The Harpies: The Dichotomy of ‘Moody and Dark’ Juxtaposed Against ‘Optimistic and Light’; Inner Demons Vs Inner Angels; Self-Discovery and Hope Vs Despair and Disillusionment

By Sabrina Zubiri

In 2004, four flawed and imperfect sisters embarked upon a cross-country road trip to fulfill a promise to uncover a long-buried tragedy in their mother Demi’s past. They went on the journey in an old school bus used in 1969 on Demi’s trip to Woodstock with a group of her friends.
The sisters' journey introduced them to characters from Demi’s past, and those characters provided the clues and sometimes the answers to this mystery.
The story of the road trip hinged on flashback sequences from Demi’s friends’ collective memories of the late 60’s and early 70’s political upheavals and the ripple effects of those upheavals that impacted that group and changed their lives forever!
How could they solve Demi’s mystery and an uncovered conspiracy? How did a hidden map, a missing girl, a Weather Underground bombing, a kidnapping, an unfound treasure, and a couple of murders all connect?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 9, 2022
• ISBN: 9781669840909

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Copyright © 2022 by Sabrina Zubiri.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 09/23/2022

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BOOK ONE

The Past is Never Dead, It’s Not Even Past

-William Faulkner

CONTENTS

Book One: THE PAST IS NEVER DEAD, IT’S NOT EVEN PAST

Chapter 1: Angel Standing By

Demi’s Farmhouse, Bridgewater, Vermont

Woodstock, Vermont

The Revere Coffeeshop and Bookstore

The Sisters

Bridgewater, Vermont

Chapter 2: REFLECTIONS OF MY LIFE

Bridgewater, Vermont

Thursday Morning, June 17th, 2004

Early Morning Friday, June 18th, 2004

Albany, New York Quick Quack Market

Springfield, Massachusetts WHZP TV Station

Liberty Bell Motel, Philadelphia

Penn State University

Early Evening The Betsy Ross Slept Here Bar

Liberty Bell Motel

Chapter 3: HAVE LOVE WILL TRAVEL

Liberty Bell Motel Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Olympus Used Cars

Alexander’s Fine Books and Collectables

Fairmount Park Parking Lot

The Whispering Bench, Fairmount Park

The Ruins on the Cliffs, Fairmount Park

Fairmount Park Parking Lot

Big Box Store Parking Lot

Liberty Bell Motel Parking Lot

Addendum

About the Author

Qb7

SPOTIFY PLAYLISTS

For those of you that enjoy music while reading,

and depending on your mood, here are three distinct

playlists that influenced the creation of the story.

*Note: The songs are predominately from the eras

of the ‘60s, ’70s and early 2000s.

But, some are included for the style, mood or vibe of the story.

The Harpies - Demi’s Playlist

Spotify Playlist

The Harpies - Sonny and Cy’s Playlist

Spotify Playlist

The Harpies Vibe

(Thea, Freddie, Dusty, Kate and Harmony)

CHAPTER ONE

Angel Standing By

Demi’s Farmhouse, Bridgewater, Vermont

June 14th, 2004 Monday, 6:00 AM

Tinkerbelle, a tabby cat, sat on the window sill in Demi’s bedroom and blinked at the early sunlight that streamed into the room. He purred and looked up at the row of stained glass sun-catchers hung on top of the window frame: Five angels of various sizes, four small round crystal balls on delicate chains, a crystal ball with small beads, a small copper dragon, and a tree of life image on a round stained glass ornament. He watched the woman who fed him daily, asleep below, and then he seemed to survey the room.

The heavy paneled walls were painted white, stark against the waxed wide-plank wood floor luster. A thick Persian rug in deep reds and sapphire tones centered on top. Floor-length white woolen drapes framed either side of the windows with sheer panels that were closed to defuse the morning light. A heavily carved walnut headboard firmly held the bed with a thick goose-down duvet covered in white Belgian linen. There were stacks of goose-down pillows covered in the same white linen cases that rested against the headboard and some that had fallen onto the floor. Multiple patchwork quilts had been folded at the footboard. Charming landscape paintings from local artists were on the walls, and a whimsical chandelier made of various crystals and old silver spoons was hung overhead. Two small worn antique chests that served as nightstands had been painted grass green some years ago and were on either side of the bed. They held stacks of books on various literary subjects, all with well-worn, aged leather bindings.

