Thursday's Child Series_Book One_Evie

By Shana J Carr

Reincarnation was not so remarkable some would say, though being able to remember those past lives...made it quite another matter.

ELEXIA had cheated her own death, unaware of any forbidden rule, she has unwittingly set herself on a different path and an uncertain future. Born again, ea

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shana Carr
• Release date: Apr 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9780645143416

Book preview

Chapter One

1845

The huge naked body of Mr Holdsworthy lay stretched out on Sugar Lil’s big wooden table and Evie was fascinated. Her big brown eyes were nearly popping out of their sockets trying to take in everything Sugar Lil was doing from her position in the loft above. Evie had climbed up there by way of the outside ladder on hearing the news about Mr Holdsworthy falling off his horse and dying, although how a person fell off a horse and just died, she didn’t know. ‘His heart jes’ give out,’ was what she heard her ma say, but how or why a heart ‘jes’ give out’, Evie still didn’t know.

Evie wasn’t sure what fascinated her more – seeing the big foreman without a stitch on, or that Sugar Lil was actually allowing her table to be used. The big black woman was so particular of who she let inside her cabin, especially who came near her table. Evie had felt the swipe of Lil’s broom before, once for hiding under it while playing a game, and another time when Evie wanted to know what it felt like to lie full length along the well-scrubbed wooden surface. She’d been given two whacks with the broom for that one.

Sugar Lil bustled over to where an assortment of jars and odd-shaped bottles were lined up along the top of an old wooden counter, her ample hips brushing against the furniture as she walked. Evie didn’t understand a lot of what Sugar Lil was doing, but she knew the older woman got her name from making the dead smell sweeter than when they were alive by using what was in those little bottles.

Evie peered over as much as she dared without being seen. A small bony hand reached out and poked her in the back, making her jump and nearly fall from her hiding place – right on top of old Holdsworthy himself. She grabbed one of the wooden rafters just in time and wheeled around.

‘Gans! What are you doin’ here?’ Evie whispered as loud as she dared. ‘How’d ya get here?’

Evie was a year older than the nine-year-old Gans, and therefore felt it was her right to boss the black boy about, though she was really quite fond of him. His father, Brigand, rode the hay cart up and down the fields at harvesting time. The name Brigand had been shortened to Gans by those who knew him, and his son was known merely as the younger Gans. His mother, Tilly, had named him Gabriel, but the name Gans had stuck, and even she now called him that.

Gans gave Evie one of his brilliant smiles; a perfect set of white, even teeth accentuated by his dark skin. Evie felt a flash of envy. Her teeth were anything but perfect; hers were soft and chalky – at least that’s what Ma was always telling her.

Gans grinned. ‘Same way you did.’

Evie gave him a look that said she was annoyed, though it was lost on the young boy. To be honest, she was quite happy to have the company of her skinny friend. It would give them both an experience to talk about for some time to come. She leant in closer to him now.

‘Who woulda thought ol’ Holdsworthy would be spread out on Lil’s table!’ Evie whispered.

Gans raised his eyebrows and leant towards her, whispering back, ‘You get dead, you can spread out on it too!’

His hand came up to cover his mouth to stop himself from laughing out loud; Evie elbowed him in the ribs for being a smarty-pants. The two black children then stretched out front down in the loft, resting their heads in their hands as they quietly watched Sugar Lil go to work on the foreman’s body.

A little while later, Gans’ head slumped down on the floor of the loft and Evie heard him softly snoring. She turned her attention back to the activities below and wondered who their foreman would be now. Her pa could do it, though Evie knew he was content enough with the work he did with the blacksmith. She’d heard tell of other plantations that had taken on a black foreman – why not here? Or perhaps Gans’ pa? Evie had heard her ma say on more than one occasion that Master Jonathon was fairer than most and that he ‘took a man how he foun’ ’em’, although Evie wasn’t quite sure what that last part meant.

She watched Sugar Lil begin to clean up, her work now done, and the shadows were lengthening an hour later by the time the last little bottle had been put away. Now all that remained was the pudgy white corpse of Mr Holdsworthy. True to Sugar Lil’s name, a sweet-smelling scent pervaded the air. It was strangely familiar to Evie, giving her the notion she’d smelt it somewhere before. She didn’t dwell on it, for Sugar Lil was leaving the room, and Evie had made up her mind to sneak down and take a closer look at her first real dead person.

