Promised Soul

by Sandra J. Jackson

  “Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked.

  Mary had to think quickly, not a process she was very good at; nonetheless, she felt she had no choice. She had told her mother that she was looking for something; she didn't want her to know that she was posting a letter, it would lead to too many questions.

  “No, it seems they're all out,” Mary lied.

  “Well, maybe next time,” her mother said with a smile and a wink of her eye.

  Mary instantly felt guilty for lying; she only hoped her mother didn't want details on the supposed item, for she hadn't exactly planned on any further explanation.

  “I'll pay for these and we'll be on our way and back home in plenty of time to fix dinner. Now where's your sister?” she asked Mary as she looked around the store.

  “She's waiting outside, I'll fetch her.” Mary turned and headed out the door; happy for the excuse to leave her mother's side before she asked her any questions about the anonymous item.

  Mary looked up the road and saw a small group of children playing. She took a few steps in their direction and spotted her sister instantly; she stopped and called out.

  “Sarah, we must go now.”

  The young girl waved bye to her friends and hurriedly made her way toward Mary. Mary watched her bounce along, her pigtails swinging back and forth, as she came closer into view.

  I sat upright on the couch and rubbed my face. “Sarah!” I whispered, the image of the little girl from my dream clearly in my mind, with Emma's eyes reflecting back.

  Twenty-One

  It took me a few minutes to understand exactly where I was upon waking in a strange bed, in a strange room. Even crawling into bed seemed a blur, much less falling asleep. The only thing I did remember was that Sarah was on my mind. Who is or was the girl that now haunted my dreams?

  I laid there in bed, staring up at the ceiling trying hard to recall my dream from last night and all my other dreams since they had started. Bits and pieces came flooding back but there was no making sense of any of it. Throwing off the light sheet which covered me, I sat up, filled with anticipation. I had to understand what was happening, they were no longer dreams to me but messages from another time and place.

  I grabbed my robe from the back of the bedroom door, pulled it on and made my way toward the desk. My fingers rooted through the handmade pencil holder jammed with pencils, markers, and the like and searched for a pen with which to jot down my thoughts. Finally, with a suitable pen in hand, I snatched the notebook from the desk and proceeded to the living room, plunked myself down in the corner of the couch, and opened the book to its first available blank page. I stared at the clean page, wondering just where to begin. Should I work backwards or start from when the dreams began?

  It was better to start with the freshest; it was easier that way. I began writing furiously as if my life depended on it. Each idea, memory, and thought seemed to evoke a surge of others. It wasn't until my wrist began to ache and several pages were filled that I stopped – drained.

  I closed the notebook and placed it on the coffee table in front of me, leaned back on the couch, and closed my eyes, still not sure where all the information was leading. The uneasy, gnawing feeling burned in the pit of my stomach just as the unanswered questions burned in my brain.

  Slowly, I began going over what I knew for sure. First, at the meeting with Ruth just days before, she had contacted my father. I truly believed she had because what she'd said was too specific to have been a ruse. Then there was the other spirit who had wanted to speak to me; he was completely unfamiliar. I tried to recall what he'd said, unfortunately it hadn't been written down. Too engrossed with the whole experience, I had simply forgotten. Finally, the information Ruth had given me about past lives, telling me that my soul was old. Does that mean my life now is not the first? Had there been others? Some small part of me knew there had, but I kept pushing it down whenever it surfaced. There had to be another explanation.

  I opened my eyes and stared at the notebook lying on the table in front of me, not wanting to go back through it to examine the information I'd just written down. Yet, I was compelled to do just that, too troubled not to. I leaned over and picked up the notebook, flipping it open to where my notes began. Carefully re-reading it, I added details left out the first time around. Still in the end, I had no definitive answer and began wondering if things shouldn't just be left as they were. Maybe all the recapping of my dreams was hurting more than helping.

