deep breaths.
The familiar smell of fresh cedar comforted Marisa after the emotionally draining morning, and for the first time in weeks, she finally felt at ease. Siena trotted at a comfortable gait as pine, cedar, and sequoia branches blotted out the last rays of summer sunshine. A chilly breeze blew down from the mountains and stirred the dead leaves on the path.
She closed her eyes and exhaled deeply, forcing the suppressed emotions from the past several weeks to rise to the surface. Now that it was too late to start at UC Irvine, she’d have to wait until the spring semester. But first, she’d have to save enough money by then. She’d start looking for a job on Monday. It was going to be an uphill climb since the pickings were slim and lots of people were already out of work.
From out of nowhere, memories of her sixteenth birthday two years earlier came floo
ding back. She remembered it like yesterday when her father blindfolded her and lead her down to the stables. He’d chosen the horse because of its reddish-brown hair that matched Marisa’s exactly.
She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket and wondered if the pain would ever stop. Uncle Al had said that grief couldn’t be turned off and on like a faucet but that people should just allow their tears to flow whenever they came. Marisa never liked to express her emotions in front of others, but now that she was alone, she could have her long overdue meltdown in private.
As Siena trudged deeper into the forest, Marisa pulled out a tissue and blew her nose. She thought about her uncle’s warnings. Every kid in the valley knew the stories about the forest the Latgawa tribe had referred to as the Forbidden Ground. It had been nicknamed that because horses and other animals often refused to enter the woods.
Ever since the mining town had been established back in the late 1880s, the folks of Gold Hill had been baffled by a series of unexplained phenomena and some even went so far as to call the woods cursed. Every now and again when a person went missing, the townsfolk whispered that they’d been taken by the woods. Amazed that people could be so easily misled by superstitious folklore, Marisa didn’t buy any of it.
She searched for a fallen log or rock where she could sit and read underneath the trees and suddenly remembered the perfect spot. A few weeks before, Marisa had noticed a new picnic table that the National Park Service had just installed. It must be somewhere just up ahead—
Flash!
Siena reared up suddenly as a blinding flash of lightning struck the forest less than fifty yards away.
Marisa braced herself for the clap of thunder but it never came.
She opened her eyes and scanned the trees but saw nothing. Her gaze swept to the rear.
No movement.
She sat still and listened. An eerie quiet settled over the woods, and it occurred to her that not a single bird was chirping or whistling. Leaves clinging to the branches rustled in the breeze. The leather squeaked slightly as she shifted her weight in the saddle.
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