SKYE...in the Beginning (A Skye Wilder Paranormal Mystery Romance Book 1)

By Merabeth James

Everyone wondered who she was and where she came from when Jake and his grandfather, Martin Tall Bear, brought the little girl to the sheriff's office in the tiny town Appalachian town called Relief. She had been found sitting on a rock in the middle of a river way up in high country. Clearly in shock, she was unable to answer their questions as she stared vacantly ahead and hummed a tune that seemed to comfort her.
The next day, the sheriff and his men retraced her trail and found something so horrific they conspired to keep it a secret. The sheriff decides the best thing to do is place the little girl Jake named Skye in the care of his daughter-in-law, Annie, in hopes that by having another child to nurture she would come to accept her own tragic loss...the accidental death of both her husband and young son.
As the weeks tick by, Skye begins to recover physically though she has no memory of the past except in her nightmares. With no one her own age to play with in the remote mountain valley, she invents an imaginary friend...or so Annie thinks...until she discovers that her new playmate is her dead son Jesse...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Merabeth James
• Release date: Jul 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005030858

Merabeth James

There are six things important to me...well, most important to me: To love unconditionally, to always keep a sense of 'wonder', to always be kind, to find joy in simple things, to never take myself too seriously, and to make sure I don't leave this earth with a list of "if only I hads".I've taken many 'leaps of faith' in my time and, so far, have landed on my feet or, in one case, on a dilapitated houseboat with my dog, and a lot of enthusiasm. I named her 'Sanctuary Annie' and hoped for the best. I knew nothing about boats, couldn't swim and wondered how long she would stay afloat. In the middle of the night, when my dog jumped up to join me on the antique Victorian bed I had moved on board, I would check to see if he was wet, knowing, if so, we were both in big trouble. But Sanctuary Annie hung in there, even surviving a hurricane, when others around her were not so fortunate.Living in the small marina, with the sea as my back yard, I found a profound sense of peace..and the love of my life....my Jim, captain of 'Wings', a beautiful racing sloop that flies across the water, when the wind fills her sails.I often think how much I would have missed out on, if I hadn't taken that leap of faith and followed my heart. Life is meant to be lived and I intend to keep on doing just that.

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This book is entirely a work of fiction. All characters are entirely fictitious and do not represent any persons living or dead. Product, business, location names used remain the property of any all trademark holders and do not represent an endorsement or association of any kind, either expressed or implied.

(copyright 2016 elizabeth repka all rights reserved)

SKYE

Book One

The child came to be called Skye because her eyes were the same deep blue color as the August sky on the day she was found sitting on a rock in the middle of the shallow river that flowed straight from the heart of the Appalachian Mountains. This is the beginning of her story.

The 15th of August

It was as hot as the breath of hell. Some said hotter. The longest stretch of heat anyone remembered seeing. The clay ground was cement hard beneath the layer of dust that rose with every stir of wind. Wells and springs were drying up. Small streams that had once snaked their way down the mountain slopes to meander leisurely through the fields were bone dry. The underside of the leaves on the trees than lined the dust-choked roads were visible like hands upturned in silent appeal. Thunder rumbled and clouds teased the mountain tops then passed on. The word ‘rain’ was on everyone’s lips and in everyone’s prayers as they struggled through the long days of summer.

It was on one such hot afternoon that Jake and his thirteen year old cousin, Moses Cantrell, decided to go skinny dipping up in High Country jumping from the abandoned railroad bridge into a deep pool of cool water scaring the trout into cover along the river’s shady banks. Tulip poplars and mountain laurel hugged its steep clay sides as it flowed quietly in the deepest parts only to rush off in a noisy froth of white over and around the scattered boulders before it disappeared around a bend.

Afterwards, Jake watched an eagle circle overhead brushed with gold by the afternoon sun. Propped against an upright, one bare leg dangling over the edge of the trestle, he smiled with quiet contentment as he tracked its progress. He could feel its energy just as he could most of the things that moved, and crawled, and walked around him...the energy from the trees, the river, and mother earth. A gift given to him by a grandfather he had never wanted to know. From a heritage he had never wanted to acknowledge.

