Piper, Once & Again Read online

  P R A I S E F R O M R E A D E R S

  “A beautifully written book that portrays the power and importance of a past life. Through the journey of Piper we experience a magical memory of another time that deeply affects her present life.”

  — LYNN V. ANDREWS, New York Times Bestselling Author of The Medicine Woman Series

  “… lingers on my heart long after the book has been read, the tea has been sipped, and the fire light has dimmed. It not only entertains with its story of multi-generations told through the lens of a rare heroine, but it is also a feast for the senses. I cannot see or smell lavender now without Piper riding through my mind on her majestic steed. Piper feels real to me, as do all great heroes and heroines of literature. Haunting, inspirational, emotional, suspenseful, and sensual are words I use to describe the unique perfume of this must-read novel.”

  — KELLY SULLIVAN WALDEN, Bestselling Author of The Love, Sex & Relationship Dream Dictionary, and a Certified Clinical Hypnotherapist

  “Piper, Once & Again is as emotionally complex and compelling as the scents that seize its heroine, calling her back to another life whose echoes she is feeling in this one. While Zani toggles between two different lifetimes, a story of a young women’s rich inner life becomes connected to her outer. Zani’s story-telling is strong, adept and spare, like the sturdy horse barns in which Piper finds solace. I couldn’t put it down.”

  — LAURA PARKER ROERDEN, Author of Salt From the Earth blog

  “I am enamored as much by words as by Lavender, and in this book, I am overjoyed to have both. I was both surprised and delighted by the superb writing of Ms. Zani—surprised that she captured in words exactly the feelings I’ve had while picking Lavender for two months every year for 13 years. She truly is a wordsmith, and I am grateful to find someone who could put it so eloquently and elegantly.”

  — KRISTIN ORR, Lavender Farmer, Owner, Fort Hill Farms

  “This is a wonderful story about the self, the soul, and the love that follows us from one lifetime into the next. Love never ends or dies but continues to follow us always. Such relatable characters, I couldn’t put it down! This book is so wonderful—as I read it, I was reminded of my own childhood memories. It played like a movie across my mind’s screen. Love. Love. Love it! I can’t wait to see it on the big screen!”

  — JACKIE WAITKUS, Spirit Medium,

  blendingtwoworlds.com

  “These pages are a stunningly beautiful and fragrant voyage. I journeyed alongside Piper through the weaving of vivid lifetimes. The ethereal scenery calls me back to visit often and I find myself missing her. I felt her joys and her grief as if my own, understanding her plight at a level of my own soul, unknown to me prior to opening this wonderful story of timeless love. In many ways I am Piper and Piper is every woman.”

  — ANDREA VASSILIDIS, Host of Playing in the Matrix

  “From the moment I began reading, I knew this story was one that belonged to every woman. Through devastation and life circumstances beyond her control, Piper learns she has a strength and dignity she hadn’t yet known she possessed. Stretching our faith and preconceived notions about life and death, Piper leads us down a path we might not expect and like close friends we watch helplessly as she struggles and truly feel her angst as she goes from shattered to triumphant, faithless to graceful, tarnished to the queen of her own court. This must grace the big screen one day!”

  — GINA CLAPPROOD, Personal Growth Coach and Advisor,

  www.ginaclapprood.com

  “A wonderful love story on many levels—the love of a man and woman, husband and wife, the love of parents for their children, and the love of children for their parents, and the bond and love between horse and owner. It is a timeless story that I will read again for sure. I loved the ending...now that was a surprise. I was moved to tears for a lot of it. It truly touched my soul.”

  — BONNIE S. KAVANAGH, R.N., Herbalist

  For Amanda, my pearl in the sand.

  And for Piper for showing me the way.

  Piper, Once & Again

  Caroline E. Zani

  ISBN: 978-1-942545-11-8

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2016932378

  ©2016 Caroline E. Zani. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Wyatt-MacKenzie Publishing, Inc.

  www.WyattMacKenzie.com

  Contact us: [email protected]

  Table Of Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Acknowledgements

  THIS STORY IS ONE OF HOPE AND FAITH and is intended to seep into the parts of your heart that you might not know are there or perhaps have forgotten about.

  Special thanks to Gina Clapprood of Intuitive Advisement who said to me, “Just sit at your computer and see what happens. You have a story in you. Others will connect to it. They need it.”

  Thanks also to Jackie Waitkus of Blending Two Worlds who has guided me on my journey since this book was written and has taught me much about Spirit and the understanding that indeed I chose to come here—with purpose, and for connecting me with such beautiful souls: David Reilly, Diana Fairfax, Kim Landini, Maribeth Cain, Michelle Cloutier, and Betty Applegate. You are all in my heart forever.

  Thanks to Andrea Vassiliadis for her constant encouragement and guidance in all areas of life, including introducing me to the incredible author “Dr. Dream,” Kelly Sullivan Walden, who introduced me to my agent Devra Jacobs, who connected me with my amazing publisher. Thank you to my publishing team, particularly Nancy Cleary. Her insight and experience are true gifts, her patience much appreciated and her enthusiasm is second to none. She is truly a visionary and I am grateful and humbled to have the chance to work with her. Thank you, Ladies, for being who you are and allowing me to be me.

