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    Lowcountry Spirit
    Lowcountry Spirit
    Lowcountry Spirit
    Ebook123 pages1 hour

    Lowcountry Spirit

    By Ann Hite

    4/5

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    About this ebook

    A haunting historical eNovella about three slave girls with mystical powers living on an eerie island off the coast of Georgia, whose lives intertwine in their quest for freedom.

    Meet Emmaline, Celestia, and Liza, three slave girls on a haunted barrier island in Georgia lowcountry.

    Emmaline is a mouthy, stubborn young woman who has magic in her blood and conjures the strongest spells with hardly any effort. Celestia was ten when her mother was sold and taken from the island. She’s never stopped longing for her, even when the talking chain—a verbal underground railroad—sends word that her mother has been taken to a plantation in North Carolina. By the time she turns sixteen, she can no longer bring her mother’s face to mind, but she can still hear her urging Celestia to be thankful and keep safe. Liza was a birthday gift to the plantation’s mistress. Her mama was killed for throwing a spell on her master. Before she died she gave Liza her book of conjures, so she could protect herself. And when Liza hatches a plan for all three of them to escape, the three girls’ lives collide. What they don’t realize is that their chances of successfully escaping are slim, and the possibility that all three will die before they leave the island is more likely...
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPocket Star
    Release dateAug 12, 2013
    ISBN9781451692327
    Lowcountry Spirit
    Author

    Ann Hite

    Ann Hite’s debut novel, Ghost on Black Mountain, not only became a Townsend Prize Finalist but won Georgia Author of the Year in 2012. Her personal essays and short stories have been published in numerous national anthologies. The Storycatcher is her second Black Mountain novel. Ann is an admitted book junkie with a library of over a thousand books. She lives in Smyrna, Georgia, with her husband and daughter, where she allows her Appalachian characters to dictate their stories.

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    Reviews for Lowcountry Spirit

    4/5

    8 ratings5 reviews

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    • 3/5
      Lowcountry Spirit is a historical novella set in the south off the coast of Georgia featuring several young slave girls who love their island home yet yearn for freedom.

      The audio narration by Allyson Johnson was incredible and I am SO glad that I chose to listen to, rather than read, this book. Allyson's narration expertly shaped the disquieting atmosphere of the island and communicated the pain hardened strength of the characters. She pulls the listener so deeply into the story that one can almost hear the haunting sounds of the marsh and feel the muggy heat and maybe even catch a glimpse of the elusive marsh witch...

      The three slave girls, Celestia, Emmaline, and Liza are tied together through shared hardship and the mystical gifts that each believe themselves to possess. Their longing for freedom can be felt through their dialog with one another and their visions and dreams. I found the eerily beautiful descriptions of the island juxtaposed with the tragic reality of their lives there to be unsettling. Hite's writing painted a vivid picture of this time & place.

      While the writing was undeniably lovely and the audio narration even more so, what kept me from completely enjoying this haunting tale was that there were no clearly defined personalities for the three girls. Each of them kind of blended into the other causing me to lose the thread of the story throughout.

      Ultimately, I would recommend Lowcountry Spirit to those who enjoy historical fiction set in this time period. I would HIGHLY recommend this audio and am looking forward to other narrations by Allyson Johnson.
    • 3/5
      Lowcountry Spirit is a historical novella set in the south off the coast of Georgia featuring several young slave girls who love their island home yet yearn for freedom.

      The audio narration by Allyson Johnson was incredible and I am SO glad that I chose to listen to, rather than read, this book. Allyson's narration expertly shaped the disquieting atmosphere of the island and communicated the pain hardened strength of the characters. She pulls the listener so deeply into the story that one can almost hear the haunting sounds of the marsh and feel the muggy heat and maybe even catch a glimpse of the elusive marsh witch...

      The three slave girls, Celestia, Emmaline, and Liza are tied together through shared hardship and the mystical gifts that each believe themselves to possess. Their longing for freedom can be felt through their dialog with one another and their visions and dreams. I found the eerily beautiful descriptions of the island juxtaposed with the tragic reality of their lives there to be unsettling. Hite's writing painted a vivid picture of this time & place.

      While the writing was undeniably lovely and the audio narration even more so, what kept me from completely enjoying this haunting tale was that there were no clearly defined personalities for the three girls. Each of them kind of blended into the other causing me to lose the thread of the story throughout.

