| TALES & ODDITIES |
Diving in the Bahamas...and other stories
Mark and I went on a cruise out of Charleston to the Bahamas last month.
We loved the Bahamas, not so big on the cruise, other than we were able
to spend time with the LEMUR group. Not everything is for everybody,
and we certainly learned that we prefer to fly somewhere and explore on
our own. A big floating hotel where the charges for the drinks are
outrageous. Luckily Mark was able to smuggle some Appleton Estates
dark rum on by rinsing out a solid Listerine bottle. Take my advice, fellow
pirates - smuggling your own booze is the only way to go if you do decide
to cruise!
However, the paranormal aspect of the trip was worthwhile. We
investigated Fort Fincastle in Nassau and while small it was certainly
atmospheric. The highlight of the trip (paranormal-related) was when the
LEMUR group was on the bow of the vessel and a strange, bright green
light hovered over the water. We were 80 miles offshore, and if it had been
a small enough boat for us to not see the shadow cast by the moon then it
would certainly have been tossing about in the 8 ft waves; yet the line was
perfectly still. I personally saw it with my own two eyes and I can say for
certain there was no other boat out there in the Bermuda Triange with us
that we could see.
Also, the scuba diving was unreal. In Freeport, I dove a sight known as
"Octopussy Gardens" - yep, where the filmed the good ol' James Bond
flick Octopussy, one of the best cheese slices ever! The reef was
beautiful and the visibility was great. Saw a huge stringray that must have
been at least four feet across and five or six feet long. It swam right past
me. Also made friends with lots of parrot fish. They were exceedingly
friendly.
In Nassau the weather was a bit choppier; I lucked out that I was able to
go at all. The two weeks before we arrived in the Bahamas it had been
raining. Dove several nice sites there, thinking again of how the world
looks so wonderful under the sea. Not sure when I'll get to go again, but it
is the most peaceful thing on earth. Next time, though, I'll definitely fly!
Mr. Rodger's Neighborhood ~ The Wentworth Mansion
Reb received an e-mail from a woman named Stephanie at the beginning of
June '07. She and her family were staying at the Wentworth Mansion, a
beautiful 2nd Empire building that dominates the Harleston Village
neighborhood on the Charleston peninsula. Here is the pertinent part of
the e-mail:
Dear Rebel Sinclair,
My boyfriend, me and his family were just in South Carolina and took
your ghost tour. I thought it was excellent and really made me think. I
wanted to ask you a question when it was over but I really didn't want
anyone else to hear or listen. So here it is.
While we were in SC we were staying at the Wentworth Mansion. From
the min we pulled in, i had this weird feeling about the place. Every night
starting around 1 am till about 6:30 am...all we would hear above us is
stomping back and forth or we would hear people walking down the stair
right in front of our room. The 1st night my boyfriend and I even had
someone knocking on our door and shacking the handle and no one was
there. This activity continued every single night we stayed.
What I am trying to ask, is if you know or have heard of the Wentworth
mansion being haunted or if you know any other people who have had
similar encounters such as we did? I have been doing research and I cant
find ANYTHING! Can you help us out?
Thank you!
Stephanie
The mansion was built in the mid 1880s by Francis Silas Rodgers, who,
shall we say kindly, was a "fire enthusiast". He built a cupola
(coop-o-LAH, or "dome") on top of the mansion so he could scan the
area for fires in the overnight. He spent a lot of time in the dark hours
tramping up and down the stairs, going back and forth between his library
to smoke cigars and the cupola to keep watch. It is well documented how
he attended every fire in the Charleston area until his health declined
shortly before his death, and he did start Charleston's first paid fire
department. A former staff member once talked about how she would
open the door to the library and smell cigar smoke; she would simply shut
the door and keep walking. Others had complained of hearing someone on
the stairs at night. It's good to know that ol' Mr. Rodgers is still taking
care of his neighborhood!
