The Hidden Legacy

grandfather to my father, to me, and then to your mother. She’s been holding it these last few months. But now it’s your turn. Your duty.”
“My turn? My duty to do what?”
“It’s your responsibility to hold the jewel now.”
“The jewel?”
“The emerald. It’s enchanted...bewitched and set in a silver ring,” she said, and I felt a jolt go all the way to my toes.
“I’ve never seen you wear an emerald ring.” My mind raced as I considered what she was telling me.
“It’s not merely a ring, Hannah. It’s our legacy. There’s a charm, a spell that was laid upon it over two hundred years ago.”
“By whom?” I asked, trying to clarify.
“Felicity,” my grandmother insisted as rain began to beat against the windows. “You must remember.”
“Felicity,” I repeated. “I’ll remember.”
“Mark my words.” My grandmother took a careful breath. “The poesy ring, for the true of heart is but a boon,” she chanted. “For all others, the emerald surely spells their doom.”
The hair rose on the back of my neck. “Go on,” I said.
My grandmother’s gaze was steady as she linked her hands with mine. “To a steadfast soul the legacy passes, heavy though it may be; to become bewitched and beloved, blessed by the moon, stars, and sea.”
The summer storm broke. Lightning flashed and thunder shook the building. The monitors at her bedside began to beep and ring. The shrill sounds had my heart racing. My parents came rushing back into the room, and I heard my father shouting for a nurse.
“Grandma!” I squeezed her hands. “Stay with me!”
“I love you Hannah,” she said.
They were the last words she ever spoke.

CHAPTER ONE
I stood in the bright summer sunshine on the high hill that overlooked the harbor of Danversport, Massachusetts, holding my son’s hand. It was one month from the day that my grandmother had died, and my family was still adjusting to a world without Grandma Oz in it.
I was still adjusting to it. I thought, and bent down to place a bouquet of daisies on the grave. A yellow butterfly fluttered past and I smiled. My grandmother always had a real affection for butterflies. She’d been an Air Witch, and had surrounded herself with all things associated with that element. From the canaries she had as pets, to the butterfly garden she’d planted for my mother, the bees she’d kept, even the tattoo she’d had on her shoulder.
“Mama?” Eli asked, tugging on my fingers. Today he was wearing a pirate themed t-shirt, denim shorts, and sneakers. His tricorn hat was clutched respectfully over his heart as we stood beside the grave.
“Yes, baby?”
“Is Nana Oz watching over us?”
I smiled, watching as the butterfly flew farther away. “I’m sure she is.”
“That’s what Pops said.” Eli swung our hands back and forth.
I grinned down at him. “Well if Pops says so, it must be true,” I agreed, thinking of my father.
“I like seeing the boats!” Eli smiled at me. His first baby tooth had come out the week before. He squinted up at the sun, his pale blonde hair waved in the breeze. His eyes, the same denim blue as mine, were curious as he viewed the old cemetery and out to the port below.
“Is my daddy buried here?” he asked casually.
Caught off guard, I glanced down at him. “No. He’s not,” I said, trying to answer him as simply as he’d asked.
“He’s in ‘lington?” Eli struggled to pronounce the word.
“Arlington,” I said.
“Cause he was a solider.” Eli nodded.
“That’s right,” I agreed. “He was a soldier.” Eli didn’t remember his father, he’d only been a baby when John had been killed in action. I ran my hand over Eli’s bright sunny hair, shades lighter than mine. The pale blonde tresses my son had inherited from his father.
John had been a good father to Eli for the short time he’d had with him. I sighed, and wondered for the millionth time if I was doing everything right. Being both mother and father to my little boy.
My worrying seemed for nothing, as Eli changed topics in the blink of an eye. He tucked his hat under one arm, pulled his little spy glass out of his back pocket, aimed it at the port below and chattered on about boats, the upcoming fourth of July fireworks, and his all consuming obsession, pirates.
“Ready to go, sailor?” I asked him.
“I’m watching the ships, mom,” he answered. “The bad guys might be planning to plunder the port.”
I rolled my eyes. I really needed to have a talk with my father about watching old pirate movies with Eli. It was only making the pirate fixation worse. “That’s a good idea,” I agreed. “But maybe we should take a walk down at the marina.” Eli’s head snapped up at my words. “That way you could be sure that we are prepared, in case of an invasion.”
“Aye, aye!” He clapped his hat on his head and scrambled for the car.
The drive to the marina was a short one, and I’d barely put the car in park before Eli had unbuckled himself from his booster seat.
“Hang on,” I warned him.
I went around the car and opened the door for him. He hopped down, still wearing his hat, grabbed my hand and began tugging me along towards the marina. We walked along the little boardwalk and viewed the boats in dock. There were all sorts of boats here. Pleasure boats, yachts, fishing boats, house boats, sailboats, and cabin cruisers.
Eli beamed as he walked along. I kept his hand in mine, and movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. A man stood on the deck of a fancy sailboat, checking the rigging. His dark blonde hair was tousled, curly, and he had a mustache and goatee. He wore long khaki shorts and an unbuttoned blue chambray shirt which framed a strip of very nicely tanned and toned chest.
“Wow,” I said under my breath, doing my best not to ogle the eye candy that was a few yards away.
“Mama,” Eli breathed. “It’s a