Read Online Harbinger in the Mist (Arms of Serendipity) by Anabell Martin - Free Book Online Page A

don’ know about them. The Gullahs are a group of African Americans that inhabit the sea islands up and down the coasts of South Carolina and Georgia. They’re descendants of slaves brought over from Africa way back when, particularly West Africa. They’ve kept the customs, like that sweet grass weaving, and the language alive. It’s real neat. You should go down to the peninsula and visit the open air market sometime.”
    A tall woman with soft sable skin and her hair in a bun walked around the counter and dropped a box on the floor.
    “Good morning, Darby. How you doing this morning?”
    “I’m happy as a little lark,” Darby answered, taking Lindsey’s hand in her own. “And this is our new friend.”
    “Well, hello! I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. How do you like Angela’s old place? Nice, eh?”
    “Yeah, it’s nice,” Lindsey was confused. Who was Angela?
    Darby introduced the two of them before she excused herself and left for her volunteer shift at the hospital.  She talked about the job for only a few moments, stating that if Darby recommended her then the job was as good as hers. The interview was just a formality, like the application. It was only 15 hours or so a week and paid $7.75 an hour, but at least it was a job. And it was a means to get out of the house and meet some people around town.
    When Lindsey returned home, Aimee was sitting on the front porch reading the newspaper. “I’ll be so glad when the elections are over,” she thumped the picture of a political candidate that was displayed in color across the front page then folded the paper in half and tucked it under her leg. “I am so damned sick of all of the political bickering. They’re all full of shit if you ask me.”
    Lindsey dropped down on the edge of the seat of the empty rocking chair next to her mom.
    “Well… did you get it?” Aimee asked.
    “Oh, yeah. It’s only part-time, but I can’t complain. And it pays a little better than the dry cleaners did.”
    “Woo-hoo! I’m happy for you, girl!” Her mom took a sip of her coffee and picked the paper back up.
    “Mom, can I ask you something?”
    “Sure, honey.”
    “When Darby introduced me to the director of the Artisans Center, she asked me something that I didn’t understand. But I think you will.”
    Aimee refolded her paper and looked up. Her daughter’s tone concerned her. “OK.”
    “Well, when Darby told her who I was. She, Karen that is, said something like, ‘How do you like Angela’s old house.’  Who is … Angela? I know you know.”
    “Lindsey,” Aimee was suddenly emotional. “I can’t answer that right now. Just please trust me.”
    Lindsey stood back up; she couldn’t sit here and listen to her mom talk to her like she was nine. But she didn’t know where she was going to go. She didn’t want to go into the house, but she didn’t want to go out and bother Maddie and Michelle, either. Maybe she’d walk down to the water’s edge and watch the birds.
    “Oh,” Aimee said over her paper, her voice back to normal. “I know you left in a hurry this morning, honey, but can you remember to turn the water off next time? The kitchen faucet was running full blast when I walked in.”
    “Mom, I didn’t even go into the kitchen this morning,” Lindsey turned and looked at her mother, confused.
    “Well, the water was on, and I hope it wasn’t like that all night.”
    “Maddie and Michelle spent the night last night. Maybe one of them washed their hands or something this morning before they left. I don’t know. I’ll ask.”
    As she walked around the corner of the house, Lindsey pulled a piece of Spanish moss from a low hanging branch. Something was definitely wrong here. Things moved, doors slammed, and water faucets turned on, all without any source or reason. And she had distinctly heard both footsteps and giggles. There was only one explanation, an explanation that she would have never considered a few weeks ago – this