Among The Cloud Dwellers (Entrainment Series) (19 page)

“How many varieties of beans do you have there?” I asked, still writing.

“About fifteen. I soak them in cold water for at least eight hours, but it’s best to allow them to soak overnight. You have to change the water at least three times.” She moved to another bowl where beans of all shapes and sizes swelled happily in a water bath. Delilah drained the bowl and refilled it with fresh water, covering the beans by at least two inches. “Another secret is to use cooled ham stock to soak the beans with. When you change the water the third time, replace it with the stock. That allows the beans to absorb the flavor.”
It makes perfect sense,
I thought, jotting notes down.

I suddenly realized that we were alone in the kitchen. “Where is everybody?”

“I don’t know,” she answered. “Mama?”

Mama appeared from behind the counter dragging a twenty-pound sack of corn flour. “Yes, dear?” She reminded me of a tiny ant struggling with an oversized cargo.

“Where is everybody?” Delilah asked, glancing at a big clock on the wall. “Did Aeson close down?”

“He sure did. He’s counting down at the register,” Mama croaked.

I wondered how much agua it took to reach such a hoarse timbre.

“Jason and
The Blessing
are outside taking photos of the front porch by moonlight,” Mama said teasingly.

Aeson raised his head from his bookkeeping and silently pointed out the windows.

Benedetta and Jason sat on the swing. He sang, softly tickling a guitar along, while Benedetta followed the melody whistling. The combination of his smooth, low voice and the lightness of my dear friend’s whistling coiled around the anguished notes of the guitar. And then she switched from whistling to singing in that low Astrud Gilberto voice of hers. The effect sent chills through me, stretching my human abilities to grasp such a heavenly melody. Emotions replaced the flow of my blood, boundaries faded, and time vanished.

We stood motionless, Delilah and I, listening in rapture.

The slow notes pierced the silent night like the cry of a tormented soul. It crushed my heart and squeezed ancient drops of undiluted pain from it.

Behind me Delilah sobbed quietly. I thought of Gabe so far away yet so close, deep in my heart. I shed my pain and metamorphosed it into pure love, and cast it to him on the wings of the poignant music. Such magic was bound to find every enamored soul out there.

Eventually, I had to tear Benedetta away from him. Morning was fast approaching, and we still had to drive into town to get to our hotel. I asked Delilah if it would be possible to resume our interview the following day. Both Jason and Benedetta lit up at the thought of being able to see one another again. Delilah invited us for lunch, and we agreed to be back at the restaurant by noon.

A feeling of melancholy drove away with us knowing that the evening had drawn to an end. The entire family waved good-bye from the front porch; I watched them getting smaller and smaller in the frame of my rearview mirror.

I gave Benedetta time to recover, then asked, “You OK?”

“Yes. Thank you, but I’m fine. I guess that
agua
stuff had a weird effect on me.”

“Bene . . . how did you know how to help Delilah? I mean, what was that business with elements, waning moon, and so forth? Which goddess did you invoke?”

“Why put a human face to magic?” she frowned. “You know I’ve been learning about The Craft for a while now. Even as a solitary practitioner, I knew how to help. It sort of came naturally.”

“Wicca and voodoo mix?” I asked rather dumbly.

“Magic, when used in love, has no boundaries.”

Maybe I ought to introduce her to Evalena.
“What is magic, Bene?”

“Magic is willing energy operating on a level that our minds know nothing about. It streams from our hearts, Porzia.”

“And Jason?”

“He didn’t drink any agua,” she yawned.

“That’s not what I meant,” I said, stifling a yawn myself.

“I know what you meant. But I’m too tired to talk about it.”

“What was he singing out there, Bene?”

“I have no idea. He said something about a lullaby, and I just made up words to follow.”

“It was beautiful, but you’re right, that agua did have a weird effect.”

Dark shapes of gnarled, arthritic oaks shadowed the moonlight with their heavily mossy branches, looking like stylized souls ready to stir and jump on us at the first provocation. The dashboard clock read 1:00
a
.
m
.

I caught myself breathing more softly than usual. Next to me, Benedetta was just as silent until rounding a corner we, skimmed a graveyard. Talk about spooky. I heard her intake of breath and her shoulders sank lower in the passenger seat. “I can almost feel the Confederate ghosts’ mournful laments,” she murmured.

“Confederates? I’m thinking of pirates.”

“The pirates wouldn’t be mournful. Their victims might.” She had a point.

“We’re almost there,” I told her, recognizing the street sign for our destination on our left. I turned, passing a lonely bench, and saw a lit sign straight ahead. I drove head first into a parking spot in front of the main entrance.

