Moonlit Valley

By Maria Antonia Diaz

Rose Carrigan never imagined what awaited her when she left her New Jersey hometown to live in an old farmhouse located in a small southern town called Moonlit Valley. After a series of mysterious clues and unfortunate events, once more, her world turns upside down. This time, the man who she loves, Jeremy Sandbeck, her irresistible and seductive husband, is the one responsible. When she discovers his identity, she must decide between love and destiny, defying the surreal world that she has discovered. Jeremy struggles with love, and what he thinks is his true supernatural and divine duty.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Maria Antonia Diaz
• Release date: Feb 20, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301078776

Maria Antonia Diaz

Maria Antonia Diaz is a freelance writer, blogger, and artist. Her company is The Owl Book and Candle. She resides in Virginia, USA with her husband Eddie, and seven felines. She describes herself as a student of the Universe, and a Master of none. Published works include Moonlit Valley, Ramblings of the Spirit, The Book of Sharon, Sunrise Souls ...

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MOONLIT VALLEY

MARIA ANTONIA DIAZ

Moonlit Valley

Maria Antonia Diaz

Copyright © 2013 by Maria Antonia Diaz

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved.

Any reproduction, sale, or commercial use of this book without authorization is strictly prohibited.

This book is a work of fiction. Names characters and incidents are the author’s creation. Any resemblance to actual events or people, alive or dead, is coincidental.

Cover design: Maria Antonia Diaz

Image of couple by the window - by Lunagirl Images (lunagirl.com)

Author’s website:

http://inkspeare.wordpress.com

ISBN - 9781301078776

To my loving husband and best friend, Eddie

EXILE

The lush country road extended in front of us foretelling an uncertain future. After losing everything - house, money, jobs, even friends, we were forced to realize all we had was each other, and that was more than enough to give us the strength and the push we needed to start a new life. In a way, it was exciting, a fresh start, new experiences, and people waiting to be met… The silence in the car was a sign of anticipation shadowed by loss and fear of what to expect.

With just our clothes, a few essentials, and a couple thousand dollars in our pockets, we left Jersey and the chaos behind. I was missing my life already - the earthy-sea smell of our town, the good souls we knew, our evening walks by the beach … My mind drifted in a parade of colorful thoughts, of happy memories I had learned to appreciate and cherish in the past nine or ten hours of driving.

Loss changes your perception of things. It sweeps the hallways of your mind and dusts off your most precious memories. It forces you to open the doors of rooms closed for a long time and peer into your soul, looking for the last ray of hope, of faith. The hope you desperately need now, knowing that at one point, you had put it somewhere and forgotten about it. When you find it, you grab a hold of it, tight, fearing that when you wake up tomorrow, it could be gone. Tomorrow arrives and you realize that although in a faint state, it is still there, and you hold on to it again.

The drive had not been so bad, except for the long periods of silence. I enjoyed the picturesque country views, the far away farmhouses in the middle of a green sea of space with a few farm animals gracing with contentment amongst the patches of colorful wild flowers. Once we left the noises of the city and the frenzy of hurried drivers, the therapeutic scent of the fresh air made me feel better. The knot in my stomach started to untie and the elephant sitting on my chest had left a few hours ago. We had talked about this day, and somehow, prepared for it as well as we could, but nothing like a smack of reality to send me back to door number 1.

We stopped every three to four hours to stretch our legs and get gas. The thought of having to fill my own tank was disturbing to me. A new appreciation emerged; Jersey was the best place to live and I felt as I was being expatriated.

We ate something at the next fast food restaurant making frugality a priority. The little money we had was destined to last until we found jobs. We spent most of it buying a place to start over, a love shack, we called it, but this joke matched reality very close. We found it on the internet, a one far away picture listing with an unheard price of $21,999. It was a three bedroom - one bath unpolished gem with some acreage. Since the thought of being homeless was more frightening that its facade, we bought it without looking at it. We figured that after losing all you grew some balls, and the fact we owned it with no mortgage on the horizon, made up for it. The sudden sound of Jeremy’s voice interrupted my thoughts.

