Author: Andra Watkins
Publisher: Word Hermit Press
Pages: 300
Language: English
Genre: Historical fiction/Paranormal/Suspense
Format: Paperback, Kindle
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Blurb:
Is remembrance immortality? Nobody wants to be forgotten, least of all the famous.
Meriwether
Lewis lived a memorable life. He and William Clark were the first white men to
reach the Pacific in their failed attempt to discover a Northwest
Passage . Much celebrated upon their return, Lewis was appointed governor
of the vast Upper
Louisiana Territory Washington Tennessee
Was it suicide or murder? His
mysterious death tainted his legacy and his fame quickly faded. Merry’s own
memory of his death is fuzzy at best. All he knows is he’s fallen into Nowhere,
where his only shot at redemption lies in the fate of rescuing
another. An ill-suited “guardian angel,” Merry comes to in the same New Orleans
Nine-year-old
Emmaline Cagney is the daughter of French Quarter madam and a Dixieland bass
player. When her mother wins custody in a bitter divorce, Emmaline carves out
her childhood among the ladies of Bourbon
Street
It isn’t
until Emmaline finds the strange cards hidden in her mother’s desk that she
realizes why these men are visiting: her mother has offered to sell her to the
highest bidder. To escape a life of prostitution, she slips away during a
police raid on her mother’s bordello, desperate to find her father in Nashville
Merry’s
fateful two-dollar bill leads him to Emmaline as she is being chased by the
winner of her mother’s sick card game: The Judge. A dangerous Nowhere Man
convinced that Emmaline is the reincarnation of his long dead wife, Judge
Wilkinson is determined to possess her, to tease out his wife’s spirit and
marry her when she is ready. That Emmaline is now guarded by Meriwether Lewis,
his bitter rival in life, further stokes his obsessive rage.
To elude
the Judge, Em and Merry navigate the Mississippi River
to Natchez
After
a bloody confrontation with the Judge at Lewis’s grave, Merry and Em limp into Nashville
Book Excerpt:
Explorer
Meriwether Lewis Dead at 35
The Natchez Trace, south
of Nashville, Tennessee - Meriwether Lewis, renowned co-captain of the Lewis
and Clark expedition to the Pacific and territorial governor of Upper
Louisiana, died Wednesday, October 11, 1809. He was thirty-five.
Accounts suggest his death
was a suicide, though murder is still being investigated. He was found with
gunshot wounds to the head and abdomen. No one witnessed the incident.
Meriwether Lewis was born
on August 18, 1774 near Charlottesville, Virginia. After a successful military
career, he served as personal secretary to Thomas Jefferson, third President of
the United States. Jefferson selected him to lead the Corps of Discovery, an
expedition to find the Northwest Passage to the Pacific. Along with William
Clark, Lewis guided the thirty-three person team through thousands of miles of
unexplored wilderness.
Upon his triumphant return
in 1806, Lewis was appointed governor of the Upper Louisiana Territory,
succeeding James Wilkinson. While he accepted the appointment with great
promise, colleagues noted that he struggled in the position throughout his
tenure. A source said he was more outdoorsman than administrator, more
scientist than politician.
In September 1809, he
journeyed to Washington DC, both to explain his gubernatorial affairs to James
Madison’s administration and to publish his prized expedition journals. No one
knows why he diverted from his planned water route through New Orleans to the
notorious Natchez Trace in Tennessee, where he died.
Authorities are still
evaluating the circumstances of his death. Lost in mystery, may his spirit rest
in peace.
First Chapter:
A New Orleans Courtroom
Thursday
March 24, 1977
A drop of sweat hung from
the end of my nose. I watched it build, cross-eyed, before I shook my head and
made it fall. It left wet circles on the front of my dress.
"Emmaline. Be still,
Child." Aunt Bertie fanned her face and neck with a paper fan, the one
with the popsicle stick handle.
A popsicle would be so
good.
The waiting room of the
court in New Orleans was full. People were everywhere I looked.
Reporters in stripey suits
talked with some of Daddy's musician friends. I loved to watch their fingers
play imaginary guitars or pound out chords on their legs. Once or twice,
Daddy's band members came over to squeeze my arm or pat my head. “In spite of
what they’s saying in that courtroom, we all love your Daddy, Kid.”
Everybody loved Daddy.