  I tossed the notebook back down on the table – frustrated. It was all too much for me, and my head ached. Leaning forward, my head cradled in my hands, I closed my eyes and shuddered, my lungs breathed in deep. I wanted to cry but thought better of it; it would only make my headache worse. Instead, I rose and headed to my room. My mind needed clearing.

  The soothing, warm water ran down my scalp sending tingles through my body as it ran across my shoulders and down my back. With my arms stretched out in front of me and my hands pressed against the back of the shower for support, my muscles began to relax as the water seemingly washed away the tension; the pounding in my head began to ease. I tilted my head towards the shower and allowed the water to wash over my face. My eyes still closed, my hands reached down and slowly turned the cold-water off making it hotter. When it was as hot as could be tolerated, I turned away and let the water pound fully on my back; my eyes remained shut. Minutes ticked by as I stood there almost asleep on my feet.

  My eyes popped open with sudden awareness that if I soon didn't get moving there probably wouldn't be enough hot water to wash with, and there was nothing I hated more than a cold shower.

  I washed and conditioned my hair quickly, then poured a generous amount of jasmine scented body wash onto my loofah mitt and brought it toward my face, inhaling its scent and feeling my anxiety drift away. I rubbed the loofah over my body a little harder than usual, feeling its scratchiness wash and exfoliate. It was as though I were trying to scrub away that part of me that kept nagging the truth – pushing it away. When I was finished, my skin tingled; it felt good.

  I turned off the slowly cooling water just before it took away the warmth that covered my entire body and stepped out of the shower. The steam poured out behind me. The white fluffy towel was soft and soothing on my body as it enveloped me. Wrapping a smaller towel around my head, I headed toward the mirror that hung above the sink; it had completely steamed over. I caught sight of myself in the mirror, and as I stared at the foggy image, I found myself unable to move. For a moment, it was not my reflection but that of another with long, dark flowing hair. I snatched the hand towel from the bar and quickly erased the image from the mirror, seeing only my own frantic look staring back at me.

  I dressed quickly, all the while convincing myself the image was just the result of an over active imagination. What I needed was to get out and get some fresh air, and wherever my feet led me was irrelevant.

  Once dressed, I grabbed my make-up and headed for the bathroom, but after a second thought decided on using the mirror in the bedroom instead, not wanting to conjure up any more images, real or imaginary.

  From the sunshine that shone through the window, it looked to be a beautiful, warm day. However, goose bumps remained on my skin. I turned abruptly toward the closet and snatched a sweater leaving the hanger it had been hanging on to swing wildly back and forth.

  I shut the red door behind me. The warmth of the sun greeted me as I stepped out from under the protection of the small overhang above the door. Closing my eyes, my head tilted briefly toward the sun, I enjoyed the way it caressed my face. An image from earlier dreams of Mary enjoying the sun flashed in my mind. Shaking my head, I tied my sweater around my waist and headed up the street toward the town centre, my small purse slung across my shoulder.

  After walking for several minutes, I came across a tearoom. Its awnings and outside seating mirrored each side of the main entrance and presented as authentic and quaint. Deciding that it seemed to be a good pla
ce to calm my somewhat frazzled nerves, I entered.

  Finding a recently vacated table by the window, I took my seat and awaited the server to clear the remnants from what seemingly was another satisfied customer.

  “Hello, love; let me clear this away for you, and I'll take your order.” I looked up to see the smiling face of a woman who was about my mother's age carrying a bus pan in one hand and a damp cloth in the other. She quickly cleared the dishes and placed them in the bus pan she'd set at the other end of the square table. “Is anyone joining you then, dear?” she asked while she busily cleaned the table of its bits and pieces.

  “No, it's just me.”

  “Tsk, tsk,” she clicked her tongue. “a pity such a lovely girl as yourself is here alone on such a beautiful day.” She smiled warmly, stopping for a second to look at me.

  I blushed. “Thank you. I'm here on vacation.”

  “Lucky you! So how do you like our 'Little Venice of the Cotswold's?” she asked. I stared at her for a moment a little bewildered by her statement. “That's how many refer to Bourton-on-the-Water,” she clarified.

