1974
The Seven Book 4
Sarah M. Cradit
Copyright © 2019 Sarah M. Cradit
All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, at “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design by Sarah M. Cradit
Editing by Lawrence Editing
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First Edition
ISBN: 9781793132031
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Publisher Contact:
sarah@sarahmcradit.com
www.sarahmcradit.com
Contents
Preface
Also by Sarah M. Cradit
The Seven in 1974
Spring 1974
Prologue: Irish Colleen and the Seven
1. Augustus Takes a Bride
2. The Ocean
3. Working Girl
4. The Cold Darkness of Russia
5. Just Sometimes
Summer 1974
6. Revelations
7. We All Have Our Paths
8. Summer Island, Maine
9. Show Them Who You Are
10. What Are We?
Fall 1974
11. Celebrate and Protect
12. Uptown Girl
13. A Red Mark
14. The Price
15. You Can’t Always Get What You Want
Winter 1974
16. The Winter of our Discontent
17. Over the Hills and Far Away
18. The Lockbox
19. A Band of Heather
20. I Would Die, I Will Die
Epilogue: Irish Colleen and the Seven
Also by Sarah M. Cradit
The Family
Homes & Properties
Crimson & Clover Connections
About the Author
Preface
If you’re here, you’ve hopefully started with 1970, followed by 1972, and 1973. If you operate best with order, you’re in the right place! If you like to jump into the middle of something with blind excitement, then you’re also in the right place.
By now, you’ve suffered through three of my disclaimers that remind you, the reader, that I was a child of the eighties, not the seventies. That my imagining of this period is a combination of the remnants of the mindset of the seventies that lingered into my generation, as well as leveraging feedback and ideas from those who lived through it, and lived through it well. Because of this, any errors or misrepresentations are my own.
This series is, first and foremost, a character-driven narrative about the “founding mothers and fathers,” so to speak, of the future House of Crimson & Clover heroes and heroines. I’d always wanted to tell this story, because origin stories have a way of becoming so much more. As much of the past was written when I wrote the future, piecing together what was missing revealed that their lives were even more rich and intoxicating than anything I could have imagined. In writing their stories backwards, if you will, I had the pleasure of watching who they’d become unfold before my eyes. Writing has a way of taking on a life bigger than the writer, and this series has been one incredible revelation after another. To say the seven have surprised me would be selling the experience short.
I mention this, because, while the time period in which this series is set was an important consideration for me (my playlist, since I started writing 1970 has been completely immersed in nothing but seventies music), being true to the seven Deschanels, and those who shaped their lives, for better or worse, was always my foremost goal.
As the series crests the hill and begins the descent toward the finish, I hope you continue to find the journey rewarding.
Also by Sarah M. Cradit
THE SAGA OF CRIMSON & CLOVER
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The House of Crimson and Clover Series:
The Storm and the Darkness
Shattered
The Illusions of Eventide
Bound
Midnight Dynasty
Asunder
Empire of Shadows
Myths of Midwinter
The Hinterland Veil
The Secrets Amongst the Cypress
Within the Garden of Twilight
House of Dusk, House of Dawn
Midnight Dynasty Series:
A Tempest of Discovery
A Storm of Revelations
The Seven Series
1970
1972
1973
1974
1975
1976
1980
Vampires of the Merovingi Series
The Island
Crimson & Clover Lagniappes (Bonus Stories):
Lagniappes are standalone stories that can be read in any order.
St. Charles at Dusk: The Story of Oz and Adrienne
Flourish: The Story of Anne Fontaine
Surrender: The Story of Oz and Ana
Shame: The Story of Jonathan St. Andrews
Fire & Ice: The Story of Remy & Fleur
Dark Blessing: The Landry Triplets
Pandora's Box: The Story of Jasper & Pandora
The Menagerie: Oriana’s Den of Iniquities
A Band of Heather: The Story of Colleen and Noah
The Ephemeral: The Story of Autumn & Gabriel
Banshee: The Story of Giselle Deschanel
For more information, and exciting bonus material, visit www.sarahmcradit.com
The Seven in 1974
Children of
August Deschanel (deceased) &
Colleen “Irish Colleen” Brady
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Charles August Deschanel, Aged 24
Augustus Charles Deschanel, Aged 23
Colleen Amelia Deschanel, Aged 22
Madeline Colleen Deschanel, Deceased
Evangeline Julianne Deschanel, Aged 20
Maureen Amelia Deschanel, Aged 18
Elizabeth Jeanne Deschanel, Aged 15
For Maureen
SPRING 1974
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VACHERIE, LOUISIANA
NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA
Prologue: Irish Colleen and the Seven
Colleen Deschanel, known as Irish Colleen to her family and friends, walked past the faces of her seven children, as she did every night of her life.