Below him, he saw a brown trout snag a mayfly that had lit on the clear water then glanced at Moses who lay sprawled on his back…his denim cutoffs rolled beneath his head. He was watching a honeybee circle the rim of the empty Coke can he had balanced on his belly. Jake sighed. Moses was the lucky one, though he didn’t seem to know it. His home was here among the mountains while his was a skyscraper back in Chicago. A sterile cement and glass condo where a stranger had lived. A spoiled, selfish stranger he no longer liked very much.

It was then he heard a faint drift of sound weaving in and out of the water’s rush until it was almost lost. Someone was singing a tune…sweet, sad, and hauntingly familiar. Reaching back, Jake punched Moses in the shoulder. Listen. You hear that?

Ow! Watcha do thet fer? Moses whined brushing his carrot colored hair out of his eyes.

Stop being such a wuss. Listen. Can’t you hear that?

Hit me agin like thet, and Ah’ll whup yore sorry ass, cousin or not! Course Ah heared it. Ah ain’t deef. No one comes out this far jest for a swim ’cept us and the Tomlin boys, and thet sure don’t sound like them.

Come on. Let’s go see who’s there, Jake urged as he scrambled to his feet.

Then agin it could be a haint, Moses continued as he pulled himself upright. Butch seen one of ‘em sittin’ in a tree not mor’en five miles from here, and ya don’t wanna be messin’ with ’em. Ask Butch. He ain’t bin right since. Not that he ever was so’s ya’d notice. ‘Sides...time to head on home. This heat is killin’ me, and mah belly thinks mah throat’s bin cut.

Jake laughed. Like you didn’t just eat lunch an hour ago. I gotta check it out. You can wait here if you want to. That is if you’re too chicken to come with me.

Ah ain’t afeerd of nothin’. Come on then since Ah cain’t seem to turn ya from yore foolishness.

Slipping into their cutoffs and sneakers, they jammed everything else into a burlap bag and scrambled off the railroad bridge dropping down into the thick brush that followed the river as it wound its way down the mountain. The song beckoned, teasing at Jake’s memory. It was a lullaby whose words he couldn’t remember growing louder as they rounded the bend and pushed through the tangle of bushes and trees to the water’s edge.

She was sitting there haloed by the sun like a small, lost angel, and both boys stared in slack jawed disbelief.

Good Gawd Almighty. Ain’t never seen her before. Wonder whar she got from, Moses muttered, shaking his head.

Jake didn’t answer. Sliding down the clay bank into the stream, he moved through the shallow water as quietly as he could towards the small, still figure who seemed totally oblivious to her surroundings. Humming loudly now, eyes closed...her face was turned up to the sun like a flower seeking its light.

Ya ain’t goin’ to tetch her, are ya? Moses called from the bank.

Can’t just go off and leave her here, Jake called back.

Shoot, Jake! Somethin’s mighty wrong here. She’s a haint sure as anything.

Jake shot Moses a look of disgust then turned back to the little girl in front of him. Hey, there. Don’t be scared. I won’t hurt you. My name is Jake and that there idiot is my cousin Moses, he told her as he continued to close the distance to the granite boulder that divided the river in equal parts. I’ve come to take you home.

She looked at him briefly at the word ‘home’ and for a moment her eyes lost their blankness.

He had reached her by then and held out his hand. I’ll take you there. Come on down here to me, he coaxed. Surprisingly, she took the hand he offered. Hers was as cold as death.

Her eyes were the same intense blue as the sky as she looked at him solemnly. The bright nimbus of her golden curls created a halo around her pale, dirty face marred by scratches, mosquito bites, and the trails her tears had left behind. A small, grimy thumb found its way to her mouth. Then the brief flash of awareness was gone, and she was back to that place inside her that offered comfort...where a lullaby kept her fear at bay.

Jake’s jaw clenched, and his dark eyes flashed angrily. Someone had hurt her. Hurt her badly in one way or another he didn’t dare think about. Now it was all about getting her somewhere safe.

Hush...hush. It will be all right, he managed to say offering the only words of comfort he knew, hearing their emptiness even as he said them. How could he know what would make her whole again? How did he know that everything would be all right?

