‘Tessa.’
His voice was tender. Loving.
They ran towards each other.
‘Art!’ she breathed, and ribbons of joy seemed to swirl around them as they hugged in the silence of the wood. Hugged, as if they’d never been apart.
Hand in hand they climbed the path through the ancient woodland, where ferns grew along the branches, and creepers, centuries old, hung down from the tallest trees. Alongside the path were clouds of hemp-agrimony, alive with butterflies, and clumps of wood irises with seed pods crammed with orange berries. At the top of the wood was a grove of mature pine trees, and beyond them, a sense of a light, a new world to be discovered.
Tessa floated, in a bubble of dreams. Was she really walking hand in hand with Art? Going with him so trustingly as he led her, with light in his eyes, to the other side of the wood. It seemed symbolic, as if the dark wood was her life, and now she was going to arrive into the shimmering light. Into the future.
They emerged from the pine wood into warm, grass-scented sunshine. The Vale of Avalon stretched out before them, like a smile. Peaceful fields and cottages, the green Levels dusted gold by the sun, the velvet slopes of Glastonbury Tor, and the blue hills of Mendip beyond. An afternoon place. Like heaven, where the embers of day burned on forever.
‘This is where I live now.’ Art waved his hand at the margin of grassland on the edge of the wood. At the far end was an expertly made bender, with a VW camper van parked nearby. A wooden gate led into a lane.
Tessa was holding back, expecting Rowan to appear and shatter her glimpse of paradise. Someone was there, she was sure, and it was a woman, a bright, bird-like face that bobbed out of the trees and beckoned to her.
‘I bought this section of the wood when the forest along the Poldens was split up,’ Art told her, obviously enjoying the look of surprise on her face. ‘I spent every last bean of my trust fund which Grandad left me. I fenced it off to protect the wildlife. It was my ambition, to do something like this for the planet.’
‘That’s brilliant,’ Tessa said, but still she waited for the woman to appear. She fixed her eyes on a tall lime tree which had the feeling of being a guardian, a sentinel, an entrance to some magical place. And the woman was behind it. Waiting.
‘When I first bought it,’ Art continued, ‘I drove the bus in along the old cart track. It was muddy, and the wheels sank in and got horribly stuck. I bust a gut trying to get her out, but she was leaning sideways, and I had to leave her there. I went off to Nepal for a couple of years – that was awesome. Then I stayed with my folks while I studied Ecology at college. By then the bus was so overgrown, and birds were nesting in there, so it felt right to let her become part of the wood.’
Tessa was only half listening. She could see the aura of the woman waiting behind the lime tree.
‘I’ve been studying sustainable forestry,’ Art said, his voice warm with enthusiasm. ‘I intend to manage the wood sympathetically, and I really hope that one day the nightingales will come back. I know how much you love them.’ He looked puzzled when Tessa didn’t respond. ‘What are you looking at?’
‘So – where’s Rowan?’ she asked.
‘Aw – that only lasted a few months.’ Art looked sad, and serious. He took Tessa’s hands. ‘It was a big lesson for me. Rowan’s in Crete now, with Willow, living in a commune – and – I’m so sorry, Tessa, for hurting you like that.’
Tessa’s spirits lifted. Rowan was gone! So who was the woman behind the lime tree?
‘Actually it kick-started me into doing something with my life,’ she said. ‘I had a job I loved in London, with special needs children. But I made a terrible mistake in marrying Paul. We’ve split up now. I’ve still got a flat in London, but I’m trying to move back here.’
‘I know your mum died,’ Art said. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Tessa shrugged. ‘I miss her – a lot – and Dad is . . .’ she paused, distracted by the bright face of the woman who darted out from behind the lime tree and beckoned mischievously. Art would have someone else, she thought, so what am I doing here? I should go.
‘Tessa?’
She felt the love from his intense, enquiring gaze. ‘But there’s someone here with you,’ she asked, ‘isn’t there?’
‘No. Nobody.’
