Evelyn Klebert

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between now and Sunday, August 22nd and get 30% off any purchase. Just go
to our website, select the books you would like to order and send us an
e-mail at info@cornerstonepublishers.com with the books you want. We will
total your order and send you a PayPal invoice with your discount.
Check our new titles and the titles you have been meaning to order. Act
now!

The sun is setting
and the day is ending
and I set my craft toward land,
pointing directly to another place,
a calmer shore
just within my sight.
I let the nonessentials drop away,
lighten the ship for its destination.
No room for petty grievances anymore,
no space for past hurts
or unfulfilled yearnings.
I’ll let it drop away
only taking with me
what’s important now,
what was ever important.
My joys,
memories of love,
of kindnesses,
of peace and happiness.
The rest floats away, dissipates,
and I can’t help wonder now
why I ever spent any time on it at all.
Now in the stillness
it’s very clear,
as I point my craft toward a calmer shore.

“The Mississippi River will always have its own way; no engineering skill can persuade it to do otherwise…”

– Mark Twain

Dusty shoes on a well-worn path,

Time to take them off

And shake them out.

I breathe in deep,

The floral air,

Fading fragrances from a past dimly remembered.

I’m at that half-way point

Or maybe a little beyond.

Time to pause, take stock, one last look at the fading landscape,

Like parting glances from an old friend,

And then eyes pointed forward

Just toward the horizon,

Toward the rest of the journey.

Here is an excerpt from my latest novel The Sanctuary of Echoes which will be released by Cornerstone Book Publishers this spring.