Lifting her down, he wrapped his arms around her and waded back through the water, careful where he placed each foot on the silt covered rocky bottom, until he reached the steep clay bank where Moses waited.

You could be helping some, Jake called up to him.

Whatcha goin’ tah do with her anyways?

She’s comin’ back to your place. When my grandfather picks me up, he will know how to handle this.

Moses muttered something under his breath then grabbed a tree branch with one hand and extended the other. If she ain’t a spook then she’s just plain tetched in the head and a girl to boot, he told him when they reached the top. A heap of trouble all the way around near as Ah cain see.

Not near as big a pain in the ass as you’ve been. Let’s get going, Jake told him with a flash of irritation as he looked down at the child in his arms who had fallen asleep with her thumb hooked in the corner of her mouth.

It felt as though she belonged there a surprised Jake discovered then brushed the thought away impatiently. He would be going back to Chicago soon, and they’d find out where she came from and send her home. He’d never see her again though a strange awareness tugged at him that suggested differently.

On the long walk back to Moses’ farm, restless dreams jerked through her small body. She was not a heavy burden for the wiry twelve year old, but the journey back was a long one and the mountain trail rough even without her added weight. As he walked, he wondered what would have happened to her if he hadn’t convinced Moses to go swimming off the old railroad bridge that hot August day, or if he hadn’t come here to the mountains at all. To keep his mind off his aching shoulders and growing fatigue, he let his mind drift back to his arrival in the tiny town of Relief.

***

It had all started out badly. After O’Hare airport and a transfer in Charlotte he ended up in Asheville, NC. The rest of the way was by bus through the most beautiful country he never saw. Anger...frustration...and a sense of rejection drew a dark curtain over the landscape. He had been sent to visit his grandfather, a Martin Tall Bear. Some kind of Cherokee Indian. His mother’s father. She had insisted it was time he learned about his Indian heritage. Something she had never talked about before, and her sudden interest didn’t fool him.

She was headed for Monte Carlo on the hunt for a new husband...her third…and having a boy his age hanging around wasn’t part of the plan. It had been ten years since his father had died across his desk after scoring one more big deal. A father he barely remembered except for the occasional Sunday dinner when he wasn’t busy with a client or something else that had his parents fighting behind closed doors. He had begged her to let him stay home alone, but she wouldn’t listen. Told him he would enjoy it if he gave it a chance, but he knew she lied. Knew the last place he ever wanted to be was in some backwoods, hillbilly hell playing Indian.

He was nursing his anger and contempt, when the dust coated bus ground to a stop in front of the post office where an old, man with lank gray hair tied back in a leather thong stood waiting. It had to be him...his grandfather, he thought, though he looked around hoping he was wrong. He wasn’t. There was nobody else standing there in the heat.

He stayed in his seat until the driver caught his eyes in the rear view mirror. Relief...all that’s gittin’ off better git.

That would be him and only him, yet he sat there not wanting to move and set everything in motion. Let him wait. He didn’t ask for any of this. He felt the stir of impatience ripple through the bus. It was hot despite the air conditioner’s best effort and reeked of sweat, over ripe fruit, and someone’s salami sandwich.

He watched as the overweight driver lumbered awkwardly down from the bus and heard the ‘clank’ as he slammed the luggage hatch open. Looking out the window, he saw his bags tossed to the ground and knew he had no choice but to follow.

Pulling himself upright, he walked as slowly as he could down the narrow aisle past jutting knees, feet, and a wire cage full of chickens. Standing on the top step, too angry and too resentful to offer a greeting, he gazed defiantly at the old man who stood below.

Dark eyes so like his own looked up at him gravely. Chicago is a long way to come. You have the look of your people, was all he said as he hoisted his bags under each arm and led him towards a battered pickup truck.

Out of the corner of his eye, he looked around at the clutch of buildings and the people who had come out for a look of their own. A bunch of low life losers from a shoddy town that had nothing going for it, he had thought in disgust. Nothing like what he was used to back home where he could find and get anything he wanted by knowing how to work his mother who seldom said ‘no’ mostly to avoid the hassle.