  “Oh! Well, it is beautiful; though I only just arrived yesterday afternoon, so I haven't seen much of it yet.”

  “Well then, be sure to see the 'Model Village', it will give you a good lay of the land and show you where everything is.”

  “Oh thank you, I will.” I smiled back, thankful for the information. The woman pulled out the chair beside me and picked up a newspaper that was lying there, probably left by the previous patrons. “Can you leave that please?” I asked, interested in looking at the local paper.

  “Of course, love; I'll be right back with some place settings and a menu.” She set the paper on the table.

  “Thank you.” I looked at the cover of the newspaper and read its aptly named title, The Bourton Times. Carefully, I thumbed my way through the pages taking in every article and advertisement. Working my way slowly through the paper, I found myself engrossed in its every detail. So much so, that I hadn't heard the server when she returned.

  “Here you are, dear.” She placed the menu on the table beside me. I must have jumped a foot out of my seat. “I'm so sorry, love; did I give you a fright?” The look on her face was one of concern and puzzlement.

  “It's fine; I guess I was just really into this story.”

  She looked over my shoulder at the short story I had been reading. “Hmm, I don't think I read that one,” she muttered under her breath. “I'll be back to take your order.” Before I could say anything more, she left and headed to the back of the restaurant.

  I perused the menu for a couple of minutes unable to decide what to order. My stomach rumbled and it seemingly decided on the bacon, egg, and toast. When my server returned, I placed my order along with a pot of Manuka honey tea. The server graciously explained that the tea I'd ordered came from Cornwall and was made by the only successful tea growers in the country, even the type of honey that was used to flavour my tea was produced there. Cornwall sounded like a place I needed to visit.

  I picked up the paper and resumed reading, awaiting my breakfast.

  “Hello there, would you mind if I joined you?”

  I put my paper down and looked up. “Peter!” I said, happy to see a familiar face, “of course.” I gestured to the empty chair across from me. He walked around, pulled the chair out, and sat clasping his hands in front of him. “What are you doing here?” I didn't think I'd see him so soon.

  “Well…” He reached into the pocket of his khaki coloured shorts and held his hand out in front of me. I stared at it somewhat perplexed; when I looked back at Peter, he was smiling.

  “I don't understand.” I watched as the smile disappeared from his face.

  “It's not yours?” he asked. I shook my head, examining the bracelet he held in his hand. He closed his fist and withdrew it as he put the piece of jewellery back into his pocket. He leaned forward and laced his fingers, resting his hands on the table in front of him, his arms noticeably strong. “Well then, I guess that's a mystery I'm just going to have to solve on my own.” His smile returned, his blue eyes sparkling somewhat mischievously.

  “You didn't drive all the way out here for that did you?” I felt badly he'd made the trip for nothing.

  “Well, it seems that I did. But no worries, I'm sure I'll find another reason for being here.” He smiled at me again, and I felt my cheeks flush.

  “How did you find me anyway?” I asked folding up the paper and placing it back on the seat beside me, making a mental note to take it with me.

  “Find you? Well actually, this is a coincidence. I came for brekkie. I was going to head to your place afterward.” Peter leaned back in his chair and stretched. I could just make out the outline of neatly carved muscle beneath his eye-matching blue, golf shirt. He was definitely in shape.

  “Peter! How lovely to see you!” My server addressed Peter with my breakfast plate in her hands. I raised my eyebrows and looked at him.

  “Hello, Liz, how have you been?”

  “Never better,” Liz answered as she placed my plate in front of me.

  “And Sam?” Peter questioned our server who I now knew as Liz.

  Liz laughed. “As grumpy as ever, but I do think he's starting to mellow in his old age.” She winked at Peter.

  “Well, there may be some hope after all for the ole codger.” Peter joined Liz in laughter that seemed very much an inside joke.

