A few years ago, my husband and I climbed down from the mountains and traveled south through ancient battlegrounds, the pine tree corridor, and the lowlands down to the sun-bleached roads of the south. The purpose was a sad one. I was traveling to say a final goodbye to my Father. That being said, I was beside myself with joy over going home and seeing my extended family, as well as showing my husband some of my favorite places. Not to mention the rare delicacies one can only properly find in that region and that my taste buds had so desperately missed.
During our stay, we decided, on a whim, to visit one of the coastal islands for a few hours. Upon our arrival, we were met with the most amazing history telling of Indian lands and Spanish battles against the English. We learned of old forts and ancient ruins of a manor house and the first brewery of that state. We learned of the island's attraction for the wealthy during the roaring 20s. A most amazing place really and I am sad we didn't have more time to spend there. After walking the main grounds for quite some time, enraptured with the Spanish-style architecture of the 1920s buildings, we were unable to locate the manor house ruins. At this point, we decided it might be best to explore the island via automobile.
We stopped at the beach, where we found a wonderful fort of sand that unknown hands had built before our arrival. The ocean had yet to claim it, although the wind was slowly chipping away at it. After some time admiring the tiny fort and the beauty of the ocean, we continued our journey by car, afraid we would never find the manor house ruins.
Traveling the oak tree lanes, we suddenly happened upon the house! There it stood in all its ruined glory. Now one would think of a manor house as something huge and very grand, yet during the 1700's this was not the case. It was a very simple two-story "tabby" structure. Tabby is a stone of sorts made from crushed oyster shells, not the cat. Each floor only had perhaps two rooms. As it stood, it was only a shell of the home. The floor was dirt, and the roof was long gone. Very excited, we parked in the small parking space and jumped out of the car.
As I came within 10 feet of the house, I was engulfed with the heavy energy of history and spirits. As I explored the house, taking in the energy, a female stepped forward. She was perhaps 5 ft 6 in tall. She wore a late 1700s style dress with a low-cut bodice and tight waist. The dress was a blue and white striped and she wore a white cap with ruffles along the brim of it. She was perhaps in her 30's and seemed very happy to finally, after all these years, have someone who could sense her. I had been describing her to my husband, so she knew I sensed her. She asked where everyone had gone and why no one would speak to her anymore. Although a bit distressed and confused, she did suspect that her physical body was indeed dead, as well as everyone else. I confirmed her suspicions, which seemed to bring a feeling of peace to her just to know truthfully what had happened to her. I explained that they were very likely waiting for her to cross over, and everyone would be there. I then felt her leave. At the same moment, I saw, out of the corner of my eye, in the yard, a white glowing figure run toward the woods. At this exact moment, my husband saw something fall from the sky and land at my feet, although I saw nothing of what he saw.
Upon my return home, I found that the man who had lived in the home during the 1700s did not seem to be married, as no wife or family had been listed for him. With this knowledge, I am fairly certain this woman with whom I spoke was a servant of his. I wish her Godspeed on her journey and am happy to have helped her find peace.