What do you think it will look like? The far away picture doesn’t tell us much, he said.

Yeah, too bad the owner wasn’t local or cooperative; we could have asked for better photos. Honestly, at this point, I am glad we are going to have a roof over our heads; looks are secondary, I said.

Rose, do you trust the lawyer we hired?

Hey, at $250.00 for a title search and all the boring paperwork, I am not complaining. I laughed faintly.

He vaguely smiled, and soon, a frown appeared on his forehead. He was ready to sink in deep thought again.

I don’t think we should worry. Besides, what’s the point? We have a couple of hours until we get there. Let’s enjoy the ride. We have never been to the south; it’s beautiful and so different, I said. Yeah, I have developed a new set of lungs already, he said.

I laughed aloud, Jersey style.

His quick sense of humor was one of the things I loved most about him. I was transported three years into the past to the first time I saw him. I couldn’t help but stare at the hot body on a motorcycle at the beach. My stare was so intense he looked back at me with those wicked deep brown eyes that perfectly made contrast to the highlighted wavy hair. He returned the most provocative devilish smile that well-placed dimples made angelical.

He was all a contradiction, a contrast of features that evoked a hot wild fire inside me. It was all a game of chase and hunt from that moment, and I did not mind at all being the hunter. Jeremy Sandbeck … a delightful smile crossed my face.

Hey Rose, Mrs. Carrigan! What are you so happily thinking about?

COW! I screamed.

Suddenly, he jerked off the car in time to avoid the solitary and adventurous cow that dared to cross the partially opened fence.

Gee, that was a close cow! We must be getting there, he said.

We lost control laughing.

The long straight road would curve like a snake from time to time making Lilly Magellan break the silence. I had the habit of naming pieces of equipment, Mary Frances Chic, the MFC fax machine, was a favorite so far.

I missed my job at The Owl, Book & Candle, the town’s only antique bookstore, and here I was, without a clue of what to do next. Jeremy’s motorcycle world had vanished too. Forced by a monstrous bad economy and the hopeful denial of our reality, we had to make late rushed decisions. Once we agreed, there was no turning back.

The lonely signpost read MOONLIT VALLEY – two miles.

There it goes, we are almost home! Jeremy said with anticipation. And remember, I am still King of the Castle," he added with a sexy smile.

And I am all yours for the taking, my King, I returned his joke.

MMMM… I’ll have to test that, he joked back.

For the next two miles, we continued adding spice to our conversation. I flaunted my petite frame and turned into a redhead green-eyed mistress just for fun.

We stopped at the sight of the weathered welcoming sign. It read, WELCOME TO MOONLIT VALLEY. Right after, in smaller faint letters, it read, Once you get to know us, why leave. We looked at each other in disbelief.

AN OLD PAINTING

As we slowly drove pass the welcome sign, the town emerged. It rose with the energy of a tired old man. The stony road leading to it was filled with wild purple flowers at each side, hundreds of them, multiplying in a frenzy, trying to paint over the developing picture ahead. The unkempt foliage grew wild at each side of the road rendering the town’s natural state.

We approached slowly, taking in the view of modest buildings longing for color, the paint peeling like the ragged clothes of a beggar. As we drove by, curious faces stared at us with puzzlement and a stern look. The main street contained all of the town’s social life. The unpretentious appearance of the storefronts screamed loudly of the everyday flow of regulars and chased away the derailed tourist or lost visitor. Uphill, a chain of row houses with similar fronts spoke of simplicity and low décor. Their numbers, hard to read or missing, were symbols of apathy or camaraderie. A few single houses spread around the farther we drove, and beyond, typical farmhouses with acreage painted a solitary picture. I did not see our house.

I think we are lost. This is a very small town, but it is a bit confusing, don’t you think? I said.

Let’s follow that street uphill, off the main road to the right, maybe we’ll find it. I hate to ask, and Miss Magellan here decided to stop talking sometime ago. There might be some satellite interference or something, Jeremy said.

Great, I mumbled, tired.

