BREAKING CURSED BONDS

by Elisabeth Zguta

  “I work at PDG Inc., my father’s company. I’m brand director for new product development.”

  She smiled and hoped she wouldn’t have to explain more, but her answer only paved the way for more questions. Finally, after what seemed like an interrogation, she drew up short.

  “Jeremy, you’re so inquisitive,” she said. “Are you always so curious about strange people you just met?”

  “First off, you’re not so strange,” he smiled, “and I have to admit, I find you more interesting than most. I know it sounds sappy, but I want to learn everything about you.”

  There was a moment of silence. She looked at her tea, but sensed his eyes on her. Her body tingled as her pulse pounded and her throat tightened.

  “I like sappy,” she said softly. “Tell me more about you.” She turned the table on the questions, happy to be out of the spotlight. “Where are you from? And why take this job?”

  He chuckled to himself. “Well, not much to tell. I’m a simple man, grew up in Surrey. I have my mum and da and a sister and brother. I love nature and the science behind it all. I know it’s not the most profitable line of work, but my great uncle always told me to chase after the things in life that are important to me. I want to be part of taking care of this planet, and I want to understand all of its mysteries.”

  His gentle nature moved her; the more he spoke, the more she wanted to know. She had a thirst for his words, and yearned to be close. The table that separated them felt intrusive. She nodded as he talked about some of his favorite places on earth, and she imagined she was there with him, walking the beaches, hiking the woods.

  “So do you believe in fate?” she asked him.

  “My mother always said life unfolds the way it should. Maybe that is fate, or maybe just the law of nature. Either way, I know I’m glad we crossed paths.”

  He winked. He actually winked! To her it seemed like an old-fashioned way of flirting, but she found it so endearing the way he did it. Emilie drew in a breath, totally smitten.

  “Me, too.” Emilie looked down at her tea, embarrassed that she felt such a deep attraction so quickly. She hoped he hadn’t noticed, yet she wanted him to know exactly how she felt. She looked up at him again and their eyes met.

  Time stood still at that moment.

  The Black Forest cuckoo clock on the kitchen wall chimed midnight; she heard the soft dongs and the music box played Edelweiss while four small wood-carved people twirled in a waltz. Something special flourished between them, she knew he could sense it, too. Laughing and sharing their pasts, a new beginning had emerged.

  “I’d better be off, but I’d like to see you again, if that’s agreeable with you. Miss Emilie, will you have dinner with me tomorrow? I mean tonight.”

  Emilie smiled. “Yes, of course. Call me later today and we’ll meet up. I’d like that, very much.”

  She handed him her card. Jeremy kissed her cheek softly. His lips hot against her skin.

  “Cheers,” he said as he walked toward the door.

  Emilie watched as he walked to his truck, and knew she’d never be the same again. An emptiness she had endured for most of her life was suddenly filled.

  “Life is wonderful!” she exclaimed to an empty room.

  In bliss, she forgot all about her short argument with Robert. She leaped up the stairs, retreated to her bedroom, and climbed into bed. Falling into a deep sleep, she dreamed of things that had never been allowed before tonight. The silent burden she’d endured since her mother’s death began to lighten.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Emilie woke the next morning happy and relaxed, a new feeling that she hoped would last. The visit to New Orleans had been just what she’d needed: catching up with her sister, finding some insight into the curse, and, most surprisingly, meeting the most handsome man she had ever seen. Despite everything else in turmoil around her, Emilie’s good mood persisted. She hummed as she washed and dressed, throwing on a pair of jeans and an old shirt that was loose and baggy. Today the house was empty, not a soul around, so she turned up the music until the tunes blasted through the house. She went downstairs and grabbed a cup of coffee and then headed back to her desk, opened her laptop, and went over the information she had copied, just one more time.

