“Are we good?” Shelly asked with a tentative smile.
“We’re good,” Lily assured her. “Go gather your things.”
Shelly scooped her pocketbook from the coffee table and they began the short walk to the ferry landing.
“I almost forgot to tell you some great news,” Shelly said. “Your mom called this morning and reported that Dismukes’s house has a for-sale sign in the front yard.”
Relief washed through her. “One problem solved, a dozen more to go,” she quipped.
“How’d you do it?” Shelly slanted a look of admiration.
“We had a little heart-to-heart talk while he was deep-sea fishing. The details aren’t important.” She didn’t want to talk about or think about the encounter. “So what’s the game plan for this afternoon? I’m sure Mom or Jet will show up next to babysit me.”
“They went shopping in Mobile this morning for baby clothes, but said they’d be on the noon ferry to take my place. Don’t be annoyed. You shouldn’t be alone until Tillman finds the stalker. Besides, none of us want to face Nash’s wrath if we left you unguarded.”
Lily stifled a sigh. She’d much prefer to be by herself until Nash came on the last ferry. Mom would get on her nerves about returning to sea and Jet had enough to do running her antiques store. Lily could have gone to the hospital with Nash this morning and helped him get Sam settled back at his cabin, but she’d wanted them to have time alone together.
They arrived at the landing in time to see Ned pulling in the boat with only a handful of passengers.
Shelly frowned. “I don’t see Mom and Jet.” She dug her cell phone from her purse and entered her password. “Damn. I missed a call. They left a message saying they’re running late and asked if I could stay with you the rest of the day.”
“It’s okay,” Lily said quickly. “You go on and have lunch with Tillman. I’ll be fine.”
“No way. I’ll call and cancel. He’ll understand.”
Lily again stifled a sigh and watched as Ned guided the boat to the small wooden pier where passengers exited onto the island. A flash of red hair blazed like fire in the harsh sun and a friendly, familiar face grinned at her from the boat.
“It’s Opal,” Lily said with a start, waving back at her friend. “I can’t believe she’s here.”
Shelly paused from punching in numbers on her phone. “Who’s Opal?”
“Nash’s assistant. I met her earlier, but she left to go on another assignment.”
They watched as Opal climbed out of the boat and strode down the short wooden walkway. A camera was slung across one shoulder and she carried a small tote bag.
“Problem solved,” Lily said cheerfully. “You can go to your lunch with a clear conscience.”
Shelly eyed the redhead pushing past an elderly couple with binoculars and a bird guide book. “You sure?”
“Positive.” Lily waved an index finger in front of Shelly’s face. “Better watch it,” she said with a mocking grin. “You’re getting as suspicious and paranoid as Jet.”
“Okay, okay. Call me later.”
“Stop being a mother hen,” Lily said firmly. “I’m in no danger.”
* * *
After a myriad of paperwork and a last-minute dire warning from the doctor on duty, Nash drove his grandfather home. Once there, Sam insisted on sitting up in his favorite chair on the back porch, which he claimed was the most comfortable spot in the small cabin. Nash pulled up a chair beside him.
“You feeling okay?” He studied Sam’s face, searching for signs of fatigue.
“A little tired,” he admitted. “But there is no pain and for that, I’m grateful. There will be no suffering when the spirits come to take me with them.”
“Let’s hope it’s not for a long time.”
“My time is near. Very near. And I have much to tell you.”
Nash shifted uncomfortably in his seat and sincerely hoped his grandfather wasn’t going to spring some shocking revelation. Discovering Lily was a mermaid last night still had his mind spinning. But he straightened in his chair and focused on Sam. He could at least do that much for his grandfather. “I’m listening.”
“I have one last story to tell you. But first, why don’t you share what’s on your mind? Something has filled you with confusion.”
Sam was as perceptive as always. Nash rubbed his face. It would help to talk over what he’d witnessed, but he didn’t want to give away Lily’s secret. “I can’t go into specifics,” he said carefully. “But last night I saw—” He drew a deep breath. If anyone would believe this wild tale, it was the man seated beside him. “I saw a mermaid.”