We had left Jersey at three in the morning in preparation for the long drive ahead and in anticipation of the unknown. We looped around to the left and followed the tight road to go back to the main road. We passed a series of better-looking townhomes facing a lake. The facade was modest but better taken care off than the other buildings we had seen so far. The sunlight had faded the vibrant colors a bit. Some had terracotta pots with colorful flowers in their small balconies. The name of the street was Sunnyview Oval, a name I thought fit perfectly.

We crossed a small wooden bridge and were delighted to see the tranquil blue waters of the lake and a few boats and canoes floating peacefully. A small red hutch with Native American totems at the front gave new life to the view while contrasting against the blue and green background. A small grassy road seemed to lead to the lake. The large wooden sign at the front read: Black Hawk Canoe Rentals, Best of Treasure Lake. Next to it, a sleepy man of obvious Native American origin sat placidly on a weathered Adirondack chair. His features were strong and his hair shiny peppered black, arranged in a low ponytail. He was wearing a chunky turquoise beaded necklace that was distracting. The sound of the car must have disturbed his sleep and he looked annoyingly at us, with curiosity and a frowned expression. He must have been in his 60’s or 70’s for what I could tell.

The end of the road took us back into the main street. A second look revealed a general merchandise store, a small diner-pub combination place and across from it, what looked like a funeral parlor, strangely named Peace and Redemption. A golden dove or seagull made an attractive logo. A few antique shops on the way blended into one another, and in between, stood a barbershop with an old-fashioned candy cane post. The big blue letters read Fabrizio’s Barber Shop. I did not see any familiar fast food restaurants or major chain stores, only independent small mom and pop’s. Most stores were a small concoction of everyday needs enveloped in weathered and modest fronts.

Reality showed up fast and strong and it hit me – no city life - our lives were already changing. I was abruptly kidnapped from my thoughts.

Here’s that road to the right, finally! Jeremy said.

The road uphill curved and we ended up in a big courtyard that seemed to serve as the center of activity. There were many tables and locals were socializing while eating. Another area contained several tables under tarps, filled with fresh produce and fresh farm products - cakes, tarts, potpies, fresh juices … We ended up at the Town’s Market. We drove passed it and saw a stone church that could have been hundreds of years old. Its charm captured my senses with its stone path and small manicured garden. Next to it, a small brick building nestled the police-fire department and the Town Hall. The road seemed to wrap around the Town’s Market.

We slowed down almost to a stop, our faces already beginning to show frustration and anxiety at no sight of the house. We looked at each other and a chill went down my spine. Thoughts of being conned crossed my mind. Jeremy’s face was beginning to mirror my thoughts, when we heard a loud HELLO!

A jolly looking man dressed in traditional reverend attire was running towards us waving his arms. With a big smile, he yelled once more, HELLO! Soon, he was next to the car.

I am Reverend Brian Calland, pastor of this church, the jolly man said. You seem to be a bit lost; may I be of some help?

The Reverend seemed very friendly and eager to assist, too eager, I thought. He was a chubby tall man with light blonde hair, blue eyes and rosy cheeks, his expression almost of a happy child as he sees a new toy. Hi there! Jeremy said. My name is Jeremy Sandbeck and this is my wife Rose.

I smiled at him.

A pleasure to meet you, Reverend Calland said.

We just moved here and we are having trouble finding our house. Some of the street signs are missing and our navigator stopped working a while ago, Jeremy said.

Reverend Calland eyes widened in excitement.

Oh, God bless, you are the fellows who bought Old Makeinne’s house! He was a good man, a man of faith, and a very smart man as well; keen, as he was smart. I miss him, but now he is dancing with the Lord in heaven. He died peacefully in his own home like he wanted, the Reverend said.

Gosh, could you be a little bit more morbid? I thought. A smile was appearing in Jeremy’s face and I knew what he was thinking. I hated dead people’s houses!

The address is 91 Ginger Court. I am not sure if it is the house you are talking about, but that was the owner’s last name, Jeremy said.

"That is the one. You