It was after one o’clock before Corey returned to the mansion. Her head throbbed from the morning’s excursions. Once she’d finally managed to get Lucy around to business she’d deemed the jewel exquisite with only minor alterations necessary. It was a high grade piece of lapis lazuli flanked by very pure, quartz crystals on four sides. Geometrically it was a powerful construction. This was as Corey designed it. She knew when she held it in her hands, and  as it sent delicate frissons of energy through her skin. As much as she’d abandoned some of her gifts, this one would not be denied. The sense of touch, ability to textually feel powerful forces. But Lucy’s new acquisition was undeniably a distinctly pure jewel, lapis lazuli.
“This one is a powerfully clarifying substance.”
She remembered sitting near her father during his convalesce as his strong, capable hands passed over the unpolished chunk of mineral. As a teenager she knew he’d dabbled in the art of jewelry-making which for some seemed to be an odd hobby for such a rugged, powerful figure as was her father. But she’d never questioned it. As she’d learned long ago Clayton Knight always had distinct and usually very pragmatic reasons for everything he did.
“No doubt that was why the ancient Egyptians were so found of using it. It is a substance that inspired and yes even demanded credulity and fortitude.”
She wondered vaguely if this would prove to be an aid or a hindrance to Lucy Charbonnet. It was possible she might find the possession of it somewhat uncomfortable in the end. Lucy, she’d sensed for some time had a way of straying sometimes from the true path, and possession of this particular jewel might make this tendency a bit less simple for her.  But for Corey it was only a passing thought. It was the stone her client had requested for her amulet, complexities and all.
Corey’s last appointment had thankfully been much less problematic. It was a smaller piece, but in many ways a more satisfying commission — a necklace of black onyx for a bookstore owner downtown. “The onyx is a grounding stone, particularly helpful in deflecting the negativity of others.” The sale itself was not particularly high profit sale but she’d known the elderly owner for much of her life. An old friend of her father’s who’d always been good to them both. She remembered Mr. Palphrey and his wife at her Dad’s funeral, even then assuring her if she ever needed anything they would be glad to help. And there was one occasion long ago that she did avail herself of that kind offer. So when he’d requested that she make this special gift for his lovely wife on their forty-seventh wedding anniversary, there was no question that she would do so and at a manageable cost for them. Fortunately for Corey some of her father’s long-term investments had finally taken root a few years back leaving her financially very comfortable even after splitting the profits with Samuel, who was congenially settled on the West coast with a family of five. For her jewelry making as it had been for her father had become a bit of a hobby, something to fill the time, as she further entrenched herself in a very quiet life.
After coming home she’d only intended to sit for a few minutes in the sun room. Clearly the fatigue from the morning had insidiously slipped over her, causing her to fall into a heavy sleep. It was only the sound of the doorbell that jarred her back into consciousness, leaving her a bit dazed and disoriented when she discovered Iain waiting on her doorstep. He eyed her with a rather speculative glance. “How was your morning?” he asked as he followed her into the sun room.
“Busy,” she replied, settling in the old wicker rocker at one end of the room while trying to regroup her senses. It was essential, she’d found in dealing with him, to always have your wits about you. But as she glanced back up to him she realized he was caught in the midst of his own thoughts. He was silently and intently surveying the room around them.  And then she realized, she’d nearly forgotten about that long ago first meeting of the Marguilliers here, after the Armistead House.
He commented a bit distantly, “Hasn’t changed much.”
“No, I always liked this room the way it was so I tried to keep it the same. It’s always felt like a bit of a refuge.”
And then his dark eyes were on her, “So you needed a refuge living here?”
“Sometimes, things got a bit overwhelming at times.”
He nodded, sitting in one of the chairs on the other side of the light sofa, although the way his eyes were boring into her it felt as though he were directly in front of her. “You don’t mind living here alone?” Why did that actually sound more like an observation than a question?
“No, I don’t mind.” He was continuing to stare at her in a strange unnerving way that she could now feel all over her skin. “What is it?” she asked pointedly.
And then he replied directly but very slowly, “Who did you see today?”
Her eyes widened a bit at the unexpected question, “Why?”
“Tell me.” He said calmly.
“Just clients, I told you I had appointments.”
“More specific Corey, tell me,” a bit more insistent.
She was beginning to feel irritated, not at all liking his demanding attitude. Felt too much like he was cavalierly breaking personal boundaries. “Let’s see, I saw a little old man who owns a bookstore who wanted to give his wife a necklace for their anniversary.”
He gaze was unflinching, then he shook his head, “No not it, who else?”
“I don’t know what this. . .”
“Just tell me,” his voice was controlled but he cut her off abruptly.
“I saw an old friend. She’s a reader, palmistry, Tarot Cards. I made her an amulet.”
He nodded, “She’s a problem. It’s all over you.”
Then she stood up, “What’s all over me?”
His voice was flat as though he were a scientist observing some odd phenomena, “You’re covered in yellow.”
“Yellow? What the hell does that mean?”
He leaned back in his chair, “I see it on you, your neck, your chest, your waist. She’s trying to exert some control over you. Probably drained you a bit. Did she do a reading for you?”
She felt stunned, completely knocked out of breath at his pronouncement. “Yes, sort of.”
“Did she touch you?”
“Of course,” she stammered a bit, “she always hugs me when I get there. How can you. . .”
“I suggest you take a shower.” He cut her off again rudely.
She stared at him blankly wondering where he’d learned about all this. “When did you start reading auras?”
“We have a lot to talk about. Go shower and change your clothes. And I’d advise more limited contact with this woman. She’s a problem.”
She stood up shakily, not at all sure if she should be grateful or angry at him. “I’m not comfortable with this Iain.”
He leaned back in his chair. “I’d imagine not. But comfort yourself in knowing it’s only likely to get worse.”

copyright © 2010 Evelyn Klebert

So,
when I stop and listen
and hear a familiar step,
rounding the corner again.
And I tell myself
yes,
I’ve been here before,
lived this particular
event
one too many times.
Sure,
it’s been dressed up
differently,
different actors,
words ever so slightly changed.
But everything else
everything
I’ve seen before
lived through before,
but never quite settled.
So
here it is again,
knocking on my front door,
telling me one more time
until I find a better way
of settling things,
a different choice
until I find a better way
of making peace.

I am inviting everyone to drop by Cornerstone Cafe, and check out my new interview.

I am happy to announce that Cornerstone Book Publishers, my publisher, is extending their Thanksgiving Week Book Sale to include anyone visiting this website. All print books (including mine in the Contemporary Literature section) are 40% off this week. I hope many drop by and take advantage of this great savings. And have a great holiday as well.