Sam nodded and kept his face turned to the woods in the backyard. “Here? Or on the island?”
“The island.” It was easier to talk with his grandfather’s profile to him instead of his direct gaze. Nash also stared straight ahead.
“Then it wasn’t the Okwa Nahollo, but some other manner of being that is closely related to our white people of the sea.”
“You said you’d seen one of them before, but I didn’t believe it. Not that you would lie,” he added quickly. “I thought you’d imagined it.”
“No one would believe such a thing unless they saw it for themselves. I knew the day would come soon when you’d observe one firsthand.”
“Shocked the hell out of me and I’m not sure I handled it well.”
“Lily understands this.”
Nash leapt to his feet. Sam had known it before he did. “You’ve known all along about her and didn’t warn me?”
Sam calmly motioned for him to sit back down. “Some truths a man must discover for himself. Didn’t the birds deliver a message?”
He slumped back down in the chair, bemused and bewildered. “They said Lily was of two spirits and that she was my destiny. Whatever that means.”
“What do you think it means? Learn to search your own heart for answers. Be honest and fierce in seeking truth.”
The trapped feeling he’d experienced before returned and the screened-in porch was like a cage. His world narrowed to the narrow slab of concrete flooring surrounded by metal screens. No! The spirits—fate—some supernatural force—were trying to snare him for their own mysterious reasons and he wanted no part of it. Screw them. He was his own man.
Nash rose to his feet again. “I need some space,” he said shortly, heading to the door.
“Wait.” Sam motioned for him to return to his seat. “Let’s finish our talk first.”
Reluctantly, Nash returned and sat, folding his arms across his chest. “How did you know about Lily? Oh, wait.” He held up a hand. “The spirits told you.”
Nash tried to keep the sarcasm contained inside, but the words came out with a sardonic edge nonetheless. Sam had to have picked up on it, but he answered with his usual dignity.
“I’ve suspected for years that the Bosarge women were of the sea. You must observe and seek signs in the smallest of details, consider the behavior of your subject and keep an open mind. After all that, ask the spirits for help in interpreting all the information you’ve gathered. I did all three before I reached my conclusion.”
Keep an open mind. He would try. The smallest details... Nash struck a palm against his forehead. “The tiny scars on each side of Lily’s neck must be some sort of gill markings.”
Sam nodded. “Go on.”
“The pale skin.” He pictured Lily’s naked legs with their subtle mica shine. “Pale skin that glitters. Must be a small vestige of her mermaid fishtail.” Nash stopped and stared at his grandfather. “I can’t think of anything else.”
“You’re missing the biggest clue, but we’ll come back to that. Can you identify any of Lily’s actions and habits that could have helped you uncover her secret earlier?”
�
��Only in hindsight. I see now how she lied, but I thought she was merely reserved, overly private.”
“If someone is guarded with friends and lovers, it is wise to ponder why. Here’s what I have noticed. The Bosarge women have always lived in an isolated area and kept to themselves. No man has ever lived with them in that house. I suspect that somewhere on the property is a hidden portal where they come and go.”
“That’s some mighty big speculations based on little that is fact.”
“And that’s where your spirit guides can assist. But first you must do the groundwork and be open to that which is unlike any other reality you’ve experienced. If you do, you’ll find the bayou is filled with magic.”
Despite his reluctance to entertain the supernatural, a stirring of wonder fluttered in Nash’s gut. “You told me you once saw the Okwa Nahollo. How did it happen? You must have caught one unaware, like I did with Lily.”
Sam rocked in his chair, silent, his profile stern and unyielding as carved granite. But to Nash’s astonishment, salty tears flowed down the deep crevices of his lined face.
“I didn’t come across one unaware,” he said. His grandfather’s voice was gruff but sturdy. “Many, many years ago, she came to me. I was out fishing late one afternoon by the small nearby inlet, as is my custom. I grieved for my loss and she heard. My Nellie came for me.”
