Chapter Eight
Abby stood quietly in the center of the grassy enclosure, giving Sasha time to adjust to her presence. She’d spent more than an hour looking through her grandfather’s journal and could have stayed there for another hour. One repeated note puzzled her, that he was seeking mercy. Mercy from what or from whom? The entries were unclear. And she’d have to wait to sort them out because she needed to be out with the horses for now. She took another step closer to Sasha and then held her position.
Sasha was a nine-year-old Arabian cross chocolate bay. She’d been found after a stormy night in someone’s pasture. Someone who didn’t own a horse. It had taken three hours for the local veterinarian, Abby, and Iain to herd Sasha into a trailer. By the time they got her back to the barn, Sasha was shivering and frightened.
There were rope burns all around her feet. The vet and Iain both believed the scars most likely meant that Sasha had been the victim of an illegal Mexican Charreada rope tripping contest. Money was bet on which cowboy could throw a rope around a young horse’s feet at full speed and slam them to the ground. These horrible events usually ended with the horse suffering broken legs, dislocated shoulders, and then death. Sasha had obviously survived by fighting her way out.
Sasha edged closer. The muscles in her shoulder twitched. She was probably deciding whether to stay or flee. Abby assumed a relaxed stance with her hands at her sides. Sasha took a few more steps in her direction.
It’s okay, girl. You’re safe now. No one is going to hurt you again. Abby sensed Sasha’s uncertain fear as if it were her own. Her heart ached.
Sasha snorted and dipped her head. It took a few more minutes before she completely closed the space between them. Abby didn’t reach for her immediately. She allowed Sasha to stand very close and nibble grass. After a while, Sasha rubbed her muzzle against Abby, gauging her scent. When she did finally place her palm on Sasha’s neck, she jerked her head up, eyes wide, black pools of distress.
“Easy, Sasha. You’re safe.” This time Abby spoke aloud, but barely more than a whisper. She kept light contact with her hand as Sasha shifted her weight from foot to foot.
She stayed with Sasha for about twenty minutes before she turned toward the gate where Iain was leaning against the railing.
“That was good.” He was talking to Abby, but he was watching Sasha move slowly back toward the far side of the fenced enclosure.
“She’s getting better. I only had to wait a half hour or so before she came to me.”
“You’re so good with these animals.” Iain turned toward her so that only one arm rested on the top rail. “It’s as if you can read their minds and you know exactly what they need.”
“I suppose I’m just a good listener.” His earnest compliment made her feel shy.
“I dare say it’s a bit more than that.” He smiled.
It was true. Something else happened when she was with animals. They had a way of understanding each other that she couldn’t explain. She felt what they felt, and she was fairly sure the same was true in reverse. Sometimes all she had to do was think something and animals seemed to respond. Abby spent more time with horses now, but when she was younger she’d had similar experiences with dogs and cats, sometimes even birds and rabbits.
“How are we for supplies?” Abby walked beside Iain toward the barn.
“We could use another few bags of feed.”
Mostly, horses just ate grass or hay, but since they were nursing a few of their residents back to full health, they were supplementing their grass diet with corn and oats, boosted with additional nutrients.
“I’ll see if Evan can pick some up later.” Evan seemed to make trips to town every day. Abby wasn’t sure why and hadn’t asked. Evan kept to herself which suited Abby.
She left Iain and walked toward a second enclosure where Journey was leisurely grazing. She rested her chin on her arms as she leaned against the fence rail. Abby was just about to return to the house to find lunch when a sharp pain caused her to double over. It was almost as if a sharp object had been driven through her abdomen. She dropped to the ground in a heap, gasping for air.
***
Foster crumpled into a ball on the floor. She’d reached for a book on an upper shelf, and it thumped loudly in the quiet space as she dropped it. She hugged herself and pulled her knees to her chest as she lay on her side on the floor between high library shelves crammed with books. Air rushed from her lungs as if she’d been punched in the stomach. This was nothing like a menstrual cramp. And besides, she was nowhere near her cycle. This was the sort of intense pain that caused someone to dial 9-1-1.
