Estate of Awakening (eBook)

1.
The Arrival

The year 1995 started off crazy for me for many reasons. One of them being I had just graduated from business school, and the other was because of the culinary arts classes I had been taking at my local community college in my spare time. But after all my celebrating and prep work for the immediate future I happened to get a letter in the mail with some very unexpected news.

Miss Megan Kernst

This letter is to inform you of your great-aunt’s wake in Savannah, Georgia, on Sunday, March 5, 1995. We are very saddened by your loss.

This letter is also an invitation/request that you attend the reading of your great-aunt’s last will and testament, as was her wish. Respond as soon as possible so we can arrange transportation and accommodation. The reading will be held later that day. This will also be the day of Miss Mary’s wake. It will be a gathering of her closest friends, and, if you show up, at least one family member.

We have been informed that you had never met in person, but Miss Mary followed your life as well as your career choices. She felt that this request may shine a new light on your future path.

Once again please contact our office as soon as you receive this letter.

Jarvis Dumonte

Attorney-at-Law

The letter threw me for a loop. How was this woman related to me? I had never heard of her. I’d have asked my mother, but she had passed away two years before. And my father left when I was very little.

I had a few weeks left before my so-called planned life was to start in Boston at the Bluestone Manor Hotel as the new concierge and part-time event cook.

Cooking is my passion. But it’s hard to make that dream happen when you must be realistic and get a solid job to pay the bills and student loans.

I called Mr. Jarvis Dumonte’s office and talked to a nice woman by the name of Ms. Becca.

She assured me that all would be taken care of and a driver would pick me up at the airport that Sunday. Tickets were waiting for me at my local airport.

When I asked how they knew I would agree to travel to Savannah for the reading, Ms. Becca replied, “Your great-aunt made the arrangements with Bluestone Manor prior to her passing to allow you some time before you were to start.”

I was stunned at this statement. I felt like one of those paranoid people that you read about in books or see on television. At this point I had too many questions not to go. So, I picked up my tickets and waited for that Sunday morning to head south to Georgia’s first city. Savannah, here I come.

Little did I know that this one small decision would forever change not only my life, but the way I viewed everything from that day forward. Do I have your attention now? I hope so. That was just the intro to this story.

March 5, 1995

The plane I took from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, to Savannah was of course overcrowded with angry people and screaming kids. It was just my luck to be flying into a town known for its Saint Patrick’s Day festival, the third largest in the country. Lucky me.

As I got off the plane, I started to feel maybe I had made a huge mistake. Maybe I should have kept going to some fabulous tropical destination on an island somewhere that has hammocks and people who bring you drinks that have inappropriate names and are way too strong.

As I descended to the baggage area, I saw a large man holding an open used pizza box with the name Megon Kernst on it.

I just shook my head and raised my hand to let him know I was there.

“Ms. Kernst! My name is Russ. I hope I spelled your name right.”

I grinned. “It’s fine.”

“You must be hungry. I was going to get you some lunch, but—”

“Well, is this where the pizza box came from?”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.”

“Well, I guess we had better see Mr. Jarvis.”

“That’s probably for the best.”

We left the airport in a very nice 1970 Pontiac Catalina that should have been in a museum on display. This car was perfect.

“Russ, is this your car?”

“No, Ma’am. This is Ms. Becca’s ride. Her pride and joy, she calls it.”

“Wow! I love old cars. And this one is amazing.”

“Sure is. You’re the only reason I can drive it today. The car company was totally booked for an event and Ms. Becca’s got a lot of organizing to do for the wake.”

“I see. Definitely not complaining.”

As we entered the city center it was like going back in time. Never had I seen such a wonderfully restored town. The trees covered in hanging moss made it feel like we were driving under nature’s umbrellas, giving shade even though it felt like 110 with a heat index of 110 as well.

I asked Russ that stupid question we all tend to ask when we go somewhere new and warm. “Hey, Russ, is it always this hot and sticky?”

His reply was exactly what I thought it would be. “Well, in the winter not so much, but summer will melt your shoes.”

It was obvious that the city was gearing up for Saint Patrick’s Day. The colors of Ireland were everywhere. From the city squares to every front porch, leprechauns had taken over. The homes towered to the top of the canopies of some of the grandest live oak trees I had ever seen, bringing a sense of Old World Southern grandeur to life all around. The streets full of tourists, trolleys, and the scent of flowers was another reminder that I had just arrived in not another everyday town in the USA, but one that felt like a different world entirely.

As we twisted down the road, maneuvering around many city squares, we came to a strange traffic back-up on Liberty Street.

“This is weird,” I said. “I wonder why all this confusion. It’s like they’re all trying to park at the same time. And what’s the line of people standing on the sidewalk? Is there some sort of amazing restaurant at the end or something?”

“No, they’re here for the wake.”

“The wake? I thought it was going to be a small get-together for friends and family, Russ.”

“Ms. Megan, these are friends. Miss Mary had a lot of them. She fed this town for many years, and by doing so made a huge impact.”

“She was a cook.”

“A cook? She was royalty in the kitchen. The queen of fried chicken. The butter baroness. You don’t know much about your great-aunt, do ya?”

“I sure don’t. I never knew she existed. However, I find it interesting that we share a passion for cooking. I wonder if that’s where I got it from.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. The Kernst family name has been involved in food in Savannah for generations. But it’s the chicken that made your family superstars here. No one has ever figured out the true recipe. It’s been a guarded secret for as far back as anyone can remember. It’s even said that there is a second secret recipe that the family would use only on extremely rare occasions. Your family has had some issues with people trying to steal the recipe and some haven’t ended well.”

“What do you mean? People have gone to jail over this food? That’s crazy!”

“Yes, Ma’am. And worse. Some have even been killed or gone missing.”

“Killed by Mary or her husband?”

“Nah, nothing like that has ever been proven and most of the Kernst ladies’ husbands worked out of the country or died early. At least that’s what I was always told. Plus, those stories are over a hundred years old. That had nothing to do with Miss Mary. You’re in Savannah now. History, magic, and mystery are this town’s stock in trade. Stories of ghosts and strange happenings go hand in hand here. Did you not know you are in one of the country’s most haunted cities, after all?”

“No, I had no idea. I never put too much stock in those types of things. But I don’t dismiss them either. I’ve become more open to the possibilities of paranormal things over the past couple of years.”

“Really? Why’s that?”

“Russ, I think we better leave that for another car ride. It looks like the police are pulling us over.”

Flashing lights and sirens came on in front and behind us. My only thought was that we must have run a stop sign when we were talking and gawking. “I wonder what we did.”

“Oh, nothing. Don’t worry; this is to get us to our parking place at the front of the greeting line. You forget you are a Kernst lady as well. You are, by association, a bit of a celebrity too. One kitchen queen falls, and a new one will rise to take her place.”

“Russ, I have no plans to stay. I’m just here for the reading, then back home. My new life awaits in Boston.”

“Well, let’s just see. Who knows? Maybe you will fall in love with this town and change your mind.”

“I doubt it.”

As we pulled into the parking space police surrounded the car. They created a barrier around us to keep the crowd of mourners from getting too close.

But what a strange sight it was to behold—not a typical group of somber faces. Some people were eating sandwiches off of silver-and-gold platters while drinking a curious substance poured by...