Page 6 of A Curse On Black Lake (Black Lake Gothic Cowboys #1)

Chapter four

Eliana

Hopping on my bike, I head into town to make a delivery to Delilah’s Grocery and Cricket’s General Store. They sell our soaps and lot and were running low on stock. We have an old truck, but I don’t like to drive it, and Grams can’t drive anymore, so it sits there.

It needs work done on it, and I hardly have the time to figure it out, let alone the money to pay someone for it. So I bike.

Black Lake has been falling apart for years. Like most things in this town, it’s old, it needs work, or it needs to be torn down completely.

The sky is always grey, but the sun still somehow shines.

The wind blows through my hair, and the warm breeze fills my nose with the almost June air.

I take a deep breath of the sun and soil, mixing together to create the smell of life and decay.

Tilting my head back while I pedal, I let myself feel the overwhelm, the sadness, the desperation for control when I have none.

Peddling to town, people stare at me, and I ignore them.

The Spirits talk at once. They usually get louder the closer I am to groups of people.

That’s why I like staying home. I try to speak to each of them.

Sometimes I talk back to calm them. But today, they keep telling me to follow my intuition.

To be aware of what’s around me. I don’t take it that seriously since they’ve said that before about a thunderstorm, and lightning hit a tree on our land.

Some would call it an omen. I call it nature.

My Grams calls my connection with the Spirits a gift.

Most of the time I call it a curse, but I’ve learned to deal with it since my hair turned white.

I think that was when the people of Black Lake really ostracized me.

I had just turned ten. I was in school, and the next thing I knew I was on the floor staring up at my teacher, and my ears were buzzing.

Mrs. Leonard didn’t know what to do with me, and I didn’t understand what was happening.

They told me I had a seizure and called 911.

I was in a daze, and in that moment I only wanted my Grams. We have a clinic, but they weren’t sure what to make of me.

It takes forever for the ambulance to get out to Black Lake, so my Grams beat them to school.

She told my teacher and principal that this was not a medical problem and took me home, despite their pleading.

If anyone could help me, it would be her.

People come to the apothecary for all kinds of ailments and issues.

They tell her what’s going on, and somehow she knows what they need, like magic.

She’s not a witch; she’s in tune with nature.

She has always told me witches are different.

They are a darkness I should never step toward.

When we got home that day, I finally understood why people were looking at me strangely. All of my hair went from curly to straight, from a dark sable brown to stark white, and light brown to blue eyes.

The next day, Grams officially pulled me out of school and homeschooled me from then on. At first I was mad. I had friends before all of this happened. She claimed it was necessary.

Turned out she was right. It took three months for me to get to a place where I could talk to one Spirit at a time and go to bed with a splitting headache. I was so frustrated and overwhelmed one day I yelled back, and they stopped. They listened.

The Spirits are not ghosts, those are separate. The Spirits are almost like Seers of the past. They can’t tell the future, and they aren’t omnipotent, but they can tell me what’s coming when it’s passed onto them.

It took a while for me to accept that they would never leave.

I’m much better at handling them, but as an already awkward kid, others didn’t want to be around me anymore, and as a teen it was hard to grow up without friends.

The assumptions about me as a child followed me into adulthood.

What’s the point in trying to correct anyone?

They will believe what they want, truth or not.

Eliana 10 Years Old

Grams and I walk into Cricket’s to make our weekly soap delivery.

Since I started homeschooling, I’m able to help her more with the apothecary.

Now, I don’t simply learn reading, writing, and math.

Grams added on to my education of the plants we grow and their medicinal benefits, recipes, and encouraged me to start experimenting with my own.

I’ve been learning since I was seven, but she pushes me harder now.

When we go anywhere these days, people stare at me. I pull my cowboy hat further onto my head. My white hair is braided down my back. It’s a little less noticeable that way, but no matter how hard I try, people still talk and point at me as if I’m entertainment in this little town.

You are special, child. People are scared of what they do not understand, what they refuse to see.

I ignore the Spirits and stand off to the side while Grams talks to the store owner. I don’t know why she makes me come here. I’d rather stay at home. But she says we need to get out of the house, interact with others. That would be fine, except they don’t interact with me.

A woman walks past, and the Spirits rise in volume, whispering things about her. I struggle to filter it all because they’re talking at once.

My stomach drops, and I stare at her as she looks at the folded shirts on a table. I take two steps toward her before I can talk myself out of saying a word, but she should know. I wish I knew what was coming the day my parents died in Black Lake.

“Uh, ma’am,” I say.

She doesn’t look up, still flipping through the sizes.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” I say again, louder this time.

She looks up, and her eyes widen on me.

I hurry to tell her what the Spirits have told me, too afraid she might run.

“Do you have an ailing husband?” I ask her.

Her expression drops into utter agony, and it makes my stomach churn, my heart hurt for her.

“Yes,” she whispers.

“I … I wanted to tell you that they told me his suffering will end soon. You won’t have to worry anymore. He will be at peace.”

The woman’s eyes widen on me, and she takes a step away. “How dare you! What a terribly cruel joke. Shame on you, child!” she yells.

I lower my head and step back, blinking rapidly to keep the tears in.

“Eliana, what’s going on?” Grams asks, pulling me behind her.

“They…they told me to tell her,” I tell Grams.

My grandmother looks between me and the woman. “What she told you is true, Anna- Mae. Listen,” she says to Anna-Mae and grabs my arm, pulling me out of the store.