St. Augustine, Florida & the Fountain of Youth
I went and stayed a weekend in St. Augustine, FL in May '07. What a
cool city, they certainly have it figured out - the streets are blocked in a
certain area for pedestrian only, things like that. The food was
phenomenal, the atmosphere intense...and hey, they have the Fountain of
Youth. I drank from the fountain as did Mark and it really does make you
feel a little different. Mark said it was the sulphur, and it made his stomach
hurt, but you can see why Ponce & the gang were convinced - the natives
lived to be much larger and much longer than the Europeans who ate bad
food and were rife with disease. Still, is there something in the water?
You'll have to go and try it for yourself. St. Augustine is a very cool town
with lots of history - when Mark and I got out of the car, the first thing we
saw was a sign talking about how the governor of South Carolina sacked
the city. Not too friendly past feelings for the English colony of ol'
Charles Towne in St. Augustine (most likely due to the aforementioned
sack and other historical quibbles), but it is very cool to see the
correlations between the two cities. Stay at a B&B! Didn't, but should
have. Saw many cool places. A woman on a recent tour said that she ran
the Centennial B & B and would take care of me, so I'm sure that means
you too! If you tour the Castillo San Marco there is a very creepy cell in
the center where you can feel the oppression inside. Absolutely no
windows or even a crack of light would have penetrated the darkness in
that solid cell, and it makes you wonder how many people quietly went mad
in the dark there. No orbs or other anomolies on camera but definitely an
essence. Definite vibe of hauntings in St. Augustine to explore - Mark
and I are going to be back.
Negril, Jamaica - Last Stand for Calico Jack
The first week of December '06 was spent by Mark and myself in Negril,
Jamaica, which is at the western tip of the island. There was a spectacular
view of the sunset, the beach was warm, and the scuba diving with
SunDivers was excellent. Mark asked the dive boat captain, a wiry man
with large eyes and a quick Jamaican accent named Tony, where Calico
Jack and Anne Bonny had been captured. Tony seemed quite surprised
that we knew of the scoundrels, and with a quick smile proceeded to point
to a land mass over his shoulder. "There," he says. "That island. The
other side of it is Bloody Bay, where they used to slaughter whales and
the sea turned red from their blood."
We saw a beautiful white beach on the western side, and old gnarled trees
that had weathered many a hurricane were bent in scraping figures over the
sands. Hills covered in sea grasses and coral outcroppings stood guard
on that deserted little island, and you could see how the times had not
affected it. There was still an obvious little slip of safeharbor for a pirate
vessel of 40 - 50' to nestle into for those on board to enjoy a night of
revelry, the bottle green and sparkling blues of the Caribbean sea and
warm gentle breezes all around us. And they were there. I could almost
see them if I really looked, even if just for a moment. Pistols firing and
Anne and Mary swearing up a storm as they all fought their last stand.
That little spot is a capsule of those spirits, their time, and their world. I
was diving near it with hopes I would find a scrap of their treasured past,
and while I didn't find anything physical, their presence was there
nonetheless.
The Shadow at the Old City Jail
Reb was giving jail tours on Sunday, Oct. 15. The 7, 9, and 10 p.m. tours
all had people who saw a dark figure somewhere in the building. On the
7:00 there was a man and son who were very interested in the building and
went into a dark cell. The son said he "felt weird" and the man said "while
you were talking, I saw movement of a shadow out of the corner of my eye.
I'm sure of it." On the 9:00, four college-age people were waiting at the
front of the building for the tour to start and they asked Reb when she
came to get them "is there anyone in the building?" When told no, they said
"well, are there any cut outs up there?" and were told no again. They all
looked at each other and said "stop it, there must be". Reb simply pointed
up and said "Do you see anything now? Nothing's changed from a minute
ago" and no one did. On the 10:00 the same complaint happened with
another young couple. They swore there was a shadowy figure looking
down at them from the upstairs jailer's quarters window. A spirit of some
sort was definitely wandering around that night!
