AWEN RISING: E7, Chapter Twelve
Chapter 12, The Hester Family
Hi there, I’m glad you’re here! You have landed on Episode 7 of Awen Rising. If you are beginning the story, or looking for a different episode, follow the links. Otherwise, you’re in the right place. Read on!
Episode One (Chapters 1 - 3)
Episode Two (Chapters 4 - 5)
Episode Three (Chapters 6 - 7)
Episode Four (Chapter 8)
Episode Five (Chapter 9)
Episode Six (Chapters 10 - 11)
Episode Seven (Chapter 12)
QUICK REMINDER: The first chapter of my new serial, Crossed, Cursed, & Nearly Dead, releases this Monday, June 30 (my birthday). This new serial is an urban fantasy thriller spun off from the Awen Trilogy. It takes place in the Awen Universe, featuring well-loved characters alongside many new ones, including the ghost of Sean O’Leary, a murdered GBI agent and the MC’s nephew.
NB: You’ll need a paid subscription to read this new thriller. Get it for 50% off until July 5th:
It’s my birthday! On June 30th, I’ll be 60-something years young. To celebrate, through July 5th, 2025, I’m offering paid memberships at 50% off—that’s an annual subscription for only $25 and a monthly subscription for $2.50.
Becoming a paid member:
Grants you access to my new paid serial, Crossed, Cursed, & Nearly Dead, (beg 6/30/25), gets you an eBook copy of Awen Rising, and provides access to my growing archives of humorous (and not-so) self-help, slice-of-life, and writing tips articles. Also available later in July—a character list for Awen Rising that will help you keep track of the multiple POVs.
Puts Awen’s Porch in the running for Substack’s Leaderboards. Why is this important? It furthers our mission of helping readers find and join our growing community.
Makes this indie author happy that you care enough to be part of her lonely day-to-day writing world.
🎶Now, on with the show, this is it!🎶
Chapter 12, The Hester Family
For the second time in as many hours, Mitchell Wainwright found himself careening into a parking lot, this time at Emory University Hospital. His family, the Wainwrights, had helped build this place. Then, after the war in 2029, they helped rebuild it, erecting new stone walls that stood ten feet high. When manned, it made a formidable fortress.
Good old Emory. Mitch’s alma mater. The affiliated teaching hospital was the finest in the country. It was also where, Mitch was convinced, he had been abandoned by his real father. The same hands and birthdays were not the only things Mitch and Emily Hester had in common.
A shadow flickered across the woman’s shuttered face. Fear jolted through him, a fleeting yet alarming thought that she could read his mind. Shaking it off, Mitch scrambled from the car.
He was willing to bet Emily Hester had no idea about her abilities. If the rumors were true, her mother took her away to keep her from learning magic. He and his cohorts were relying on that.
Emily caught up to Mitch at the elevator and crowded in behind him. “What should I do when we get there?”
“Do nothing and say nothing until I tell you.”
Daggers flashed from her jade eyes. She wrinkled her nose, dug a lipstick from her purse, and used the mirrored wall to stain pursed lips.
Mitch planted himself in the corner, keeping one eye on the numbers over the door and the other on his half-sister. Half-sister, bah! He closed his eyes to hide the familiar surge of resentment as the white-hot bubbles expanded to fill his chest.
Despite the bitterness that dogged his every breath, Mitch had been meticulous in his search. He couldn’t help feeling pride in finding Emily Hester. The other firm hadn’t come close in twenty-four years. Now, he was delivering his half-sister to Hamilton Hester, the man who had yet to acknowledge Mitch’s identity, much less welcome him to the family empire.
Frustration fueled Mitch’s hatred. It had taken all of his considerable acting skills to be cordial over pizza. Emily was the one person who had what Mitch wanted—a claim to the Hester Empire and the Druid throne. But more importantly, the power that came with both.
☼☼☼
Emily stepped from the elevator and ducked behind the attorney as a cacophony of sights and smells assailed her already-jangled senses. Muttering medics wheeled a man past them on a squeaking gurney. Sniffles rose from another left alone in the hallway.
The smell of antiseptic mingled with the rot of death. When a nurse shrilled at an orderly for stealing or spilling a bedpan, Emily jumped. It must’ve been the latter, considering the resounding clatter.
There was a line at Emergency Admissions. A harried mother with two crying toddlers cuddled a screaming baby whose arm stuck out at an unnatural angle. An old man clung to a frail woman who wheezed and hacked like Ralph chugging a hairball.
Sheesh. Ralph. She needed to get back. He must be going crazy in that cage in a strange place.