“Flower, you cannot walk up to people and say things like that. Not everyone is ready to hear truths that shatter them. Some people would rather go through life not knowing. Your gift has to be used with care, you have to have the utmost discretion before you tell someone what the Spirits have said to you.”

She stops at the truck and opens the door, placing her bags on the floorboard. “I know this is hard, flower. I know you want to help. But people are cruel in this world. They will try to use your gift against you. Don’t let them, and …be more careful next time,” she says and cups my cheek.

I nod, and a tear escapes my eye. She’s right. I understand that. But why was I given something that I can’t use to help others?

Thankfully, the parking lot at Delilah’s isn’t full as I roll down the small hill to the brick building.

There’s a long porch with old rocking chairs on it in front, with a ramp off to the side and stairs going up to the front doors.

There are two wood doors, one for in and one for out, with old pane windows across the length of the store.

Some of the porch boards are coming up, and it needs to be painted.

Bricks are falling off on the side of the building where it needs to be fixed.

I lean my bike against the brick wall, and go up the ramp keeping my head down, angling for the customer service desk.

Harper Boudroue, stands behind the counter with a bored out of her teenage mind look.

I hand her the bag, and she trades me for an envelope with my name on it, then I feel eyes staring at me.

Looking over my shoulder, I catch June-Anne Stackhouse, who is about my age, staring at me with wide eyes, and I narrow my gaze, giving her a sinister smile.

She takes a step back.

Tossing my head back and laughing, I walk out the door. They make it so easy.

People are so quick to judge something they don’t understand. All too often in this world do we discount the things that we cannot see or ignore them because we don’t like the reality. There is a war going on right above our heads, and they don’t seem to have any idea, or maybe they don’t care.

Quit messing with them girl, you know they eat it up like pecan pie. Gram’s voice rings in the back of my head. She doesn’t like that I mess with people. But why not give them a reason to talk about you instead of assume?

Next, I go to Cricket’s, which is as old as this town.

It’s another large brick building with one door and two windows on either side, for displaying items. They sell everything from clothing to housewares.

There’s nowhere else to get things. I drop off the soap and lotion and make my way back home to start dinner.

There are days I wish I didn’t live in Black Lake.

I wish people wouldn’t look at me like a freak.

But fitting in isn’t all it’s caught up to be either, at least that’s what I’ve told myself for years.

It’s the best way to cope, I guess. But it doesn’t make it any less lonely.

As I get older, I start to wonder if things will always be this way.

The possibility of anything romantic with a man from Black Lake doesn’t seem realistic.

Though there are days when I wonder, at twenty-nine, if a man is out there to love me the way Grams always says there is.

Maybe he’s the man in my dream. I laugh to myself and pedal faster.

That will happen when pigs fly.

Crawling into bed, exhausted, I can’t shake the feeling I’ve had since I saw Grams on the floor last week. The dream didn’t help because it’s sucking every open thought I have when I need to be focusing on other things.

Grams was really tired today, and she’s been in bed for an hour, but I feel like I need to check on her.

Tip-toeing into her room, I peek my head in to see if she’s okay. She must have heard me because she’s awake.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” I whisper.

She smiles softly and holds her hand out to me. I grab the rocking chair beside her bed, pulling it closer to her side, and hold her wrinkled hand between mine as she closes her eyes again.

I don’t know how I know, but it’s time.

Silent tears stream down my face, and I whisper prayers for her. The Spirits are mercifully silent, allowing me the peace I need to see my grandmother into the next life.

She will be happier, pain-free, at peace. The hope of seeing her again is the only thing that makes this pain bearable. I’m going to miss her so much.

Leaning back in my chair, I keep her hand in mine, and my eyes droop.

Grams gasps, startling me awake. “What is it?” I ask her.

She points to her water, and I hold it up for her.

She takes a sip from the straw and leans back into her pillows.

“I see now,” she whispers, staring at the ceiling.

“You need to help him. He needs you to set us free,” she says.

“What does that mean?” I ask her.

She grips my hand with surprising strength and looks me in the eye. “All will be made well when you find it within each other.”

“What? Find who?” I ask her again. I’m not sure if I should take this seriously or not.

“Him,” she says, still holding my hand. “The one you saw in your dream.”

I gasp. She doesn’t know that I barely saw him. I didn’t tell her. But I still don’t know who he is. Barely seeing a mouth and nose makes it hard to recognize.

“I didn’t… I don’t know how I would know him,” I tell her.

She smiles and grips my hand. It’s weakening by the second.

“I love you, flower. You won’t be alone for long. I’ll always be with you. They love you too,” she says.

She doesn’t have to clarify. She’s talking about my parents. If she can feel them, then she’s close. “We love you so much. Let yourself love too,” she says.

“Please don’t leave me yet, Grams, please.” I beg her. Fat tears roll down my cheeks, dripping onto our hands.

Her hand loosens in mine, and I know she’s gone. But I can’t move. I hold her hand as it slowly gets cold, and so does the reality that she has left me alone. My best friend and confidante.

My heart tugs and rips, leaving a new gaping, weeping hole. The thick noose of grief tightens around my soul.

The Spirits remain quiet, but a few whisper trying to make me feel better. I ignore them. I need to call the funeral home, but I can’t move.

There’s a small smile on her face, and I know she’s finally at peace. She’s home, reunited with all she’s lost in life.

And I’m alone.