Garden of Ash: Minder of Stone, #1

By Suzanne Hendricks

Raised near the Deep South's Okefenokee Swamp, gifted horticulturist Asher Ganit's relationship with the earth and its bounty was spellbinding to those who witnessed the fruits of his labor. Yet he shunned his family's legacy to attempt growing a garden of his own. The murder of his wife and kidnapping of his child destroyed it all.

For more than two decades, Ash wandered, riding the train rails as a hobo, keeping in touch only with his lawyer, MC Hammond of Lebanon, Kansas, who seeks tirelessly for Ash's son, Christopher. A possible lead sends Ash back to Dogwood, Georgia, and the childhood home of his late wife, Glennis.
Recently relocated to Dogwood, the Wesley family is struggling to find a place to call home. Tormented by secrets they keep from outsiders, the six members are welcomed to the rented farm managed by local businessman, Davis Mincey. Yet unbeknownst to all, their mutual link to the old Gallagher farm is closer than they could have imagined.

Born in the family that minds the Stone of Nourishment, Lirah Wesley's four children each have gifts for agriculture, which she attempts to subdue within them, as she once subdued her own gifts. With Asher's reappearance at the farm, the cousins are reunited. However, Ash notices an unusual birthmark on Finn Wesley, the only son of Lirah and Kirk, which can only mean that the legacy Ash left behind has not only been continued, but also, inexplicably modified.

During their time in Dogwood, Ash will reveal his reasons for running. Lirah and her husband Kirk will rediscover each other. Their children will use their gifts to find their way home. As the crops grow and are harvested in Dogwood, the community will nourish the family as they work through their own pain and heart breaks to become more than they ever thought they could be.

 

~240 pages~

• Language: English
• Publisher: Suzanne Hendricks
• Release date: Dec 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9798989153855

Suzanne Hendricks

Suzanne Hendricks holds a B.S.Ed. degree in Secondary Math Education from the University of Georgia and an M.Ed in Educational Leadership from Valdosta State University. She has worked in education for many years and is currently teaching high school mathematics. She and her husband, Eric, have been married for nearly three decades and are parents to three adult children. On their farm in middle Georgia, they strive to protect pollinators, such as bees, by routinely planting vegetable gardens. They also raise goats that keep the poison ivy at bay. Suzanne enjoys writing about her life and experiences in rural Georgia and shares these on social media. Garden of Ash is her debut novel.

Book preview

GARDEN OF ASH

MINDER OF STONE

SUZANNE S HENDRICKS

This is a work of fiction. The characters and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination and do not portray actual persons or events.

GARDEN OF ASH Copyright © 2023 by Suzanne Hendricks

Published by River’s Edge Publishing

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the author/publisher.

Printed in the United States of America

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FIRST EDITION

ISBN: 979-8-9891538-5-5

Dedicated to

S. Reid Shockley

My brother who can summon rainbows

One doesn’t expect to get from life what one has already learned it cannot give. Rather, one begins to see that life is a kind of sowing time . . . and the harvest is not yet here.

~Vincent Van Gogh

PREFACE

530 BCE

North of the Mediterranean Sea

I

n the final days of the sojourn that had led him far from home, remembering the joyful solstice celebrations of his youth motivated him to continue, propelling his travel-weary body towards his village. Yet he had been greatly saddened by the lack of fanfare again this year. Festivities that had once been so full of mirth and merriment were now colorless and subdued. It was easy to slip away as dusk shadowed faces drawn by hunger and despair. Wearing only his leather tunic, his pale, uncovered skin resembled gooseflesh in the post-sunset chill. With a quick glance back, he was certain his exit was unseen.

Bare feet silently trod the footpath to the ancient circle, which was barely lit by the slender moon. A flickering fire beckoned him closer, where a lone man sat on the hard-packed clay, a scrawny hound by his side. The hood of his dark robe was thrown back to reveal a war-scarred face. The scout slowed his pace, wary of a possible ambush. He sensed no other presence and continued walking penitently towards the duo to begin his briefing. When it was done, even the wind was silent.

Are you certain you have looked everywhere? The elder man looked up to bring his gaze to the face of the much younger man standing before him.

"Sir, I have searched his home, his regular haunts, every nook and cranny of the river; I questioned the few neighbors that know him well.

They indeed remembered the mark on his arm. His mother bore the same. I followed his trail through both the valleys and the mountains, yet it stops at the edge of the sea. He has vanished."

Though the fire before him shone brightly in the night, the elder’s countenance darkened with this news. Long has the Council searched for this Stone Minder. With our harvests dwindling, our grain stores depleted, these lands shall be overrun by chaos without the magic of the Growing Stone and the talents of the Minder who wields it. A long silence filled the night before the man angrily continued.