  Thanks to Andy Marcoux of Coachman’s Delight who came into my life when I needed him most—before I knew I needed him.

  Thanks to my dearest friend, Detective Ciara Maguire-Ryan, for helping me when I didn’t think I needed it so that I could help her later when she didn’t think she needed any more friends because it’s funny how it all works.

  Thank you to Brian Lozeau for finding me again in this lifetime. I have no doubt our connection precedes 1982. And though I still can’t find the words on this keyboard to express what you mean to me, I’ll keep trying. You are my heart of hearts. I love you.

  Most important, thanks to my beautiful Amanda for changing my life in the ways that only a child can. You came here with purpose and I watch in awe as you find it.

  And finally to my future great-great grandchildren, know that you are never alone. When you read
this story, feel me there with you and learn to connect. It is your birthright and I look forward to being part of your Life.

  “The wound is the place the Light enters you.”

  – Rumi

  Chapter 1

  SITTING IN HER BOYFRIEND’S NEW 1970 Monte Carlo on Maple Street, Destiny Lynn Bohens wiped tears from her eyes and said a little prayer for herself, the unborn child she had just met, and for the uptight and righteous Elizabeth who, in her rigid ways, blocked the beautiful messages that wanted to be heard.

  “I must have been born in the wrong century, again,” Destiny said to the cross hanging on her rearview mirror. “I don’t know why people think you can’t believe in God and Jesus and be psychic; for crying out loud, they’re all the same thing. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. “No, goddamn it, I’m not a freak! I just understand things most other people don’t understand—yet.” Whatever, they paid me. Aaaaannd they don’t burn girls at the stake anymore. Thaaaank God! Her breath was slowing down as she counted the bills in her hand. She was starting to feel better but it always stung a little.

  “What? You hired a fortune teller to tell me the sex of my baby? I, I can’t do that.” Elizabeth didn’t know if she should run, scream, punch, or say a rosary.

  The woman in all black who went by the name of Destiny reached out with long, bony fingers. They reminded Elizabeth of the type that could poke your eye out, knit a shawl, and dial the deli down the street all in the same instant. They were cold and quick and decidedly witch-like. Where does someone like this come from? She was suddenly thankful for the upbringing she’d had. The staunch and religious Catholics could explain away all the ills of the world with a simple prayer.

  “Now just lie still and hand me your wedding ring and I will tell you if your baby is a boy or a girl, dear.”

  Elizabeth took a breath and said, “What is that smell? Incense? Herbs?” She didn’t know why she was going along with this malarkey, this nonsense, never mind how she failed to realize Helen had planned an entire party without her knowing. Helen couldn’t do anything without someone’s approval, particularly Elizabeth’s. And this was just one more bit of evidence proving that Helen was really not the caliber of friend she ought to have in her life. Her mother was right about those “Protestant-types” and she figured this was just the proof in the pudding.

  Elizabeth Ann Turchino took another deep breath and as she let it silently out of her lungs she could feel her baby. “Foolishness!” she said under her breath as she listened to the hushed whispers of the others. They crowded around as if to watch a show of sorts. “I’m glad my mother isn’t here to see this.”

  The ring hung on the end of the string and was still. A little too still apparently, because Ms. Bones pulled up on the string ever so slightly to get it moving and at once the women took a collective breath that seemed to suck all movement and sound out of the tiny parlor in Helen’s home.

  They watched in amazement as the ring began to turn and pull the string out in a widening arc around Elizabeth’s protruding belly. “Oh my God!” “I don’t believe my eyes!” “Holy smoke, Elizabeth!” These were the things Elizabeth didn’t hear. At that moment she was no longer Mrs. Anthony Turchino, new bride and mother-to-be. No, she wasn’t any one person but the amalgamation of many—women’s names and faces, their hair and eyes, their breath, joy and sadness, sorrow, and exhilaration filled the Elizabeth that lay on the sofa. Young faces, older ones, sun-wrinkled and creamy smooth, each one with a familiarity only a memory could bring.

  One face in particular kept coming toward her mind’s eye. It was one that she somehow knew would be the adult face of the child she carried in her belly. What a beautiful face—like Anthony’s, but feminine and so strong and framed by silky black hair. How could this be, how could she see her face forty years from now? She couldn’t speak. The face looked at her—for what seemed an eternity and a tenuous moment all at once—then slowly tilted to the side ever so slightly, blinked, and mouthed, “I forgive you, Mom.”

  “PIPER!”

  Elizabeth struggled to sit up on the rust-colored sofa and looked around at the incredulity on the faces of the young women who invited her to tea but surprised her with a shower instead. At that moment she really wished she had some tea and was sitting with her husband at their small kitchen table at home. Feeling a bit embarrassed and not wanting anyone to confirm what she had just encountered, she kept her eyes on the hands of Destiny. Slowly she searched, one by one, the faces of her friends as if for an explanation as to what had just taken place.