Nash’s breath caught and the skin on his arms and legs prickled. “Grandmother?”
Sam closed his eyes, reliving the moment. “I heard distant chanting in the old Choctaw tongue. It didn’t come from the sky or float across the wind, but from underneath a clear white pool of water. As I stared at this calm patch, a mass of black tendrils drifted near the surface. I walked into the water up to my knees for a closer look.” Sam paused and swallowed hard, opening his eyes again. “It was my Nellie, her long dark hair swirling about her pale, pale face, so different from the olive color I remembered. Her deep brown eyes were darker, too, like large, black pearls, but I recognized her instantly.”
Nash’s mind tumbled with a thousand questions. “What did she want? Did she speak?”
“The water parted and she came halfway out, exposed only to the top of her hips. And then she spoke, her voice as familiar and dear as always. She had heard my grief as I fished every night and she daily begged the Okwa Nahollo for a chance to console me until at last they granted her wish.”
Incredible. Nash stood and paced the small porch, trying to wrap his mind around the strange tale. “But she died. Drowned in a boating accident.” He stopped suddenly and whirled to face his grandfather. “Did the Okwa Nahollo kill her? Did they deliberately capsize her boat and drag her underneath to become one of them? My God, how you must hate them!”
“You misunderstand. They saved her life, took pity on the human whose lungs filled with water and could not breathe. They offered Nellie life, not death. And they accepted her as one of their own, just as they did with our ancestors who sought asylum rather than be forced on the Trail of Tears.”
Nash propped a shoulder against a porch railing and stared at Sam. His tears had dried and a gentle light lit his eyes and a slight smile played along his lips. “I don’t get it,” Nash said slowly. “I would think it would be hell knowing your wife lives only a fifteen-minute hike away, yet you can never be with her as man and wife are meant to be.”
“I had many, many years with Nellie on land. And two unforgettable nights with Nellie under the sea—the woman I thought was lost to me forever. The spirits showed me great favor. I am grateful for the blessing.”
If you stay with the Okwa Nahollo three days or longer, you can never return to land, his grandfather had once told him. “Maybe you should have stayed the third night,” Nash said around the painful lump in his throat. “You could have been with Grandmother all this time.”
“I was needed with my people here.”
Nash shook his head. “It was too great a sacrifice.”
“You must do what the spirits have called you to do. We all have our duties.” Sam pinned him with a pointed stare. “Destiny denied leads to days filled with sorrow and regret.”
Lily is your destiny, the seagull had proclaimed.
“Duty and destiny,” Nash said heavily, the very words like shackles chaining his soul. “I’ve been told my destiny. Now I suppose you’re about to tell me my duty.” Of late, Sam had been hinting at it more frequently and directly.
“You have the gift to heal. It’s a blessing, not a curse.”
“Go on,” Nash said between pinched lips. “Say it. You want me to stay in Bayou La Siryna and take your place.”
Sam reached out to the porch railing for support and rose slowly, straightening his arthritic knees. Yet, as usual, he maintained a dignity accorded a wise man who had lived an honorable life.
Nash both respected and envied his grandfather’s noble bearing. He could never, ever measure up to this man he admired. It wasn’t fair that this was demanded of him.
“There is always a choice.” Sam placed an aged hand on Nash’s shoulder. The weight felt heavy, an anchor forcing him down. “Choose wisely.”
Nash twisted out of his grasp. “Okay, now I really need to get out of here for some fresh air.” He jerked open the porch door and walked down the steps.
“Take your time, Nashoba. I’ll be waiting.”
He turned around at the bottom of the wooden steps, suddenly remembering an unanswered question. “You said I missed the biggest clue that Lily was a mermaid. What was it?”
“Her siren’s voice. Its effect on us is slight since our heritage is intertwined with the Okwa Nahollo. Your Lily is a beautiful woman, but the men in this town are unnaturally attracted to her charms.”
