Nineteen seventy five, p.1
Nineteen Seventy-Five, page 1
Nineteen Seventy-Five
The Seven Book Five
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.
* * *
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
* * *
First Edition
ISBN: 9781099456220
* * *
Publisher Contact:
sarah@sarahmcradit.com
www.sarahmcradit.com
Contents
Preface
Also by Sarah M. Cradit
The Seven in 1975
Spring 1975
Prologue: Irish Colleen and the Seven
1. A Lovely Secret
2. Say You Love Me
3. Landslide
4. Love Hurts
5. Tickets Home
Summer 1975
6. Crazy on You
7. Try, Try Again
8. The Witch
9. The Diary
10. The Arrangement
Fall 1975
11. Highs and Lows
12. Dreamers
13. Wish You Were Here
14. Over My Head
15. Now, Here We Are
Winter 1975
16. Highs and Lows
17. The Ghosts are Gone
18. Christmas Eve
19. Christmas Day
20. In My Time of Dying
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, 1973, and 1974.
This is the fifth book of seven, and if you’re a reader of The House of Crimson & Clover, you might begin to see the future come together quite neatly—and, in some cases, tragically—in this story. When I wrote The House of Crimson & Clover and the accompanying histories of the characters you’re reading about now, many years before The Seven was even planned, I remember 1975 as being a watershed year for the Deschanels, in more ways than one. I made that decision long before I ever decided to write this series, and it’s a decision that shaped every character involved, past and future.
There are benefits to knowing the general histories before sitting down to write an origin series. To have the high-level timeline already mapped out makes outlining that much easier, and I’ve surprised myself with how well the past and future flow together. But the downside is that what is written in canon cannot be changed. And while my past self, writing for the future, decided 1975 would be a significant year for the family, my present self, writing for the past, felt the emotional toll of that decision.
1975 is a story filled with equal amounts of joy and tragedy. It’s a banner year, one that sets up both the remainder of this series and The House of Crimson & Clover, where the children of The Seven are the lead characters. This book will likely be an emotional roller-coaster to read, just as it was to write, but—and if you tell the other books this, I’ll deny it—for these reasons and more, it’s my favorite in the series so far. Knowing what I know now, I wouldn’t go back and change a thing about the year 1975. As we know, in real life, big years happen. We can all look back on certain years of our life as being a little bit more.
One thing I feel compelled to point out, as I believe I have in prior books: Although I mention The House of Crimson & Clover several times, it’s not necessary to read that series to fully appreciate The Seven. I do, however, hope that when this series ends, it leaves you feeling the urge to see what happens next, for both these characters and their children. The Saga of Crimson & Clover is designed to have multiple ways of experiencing the world that never need to connect, unless you want them to, but I’ll always hope I’ve done my job by making you want them to.
As with the earlier novels in the series, I feel it’s important to add the disclaimer that I was not alive at any point in the ’70s. I was raised on the music, values, and results of that period, coming up in the ’80s with a vision of the world that matched what my parents had experienced in that pivotal decade. I’ve leveraged experiences and memories of those who did come of age in the era, but any errors are solely my own. If this paragraph looks familiar, you probably read a version of it in the Prefaces of the earlier books.
Lastly, if you’ve read the short story A Band of Heather, you’ll recognize a story involving Colleen (no spoilers) that is also told here, in 1975. The short was written years before this series was planned, so to remain true to both, some of the passages are very similar, though this book expands considerably upon that original story. A Band of Heather was meant to be a glimpse into that piece of Colleen’s life, whereas this is a full look.
With all that said, proceed with a full heart and an open mind. Tissues wouldn’t hurt, either.