All seven of her children lined the marble mantle of the townhouse that was her home now, and possibly always.
She hardly saw any of them anymore. Their lives had recently ceased to be an extension of hers, and her days of actively mothering any of them, even young, sweet Elizabeth, were almost entirely at an end. They didn’t need her meticulous preservation of their father’s world. They didn’t need her heavy hand, or even her soft one, though she had always been more natural at the former than the latter.
Charles lived alone at Ophélie, sulking around the property like a specter, awaiting his marriage to Cordelia. He’d resigned himself to the union born upon a terrible secret between the fathers of the not-so-happy couple, and that showed an unexpected level of maturity from her reckless oldest son. Yet Irish Colleen could not help but feel bitterness that his future unhappiness was what finally brought upon him the need to act like a man. She
’d chided him for growing to this point too slow, and now he would settle into this space with all the expected bitterness of a man wronged by an unfair world.
Augustus, on the morrow, would take his own bride and bring her back to his Magnolia Grace. Irish Colleen didn’t know whether he was happy about this or not. He displayed none of the joy of the newly fiancéd. His signature, perpetual glower of sourness, the way one might look if their taste buds were tuned inappropriately, dimmed only a little with the pretty, if odd, Ekatherina on his arm. Irish Colleen quelled her suspicions at the young woman’s motivations. Surely, she wasn’t marrying him for their unbridled passion for one another? There was no evidence of that, or of any binding attraction. But Ekatherina would bring none of her own people to the wedding, and therein that fact lay the answer Irish Colleen had been avoiding.
Augustus was no fool. If she was after him for his money or connections, then he already knew this and was running toward the fire, not away.
Colleen’s plane for Edinburgh left the day after Augustus’ wedding. Both Irish Colleen and Ophelia had reminded Colleen that the family had access to a private jet, but she insisted her life in Scotland wasn’t going to be about who she was, but what she could do. No one there would know the name Deschanel, she said, though Irish Colleen thought her eldest daughter was underestimating the power of the family influence. Even in Scotland, she’d find those who would pander to her for favor, and doors would open because of this connection, even if she never understood the link. I want to start this season of my life right, Colleen insisted, and although it was a delusion, it was important to her, and Irish Colleen hadn’t pushed. Colleen said she’d be back once a quarter for her Collective Council meetings, and of course in the summer for Charles’ wedding, but Irish Colleen had the strong sense that once Colleen fell in love with Scotland, those visits would taper off, and her commitments back home would wane. Irish Colleen still remembered the rolling hills of Erin, which she’d been told were so like the Highlands of Scotland, and keened for them. Places like this were a place of rest for the soul. She’d daydreamed of returning when all her children were grown, but not all souls were worthy of rest.
Spring was the time for decisions, and Evangeline, as with the prior two years, was faced with a decision of her own. Each year, she said she would leave for MIT, and each year, she found a reason to stay. This time, she claimed she was doing it for Colleen, who would need to know the family was cared for in her absence. Did neither of her daughters understand how hurtful this insinuation was? She’d borne it from Colleen since she was a child, because she chalked it up to a personality tic, but now Evangeline spoke as if their presence alone was required to keep the solid bond running through the family. She tried not to think too much about this, because the underlying truth was enough to shatter the façade she kept around the walls of every house they’d lived in. To them, she was a mere steward, like the wretched Denethor in that book Elizabeth insisted on reading, The Lord of the Rings. She was just here until the rightful king of Gondor appeared, or whenever Colleen finished college, whichever came first.
She supposed this was how her late husband had seen her, as well. Having failed to produce children with the love of his life, he’d resigned himself to marrying a baby-maker, and giving her the means to produce and produce until there was nothing left of her except a shell.
Irish Colleen closed her eyes in prayer after they passed over the face of her beautiful Madeline, who was now God’s child more than hers.
She started up the stairs, to where the bedrooms lined the hall in a neat row.