Accustomed to high rises, video games, cable TV, traffic, and people in a constant hurry, this place was as foreign to him as a distant planet. A planet where he was doomed to spend almost three long months, he thought with a groan, and hating every minute of it.

He was cursing under his breath as he watched his bags being loaded in back followed by the ‘slam’ of the tailgate. Jerking open the door, he climbed inside where a plaid blanket covered the tattered upholstery. It was a beater...a total wreck inside and out, he thought scornfully, just like his so called grandfather dressed in his faded overalls and looking like a bum.

A moment later, the driver side door opened, and his grandfather slid in next to him. He could feel his eyes on him, but he stared straight ahead. We have the days of this summer to become friends, he told him solemnly as he turned the ignition key and the old engine roared to life. You have much to learn. As do I it would seem from what I see in you. We will learn together. Now buckle up. We are headed home.

The journey back took them along countless switchbacks that had Jake’s stomach roiling. Looking down the sheer drops alongside, he found himself clutching the door frame, too frightened to enjoy the panorama of hazy blue mountains that marched towards a distant horizon.

Many years ago you could see 100 miles from this mountain top, but pollution has robbed us of that. Still...it is something to see and to feel, his grandfather told him. There is great power in these mountains. You will find it in your own time. Almost there. See. There is One-Leg-Too-Short come to greet us.

A mule galloped unevenly along the fence braying loudly, as the pickup took the last turn. As his grandfather pulled up in the cloud of dust that had followed them up the mountain, three mongrel dogs raced across the dirt yard and jumped up against the truck door. Paws overhanging the window, tongues lolling pink and wet, they waited eagerly for a pat. A dusty looking spotted hen flew up on the hood and walked gingerly across the hot surface to peck at the windshield.

That is Hen. She thinks she is one of the dogs. I have not told her differently. The dogs are Shadow, Paddle, and Trickster. There are others here that you will get to know.

Great. More dirty mutts and a run down shack Abe Lincoln could have lived in, he thought, as he looked around in disgust. But at least it was a house of sorts.

His grandfather looked at him. What were you expecting? A teepee? We live in real houses just like the white folks do. The Cherokees adopted the white man’s so-called civilization many generations ago. Not that it did us any good, he added dryly. The first cabin on this land was built over there by that stand of pines after your people were forced to flee their farms and hide in these mountains. This cabin was built by your great grandfather when the old one burned to the ground in a late summer storm. Today you will have no chores. Tomorrow you will begin learning the ways of your people and the ways of these mountains, which are but one. While we eat lunch, you will tell me what you know of the Trail of Tears...the betrayal of your people. It will be a good place to start.

Jake’s own sense of betrayal cut deep. He was determined not to enjoy himself, but his grandfather was patient, knowing that water could wear away the hardest stone. Knew that his grandson…descended from a powerful shaman…would find a connection to the mountains and his people in his own time.

And he was right. Resentful at first of the chores he was forced to learn like pulling weeds and watering the garden that struggled in the heat, milking their one cow, or chopping wood for the cook stove, he began to feel a sense of pride...of pleasure... in the picking of a sun warm tomato he had watched ripen and eating it right there while the juice dribbled down his chin...the taste of butter he had churned himself...the work he learned to do with his hands. There was always fences and gates to mend and a dozen other things that wore out like the old 1948 Farmall Cub tractor he tinkered on with his grandfather who was a patient teacher.

He watched the young boy struggle with his demons and find a new direction rooted in the land around him. Often he took him deep into the high forests...living off the land...becoming one with the earth and the animals that lived there.

You must always offer a prayer of thanks to the deer and beg his pardon before you take its life telling him it is only for your hunger, his grandfather told him as they sat around their first campfire. Chief Little Dear, leader of the Deer Tribe Council, will ask his spirit if you have done so and if not he will track you to your lodge and inflict you with rheumatism so that you never hunt again. But even if that were not so, Jake, it is good to be grateful to one who has given his life that you may live. Unlike so many white men, we never kill just for the killing.

And so it went as, bit-by-bit, Jake began to feel the heartbeat of the mountains pulse from the ground and find its way to his soul. His grandfather watched the changes he saw and