Tucked within the books sat a small brass clock, various small picture frames with four girls at varied ages, and an empty porcelain cup and saucer with residual tea in the bottom, which rested next to the reading lamp. An antique chaise lounge, covered in hunter-green velveteen, was angled next to the window, which provided a view down to the courtyard and barn. Next to the chaise was a side table and lamp with more stacks of books and small photo frames. Centered opposite the bed was a river stone fireplace which matched the one downstairs, with a hearth and wooden mantle for more clocks and photo frames. A small marble bust of the philosopher Descartes was on one side, and a similar small marble bust of Zeus was on the other, with more books propped against the statues. An oval mirror with a weathered copper frame was centered above the mantle.

The early morning seemingly had begun like any other chilly morning in June, as it slowly cast the emerging morning light upon a restless Demi. She had begun to slowly stir from a reoccurring dream which had again overcome her with a familiar unsettling sensation. It was not quite a nightmare, just a familiarity of sadness as she blinked her eyes at the imposing sunlight. She slowly moved, but then she closed her eyes again, and the dream faded but was memorable because it was a repetition of a dream that had come on many mornings in the last couple of weeks: A foggy, wispy darkness, lit by candlelight. It swirled and enveloped a female figure that seemed to barely move. Another person’s hand seemed to reach out. The unknown female figure slightly shook her head as if in slow motion with a slight grimace on her pale, hazy features barely distinguished in the darkness as she seemed to turn and look at Demi. Demi reached out to her. The image tried to reach out to meet her fingertips, but they were always just out of reach, which left Demi with a feeling of slight panic like she had been holding her breath, afraid or unable to help some unknown torment before it faded into the dark mist. The foggy, wispy swirl included a whisper of a nightmarish echo of the sounds of a horrible screech of metal on metal, a blur of a train that seemed to slide down an embankment. Then, there was a swirl of an explosion as the train slid across the gas pumps below. Screams…

The alarm clock let out its shrill wake-up alert as the cat jumped down next to her pillow, and Demi’s eyes startled open as she gasped, but she didn’t move as she felt the panic in her chest. There seemed to be a fragment of the hazy swirl that remained as she moved her outstretched hand just slightly so as not to scare away the image as it faded. Finally, she sat up, partially leaned back onto her bent arms and elbows, tilted her head, raised an eyebrow, and asked, Really? to the cat.

She reached out to turn off the alarm as she shook her head and stretched as she looked out the window. She jumped up and pulled up her comforter, and plumped her pillows. As she brushed her long blond hair peppered with silver stands around her face, she couldn’t shake the disquiet that she felt at the reoccurring dream. She peered back at the quizzical look in her blue eyes as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. She frowned and turned to head downstairs.

She padded down the stairs in her pink flannel pajamas and turquoise terrycloth robe. She lowered the needle to one of her favorite jazz records, which was on the turntable in the library, and she headed into the kitchen as she listened to ‘A Child Is Born’ by Oscar Peterson.

The view from the window to the garden showcased the butterflies, bees, and birds, which all moved in a waltz in the early morning summer light.

She had recently refinished the vintage kitchen cabinets in a sage-green paint with crisp white subway tile backsplash. One counter was sheathed in stainless steel, and another was a slab of white marble. The walls were covered in french-green, pastoral patterned toile wallpaper. The window had a simple burlap roman shade with sage-green twill binding on the edges.