Our room featured a garret ceiling sloped all the way to the floor. Two full-size beds beckoned us, inviting us to jump on the multi-flowered, quilted bedspreads. Open, round windows allowed the cool night breeze to flow in. Our feet sank in a plush maroon carpet.

Benedetta jumped on the far bed by the windows. “Ahhh, I’m so tired,” she sighed, tilting her glasses on her forehead to rub her eyes.

“I guess that’s your bed choice?” I pulled my suitcase onto a chair and began to look for my nightclothes.

“Yes, it is. You sleep close to the door in case the pirates decide to pay us a surprise visit. They’ll get you first, and I’ll have time to escape through the window.”

“You’ll end up stuck like Winnie the Pooh.” With my cosmetic bag, I headed for the bathroom. An antique claw-foot bathtub stood by another round window, this one large enough for Benedetta to climb through. Loads of fresh towels were piled up on a pine table next to a wicker basket stuffed with a selection of herbal products. I took a quick bath gazing over endless Savannah roofs and the occasional patch of trees. The moon lay low on the western horizon, resigned to the imminent arrival of a brand-new day. Lazily, I wondered if Gabe ever looked up at the sky and realized that, no matter the distance, we did share the same firmament. I slid underwater and held my breath like I used to when I was a child, when I still believed wishes may come true. With my eyes shut tight and my lungs ready to explode, I tried to last until my effort materialized my hope into reality: “
Gabe will be sitting in the tub with me when I open my eyes.
”

I emerged from the water gasping for air, my rush of breath louder than the water’s splashing. I adjusted to my disappointment in the darkness of the empty room.
If only I could have lasted another second or two.
I almost tasted Gabe on my tongue. I turned toward the window and blew him a silent kiss before I finally grabbed a towel to dry off and get ready for bed.

D
riving through Savannah in blazing daylight restored our courage. Even the graveyard looked a little less intimidating. We found a decent radio station and made it back to Delilah’s a little before noon. The place looked more peaceful than last night, and I found parking right away.

Jason must have been hanging on the ship’s crow’s nest, for even before I brought the car to a halt, he was lunging off the front porch grinning from ear to ear.

He had eyes only for Bene, which proved essential when she almost fell, tripping on her own feet as she got out of the car. He managed to catch her right before she went
splat
!

Maybe she did it on purpose so he’d have to hug her.
Stars shot out their eyes and violins started playing.

It wasn’t violins instigated by their passions, but violins we heard undeniably, as Benedetta’s cell phone screeched for attention like a newborn demanding a feed. It was my turn to get all worked up. Benedetta answered, discontentedly dislodging her limbs from Jason’s. She handed me the phone, smirking.

Gabe, from Australia.
Gulp!

“Hey, luv!” he greeted me, melting me. I sprouted wings, taking a chance at fluttering on the spot; I batted my eyelashes, found solid ground again, and blushed.

“How are you?” I chirped.

“Not bad. Where are you?”

“In Savannah with Benedetta. We’re in the parking lot of the restaurant I’m writing about.” I plugged my free ear with a finger to hear him better.

“So the fun hasn’t started yet?”

I thought of last night and smiled. “The fun has already begun. Ever since we left home we’ve been busy.”

“I actually meant to ask you about that.” He paused. “When are you due back home?”

“We’re leaving later tonight, after supper. We should be back in Pensacola tomorrow morning, early.”

“Great, because I’m sending you something, and I wanted to make sure you’ll be home for it.”

“What is it?”

I heard him laugh softly. “You don’t know what I’d give to see the look on your face right this moment.”

“Well? What is it?” I asked again, rocking impatiently on the balls of my feet.

“Just wait and see.”

“You’re making me want to jump in the car and head back right now.” I was seriously intrigued. I stopped the swinging; I was getting motion sickness.

“No, don’t do that. I haven’t sent it yet. I was thinking about you last night, and I felt you closer than ever. But it was so bloody frustrating, luv. I don’t know how you’re managing to hang on. So I figured I’d ship you something to close the distance a bit.” He was really fueling my curiosity.

“I was thinking about you too,” I said, once again amazed at the connection between us. “I was taking a bath before bed and wondered if you ever—”

“Look up at the moon and ask if you’re staring at the sky as well?” he finished for me.

“You know—you take my breath away.” I smiled softly.

“How long you think you can go without it?”

“At the rate we’re going, not much longer.”

“Hang in there, luv. In a few minutes you’ll have forgotten all about it, busy with delicious food and other important matters.”

“No. What’s going to happen is that I’ll be so busy trying to figure out what you’re sending that I won’t be able to write anything sensible. Give me a hint,” I pleaded.

“Hint, eh?” He paused to consider my words.

