Excerpt -- INSPIRED BY A #TRUESTORY - #British
“Sally, you do! Stop denying your own reincarnation! Write the story the spirit world has given you. You called upon them to give you a subject to write a bestseller, didn’t you?”
Sally glared at her.
“Spirit graced has you with a fantastic story. They want you to tell the world about reincarnation to let humanity know it isn’t only the belief of a few cranks. It is real. People like you are here to change the way the world thinks about spirituality,” said Mrs. Harris.
Sally was still feeling gob smacked.
“You mean this is all my nightmares have been about? I have to write a flipping story about reincarnation?”
“Yes. However, there’s more to do later on. For now, just concentrate on the story spirit gave to you. You’d hoped and prayed for this, remember? You still want to write a book, don’t you?”
“Yes—I. Oh—I don’t know Mrs. Harris,” she said hesitantly, wondering how she knew so much. “I think I believe you.”
“Of course you should believe me, Sally. You know in your heart it’s true. Who else do you know has dreams the same as you, with so much clarity like they are actually there? The world has worn blinkers for far too long. I mean, look what they did with witches in days of old, they burned them.”
Mrs. Harris headed towards the door to leave, then turned to look at Sally with her wide intense, black eyes and said, “Sally, do not second guess yourself,” then she quietly left, closing the door behind her.
Sally began thinking. It has been a long day. How does Mrs. Harris know what I’m thinking?
All of a sudden, something not of this earth entered into her psyche, and the allure of being a bestselling author hit her like a brick inside her mind.
Mrs. Harris is right. Spirit has been telling me things while I’ve been asleep and I didn’t pay attention. My dreams are telling me I’m the reincarnation of Sarah Witherspoon. This is why the psychic paid so much attention to me. I wonder. Has she been right all along? Perhaps she is, because I know too much about Constance’s life. I know a doctor might say I’m insane for thinking this way.
The Chamomile tea kicked in and she sank into a restful dreamless sleep.
The following morning, she felt fully rested for the first time in days. Whether Mrs. Harris was right or wrong, Sally swore to tell the world the chronicles of Beth’s family. Even if people considered she was out of her mind by admitting the words used to write Beth’s life story were from her own dreams.
Sally faced her computer with puffy frustrated eyes, staring at an empty screen for what seemed like an eternity. Not knowing how to begin, she made another cup of tea, took a swig and sighed.
Suddenly, her fingers flipped into autopilot, typing a story to would topple many beliefs in several spiritual communities – a story that began a century earlier in 1899, at Whitehaven, Cumberland, north England.
Ch 2 -(Unwanted Pregnancy)
The first words Sally wrote concerned Lady Hannah Witherspoon in 1899 —a controlling calculating woman who considered herself far superior to anyone. Her intention was to force her unmarried and pregnant teenage daughter, Lady Constance, to tie the knot with any available gentleman who would have her.
“You’d better marry and give that baby of yours a name Constance, or mark my words child—I will have both you and the little bastard you’re carrying dumped into a convent. Lord help me I will!”
“Mother!” yelled Constance, squinting with half-closed obstinate eyes, fiercely shaking her head, refusing her mother’s proposal, feeling entirely confident her mother would never execute her threats. After all, I’m her only daughter, she will never do it.
On the day Constance started with labour pains a dreadful storm raged. Three lightning bolts hit the chapel. It looked like an electrical tidal wave born from the sky and cracked the roof wide open. Large sections of roofing slate and timber slid to the ground, allowing heavy rain to gush through. The walls shook with each strike but the stones held fast. Wild, electrical surges vibrated the windows and stained glass smashed to smithereens, sending long colourful stilettos everywhere. Several nuns broke their vow of silence and screamed, “Lord Jesus, help us. We’re in the centre of the hurricanes evil eye!” as they raced down fifty steps into the crypt for safety.
Constance agonized with contractions. It was as though her babe did not want to come into this world. The nuns who didn’t leave, were afraid they would lose both mother and child, and their convent in the frightening tempest.
Hours later, at the exact moment the squall subsided and the skies calmed, the astonished nuns discovered Constance was expecting twins. The first to be born was blue eyed Sarah. The nuns laid her in a crib beside the birthing bed. Sarah’s twin sister came into this world seconds afterwards. Without warning, the nuns heard a sudden rumble and large chunks from the severely damaged roof caved in on top of both babies. Sarah was instantly crushed to death by huge stone slabs. Her younger sister, struck by dozens of smaller missiles, had blood oozing from her head. Her face was unmarked, though colorless and pale, without any visual life.
The nuns dug out both newborns from the rubble with their bare hands and thought they were dead—until a tiny dusty hand moved....