‘Okay. Hang on a minute.’ Tessa needed to tune in to spirit. It wasn’t the first time she’d been confused by seeing a spirit person so clearly. Was this a spirit? Or was she real?
Art waited, respectfully.
‘I’m seeing a woman – a vibrant, happy little person,’ Tessa said, and then she smiled with relief. ‘Oh, I know who it is – I’ve seen her before. It’s my dad’s granny. Granny Barcussy! She keeps popping out from behind that big lime tree, as if she wants to show me something.’
Art smiled. ‘Wow! I’ve sensed her around, often, Tessa. It’s good to know who she is – or was.’
‘Is,’ Tessa said.
‘And she does want to show you something – come this way.’ Art looked excited now. He led her to the lime tree. ‘Da da!’ He waved his arm proudly and Tessa stared, open-mouthed into the glade.
A ruined cottage stood there, partly covered in ivy. The walls, door and windows were still intact, and rays of sunlight beamed in, illuminating an inglenook fireplace and a floor of blue-lias flagstones. Scarlet rosehips and trails of bryony grew around the porch, and a Red Admiral butterfly was sunning itself on the silver-white stones.
‘What is it? What’s the matter,’ Art asked, as tears poured down Tessa’s cheeks.
‘It’s okay – I’m not sad.’ She brushed the tears away. ‘I’m just – overwhelmed, Art – this is Granny Barcussy’s cottage. It’s where she lived. Dad used to bring us up here sometimes to see it, and he was always upset because it was a ruin. But we’d sit inside, Lucy and I, and he’d tell us stories.’
‘That’s awesome,’ Art said. ‘Well, I’m restoring it. I’ve just started the roof – hopefully I can get it up before the winter, then I can move in.’
‘Dad will be thrilled,’ Tessa said. ‘And I’m – over the moon – Did she lead you here? Granny Barcussy?’
‘Maybe – she kind of did.’
‘I’m overwhelmed,’ Tessa said, again. ‘So much happiness in one day.’
But Art looked serious. ‘I thought you’d never forgive me. So I didn’t hassle you. I watched you from afar.’
‘The black hat?’ she said, grinning.
‘Yeah, the black hat,’ he confirmed. ‘I watched your wedding, from a distance and I felt – gutted – absolutely gutted – and angry with myself. That’s why I went off to Nepal. The truth is, Tessa – I’ve never stopped loving you.’
Tessa couldn’t speak. She let him hold her. She felt the longing in him and she sensed him holding back.
‘It’s awesome to be with you again,’ he murmured. ‘Even to spend five minutes with you, Tessa. I realise I’m not good enough for you now – you’re so accomplished and you’re not a lost little girl any more. You’re a beautiful, shining soul. I’d love to be part of your life, if you’ll have me. I’ll do anything I can to help you.’
Tessa closed her eyes. She became aware of an auspicious gathering of spirit friends around them both. Kate was there, and Bertie, and Granny Barcussy. The tiny spirits of the wood were there, and a tall angel of light. It’s like a wedding, she thought, they have come to witness and wish us luck.
‘I really wanted to do that project we dreamed of together,’ Art said. ‘Restoring the Holy Well and building a healing centre. I read the piece you wrote for the Gazette – about the history of it – and it inspired me. It’s important for us to do it.’
Tessa opened her eyes to the intensity of his gaze. She felt his soul merging into hers, like two colours of paint, making a new colour, never seen on earth before. And she wanted it with the whole of her being. The marriage is now. In spirit, she thought, here in Granny Barcussy’s cottage.
‘Do you still have the dr
eam?’ he asked. ‘I watched you one day, with those men with clipboards. Planners? I knew they voted no – I saw that in the Gazette too.’
He was still holding her hands. Tessa took a breath. She wanted to scream with joy, but she lowered her voice and talked to him quietly. ‘Art – I never stopped loving you either. I searched for you. Every hippie in the distance was you. I’ve carried you in my heart. I will never let you go, even if you walk away from me now. We are soulmates, lovers across time, through many lifetimes.’ She paused, letting the stardust settle between them. ‘And when soulmates come together, their auras merge and create a unique flame of light, a flame that kindles dreams.’
