Jilo (Witching Savannah #4)(108)

“Yes, you’re the one, all right.”

Jilo found herself at the foot of her nana’s grave again as the Beekeeper tilted the bottle high. When she pulled the bottle away, the veil fell back into place, once again creating the illusion of features behind it. “The girl in the darkness. You two are so damned linked together, I don’t think the one of you could exist without the other.”

“I have no idea . . .” Jilo began, but the creature rushed up to her. Her veil puffed out, as if she’d just exhaled a heavy breath. The creature began sashaying, rum sloshing from the bottle she held at a careless angle. “She’s awakening. She’s awakening,” she said, at first chanting the word, then nearly singing it. The creature reached out with her free hand and lifted the skirt of her garment. She began swinging in mad and widening circles, singing out the word “awakening” over and over again till it lost all meaning, till it became nothing more than the drone of a thousand wings.

Jilo couldn’t bear another moment of this madness. “What do you want with me?” she screamed, causing the weird woman to stop short.

“I want you to join in the dance, dearie. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” She sent the bottle crashing against Tuesday’s stone, and though the shards of glass remained to bear witness of her presence, the Beekeeper herself was gone.





EPILOGUE


The Savannah Morning Star


January 1, 1960

Page B1



Connelly, Taylor Wed at Midnight Service



As church bells and fireworks announced the dawn of a new decade in Savannah, Edwin Taylor and Adeline Connelly were married at the stroke of midnight in an opulent ceremony attended by many of our fair city’s premier citizens. The bride eschewed the recently popular tea-length dress for a Paris original (see photos above and Page B5) featuring a flaring, ankle-length skirt. When asked about the unusual timing of her nuptials, the bride commented . . . (Story continues Page B5.)



Sapelo Island—March 1960



Tinker didn’t need to open his eyes to know his wife had already risen. Their bed was too narrow for two bodies to sleep without touching, especially now that Jilo’s belly hung low and hard and round. The baby was taking its own good time to come into the world. Way things were going lately, Tinker couldn’t say he blamed her . . . or possibly him. The women all had their opinions on the sex of the child. Baby hanging low, said some, gonna be a boy. Others insisted it was a girl because when a needle was hung suspended over Jilo’s stomach, it always swung left.

Tinker had learned to listen to his wife’s intuition. She didn’t share her private thoughts often, so when she did, he paid attention. Jilo said it would be a girl. Said the little one had told her so herself. Wanted them to name her Rosalee. They’d both already started referring to the little one by that name. As for Tinker himself, well, he didn’t give a damn. Boy, girl, didn’t matter. He was gonna love that child no matter what. Loved its mama too much to feel otherwise.

Tinker let one eye pop open, only to discover the room was still full dark. He let the other eye open to serve as a second witness. He pushed himself up on his elbows and listened, hoping to hear any signs of movement, but the only sound that met his ears was Robinson’s steady breathing. A pang of worry struck him, and he swung his legs out of bed, resting his feet on the cool wood floor. He found his way to the window and pulled the curtain to the side. Still full dark out there, too.

Feral hogs wandered the island. Poisonous snakes were plentiful. It seemed that nothing on God’s green earth frightened that woman, which made Tinker proud, anxious, and angry all in the same instant. He’d fought too hard to find her, to turn her heart toward his own. He was not gonna lose her to some preventable tragedy. It was one thing for Jilo to wander off by herself during the day, but heading out before the sunrise? That he truly wished she wouldn’t do. He’d talk to her once again of his worries, founded or not, and hope that this time her stubborn streak would let her hear how afraid he was for her.

Most men would have simply put their foot down, forbid their wives to go off wandering in the wee hours, but he knew better than to try that with Jilo. Heck, Tinker wouldn’t want a woman who’d let him boss her around. Not Tinker. He liked his women with a bit of spine, and the woman he’d found had plenty of it. Stubborn, proud, on her worst day twice as smart as he was on his best. The very things that caused him to worry over her were some of the same characteristics that made him love her so. She combined all these impossible traits with being strong, brave, and having the kindest heart he’d ever known.

He had brought her down to the island to get her out of Savannah during that Taylor fool’s wedding. It had been a feat to drag her here, kicking and screaming, to this small house his family owned on the island, but as soon as they began to cross the sound, a change had come over her. He’d watched as the tension fell from her shoulders, listened as her laughter came, and came easily. This small stretch of land, barely a stone’s throw from the mainland, seemed to bring her a sense of peace. What had been intended as a week’s vacation had turned to two, then three. Jilo seemed so happy here, he kept finding excuses to put off their return to Savannah. Her lack of objection told him it was right.

Every three or four days, he’d cross back over to the mainland, use the telephone in Meridian to check in with the men he’d left in charge of his stores, handle any odds and ends that came up, then he’d get right back into his borrowed bateau and go home to his wife and children, born and unborn, adopted and natural. They were his. All three of them.