Wrong Daughter: Night of the Blood Moon ebook giveaway January 11-23

Chapter 1

Blood Moon of 1908 Before and After Birth

6278 days to solstice

17 years, 2 months, 8 days to Solstice

Day 13 October 1908 Baldwin Town, Alabama

Tears bubbled up deep inside me when I remembered because of a gift Papa gave me at age 17. Beginning with the crackling of the heated wood stove, spewing sweaty mist into the air. Hanging overhead sunlamps warming the midwife’s delicate hands carefully cutting the cord, the final connection to my birth Mother.

Before she was born, her Mama conspired with the Village witch to murder her. They created another version to steal the firstborn Daughter’s legacy.

Like Mama, the other version was Dutch with a hint of African blood, and the future of the blood covenant.

Mama hated her. The firstborn with skin of Blackwood and hair like sheep’s wool. Her large almond-colored eyes and full lips bejeweled her small round face with a strange mark hidden beneath her chin, resembling a six-pointed star and half-moon. This ancient symbol came from the 1600s West African empire off the African coast near the Niger River. Where the Dutch and Portuguese enslaved millions of Africans and sold them into a brutal life in a new land called America. There they would become Afrikaans.

Inside Mama’s womb, the firstborn prepared for her destiny. Another version of her mysteriously appeared, forcing her to fight to live. Blinded by purple water made of lilac rot, the firstborn would guard against the foul odor in the coming years.

The other would be the one who came after. It wrapped her umbilical cord around the firstborn’s neck pulling, pulling, leaving her almost lifeless. Yanking free, she flipped upside down, down the narrow passage, pushed through headfirst, landing outside Mama’s womb. Dripping with remnants of warm water as cold air attacked her body. Minted steam tickled her nose with the other version’s umbilical cord loosely around her neck.

“It’s a girl,” the midwife announced.

The midwife picked up her tiny body, removed the cord, turned her over and swatted her butt until she wailed and wailed. Laid her atop a thin blanket, her little body shivered, arms and legs flailed as if to beat heat into the room.

“Lord she’s got d’em strong lungs,” the midwife noticed. She cleaned the little girl before wrapping the blanket tightly around her belly, little legs, and feet. Placed her in his arms— not hers—her Papa who would never forget. His thick, tightly curled black hair and dark golden skin of pure African blood. He would spare his Daughter’s life despite Mama wanting him to dispose of her in an unmarked grave prepared before her birth.

“Welcome my firstborn,” his soft voice quivered. “Umaya, umaya, umaya.”

His almond eyes, shaped like hers, filled with water, falling warm to her chest. For he too, felt mama’s silent anger, pulling away from their firstborn. Different from the one who came after. His pain felt throughout the universe.

Outer elements responded, standing in honor of her before, angered by the coming presence of the after. Wind whirled through the Spanish Moss Trees, pushing up to the ranch doors. Knocking, knocking. Trembling shutters flew open backhanded the brick. Horses heard in the distance braving the night whilst others hid.

more… go to giveaway