THE SANCTUARY
Authors: Cassandra R. Siddons
The Sanctuary
By Cassandra R. Siddons
Copyright © 2014 by Cassandra R. Siddons
All rights reserved. No part of this book shall be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, magnetic, and photographic including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher. No patent liability is assumed with respect to the use of the information contained herein. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher and author assume no responsibility for errors or omissions. Neither is any liability assumed for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, or events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people, alive or deceased, events, or locales is coincidental.
All queries should be directed to:
www.safaripublishing.net
Cover design by Michael Swing
Interior design by Maureen Cutajar
Library of Congress Cataloging—Publication Data
Siddons, Cassandra R.
The Sanctuary / Cassandra R. Siddons‒1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN-13: 978-0-9855398-1-8 (pbk)
1. Friendship—Fiction. 2. South Carolina—Fic
tion. 3. Women—Fiction. 4. Lowcountry—Fiction. 5. Gullah—Heritage—Hoodoo—Fiction. I. Title.
This book is dedicated to all those who know and love the Lowcountry—and to Carolina Girls Forever (you know who you are).
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Much of this novel is set in the South Carolina Lowcountry. This is a geographic and cultural region located along the South Carolina coast. It is barely above sea level; thus the term
low country
. At a certain time every year, a small part of the Lowcountry is briefly below sea level. The Lowcountry includes Beaufort, Berkeley, Charleston, Colleton, Dorchester, Hampton, and Jasper counties, but many believe it extends as far as Allendale, Georgetown, and Williamsburg counties.
During colonial times, this region was one of the world’s leading exporters of rice (“white gold”) and Indigo cotton, which were sold at premium prices before they were even harvested. Thousands of large plantations dotted the coastline. One of the biggest influences in this region has been the Gullah, who were brought here from Africa to work these plantations. They brought with them their beliefs and traditions, which included conjuring and spiritual healing (known as hoodoo or Lowcountry voodoo).
Recently, legislation was passed to protect and promote this unique Heritage Corridor, which includes most of the South Carolina’s Sea Islands and the Gullah.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
16: Carolina Girls Forever and the Sanctuary
19: The Induction Ceremony and the Zoo Incident
PART ONE:
Reunion
PROLOGUE
D
avid Coble made a mistake nine years ago. Who would have believed that one indiscretion could have led to so much dishonesty? To keep his recklessness from his wife, he had told so many lies over the last several years that he could hardly keep them straight. Yet as incongruous as it sounded, he had told all these lies to protect Lydia.
He glanced over at his sleeping wife. She was snoring softly and looked so peaceful. Even in the dim light he could detect a slight smile on her lovely face. He hated himself for what he had done to her. His latest betrayal was so terrible that his guilty conscience was keeping him awake, despite how exhausted he was.
And had brought on a bad case of indigestion,
he thought as a wave of pain ripped through his chest, and he struggled to catch his breath.
Was it time to come clean and let the chips fall where they may? Not only was this taking a toll on his health, but it was getting increasingly difficult to hide everything from Lydia. He wondered if he should wake her and ask if they had any antacids or whatever you take to get some relief. Lydia would know what to do—she always did—but he didn’t want to disturb her.
Also, if he were completely honest, he didn’t want to wake her for fear of having to answer questions that might accompany her assistance. He just wanted to lie here in the dark and think about what he should do. He was aware that he was risking it all with this latest deception.
Hopefully, it would all work out, and Lydia would never be the wiser. Hopefully, she would never learn the truth. But if the worst case scenario occurred, she would discover the depths of his deception. Not only would she never forgive him, she’d leave him and never come back. No, Lydia could never find out. No matter what.
Lydia liked Bob “Woody” Tisdale. The silver-haired, potbellied lawyer looked and sounded like a genteel southern lawyer. He always wore classic gray or dark blue three-piece suits complete with pastel silk ties and matching pocket handkerchiefs. He could be mistaken for an old-time radio DJ because of his soothing southern drawl and rich baritone voice. He personified comfort and confidence to his troubled clients.
Usually.
But when he had said that he felt this meeting couldn’t wait until after David’s funeral, he had spoken hurriedly, and his voice held no hint of comfort.
But then again, Lydia supposed there was no way to soft-pedal this kind of news. She had assumed that he needed her signature on some paperwork. She was sure it could wait, but she couldn’t stand to roam around the big, empty house any longer. She welcomed any excuse to get out of the house and focus on something other than her husband’s death or his funeral tomorrow. Lydia didn’t think anything could come as a bigger shock than David’s death, but she was wrong.
Lydia was blown away when her lawyer explained why he had called the meeting. As soon as Bob had learned about David’s death, he started working on the paperwork. As the lawyer handling David’s estate, he had wanted to make things as smooth and easy as possible for Lydia. But he soon realized that wasn’t going to be possible.
Tisdale didn’t sugarcoat it when he told Lydia that David had cashed out his retirement account ten months ago, and two months ago he had secured a large bank loan using land that Lydia owned as collateral. The loan money was wired to Chris Miller at a Wells Fargo branch in Rapid City, South Dakota. It was withdrawn less than twenty-four hours later. That was all the information he had except that it seemed that the transactions were straightforward and legal. The lawyer verified that it was David’s signature, and the documents had been properly notarized.
“But that’s impossible. I own Sanctuary Island. David couldn’t—wouldn’t—just do something like this without my knowledge. Could he?” Lydia asked.