Also by Sarah M. Cradit
KINGDOM OF THE WHITE SEA
* * *
Kingdom of the White Sea Trilogy
The Kingless Crown
The Broken Realm
The Hidden Kingdom
* * *
The Book of All Things
The Raven and the Rush
The Sylvan and the Sand
The Altruist and the Assassin
The Melody and the Master
The Claw and the Crowned
THE SAGA OF CRIMSON & CLOVER
* * *
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
A Torrent of Deceit
* * *
The Seven Series
1970
1972
1973
1974
1975
1976
1980
* * *
Vampires of the Merovingi Series
The Island
and more
* * *
The Dusk Trilogy
St. Charles at Dusk: The Story of Oz and Adrienne
Flourish: The Story of Anne Fontaine
Banshee: The Story of Giselle Deschanel
* * *
Crimson & Clover Stories
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
Bayou’s Edge: The Landry Triplets
For more information, and exciting bonus material, visit www.sarahmcradit.com
The Seven in 1975
Children of
August Deschanel (deceased) &
Colleen “Irish Colleen” Brady
* * *
Charles August Deschanel, Aged 25
Augustus Charles Deschanel, Aged 24
Colleen Amelia Deschanel, Aged 23
Madeline Colleen Deschanel, Deceased
Evangeline Julianne Deschanel, Aged 21
Maureen Amelia Deschanel, Aged 19
Elizabeth Jeanne Deschanel, Aged 16
For Colleen
SPRING 1975
* * *
NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA
VACHERIE, LOUISIANA
CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS
EDINBURGH, SCOTLAND
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.
Charles’ icy eyes penetrated from his senior picture. She had better pictures of him… less overtly hostile, ones betraying a softer side to her hardened son. She should replace this with one of those, but as she thought of him living his loveless life, in his hollow ancestral home, she didn’t deserve his smile. The brutal intensity of his gaze reminded her of her role in his unhappiness. One hand of her penance.
Augustus’ picture was no better. If Charles was fueled by his rage, Augustus bottled his sadness and turned it into steeled determination. His drawn look belied his stoic resolve, his absolute commitment to anything in life th
Irish Colleen didn’t know which of her sons she worried for more.
Her oldest daughter, her namesake, Colleen, beamed a dutiful, if impatient smile from her spot on the mantle. Taking a picture, like so many things, was a waste of time for Colleen, who was always looking for what was next, what higher bar she could reach for. She’d reached across the ocean this time, and Scotland seemed to brighten her in a way nothing at home ever had. Irish Colleen suspected, even, that Colleen had met someone, though she held out no hope of news, for Colleen was deeply private.
At least she would be home this summer. Nearly a year had passed since she’d last seen her, and Irish Colleen could tell no one of how much her absence hurt, for this pain was necessary for her daughter to spread her wings and grow.
As for Madeline, the next face on her nightly journey, there would be no wings. Irish Colleen said a prayer for her daughter’s soul and moved on.
Evangeline was gone now, maybe forever. Even when she was a baby, Irish Colleen looked upon her fifth child with a sense she was peering upon someone who was not one of them. It was a terrible thing to think about one’s own child, and Irish Colleen spent many, many nights praying for the feeling to go away. But when it did not, she learned, instead, to embrace the “otherness” of Evangeline and push her toward the greatness she was born for. Irish Colleen lacked the education or the resourcefulness to know where Evangeline’s life should take her, but she knew enough to keep pushing. Always pushing. She didn’t know if Evangeline would ever come home. If she didn’t, it might not be the worst thing.
Irish Colleen prayed over that feeling, too.
And Maureen… Maureen, her child, through and through. Maureen didn’t know this, and never would, because Irish Colleen preferred the way her children saw her, even if it wasn’t the entire picture. Irish Colleen was seventeen when she fell pregnant with Charles, and she wasn’t the unwitting pawn others saw her to be. Nor had August Deschanel been her first.
Maureen wasn’t speaking to her now, but she would. When Maureen was a mother, she would finally understand what it meant to sacrifice, and in doing so, give up the foolish dream of deeper happiness. The matter of her marriage to the Blanchard had been, for once, not Irish Colleen’s doing, though she didn’t disagree with it, either. Maureen could do so much worse, and almost had.