There will be much disappointment with this development, yet the omens have foretold that our search will bring forth the Stone. We cannot let it slip away from us!

Fearing his fate, the scout spoke. I have heard of vessels than carry men across the Great Waters. Perchance I should throw in my lot with a crew and continue my search abroad.

A cloud obscured the moon’s light, and the dwindling fire threw shadows upon the petrified timbers of the circle. The elder pondered the scout’s request then withdrew a jingling purse from his robe. With a flick of his wrist, the purse flew through the air before landing at the scout’s dusty feet.

With the blessing of the Council, I bid you, continue.

The weight of the purse was heavy in the scout’s hand. For a fleeting moment, he thought of abandoning the search, of leaving the hovel he called home. With this much coin, he could make a new life for himself.

As if reading his mind, the elder rose and straightened to his full height before peering deeply at the scout. Remember your sacred oath, the one the Council made you swear when you accepted your position within our ranks. Blood will always find blood. There will be no place you can hide! Go forth to seek your quarry. The Council must have that Stone!

Contents

PREFACE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 1 0

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 1 2

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 44

CHAPTER 45

CHAPTER 46

CHAPTER 47

CHAPTER 48

CHAPTER 49

CHAPTER 50

CHAPTER 51

CHAPTER 52

CHAPTER 53

CHAPTER 54

CHAPTER 55

CHAPTER 56

CHAPTER 57

EPILOGUE

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

CHAPTER 1

1960 CE

West of the Atlantic Ocean, North America

"A

re you sure you didn’t give that kid too much?"

The question slowed their flight from devastation wrought by their own hands. The gasping man went by Sunny, though his personality was a direct contradiction to his trade name. With one hand, he shoved the scratchy knit ski mask to the top of his newly shaved head. Its smoothness still felt weird. His youthful, unlined face pulled into a frown while his calculating eyes pondered the sleeping form in his other arm; not from concern for the medicated child, but merely curiosity that it remained asleep after the jostling of his recent run.

I shot him up with the dose that The Boss told me to! was the angry response from the towering bulk, who was cursed with the distinction of being known merely as Brother, even though his real name also contained two syllables and ended with the same four letters. His own mask had fallen somewhere along the designated route. The exit had been easier for his long legs, though wispy locks had escaped from the rubber band holding back his stringy blond hair. Bloodied knuckles along with anxious fingers pleaded with the strays to return to their rightful position.

No retort was offered as the duo kept to the shadows, thankful that the child was silent and not giving away their position. Though the lakeside neighborhood was sparsely populated, and the men were dressed in black from head to toe, their goal was to remain both unseen and unheard as they ran the gauntlet among the bare bones of newer construction.

The Boss’s car was right where they expected, parked at the edge of a boat ramp that slid into the murky recesses of the man-made lake. The Boss himself was impatiently waiting for his prize to arrive. From the warm confines of his rented sedan, his hooded eyes perused the blond bear first. Here stands the Strength behind tonight’s conquest, he thought. Noticing the man’s empty arms, The Boss turned his attention to the smaller, more fox-like brother. And here lies the Cunning. A sly grin slowly spread across his face as he noted the blue blanket in the kidnapper’s arms.

His left hand found the electronic window switch, and humid air swept away the stench of nervous anticipation within the car. Though most leaders would never deign to speak from a seated position, especially to subordinates who were still standing, The Boss was not like most men. He meant for his power to be absolute under any circumstance.

Were there any problems? The voice—strong, confident, a hint of danger laced with wealth—shot out across the April night. The brothers looked at each other. The results of the night’s activities might be reported on the front page of the local newspaper, but only they could tell the true tale.

The man with cunning once again checked for breath coming from the bundle. Our intel said the whole family would be in the house, but the husband wasn’t there. Just the wife and the kid.

A light breeze stirred the water around them, and short waves lapped against the wooden pilings of the pier. The midnight songs of hidden crickets were a stark contrast to the overwhelming silence from the lone vehicle. Others might have construed it as displeasure, but the brothers had worked for this man several times. They knew he would ask and answer questions, but only when ready.

The man with strength picked up the tale. There was a struggle, which we anticipated. Ain’t no woman in her right mind gonna just hand over her kid to strangers. I’ll have to stitch up my shin when we get back to the safe house. She was still wearing her heels during those first few kicks! Fortunately, Sunny was finally able to get a good hold on her. She fought the needle with the tranquilizer in it, so I had to smack her face a time or two. That last punch might have been too hard though. Her neck snapped. He shrugged nonchalantly. Couldn’t be helped, Boss. She’s dead. We left her where she fell, snatched the kid, and got outta there.