After a moment, the pain subsided. She sat up, with her back resting against the nearest shelf. She swept her hand across her forehead, which was damp with perspiration. What just happened? Was she having appendicitis? The sharp pain came out of nowhere and receded just as quickly as it had arrived. She’d only just returned to the library after getting a bite to eat. Had the lunch been bad? She’d had soup and a half sandwich, pretty tame by lunch standards.
Foster tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and waited. Before she got to her feet she wanted to make sure the pain was gone for sure.
“Is everything all right back here?”
Good thing there wasn’t an actual emergency because it had taken Dena a good seven minutes to respond.
“I thought I heard something fall.” Dena stood at the end of the aisle with her hands on her hips.
“I dropped a book.” Foster still hadn’t gotten to her feet.
“Why are you on the floor?” A question asked without an ounce of genuine concern.
“I got dizzy for a moment.” Not really true, but Foster didn’t feel like going into detail about the truth with such an unsympathetic listener.
Maybe she should get another cup of coffee. She almost laughed. She’d had stomach pains and had almost passed out, so of course her elixir of choice was coffee. Maybe not the smartest choice, but what could she do? Coffee was her go-to drink for almost any ailment: headaches, stress, writer’s block, and the common cold.
The weathered sign for Cove Coffee and Tackle squeaked in the breeze, calling her forward. Fresh air, a walk, and caffeine was never a bad thing. She packed up her laptop, shouldered her leather bag, and waved to Dena as she left. Dena didn’t wave back, big surprise. She’d downloaded enough material to keep her busy for a couple of hours. She could camp out in the coffee shop and read. That would probably be a friendlier environment to hang out in anyway.
***
Evan saw Abby crumple to the ground. She scanned the area quickly. Iain was in the barn, and no one else had been around to witness the event. She rushed to where Abby had fallen. Abby was in a fetal position on the ground. The earth beneath where she lay looked charred. Jagged dark lines extended out from the darkened spot like singed lightning.
The transmutation had begun, and luckily for everyone, Abby had grounded herself. The question was, did she understand what was happening or had she acted intuitively? Abby’s eyes fluttered.
“Abby?” Evan knelt down.
Abby looked at her, confusion, possibly fear, in her eyes.
She doesn’t know. And Evan wasn’t really authorized to inform her.
“I’m okay.” Abby tried to sit up.
Evan started to reach for Abby, but she held her hand up. Abby clearly didn’t want Evan to touch her, so she must have some sense of her potential ability to affect others.
“I’m fine, thank you.” Abby slowly stood, using the fence railing to stabilize.
“Are you sure you’re okay? Let me get the ATV so I can give you a ride up to the house.”
Abby shook her head. It was only about a hundred yards from the barn to the house. She started walking without looking at the ground. Evan wondered if Abby had even noticed the blackened, singed grass. She seemed visibly shaken and not entirely stable on her feet.
Abby was several feet away when she looked back.
&n
bsp; “Iain said we need a few bags of feed. Would you mind driving the truck into town to pick some up?”
“I’d be happy to. There are some other things I need anyway.” Evan needed to report this incident as soon as possible.
“Do you mind if I ride with you?”
“Not at all.” She’d prefer to go alone, but how could she refuse?
“Thank you. I’ll come find you in a little while.” Abby smiled and started again toward the house.
Evan lingered, looking down at the dark pattern on the ground where Abby had fallen. She’d never seen a marking this large before. The power surge must have been huge to leave such a pattern. The headaches, the intuition with the animals, the social anxiety, Abby’s raw magnetism, her penetrating gaze, and now this. The evidence seemed to be multiplying.
She’d never seen anything like this before. Her flesh tingled, not from the cool sea breeze, but from the knowledge of what was coming.