  Liz eventually turned her attention back to me as I continued staring at the two of them; it was obvious they knew each other quite well. “Well now, if anyone was going to join you, you picked a good one in this chap.” Liz smiled at me. I didn't know what to say.

  “Actually Liz, Krista's a client of Aaron's. I just brought her to town yesterday, thought she'd left something behind, but alas it turns out not to be hers.” Peter had rescued me from any explanation.

  Liz nodded, pursing her lips. I thought she looked as though she were going to add something more to the conversation but changed her mind. Her face lit up again though. “How are Aaron and his poor, dear mother?” Liz asked.

  Peter shrugged. “I spoke with him last night, and Kate seemed to have had a good day yesterday.”

  “Well, give them my love when you talk next. Now can I get you anything dear?”

  I spread strawberry jam on my toast, quietly watching the exchange between them.

  “I'll have the same as Krista,” Peter said, pointing his chin in the direction of my plate. “A coffee though instead, please.”

  “Back in a bit,” Liz said, turning back to me and winking.

  “She's great, isn't she?” Peter asked.

  I swallowed the piece of toast in my mouth and washed it down with a sip of tea. “Yes, very nice. You've known her for a while?” I picked up a fork full of egg and put it in my mouth. The yolk was slightly runny, just the way I liked it.

  “Yeah, family friend.” Peter reached toward the paper on the chair between us and picked it up. “Is this yours?”

  I chewed, swallowed, and sipped again before answering. “No, I guess the person before me left it. I thought I'd keep it though, it's got a lot of ads and stuff in it about the area.”

  “Yeah, it's a good one; it'll give you a feel for the area.” Peter put the paper back in its place.

  Liz was true to her word and a few minutes later, she returned with Peter's meal. I still had about half of mine left, and as we ate in silence, my mind drifted back to the morning's events.

  I certainly hadn't expected to be dining with anyone, much less Peter, yet there we were enjoying breakfast. With everything that was going on in my life, I began wondering if it was merely coincidence or if it was something more. Reading into every little thing that happened to me was crazy, yet the idea of not exploring those coincidences seemed crazier. If my dreams were truly messages, I needed to figure them out.

  “Is everything alright?”

  I jumped a little at the sound of Peter's voice. He
had finished his breakfast and was staring at me. “Yeah, why do you ask?”

  “You seem a little… preoccupied.”

  I followed Peter's gaze to my teacup. Though still half full, I had absently taken up a teaspoon and was 'drawing' figure eight patterns, watching the tea swirl around in the cup. Embarrassed by my zoning out, I quickly pulled the spoon from my cup and laid it down on my empty plate. “Just some stuff on my mind.” I took another sip of my tea just as Liz approached.

  “Would either of you like anything else?” Liz interrupted.

  “No thank you. It was delicious.” I smiled up at Liz, very happy for her timely interruption.

  “Sorry, Liz, that's all for me, too,” Peter added.

  Liz pulled out two bills from her apron and handed them to each of us. “It was very nice meeting you, Krista, and I do hope you'll stop in again soon.”

  “Of course, I'm here until the end of August.”

  “Oh lovely!” She clapped her hands together. “Well, you enjoy our little village, and if you need anything at all don't hesitate to drop by and ask; I'm always here.” Liz winked and headed off to the back.

  “She's so nice,” I said, turning to Peter.

  “That she is. So tell me what do you have planned for the rest of the day?”

  Planned? I really hadn't thought any further than breakfast, but heading back to the apartment was not an option. My mind was obviously still too focused on the events of the morning. I needed some distraction for a while longer, anything that would keep my troubled thoughts away.

  “No plans. Maybe walk around a bit, shop a bit. I need to pick up groceries today, I can't keep going out for my meals; I'd be leaving a lot sooner if I did that.” I looked at my bill, not sure about the currency conversion thing, but I wasn't worried because the credit card company would do that for me. I reached into my purse and grabbed my wallet.

  “Did you manage to exchange some money?” Peter asked while I opened my wallet to grab for a credit card.