Reaching around, she grabbed for the pulley rope that hung on a hook nearby and shimmied down to land as quietly as a cat on the floor below. Mr Holdsworthy lay only a few feet away, making Evie feel strangely uneasy. She walked slowly up to the table, her eyes never leaving his body.

‘Evie!’ Gans called out from above.

She nearly jumped clear out of her skin. ‘Damnation, Gans!’ Evie was unsure what the word ‘damnation’ meant, but she’d heard it used many a time in the slave quarters.

She took a deep breath, trying to still her racing heart. Still looking at Gans, she placed her finger to her lips, motioning him to be quiet, and proceeded on towards the table. Gans hung over the loft secured by one hand and one leg curled around a rafter, swinging there while reminding Evie of an inquisitive monkey.

Evie now stood only inches away from Mr Holdsworthy. She reached out and poked his flesh with her finger; it felt cold and squidgy to her touch, like an overripe peach.

Evie was so engrossed in what she was doing she didn’t hear the door open behind her.

‘Shame on ya, gal! Wha’ you doin’ here? It jes’ a body. Now git!’ Sugar Lil walked towards her. Evie didn’t need to be told again. And as Lil reached for her broom, Evie dodged around the other side of Mr Holdsworthy and out the door, proving to be too quick for the ample-bodied woman.

Gans had already escaped through the back of the loft and down the ladder the same way he’d come in and was halfway across the back field when Evie caught up with him. Breathless, they fell to the ground laughing and rolling around on the soft springy wild grass, looking up every now and again to see if anyone was out looking for them. After all, being caught and chased was infinitely more exciting for the two children than what they were being chased for.

After a time, they realized no one was after them, and so, their anticipation now settled, they decided to make their way home, giving Sugar Lil’s cabin a wide berth just the same.

Evie and Gans would talk often in the coming weeks about Sugar Lil and her table, but they made sure not to go within spitting distance of the big woman’s cabin again until they were sure of not getting in trouble.

* * *

Spring planting was nearly over and Master Jonathon’s favourite mare had foaled earlier in the season, so the new colt could now be seen frolicking around the meadow with its mother. The storehouse was restocked once again with the quarterly supplies, while up at the main house, the spring-cleaning was all but over for the year. The nights began to grow balmy, the days becoming lazy as spring moved into summer at a leisurely pace.

Master Jonathon’s grandfather, a Frenchman, named the vast plantation ‘Ombre De Soir’. Translated to English it meant ‘Evening Shade’, though neither title was ever used in reference. ‘The Shade’ was the name that most knew it by – its full title reserved only for official documentation when needed – or ‘Shades’, the more common title used by the slaves.

A new foreman by the name of Christopher Leyton now rode around The Shade on Mr Holdsworthy’s horse. Being fresh from England, he had a strange accent never before heard in these parts of Louisiana. New stories circled every week as to why a gentleman like Mr Leyton would be working the fields as a common foreman. Most of them formed around the idea that his family had gone bankrupt and he’d had to find employment to support them, though some were fabricated around a broken heart and claimed he’d buried himself out here to forget his long-lost love. One even painted him as a murderer hiding out in another country until it was safe to return home. Whatever the reason, these stories helped spice up the daily routines of a tedious and otherwise lacklustre existence for most of the slaves.

Evie and Gans could be found most mornings down by the river at the water’s edge, either walking along the embankment or, on this occasion, sitting on a higher part of the bank, their legs dangling over the side, their bare toes barely skimming the water and causing it to ripple in circles before them. Gans was fond of picking up stones or fallen twigs – or anything he could lay his hands on – and throwing them as far out as he could into the water. Evie would join him in this escapade but always became bored with it long before Gans did.

‘Ma says I have ta learn some books next year,’ announced Evie.

Gans, now satisfied there was nothing left to throw within his reach, stretched out on the ground behind him and began chewing on a reed. ‘Wha’ for?’ He was truly at a loss as to why someone would want some old books around when there was much more fun to be had elsewhere – fishing or playing pranks on Francine, the cook up at the main house.

