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Saturday afternoon, but she had yet to venture outside the confines of her apartment to enjoy it. Normally, she would have been out and about hours ago, running weekend errands, which included shopping for much-needed groceries, browsing a few of her favorite flea markets, and then finally dropping by her parents’ house for a quick visit before heading over to Peter’s for the evening. But today she was off to a slow start because she hadn’t been able to sleep the night before, partly because of the way she’d left things with Peter, but mostly because of the incessant voice ringing in her ear.
    This was the first time a spirit voice had come to her without revealing who it was or exactly what it wanted. She’d been hearing the whispers—from a person who she now knew had to be a Southern woman—for the last four weeks.
    It had started as a quiet hum, barely audible enough for Alexandria to register the words as more than a few annoying, disjointed mumbles. But as the days went on, the sound grew, and now it was coming to her louder, with more frequency and greater urgency.
    As Alexandria sat in silence, sans the voice still speaking into her ear, she realized two very important things. The first was that she could hear the woman’s words so crystal clear that if she closed her eyes, she could swear someone was literally sitting beside her. And the other was that the woman talking to her was someone she knew. The voice, with its calm, warm timber, began to sound as familiar to her ear as her own voice. And although the woman’s accent was thickly layered in a rural Southern dialect, there was something about the comfort of it that reminded her of her mother’s.
    She could tell the voice belonged to that of an old woman, and it carried a mixture of tones and inflections—rugged but kind, sturdy but tender—that resonated with her in a place deep down in her soul. And as Alexandria continued to concentrate, she had no doubt that she was somehow directly connected to whoever was trying to contact her.
    â€œI’m ready for the fight,” the voice repeated.
    â€œPlease show yourself to me,” Alexandria spoke aloud. “Tell me who you are and what you want of me.”
    â€œI’m here to protect you, baby,” the voice gently whispered.
    Alexandria sat perfectly still, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. “Show me what you want me to know.”
    Images began to flash in front of her eyes: a long dirt road, tall pine trees, a rocking chair on a tiny front porch, a blue cloudless sky. Then, before she could place the surroundings, Alexandria was staring into the eyes of a woman she’d never seen; yet she felt she knew her. She could tell the woman was old; but because her wrinkles were faint, it was hard to determine her age. Alexandria felt comforted when she saw the old woman smile and nod, as if she could see her, too. Then without warning, her brief vision disappeared.
    When Alexandria opened her eyes again, she could feel her heart pounding inside her chest. At that moment, she knew exactly to whom the voice belonged.

Chapter 6
    Nedine, South Carolina
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    T hey all settled in at the medium-size rectangular-shaped table in the large eat-in kitchen. Isaiah and Henrietta sat on one side, while John and Madeline took their seats on the other. Pristine white linen covered the table, complementing the bone china and sparkling silverware that marked each person’s place setting, all arranged in perfect five-star–restaurant fashion.
    John took in the freshly cut yellow roses and white daisies, which his mother had carefully arranged in a glass Mason jar in the center of the table. But the artistry of the display paled in comparison to the presentation of each mouthwatering dish she’d prepared from scratch and then placed in handcrafted serving bowls. It was classic Henrietta Victoria Small, through and through. Her trademark