The Voice Upstairs by Laura E. Weymouth EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Laura E. Weymouth
- Language: English
- Genre: Historical Romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
WIL
Dawn stained the eastern sky above Thrush’s Green shell pink, dew spangled the
village’s clipped lawns and immaculate front gardens, and across the
cobblestoned main road, Wilhelmina Price could see Jenny Bright’s soul leaving
her body.
The rst thin, smokelike tendrils had just begun to drift from Jenny’s eyes
and mouth and nose, obscuring her features from a distance. She stood speaking
with Mrs. Grey, the postmistress, entirely unaware of the process occurring
within her, oblivious to the fate only Wilhelmina could detect. Within a day or
two, Jenny Bright would be dead. Within hours, it would look, to Wil, as if she
walked within a cloud of fog, blanketed in the shroud of her own departing soul.
How human spirits sensed when death was in the ong, Wil couldn’t say.
She only knew that they did.
Catching sight of Wil, Jenny pointedly turned aside. She was pretty in a
faded, careworn fashion and had been a friend of Wil’s mother. Wil tried not to
let the snub sting and carried on down the road. Her deathsense had earned her
no friends among the villagers—they viewed her at best as an unknown who
ought to be kept at arm’s length, and at worst as an object of suspicion and
scorn. Wil knew better than to stop or speak to Jenny now, for if she did, the
hollow guilt gnawing at her insides might get the better of her. She might try to
oer a warning, and it never went well when she did. Three times now, she’d
tried to say something, anything, that might ward o an impending death. It had
never done any good, in every case casting a terrible shadow over the doomed
party’s last day and stirring up ill feelings and bitterness toward Wil in those they
left behind. Wil half believed the deaths she foresaw were a matter of destiny—
that once a soul began its departure, it could not be halted. She’d certainly never
succeeded in arresting one as it drifted o to the haunted halfway place some
spirits inhabited.
Even late spring in Thrush’s Green was not enough to dissipate the gloom
that foreseeing Jenny Bright’s fate had cast over Wil. She walked onward, out of
the village proper and down a quiet country lane, before slipping through a gap
in the hedgerow. Beyond it lay a beech wood, where Wil waded through a sea of
ferny undergrowth, the air a glory of shifting golden-green light. The woods that
fringed the village’s old millpond were redolent with birdsong and warm breezes,
the ground soft beneath Wil’s sensible galoshes, and she thought how unlikely it
all seemed. How impossible, even, that within earshot of this lovely place, her
own mother had met her end and Wil’s uneasy bond with the dead and dying
had begun, brought about in some inexplicable way by her mother’s passing.
Letting out a slow breath, she squared her shoulders and tried to shake o her
melancholy. Today, at least, was for the living.
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