Souls Estranged (The Souls Trilogy Book 2)

by Anne B. Cole

  Chapter 10

  Two Letters

  Gretta

  Darkness surrounded Gretta. With her head buried in her pillow, it became difficult to breathe. She didn’t care.

  Sam’s infection happened because of me.

  Her head swirled thoughts and memories together.

  Memories, not dreams. Real and true memories.

  Her hands trembled as she clutched the old letter she found in Sam’s house. Curling into a ball on her side, she read it a third time.

  January 3, 1830

  Taylor Plantation

  My Dearest Anya,

  I love you. I love our baby. I love you, Anya. My sister, Roxana, is writing for me.

  My strength is failing. I am sending my brother, William, to you. Will promised me he would deliver my letters and stay with you. He will support you and our child.

  Will is a good man. He is strong and hard working.

  Please thank Theo for me. Will promised me he would take his place in Milos as long as you wish.

  I am sorry, Anya. I am so very sorry. I am not afraid. Mother, Roxana, Elvira, and Senantha are constantly at my side. Clouds cover the sun today. Elvira drew a picture of the sun and held it up to me. I felt you. You are so close to me.

  Please tell our child to think of me each time the sun shines and touches his face. Tell him to feel the warmth of my love. You are here with me, Anya. I feel your strength in my heart. It is all I have left. I am with you always. Tell our baby how much I love him. If we have a girl, tell her she is strong and beautiful, just like her mother.

  This is not goodbye Anya, for I can never say those words to you. I will be waiting for you, praying for you and our child each and every day. I love you, Anya.

  Take Care, my love. I am waiting.

  L

  ‘L’ died. The letter didn’t need to state the words. Knowledge of his death seared her heart. Images flicked in her mind. Anya had a child, a baby boy with blonde hair. She remembered the pain of L’s death as if he were her own husband. Anya had asked Theo to raise her baby before she died.

  Theo?

  Gretta snatched the paper lined with sticky notes. She added ‘Theo’ beside Tim’s name on the ‘Safe’ note. Theo, whoever he was, felt ‘safe’ and had been the name her mind searched for. He had curly, dark hair very similar to Tony’s.

  She jotted ‘Roxana—— L’s sister who wrote the letter’ on a pink sticky note pad. It seemed like she knew Roxana, but could not grasp how or why. Any time she attempted to focus on her name, the memories faded away. She added the pink note to the yellow ones on her paper and concentrated on Theo.

  Dark, curly hair, strong, handsome.

  “Anya cared for Theo but didn’t love him. She loved L,” she murmured. “Loren. No, Lorenzo. I loved Lorenzo, but he died a very long time ago. How is this possible?”

  She squeezed her head with both hands, pushing thoughts of insanity out.

  “Get a grip, Gretta. I’m not Anya. I’m not crazy. I. Am. Not. Crazy.” Saying it louder didn’t help.

  Looking at her open door, she remembered her family. Her bare feet flew across the floor to shut herself in with an echoing thud.

  For a moment, she leaned against the door and thought about Sam. Back at her bed, she reached for the paper of notes as a thought clicked.

  At the hospital, Sam called out ‘Anya.’

  When he had said this, she thought nothing of it and told Tim she was Anya.

  I claimed to be Anya. Did jealousy overtake me when Sam called for another girl? No, there had to be more.

  Who is Anya and how am I connected to her?

  Gretta scribbled, ‘Anya—me’ on a pink note.

  “That’s crazy.” She crumpled and tossed it to the floor. She wrote ‘Anya—pitcher, letter.’

  The sticky notes made absolutely no sense. Frowning, she scrambled over to a pile of school supplies haphazardly stacked on the floor. Ruby must have dumped the contents of her backpack last week when she packed a bag for her to go to Sam’s.

  Concern for him flooded her heart. She grabbed her phone and sent a quick text to Ruby.

  ‘How’s Sam?’

  She stared at the display for what seemed like an eternity.

  No response.

  “Keep busy, Gretta. Keep busy.” She groaned. “Crazy people talk to themselves.”

  A yellow notebook stood at the top of a stack of various folders and papers she had emptied out of her high school locker. She flipped it open. Barely used in her literature class, she read the word ‘Patience’ at the top of the first page. A list of classic novels followed.

  Strange.

  “That’s not my handwriting.” She touched the word, ‘Patience.’ It wasn’t written in her normal small print like the other words below it. Instead, the word looped beautifully in cursive. “Someone must have written it during class.” She searched her mind for a classmate who took calligraphy and came up empty.

  Turning the page, she found the rest of the notebook unused. She smoothed the third page with her hand and transferred the yellow and pink sticky notes inside.

  Her phone vibrated, causing her heart to rise to her throat. A text from Ruby. ‘Will call when things change.’

  Gretta looked at the ring on her finger.

  Bad things happen to people around me.

  Grabbing another sticky note, she wrote ‘Dad, Tony, Sam.’ She paused before adding ‘MY FAULT.’ Quickly she wrote, ‘ring,’ ‘Milos,’ and ‘1830’ on separate notes. After arranging them into the notebook, she tucked it under her pillow and ran downstairs.