Well, everybody except Mommy.
My nose burned when I
breathed, because the whole room stank like sweaty feet. My face was steamy
when I touched it, and my lace tights scratched when I kicked my legs to push
along the wooden bench. I left a puddle when I moved.
I snuggled closer to the
dark folds and softness of Aunt Bertie. She turned her black eyes down at me
and sighed before pushing me away with her dimpled hand. "Too hot, Child.
When this is done, I'll hold you as long as you want."
I slid back to my wet spot
on the bench. The wood made a hard pillow when I leaned my head against it and
closed my eyes. Wishes still worked for nine-year-old girls, didn't they?
I thought and thought. If
I wanted it enough, maybe I could shrink myself smaller. It was hard to be
outside the courtroom, imagining what was going on inside. Behind the heavy
doors, Mommy and Daddy probably shouted mean things at each other, like they
used to at home. Both of them said they wanted me, if they had to fight until
they were dead.
I watched Mommy's lady
friends go into the courtroom: Miss Roberta in her drapey dress with flowers,
Miss Chantelle all in white against the black of her skin, and Miss Emilie in a
red skirt and coat that tied at her waist in a pretty bow. They all went in and
came out, and they always looked at me. Miss Roberta even left a red lipstick
kiss on my cheek, but I don't like her, so I rubbed it off.
Aunt Bertie took her turn
inside the courtroom, leaving me to sit with a reporter. He watched me from
behind thick black glasses, and he asked me all kinds of questions about Daddy
and Mommy. I didn't understand much. I knew Daddy was famous, at least in New
Orleans, but I didn't understand what the word “allegations” meant.
My daddy was Lee Cagney.
People called him “The Virtuoso of Dixieland Jazz.” He played the upright bass,
and when he sang, his voice made women act silly in the middle of Bourbon
Street. They cried and screamed. Some of them even tore their clothes.
I understood why women
loved Daddy. I adored him, too. But some grown women sure did act dumb.
Anyway.
None of the lawyers asked
me who I wanted to be with.
The Judge said I was too
little to understand, and Mommy agreed. But if they asked me, I would shout it
all the way to Heaven: I wanted to be with Daddy.
When he sang Ragtime
Lullaby, the sound of his voice put me to sleep. He always splashed in the
fountain with me in front of the Cathedral and gave me pennies to throw in the
water. Thursday afternoons before his gigs, he sat with me at Cafe du Monde,
sharing beignets with as much powdered sugar as I wanted. He didn't even mind
my sticky fingers when he held my hand. He wasn't always there when I had
nightmares, but he came to see me first thing in the morning.
People around me whispered
about Daddy's “adulterous proclivities.” I didn't understand what that meant,
but it had something to do with his loving other women besides Mommy. No matter
what they said, Daddy didn't do anything wrong. When he wasn't playing music,
he was always with me.
Wasn't he?
A skinny reporter held the
courtroom door open. "The Judge's ruling." He whispered, but his
voice was loud enough for everyone waiting to hear. He kept the door open, and
I saw my chance.
I struggled through all
the legs to the door. Mommy's red lips curled in a smile as the Judge addressed
Daddy. The Judge's face was loose, like the bulldog that lived in the house
around the corner, and his voice boomed in my chest. When he stood and leaned
over his desk, his hairy hands gripped the gavel.
"In the case of
Cagney v. Cagney, I am charged with finding the best outcome for a little girl.
For rendering a verdict that will shape the whole of her life. The welfare of
the child is paramount, regardless of how it will impact the adults involved.”
The Judge stopped and
cleared his throat. I held my breath when his baggy eyes fell on me. I counted
ten heartbeats before he talked again. “Mr Cagney, I simply cannot ignore the
fact that you had carnal relations with your then-wife's lady friends
repeatedly, both under your shared roof and in broad daylight. The photographic
evidence coupled with the testimonies of these poor women damns you, regardless
of your expressed love for your daughter. From everything I’ve seen and heard
in this courtroom, the evidence does not support your claim that you were set
up. Justice demands that your nine-year-old daughter be delivered into the arms
of the person who has demonstrated that she has the capability to be a
responsible parent."
