Eudora's Gift

Chapter One

CHAPTER 1

Jericho paced restlessly through the kitchen. His mother ignored him and continued to prepare the evening meal. Jericho had always been too intense, even as a child. She waited patiently for him to speak his mind, continuing to chop vegetables on the cutting board with expert precision.

“Mum… I know she’s out there. Two days ago, I started to feel it. I started to dream of her.”

Sylvia stopped chopping and looked at her firstborn son in surprise. “Your mate?”

He nodded miserably and collapsed onto the stool across from her at the island. “I’ve never felt this before, but it’s so faint… sometimes I think it’s only wishful thinking.”

“What are you feeling?” Sylvia laid down the knife and looked deeply into his troubled eyes.

“This… pulling inside me.”

“Does it ever feel stronger?”

He frowned. “When I passed through Hattersville on my way home… it was stronger then.”

“Hattersville is north,” Sylvia observed casually.

Jericho pondered this. “Do you mean… it will get stronger as I get closer?”

Sylvia nodded and touched his hand. “Normally, you feel it after you have mated and bonded. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of anyone feeling the pull before they met their mate. But it is the compass the Goddess has given us, so that we can always find our soul mate, even if we become separated.”

He jumped off the stool, his eyes wide. “I can find her!”

Sylvia put a calming hand on his shoulder. “Eat first, Rico. Then you can go prepare for your journey.”

He packed his truck carefully. He did not know if he was going for a few days, or a few weeks, or even months. He only knew he had no intention of returning until he had found her. He took out an old paper map of the United States and a marker. In his hometown of Oakridge, Tennessee, he put an X. He circled Hattersville. He would just have to keep moving where the pull felt stronger.

His mother and father came out to the truck to see him off. His mother was encouraging, her eyes warm and hopeful. His father looked grim. Jericho could tell that he didn’t really believe in this “fool’s journey.” But Alexander knew his son well enough to know that nothing he said would persuade him to stay once Jericho had made up his mind to leave. “Take care, son,” was all he said as he embraced his son. Jericho was taller and broader than his father, but his father still had the strength to crush his ribs in a hug.

His mother put her hands on his face and smiled softly. “Go bring her home, Rico.” He nodded and kissed her plump cheek.

“I’ll call you,” he promised as he climbed in the driver’s seat. “I love you both.”

The journey was much harder than Jericho anticipated. His internal compass was far from accurate, and at first it was a process of trial and error. He drove to the next town and tried to compare — was the pull stronger, or weaker? If it was weaker, he had to backtrack and try another direction. After a couple of weeks, as he slowly progressed north and east, the pull became stronger and stronger, and he took fewer wrong turns and backtracked less. He was impatient, but his hope grew. It wasn’t just his imagination. She was out there. He was going to find her.

Sometimes he slept in hotels. Sometimes he slept right in the truck. If the weather was fair, he would spread his sleeping bag out in the bed of the truck. As he got closer, the dreams grew stronger, but more frustrating. He never saw her face. She was never more than a shadowy figure moving, always just out of sight, always disappearing. She cried sometimes. Her weeping tore him up. Sometimes he seemed to feel her emotions, and mostly what he felt was fear. Why? Why was she afraid? “My love!” he called out in the darkness of his dream. “Don’t fear! I’m coming!”

He had reached New York state and was somewhere in the Catskill Mountains when he parked for the night. Summer was waning into fall, and it was getting colder at night. On that night it was rainy and dreary, so he found a motel in the small town and took a room for the night. He took in his duffel bag and realized he would need to find a laundromat soon, as his supply of clean clothes was dwindling. He showered and relaxed back on the thin, lumpy mattress and took out his phone. He had a few texts from friends and family, polite inquiries.

“Hey man, where are you now?”

“Have you found her yet?”

And one from his mother: “Did you remember to eat today?”

But the most interesting text came from his little brother, James.

“Hey man, I was just thinking about this and talking to Courtney. Do you think the reason you haven’t found her before is that she hadn’t come of age until now?”

“You know, Courtney is months younger than I am… I saw her almost every day at school, but I never felt anything toward her until she came of age.”

Now that was an idea that hadn’t occurred to him. Was his mate just a girl? He frowned at the phone. Had she only just turned 18? If so, he could pinpoint her birthday to sometime in mid-August. Would she feel weird about being mated to an older man? What did all this mean? He had expected a mature woman near his own age… now he had to consider that she was little more than a kid. Was she still in school?

He phoned his mom and told her about James’s conjecture.

“You know…” his mother considered. “He may be right. It makes perfect sense.”

Jericho groaned. “How can this be? What do I do?”

“Rico… the Goddess has paired you for a reason and a purpose. It is no mistake and no accident — have faith in that. But I would go slowly if I were you. Don’t barge in and scare the girl, or offend her family. Build trust, prove your worth… then the age difference shouldn’t be such an issue.”

“But Mum… if she is just a kid… how can she be my wife? How can she be the Luna?”

“You have waited all these years to find her… will you reject her now because she is young?”