  She remembered the old magic Miss Boniverre talked about, used by the sea warrior and the Chief Saturiwa. Captain de Gourgues had to have been the warrior from the sea, she was sure. History books stated he was an ally to the Timucua tribe, and since her ancestor was the sea warrior, then probably the bond between the two men in the ceremony had been the beginning of the curse. Something had gone wrong and the legacy of death began with the captain, or more accurately the captain’s wife.

  She shivered, feeling a sudden draft. Looking around, she saw there were no open windows, but she felt some kind of cold invisible trail in front of her, a presence leading her forward. She refused to worry, but instead allowed the spark of curiosity to guide her. That old book is still in father’s library. I bet it will hold answers. She needed to get it back and translate it, and with no one in the house today, it was her opportunity to do so.

  She noticed when passing the grandfather clock that it was already mid-afternoon. The library doors were closed. She grabbed the handles, pulled the large doors open, and went straight to the elegant Louis XVI desk. It was a beautiful piece of furniture with gold-leaf accents and a smooth leather top that was soft from years of use. The drawers pulled open with ease. She loved the old desk and checked all the drawers, taking her time, appreciating the whiff of tobacco that permeated the air, dispersing as she drew them open. She found nothing.

  Next, she rummaged through the stacks of books on the table, feeling guilty going through her father’s stuff, and again came up empty. Her attention turned to the large bookcase behind the desk. She scanned the shelves visible at eye level but found nothing that resembled the old journal. Looking for a stepladder to reach the top shelves, she noticed something that stood out as if placed there mistakenly. The old song from Sesame Street played in her head: one of these things doesn’t belong.

  Emilie felt the cold draft again. Her skin sprung goose bumps. Looking up she saw the small lightweight cloth bag that the little girl had given Father Eddie. Tied with twine and marked with a symbol designed like Poseidon’s pitchfork on the outside, the bag sat there on the shelf. Some sort of force pulsed from it. She snatched it up and opened the bag cautiously. She found the strange ingredients inside.

  Something odd came over her, a sensation she had never experienced before. “What the hell did we do?!” Her stomach tightened and her head spun. It took everything she had for her to stay on her feet. “What’s happening to me?”

  She panicked. She picked up the bag using only two fingers, pulled the string closed, and placed it back on the shelf, half tossing it to minimize the need to touch it. Whatever was in the bag was doing this. It was Voodoo. She realized now that she had invited these dark forces into their home, that perhaps she and Father Eddie had opened something they had no right to go near. Feeling ill, she barely made it out of the library to the guest powder room, before she vomited. She needed fresh air, and headed for the door.

  Once outside, she sprinted away from the house, rubbing her hands frantically against her jeans, trying to erase the awful feeling on her skin. She breathed in erratic gasps, swallowing the needed fresh air to clear her lungs. Still in the grip of fear, Emilie ran toward the stables, her favorite place to think. Stopping, she leaned against a weathered fence post to catch her breath. She hated panic attacks almost as much as she hated Voodoo bags.

  Her horse, Rex, walked over to see her. Emilie rubbed his face gently and said, “I can always count on you.” Rex whinnied.

  Now that she was away from the house, the bizarre feeling was gone. She tried to understand why it had happened.

  There had been some kind of spiritual essence in that bag. A flash memory of the previous night and all the strange happenings in the room
came to mind, the old lady, as the candlelight appeared to shrivel her face right in front of them. Emilie shook her head, pushing that image from her mind, and then she remembered Miss Boniverre had said Voodoo was for blessings.

  The curse on her family had nothing to do with Voodoo, and definitely was not a blessing. Emilie needed to talk things out with someone, to clear her head and get a handle on which direction to go. For a brief moment, she considered of calling Robert, but right away realized that would be a mistake. He was already so angry with her. Michelle was a better choice for a friendly ear, but her sister hated stuff like this. Still, she had a clear head about things. Emilie tugged at her jeans, pulled the phone from her pocket, and hit speed dial. All she got was Michelle’s voicemail. Instead, she left a text message: Call me when you can, need advice. She hit send.

  “Now what should I do?” she asked herself aloud.

