Isabella

By Audrey L Palmer

Isabella and her aunt Nana had been earth-bound for over one hundred fifty years. That was until a descendant of Nana's sister inherited the farm along with the neighboring farm. Megan and Jana both had the ability to speak with the dead and were able to help unravel the mystery of why the two spirits were unable to move on. In the end Isabella and Nana were able to move on and Jana, in preserving their memory had the old farm house restored with some modern aminities for some very special people.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 31, 2011
• ISBN: 9781450292993

Audrey L Palmer

Born in South LA, Audrey found her love of writing in 1997 when she wrote her first poem, ‘My Backyard Garden’. She has since had this and many other poems published as well as a book, ‘Seymore and the Princess Bee’. Her goal is entertaining children with her past experiences.

Book preview

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Tweleve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter One

Isabella glided around the rooms of the old mansion wishing she had someone to talk to. She was a small girl, a bit short for her age with long red hair that fell in spirals down her back. It always looked like she had a new perm although the curls were natural. She had an oval face and her skin was pale almost white with lots of freckles. She was also painfully thin and looked like a slight breeze might whisk her away.

Isabella paused at the back porch and considered whether or not to go to the garden, but she might dirty her pretty pink dress. She had a book she had started reading yesterday, but it was one of those books that start really slow, and she wasn’t much in the mood. Most of the time she had trouble putting a book down. She decided to take a nap instead. Perhaps later she could think of something to do. This was boring. But then, there isn’t much that isn’t boring when you are ten years old and have no friends, nobody to talk to except your Nana. It wasn’t that Nana wasn’t nice to have around. It would just be nice to have someone her own age to talk to from time to time. Maybe Nana could tell her a story. She had so many to tell.

At the thought, Isabella ran up the stairs to Nana’s room where she was busy crocheting a blanket. Nana really enjoyed crocheting as she found it to be quite relaxing. She put down her work when Isabella came into the room. Come here to Nana child and tell me what’s bothering you. Moving her yarn aside she made room on the love seat for Isabella.

Isabella sat on the love seat and placed her head on Nana’s shoulder. I’m bored, Nana. I just don’t know what to do with myself. Could you tell me a story, please? I promise I’ll be quiet. She knew as well as Nana did that once Nana started her stories, she would ask a million questions. Why was this so? How could that happen? Is this a true story, or did you make this up? A lot of the stories Nana told Isabella were about real people, but she always added a little bit to make them more interesting, and sometimes, she omitted some things to make them a little less scary or sad.

Nana smiled a radiant smile. She was a small woman in her mid thirties. She had long flowing red hair, and skin as creamy as milk. She was also short of stature and rather thin. Isabella had been left in her care when her parents were killed during a storm. Her father Ian and her mother Jana had gone to put the horses in the barn when lightning struck, killing Jana. Ian died when the horse he was leading reared in fear, hitting him in the head with his front hoof. Jana had been Nana’s twin sister and had her promise that if anything should ever happen to her Isabella would remain in the old family farmhouse in her care. It had not been easy, but Nana promised and now she was fulfilling that promise. What would you like to hear, Dearest?

Would you tell me about what it was like when you and Mommy were little girls? The stories of her mother’s childhood were her favorite. Tell me about the time you were picking berries, and you got chased by Mr. Blackthorn’s old bull, Thunder.

Okay, Isabella, look out the window at yonder pasture. You see that old barn in the field? Isabella nodded. Well, your mommy and I were about six years old. We had gone out to the pasture to pick berries for our mommy, your granny. She had promised to bake pie for supper, so we each had a nice big basket, and were determined to fill both baskets. We started there, near the east fence, and were working our way toward the west fence. Your mommy and I worked side by side. First we filled her basket, and when we reached the gate we set it aside to pick up later on our way back to the house. Of course, we ate many berries, too. Our mommy always made us wear our oldest play clothes when we picked berries, because we got really dirty doing this.

Well, we had been picking for quite a while, when we got to the ditch that separated our pasture from Mr. Blackthorn’s pasture. Nana paused waiting for the usual questions, but none came, so she continued with her story. Your mommy was a really brave soul, and she said we should cross over to the other pasture, because it would be a waste of fine berries if we didn’t pick those fat ripe berries in Mr. Blackthorn’s pasture, so I followed. Besides, it was Saturday, and Mr. Blackthorn’s cattle were always in the other pasture on Saturday. There was a wide board near the fence that we used as a bridge for the ditch, so we put it across and went over.

We had gotten to about the third row when I looked up to see Old Thunder running toward us. I grabbed your mommy and spilled some berries in so doing, and she insisted on picking them up, so I had to pull her along. When she finally came to her senses, Old Thunder was fast approaching, and we made it across the ditch with just enough time to pull the board across. Old Thunder stopped right on the edge, and turned away. We replaced the board to its proper place near the fence, and were going thanking our lucky stars, when we heard him running back. He had not reached the ditch, and we were not yet at the gate, but we felt safe because of the ditch. When Old Thunder reached the ditch this time he did not stop. He jumped the ditch and kept coming.

We were terrified, and ran screaming toward the fence. Your mommy was ahead of me, and when she reached the gate, she slid under it and was safe, but I was not, and I was afraid to slide under the gate. I had always been afraid of getting caught and not being able to free myself. I tried to climb the fence. But Old Thunder was getting really close and your mommy was screaming. Neither one of us saw Mr. Blackthorn running up to the fence. He reached over and picked me up like I was a little doll, and set me on the other side where I was safe. He then turned to Old Thunder and said one word ‘home’. The bull turned and went home. Mr. Blackthorn was a very big man, well over six feet, and his animals as well as the town’s people respected him a great deal. I think it was because even though he was such a large man, he was extremely kind. Anyway, Mr. Blackthorn had come by the house to bring Mommy some eggs from his laying hens in exchange for some vegetables from the garden. That’s what he was doing when he heard our screams.

He wasn’t angry at all. In fact, he said he was sorry, because he had decided to let Old Thunder have the pasture all to himself that day while the cows were in the other pasture. He promised that if he should ever do that again, he would check with us first to make sure we were not planning on picking berries that day. Later, when Mommy had made up all of the pies, she sent us over to bring one to Mr. Blackthorn. He was a widower and all of his children were grown and had moved away, and he lived alone in his big house. He was always bringing us eggs from his hens and milk from his cows. Sometimes he would request vegetables in exchange, but most of the time, he just brought them because he wanted to help us, so Mommy liked to do nice for him in return.

Isabella had knelt up on the love seat where she could look out at the pasture to where black berries still grew wild. She had placed her head on her arm and was now soundly sleeping. Nana smiled to herself, and being careful not to disturb the sleeping child, she picked up her work and began crocheting again. Isabella would sleep for hours. Nana decided there would