Irish Colleen climbed the stairs and made her way toward Elizabeth’s room. Elizabeth was sixteen now, and there was nothing, not in the way her sinewy limbs had turned to curves, nor in the intensity of her knowing gaze, that allowed for a glimpse into the girl she’d only very recently been. Something else had changed Lizzy, something Irish Colleen wasn’t privy to, for once.
She was afraid of her youngest daughter. She always had been, truth be told, but to see Elizabeth become a woman made her danger all the more real. Elizabeth held within her dark truths that had been slowly destroying her, and the shell required to live with such darkness did not come without a price.
Elizabeth wasn’t sleeping. She wasn’t even in her room. She hovered at the end of the hall, not in a nightgown anymore, but in a pair of cotton briefs and a tank top. She leaned over the desk just under the dormer window, which had been a selling point of the house. Elizabeth had loved the dormer window in their house near the cemetery, and there was very little Elizabeth loved. Irish Colleen had so few opportunities to do something meaningful for her.
“What’re you looking at?”
“The rain,” Elizabeth said. She wrapped her ankles together and leaned further forward. “Probably our last storm of the season that won’t feel like a sauna.”
“You’ll freeze in that,” Irish Colleen admonished. She unwrapped her own shawl and moved to drape it over Elizabeth.
“Stop,” Elizabeth said, shrugging it away. “You have the heat jacked up to eighty. I can hardly breathe.”
“Well, I’ll turn it down then,” Irish Colleen said, slighted. “Goodness, you’ve never complained before.”
“What would be the point?”
“Don’t get sassy with me, missy.”
“What do you want me to say, Mama? Shit, you’ve never liked anyone questioning you.”
“Elizabeth! That mouth!”
“I guess I should get the soap?”
Irish Colleen spun her daughter around. Elizabeth fell back on the balls of her feet, glowering. “What has gotten into you?” She touched the back of her hand to her forehead. “You don’t feel warm.”
“Lord in heaven, as if every time I’m cranky it must mean I’m with fever!”
“Elizabeth!”
“Well, Mama, ask me already! That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To get your semi-annual premonition, designed to make me feel even more helpless as I watch you brood through your guessing games?”
“You really are not yourself, Lizzy. I might just call your doctor…”
“You call him and I won’t be here.” Elizabeth crossed her arms. Her eyes glowed in the dark hall, set to the dark tones of the storm outside. She was the storm inside. “I’m tired. Tired of everything. You wanna know what’s happening to our family this year, Mama? Births! Deaths! Two for one special!” She threw her hands up in the air. “There? You happy now?”
Elizabeth stormed into her room and slammed the door.
Chapter 1
A Lovely Secret
Colleen watched the sun slowly rise over Edinburgh, as the light made its slow approach over the room, cutting a bright swash across the patchwork comforter. She rested her left hand in the thick band of sunlight and turned it to and fro, admiring the heartiness of her dried heather band.
Beside her, Noah slept.
In the end is our beginning, he’d said, and oh, how much had changed in the span of only a few days, set to the magic of Skye.
* * *
After that afternoon at the fairy pool, they’d spent the following days of their lovers’ respite traveling the windy roads of Skye, hiking the jagged cliffs of Storr, enjoying porridge at a small inn in Uig, and traversing the Fairy Glen, which resonated with even more magic than the pools. Colleen had fallen in love with the sloping, hilly glen, and the fairy circles, insisting, to Noah’s amusement, on leaving an offering for the mysterious beings.
“You believe in this, do you, my goddess of science?”
“I believe in everything, even those things science can’t explain.”
Noah kissed her and left his own offering, to please her.
They’d navigated the island like intrepid explorers, never tiring of discovery, or each other. Their evenings they spent wrapped in embrace, sharing every corner of their souls, except the darkest.
What will become of us when we return to the world? she had thought then, and still, now, didn’t have the answer.
On New Year’s Eve, as their trip neared its end, she’d beseeched Noah to take her back to the magical glen. She had one last wish of the fairies.