  Gretta snatched her laptop computer off the desk in the den. Knowing the battery had not been charged since her high school finals over two weeks ago, she checked the indicator.

  Dead.

  Her father had died tragically. Lorenzo, too.

  Sam?

  “No, he has to be okay.” She grabbed the power cord, and raced back to her room. After plugging in the computer, she balanced it on her crossed legs and hit the power button.

  Her fingers flew over the keys to search, ‘Roxana Taylor 1830.’ Within seconds, Google listed hundreds of entries. Her attention zeroed in on the seventh one.

  She clicked on the ancestry site and scrolled to the name Roxana Taylor Newbury. Her heartbeat quickened when she found Roxana’s siblings; Lorinda, Lorenzo, William, Elvira, and Senantha.

  Gretta spied the old letter and matched the names. “Bingo. The Roxana in this letter must be Roxana Taylor Newbury and ‘L’ is Lorenzo. This is not a dream.” Goosebumps crawled over her arms and legs.

  She clicked on Lorenzo’s name and found a single entry, a death date, January 3, 1830. Cold shivers ran up her spine and flooded her cheeks. His death date matched the date on the letter. Scanning the document for more information, she found nothing.

  Dead.

  Her trembling fingers typed another search. She couldn’t find a listing of a wife or child for Lorenzo. William had also died the same year, a few months later.

  Dead.

  Gretta clicked on Roxana’s name. She married a man named John Newbury and both lived to be ninety, dying days apart from each other.

  Somehow I knew she lived a long life.

  Grabbing the pad of sticky notes, she wrote, ‘Roxana Taylor’ and ‘John Newbury’ on one and ‘William Taylor’ on another.

  How is Sam’s family connected to the people in the letter?

  Her gaze landed on her cell phone. Could Sam be a descendant of Roxana, William, or Lorenzo? The letter had been passed down through many generations. She wondered if the pitcher the letter had been inside was as old. She could have damaged it by filling it with water.

  Gretta forced herself to refocu
s her attention on the computer. Since no wives or children were listed for Lorenzo or William, she began following Roxana’s descendants. John and Roxana died in 1912. They had four children. Two boys had died before they were a year old. A girl died at the young age of fifteen. Their second daughter, Charlotte, married a man named Charles Frieze. They had several children.

  After spending over an hour following Charlotte’s first two children and their descendants without making a connection to Sam, Gretta became discouraged.

  “Most of the lineages stop between the 1950s and 1970s. Tim has to be in his fifties and Sam’s mom, too. I don’t know her name.” She bit her lip.

  “Sam mentioned his mother died exactly one year before the tree fell on us in the park.” Within seconds, her internet search found his mom’s obituary. “Sarah Rose Burton Daggett,” she muttered. “Survived by her husband, Timothy Daggett and two sons, Justin and Samuel.” Gretta’s chest tightened with thoughts of Sam. “Focus. Sam’s going to be all right. He has to be.”

  She scrolled through Charlotte’s descendants. She found one Timothy and two named Sarah, born between the years 1920 and 1965. No Daggett or Burton surnames.

  Gretta rubbed her temples. The pounding inside her head pulsed with each heartbeat. “I’m going to search Charlotte’s third child, Minerva, before going to bed.”

  At this point it didn’t matter that she was talking to herself almost nonstop.

  She clicked on the name and mumbled, “Here we go.”

  Minerva married Judd Langton and had a girl and a boy. The daughter, Sophia, moved to the west coast in the early nineteen hundreds. “No Tims or Sarahs.” She scrolled back to the top. The son, Owen, married a woman named Ellie, no last name listed for her. Their children included one boy and four girls. Again, not one Timothy or Sarah or Daggett or Burton.

  “Damn, I’m tired.” She yawned before scrolling through Owen’s generations. “He had a second daughter named Lucy.” This triggered a smile. She looked at the ring on her finger and thought about her grandmother who shared the same name.

  “Lucy married a man named George Peters.”

  Gretta rubbed both eyes and stared at the screen. “George and Lucy Peters are my grandparents. Mom’s parents.” The date of George’s death matched her grandfather’s death date.

  “Children,” she whispered and scrolled.

  “Mom and Uncle Kevin.” The listing ended. She scrolled back to Owen and Ellie and scanned through the last two daughters and their descendants. No Timothy Daggett or Sarah Burton.

  My letter.

  She scrambled over to her dresser and found the small leather pouch her mother had given to her almost two weeks ago while they sat on the porch swing. That morning, her mom had visited Grandma at the nursing home.

  “She gave Mom the ring and letter to give to me as a graduation gift,” Gretta whispered to herself.

  The old letter was written by her grandmother’s grandmother.

  Gretta opened the folded note and read the faded ink.

  April 9, 1938

  My Dearest Lucy,

  I hope this letter finds you well. I am feeling better with the arrival of warmer weather. My daffodils and hyacinths are just beautiful this year. Their lovely scent fills the garden each morning. You must drop by for a visit soon.