Dust mixed with mutilated bugs streaked across the windshield, filling his gaze. The Boss pondered this unexpected development. A deep sigh escaped from his chest. While this wrinkle was not what he had planned, it might make his overarching visions more readily attainable. After all, what was done could not be undone. Fretting about the consequences now served no purpose. What mattered most now was that the child was out from under the doting protection of both of his parents. Tonight’s activity was the first step in making his long-range plan work. With the ease of someone with a clear conscience, someone accustomed to getting what he wanted, The Boss finally opened the car door and leisurely straightened the suit that covered his squat frame. Sunny noticed that the expensive coat was a rich tone of brown, almost the same shade as the child’s hair. The jacket fit snuggly across his shoulders, and the tailored slacks brushed the polished leather of his loafers. The brothers also noted the absence of a weapon holstered at his waist or tucked under an arm.

Give me the baby. The Boss held out his arms, a proud papa ready to receive his first-born son. With the ease of trained compliance, Sunny released his burden into the maleficent hands of the man that the world would, much later, call a monster.

A manicured finger pulled down the blanket that covered the child’s sleeping face. With tenderness and care, The Boss caressed chubby cheeks before smoothing back the blanket to reveal dusky curls surrounding a placid face. A smile appeared on the older man’s face.

Thank goodness he looks like his mother.

The blanket was further unfolded to carefully examine the child’s still-limp arms. Blood had recently clotted around a jagged cut on the child’s fleshy left bicep. He’s injured. Is this your doing?

Absolutely not Boss. He was bleeding when we got there. A bloody knife was on the table.

With tenderness, the fresh wound was examined. It was not a deep cut, but the thin skin had been scored. Nothing remained of the child’s identifying birthmark. One problem solved.

The thieves shared another glance. To themselves, they pondered: To what lengths had The Boss gone to secure this child? How many phone calls had been made? How many favors had been called in? How much money had changed hands? Perhaps the woman who had fought tooth and nail was a former lover who had refused this man from the desert access to his own flesh and blood? Not that it was any of their business; after all, a job was a job.

They watched him gently cover the slumbering child against the spring’s chill before his attention returned to the business at hand. You left the note where I told you? A nod confirmed their affirmative response.

While the rental car had an infant car carrier already secured in the back seat, hands unfamiliar with the process fumbled with placing the child in the seat, then with fastening the restraints. Curses were muttered under his breath before they heard him lament, Where’s my wife when I really need her? Deciding that the child was as secure as he could make him, the man looked down and to his left before removing a gray duffel bag. A baby blue one was left behind on the floor.

Turning back to his accomplices, he spoke with a finality as he ignored Sunny’s outstretched hand to instead pass the laden tote to Brother. It’s all there, but feel free to count it. You boys did good work tonight.

Relief filled Sunny’s face only momentarily. You sure you don’t want us to stick around, go back and finish the job? questioned Brother as he shifted the duffel into his other beefy paw. His ponytail became even more disarrayed by a swift slap to the back of his head, compliments of Sunny.

A tussle was avoided because at that moment, the three men heard a soft cooing. The one-year-old child was awakening. Groggy and confused, his cry soon pierced the night air, all but confirming displeasure after his drug-induced nap.

The Boss looked over his shoulder at this child he’d bought—with his time, his attention to detail, with his hard-earned fortune, with a mother’s life.

No need for that. We’ll hear from Asher Ganit soon enough. I finally have something he wants, which I’m willing to trade for something I’ve wanted for a long, long time.

CHAPTER 2

1983 CE

South of Savannah, Georgia, USA

T

he two brothers arrived first. Both were tall and muscular still, despite their advanced ages. The elder brother, Jacob, wore faded denim overalls; threadbare green plaid covered his long arms and broad chest, and atop his full head of grey hair was a brand-new ball cap, yet unstained by sweat and tractor grease. The younger brother, Dan, was dressed formally—creased khaki slacks, ebony pullover vest, pristine white dress shirt, elegantly styled silver hair. His insurance agency catered to local farmers, like both of his brothers had been. One still was. The office had closed early, due to the upcoming holiday. Dan had driven straight to Jacob’s farm on the edges of the Okefenokee Swamp. He didn’t bother going inside the house. The undecorated door with its faded blue paint depressed him. And besides, getting sidelined by Jacob’s wife and having to listen to one of her sermons would further delay the chores that lay ahead. A brief toot of the truck’s horn had Jacob outside in a hurry.

