“When I was a kid things didn’t cost so much,” he muttered. “Now it feels like only the rich people get to live on the islands or visit them.”
“That’s kind of the way they started though, wasn’t it?” Taryn asked. “I mean after the settlers took over. It’s kind of always been a rich man’s playground.”
“Yeah, maybe,” he agreed reluctantly. “But it wasn’t always as exclusive if you know what I mean. Have you seen the big gates going up on St. Simon’s?”
She shook her head no. She hadn’t been over there yet.
“Well, people come down from the north or over from Atlanta because they want to live on ‘island time.’ Then they build these big houses on top of each other and put up gates to, I don’t know, protect themselves from the other rich people I guess,” he snarked.
Taryn laughed in spite of herself. “People can be funny,” she said. “Someone else was telling me the same thing.”
“Sometimes it feels like no matter how hard I try I just can’t get ahead,” he complained.
“I know what you mean,” Taryn said, patting him on the knee. “For me it’s always felt like one step forward and two steps back. Have you thought about going someplace else with better job opportunities? Savannah maybe? Or Atlanta?”
“Atlanta is being run over with basketball players and rappers,” Steve muttered. “Savannah’s cool but, you know, I got my mama here. She’s not doing so well. Going through chemo at the moment. Cancer started in her female parts but now it’s all over.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Taryn said sympathetically. “That’s difficult. I watched my grandmother get sick and pass away. It was awful. I was there when they removed the ventilator and feeding tube. I prayed she’d go right then but she held on another day. She was always a fighter. She basically raised me so I kind of know what you mean. I didn’t want to leave her either.”
“I always thought I’d do great things, and she’d be proud of me,” he sighed. “But it doesn’t look like she’s going to see that.”
“Well, you’re a bright, intelligent young man,” Taryn said. “It’s not too late for you yet. I’d keep your eyes out for a better opportunity. Something is bound to come your way.”
“Yeah,” Steve said, a wry smile on his face. “I hope so. I really do.”
The crowd gathered ‘round was dense, and the current of excitement that ran through them was palpable.
As the bodies closed in tightly around her, she found herself fighting to push through, to get to the front. Nobody appeared to pay her struggle any mind or move aside for her. Instead, they just seemed to squeeze closer together, forming a wall of limbs and torsos.
She knew that the reason they gathered was for something bad, but had no idea why or how she knew it. She just knew that she had to make it to the front. On and on she pushed forward, arms outstretched, a frantic energy inside of her that drove her wild with anticipation. Time was of the essence.
Finally, up ahead, she could see the short stone wall, the wooden planks atop it. And then the man appeared. She knew it was a man because he wore trousers. And although she couldn’t see his head for the covering wrapped tightly over his face, she knew it was her husband.
Anger surged inside of her now, anger and hatred as she stared at the small platform. The excitement of the crowd now coursed through her own body and lit her afire.
As the long rope was slipped around his neck the people around her cheered out, their voices reaching up into the sky as one. Some moved forward and were pushed back by guards waving pistols in the air, threatening them. Their movements pushed her forward as well, but nobody shooed her away. They seemed not even to notice her at all.
As the voice merged into a single chant, steadily growing and growing until it became too much for her, she raised her hands and covered her ears.
And then, in one swift movement, the bottom was opened. She watched as her once beloved descended with a jolt, his legs frantically kicking back and forth as though he were running through air. A deep gurgling noise came from the cloth over his face; even through the deafening noise of the crowd she could hear it.
She was so close to him that she could reach out her arms and touch his legs as they dangled there, trying to locate a foothold they’d never find. And she did that now–she reached out her hand to grasp his foot. As she watched in horror, however, her hand slipped right through it; it was nothing but fog.
She tried again, this time with more urgency. He’d stopped moving now, and she simply wanted to feel him one last time. But, again, her hand melted through the solidity of his body.
In horror, she snatched her hand away and turned to face the crowd. The scream she let out rose above their chants and cheering, it carried itself up into the sky and wrapped around the trees and clouds and burst onto the rays of the sun.
But nobody could hear her. She was dead.
Chapter 10
The soft breeze was cool on her cheeks, a welcomed relief from the house’s stuffiness.
Sometime during the night, probably about the time she was watching someone drop to their death from a noose in her dream, her air conditioning went out. With the interior temperature steadily climbing to 95 degrees she had no desire to cozy down under the covers and sleep in. In fact, Taryn thought it might be awhile before she wanted to sleep again.
Like many of her dreams, this one had felt too real. She’d felt the surge of energy from the crowd, smelled their sweat and excitement, saw the glint of anticipation in their eyes…it hadn’t been pleasant.
Now, however, on her bicycle, she rode across the island on the well-marked bike path, the wind whipping her hair back out of her face. In the clear light of day everything looked so much brighter and friendlier. It was hard to believe there was anything malevolent or evil in the world when the sun was out and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
It was true what they said about riding a bike. She had barely lost her balance in the half hour she’d been on it.