      Ultimately, I would recommend Lowcountry Spirit to those who enjoy historical fiction set in this time period. I would HIGHLY recommend this audio and am looking forward to other narrations by Allyson Johnson.
    • 3/5
      I enjoyed this book, although I kept getting the three main characters all mixed up. They all seemed so much alike. However, this was still a great story. I still am not sure what a storycatcher is or is supposed to be. I know it is someone who catches and untangles other's stories but...I'm just not sure what that entails, exactly... I still look forward to Hite's upcoming The Storycatcher. I loved Ghost on Black Mountain. Hite is a great story teller. I love her simple style. And, hey, If I kept mixing up the characters but still enjoyed the story, that tells you something...
    • 4/5
      I had read and enjoyed the author’s debut novel – The Ghost on Black Mountain, so was interested in reading this e-novella. I was pleasantly surprised how this book is connected to both The Ghost on Black Mountain and the upcoming The Storycatcher. Each book stands on its own and has the author’s trademark style of well-written southern gothic storylines.
    • 4/5
      This is a short story that I read from Netgalley. It is going to be released on the 12th of August 2013 by Pocket Books of Simon & SchuSter. It is an e-novella that I read on my kindle. It is a prelude to Ann Hite’s new novel The Storycatcher, which is to be released on September 10th, 2013. Ann Hite debuted with her novel Ghost on Black Mountain. This book won the Georgia Author of the Year Award for 2012 and was nominated for the Townsend Prize. This e-novella introduces us to Ann Hite and her style of writing.In this short story we meet a character called the storycatcher. There are three young slave girls and their lives are intertwined. The girls all seem to have a special power or gift. Emmaline conjures up spells and is the storycatcher. Celestia can hear the death bell before someone dies. Then Liza arrives on the cotton plantation with a hail storm and then it rains frogs. We are introduced to the story of the magical heron and the appearance of the marsh witch and princess. There are also the powerful black cat bones that protect one from haints.I liked this story. It portrays the lives of the slaves on the cotton plantation. There are elements of superstition, magic, and low country folklore in this book. The story tells of their hopes and dreams and the realities of slavery. Very quick read only took about two hours, but full of events. It is very condensed and intense. It packs a lot into that little package. I give it 4 stars out of 5. Just received a copy of The Storycatcher. I will let you know what I think about it.

    Book preview

    Lowcountry Spirit - Ann Hite

    Prologue

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    THE HIDDEN STORY

    In 1802, Luna belonged to Sapelo Island. She came with the land like a door comes with a house. A master with big ideas about cotton and rice bought her and many others, but Luna didn’t care. She’d always lived on the island, breathing in the salty air, eating the fish from the tidal creeks, and understanding the powerful root. Her new master appeared to her in a dream three weeks before he stepped foot on the land. He stood tall with a mass of dark hair. His clothes were store-bought. His boots free of marsh mud. She woke and told the others change was headed their way. They all believed her because she saw the future, always had. It was her gift.

    Life for Sapelo slaves turned hard around the edges with a new master. He brought an overseer, a dark-skinned man like them but not like them—better, but still a slave. Master thought himself progressive, that somehow his owning humans was not the same, that his slaves would be something that no other slaves had been, encouraged to find pride in their work, to care about the crops that belonged to Master and not to them. The overseer was to make sure the land was cleared, trenches dug, and dams built. He would be in charge of growing the best and most plentiful crops for Master. Luna worked until her hands bled and still she worked some more.

    Two weeks after Luna turned seventeen, she conjured a spell on a man-guest who was visiting Master. One version of the story had her simply throwing a spell that caused him to fall into a deep sleep; in the other, she gave him poison that caused his chest to crack open. But the story was always the same after that: Luna then cut out the man’s heart. Why? Because her beauty had drawn his attention. And, owned as she was by Master, she couldn’t protect herself. She had decided early on in her childhood not to end up like her mother, used in this way by a white man—or any man, for that matter. But with Luna’s choice came dire consequences. Master would have her hung for killing a white man, so she ran. Where could a slave girl run on an island? Had she been able to swim, she would have made the short distance across Flag Pond to Blackbeard Island at the north end. Instead Luna hid in her beloved salt marsh that she knew inside and out.

    Once the white man’s body was found, a massive search began. All the slaves shrugged and cast their looks at the ground when the black overseer asked about Luna’s whereabouts. In a matter of minutes, the searchers would lead Master’s dogs into the marsh. Luna had to act quickly. She was a smart girl.

