It's fate that they found each other. Indigos are naturally drawn to one another through the threads of destiny. And for Hemlock Godfree, that's exactly what he is... an Indigo. Even if he doesn't know it yet. As a part time ghost hunter and full ti...
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May, 1867
She never stopped crying when she was born; and her mother was desperate to calm her noisy screams of restlessness. The birth of her daughter was something that brought the whole neighborhood out of their homes and away from their daily chores; women stood on their porches to stare and children ran to the fence where the Armond's lilac grove grew. Wilhelmine had the sudden urge to leave her midwife's carefully laid out chamber and go into the garden, just as her baby was starting to crown. Wilhelmine's own screams echoed up and down the streets, making the birds stop their spring chorus and the bees dim their buzzing. There, under the grandmother lilac tree, covered in dark violet blossoms with an intoxicating bouquet that made anyone who stopped to smell them drunk with euphoria and a trunk as thick as a cross, she gave birth to a small baby girl; Loretta Elizabeth. Her screams made the children, who came to find the source of the cries, cover their ears and run back to their mothers; they themselves on the brink of tears.
Loretta cried and cried; her mouth sucking in the fragrant air of spring in Massachusetts. All around, the flowers were in bloom; dahlias, hyacinths, delphiniums, peonies, and lilies. The air seemed to take on the colors of each flower and create a painting in one's mind when they breathed in deep.
"My lila, little lila..." Wilhelmine whispered and kissed her daughter's flushed new cheeks. Wrapping her in a shawl made of silk and cotton, Loretta and her mother laid under the lilac tree until the sun started to paint the sky in bright orange and magenta clouds. Only until the fireflies started to emerge from the forest that bordered their property did Loretta finally calm her cries. Moths came and fluttered to the oil lit lamps that lined the streets, and the house was alight with candles. Her father, Richard cut the cord, and Wilhelmine wanted her placenta to be placed at the base of the lilac tree. Her doula had prepared the nursery, with lavish blankets, toys, and a cradle that was built from the strongest tree in the region. But as Wilhelmine slowly climbed the stairs, she couldn't dare be parted from her little child. After an after-birth bath, she crawled into bed with Loretta tight in her arms. "I'll never let you cry again, my darling."
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When Loretta was in her adolescence, and much of her childhood, her father was mostly gone; and while it hurt in her heart, she knew it wasn't out of malice. Loretta could see, when her father visited, that his eyes were full of longing; and like her, he wanted more in life. Oh, how she loved reaching up to him for a hug, letting his big arms envelope her in an embrace, his scratchy mustache tickling her cheeks. He would always present her with a gift when he'd been away; dolls, dresses, shoes, or jewelry. But many of those items were collecting dust under the bed, or stored away in the wardrobe. What Loretta wanted more than anything was for her father to be happy... and with them in their home. Her father was handsome, sturdy, and had dark brown hair streaked in gray. His eyes were as brown as the damp earth in summer after a rainstorm, and his dark olive skin was rough from hard labor and dotted with scars; but her father always wore the newest clothes and dressed in colors that were unique to their culture; sunset oranges, crimson reds, cobalt blues.