Soon Taryn passed the construction site and group of trailers that acted as temporary storefronts. She passed the roundabout and convention center and chain motels and found herself bordered by trees, not a building in sight.
Proud of herself for riding as far as she’d gone, even if it wasn’t a difficult ride since the whole island didn’t rise more than four feet, Taryn pedaled onwards. She didn’t have a particular destination in mind; she just wanted to feel the island around her and to see how far she could go.
On her iPod she plugged in Angaleena Presley and sang along with “Ain’t No Man” as loud as she could. Nobody was around to hear her sing off-key. When the road came up to a water tower on her right Taryn slowed down. There were three cars pulled off to the side of the road across from it and a small sandy path wound through the trees.
“Huh,” Taryn mused, popping her earbuds out and turning off her iPod. “I wonder if this is another way to get to Glory Beach.”
Since nobody was there to answer her, she walked her bike across the road and leaned it up against a tree. There had to be something through the trees, or else there wouldn’t have been cars pulled over to the side like that.
Grabbing Miss Dixie and a water bottle from her bike’s basket she began trudging up the sandy path, momentarily taking comfort in the brief shade the trees overhead offered her. She was going to be in shape by the time she left; she swore it. She was already venturing farther and farther every day and that had to be worth something, right?
When she reached a rise, she clamored upwards and huffed and puffed until she reached the top and then Taryn stopped in her tracks, her mouth slackening.
It was quite possibly the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen.
Before her the white sandy beach stretched on for what looked like miles without a single soul in view. There were no children on picnic blankets, no coolers filled with soft drinks and sandwiches, no shirtless fishermen with tanned skin and dirty hats…nothing but her and the water
.
The dunes rose up around here, some of them flanked with poles that documented sea turtle eggs. Signs were posted to keep off the dunes, but they were the only signs of human activity. Wherever the other vehicles’ occupants were, she couldn’t see them. She had the entire place to herself.
Shaking with happiness, Taryn flew down the embankment like a little girl, losing her sandals along the way. By the time she reached the water’s edge her eyes were burning brightly and her cheeks hurt from the force of her wide grin. With her feet planted firmly in the water, she closed her eyes and let the ocean lap at her ankles, shifting the sand beneath her feet and digging her deeper and deeper into the earth. The winds were night and somewhere above her a kingfisher squawked in unsteady flight. She ignored it.
When she nearly lost her balance, Taryn walked along the water’s edge, kicking at the crystal clear waves as they broke on the shore. There were sand dollars in abundance on the ground–the first time she’d ever seen any outside of a tourist shop. She was squatting down to collect one when a voice called out from behind her.
“Taryn!”
Startled, she turned around, annoyed at having her peace interrupted. She softened when she saw David’s long black hair and tanned arms swinging in the sun.
Yeah, well, I guess he can come here too, she thought wryly.
“It’s the best place on the island, isn’t it?” he asked as he drew nearer.
“So far,” she agreed. “I can’t believe nobody’s here.”
“Yeah, well, it seems to be off the beaten path,” he shrugged. “I’ve been coming out here about every day. Sometimes I run into people from the Sea Turtle Center, checking on the eggs.”
“So what are you up to today?” Since her peace was broken she figured she might as well enjoy the company. In fact, now that he was close to her, she felt her blood bubbling.
Stop it, she commanded herself. He’s just a man and you’ve already got a very nice one.
“I have a meeting with the site manager over at the hotel in about two hours,” he replied. “I’ve gone over my notes so many times that I’m starting to forget them. I needed to get out for awhile.”
“I understand,” Taryn laughed. “Sometimes I also have to get out of my head to work.”
“So how’s the painting going?”
“It’s going…” she answered slowly.
She was aching to tell someone about Adena Cottage, about Ivy House, and about her dreams and what had gone on after the ghost hunters’ meeting. So far Matt had been too busy to invest much time in her ramblings but she understood. He was in the middle of a big project himself and couldn’t just tear himself away to listen to her.
“Anything wrong?” The look of concern on David’s face boosted her spirits, but there was no way she was going to unleash all her thoughts on a perfect stranger.
“Oh, it’s fine. I just didn’t sleep well last night. Bad dream,” she added casually.
David bowed his head and looked like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “Yes, I’ve been having them since arriving on the island myself. I assumed it was because I am Creek, and it was the Creeks who settled the island for many years.”
“So you have a connection to it?” she asked.
David smiled. “Yes. So what about you? What’s your connection to it?”
“I don’t know,” Taryn said. “That’s what I am trying to figure out.”
David turned away from her and faced the water. She watched the sunlight touch his face and seem to glide over him, wrapping itself around his body. She wished she could feel as peaceful as he looked. Finally, he turned back to Taryn. “There are many things on this island, many lives and histories. It is possible that one of those histories has found you and is reaching out to a kindred spirit.”
“It’s happened before,” Taryn admitted. “Several times actually.”
“It’s not a bad thing, not when you can learn how to control your doorway. It’s letting everyone in that can be the problem.”