He looked around the room
and sat up straight in his chair. "I am granting sole custody of Emmaline
Cagney to her mother, Nadine Cagney, and I hereby approve her request to block
Lee Cagney from any and all contact with his daughter until she reaches the age
of eighteen. Mr Cagney, should you violate this directive, you will be found in
contempt of this court, an offense that may be punishable by imprisonment of up
to 120 days and a fine of no more than $500 per occurrence. This court is
adjourned."
He pounded a wooden stick
on his desk, and everyone swarmed like bees. Daddy stood up and shook his fist.
He shouted at the Judge over all the other noise. “Lies! Set out to ruin my
reputation—my memory—in the eyes of my daughter! I'll appeal, if I have to
spend every dime of my money. I'll—"
The Judge banged his stick
again, lots of times, while my eyes met Daddy's. I ran from the doorway. The
room was like the obstacle course on the playground, only with people who
reached for me while the Judge boomed, "Order! Order! I will have order in
my court!"
Daddy's lawyer held him
and whispered something in his ear. It was my chance. I ran toward Daddy and
his crying blue eyes. They matched mine, because I was crying, too.
Daddy elbowed his lawyer
into the railing and reached out his hand. “Come to me, Baby.”
I kicked at pants legs and
stomped on shiny shoes. At the front, I stuck my hand through the bars and
stretched as far as I could. My fingers almost reached his when my head jerked
like I was snagged at the end of a fishing pole.
Mommy had the ties at the
back of my white pinafore. Her glossy red lips fake-smiled. "I'm taking
Emmaline now, Lee. Good luck to you."
She squeezed my hand. Her
red fingernails dug into my skin.
"Ow, Mommy. You're
hurting me."
Her high heels
clack-clack-clacked as she dragged me through the chairs and down the aisle
toward the waiting room. I planted my heels and tried to get one last look, my
mind taking a picture of Daddy. Before we got through the door, I saw his
shoulders shake. Three policemen held him back and kept him from following me.
The world was blurry like the time I swam to the bottom of a pool and opened my
eyes underwater.
Mommy picked me up and
cradled me in her arms. Her blood-tipped fingers stroked my hair, but her lips
whispered a different story, one the crowd couldn’t hear. “Stop crying,
Emmaline. You know this is for the best." She shifted me to the ground and
adjusted the wide sash of her floor-length dress. Its sleeves fanned out as she
pushed the bar on the door. I wished she'd take off and fly away.
Summer heat turned my
tears to steam, and my eyes ached. Mommy struggled to pull me along through the
reporters that blocked the path to the car. They shouted questions, but I didn't
hear them. All I heard were Daddy's words. "Come to me, Baby."
Mommy smiled and pressed
our bodies through the people. She kept her gaze glued on the car.
Aunt Bertie waited behind
the wheel of Mommy's fancy red Cadillac Eldorado. Mommy always said the whole
name with a funny accent. The engine was running. "There's Bertie. In you
go, Emmaline. I'm ready to be done with this madness."
My legs squeaked across
the hot back seat. Mommy ran her fingers under my eyes to wipe away my tears,
but they kept coming. “Please. You’re upsetting my daughter.” She shouted over
her shoulder.
The door slammed, and it
was like a clock stopped. Like I would never be older than that moment.
Everything would always be “Before Daddy” and “After Daddy.”
Daddy.
His face appeared in the
slice of back window. I put down the glass, trying to slip through, but Mommy
ran around the car. She screamed and hit him, over and over. "You stay
away from her, Lee! You heard what the Judge said!"
Her black hair fell out of
its bun as she pounded him with her fists. He tried to move away from her.
Toward me. He reached his hand through the window and touched my face. His
mouth opened to speak to me, but a policeman came up behind him and dragged him
away from the car.
"I'll write you,
Emmaline! Every day. I promise,” he shouted. “I'll prove these things aren't
true! I’ll give up everything to be with you!” The policeman pushed him through
the courthouse door, and he was gone.
"I'll write you, too,
Daddy." I whispered it, soft so nobody but God or my guardian angel could
hear. "Somehow, I'll make us be together again."
To see other videos Andra is filming along her walk, click here.
Andra Wakins is a native of Tennessee Charleston , South Carolina
You can visit her website at www.andrawatkins.com or follow her on Google+,Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, Pinterest and Goodreads.
To Live Forever: An Afterlife Journey of Meriwether Lewis Tour Page:
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