‘Ta learn how ta read, ya brainless dummy!’

Gans pushed Evie, nearly making her lose her balance and fall into the water. As much as Evie loved the look of the water, she was frightened of it, and as a result had never learnt to swim like most of the children on the property.

‘Damnation, Gans! I coulda fell in! What woulda happened then?’

Gans grinned back. ‘Don’ worry, I’da fished you out,’ he told her. ‘If I could find a fishin’ line big ’nuff that is!’

Gans fell about laughing on the bank as Evie sat in a huff, not looking at him. Gans stopped laughing, but with a smile still on his face he nudged her, trying to make her laugh too. But Evie still sat with her arms folded in front of her, looking out down the river with her face in a pout. Gans rolled his eyes and then sat in silence, wondering how he could make his friend forgive him. He raised his eyebrows.

‘Well, I guess it be good ta read and stuff… I guess.’ Gans was now at a loss for words.

She side-glanced him. ‘Ma say if I learn ma letters, it keep me outta the fields and such.’

Gans nodded but wasn’t sure he understood.

Evie was keen to learn how to read and knew that Gans’ pa would never allow Gans to be bothered with books when there were too many important things to do on a plantation that didn’t need books to know how to do them. Evie had daydreams of another kind of life, dreams of owning her own store one day or perhaps even working as a schoolteacher. And for that she knew she would have to learn books.

Her ma said she was too much of a dreamer. You ain’ never gonna own nuthin’, chile. You a slave an’ tha’s all!’

Plenty of time to think about that later though, Evie thought and suddenly pushed Gans in the ribs. ‘Come on – race ya to the big oak!’

Gans flashed her a beaming smile and was up and running before Evie could get her feet out of the water.

It was that first night that Evie dreamt of him.

A man came towards her across the lake, the water so still she could see her reflection in it. All around was a mist of purple and gold, and as the man came nearer, the mist followed, until she stood only a few feet away from him, the strange purple and gold mist swirling around them both. She imagined she saw him smile and smiled back. Evie wanted to ask him who he was. He looked so familiar.

She stepped closer and peered up at him. Eyes the most unusual shade of violet gazed back at her, pulling her in, drawing on her senses until they were all she was aware of.

Suddenly Evie felt light, as if she were drifting, hovering above herself, though to look down there was nothing there. She seemed to become part of the mist, and with this realization came an awareness of something else.

Scenes flashed before her, places she’d never seen before: rolling green hills, a crude shack and a white woman dressed all in fur that Evie couldn’t identify as any animal she had seen before. The woman was familiar to her as well. It made her feel strange.

The man was standing alongside the woman now, and Evie noticed how tall he was. He was laughing, dressed in the same odd clothing as the woman, though he was bare-chested, and had his arm around her.

He stopped laughing and looked down at her and the woman looked up into the man’s face. Evie felt herself being pulled; she seemed to be spiralling down… down towards the woman until she became part of the scene. Evie felt solid ground at her feet but could see nothing beneath her. Strong arms held her and, looking up, she saw the man with the beautiful eyes was now looking down at her, their colour now taking on a deeper blue. So familiar…

And then Evie realized who the woman was… it was she! And the man at her side? His name came to her in a rush… Parquin!

Evie woke with a start and sat bolt upright in bed, her heart thumping wildly. She felt frightened and alone and started to cry. Her pillow was saturated with her perspiration and, looking down at herself, she suddenly realized she’d wet the bed in her sleep. Evie’s bedroom wasn’t really a room at all, more like a sectioned-off portion of the kitchen with a curtain strung up for privacy, which was now pulled to the side as her mother stuck her head around.

‘You all right, chile?’ Evie’s mother, Lissette, was leaning in through the curtain. ‘Thought I hears you cryin’. She took in her daughter’s look of utter misery and frowned.

Evie started crying in earnest now. ‘Oh, Ma, I wet maself!’

The older woman sighed, walked over to her daughter, pulled Evie’s sodden nightshift off over her head and scooped her up, carrying her through the cabin and setting her down next to the big iron washbasin that doubled as a laundry bowl and bath and was used for all manner of cleaning in the small home.