‘Aw, Tessa,’ Art seemed overwhelmed, ‘I hardly dared to hope we could be together again.’
‘It was meant to happen,’ Tessa said, ‘and we’re both stronger for having been apart. I was in denial for years, until I met Starlinda and she believed in me. I owe her everything. She led me home to who I am. When the planners said no, I was furious, but she helped me to see the spiritual reason. It made me take a leap of faith, and look what’s happened – I found the singer in the wood!’
Art grinned. ‘I was singing that song for you, every time. I knew you loved it. And next time the planners will say yes. We have to begin – that’s the secret.’ He took a dog-eared postcard from the inner pocket of his jacket. ‘I carry this with me, Tessa. It’s like a mantra!’
With their heads close, they read the words of Goethe, printed on a photo of a rainbow:
Whatever you dream, or dream you can do, begin it.
Boldness has genius, power and magic. Begin it now!
‘I love it,’ Tessa said, and her eyes shone, pale blue with flecks of gold.
Art smiled into her soul. He drew her slowly towards him, and they kissed for a burning moment. In the hot silence of reunion, the dream they had once shared came drifting in through the veils of spirit light, like a crystal gifted from the aeons of time. The ultimate jewel of creativity and love.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thank you to our Tuesday Meditation Group for their love and encouragement.
Thank you to my family – Jade, Pete and sister June for your kindness and support, and to my husband, Ted, for his endless patience. Thank you to my agent, Judith Murdoch, my editor Jo, and to Beth Emanuel for her dedicated typing and technical support.
THE SAMARITANS, founded by Chad Varah in 1953 at St Stephen’s, Walbrook, is still alive and well, offering help, listening and anonymity to anyone who is desperate, suicidal, or in need of help.
Find them online at www.samaritans.org, or via their helpline 116123 from UK mobiles and landlines.
The Boy with no Boots
Sheila Jeffries
Freddie Barcussy knows hardship and pain. His parents Annie and Levi are struggling to make ends meet, both suffering with illness and poverty. Freddie is an outsider at school, misunderstood and angry. They need their luck to change.
Unbeknown to his parents, Freddie holds the key to their future. He has a gift, a gift he has told no one about. If he can learn how to overcome his fears, he could use it to change all their lives for ever . . . Searching to overcome hardship and prejudice, can Freddie find love and happiness or will mistrust ruin his life?
For fans of nostalgic saga, this is a gripping saga from the bestselling author of Solomon’s Tale.
Paperback: 978-1-4711-3765-5
eBook: 978-1-4711-3766-2
The Girl by the River
Sheila Jeffries
Moments after she is born, Tessa Barcussy is branded as ‘trouble’. On the same day, her father Freddie encounters a Romany Gypsy who makes a chilling prediction about Tessa’s destiny. Freddie finds it so disturbing that he writes it down and hides it in a sealed envelope – never to be opened, he hopes. Yet the gypsy’s words haunt him as he bonds with his new baby daughter.
Hyper-sensitive and rebellious, Tessa grows up a misfit, difficult to handle and disruptive. Freddie and his wife Kate struggle to raise this challenging child and nurture her creative gifts. Tessa feels that her path to happiness is chequered, growing up in the shadow of her sister, golden-child Lucy, and hiding a dark secret from everyone?
Will the words of the Romany Gypsy come true? Or will they empower Tessa to finally become the person she was born to be?
Paperback: 978-1-4711-5492-8
eBook: 978-1-4711-5493-5
Also by Sheila Jeffries
Solomon’s Tale
Solomon’s Kitten
The Boy with no Boots
Timba Comes Home
The Girl by the River
First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2017
A CBS COMPANY
Copyright © Sheila Jeffries, 2017
This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.
No reproduction without permission.
® and © 1997 Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved.
The right of Sheila Jeffries to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
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Paperback ISBN: 978-1-4711-5494-2
eBook ISBN: 978-1-4711-5495-9
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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