Windsong

By Autumn Lake

As a blizzard slowly engulfs Summter Island, Marion Blanchard urges her old Chevy along a slippery road that borders a steep cliff. Just as she sees her homes lights twinkling in the distance and breathes a sigh of relief, Marions car hits a patch of black ice, crashes over the guardrail, and plunges into the icy sea below. Moments later, Marion slips into the arms of death. In the shadow of a towering pine not far from Marions home, Windsong, a frail figure watches as the Chevys headlights flicker out beneath the angry waves and then disappears into the snowy mist. When Marion finally emerges from the dark mist into a soft light, she realizes she has taken on a new ethereal form with a mission to keep her family together. Unfortunately, only her youngest grandson, Patrick, has the ability to see and hear her. While Marion formulates a plan she hopes will bring all her family back to Windsong, her children and grandchildren grieve their loss and, with gentle urging from Marion, finally begin to recognize the value of family and Windsong.

In this poignant tale, a mother embarks on a determined journey after death to keep her family together and ensure that the traditions of her lovely home live on forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 21, 2012
• ISBN: 9781491814024

Autumn Lake

Autumn Lake has been writing stories and poems for the better part of her life. While in high school, one of her poems won special honors and was published in an anthology. Autumn is the mother of five children and lives in Columbus, Ohio. Windsong is her debut novel.

Book preview

Going Home

Usually the twists and turns along the familiar old country road, hovering dangerously above the naked cliffs of Summter Island, made for a most pleasant drive, but driving in a nor’easter could be treacherous indeed.

Now, as she struggled with the frost covered ignition, Marion made a mental note of the ice beginning to fill the cracks and crevices around the windshield, spreading like melting glass along the hood of her car.

Come on you old bucket of bolts, Marion mumbled to herself. It’s late, the weather’s get’n worse, and I want to go home. But the whizzing and grinding of the aged starter stubbornly continued.

I should’ve left earlier, she mumbled again.

Glancing towards the entrance to Old Sailor’s Inn, Marion spotted Connie Grisham and Yvette Stevens huddled together against the gusting winds. Silly old women, she scolded secretly. Go’n to catch their death in this weather. But Marion truly cherished their friendships. Yvette had always been her nemeses and Marion enjoyed the competition. But Connie, the only neighbor living on the tip of the island, was a kinder gentler friend and through the years they enjoyed everything together and giggled shamelessly over the latest town gossip and the juiciest scandals.

Finally, the old ’53 Chevy sputtered and coughed itself into action.

Ah Ah she cried triumphantly slapping her hands hard against the vintage steering wheel. We’re not ready for the scrap heap yet.

Offering a short wave to her friends at the covered entrance Marion skillfully manoeuvered the car out of the over-crowded parking lot and onto MacNaugh Drive, carefully testing the road and the winds like the old sea captains who once sailed from these islands many centuries ago. This is going to be a bad one, Marion thought to herself. She had driven through such storms before, but tonight she was anxious to get home to Windsong before the full rage of the blizzard hit the island.

With the skill of a long time resident, Marion eased the car around the narrow bends and steep curves of the country road as newly formed patches of ice danced before the searching beam of her headlights and prickly droplets of freezing rain continued to batter the old Chevy. Despite the howling wind, the roar of the angry sea could be heard pounding the jagged shoreline at the bottom of the cliffs

Marion became especially cautious as she rounded the final bend and drove past Grisham’s lighthouse, silent now, but still perched precariously on the rocky cliffs. Without fail this old monument of bricks and old timbers once guided tall ships into port delivering lifesaving supplies for the colonists and trading goods for the Indians. But now, it served only as the ancestry home of George and Constance Grisham and for Marion, signalled the halfway mark to her home nestled comfortably amongst the ancient white pines at the tip of the island.

Soon the faint glowing lights of her home twinkled through the raging storm. Marion breathed a sigh of relief. Good, Christy and the children are back from their Halloween party. Driving now towards the tiny lights coming from the front windows Marion believed the worst was over and relaxed her grip, just slightly, on the steering wheel.

It was then that the tires lost their precarious grip on a patch of black ice causing the old Chevy to spin violently out of control. With all the strength she could muster, Marion fought the steering wheel trying desperately to keep the car away from the edge of the cliff. But as the car rammed into the steel barrier Marion was suddenly consumed by excruciating pain as her chest crunched into the steering column and her head whipped forward shattering the windshield, spraying tiny gems of splintered glass into her eyes and cutting deep into her face. Like a toy falling down a long flight of stairs, the car flipped over the railing and bounced down the rocky cliffs, viciously splintering steel and glass until it plunged into the Atlantic.

Slowly at first, the frigid waters began to thread through the broken windows and gush in from under the dashboard. Still dazed from the blow to her frail body Marion groped for the door handles.

I’ve got to get out of here, she thought, panic stricken and hardly able to breathe. But the rushing waters of the Atlantic gripped the car with an iron hand, denying her the freedom she needed as she struggled desperately to get the car door opened. Helpless, the car swayed violently in the angry waves until it settled into the muck and grime of the ocean floor.

Dear God, she cried, Please don’t let me die here.

Unaffected by the violence of the storm above, a large turtle swam past the broken windshield, turned and looked at Marion as she slipped into the arms of death, then un-sympathetically swam away.

A Miracle at Midnight

Above, the wind howled eerily over the island as the freezing rain merged into large glistening flakes of snow. In the shadow of a towering white pine, not far from Marion’s home, a frail figure stood still and calm, impervious to the cold, watching as the headlights to the old Chevy flickered out beneath the wild angry waves, then the silent shadow turned towards the house and disappeared into the snowy mist.

Unexpectedly Marion’s eyes opened, the sensation of panic and despair that had consumed her only moments ago were no longer a part of her being. Somehow she had escaped the old Chevy, drowning in the great gushing waves of piercingly cold water, instead she seemed to be enclosed in a dry, warm bubble of darkness.

Where am I? She looked about her but the void was empty. She could not even hear the sound of her own voice, and there was no one to tell her what was going to happen, if anything, in this abyss of comfort.

Maybe it’s a cave. Could I have been swept into an