Forget Me Never by Sable Hunter (books successful people read txt) 📗

But the most miraculous possibility of all was the one she clung to with every fiber of her being.  Could Patrick be alive?  Honestly, she was afraid to hope.  She needed her friend.  Making her way to the telephone, she placed a call to the one person that she knew would understand.  “Harley, this is Savannah.  Do you think I could come over tonight?  I really need to talk to somebody.”

“Of course you can, I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”

Ever since she had been called to investigate the haunting at Willowbend Plantation, she and Harley had been fast friends.  “Ciara, let’s go.”  Shaking – literally shaking with nerves, Savannah loaded the black lab in the car and drove the few miles to Breaux Bridge.  Almost afraid to consider what was going on, she made her mind think of other things.

Both her cottage and Harley’s refurbished plantation home set on the banks of the Teche.  And today, she needed to sit by its soothing waters more than ever.  Harley’s home was called Willowbend.  It was a showplace – and very haunted.  The spirits that resided there were left over from pre-civil war times.  A slave mistress and her children had been murdered for no reason other than being who they were.  What fascinated Savannah was that it was an intelligent haunting; the spirits actually communicated with those who attempted to reach them.  Some hauntings were just stains on a location left over from some traumatic event that forever warped the very essence of a place.  She had been lucky enough to see a residual haunting, as it was called.  When she had been trying to run from Patrick’s memory, she had taken a trip to the East Coast and found herself drawn to go to Gettysburg.  There, on a misty spring morning, she had witnessed something few ever have.  She had been alone – with no camera – so it wasn’t something she could even tout as proof, but she had seen it and it had changed her life forever.  Back in those days, grieving for Patrick had stolen her ability to sleep.  So, she had been at the park early, before any of the normal tourist traffic had begun to flow.  Meandering through the park, she had stopped at the wheat field.  The Wheatfield.  This one little sot of ground had seen one of the bloodiest battles of the war.  Gettysburg itself was a cataclysmic event where fifty thousand died in three days and the wheatfield had been changed from a plot of golden grain to a tangled bloodsoaked piece of ground that would forever bear the mark of death and agony and grief at the extinguishment of so many young lives who would never know what it was like to breathe or love or live again.  She had been standing beside her car, drinking a cup of coffee when off to her right a shout had echoed out of the silence.  From out of the woods a group of soldiers on horses had emerged.  She could see the insects that took flight out of the grass from the stomping of the horse hooves.  Savannah could hear their voices as they made conversation, she could see their dusty uniforms of grey.  One had even looked over at her and she had half expected him to lift his hand in salute.  At first she had thought to be seeing re-enactors, it happened fairly often on special days she had been told.  Lifting her hand in greeting, she presumed she was speaking to a business executive or a lawyer or a mechanic who laid aside his everyday life to take part in a time of immersion in a day and way of life that was long gone.  Until they disappeared – right in front of her eyes.  One moment they were there, she could hear the horses snorting and see the wheat part as they rode through it – and the next moment they were gone.  Completely.  She hadn’t run or fainted or screamed in terror.  Savannah had felt a peace and assurance that death was not the end, that those who lived and loved and died survived somewhere just beyond where our eyes could see.  God, she longed to find that place.  And that was the reason she so desperately sought answers in the hunt for sprits.  Because she was hunting one in particular.  Savannah was always trying to contact Patrick.  She just wanted to tell him that she loved him – one more time.

As she parked, she saw Beau and Harley walking hand and hand toward her from down near the bayou.  Getting out to join them, she brought in her totebag that contained her laptop and the Frank’s box.  Ciara stayed close.  If it was up to the dog, they would never leave the safety of the house.  “Savannah, it’s good to see you!”

Savannah had to smile.  They looked so happy together.  She knew they had gone through a tough time.  Harley had been the target of a madman and Beau had moved heaven and earth to protect her.  Now she had semi-retired from her EOD firm and was serving as a consultant only – this made Beau a happy man.

Beau whistled for Ciara and the dog ran to him.  Animals loved Beau.  “I’m glad you both are outside.  Let’s sit down by the water, if you don’t mind.”  They stopped where they were and let her catch up so they could head back to a bench under a big oak near the edge of the bayou.  The dog dashed down to the edge of the water and began barking.  “Good Lord, is that an alligator?  Come back here, Girl!”

“Ciara!” Beau called, also.  “It’s just Amos Moses.  He’s as gentle as a lamb and doesn’t have a tooth in his head, but he might slap at her with his tale if she makes him mad.”

“Good gracious, Beau.  I never know what to expect from you.”

“You’re right.  Believe