  She envisioned Jeremy; he had shadowed her thoughts all day. His voice alone would make her feel safe again, she imagined. Even though they’d just met, Emilie felt in some ways like she had known him forever. Time was playing tricks on her, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was to be with him again, she needed someone to talk with. Her phone rang. Looking at the display, she recognized his number. Jeremy’s timing was perfect.

  She hesitated a second, wondering how much she’d reveal to him, family curses and hex bags were definitely not first-date material. He would think she was crazy; normal people didn’t have those things hanging around their house.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Emilie? Hi, it’s Jeremy, I suppose you recognized my number from caller ID.”

  She smiled to herself, happy to hear his nervous voice. “I did see your name pop up, and I’m glad to hear from you.”

  “I’m glad you’re glad.” He cleared his throat. “Look, I just finished logging in my work notes and hoped we could grab that bite to eat. Wait a minute, let me try that again.”

  Emilie almost giggled, hearing the smile in his voice when he spoke.

  “It would be my honor to take you to dinner. Can I stop by for you, Miss Emilie?”

  His voice was calming. She was better already, as if everything in her life was suddenly manageable. “That would be perfect, Master Jeremy.”

  “See you in thirty minutes, if that is okay?”

  “Sounds great.”

  Thinking about her secrets, she wondered if sharing the knowledge of her clairvoyant gift with Jeremy was a good idea. The gift had always been a part of her life, her ability made her feel alive, though at times it also made her suffer. To be completely honest with him, she should explain this critical part of who she was, but it just wasn’t the kind of thing that popped up in normal conversation. But then, when had her life ever been normal? Maybe I should try to keep my secret after all.

  Eager for her date to begin, she sprinted back toward the house to freshen up. Water splashed all over the mirror as she rinsed her face and brushed her teeth. She picked up a towel to wipe it clean, and saw her reflection. Her eyes seemed brighter, somehow, her smile wider, all thanks to Jeremy. She realized with a start that she looked like a woman in love. The thought made her grin.

  Emilie rushed, in a hurry to see him, so she grabbed the first outfit her hands reached. A blue-print Oscar de la Renta sundress hung on a hanger that dangled over her door, along with the rest of the dry-cleaned and freshly washed clothes. She pulled it over her head, smoothed it over her body, and zipped the back, then pulled on a fresh pair of panties that she snatched from her drawer. She hopped as she slipped on a pair of satin Manolo Blahnik flats. Ready and excited to see Jeremy again, she dashed out of the house.

  Exactly thirty minutes after the call, Emilie sat in the passenger seat of Jeremy’s truck as they headed toward Germantown, a small city east of Memphis.

  “I thought we could eat Italian. I found a cute little family-owned restaurant in the historic part of Germantown. Funny, let’s have Italian in Germantown.”

  She glanced over at his smiling side profile. Jeremy kept his eyes on the road as he drove. He was handsome in his casual way, dressed in dark indigo jeans and wearing a green dress shirt and matching satin basket-weave tie, topped off with a slim-cut dark Moleskin sport jacket.

  “That sounds perfect,” she said.

  He smiled. “It’s your soft Southern twang that’s perfect.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  They arrived at the quaint restaurant, located in the historic section of town. A dozen or so tables were scattered in the space, the lights soft. A whisper of Italian music created an intimate atmosphere. They ordered lasagna Bolognese from a simple menu and a good red California wine. Plumes of garlic and herbs floated from the kitchen each time a waiter opened the swinging door.

  Jeremy did most of the talking about the project he worked on, but the light conversation about the events of their day didn’t last long. Soon, a silence strained Emilie’s anxiety, and butterflies whirled in her stomach with each glance she stole. She noticed Jeremy raise his head a few times as if about to talk, then lower it back down, until finally he spoke his mind.

  “I notice you’re preoccupied tonight,” he said, breaking the lull. “We’ve only been talking about my day. Conversations about migrating ospreys, headcutting and floodplains, it’s not that interesting.” He smiled. “What’s on your mind? I’d be flattered if you decided to trust me.”