Maureen was sound asleep. Irish Colleen didn’t know her daughter well enough anymore to understand the change, but she’d noticed Maureen had found more peace in recent months. This started at Ophélie, and though Irish Colleen had worried coming back to New Orleans would reverse any progress made, it continued. Was it her eighteenth birthday looming around the corner? Maureen had always talked of the day she could fly with her own wings and leave the nest, even if none of her plans ever involved the specifics she’d require to make it happen. Details had always been unimportant to Maureen, who responded more acutely to emotional need than the ones logic commanded. How long would she stay? The pang in Irish Colleen’s gut told her Maureen wouldn’t have many more nights under this roof.
She blew her daughter a kiss and moved on.
Irish Colleen found Elizabeth standing at her window. One hand peeled back the lace curtain, and the other lay pressed against the glass, fingers spread. Beyond, rain peppered the panes. Elizabeth seemed lost to the process.
“It’s late, Lizzy.”
“I’m not five anymore, Mama.”
“Yes, of course. I know that, smarty pants.” Irish Colleen longed for the days where her baby was five, and she could hold her, a simple mother’s touch washing the pain away. That window had been so short and was now closed forever. At fifteen, Elizabeth was almost a stranger to her now. She recoiled from even the slight touch of her mother pressing her hair aside. Scowled at the mild attempts at tenderness.
“Charles and Augustus are both making mistakes.”
Irish Colleen flinched at the blunt transition. “Charles has his challenges ahead, but love is not the most important part of marriage, Elizabeth. They’ll find their balance. As for Augustus, he chose his bride.”
Elizabeth’s lips curled in a smirk. “Choice is an illusion.”
“And what, pray, does that mean?”
“Aggie chose Ekatherina about as much as Charles chose Cordelia.”
Irish Colleen wrapped her arms around her, pulling her shawl tighter. “What you’re saying makes no sense, Elizabeth.”
“It wouldn’t to you. You’ve always been so black and white.”
Irish Colleen took a step forward, slighted by the observation. “That’s not fair, Lizzy. I live my life according to the Lord’s direction, and if that seems to be a method that leaves me making clear choices, then so be it.”
“Did you ask yourself why Augustus left when he did?”
“He was a grown man. It was time.”
“Was it?”
“Stop with the questions and make your point.”
“He’s punishing himself,” Elizabeth said. She ran her finger down the glass, chasing a rogue drop outside. “For Maddy.”
“Madeline made her choices, and they had tragic results. Augustus was a wonderful brother to her.”
“Augustus was the only one who cared about what was important to her, and then he gave her the money and the way out that killed her within hours.”
Irish Colleen drew in a sharp breath. “I know that, but it would be foolish to blame himself for something he wasn’t even there for.”
Elizabeth half-turned with a grin far beyond her years. “And when is guilt fair?”
“You’re too young yet to understand.”
“It would be easier for you if I was, I guess.” Elizabeth shrugged. She let the curtain fall and turned to her mother. “Ekatherina is more like Madeline than even he realizes. She’s alone in the world, and misunderstood, and in need of something he can give. Now do you see the connection?”
“He must love her,” Irish Colleen insisted.
Elizabeth shrugged. “He seems to. Only Augustus knows for sure about that. But any relationship that starts on the wrong terms has a way of ending on them.”
“What are you saying?”
“I don’t know anymore,” Elizabeth replied. She bounced down onto the bed and flopped into position on her pillow. “I don’t even know why I bother to open my mouth.”
“Lizzy, that isn’t what I meant. You know you can tell me anything.”
“Can I? Even if I can’t tell you everything?”
It was a fair question, and one with no satisfying answer. “You can’t be cross with me for wanting to understand the things you see and say, my darling.”
“Then you can’t be cross with me for not knowing everything.”
Irish Colleen nodded. “Very well. I’ll prove to you I can leave you well enough alone, from time to time. Tell me something I don’t know right now, and I promise I’ll ask no further questions.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Okay, how’s this? Charles and Augustus aren’t the only ones who will be starting an unhappy marriage this year.”
“What?”
“You said no questions.”
“Well, yes, but—”
Elizabeth turned her face away and buried it in the plush fold of her pillow. “Good night, Mama.”
One
Augustus Takes a Bride
Ekatherina’s lips were even softer than he’d imagined. He should have kissed her sooner. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t found a suitable occasion. This wasn’t the nineteenth century, where chasteness ruled all. Still, so much about their relationship was a careful dance of interpreting intentions, and Augustus would be horrified if he misunderstood hers. Even for a kiss.