For the first time, the thought of Lily’s past relationships angered Nash and he chided himself for the useless jealousy. He had his own past of easily accepting the attentions of many women and then as easily letting them go. Just like my father, he thought with disgust. His dad’s numerous affairs had been the root of his parents’ divorce.
Sam cut through his thoughts, as if sensing their direction. “Haven’t you ever wondered why women are so drawn to you? I suspect male siren blood has been passed in our family from generations of intermingling with our Okwa Nahollo neighbors.”
It excused nothing. Behavior trumped biology and he was responsible for controlling his actions. It had taken the deaths of two women to drive that point home.
He walked, almost ran, to the woods and up the red dirt path littered with pinecones, instinctually seeking solitude and the peace of nature. The bracing scent of pine and the musky odor of oak moss clamored for notice above the pervading ocean smell.
Nash leaned against the tall column of an oak and let his senses absorb it all. The whispering of the wind rattling through the trees like the sky’s breath of life, the ground vibrating from small animals scurrying about their business, the soles of his feet tingling with earth energy from a tangle of tree roots expanding ever deeper in its thirst for life-sustaining water. The pores of his skin welcomed the sun’s heat and his blood pounded in time to the breaking waves at sea.
Something broke the tranquil pattern. Something not right drew him to explore a dense thatch of scrub. A high-pitched chirping of distress beckoned Nash in a plea for help that could not be ignored.
A tiny bird ruffled its wings and Nash separated the shrub’s branches for a closer look. Two marble-sized black eyes regarded him with both hope and terror. “I won’t hurt you, little one,” Nash promised. He disentangled the bird from where it was pinned beneath brambles. An agitated squawk from above told him momma bird was nearby. He guessed the little one had dropped from its nest and was too badly hurt to do more than roll about in the tangle of branches and vines. Gently, Nash freed the baby bird and held it in his cupped palms. A faint, erratic heartbeat fluttered aga
inst his fingers.
Now what?
He closed his eyes and willed that the bird be spared. Warmth and energy flared in his hands as if providing a miniature incubator. The bird ceased its struggle and its heartbeat slowed to an even pace, pulsing stronger. Nash opened his eyes and the bird hopped to its feet, tiny claws scratching into the flesh of his hands. He flattened his palms to provide a launching pad. The bird shifted from one foot to another, testing its balance. Then it flapped its delicate wings and was airborne in a flurry of fuzzy feathers. Nash watched as it flew upward to a nearby pine, where momma bird and the rest of her brood welcomed him with noisy tweeting.
Nash bent one knee up, propped an elbow on it and rested his forehead on the tips of his fingers. He felt drained, shaken and—profoundly humbled. I have the gift. So where do I go from here? He stood up and looked skyward, shaking his head. “Not so subtle, spirits,” he called out.
A small brown feather stuck to one sweaty palm. He peeled it off and tucked it into the drawstring medicine bag belted at his waist. It would stay with him the rest of his days, a reminder of his first healing.
He slowly made his way out of the woods and returned to the cabin. His grandfather was halfway across the backyard, waving a cell phone. Nash frowned and quickened his pace. “Go sit down,” Nash yelled. “I’m coming.” Sam shouldn’t be exerting himself like this; he should be resting. He hurried to Sam’s side and took his arm, leading him to the porch. “Don’t scare me like that,” he chided. “Whoever called can wait.”
Sam breathed heavily, as if he’d just completed a marathon. “It’s—”
“Sit down and rest before you give me the message.”
Nash settled him in his chair and waited as his grandfather collected his breath.
“Sheriff Angier called,” he rasped. “Who is Opal Wallace?”
Nash’s heart hammered. Not another accident. “My assistant. The woman who set up the island shoot.”
Sam’s eyebrows drew together and he affixed his sternest gaze on Nash. “You never mentioned her name.”
Siren's Call (Dark Seas) Page 22