Chapter Nine
Abby retreated to her room. She kicked off her muddy boots and slipped under the covers fully clothed. What was happening to her? She’d had anxiety before, even brief panic attacks, but she was beginning to feel truly afraid.
Was she having some sort of mental break? Was she delusional?
If she tried to explain what she’d been experiencing surely someone would suggest she be admitted to a mental health facility. Maybe she should be. The headaches, the dreams…the dreams that seemed too real, almost as if they were a glimpse into some parallel world, or possibly a glimpse into the past or future, but not necessarily hers.
She squeezed her eyes shut and pulled a pillow over her head. The darkness soothed her. Her breathing slowed. The event, whatever it was, had exhausted her. Sleep seeped in from the edges of the pillow and pulled her under.
Her body tingled.
Without opening her eyes, she licked her lips. They tasted of salt. Wind whipped across her face, laden with sea spray. She opened her eyes and reached for something to hold on to. Her footing felt unstable as the plank flooring under her feet shifted sharply. Somehow, Abby was at sea. She looked down at clothing foreign to her: a long dress, ankle-high shoes buttoned up the sides. All around her was chaos. Men shouted above the wind, sails tore and tumbled, and the loud crack of timbers breaking apart pierced the air. Suddenly, her vision was filled by a bearded man. He grabbed her and shoved her into a cabin behind where she’d been standing. Once inside she stood dumbly beside him as he rummaged with urgency through a drawer in a cabinet affixed to the wall.
“Swallow this!” The roar of the sea and wind were so loud that he practically had to shout to be heard.
He held something in his hand, but before she could take it from him the floor lurched sharply and they both tumbled. He crawled toward her keeping one hand balled into a fist.
“Open your mouth.”
Somehow, Abby knew this man was her father, or the father of whomever this vision belonged to.
“Open your mouth!”
Abby did as she was told. The substance was gritty and bitter as she tried to swallow it. From his vest pocket he pulled an amulet. It took three attempts because of the rocking of the ship to place the gold chain over her head. Instinctively, she covered the jewel with her hand.
“Hold this talisman tightly. Do not let go.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “I love you, Mercy.”
“Daddy—” The mixture on her tongue choked her words.
“You are my daughter, you are the love of my life…and you…will live.” He kissed her again.
He got to his feet and with faltering steps exited the cabin into the fray on deck. Abby held the amulet up so that she could see it. It was a stone of aquamarine inside an ornate gold setting that looked like sculpted, braided rope. The cabin floor tilted violently. She closed her fist around the stone as she was tossed hard against the sideboard.
A small shaving mirror fell to the floor nearby, along with other sundries from her father’s desk. The reflection that stared back at Abby was not hers. There was definitely a familial resemblance, blue eyes, blond hair, and tapered jawline. The reflection could easily have belonged to a younger cousin. As Abby stared at the girl’s image, the reflected face spoke. It wasn’t Abby’s voice, but she heard the young girl speak inside her head. She repeated the phrase.
“Abby, you are the one.”
The ship rocked ferociously, tossing Abby back. A rushing sound flooded her ears.
Abby jolted awake. Her heart was racing.
The pillow fell to the floor as she sat up in bed. She ran her tongue over her lips and tasted salt. When she held her hand up to examine it, the indentation of the braided rope that bordered the amulet was visible in her palm. Mercy, her grandfather had been seeking Mercy, the girl from her vision. A shiver ran up her arm.
***
Foster laced her fingers together, stretched her arms over her head, and arched her back. She’d been scrolling through pages on her laptop for a few hours without standing up. Cove Coffee and Tackle had Wi-Fi and refills. She’d gotten a chance to follow various threads while a very attractive barista named Jai kept her caffeinated. The coffee shop was a pleasant alternative locale for research, and it was only a block away from the library.