Dan’s late model pickup truck struggled to pass through the porous black sand ubiquitous to the lowlands of southeastern coastal plains. Rains earlier in the week had turned the unpaved road, hidden deep within the swamp’s cypress forest, into sludge. The dirt and mud were no bother to a farmer like Jacob. They were as necessary as air in his lungs, a vital part of his existence. Dan, the clean-cut professional, stayed inside the truck and let his brother handle the worst of the site’s preparation. Debris from the last gathering was cleared quickly. As a team, the men began emptying the truck’s bed of a variety of dry, seasoned logs. Their anticipation, along with their apprehension grew. In short order, the first fire of the new winter season was ready to light.

Their three sisters joined them an hour before sunset, bringing enough food to feed a small army. Pitchers of sweet tea, coolers full of soda, hot dogs ready for roasting over the open flame, and multiple varieties of potato chips were hauled out of youngest sister Trudy’s station wagon. There were pans of brownies that Caroline, now the eldest of the siblings, had pulled from the oven mere minutes before leaving her home. Bundles of soft peppermint sticks wrapped with blue and silver ribbons were middle sister Ophelia’s contribution to the party. She was a bona fide city girl and was not nearly as gifted in the kitchen as her sisters. They made quick work of organizing their buffet on the tailgate of Dan’s truck, then sat on pine stumps their brothers had set in a circle around the glowing fire.

Trudy, how many of your bunch are coming? asked her brother Jacob.

The plump mother of four and grandmother of ten replied, All but my daughter, LaDonna. She’s snowbound in Chicago. Everyone else is here already for Christmas. Gracious, my house is bursting at the seams!

The siblings shared a laugh. It was good to have their children, and their families, home again, even if for just a few days. By the time the final head count was tallied, the number expected for this year’s celebration was more than a dozen.

The fire chased the chill from the late December air, and the perpetual humidity of the Deep South slowly dissipated. Night sounds unique to the swamp’s forest echoed around them. Trudy waited until an owl finished his eerie hoot before requesting clarification from Jacob, about a comment he had made earlier.

You said Lirah wasn’t coming home for the holidays?

Jacob stood and held his hands closer to the fire. The siblings watched his stillness. Jacob had always been reticent to speak, unless there was a story to tell.

They’re having a rough go of it right now, so I told her to take care of her family and maybe we’d see her this summer, when her kids are out of school.

Didn’t she have a kid turn twelve not too long ago? Dan asked Jacob.

Oh Dan, for heaven’s sake, don’t start with all that! interjected Ophelia. The Stone is gone and there is no way to find it. Let it go!

Offended, her brother retorted, Well, sis, that’s easy for you to say. None of your young’uns wanted to carry on the Ganit traditions!

Yours didn’t either, Dan! Exasperated with her older brother, Ophelia crossed her arms over her newly purchased Christmas sweater, replete with sequined angels, that her sister Trudy thought was both obnoxious and inappropriate for this evening’s festivities.

Caroline softly joined the conversation. You know, after Ronnie finished his degree from the agriculture school at Georgia, he came home one day and told me, in a rather smug manner, that a great deal of what we’d taught him had been written down, right there in his ag textbooks for all the world to see. I will never forget the disgusted look on his face when he said ‘Mama, Ash wasn’t magic. He was just really gifted at growing things.’

At the mention of Ash, a melancholic mood dampened their spirits. Thoughts of Ash caused them to think of Samuel, the oldest brother of the siblings. Memories cascaded through their minds. Samuel, born with a unique birthmark, had only been in his midforties when he had suddenly taken ill. They each silently recalled how Samuel had presented the family’s Stone to his son, Asher, who had been born with the same mark, but with no desire to play the role of being its Minder.

Before Jacob could form a response, headlights pierced the dark.

The family gathering was everything they had hoped it would be. Cousins who only saw each other once a year shared stories from school and athletic endeavors. The impending visit of St. Nicholas and his presents was discussed at length. Dan changed the subject and told a story from his own teen years. He spoke of the one and only time he had chosen to forgo the modern luxury of a tractor and instead, plow one of the tobacco fields with an ornery old mule. His rendition, and subsequent commentary, had the crowd laughing so hard that their sides hurt.

Tammy Lynn, youngest granddaughter of Trudy, had been excited to finally be old enough, at the tender age of ten, to attend this annual party. She’d heard stories from her three older sisters about how the family traipsed into the woods, just days before Christmas, to celebrate the changing seasons, though she still wasn’t exactly clear as to why the family did so. Snuggled beside her grandmother, the youngster’s curiosity spilled over.

Granny, you promised me a story when we got here. The one about why we have this party. Can you tell me now?

Alright, little one, but I think your great-uncle Jacob wants to tell that story. Besides, he can tell it better than I can.

Eagerly, Tammy Lynn faced Jacob, who chose to sit down on one of the pine stumps before slowly unwinding his tale:

In a time long since forgotten by modern man, a North tribe wandered for many years before choosing to settle by a swollen river. One misty morning, a strange woman was found wandering within their