  After a few moments she began to hear the voices slowly coming back to her and realized then that they must have been talking all along, she just hadn’t heard them. “A girl, Elizabeth!” “You’re having a baby girl. I just knew it!” “I can’t wait to shop for everything pink with you!” “Tony will be so happy—two ladies in the house to wait on him!”

  Helen’s face came into her view and the paleness it displayed confirmed for Elizabeth that she hadn’t just imagined the last five or so minutes. Her best friend handed the witch some money and ushered her out to the porch even before she had a chance to explain what had happened.

  “But I need to speak with her!” Destiny insisted as she looked deep into the eyes of Helen. “This doesn’t happen often, you don’t understand! That baby is different—she’s a gift! You must let me tell her—PLEASE! The child she carries needs guidance, she needs to know!”

  “Listen, you were great, your act and everything—really convincing.” Helen shifted her weight back and forth. “Liz doesn’t believe in any of that stuff so we just did it for fun!”

  Destiny’s heart sank.

  “Would you like to take a piece of cake for your ride home?” Helen knew she would refuse the offer and was glad when the woman turned toward the street and waved her off.

  The guests hugged her one last time before departing; it was Helen who asked, “Liz, Why did you yell ‘Piper’ when you sat up and opened your eyes?” Elizabeth shrugged as she nervously folded and unfolded the napkin in front of her at the dessert table.

  “I don’t remember saying that,” she lied.

  “Oh, well, I guess it must have been my imagination then.”

  Elizabeth, now wanting to bolt from the house, nodded back at Helen knowing that their friendship was too thready, too porous, too dangerous. With a reddened face and shaking voice she demanded, “I did not say it, Helen!”

  When she finally fled the tiny cape house on Grove Street, Elizabeth knew she would never return, and that her friendship with Helen would have to end. Anyone who believed in such witch-craft and sorcery would have to burn in hell without me. I just hope it’s not too late to save myself.

  Destiny held her breath when she saw Elizabeth walking quickly across the lawn to her car nearby. For a moment, her hand lay on the door handle of the Monte and she thought, I can try again—get her to hear me. I can help her see how amazing that little baby is. She stopped herself when she saw Elizabeth make the sign of the cross with one hand and open her car with the other.

  Elizabeth flung open the door of her car so forcefully that it swung back and closed before she could say “Amen.” She looked through tears at the door handle and tried again. What just happened? What was that back there? I can’t tell Anthony, he would be so angry. She seated herself behind the wheel and felt grateful to be on her way home to Anthony and their steadfast faith. When the motor came to life she rubbed her face with both hands, then pulled away from the curb and began a rosary that in a lot of ways would never really be finished.

  Chapter 2

  OKAY. SO GOD SENDS BABIES to the Daddy and then he gives them to the Mommy? And then the doctor takes the baby out of the mother’s stomach? So … why can’t Dad just give you another one?

  Piper would have liked to ask her mother these things but the couple of times she tried, her mother made her feel as though she had done something wrong. But Piper remembered. She remembered b
eing born and she remembered dying, too—before she was born.

  “The other time—the one with my Mère who died in the night.” That conversation resulted in a slap across her freshly washed four-year-old cheek and her mother’s own cheeks drained of color. Piper, like most only children, yearned for a sister or brother to keep her company when she was growing up, but it never came to be. Her parents were sensitive to her desire and allowed her the horse, the dog, the cats, rabbits, anything she wanted except for what she really wanted. Elizabeth always marveled at her daughter’s imagination in this area and told Piper—through tears once—about an imaginary friend that had kept Piper company when she was young. “But he went away, like your thumb-sucking and nail-biting.”

  Frightened by her mother’s tears, she pretended to only vaguely remember the visits by a little boy when she was still in her crib but she remembered him as being real, not at all imagined. And she remembered every detail of his serious face, always showing concern for her. His hair, a blonde so light it was almost without color, his voice so familiar and comforting. But his most distinguishing features by far were his eyes, a blue so bright that she could never find it in anything else in her world—not in the sky, the neighbor’s pool, her box of sixty-four Crayolas. His voice brought serenity and calmed all her fears. She could listen to him for hours. But like the stories she and her grandfather used to make up at bedtime, he went the way of her childhood. The years slipped by, and Piper began to believe what she was told, that this beloved friend of hers had been nothing more than childhood fantasy.

  His name was Vander; she knew that, like she knew her own name. He was slightly older than she, and he loved her. She was as sure of this as she was that her parents loved her. It was a constant in her young life, like breath, like water, like life itself. Vander came to sit with her when she couldn’t sleep because of a bad dream or a fight she’d had with a classmate that day or because of a fever that was burning her up inside. He would put his cool hand on her forehead and tell her stories of a far-off village across the sea. “A very long time ago we both lived in that village together. Through the woods and down the lanes,” he said. “We rode our horses out to the sea to watch my father bring in the day’s catch. Along the sand we counted seashells from the backs of Pieferet and Henk, their long, curly manes covering our summer skin.” He told her how they laughed and told jokes as the horses trod through the loose sand and up onto the dunes. “Sometimes we stayed long enough to watch the gulls come in to feed on whatever scraps were left behind when the fishermen went home to their families.”