Her online sleuthing had revealed that Abby’s great-great-great-grandmother, the young girl who’d been the sole survivor aboard the Equus, was named Mercy.
Mercy Howe, the younger, had been named after an ancestor put to death for witchcraft. For some reason, this discovery surprised Foster. She’d figured someone of that era, in the 1800s, would have been a bit more superstitious. Mercy had been rescued and eventually married Thomas Spencer. She wondered how much of this family history Abby already knew. It sure would make her job easier if Abby considered sharing.
“Do you need another refill?” Jai paused next to her chair with the carafe.
“No, thank you. If I drink any more coffee I might just float away.” Foster shut her laptop. “Do you guys really sell bait and tackle in addition to coffee?”
Jai smiled. “Not really, thank goodness. You can get a fishing license here, and sunscreen, but not bait. Live bait and baked goods don’t mix well. Can you imagine?” She looked up as if she were about to perform improv. “I’d like a container of live crickets, oh, and one of those raspberry scones…thanks.”
“Yeah, not appetizing for sure.” Foster laughed. “So, Cove Coffee and Tackle in name only. Good to know.”
“I love your accent.” Jai rested her free hand on her hip and gave Foster her full attention. “Are you from Texas?”
“No, Georgia.”
This was the third time since arriving in California that she’d been asked this question. It seemed that Texas was the only southern state Californians were familiar with, maybe because it was geographically the closest. As anyone from the South would confirm, a Texas accent and a Georgia accent were absolutely not the same. It was possibly offensive to even suggest that they were, but Foster was gonna let this slide, given Jai’s long list of otherwise pleasant traits.
“We don’t get new people here that often and now we have two. And you couldn’t be more different from one another.”
“Oh, really? Who else is new besides me?”
“Her name is Evan. She works at the Spencer place.” Jai reached for Foster’s empty coffee cup.
“You don’t say? I just assumed she was a local.”
“Oh, so you know each other?” Jai seemed surprised.
“We only just met. I’m doing some research about the Spencer family.”
Jai’s eyes brightened and she sat in the empty chair across from Foster. She rested the coffee carafe on the edge of the table.
“What sort of research?”
Foster was surprised anyone would be interested, especially someone who lived in Spencer’s Cove. She figured the residents knew more about the founding family’s origins than she did.
“It’s not that exciting, really, just a
memoir project.” Foster tried to downplay what she’d discovered so far.
“I love history.” Jai rested her chin on her hand as if she were settling in for a long chat.
“Yeah, so do I.”
The bell over the door chimed. Jai reluctantly stood to return to the counter.
“Come back some time and let me know what you find out.”
“Sure.” Foster started packing up her laptop and dog-eared notebook.
It was late afternoon. The wind had picked up again, but it wasn’t nearly as chilly as it had been earlier. Probably because the marine layer was still camped out at sea. Foster thought she’d stroll down to the pier for a look before returning to her rental car.
The pier area was pretty quiet. There was some sort of large machinery, probably a boat wench, and there were white and red floatation rings hanging along the rail with the word Rescue stenciled in black letters on them. A faded sign at the end of the fifty-foot pier warned about strong surf and tsunamis. Foster leaned against the railing at the end of the pier and studied the churning water. To the left was a narrow strip of rocky beach. There were some fairly thick lengths of driftwood piled at the edge of the cliff. Probably successive tides had washed the dead trees backward against the steep incline. To the right were cliffs, with no approach to sea level. In the distance to the north, she could just barely see the top of the old lighthouse located at the edge of the Spencer property.
The Equus had hit a jagged reef somewhere between this point and the lighthouse. Foster tried to imagine the scene. A stormy night, a mostly uncharted coastline, a native Pomo Indian watching the floating castle sink from the top of the cliff. His had been the only eyewitness account, except for Mercy Howe, the captain’s daughter. Ironic that Mercy, with the unlucky namesake, was the only member of the crew to survive.
Spencer's Cove Page 8