  Your mother came by last week to help me with my spring cleaning. We took everything out of the walnut hutch and cleaned each piece until they shined. My grandmother’s little blue vase presented me with such a surprise. As I picked it up to wipe off the dust, I noticed this ring inside. My Grandma Newbury gave it to me when I was about your age. The stone, I believe, is a garnet.

  Grandmother’s brother was a sailor who brought it back from his European travels. I could no longer wear it years ago due to my arthritis and placed it in the vase for safe keeping.

  Wonderful memories of the time I spent with my grandmother came back to me. We stopped for coffee and I shared many stories with your mother.

  I was my grandmother’s second granddaughter, so I am giving it to you, my second granddaughter. It probably has little value, but it is the oldest thing I own, and I recall fond memories of long ago just by holding it. Please accept it and each time you wear it think of the cherished times we had together.

  Love to you and all of the family. I hope to be able to attend the church dance next month. Perhaps I will see you then.

  With love,

  Grandma

  Gretta noted Lucy’s name in the ancestry site. The ‘Grandma’ who wrote the letter must have been Minerva Langton who, according to this family tree, was Roxana’s granddaughter.

  “That makes Roxana my grandmother, way, way back.” The words echoed inside her head as she spoke them.

  A single line of the letter gripped her attention.

  Grandmother’s brother was a sailor who brought it back from his European travels.

  “Roxana’s brother, Lorenzo, brought the ring to her before he died. This is the ring. My ring.”

  Cursed Ring. Bad luck. Untimely deaths. Dad.

  Tony.

  Sam.

  A phone chirped, pulling her away from the frantic thoughts buzzing through her head. She grabbed her cell and opened the text.

  ‘Say some prayers. I will call in the morning. Ruby.’

  “Sam.” His name fell from her lips in an agonized whisper. “I’m cursed with bad luck.” She tried to pull the ring off, but it didn’t budge. What will happen next? Who will die because of me? Everyone I know is in danger.

  Determined to get away, far away from family and friends, Gretta formed a plan.

  Chapter 11

  Runaway

  Gretta

  The grandfather clock chimed eleven as Gretta entered the living room. A muted television flashed headlines of the late news, casting an eerie glow on her mother’s skin. Reclining on the couch, empty eyes stared at the novel in her lap. She spotted her mother’s reading glasses on the end table.

  “Mom?”

  After several moments her mother gazed upward. Gretta winced at her face, swollen from an abundance of crying and a lack of sleep. She knelt on the floor beside the couch.

  “Honey, you should be in bed.” Her mother’s voice cracked like thinly breaking glass.

  Gretta nodded. “I wanted to say good night.” She kissed her mother’s cheek and paused for a split second before lying to her mother for the second time in one day. “I got a call earlier this evening from camp, the job I accepted for the summer. One of the lead counselors in charge of outdoor living skills took another position. They asked me to fill in the empty spot. I need to arrive by tomorrow night.” She bit her lip when she finished the fib.

  “I thought camp didn’t start for another two weeks?” Her mom’s voice broke on the last word.

  Gretta swallowed hard before inflicting additional pain. “I have to attend training and then teach the other counselors when they arrive.”

  Her mother’s eyes glazed over.

  “I have to be there by five for a dinner meeting. This experience might help me decide what I want to do in college. I’m thinking I may—” Gretta lost her ability to speak when a tear on her mother’s face caught the light.

  I can’t stay, Mom. You’re in danger because of me.

  After a long minute, her mom attempted a smile. “Be sure to call when you arrive. You can take the VW.”

  Behind them, approaching footsteps suddenly diverted to the front door.

  Gretta breathed a sigh of relief. It hurt, but her lie held. “I love you, Mom.”

  “Love you, too.” Her empty gaze stared at the paperback in her lap.

  Gretta hurried into the hall. A breeze floated in through the screen door, beckoning her outside. As her hand touched
the doorknob, her sister’s voice froze her in place.

  “—and now she’s off to some camp as if nothing has happened.”

  “It might be better for Gretta to get away for a while. I don’t think she has started to grieve yet,” Drew’s soothing voice replied.

  She peeked around the corner. The two were on the porch swing wrapped in her yellow comforter.

  “She’s acting as if nothing happened even though everything has changed. Mom needs us.” Emily suddenly caught Gretta’s eye. “Bobby needs us and Gretta’s wrapped up in her own little world.”

  Gretta longed to explain herself, but instead she raced up the steps, ran to her brother’s bedroom, and shoved the cracked door open. It thudded hard against her brother’s head.

  “Bobby? Oh God, not you too.” She started into the room.

  “Damn it, Gretta. I dropped my contact and can’t find it. Don’t step anywhere.” Bobby slid away from the door.

  Gretta fell to her knees and pretended to search. “Sorry. Don’t you have another?” She knew her brother kept a supply of contacts.

  “It’s my last pair. I didn’t want to bother Mom . . .” His excuse trailed off.

  Gretta gave up all pretense of searching for the contact, trying to gather enough courage to tell Bobby she was leaving.