She paused by the dining table, which was set upon the well-worn wide plank pine floor with the same waxed patina as upstairs. Six country-style Windsor chairs surrounded the crackle-finish, shaker-style table that her mother had purchased from the flea market when Demi was a little girl. Demi had painted them a pale persimmon lacquer just months before her mother had passed. In the center of the table was an antique Limoges porcelain pitcher, hand painted with delicate wildflowers. It was centered on the serviceable, antique linen table runner that her mother had delicately embroidered along the edges. Her mother had purchased both on one of the many antiquing trips they had enjoyed before her mother got too weak to travel on their excursions to the flea markets. She grabbed the flowers that had begun to wilt and winked at the cat, Remind me to cut some new ones this afternoon.

As she put the kettle on for tea, she leaned down to pet the cat’s head as he wound through her legs and looked up expectantly for his morning meal. She filled his kibble dish, and she straightened to gaze out the window to the garden. Her face was turned in a slight profile, and a wistful gaze crossed her face. The early sunlight bathed her pale skin and hair in a golden light. She put a tea bag in a vintage porcelain cup and saucer and poured in the water as she leaned a hip on the counter. She held the cup in her hand as she stared quietly out of the window at the garden. The memory of another morning overwhelmed her thoughts… the summer of August 1969.

That morning had the same chill in the air, the same smells of summer, and the decades-old memories of a teenage Demi overtook her thoughts.

She pled with her beautiful older sister to please let her go to the music festival…

Oh, please! Come onnn, Mia… Mother, please, tell her it’s ok! Why shouldn’t I get to go? This is history. You said we should be aware of history happening around us! See, my duffle is packed. Hermia! Mia, please listen to me! Look, I’ve even baked a bunch of snacks for the trip! And I’ve gathered some fruit from the orchard!

She pointed to her duffle bag on the back porch she had packed the night before, and it now sat next to a basket of apples and pears and a basket of baked goods.

She urgently asked, Mother, I just can’t miss this amazing music festival! You remember how you still talk about the Monterey Jazz Festival you went to in the 50s? It’s like that… but rock and roll…

Demi, Hermia… come in and let’s discuss with some tea, and how about you grab those cookies from the counter? She motioned for them to follow her from the porch, through the kitchen, and into the library as she settled into an oversized, tufted leather wing-back chair.

The library was filled to the ceilings with antique oak bookshelves for the classic and historical books collection. The large floor pillows were covered in red woolen plaid and were arranged in front of the massive Vermont stone fireplace. An antique trunk was used as a low coffee table. On the hearth was an oval basket with a wool plaid flannel blanket folded neatly for the cat. Across from the fireplace wall was a button-tufted sofa upholstered in worn saddle leather.

The massive wing-back chair now held their mother, and she straightened the crocheted quilts folded neatly in a basket next to the side table and lamp. The lamp had an amber mica shade that gave the room a warm golden glow to the room at night. The floor lamp behind the chair was a vintage pharmacy lamp in aged brass. The side table had a stack of well-worn books with cracked leather bindings: Greek history, Greek mythology, Descartes’ writings, and a couple of Shakespeare plays. Additional crocheted quilts were thrown casually over the ottoman.

The mantle and the bookshelves had become a hodgepodge of beautiful and whimsical treasures nestled amongst the books: various clocks, antique toys and porcelain dolls; small reproductions of Greek and Roman busts; small antique frames with black and white photos of unknown people captured at unknown events only distinguished as antique based on the clothing that was worn by the subject of the photos.

Next to the fireplace was an old phonograph turntable on a narrow table. The two shelves below were stuffed with albums of Jazz and Classic Rock music albums from the 50s and 60s. Additional albums sat on the floor and leaned on the table. Multiple worn antique Persian rugs are scattered beneath the furniture completing the warm ambiance of an old college bookstore.

Now, Demi, you know your sister thinks you will be in the way…

Demi interrupted as she looked into Mia’s blue eyes. They were so like her own yet looked cold and threatening, whereas Demi’s had a soft twinkle to them. Mia, tell her! I’ve stayed out of the way of your friends! They’ve been here all week, and no one has complained… she begged her sister to reconsider.