  He leaned across the table, his face inches from hers, and whispered, “Tell me your secrets, Emilie.”

  Emilie’s face warmed, flustered. She could construe his meaning in many ways. She had tried to conceal herself, yet he read her so well. He knew she was keeping something from him, ultimately, his honesty compelled her to be truthful, too.

  “I really don’t know what to say. I’d rather not get into my family’s deep dark secret, I’m afraid I’ll scare you off.” She smiled, trying to make light of things. Jeremy pulled his head back just a tad, continuing to watch her. He’s not convinced.

  “Well, if you don’t trust me with your deepest thoughts, I suppose I’ll have to live with that, but I am here to listen if you need me.”

  Emilie struggled internally. He sounded disappointed and hopeful at the same time, as if he was daring her to have faith in him. Should I share my secrets or not? She swallowed hard.

  “This will sound insane, trust me, I know. I wouldn’t even believe it myself . . . except I do believe it, because I’ve always sensed it, you know, felt that something was just…wrong.” She pulled up short, her face flaming. Jeremy continued to watch her, a faint hint of amusement in his eyes, but more compassionate than any she’d glimpsed before. She took a deep breath.

  “My family is cursed,” she said. “Well, not me, don’t worry. But supposedly the male members of my family are cursed. Any woman they marry dies young.”

  “It sounds like the women they marry are the cursed ones, then,” he said, smiling.

  “Exactly.” She fidgeted, pulling her hair behind her ears and tugging at the strands. He was watching her so she stopped, dropping her hands to her lap. Did he think it endearing, or was it revealing? Jeremy was reading her again.

  “There must be more to the story than that,” he said. “More than just this strange curse that kills young women.” The look in his eye told her that the curse was still unreal to him, a fairytale.

  “Here’s the whole story,” she said. She took a moment to sort through the facts, the reality of her world and how it tied to the de Gourgues legacy. “Someone is extorting money from my father, selling him information about this curse that has been plaguing our family for generations, hell, centuries. It may be the reason my mother died, and it really has my father shaken up. My brother Robert is acting strange, too. You met Robert, the one you saved me from having an argument with last night.”

  Jeremy tilted his head to one side, processing what she said.

  “You don’t believe in any of this, do you?” she asked.

  “
Emilie, I don’t get it. You sound like you’re worried about a curse, but there’s no such thing. Right? I wonder what my Uncle Thaddeus would think. He loved a good mystery. Give me the whole story, because I really want to understand what’s bothering you. And I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but if your brother ever raises his voice to you like that again, well . . . ” He stopped and caught himself before finishing the sentence. “He has no right to speak to you in that tone,” he finished.

  “Well, this is what I know,” she said, quelling butterflies stirred by his protective display. “A stranger visited my father and I’m pretty sure he’s extorting money from him in return for the information, though I never witnessed it. He gave my father information about our family curse, and our long history of unexplained deaths. The women who married into our family died very young, usually shortly after the wedding. It might be a coincidence, but it seems too many to disregard the claim. I checked out the history myself, and the deaths are there, no exceptions. It’s a curse, Jeremy, I’m telling you, I have no other explanation.”

  She took another breath. Jeremy continued to listen, riveted now. “The issue now is how much all this bothers my father. He’s acting crazed. You see, my mother…” She stopped. Her eyes welled. “My mother died when she was only thirty-six. I remember it like it was yesterday. It was the worst day of my life.”

  She lowered her head and tried to push away the memory of the last words she had said to her mother, while sitting beside her on the hospital bed, reading a poem from the book North of Boston by Robert Frost.

  I shall laugh the worst laugh I ever laughed.

  I'm cursed. God, if I don't believe I'm cursed

  Emilie swallowed back her grief. She had known her mother’s agony, and in that last moment, she experienced her mother’s surrender as her spirit left her body. That horrific vision of her mother, all the life and strength drained from her limp body, remained with her still. She hated this part of her gift the most. She had known her mother’s pain all too well.