Martha the Cat
At the beginning of October a photo was taken in the Circular Graveyard
outside the tomb of Martha Ramsay, a believed psychic (see Photo
Gallery) in which you can see a tabby cat approaching the group. This was
the first interaction physically with this cat and a photo taken by the same
couple previously to the one posted showed nothing - and then suddenly
there is the orb perfectly centered over Martha's grave, as if her ghost
was listening to us talk about her story. The cat, who we've nicknamed
Martha, has since become very friendly with anyone near Martha's tomb.
She will be seen lying on the said grave sunning herself during the day and
will rub on the tomb as the story is discussed at night. Other groups go
into the graveyard, but the cat is drawn to anyone who talks about Martha.
The Egyptians believed cats were guardians of the other side, and many
belief systems state cats have two paws in either side. Martha's story as
written by Rebel Sinclair is available in the October 26 edition of
Graffiti Magazine.
Old Boney - an Entity
Old Boney was a slave that served the yards of St. Philip's Episcopal
Church in downtown Charleston. He dug the graves and set stones - until
the fire of 1861 broke out and the wind ripped it through the city,
destroying much of the Market area, Meeting and Broad down to the
present day Coast Guard station. The last Great Fire destroyed the
Circular Congregational Church next door to St. Philip's; the reason St.
Philip's still stands (building c. 1838) was because of Old Boney's
sacrifice.
As the flames crept closer burning cinders were falling onto the roof of
the church. He crawled up and with his bare hands ripped the burning
shingles free. Despite the scorch of the shingles he continued, mindless
that with each shingle he tossed away some of his flesh went with it. In the
end he lost so much flesh his hands became clubbed, and they had to be
removed before gangrene took hold. He was freed for his selfless act and
remained as a ward of the church for the rest of his life, spending much of
his time in the graveyard.
He is reportedly seen by visitors and members of the church still today -
before any major upheaval, natural or national disaster, as if to remind us
all that he is still here, keeping guardianship over the church even now.
The Strange Marriage of Ruth - an Imprint
During the antebellum period there lived a girl by the name of Ruth
Lowndes. Despite her impressive dowry, there was absolutely nothing to
recommend the girl. At a dinner party held one night for the who's who of
Charleston society at 14 Legare Street (today known as the "Pineapple
Gates House") Ruth went out onto the piazza to take in a breath of fresh
air. While she was standing there the host, Frances Simmons, joined her.
He had felt sorry that no one had danced with her all evening. They began
to talk and Ruth became nervous, for Frances was a wonderful catch in
society - and she spilled wine on her gown. Frances dutifully gave her his
handkercheif so she could blot up the mess. For lack of anything else to
say in her clumsiness, she commented on the embroidery of his kerchief -
"Oh, Frances Simmons, what a beautiful name!" and continued to espouse
the wonder of his handkerchief for some time.
At length, the gentleman said, "Madam, if you like it so much, I would be
honored if you would keep it!"
He was talking about the handkerchief. Ruth thought he was referencing
his name. With a start she bolted inside, found her father and said,
"Daddy, Mr. Simmons has just offered me his name!" And her father, a
little drunk and grateful Ruth would not be the spinster of Charleston
society, turned to the entire party and announced it was now an informal
engagement party. Everyone clapped and cheered as Frances came inside
the doorway. And while he was choking on his chagrin, there was nothing
he could do - for things being what they were in that era, he could not
shame the older man and in turn himself by telling him he was wrong.
So, on January 3, Frances Simmons took to wife Ruth Lowndes. He
bought a brand new house for her on Tradd Street (which the house is
now gone, but the gateposts still remain), dropped her off after the
ceremony, went around the corner to his own house at 14 Legare...and for
the next 26 years the couple spent every single night apart, their marriage
never consummated. They appeared publicly for an anniversary party
every year at the Legare Street mansion, and after the party Ruth would
get back in her carriage and drive home to Tradd Street alone. To this
day the locals will say that come the evening of January 3, just after
midnight, you can hear the sound of Ruth's carraige clattering over the
cobblestones on her way back home from the party.