Not yet… Mia sniffed as she looked over at Demi’s long blond hair tied into thick braids. They looked so much alike, although Mia was much taller and curvier. She noticed that her little sister seemed to have on a bra, and she hadn’t noticed that development the last time she was home. She felt the usual pang of jealousy of the comparison she had always suffered when next to Demi, and for a while, she had possessed the knockout figure while Demi still had the body of a lanky child. However, that all seemed to be under change, and Mia was not pleased.

Demi was frustrated, Hermia, that’s not fair. I’ve helped you a lot to keep your friends comfortable…

Their mother looked at Hermia with disappointment. Hermia, your sister is right. She has been a big help. But, it’s my understanding, that the festival will only be for 3 or 4 days at the most… maybe 5, right? That’s what they are saying in town. Anyway, I’m sure she will stay out of your hair.

Mother, this is outrageous. It’s not whether she can be polite and respectful like some kind of trained dog. Don’t you get it? It’s her very existence that’s the problem…

Their mother cut her off. Mia, stop. You always push it too far. Her ‘existence’ is a problem? My word! What has gotten into you? She is your sister! She is smart enough to stay out of your way. She isn’t ‘tagging along,’ as you put it. She wants to experience a once-in-a-lifetime event.

Hermia groused, Why am I not surprised, mother? Once again, you side with the little princess. I wish I had never invited my friends to come here…

Mia, stop! I’m not sure what they are teaching you at Columbia University, but respect for your mother doesn’t seem to be high on the list!…

Demi grimaced and shook her head slightly at the memory as she carried her book and tea out to the porch and sat on the step. She stared out at the garden as the memories again took over her thoughts…

It was a fascinating group of college kids she observed that first afternoon as they all pulled into the farm in their rag-tag variety of vehicles.

The first group included Hermia and Charlene in a russet colored 1963 Chrysler Turbine. Cy, Sonny, Nikki, and Jake were next in a two-tone 1962 Mercury Monterey Station Wagon, and Shade and Dawn followed in a cream-colored Triumph 2000. They were soon followed by Clay, Pax, and Junior in a 1964 ice-blue Buick Riviera. And, by late afternoon, Doc and Harrison had arrived in a beat-up orange 1959 Chevy Apache pick-up truck. Finally, Maddie, Crow, and Artie completed the group in their individual cars: A yellow 1965 VW Beetle, a red 1969 Chevy Camero, and a silver 1966 Dodge Charger. Their joy and excitement were evident for the adventure they would soon share as they pulled up the driveway and blared their radios and horns as an announcement of their arrival. The guys were all big and athletic, and the group was multi-racial. Nikki and Dawn were opposites but both exotic and beautiful. Nikki was tall and slender with tanned skin and straight black hair grown to her waist. She was compared to Cher, so she dressed like Cher. She was of Italian descent, but she encouraged people to think she was Native American. She was intense with quiet intelligence, and she exuded sexual charm. Dawn was an athletic, petite ball of energy with a ready laugh and broad smile that lit up the room. She was African American with mocha skin, cinnamon eyes, and a giant ‘fro. She always had a song on her ruby lips and found it difficult to walk unless she threw in a few dance steps along the way.

They greeted and introduced themselves to each other with overlapping chatter, laughter, and crosstalk:

Hey man, I’m Sonny.

Right on, You guys are all from Philly? I’m from Colorado- came up to play ball for Ohio State, but my cousin’s from Kansas, and he plays for Penn-

Five of us are from Philly… Myself, Shade, and, oh, Zack isn’t here yet, and Nikki, she’s over there… Shade’s over to your right, and that’s his lady next to him. Hey, Dawn, Shade! This is Crowley… They waved back at him and flashed the peace sign.

Oh, and Artie. Sorry, man, I didn’t mean to overlook you…

Righteous! Hey Artie, good ta meet ya! Crowley is too formal… You can call me Crow…

Cool, Crow it is…

Gimme some skin…

Hey Hermia, thanks for giving us such a rad place to crash for the week! You the only one here from Vermont?