Evie sat shivering next to it as Lissette sponged her down quickly, the water cold, then just as quickly dried Evie off. Next, Lissette gathered the sopping-wet sheets and Evie’s shift together and put them in the basin to soak, before pulling a shirt belonging to her husband over Evie’s head and saying casually, ‘Well now, ya can’t sleep in ya own bed, gonna put ya in mine.’

Evie, now dry and clean, happily snuggled down next to her father, who hadn’t stirred once through all the commotion and snored on contentedly.

It wasn’t until her mother was in bed beside her that Evie let herself think about the dream. Now she was safe in bed with her parents, she felt free to examine the dream fully; after all, nothing could hurt her now. She found the dream disturbing, unreal, yet… somehow comforting.

Evie yawned and decided she’d think on it more tomorrow. Seconds later, she drifted off, an image of deep violet eyes that turned to mist floating through her mind.

That night he stayed with her, watched over her. There would be no more contact… not yet. He was aware of the distress… the impact his reappearance had caused, and he was never sure after that first meeting if she would be distraught each time his presence was reintroduced to her. Still… he must…

* * *

The morning was already warm as Lissette spread Evie’s bedding over the back fence to dry. Lissette was more than a little concerned for her daughter – Evie hadn’t wet the bed since she’d stopped wrapping her in linens. Lissette thought perhaps she might pay a visit to Stella. Perhaps she would know what to do, or at the very least, she had a way of making Lissette always feel better about things.

Stella used to be the cook up at the main house when the old master was alive. When Master Jonathon took responsibility, he replaced Stella with Francine, letting Stella live out her old age on the far edge of Shades. He’d reasoned with himself that she wouldn’t have brought him much money at her age, not being as nimble as she once was and her childbearing years being well and truly behind her. But his father always spoke highly of her, and he knew the slaves liked to have her around for them to visit for their ills – this was more convenient given that the closest doctor was twelve miles away.

Stella had told Lissette to look for any signs of different behaviour in her daughter. Was this one of them? Lissette reasoned that a child wetting the bed wasn’t usually cause for concern, but in Evie’s case, it had never been a problem – and it shouldn’t be at her age. Best just to mention it to Stella, see what she said.

Stella was widely acclaimed in these parts for knowing things before they happened. Some said Stella’s mother had been a voodoo woman back in Africa, and that the craft had been handed down, with Stella out practising black magic deep in the woods in the dead of night.

Stella labelled all this talk a lot of ‘bunk’. As she sat sucking on her pipe under the shade of her front porch one day, she’d confided to Lissette, ‘I’m too ol’ be snoopin’ round any woods at night. Leave me be in ma bed wit’ ma man!’

The idea of Stella being in bed with any man at the ripe old age of eighty-seven had left both women laughing so hard that Lissette had been forced to bang Stella on the back lest she choke on her tobacco smoke.

When the old black woman had resumed even breathing again, she’d went on, ‘I jes’ see things ’fore theys happen is all.’

Stella had then gone on to tell Lissette to watch for any signs in her daughter… anything unusual… cautioning her that Evie was different.

* * *

Gans found Evie in the vegetable garden, a bucket for watering at her feet, deep in thought as she lounged against the side of the small cabin. Evie had been feeling… changed… since she’d woken up that morning. She knew it had something to do with the dream she’d had the night before, but just how she didn’t know.

‘You gonna try talkin’ those tomatas up through the groun’ or you gonna water ’em?’

Gans chuckled and quickly ducked out the way in anticipation of a punch in the ribs, but none came, and he wrinkled his eyebrows in puzzlement.

Evie wanted more than anything to feel normal again. She looked around her but nothing had changed – everything was still in its place. Her ma was washing, her pa was over with the blacksmith and Gans stood in front of her, goading her the way he always did. Though at this moment, he was looking at her the same way she’d looked at her pa one time when he was out of his head with the fever.

She threw him a sly smile. ‘Gans, d’ya know the only reas’n I plays wit’ you ’tall is coz your ma can’t git no other to play with ya, on accoun’ yo’ so much of a dummy!’