- Reb's personal encounter with the Imprint of Ruth Lowndes -
When I moved to Charleston I was working at the front desk of the King
Charles Inn on Meeting Street. A few months into my employ I had a
couple who had ordered a private carriage. When it pulled up out front and
I first laid eyes on the driver, I knew he was the one for me. Something
pulled me right outside to eagerly offer the couple a chance to
photograph them on the carraige. While they were situating themselves on
the seat I proceeded to converse with the driver but in the end they drove
away and it would be another year before I saw him again. When I did, I was
dating someone and he was involved also - and while I only spoke a few
words the pull was just as strong.
Then I began working at Palmetto Carriage Works and got to know him.
Three years had passed at this point. His name was Mark Jones.
Inevitably we became close and while he was still involved fate would not
be denied. Eventually he told me that he could not talk to me anymore, and
thus began a very long, lonely, dark seven months where I came close to
throwing away everything I had because I just didn't give a damn anymore
about anything. And then came early December, and I was on the radio
with Rocky D. When I came out of the station there was Mark in the
parking lot, telling me that he loved me and asking if I still loved him.
The first thing we did was go for a walk through downtown. It was cold,
with a damp bitter wind blowing off the ocean, but I was so happy I couldn't
care less. The gas lamps were glowing and Mark was telling me stories
about each house we passed. Out of nowhere the scent of working horse
hide was very strong. I asked Mark if he smelled it, and he did, though we
could not figure out where it was coming from. We walked a little farther
and the scent came again, stronger this time - and still there was no reason
for it. When we stopped a moment later, Mark pointed up to a high piazza
and said "Do you see that? That's where Ruth had her talk with Frances
Simmons." That was when we both looked at each other in amazement. I
knew he was thinking it even as I said, "Mark - we just got passed by her
carriage."
Whether it was the time of year, the weather, or our success at love after
all the anguish that did it, the imprint of Ruth Lowndes played for us that
first night as a couple.
Mark and I went on a cruise out of Charleston to the Bahamas last month.
We loved the Bahamas, not so big on the cruise, other than we were able
to spend time with the LEMUR group. Not everything is for everybody,
and we certainly learned that we prefer to fly somewhere and explore on
our own. A big floating hotel where the charges for the drinks are
outrageous. Luckily Mark was able to smuggle some Appleton Estates
dark rum on by rinsing out a solid Listerine bottle. Take my advice, fellow
pirates - smuggling your own booze is the only way to go if you do decide
to cruise!
However, the paranormal aspect of the trip was worthwhile. We
investigated Fort Fincastle in Nassau and while small it was certainly
atmospheric. The highlight of the trip (paranormal-related) was when the
LEMUR group was on the bow of the vessel and a strange, bright green
light hovered over the water. We were 80 miles offshore, and if it had been
a small enough boat for us to not see the shadow cast by the moon then it
would certainly have been tossing about in the 8 ft waves; yet the line was
perfectly still. I personally saw it with my own two eyes and I can say for
certain there was no other boat out there in the Bermuda Triange with us
that we could see.
Also, the scuba diving was unreal. In Freeport, I dove a sight known as
"Octopussy Gardens" - yep, where the filmed the good ol' James Bond
flick Octopussy, one of the best cheese slices ever! The reef was
beautiful and the visibility was great. Saw a huge stringray that must have
been at least four feet across and five or six feet long. It swam right past
me. Also made friends with lots of parrot fish. They were exceedingly
friendly.
In Nassau the weather was a bit choppier; I lucked out that I was able to
go at all. The two weeks before we arrived in the Bahamas it had been
raining. Dove several nice sites there, thinking again of how the world
looks so wonderful under the sea. Not sure when I'll get to go again, but it
is the most peaceful thing on earth. Next time, though, I'll definitely fly!
