Chapter 1: Stranger Happenings

A chill breeze harkens twelve strikes of the midnight bell. They came slowly, cold and bitter. Each strike a mourning wail. “A graveyard by the sea” was his request. In the north of Yorkshire, over looking the friged atlantic, this church, in grand colonial style, sat boldly. Pearched high on a short peninsula it over saw the rocky shoreline to the east and wind-scoured plains to the west. Quaint wooden stairs twisted down the rocky knoll to guide visitors up safely to the church doors. The wreaths of white lilies, that looked so peaceful in the morning, now, in the desolate gloom of the eve, haunted the stairs like drooping ghosts. Not a light fell from the skies. Not even the crystalline grace of the moon could shine with such sorrow in her heart. At the tenth long cry of the bell, the clouds, with a thunderous sob, unleashed a pouring rain across the English countryside. Below, a gaunt faced minister opened the doors of his funeral home to the awaiting grievers. Father Sabismo was less surprised that only one person had arrived, but that she had shown at all.
A black sedan rolled to a stop. The heavy rain pecked at the long Duisenberg. Lu stared out the rain spattered window. A once carefree young woman stared back, rain marred the face. She heard the Fredrick’s boots on the wet gravel. Guadalupe Carrabelle, Lu as she preferred, was a wealthy woman of the French aristocracy. At, least that’s what she wished people to believe. In truth, she was lowborn. Lu gazed past that tender face in the rain to the solemn church upon the ridge. How she missed the warm air of Haiti. The sweet tang of tropic rain. This place smelled of herring and sheep even when it was dry. She pulled the black, lance veil down and lit a cigarette. Blue eyes met her brown ones as Fredrick opened her door. A flush of red to his cheeks, he quickly dropped his gaze. They walked together. An umbrella with one hand and Mrs. Carrabelle in the other Fredrick lead her to the church awning. Lu whispered a thank you, pronouncing his name in classic French with a long /e/. She watched the boy trot, blushing back to the Duisenberg. Lu smiled slightly inside.
A gruff weather-beaten voice intruded on her. “Ms. Carrabelle? Ms. Guadalupe Carrabelle? ‘ello?”
Lu shook her head, “Mrs. Carrabelle. Je Suis.” Her red lips pulled a final drag from the cigarette, “Pardon, moi. dis is the Baron’s wake.”
“Father Sabismo.” the elderly man bowed. “Mrs. Carrabelle right-”
“Please, Lu es fine.” She interrupted, “to see an African child so far from home reminds me of mine. It is a comfort, father.”
“A child I ‘ave not been for a while, ma’am,” Sabismo chuckled, “nor ‘ave I seen Africa. Still I’m ‘appy to ease the family of the departed. Come,” the priest offered an arm. Lu slipped her gloved hand into the crook of the father’s elbow. He was a muscular man for the great age he carried. They stepped inside. The scent of pochulli hangs in the dry air. It is the scent of the grave. From far away a shadowed hand grips her soul. Each foot bringing her closer to the Baron then she’d ever been. Lu felt her heart jump. What cruelty was this! Certainly, the father could hear her heart pounding. It drowned out their footfalls, the patter of rain and the howl of the wind. lub-dub! It drowned her too. lub-dub! lub-dub! She fought to breath, to suck in that rank, grave air. lub-dub! lub-dub! lub-dub! The casket stood before her now. Open. The peak of his nose rose above the swells of his cheeks. lub-dub! lub-dub! lub-dub! lub-dub! Lu could take no more. She fell into blackness.



Ok, so I had hoped to get to the interesting, overarching, establishing plot part of this chapter, but today ran off, and i near missed my deadline.

STAY TUNED!