    Before running, she had mixed a potion that turned her into a blue heron, the calmest and most regal of the island’s birds. With one swallow, Luna could travel around the island and beyond. But always she returned to the marsh, to her island. In the marsh she could turn human again anytime she pleased. But as with all root, an unexpected development occurred. In place of her short dark curls, long blue hair tumbled around her shoulders. And a constant glow surrounded her, like one would imagine on an angel. But Luna was no angel.

    As years went by, she appeared only to those who would have to leave the island, sometimes dead, sometimes alive, sometimes somewhere in between. Those who met Luna were sure to lose something precious at the very least. Luna understood all about losing. She had traded her human existence for what she believed would bring her freedom. But living an independent life was never as simple as taking a potion or some root. And everyone could have learned a lesson from Luna’s story, but rarely do they listen, hardly ever do they understand where a yearning for freedom will take them or what battles they will have to fight.

    Part One

    101993.jpg

    RECOLLECTIONS AND BEGINNINGS

    CELESTIA

    Mama said I was a dreamer. She always said this with a cutting edge to the words. I saw things in a pretty way. Fancy is what my best friend, Emmaline, called it. She never saw anything in a fancy way, but we still loved each other. Sometimes we pretended we was sisters. Of course, Emmaline was the bossy older sister, even though we was the same age. But seeing pretty was the worst thing a slave girl could do. My love for beauty opened the door for ugly to come walking right in. I learned that from Emmaline too.

    My first recollection of Sapelo Island was a big oak tree with limbs like a giant’s arms and long, gray moss that looked like hair that swung wild in the wind. Mama said the trees was as alive as any person and heard our talks. Mama slung the hoe over her head and let it fall with a thud in the dirt of the cotton field. Sweat ran down her dark face, dripping off her jawbones. Mosquitoes buzzed around my ears and stung my bare arms and legs. Emmaline was off at another tree ’cause her mama and grandmama was working away from us on that day. I missed her something crazy ’cause we always played in the quiet way slave children too young to work did. The clang of a bell sounded so loud, I pressed my hands over my ears.

    Mama looked up from her place in the row. What you doing, child? I think she missed Emmaline too ’cause she always kept me from trouble.

    A bell is ringing, Mama. I ran to stand beside her.

    Mama never stopped swinging that hoe ’cause it could cost her a meal at the end of the day or worse. Beatings happened on that island all the time. Go back over there under that tree and keep quiet. Her voice was rough with the hot afternoon sun.

    The next day my older brother, Snug—he be twelve—was hit by a tall pine he was felling. He died right there on the spot. The other slaves was ordered to leave him be and keep working, like Snug was no better than some old mule. No telling how long he stayed under that tree until Mama heard and came after him. We buried him close to the cabin in the soft marsh mud. We was lucky. Slaves didn’t always get to bury their folks. We tended Snug’s grave, Mama and me. She said it was the only way she could still show her great love for him. She kept a bit of life on the hill of mud, even after it wore down flat. In the spring she might bring a sprig of honeysuckle vine. June brought fresh blackberries. Even in the dead of winter she placed the gray moss over him like a blanket. Pure love was in them simple gifts. But mostly she sat by his grave and talked to him every evening, no matter the weather. Me, I refused to speak to him. He ran off and left me. If he had something that was all-fire important, he would have to come talk to me first. But I thought maybe he had more sense than to stay on some old island when he was finally free.

    I heard the bell that nobody else on the island heard. The death bell tolled for only those with a special understanding, a sight into the future. My job was to let it be known when the bell rang, to warn. I learned all this from Emmaline, who had thoughts like a grown-up woman. Had she been with me that day, maybe we could have saved Snug. But I never told Mama that idea. Anyway, my job of warning wasn’t always the easiest thing to do, seeing how nobody wanted to hear about the death bell. I collected a lot of stubborn people along the way.

    When I put my feet on the dirt floor of the cabin each morning, I shot outside, headed for the salt marsh, to see a bird, a blue heron that picked me as best to watch over. The top of my head would tingle, and music—more than the sounds of birds and bugs, no words, only a melody, a soft sweet humming—moved on the wind. The heron stood straight and still. The song twisted and turned, pulling me closer to the bird. In that rhythm was a story, I could almost see, surrounded by a soft blue light. The beat worked through my small body, keeping time with my heart, my rushing blood. The marsh was me, and I was the marsh. Something be wrong with a little girl that loved a salt

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