Mr. Rodger's Neighborhood ~ The Wentworth Mansion
Reb received an e-mail from a woman named Stephanie at the beginning of
June '07. She and her family were staying at the Wentworth Mansion, a
beautiful 2nd Empire building that dominates the Harleston Village
neighborhood on the Charleston peninsula. Here is the pertinent part of
the e-mail:
Dear Rebel Sinclair,
My boyfriend, me and his family were just in South Carolina and took
your ghost tour. I thought it was excellent and really made me think. I
wanted to ask you a question when it was over but I really didn't want
anyone else to hear or listen. So here it is.
While we were in SC we were staying at the Wentworth Mansion. From
the min we pulled in, i had this weird feeling about the place. Every night
starting around 1 am till about 6:30 am...all we would hear above us is
stomping back and forth or we would hear people walking down the stair
right in front of our room. The 1st night my boyfriend and I even had
someone knocking on our door and shacking the handle and no one was
there. This activity continued every single night we stayed.
What I am trying to ask, is if you know or have heard of the Wentworth
mansion being haunted or if you know any other people who have had
similar encounters such as we did? I have been doing research and I cant
find ANYTHING! Can you help us out?
Thank you!
Stephanie
The mansion was built in the mid 1880s by Francis Silas Rodgers, who,
shall we say kindly, was a "fire enthusiast". He built a cupola
(coop-o-LAH, or "dome") on top of the mansion so he could scan the
area for fires in the overnight. He spent a lot of time in the dark hours
tramping up and down the stairs, going back and forth between his library
to smoke cigars and the cupola to keep watch. It is well documented how
he attended every fire in the Charleston area until his health declined
shortly before his death, and he did start Charleston's first paid fire
department. A former staff member once talked about how she would
open the door to the library and smell cigar smoke; she would simply shut
the door and keep walking. Others had complained of hearing someone on
the stairs at night. It's good to know that ol' Mr. Rodgers is still taking
care of his neighborhood!
St. Augustine, Florida & the Fountain of Youth
I went and stayed a weekend in St. Augustine, FL in May '07. What a
cool city, they certainly have it figured out - the streets are blocked in a
certain area for pedestrian only, things like that. The food was
phenomenal, the atmosphere intense...and hey, they have the Fountain of
Youth. I drank from the fountain as did Mark and it really does make you
feel a little different. Mark said it was the sulphur, and it made his stomach
hurt, but you can see why Ponce & the gang were convinced - the natives
lived to be much larger and much longer than the Europeans who ate bad
food and were rife with disease. Still, is there something in the water?
You'll have to go and try it for yourself. St. Augustine is a very cool town
with lots of history - when Mark and I got out of the car, the first thing we
saw was a sign talking about how the governor of South Carolina sacked
the city. Not too friendly past feelings for the English colony of ol'
Charles Towne in St. Augustine (most likely due to the aforementioned
sack and other historical quibbles), but it is very cool to see the
correlations between the two cities. Stay at a B&B! Didn't, but should
have. Saw many cool places. A woman on a recent tour said that she ran
the Centennial B & B and would take care of me, so I'm sure that means
you too! If you tour the Castillo San Marco there is a very creepy cell in
the center where you can feel the oppression inside. Absolutely no
windows or even a crack of light would have penetrated the darkness in
that solid cell, and it makes you wonder how many people quietly went mad
in the dark there. No orbs or other anomolies on camera but definitely an
essence. Definite vibe of hauntings in St. Augustine to explore - Mark
and I are going to be back.
Negril, Jamaica - Last Stand for Calico Jack
The first week of December '06 was spent by Mark and myself in Negril,
Jamaica, which is at the western tip of the island. There was a spectacular
view of the sunset, the beach was warm, and the scuba diving with
SunDivers was excellent. Mark asked the dive boat captain, a wiry man
with large eyes and a quick Jamaican accent named Tony, where Calico
Jack and Anne Bonny had been captured. Tony seemed quite surprised
that we knew of the scoundrels, and with a quick smile proceeded to point
to a land mass over his shoulder. "There," he says. "That island. The
other side of it is Bloody Bay, where they used to slaughter whales and
the sea turned red from their blood."
