Read Online Song of the Shaman by Annette Vendryes Leach - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Annette Vendryes Leach
Tags: Historical Romance, Personal Transformation, Reincarnation Past Lives, ADHD Parenting, Childhood Asthma, Mother and Son Relationship, Genealogy Mystery
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classrooms. Something he said stuck in her mind. Don’t be sad, Mom. Those people had to jump out of their bodies today, but they’ll get a new one. Then they’ll come right back down again.
The tragedy of that day crushed her personal truths. Mayor Giuliani’s televised speech haunted her; how his face twitched as he urged New Yorkers to carry on a normal life—to keep shopping, as if shopping were a balm to soothe us, console us, and sustain us as a people. It was a defining moment that pushed her to the edge of her own burning edifice, with no hope or God or faith to comfort her. Night after night she would lie awake, too afraid to sleep, frightened at the bang of a garbage truck or the slam of a gate. Curled up on his side, Zig would slip easily into a tranquil slumber. When she reached out and held him tight his peace was with her. Zig’s love was transcendent; it was the only thing that kept her sane. He was what truly mattered. He was her reason for living.
SHORTLY AFTER 9/11 he began telling tales about being an Indian.
On and on, day after day, he would recount endless adventures of his past indigenous life—foraging for food, animal conquests, tribal initiations, even details of his dwelling and his crude weapons. She listened with half a mind, juggling deadlines and terrorist news headlines. Life went on despite the turmoil in the city. Still she indulged him, thinking what a great storyteller he was, and maybe he’d be a writer someday. But something else nudged her. Zig was special in ways she couldn’t fully understand. These were more than just stories to him.
Sheri heard the thermostat click and the heat come on. How long had she been standing there? The living room was ice cold. She reached up to close the window. Out of nowhere a helicopter appeared, swooping and hovering in the sky, choppers whipping the air. Her body tensed up in panic. She quickly shut the window. The helicopter zoomed up over her building and out of sight.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
I waited until you were ready.
She thought about Zig lying in a tender sleep in bed and wondered what kind of dreams he had.
1899
Panama City, Panama
THE POUNDING OF HORSE HOOVES on stone streets awakened Louise. She opened her eyes to find Benjamin staring at her. Louise hastily looked out the carriage window, her heart racing. The city was upon them. Their carriage mirrored others moving swiftly through San Felipe, carrying passengers eager to be home for supper. Despite the noise, Charles and Maud slept on, their heads bobbing like marionette dolls. Benjamin sat next to Charles and opposite her. Was he still watching her? Shadows dipped in and out of the coach.
“What’s that?”
Benjamin pointed to a broad stretch of dilapidated bricks and stones.
“Those are the remains of the old seawall,” Charles answered suddenly, as if he’d been wide-awake all along. “Eons ago the notorious pirate Henry Morgan looted San Felipe and burned it to the ground. A massive fortress was built to protect residents from future attacks.”
“A fool’s wish,” Benjamin said, amused. Louise glanced at him curiously.
“Indeed! Fires destroyed it anyway, along with the country’s confidence,” Charles replied, yawning.
“When someone wants something, no wall can keep them at bay,” Benjamin added, but Charles wasn’t listening. Louise shifted in her seat; a smile crept across her face.
The carriage barreled off Avenue Alfaro and their elegant French mansion came into view. Casa Bella Vista was where Louise was born and had spent all her twenty years. It was a grand house; she loved the twelve-foot ceilings and intricate tiled floors, the brightly painted frescoes and the cupola’s rounded windows that were flooded with sun by day and bathed in moonlight at night. Charles had purchased the property for a song from a noble family who had all but abandoned it during the failed French canal efforts. It was his prized
The tragedy of that day crushed her personal truths. Mayor Giuliani’s televised speech haunted her; how his face twitched as he urged New Yorkers to carry on a normal life—to keep shopping, as if shopping were a balm to soothe us, console us, and sustain us as a people. It was a defining moment that pushed her to the edge of her own burning edifice, with no hope or God or faith to comfort her. Night after night she would lie awake, too afraid to sleep, frightened at the bang of a garbage truck or the slam of a gate. Curled up on his side, Zig would slip easily into a tranquil slumber. When she reached out and held him tight his peace was with her. Zig’s love was transcendent; it was the only thing that kept her sane. He was what truly mattered. He was her reason for living.
SHORTLY AFTER 9/11 he began telling tales about being an Indian.
On and on, day after day, he would recount endless adventures of his past indigenous life—foraging for food, animal conquests, tribal initiations, even details of his dwelling and his crude weapons. She listened with half a mind, juggling deadlines and terrorist news headlines. Life went on despite the turmoil in the city. Still she indulged him, thinking what a great storyteller he was, and maybe he’d be a writer someday. But something else nudged her. Zig was special in ways she couldn’t fully understand. These were more than just stories to him.
Sheri heard the thermostat click and the heat come on. How long had she been standing there? The living room was ice cold. She reached up to close the window. Out of nowhere a helicopter appeared, swooping and hovering in the sky, choppers whipping the air. Her body tensed up in panic. She quickly shut the window. The helicopter zoomed up over her building and out of sight.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
I waited until you were ready.
She thought about Zig lying in a tender sleep in bed and wondered what kind of dreams he had.
1899
Panama City, Panama
THE POUNDING OF HORSE HOOVES on stone streets awakened Louise. She opened her eyes to find Benjamin staring at her. Louise hastily looked out the carriage window, her heart racing. The city was upon them. Their carriage mirrored others moving swiftly through San Felipe, carrying passengers eager to be home for supper. Despite the noise, Charles and Maud slept on, their heads bobbing like marionette dolls. Benjamin sat next to Charles and opposite her. Was he still watching her? Shadows dipped in and out of the coach.
“What’s that?”
Benjamin pointed to a broad stretch of dilapidated bricks and stones.
“Those are the remains of the old seawall,” Charles answered suddenly, as if he’d been wide-awake all along. “Eons ago the notorious pirate Henry Morgan looted San Felipe and burned it to the ground. A massive fortress was built to protect residents from future attacks.”
“A fool’s wish,” Benjamin said, amused. Louise glanced at him curiously.
“Indeed! Fires destroyed it anyway, along with the country’s confidence,” Charles replied, yawning.
“When someone wants something, no wall can keep them at bay,” Benjamin added, but Charles wasn’t listening. Louise shifted in her seat; a smile crept across her face.
The carriage barreled off Avenue Alfaro and their elegant French mansion came into view. Casa Bella Vista was where Louise was born and had spent all her twenty years. It was a grand house; she loved the twelve-foot ceilings and intricate tiled floors, the brightly painted frescoes and the cupola’s rounded windows that were flooded with sun by day and bathed in moonlight at night. Charles had purchased the property for a song from a noble family who had all but abandoned it during the failed French canal efforts. It was his prized
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