“No, your signature would be required. Are you saying that he forged your signature?” Woody asked as he pushed the document across the desk.
Lydia picked it up and studied it before replying, “This is my signature, but I didn’t sign anything authorizing that land to be used as collateral for a loan. That land has been in my family for generations. I would never do anything to put it—or the Gullah people who live there—in jeopardy. David knows how I feel. He wouldn’t ask me to use it to secure a loan, let alone go behind my back and do it.”
Then it hit her. She remembered David coming to her early one morning before leaving for work. He said he needed her signature on some papers, something about a tax assessment on the island. That was a couple of months ago. She was worthless before her morning coffee, and he knew it. He had deliberately tricked her into signing those papers.
“Oh, I do recall signing some papers, but I didn’t realize what they were,” Lydia said.
“This is a serious accusation and one that’s going to be hard to substantiate given that David is deceased,” Tisdale said, shaking his head.
“What exactly does this mean? Why did he need a loan?” Lydia demanded.
“I’m afraid I can’t answer that. I filed the paperwork but was not privy to his reasons. I knew that David was having some financial hardships,” Woody said, shrugging his shoulders.
Financial hardships?
“What kind of financial hardships?” Lydia asked.
“He mentioned that his commissions were considerably less due to the recession. I assume he wasn’t earning enough to pay your bills, so he used the equity in his retirement fund to make up the difference. But that doesn’t explain why he borrowed additional funds and gave that money to an unknown third party. I would suggest you talk to his employer. Maybe he can shed some light on the matter. In the meantime, we need to address a more pressing issue. The next loan payment is due soon and so are the taxes on the land, which the county has assessed and increased by twenty percent this year.”
“Whoa!” Lydia said, holding up her hand like a stop sign. “Slow down. I don’t understand why David would get a loan and give the money to someone I’ve never heard of. Why can’t we get out of this now that David’s deceased? I can sign something—whatever document or affidavit you need me to sign to fix this. How soon until we settle his estate? I can use that money to pay the loan and taxes and other bills until we sort this out,” Lydia said.
“I don’t think you understand. There is no getting out of this. This is your signature on these papers. The money is gone. There is no undoing this. I don’t know who this person is or why David did this without consulting you. I know this is a lot to absorb, but I’m sorry to be the one to tell you that there is no estate. There is no money to pay this loan or the taxes or anything else. I am sorry to have to lay all of this on you before you’ve even buried David, but I felt you needed to know everything as soon as possible given the severity of your circumstances,” Tisdale said.
Lydia was dumbstruck. This was not happening. She suddenly felt light-headed and nauseated. Extremely nauseated. She mumbled something to the lawyer and dashed out of his office. She made it down the hall and into the restroom before throwing up into a trash can beside the door. Weak-kneed she staggered over to the sink and splashed cold water on her face.
Another wave of nausea struck her as she tried to sort out her thoughts. This time she made it into a stall before vomiting. Lydia flushed the toilet before sagging onto the toilet seat. She had no idea how long she sat there, but she was sure that it was a long time before her shaky legs would support her weight, and she could breathe normally.
She tried to sort out what she had learned. The bottom line was that she was broke. Worse still, the Sanctuary was collateral for a huge loan to someone she didn’t know. It would be foreclosed by the bank if the loan payments could not be made. She also owed a big tax bill for the island. If she couldn’t find the funds, she could lose her home and the Sanctuary. She could not believe this was happening. She could not believe that her husband—the man she thought she knew so well—had done this to her.
Did she have any assets she could liquidate to raise some temporary cash? She couldn’t think of any except for a few family antiques, her car (David’s was leased), and their home, which the bank still owned for eight more years. Given her circumstances, there was no way the bank would extend an equity line of credit or any type of loan to her. As far as risk ratio went, the bank would classify her as über high risk. There was only two or three thousand dollars in their bank account. Thank goodness that David’s funeral costs were pre-paid, and he was being laid to rest in his family crypt. She might be able to get a cash advance on her credit card, but that would only be for another two or three thousand dollars at most.
Lydia needed to focus on how she was going to pay these bills and hold on to her house and Sanctuary Island, but all she could think about was what her husband had done. He had deceived her on so many levels. He had tricked her into signing over the island as collateral for a loan to someone she didn’t know. That was the worst. Or was it?
He never told her how bad things were at work or that they were drowning in debt. What else hadn’t he told her? Who Chris Miller was, for one thing.
The next day, Lydia went to see David’s boss, but he didn’t have any answers. David had several clients on the West Coast, but none were named Chris Miller. They had double-checked their records, and he didn’t have any accounts in Rapid City. Without disclosing her reasons, Lydia asked everyone she could think of if they had ever heard of Chris Miller.
She met with her lawyer to let him know what she had learned, which was not much. Bob Tisdale thought she should hire a private investigator to see what he could find out about Chris Miller and his connection to David.
“If we can collect evidence to suggest fraud or duress or some other justification, I could get the authorities to open an investigation. I think it’s a long shot, and I don’t know if the money can be recovered, but it would be worth pursuing given your situation.”
Bob said that he could ask around and get some recommendations for a good investigator. He could even take care of the whole thing for her.
“Some of these guys will work pro bono with the understanding that they will get part of the proceeds—a large percentage—should you recover any of the money.”
“No, thank you. I’ll handle it myself,” she had said. She knew what she had to do. She just had to figure out if she could do it.