With that, Evie took off through the garden gate and round the back of her cabin with a screaming Gans hard on her heels. Both children flew by Lissette, nearly upending both her and her tub of wet washing into the dirt. A look of annoyance marred her features as she stood looking after them and shaking her head. Then she smiled to herself, thinking that perhaps there wasn’t too much to worry about after all where her daughter was concerned. Let them play. Soon enough they would both be called upon to work, just the same as the rest of them. May as well let them have these few precious years of play and easiness.

Evie and Gans spent the rest of the morning cavorting around the riverbank and nearby woodland. Gans spied a bird’s nest high up on a tree limb and proceeded to throw anything he could at it to knock it out until Evie threatened to wallop him over the head with a fallen tree branch if he didn’t stop.

Around noon, both children began to wind down, hunger starting to gnaw away at their insides, and they turned their attention towards home and what they could find to eat. It was on the way home that Evie told Gans about the dream she’d had, leaving out the part where she wet the bed. Gans didn’t say much though, and Evie wondered if he’d heard or understood all she had said.

It wasn’t until they were about to go their separate ways to their own cabins that Gans, a mischievous grin on his face, enquired if she would be able to find her way without the ‘purple mist’ to take her in the right direction. Evie swung around to clobber him, but he was already off running down the track, holding his sides as he did so to stop from laughing.

Evie watched him disappear around the bend and made up her mind there and then that she would never tell anybody about her dreams ever again. After all, if she couldn’t tell Gans without being ridiculed, then whom could she tell?

Gans had indeed taken in everything Evie had told him about the dream. It was the part about the ‘beautiful man’ that had made him tease her. For some reason, this part had upset him. He didn’t know why.

He wasn’t more than a few feet out of sight around the bend from her when he had stopped laughing and slowed to a walk. Now, his hands in his pockets, he dawdled the rest of the way home, kicking a stone with his bare foot as he went, his mood at an all-time low.

One day, he thought, I’ll sho’ that Evie I’m beau’ful too!

* * *

Summer came and went, then the next. Life in the slave quarters had gone on much the same as it always had. For most, the work was hard, though humdrum and monotonous, the majority working in the fields or stables for ten or twelve hours each day and more at harvesting time. A few were lucky enough to be put to work with one of the tradesmen, where one might learn carpentry or perhaps the latest developments in irrigation or even some rudimentary knowledge of horse or pig breeding.

Evie’s father, Jacob, was one of those who counted himself fortunate enough to be posted with The Shade’s blacksmith, a white man known only as Gideon, and who, save for Stella, was probably the oldest person on the plantation. No one had ever seen Gideon do anything else. He’d been there as long as any of the eldest residents could remember, but he kept to himself and, apart from mealtimes, was rarely seen more than twenty feet away from his anvil. But he treated Jacob fairly, bestowing upon him all his knowledge of his trade and occasionally, when things were a little slow, a story or two from a time long ago on The Shade.

Jacob knew he was a fortunate man – or at least as fortunate as a slave could be. He could be a lot worse off. Jacob was able to work under shelter through the rain or the heat when others were forced to bend their backs out in the fields. He’d watched them coming in around dusk, dragging their feet, trying to stretch their shoulders against their weary and aching muscles. And then after a simple meal, most would fall into their beds, perhaps cursing their existence and the white man before dropping off into a deep sleep, only to get up and do it all over again the next day.

Sundays were the only day a slave did not have to work. This was the white man’s holy day and so Jacob, along with the rest, was expected to attend the religious service held in the crudely built meeting house set in the middle of the slaves’ quarters under two big oaks, the shade at least giving them some measure of relief from heat or rain. Whether they believed in the white man’s god or not was irrelevant. Reverend Crawley – with no first name – was still a slave himself, his surname taken from his last owner. He was made a reverend due to his ability to read and would drone on from a Bible that the slaves had no understanding of nor any interest in. But they would happily spend the required hour sitting on the long benches within and let him do his speech and wave his hands about, each with the blessed knowledge that after he was finished, they could enjoy the rest of the day doing whatever they pleased.

* * *

Evie