How great it was to talk to him again, even to just play and tease one another like this. I felt an adrenaline rush, and my emotions stirred, responding to his energy.

“No. Sorry. No hint. You’re going to have to just wait. It won’t be long.”

I gave up. “OK, then. I’ll try. But it better be good,” I laughed.

“I’ll call you again tomorrow evening once you get home . . .” He lowered his voice, “. . . when you’ll be alone and I can tell you how much I miss you and all sorts of other things that might really distract you from your job.”

“Great. At least I’ve been warned and can now plan on fighting back.”

“Fighting back is healthy.”

“OK then, I’ll look forward to tomorrow evening.”

“Me too. Bye, luv.”

“Bye, Gabe,” I said, hanging up.

I found myself standing alone in the parking lot. Gabe’s voice still sizzled in my ears. I pocketed the cell phone, grabbed my notebook, and walked up to the restaurant. Delilah greeted me at the front screen door looking even more stunning than she had the previous night. She wore a simple wraparound dress the color of glowing amber. Her hair shone raven-black, braided high on her head and coiled, held in place with multicolored pins. I felt rather homely in my cargo shorts and yellow tank top.

“How are you today, my dear?”

“I’m great, Delilah,” I answered. I still basked in the afterglow of Gabe’s phone call.

“Ready to continue our conversation? Or would you rather eat something first?”

I told her I would prefer to finish the interview first, and she nodded in agreement, leading the way to the kitchen.

Benedetta and Jason had evaporated. I soon forgot about them as Delilah and I began to go over her corn muffin recipe. She handed me an oversized apron and tied one around her body as well and then proceeded to show me how she soaks Silver Queen corn kernels in warm milk for several hours until they are plump and moist. She added them to a smooth batter of corn meal, eggs, maple syrup, unbleached flour, whole milk, salt, and baking soda.

“The secret is in the soaked kernels,” she told me as she buttered a large muffin pan. She set it down, satisfied, and began buttering another.

“You seem to use the soaking technique a lot,” I commented, remembering the ham soup.

Delilah nodded. “I find it does enhance the flavors. Fresh herbs added at the last minute to soups, stews, and salads is another one of my favorite kitchen secrets. For example, the bean soup is excellent when I serve it cold with chopped, fresh cilantro.”

Now that was an innovative idea.
I asked her if I could mention it in the article, and instead of answering, she told me she would like me to try some. She finished buttering the last muffin pan and quickly prepared a bowl of soup for me. She handled the sharp knife to chop the cilantro with confident skill. With the knife blade she scooped the finely cut herb and dropped it into the bowl. She wiped the blade against her apron. “Doesn’t it smell heavenly?”

I lowered my nose closer to the bowl. “Yes, it does, Delilah. Sometimes I wish that when I write about something, the readers could actually inhale the aromas I try to describe. Writing can be so—limiting, so two-dimensional.”

Delilah nodded. “I understand what you mean. Most of my clients—many of the faithful ones—were drawn in by the mouth-watering aromas from my kitchen or by the guitar playing on the porch. Just driving by they had to stop and see what it was all about.” She grinned over the huge bowl as she scooped the batter out to fill the muffin pan up to the rim. Lost in the sweet memories, she absentmindedly dripped batter onto the floor. I didn’t have the heart to tell her, but I quietly moved her arm so the dripping would continue harmlessly back into the bowl. She regained consciousness and resumed her task. “How do you like it?”

I took a moment to savor the spoonful I had taken. The soft texture of the beans and the freshness of the cilantro exploded together in my mouth. The flavor of the ham stock danced at the back of my tongue.

“Wow, Delilah! I think I like it better cold than hot.” I took another spoonful. Maybe I was afraid the second one wouldn’t be as good as the first, so I hurried before my taste buds would get used to the flavors, but it didn’t happen. I contemplated tilting my bowl in order to get what was left of the delicious soup.

Delilah came to my rescue, handing me a muffin fresh from the oven. “Gerome was right when he told me I’d enjoy talking to you as much as you’d enjoy my food,” she told me.

Still busy chewing, I looked at her for a moment. “Is that what he said?”

“He said you’re special, that you’d be inquisitive but respectful, and a pleasure to watch when you eat a dish you appreciate.”

Aeson chose that instant of perfect timing to walk into the kitchen, sporting a smart golf outfit and a huge grin. He waltzed to Delilah’s side, took her in his arms, and swirled her around to silent music, not forgetting to wink at me over her shoulder. I cupped my chin in my hands and enjoyed the sight thinking about how timeless love is just absolutely beautiful.

He bowed and kissed her hand. She regally curtsied just as Jason walked in from the courtyard door and snapped a photo of them.
That would make a great article introduction,
I thought. The beginnings of an idea stirred to life, my brain gears meshing against one another like a huge clock movement.