Reject her? No. Never in a thousand years. With every mile that he drew closer, he felt more alive. She was his other half. He needed her like he needed air to breathe. It might be awkward at first, but in time, surely the age difference would not matter.

The rain pattering against the glass window lulled him to sleep.

He was in the woods again. He had come to this place so often in his dreams it was becoming familiar to him. He was sure it must be a real place, for the landscape was so detailed and unchanging. There was a great oak that stood ancient and alone in a stand of young white pines. There was a hedge of wild blackberries edging a clearing to the west. Across the clearing there was an old cellar hole and an overgrown orchard. At the northern tip of the clearing was a great big rock that jutted up into the sky like a finger pointing south.

Suddenly he felt a great pain in his shoulder — so much so that he cried out and clutched it. Looking at his own shoulder, it was fine. Was the pain hers? He peered through the woods in the fading light. He felt, more than saw, her shadow moving somewhere beyond the clearing. Still holding his throbbing shoulder, he began to move as silently as he could toward the shadow. He skirted the small clearing and moved toward the western edge. She was there, a barely visible silhouette. She, too, was holding her shoulder, which seemed to sag at an unnatural angle. He stopped and watched in horror as she approached a tree and, grasping one of the lower branches with the injured arm, wrenched the dislocated shoulder back into the joint. She cried and dropped to her knees, and so did he. He felt the excruciating pain as if it were his own. He jumped up and ran toward her. He’d never gotten this close before. He felt that this time he would reach her, he would see her, he would know her face.

She jumped to her feet and seemed to be looking around. “Who is there?”

She felt him! For the first time she seemed to sense his presence in the wood. But she only seemed more frightened. He felt her fear in the pit of his stomach. She bolted and ran with incredible speed back into the darkness. She was as swift and graceful as a doe.

Jericho awoke in a sweat. He felt so many emotions. He was upset and angry — she was hurt. She often seemed to be in pain. Who was hurting her? He was elated that finally she had sensed him. He had heard her voice, not only crying, but this time speaking, like an angel in the woods. And he was frustrated — so close, and yet still he could not see her face. He couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t wait any longer. He grabbed his duffel bag and checked out. He needed to get back on the road.

After another two days, he arrived in Vermont. The pull was so strong now it was making him dizzy. He followed it, leaving the main highway and traversing back roads until he arrived in an unlikely small town called Mount Tabor. There wasn’t much to see there. A gas station attached to a mini-mart. A garage with a tow truck that looked like Mater from Cars. A snack bar with picnic tables arranged outside. To the south of the village there was a high school that seemed to serve several of the small local towns. There was a slate quarry beyond the high school. And to the north of town, the only thing resembling accommodation: a dilapidated collection of little cabins surrounding an old farmhouse, and a faded sign that read “Caty’s Cottages.” A vacancy sign hung precariously by one hook beneath it.

He parked his truck and headed toward the farmhouse. A peeling sign declared “office” next to the front door. He knocked and heard a raspy female voice call “Come in!” from the depths of the house. He let himself inside. The foyer of the old house had been renovated into a sort of reception area, with a counter blocking the passage, a couple of worn chairs facing the desk, a guest register on the counter, and a few keys hanging in a box on the wall.

After a moment, a blue-haired lady in a bright pink muumuu shuffled in and stood behind the desk. She pulled out a pair of glasses and peered at him suspiciously. “Can I help you, sir?”

He nodded. “Yes, please. I would like to rent one of your cabins.”

“Say what? Are you lost?”

“No, ma’am.” An idea popped into his head. “I’m applying for a teaching job at the high school.”

“Oh, you don’t say? I thought maybe you were one of those goons running drugs out of the city.” She poked her gnarled hand over the desk. “I’m Caty Haskings. Nice to meet you.”

“Jericho Carroll.” He shook her hand and was surprised at the strength of her grip.

“Well, most of the cabins are in bad shape. We don’t get many customers out this way anymore, not since the new highway went in ten or twelve years ago. But I’ve got a couple I’ve tried to keep up. How long do you want it for?”

“Can we do week by week until I’m settled?”

“Fine by me. Cash only. Pay in advance.”

He nodded and pulled out his wallet. He had enough cash on hand to cover the week, but he would need to visit an ATM soon. “Where is the nearest ATM?” he asked.

She cackled and coughed. “There ain’t no ATMs here. You gotta go back to Rutland. That’s about 45 minutes east, back on the highway.”

“Okay.”

“There’s a little kitchenette in the cabin. If you want food, you might want to get that in the city too. Ain’t nothing here but the snack bar and the gas station. And I don’t cook!” She took down a set of keys. “Number seven.”

The cabin was a little sad. The little porch sagged and there was moss growing on the roof. Inside it smelled musty. The shag carpet was straight out of the 1970s, along with ugly faux wood paneling on the walls. The bathroom was done in unsightly avocado green, but it appeared to be clean. A kitchenette occupied one corner, with a little fridge, a two-burner stove, and a microwave. It was humble but functional. He had no idea how long he would be here — but his idea of getting a job at the high school was brilliant. It gave him an excuse to stay in the tiny village without looking like a creeper, and if his mate was still a student… well, she would be right under his nose.