Yes, that’s right!! And you can call me Mia, it’s easier...

"Hermia! How’d you forget about me! Hi, I’m Maddie. I’m from here too; we’re best friends, me and Mia, I mean Hermia, right Hermia?"

Hermia sighed. Yeah, sure…

So my boyfriend Jason isn’t here ‘til tomorrow… he’s waiting for word that he got into Officer Training School for the Marines… Isn’t that exciting?… right Hermia?…

So, anyone else go to Columbia?

I do!

Me, too!

MIT…

Penn…

I’m pre-med.

I’m poly sci.

St. John’s…

Penn State…

Me, too…

Hi, I’m Charlene, but you can call me Charli. I’m from St. Louis; my boyfriend is from Las Vegas. Doc! Wave your hand; I’m introducing you!… His name is actually Herman, but don’t call him that, and his high school buddy is over there, the one playing the guitar, he is Harrison, but he goes by Scottie, wave Scottie…

Scottie, like in ‘Live long and Prosper’?

Hey, guys, glad to meet ya! Yeah, ‘Live long and Prosper’… I was totally bummed that Star Trek got the kiss-off this summer…

Yep, total bummer. Hey dude… yeah, you with the red hair… how about we call you Garfunkle…

I’m more partial to Doc if you don’t mind…

Artie motioned to Crow and Shade with a football. Crow go long… Shade, cover him.

Hey blondie, Where do you call home?

Colorado…

He’s a goat farmer…

Goat-boy it is…

Actually, I’d prefer you call me Clay…

Hi, I’m Dawn, but you can call me Cricket… I’m a Musical Theater major at Julliard… she added with a tap shuffle step.

Howdy ma’am, I’m Pax; I play ball with your boyfriend Shade…

Hey, Shade!

So… I’m from Kansas…

So is Junior…

So, one from Colorado and two from Kansas, so ‘Kansas Squared’…

Ah, Sonny, that’s not fair; they aren’t square! They aren’t old-fashioned at all! They’re cool…

Uh, thanks, Clay, but when Sonny said squared, I think he was referring to the quadratic expression of raising to the power of two… Sonny nodded and smirked at Jake.

Huh?

As in two from Kansas?… Kansas Squared… get it?… a joke?

Umm, Harrison… I mean, Scottie… Nope… Not good with numbers. I play football but those guys, umm… they are not square… not boring at all…

Ok, cool, Clay… Good talking to ya…

I think I’m the only girl from Kansas… I see a lot of musical instruments, so obviously, we can start our own band…

Ha! Dawn… uh… I mean Cricket… that’ll be a gas!

This week is gonna be a blast!…

I’ve got some tambourines-

Hey! Is that a mandolin?…

Let’s jam!

Drumsticks here! So everything is my drum… Jake laughed as he tapped on Pax’s head.

Cut it out Jake! Nikki, can’t you keep your brother in line?

Ha, he doesn’t listen to me…

Hermia motioned to the group, So my mom has cleaned up the bathroom and shower around back of the barn in the tack house. There are some cots back there… and she swept the barn floor and put down some hay so we can get our sleeping bags spread out. You can sleep under the stars, but fair warning, this time of year can surprise you with some pretty heavy showers. Maybe some of you guys can put the extra logs in the barn to sit on?… Yeah, those over by the firepit? Yeah, Shade, right over there… those logs are circled around it so we can set up the camp stoves there, too, if you want… Demi, can you bring those blankets over?

Demi shyly explained, They’re afghans… that I crocheted-

Hermia frowned, So, as I said, bring the blankets over here… What’s with the baskets? Hermia motioned to the baskets that Demi had set on the ground.

Charli called out, Hey could you knit a blanket for me in blue and gold?

Demi said patiently, Afghan not blanket; crochet not knit…

Can you do one in burgundy?

Nah, it’s gotta be blue and white! Go Penn…

That would be boss!

Demi asked, "Um… You guys mind…