Here is the announcement from Cornerstone:

“Well, the last Cornerstone Sale was very successful, but generated some upset. I received a number of mails saying that it was too short for them to take advantage. So … here is another one for any who missed the first. It will be a week long 40% off Thanksgiving Week Sale starting today and ending Sunday 11/29 on all our print books at http://cornerstonepublishers.com. Just enter the code “40sale” (without quotes) in the Customer code box in the shopping cart and your discount will show up.

Cornerstone is a leader in publishing Masonic and esoteric books as well as publishing some of the very best in pulp fiction titles. Now is the time to stock up on those titles you have been thinking about. Don’t miss out!

If you live outside the US, send a e-mail to info@cornerstonepublishers.com and we can make the sale prices available to you.”

Waiting
Waiting desperately
for change to come.
eyes fixed on a different time,
so cognizant of the anxiety of the present.
Waiting
Waiting for a painful stretch to end,
blinded by the anguish and uncertainty
of the moment.
Breathing deeply
and stopping thought
that breeds discord.
Stopping thought
and moving in the present,
quietly in each moment,
learning to live peacefully
in uncertainty.

 It was like walking through a deep cave with only filtered light to guide her steps. A half hour earlier, Dr. Cassidy had given her a light sedative to relax her and slowly, gradually, she had drifted into a strange disconnected state. And then her therapist’s soft, coaxing tones had guided her down into the place she now found herself.
“Can you hear me Rachel?”
The voice sounded different now, distant; she couldn’t quite connect; everything was out of focus in her mind.
“It’s Dr. Cassidy. Expect some disorientation Rachel.”
That was it. Now she remembered. She tried to open her eyes to see the office and the long, lounge chair that the doctor had elongated so that she could lie down during the hypnosis. “I can’t,” she whispered.
“It’s all right,” the voice comforted. “You must stay where you are now.”
She was moving through, not walking, moving through the long tunnel-like cave. “I don’t like it here.”
“I know. It’s a scary place for you now. But it’s the place of memory. It’s halls are the chambers of your mind.”
“It’s cold.”
“Yes, it will be until you let the light in everywhere. Now feel Rachel, where do you need to go?”
She stopped the movement and felt the cold breeze rush by her. It hadn’t been obvious before. It had been cloaked in darkness, but she could see now that there were bends, perhaps corridors to the murky cave, all leading different places.  To her right was a quick turn, and she could see light there, feel warmth. She began to move in that direction on impulse but the voice intruded. “You must concentrate Rachel, concentrate on your dream. It will guide you to where you want to go.”
It was frustrating. She only wished to follow the light where there was some peace, some happiness. It had been so long since she’d felt anything even remotely like that. But the voice, it continued, “Rachel focus, focus on Mannette.”
Then she began to concentrate, began to focus, and as she did something materialized. At the end of the very long corridor of shadows in front of her was a figure, a figure in a long white nightgown. She willed herself to move forward, toward it, but she was elusive. “I see her,” she whispered.
“Good, follow her,” the voice commanded.
It was so difficult, different, stifling; she began to move through darkness, heavy, suffocating darkness, almost like a black drape of cloth smothering her, but ahead she could still see the girl, lightly springing ahead, just out of reach. Frustrated she lunged forward, made one strong push that seemed to rip at something inside of her as she collided with a heavy black, solid surface. “I can’t,” she whispered. “It’s a wall.”
The silence surrounded her. But then it was broken suddenly. She began to hear whispers on the other side of the wall, people speaking in muffled whispers. “I can’t,” she spoke out again.
“Try,” the voice compelled her.
“I can’t. I’m afraid.”
“I know.”
And then instinctively she let her hand travel down the heavy black wall until it reached round, cold metal. She took in a deep, cold breath before she turned the knob and pushed the door open.

