Prologue
Gulf Ocean, 1760
The waves thrust against the ship, rolling its passengers from side to side, tumbling them from beds, across decks, and through passageways. Helene Charbeaux clung tightly to her betrothed, Geoffery Phillipe, as they rocked back and forth. Why had she allowed him to talk her into this? The New World, he’d told her. New opportunities, for both of them, where they could spend their lives together, love one another without the threat of her father tearing them apart.
The idea—simple as it was—thrilled her. Sail to the new land, build their plantation and live a new life. After her father, Henry Charbeaux, had locked her in room, furious that his daughter was deigning to marry beneath her station, Helene’s choice had been easy. Geoffrey was her only choice.
In France, she would never be free to love Geoffrey. As a Charbeaux, Helene was one of the richest young women in France, sought after in society, too important to marry someone as common as Geoffrey. With his power, Henry had tried to see to having Geoffrey arrested, banished away from his daughter, but Helene finally figured out what her father was up to. She fled, with her love, rushing to the docks. Henry secured them passage on a ship to the new land, a land of promise, a land of adventure.
Thunder crashed about them, lightning streaked across the sky, reflecting off the ocean into their small room. She was going to die on this ship, never know the joys of a child in her belly or a wedding with trumpeters and a harpist. Why, oh why, hadn’t she insisted on staying in France, traveling to Belgium or Italy? Why the new world over such harsh seas with ruffians for companions? She could have remained on land, and survived, finding a new life somewhere in Europe.
She stared at Geoffrey, into brown eyes that sparkled as the candle light flickered. Her hand stroked his long dark blonde hair, pulled back with a piece of leather she had bought him. He was her heart, no matter the danger they faced. The ‘what ifs’ no longer seemed important.
Geoffery held Helene tightly at his side. Though the salt water filled the air, he could still smell the sweet lavender scent from her hair. She gasped and ducked out of the way as his guitar flew toward them. The storm tossed all items about, an angry, tumultuous ride. Geoffrey shielded her with an arm around her head. He would miss the guitar that now lay broken on the other side of the cabin. He’d used it to seduce Helene with his words, the songs that played in his heart from the first moment he saw her. He closed his eyes picturing her, flowing hair with a gown that could have as easily been a rucksack as one fit for a princess. He’d had no right to play to her and only her, after all, he was playing yet another banquet for some wealthy industrialist or royal who needed the praise. But he had. Played for only Helene, each word a measure of his love for her.
“We’ll be alright, my love.” Their vessel was taking on water. The sailors ran about, shouting, praying. A few, had even jumped overboard, being swept away by the waves. They claimed this storm was unlike any they had encountered before. If they were afraid, he knew they had no hope left. Geoffery squeezed his eyes tight, praying to the Lord, to save his Helene. He cared not for his own safety, didn’t even bother praying for it, only wanted her to survive.
“Geoffery,” her voice warbled with terror and Geoffrey froze. What could he do? What could he say? Please, help us, he begged quietly. Please, save my beloved. As if in answer, a form emerged from the fog, a woman in a flowing white robe, cast in a halo of light.
“True love transcends time, and in another time, you will find each other again. Trust in that. Your song will bring you together.” She disappeared as quickly as she appeared, and Helen looked at Geoffrey. Geoffrey placed a hand on her cheek, caressing the damp skin. He brushed the curly black hair from her face, gazed into her blue eyes staring up at him. He leaned in to kiss her, losing himself as the water rushed over their shoes, rising into the room, taking their possessions afloat. He began to sing, as the ship sank into the Gulf, just miles from the port that would bring them to the New World.
“My love, she said
We will meet once again.
Where the water rushes into,
And then falls away from the land.
The spray of surf
And whispering winds
Caress her cheek
She kisses him
The failing moonlight
Dims the face
He has her heart
And clings to fate
Where the Spanish Moss
Floats on the air
We will meet
Once again.”
The water rushed in, weighing the boat, pulling it toward the ocean floor. Wood splintered as the wall separated from the ship. Their part teetered precariously half in and half out of the water before it plunged deep. Debris floated around them, and Geoffrey swung his arms wildly until he managed to grab onto a large piece of the ship, large enough to hold one of them. He held tightly to Helene, kicking until his legs burned with effort, struggling to reach the surface while he still could. She sputtered, coughed salt water from her lungs.
“Geoffery, we’re going to die.” Her panic chilled him, but her sheer terror emboldened him.
“No, my love, you aren’t.” His lungs had yet to draw a full breath and he panted with the attempt at strong speech. “You, will survive and live in my name, for me. I will find you in another life, another time. Our love is too strong to be broken by your father or my death. Listen with your heart for me. Remember my words, our song. When you hear it, I am near. It will bring us together.”