We saw a beautiful white beach on the western side, and old gnarled trees
that had weathered many a hurricane were bent in scraping figures over the
sands. Hills covered in sea grasses and coral outcroppings stood guard
on that deserted little island, and you could see how the times had not
affected it. There was still an obvious little slip of safeharbor for a pirate
vessel of 40 - 50' to nestle into for those on board to enjoy a night of
revelry, the bottle green and sparkling blues of the Caribbean sea and
warm gentle breezes all around us. And they were there. I could almost
see them if I really looked, even if just for a moment. Pistols firing and
Anne and Mary swearing up a storm as they all fought their last stand.
That little spot is a capsule of those spirits, their time, and their world. I
was diving near it with hopes I would find a scrap of their treasured past,
and while I didn't find anything physical, their presence was there
nonetheless.
The Shadow at the Old City Jail
Reb was giving jail tours on Sunday, Oct. 15. The 7, 9, and 10 p.m. tours
all had people who saw a dark figure somewhere in the building. On the
7:00 there was a man and son who were very interested in the building and
went into a dark cell. The son said he "felt weird" and the man said "while
you were talking, I saw movement of a shadow out of the corner of my eye.
I'm sure of it." On the 9:00, four college-age people were waiting at the
front of the building for the tour to start and they asked Reb when she
came to get them "is there anyone in the building?" When told no, they said
"well, are there any cut outs up there?" and were told no again. They all
looked at each other and said "stop it, there must be". Reb simply pointed
up and said "Do you see anything now? Nothing's changed from a minute
ago" and no one did. On the 10:00 the same complaint happened with
another young couple. They swore there was a shadowy figure looking
down at them from the upstairs jailer's quarters window. A spirit of some
sort was definitely wandering around that night!
Martha the Cat
At the beginning of October a photo was taken in the Circular Graveyard
outside the tomb of Martha Ramsay, a believed psychic (see Photo
Gallery) in which you can see a tabby cat approaching the group. This was
the first interaction physically with this cat and a photo taken by the same
couple previously to the one posted showed nothing - and then suddenly
there is the orb perfectly centered over Martha's grave, as if her ghost
was listening to us talk about her story. The cat, who we've nicknamed
Martha, has since become very friendly with anyone near Martha's tomb.
She will be seen lying on the said grave sunning herself during the day and
will rub on the tomb as the story is discussed at night. Other groups go
into the graveyard, but the cat is drawn to anyone who talks about Martha.
The Egyptians believed cats were guardians of the other side, and many
belief systems state cats have two paws in either side. Martha's story as
written by Rebel Sinclair is available in the October 26 edition of
Graffiti Magazine.
Old Boney - an Entity
Old Boney was a slave that served the yards of St. Philip's Episcopal
Church in downtown Charleston. He dug the graves and set stones - until
the fire of 1861 broke out and the wind ripped it through the city,
destroying much of the Market area, Meeting and Broad down to the
present day Coast Guard station. The last Great Fire destroyed the
Circular Congregational Church next door to St. Philip's; the reason St.
Philip's still stands (building c. 1838) was because of Old Boney's
sacrifice.
As the flames crept closer burning cinders were falling onto the roof of
the church. He crawled up and with his bare hands ripped the burning
shingles free. Despite the scorch of the shingles he continued, mindless
that with each shingle he tossed away some of his flesh went with it. In the
end he lost so much flesh his hands became clubbed, and they had to be
removed before gangrene took hold. He was freed for his selfless act and
remained as a ward of the church for the rest of his life, spending much of
his time in the graveyard.
He is reportedly seen by visitors and members of the church still today -
before any major upheaval, natural or national disaster, as if to remind us
all that he is still here, keeping guardianship over the church even now.