The doorway opened into a chilled bedroom. Her eyes immediately flew to the fireplace which was lit. Why wasn’t it heating the room? No wonder her daughter was ill.  Two men, tall grim, stood by her daughter’s bedside, one her husband but her eyes focused on the other, the white-haired man who’d been summoned that morning after they’d found Mannette unconscious, lying sprawled across the floor.
“How is she doctor?” she asked. Not allowing herself to focus on the pale sleeping girl.
She didn’t need his answer. She read it in his drawn face and in the frown about his mouth.
Then Adrien spoke, “It’s the sickness again.”
Her eyes widened as fear took hold. “That’s impossible. She already survived it. It’s gone for over a year.”
“Madame it might be best to alert the house hold that there’s a resurgence.”
“How, how can this be?” her voice came out in a panicked rasp.
Adrien’s words were broken in grief, “The doctor thinks Mannette might be some sort of carrier, and it had lain dormant in her until now.”
And then her throat began to close as the reality took hold, “No, not another child, not another daughter.”
“I’m sorry Madame. She’s already beyond help.”
And then she tried, tried so hard to pull the wall back around her heart that had always shielded her from such deep sorrows. But it wasn’t there, she couldn’t reach it. Nowhere to be found. She took a breath and then forced her eyes open only to be greeted by an astonished Dr. Cassidy.

“I know most in the medical profession don’t subscribe to these ideas, but I think you might have tapped into a past life.”
“So you think I might have actually been Marguerite Bijou.” She asked Dr. Cassidy pointedly and with surprisingly little emotion.
“I think it’s definitely one possibility.”
She nodded feeling so drained that she couldn’t quite connect with any feeling. “But it doesn’t exactly explain the nature of these dreams. They’ve always been from Mannette’s point of view, not Maguerite’s.”
The doctor shrugged, “That I can’t explain. I suppose we could attempt another hypnosis.”
Rachel wearily shook her head, “I don’t think so. It took so much out of me. I feel like I could sleep for a week.”
The doctor nodded, “Well, perhaps we should just wait and see if the dreams go away now.”
“Yes,” Rachel agreed. “Perhaps we should wait.”

The chilling night breeze whistled through her ears, brushed her skin, stung her eyes. And she should have shivered but she did not. The cold did not touch her although she could not explain why.
Yes, now you see. The whispers surrounded her.
“Why are you here?” Mannette asked the stranger whom she had seen from her window.
“You know.”
She walked a step closer to him. His skin was so pale but luminescent like the moon above them. “I remember you.”
“Yes,” he answered. Now lowering his hand, knowing that she would not take it. Not yet.
She nodded, “I saw you. That night in the room with Lanelle. That night she died.”
“Yes,” he answered. She was close enough to see that his eyes were indeed silver, an unnatural shade. But it didn’t startle her at all. She thought him beautiful. “She was afraid of me,” his voice came in a deeper whisper and she wondered if he’d really spoken at all.
“I know,” she nodded. Had she taken a closer step? The great white steed beside him stirred momentarily and then quieted.  “She didn’t understand.”
“Most don’t,” he murmured. “But you were not afraid.”
She shook her head, “No.”
And then he smiled, just slightly. But it warmed as though they were connected. “That’s why I let you stay.”
“I see,” she said. Truly understanding now. But not at all afraid, drawn, curious, compelled by the kinship she felt for the stranger.
“Are you ready now?” he asked.
And this time when he extended his hand. There was no hesitation.

Rachel awoke in the darkness but did not note the time on the clock now. She rose, pulling back the covers from her bed. The apartment should have been in darkness but she could clearly see from her bedroom an illumination coming from the den.
It didn’t really frighten her now. She simply pulled on a robe and walked through the doorway that led to the other room. There was only one lamp lit and her daughter was standing in front of the sliding glass doors that led onto the patio looking outward. But Rachel just quietly waited until Mannette turned round.
She was so beautiful, Rachel thought, like in the dream but also changed. She smiled in her greeting, and Rachel could see that it was her eyes that had changed, silvery in color, luminescent, like the moon above them. “I wanted you to understand.” She murmured so lightly that Rachel couldn’t be at all sure if she’d spoken.
But she nodded at her child. “I do.”
And when Mannette extended her hand her mother took it in hers.

Finis

Copyright © 2009 by Evelyn Klebert