Under the Sassafras Read Free Page B

them. To be on the safe side, she reached in and took one more off a hanger. She ripped apart the three shirts and soon her sewing machine hummed along.
    Minutes ticked away the hours and once again Joelette's sewing took her away from her everyday problems. Three hours later she hand sewed the last button in place. She stood back and admired her job. Two shirts, one long sleeve and one sleeveless hung on hangers.  
    The shirts would work nicely .
    Now she could send this man on his way with a clear conscience.
     

CHAPTER THREE
     
    Music .
    A slow and beautiful, yet haunting waltz, drifted in and out of his mind. Willing his eyes to open, he tried to focus, but pain seared through his head forcing him to close them again. He felt himself drifting, floating. Maybe he was dead. Surely there was no pain after death.
    A soft breeze touched his cheek, carrying a sweet , floral scent. Where was he? He forced his eyes to open, shards of white lights shot through his eyes into his head. He wanted to close them again, but the desire to see his location was greater than the pain, so he took a deep breath and tried to focus.
    He found that the pain eased if he held his head still. Moving only his eyes, he surveyed his surroundings. The cobwebs in his mind cleared a little.
    He lay on a firm mattress on the floor covered with a soft sheet . Enduring the pain, he turned his head and looking between his feet he saw a picture of an angel guiding two young children across a bridge hanging on the wall across from him. Blinds on the windows were drawn to conceal the light peeking through the cracks around them. Shadows moved across the tall ceilings lit by a soft glow coming from around and under a closed door. The music, still haunting, played in his head. If this wasn't heaven, it was so peaceful it had to be close. He tried to clear his throat, a raspy cough emerged.
    The music stopped . Footsteps sounded and the door opened. In the doorway stood a beautiful vision. She stood tall and straight with long dark curls that framed her face and shoulders. An angel? Maybe he was dead. The light from the outside showed through her dress revealing a body all women should have. In one hand, she held a fiddle hanging by her side and in the other, a bow.
    “ Hello,” the honey smooth voice said. The greeting washed over him with the warmth of sunlight. “How are you feeling?” She walked into the room and laid her instrument on the dresser. Bending down she put her cool slender fingers on his head.
    Coughing he cleared his throat . “I'm fine except for---” He coughed again, wincing against the pain. “My head,” he whispered. “Who are you? Where am I?”
    “ Joelette Benoit. And you are in the Basin. Your head hurts because you have a nasty knot on your head.”
    He coughed again, his throat parched . “Water?”
    “ Of course. I'll be right back.”
    He watched as she gracefully left the room . “Joelette,” he mouthed. A beautiful name; it fit her perfectly.
    Returning with the water, she bent over him and offered him some out of a spoon . Flashes of blue lights shot into his eyes increasing the pain as he tried to sit. The room began to spin.
    “ Don't move too fast,” she said.
    T he cool water slid down his parched throat. He looked in eyes the color of dark chocolate, framed by long lashes a deep black color like her hair.   
    “ Thank you, Joelette.”
    “ Now you know my name, why don't you tell me yours? And how you happened to be half dead in my swamp.”
    “ My name is...” He cleared his throat to try again. “I’m...” Still no name came to mind. He knew his name. Every sane person knew their name, his chest tightened. The pain in his head returned as blood pulsed in his temples. He felt the painful knot. “I don't--”
    “ Shh,” she whispered. “Lie still and I'll get MaeMae.”
    He stared at the ceiling . Focus . Lying very still, he tried desperately to recall his name, his family, his anything.