The remainder of the grand French Rose sank around them, sailors trying to keep afloat as powder kegs struck by lightning burned, and waves crashed about.
Helene screamed, as something crashed into Geoffery, dragging him below the water. She reached out, cried in terror, spoke his name as her prayer until she lost her hope and surrendered to the night and the storm, begging it to take her as well.
She floated all night, drifting in and out of consciousness, until she reached land. As she drug herself up the sandy beach, she looked behind her, at the rising sun. Quietly, she sang, wrapping her arms around her waist as she sank to the ground. Fear consumed her at the thought of living a life without her true love. She closed her eyes. Not her Geoffrey. She needed him, couldn’t face a world without him in it. The shimmering mist appeared again, in the morning sky.
“Fear not, Helene Charbeaux. You will find your dear one again. Remember your song.” Helene fell onto her back, closed her eyes to the sun, and sang quietly.
“My love, she said
We will meet once again.
Where the water rushes into,
And then falls away from the land.
The spray of surf
And whispering winds
Caress her cheek
She kisses him
The failing moonlight
Dims the face
He has her heart
And clings to fate
Where the Spanish Moss
Floats on the air
We will meet
Once again.”
***
New Orleans, Louisiana, April 1862
Chloe Charbeaux raced across the dirt road. The Yankees were winning. After days of battle, they had taken New Orleans. They’d taken down all of the Confederate Flags. Ran the city now, rounding up soldiers fighting to keep their slaves, shooting men who ran, holding New Orleans captive to the Yankee rule.
She glanced to the rooftops where Yankee troops had strung their own flag, claiming this land as a victory.
She shook her head, adjusting the nurse insignia on her sleeve. Soldiers lay injured and dying along the main road. Blood soaked into the dirt, as a hot breeze blew warm, wet gulf air, bringing with it the stench of death and gun powder. Cannons still blasted closer than she liked and shrapnel found it brick and mortar target, raining debris down upon the injured. Yelling to their nursing counterparts, doctors ran first in one direction than another, bandaging, holding men down while another sawed at limbs too damaged to be saved from amputation. Chloe leaned over a man, his face caked with blood, his blond hair red with blood and feather around him in a halo.
Chloe shielded the man as the ground shook from a cannon ball that must have met its mark close by. Burning bits of stone struck her cheek, and she cried out. She ran her fingers over the French rose dangling from the delicate gold chain around her neck. A beacon of hope for her. Her only comfort between blasts and raids and sword drawn-soldiers that had become fixtures in her every waking and sleeping moment.
Ignoring her pain, she pulled a cloth from the red water bucket beside her and used it to clean the man’s face. This war had affected all of their lives. Her family was the most powerful in New Orleans, but had fled when the battles grew near. Chloe, stubborn to the point of fault, had refused to leave their home. She had grown up hearing the romanticized tales of her great grandmother, and the love that had caused a rift in their family.
This war though, had ended the balls and dances, the picnics and parties where she had hoped to find the great love she’d been promised was out there waiting for her, the one promised by her aunts. Chloe thought of Helene and Geoffrey. What must it be like to have such great passion such true love that spoke of destiny and finding one across centuries. She sighed and the soldier’s eyes fluttered open. She touched his face and an awareness tingled through her, a spark with such great power it threatened to burn to ash where she sat. She leaned back and surrendered to the waves of memory she knew could not be hers.
His lips moved, trying to speak. Finally, in a harsh voice, he muttered out a song.
“My love, she said
We will meet once again.
Where the water rushes into,
And then falls away from the land.
The spray of surf
And whispering winds
Caress her cheek
She kisses him
The failing moonlight
Dims the face
He has her heart
And clings to fate
Where the Spanish Moss
Floats on the air
We will meet
Once again.”
Another cannon met closer, this time, and Chloe’s body went numb as she continued to hold to cloth against the man next to her. Something warm oozed over her chest and she looked down. Blood. She could smell the coppery scent of it as it soaked into her clothing. She touched the hole in her chest. The soldier’s hand covered hers.
“Helene,” he whispered.
“Geoffery,” she cried out, fell across his body. They held hands, as buildings collapsed around them into piles of rubble and soot, while fires raged and survivors scrabbled to safety. Through war and fire, through time and space, they’d found one another and held on.
“Looks like this wasn’t our lifetime, my love,” she whispered. Together, they sang their song, slowly as the life flowed from their bodies. As the Yankees marched through town in victory, they were found, embracing each other in death.