Benedetta walked in right behind Jason, still in one piece, and I asked her if she was ready to go.

I dreaded the thought of having to watch Benedetta and Jason say good-bye to one another, expecting some sort of high drama, but my dear friend handled it pretty smoothly. They’d exchanged phone numbers earlier and were happy enough with that.

Phew!

I thanked Delilah and her family for their hospitality and wished her my best. We exchanged hugs and sincere promises to keep in touch.

*

Benedetta and I spent the late afternoon in downtown Savannah browsing through small, off-the-beaten-path bookstores where we bought several books featuring recipes for me, haunted house and folklore tales for Benedetta. We found a great kitchen store where I bought new spice jars to be delivered to Delilah’s restaurant the same day, as a way of thanking her and helping her replace the spooked ones she was “fixin’ to get rid of.”

We headed back to the car after a light seafood supper that we washed down with a bottle of crisp Sauvignon Blanc. It was such an excellent wine we didn’t even mind the tall African American fellow who chased us from outside the small restaurant for several blocks trying to sell us tickets to a voodoo ritual later that evening. Benedetta finally stopped, straightened her glasses, and told him that if he wouldn’t bugger off, she would
ritual
him right then and there. He walked away crossing himself.

“You know, you’re beginning to scare me,” I told her, resuming our walk.

“About time,” she said enigmatically.

“You want me to fear you?” I grinned. She couldn’t be serious.

“No, but made you think,” she said, giving me a little shove.

“You’d be good at this voodoo business.”

“You think I ought to quit my job and embrace my true vocation?” She stopped and raised her arms in a voodooist pose, holding her shopping bags aloft. It totally ruined the effect.

I looked at her straight blond bob, her clear blue eyes, and sincere expression. I shook my head. “No way!”

“Let’s go home, Porzia.”

“No worries.” I had a delivery to look forward to.

*

Once back in the car with Savannah behind us and the countryside ahead, Benedetta looked up from her book of Savannah haunted houses and gave me a blank stare.

“What?”

“No worries. You said, ‘No worries’.” She smirked.

“‘No worries’ is something Gabe says a lot,” I told her.

“That’s odd.”

“What’s odd about Gabe saying ‘no worries’? He
is
Australian. It’s a typical Australian phrase.”

“I’m aware of that. The oddity of the situation lies in the fact that, dating
you
, he ought to be at least concerned, if not downright
worried
.”

I recognized the academic tone she usually reserved for her classroom.

“I’m hungry,” she announced suddenly, sitting up. “I could use a snack.”

“
Check to see if we have any dried-fruit mix left. I’m getting hungry myself.”

Munching on some pineapple I drove us through darkness. Benedetta was humming softly. I recognized the tune. “So, how about Jason?”

Silence . . .

“Benedetta?”

“He’s something else, Porzia,” she answered dreamily.

“Yes?”

“It’s not only his looks. It’s the way he sang on the porch and didn’t mind my whistling or my goofiness.” Her voice tingled with captivation.

“I love your whistling. And I don’t think you’re goofy. At least not as much as I am. So, if you’d like to tell me more . . .”

“I don’t know what’s going to happen.” She looked out the dark window. “I mean, he’s got such a different life, shooting models and glamorous photos. He could have anybody he wanted. Why would he choose me?” She sighed.

“I’ve never heard you talk like this.” I was stunned at how candid she was about her fears.

“What about you and Gabe? Don’t you worry about stuff like that?”

I was silent for a moment thinking about her question. No, I wasn’t worried about other women or trust matters. I was worried about a past-life-regression soul mate interfering with what was happening in my present.

“I need to tell you something, Bene.”

And I spilled the beans.

I told her everything. I spent the next hour confessing all I had on my mind, all that weighed on my heart, from my promise to Joséphine to the past life regression and what I had seen. I told her of Xavier and the love we’d shared and how strongly I felt about it. I told her of Evalena’s advice and how I had met Gabe right afterward. And I told her of the intense physical attraction he and I shared on the plane. I told her of my inability to calm the confusion in my head at first and then finally loving again after Steve. I told her about the magical feeling surrounding the entire escapade: signs, omens, Madame Framboise’s cards, and, finally, my constant wondering if Gabe was or wasn’t Xavier and whether I should even bother with the entire thing or just stand up on my own two feet and surf the wave.

“But I’m not worried about other women,” I concluded as we left Georgia and crossed back into Florida.

Benedetta was silent for a while.

“Are you asleep?” I glanced over.

“No. Would you like me to drive?” she offered.

“I’m fine. But I’d like to know what you think.”