The Strange Marriage of Ruth - an Imprint
During the antebellum period there lived a girl by the name of Ruth
Lowndes. Despite her impressive dowry, there was absolutely nothing to
recommend the girl. At a dinner party held one night for the who's who of
Charleston society at 14 Legare Street (today known as the "Pineapple
Gates House") Ruth went out onto the piazza to take in a breath of fresh
air. While she was standing there the host, Frances Simmons, joined her.
He had felt sorry that no one had danced with her all evening. They began
to talk and Ruth became nervous, for Frances was a wonderful catch in
society - and she spilled wine on her gown. Frances dutifully gave her his
handkercheif so she could blot up the mess. For lack of anything else to
say in her clumsiness, she commented on the embroidery of his kerchief -
"Oh, Frances Simmons, what a beautiful name!" and continued to espouse
the wonder of his handkerchief for some time.
At length, the gentleman said, "Madam, if you like it so much, I would be
honored if you would keep it!"
He was talking about the handkerchief. Ruth thought he was referencing
his name. With a start she bolted inside, found her father and said,
"Daddy, Mr. Simmons has just offered me his name!" And her father, a
little drunk and grateful Ruth would not be the spinster of Charleston
society, turned to the entire party and announced it was now an informal
engagement party. Everyone clapped and cheered as Frances came inside
the doorway. And while he was choking on his chagrin, there was nothing
he could do - for things being what they were in that era, he could not
shame the older man and in turn himself by telling him he was wrong.
So, on January 3, Frances Simmons took to wife Ruth Lowndes. He
bought a brand new house for her on Tradd Street (which the house is
now gone, but the gateposts still remain), dropped her off after the
ceremony, went around the corner to his own house at 14 Legare...and for
the next 26 years the couple spent every single night apart, their marriage
never consummated. They appeared publicly for an anniversary party
every year at the Legare Street mansion, and after the party Ruth would
get back in her carriage and drive home to Tradd Street alone. To this
day the locals will say that come the evening of January 3, just after
midnight, you can hear the sound of Ruth's carraige clattering over the
cobblestones on her way back home from the party.
- Reb's personal encounter with the Imprint of Ruth Lowndes -
When I moved to Charleston I was working at the front desk of the King
Charles Inn on Meeting Street. A few months into my employ I had a
couple who had ordered a private carriage. When it pulled up out front and
I first laid eyes on the driver, I knew he was the one for me. Something
pulled me right outside to eagerly offer the couple a chance to
photograph them on the carraige. While they were situating themselves on
the seat I proceeded to converse with the driver but in the end they drove
away and it would be another year before I saw him again. When I did, I was
dating someone and he was involved also - and while I only spoke a few
words the pull was just as strong.
Then I began working at Palmetto Carriage Works and got to know him.
Three years had passed at this point. His name was Mark Jones.
Inevitably we became close and while he was still involved fate would not
be denied. Eventually he told me that he could not talk to me anymore, and
thus began a very long, lonely, dark seven months where I came close to
throwing away everything I had because I just didn't give a damn anymore
about anything. And then came early December, and I was on the radio
with Rocky D. When I came out of the station there was Mark in the
parking lot, telling me that he loved me and asking if I still loved him.
The first thing we did was go for a walk through downtown. It was cold,
with a damp bitter wind blowing off the ocean, but I was so happy I couldn't
care less. The gas lamps were glowing and Mark was telling me stories
about each house we passed. Out of nowhere the scent of working horse
hide was very strong. I asked Mark if he smelled it, and he did, though we
could not figure out where it was coming from. We walked a little farther
and the scent came again, stronger this time - and still there was no reason
for it. When we stopped a moment later, Mark pointed up to a high piazza
and said "Do you see that? That's where Ruth had her talk with Frances
Simmons." That was when we both looked at each other in amazement. I
knew he was thinking it even as I said, "Mark - we just got passed by her
carriage."
Whether it was the time of year, the weather, or our success at love after
all the anguish that did it, the imprint of Ruth Lowndes played for us that
first night as a couple.
| _________________________________________________ |
| Rebel Sinclair / Author & Paranormal Storyteller |
|