Taryn smiled wryly and took a long drink of water. “But if you open the door for the good, aren’t you also letting in the bad?”
Placing a friendly hand on her shoulder David leaned in and looked her in the eye. Their faces were only a few inches apart, and Taryn could feel something snap in the air between them. “Be careful with this,” he said softly. “Not all histories are meant to be remembered or brought back.”
Taryn bit her lip and nodded. But what happened when they just wouldn’t let you go? What were you supposed to do then?
Since her first experience with Miss Dixie’s knack for the past at Windwood Farm, Taryn had faced an extreme amount of confusion in regards to what she was supposed to do about the things she saw. Even more confusing was IF she was even meant to do anything at all.
She’d talked extensively to Matt about this, as well as their mutual friend Rob who owned New Age Gifts and More in Lexington, Kentucky. She’d learned along the way that just because she saw ghosts and occasionally took a walk through the virtual past didn’t necessarily mean that she needed to do anything about them. She had to learn to control her emotions and feelings.
That was not easy.
Taryn didn’t have much control over anything she did, from gorging on ice cream or watching multiple episodes of Designing Women and The Golden Girls when she was meant to be working.
So far she’d been pretty proud of herself for not going off the deep end with what she’d seen and felt at the cottages.
“It’s okay,” she muttered to herself as she walked along the path to the bookstore. “Just because I see a ghost, and the ghost knows I am there too, doesn’t mean there’s a big mystery to solve or that it needs my help…”
She was talking to herself more and more these days. She really did need to make some friends. It was hard making friends, though, when she was almost constantly on the road.
The bookstore had been many things in the past, but now the circular historical building held lots of goodies, from new releases to photographic and historical collections of the Golden Isles. Taryn might have been able to brush off what she’d experienced at the cottage, and even chalked up what happened at the hotel as another aspect of her ability, but she couldn’t ignore the dream.
The hanging had felt real. She’d seen it as clearly as if she’d actually been there herself. The fact that she saw it through a ghost’s eyes was unnerving, but she was now convinced that she was meant to do something about it.
“The hanging has to have something to do with one of the cottages,” she whispered as she slipped through the door.
It didn’t take her long to find the “local” section of the shop. Soon, she was sitting on the floor, her back against a shelf, with a stack of books at her side. She’d purchase the ones that were most useful but for the moment she needed to check things out and see what they offered. Around her were the sounds of quiet shoppers, silently removing books and flipping through their pages, the only real sound being the cash register and fluttering of paper. She enjoyed the fact that some people treated bookstores as reverently as they did places of worship.
The first few books were mostly technical; Taryn had a hard time focusing on the words. Another was full of beautiful photographs, but they were all recent and therefore unhelpful.
At last, she discovered a volume that wasn’t just about Jekyll Island, but about the entire Glynn County area. She briefly read about the early settlements with the Creek Indians, the Spanish, the French, and the English. A few passages caught her eye and made her stop and catch her breath. A letter Sir Francis Drake sent to Queen Elizabeth in 1587 about the English reaching Cumberland Island to the south and what they did before moving their sights to Jekyll was one passage she’d never forget. She found herself shivering in horror as she read:
“On the 17th we took an observation, and found ourselves in latitude 30 deg. 30 min. N., and near a large island, which we felt sure was the land where we had
information of a Spanish settlement of magnitude.
Seeing some log houses, we decided to make a landing.
We unfurled the standard of Saint George and approached the shore in great force, that we might impress the enemy with the great puissance of your Majesty.
The accursed Spaniards, concealed behind the trees, fired upon us, and a sore and cruel fight seemed pendent, when the enemy, stricken with fear, incontinently fled to their homes, with their habiliments of war.
One of our men was gravely wounded by the Spanish Captain, whom we presently made prisoner, and, having set up a gallows, we there hanged him in a chain by the middle, and afterwards consumed with fire, gallows and all. “To us was the good God most merciful and gracious, in that he permitted us to kill eighteen Spaniards, bitter enemies of your sweet Majesty.
We further wasted the country and brought it to utter ruin.
We burned their houses and killed their few horses, mules and cattle, eating what we could of the fresh beef and carrying the rest aboard our ships.
Having in mind the merciful disposition of your gracious Majesty, we did not kill the women and children, but having destroyed upon the island all their provisions and property, and taken away all their weapons, we left them to starve.”
“Damn,” Taryn said, forgetting to lower her voice. “That’s harsh.”
The next few sentences were even worse:
“The women were most ungracious, sullen and obstinate, perchance from their husbands having been killed before their eyes, and wickedly refused to answer us; but after we had burned a hole with a hot iron through the tongue of the most venomous of their number, they eftsoons told us that there were no Spaniards upon other island…”
“’Sullen’ and obstinate’ because their husbands were killed? No shit,” Taryn declared loudly again. An overweight man with two cameras slung around his neck turned and glared at her and she lowered her head again and continued reading. Making a silent commitment to watch her language and volume.
Jekyll Island: A Paranormal Mystery (Taryn's Camera Book 5) Page 8