Instead, she was here at the hospital with skinheads and winos and all manner of sick people. Around the corner of a wavy glass wall, a baby cried feverishly in a waiting area filled to overflowing. Emily whimpered and wrapped her arms across her chest. The suffering pressed against her from all sides.
“We can’t wait here, dammit,” Mitchell growled, echoing Emily’s thoughts. He elbowed his way to the window, ignoring the protests from those waiting in line.
“I am Mitchell Albom Wainwright the Third. I need you to locate Hamilton Hester for me. He arrived a while ago by ambulance.”
Directed to a different desk by a clerk who was clearly happy to be rid of them, the two waited impatiently for ten minutes while the staff located Emily’s biological father.
He had been admitted on arrival and whisked to surgery right away. More than that, the attendant refused to divulge, even though Emily was his daughter and Mitchell played both the attorney and the Wainwright family name card.
When the two were on yet another elevator, heading for the surgical wing, Emily broached the subject of Ralph. “We need to hurry. Ralph’s been stuck in his cage all day. I’ve got to let him out.” She rubbed her chest, where the knife of remorse twisted.
“Good God, woman,” Mitchell spit as the door opened. “Your father could be dying, and you’re worried about a stupid cat. What is wrong with you?”
He stomped from the elevator with a backward scowl. Primed to give him a piece of her mind, Emily stormed the door Wainwright let close behind him.
“For your information, Ralph is my family,” she blurted and stopped. Strangers crowded the waiting room, surrounding the attorney. All turned to stare at Emily. Even the two little girls.
“Who is this?” barked the sloe-eyed woman cozying up to Wainwright. The strident voice belied her petite form.
“I would think that’d be obvious, my dear,” another drawled. She resembled the first but was taller and heavier in girth.
The second woman glided toward Emily, merry eyes dancing and delight painting every feature of her face. “You must be Cousin Emily, come back to Georgia after all these years. Welcome home, Cuz.”
Before Emily could react, she was engulfed in a bear hug. She fought the urge to struggle and allowed her new cousin to rock her back and forth. Thoroughly embraced, she was released to arm’s length for the buxom brunette to give her a once-over.
“I know you don’t remember me, sugar.” Emily was sure she would recognize that drawl had she heard it before. “And I don’t expect you to. It’s been a long, long time, and we were girls when you left. I’m Becca, and this is my mama, your aunt. Morgan Foster. The mouthy one here is my sister, Dana.”
“Watch it, you!” Dana backhanded her sibling’s shoulder.
Morgan took Emily’s hand and pulled her close to rock her against her majestic frame. “My sweet Emily, how I have missed you.” Morgan let go to beam at her. “The Hills haven’t been the same since your mother whisked you away. But we never gave up. We knew one day that our little wren would come home to roost. Now, here you are, against all odds. And there’d be no mistaking you, either.”
“Mama!” Dana gasped.
A frowning Wainwright cleared his throat.
“Spoilsports,” Morgan grumbled, eyes twinkling. “Come meet the rest of your family.”
“The whole family’s here?” Emily squeaked. She hadn’t expected to meet anyone but her father. Not today. Not this soon.
She eyed the others leaning in her direction and fought the panic squeezing her chest. Besides Becca, Dana, and Morgan Foster, there was a tall, smiling, sandy-haired man; a ruddy man, thickset, bald of pate and welcoming; and two young girls, one blond and blue-eyed, the other dark.
“Not all of us,” Morgan assured. “Just those in the vicinity.”
“So that’s how you beat us,” Mitchell said, brusque as ever. Emily glared. The man’s rudeness knew no bounds. “I hate to interrupt the welcoming party, but can you tell us what happened to Hamilton?”
Morgan’s face pinked. Drawing to a height that rivaled Wainwright’s, she stared down a regal nose into the cold, steel eyes. Her voice dripped with disdain.
“My brother wanted tea over a game of chess, so I accommodated him. I was beating him, too, until the bugger started clawing at his shirt collar and collapsed.” Emily’s head swam. She hugged her purse like a life raft and leaned against the back of a chair for support.
“Mary called 911, and thank God the ambulance arrived within minutes. I rode with Ham, and Finn was waiting at the ER. They took him straight back to run tests, then into surgery fifteen minutes later.”
“What’s wrong? What did they find?” Mitchell pressed.
“They think he had a stroke.” Morgan’s voice broke. She fidgeted with a slender, gold wristwatch. Emily didn’t know people still wore watches without computers. “That was forty minutes ago.” Morgan looked up, tears in her eyes.
“How bad is it?” The attorney almost sounded like he cared.
“Touch and go. Finn says they’ll keep him in observation once he’s out of surgery.”
The sandy-haired man spoke. “At least Grandpa is here at Emory. If anyone can save him, it’s Uncle Finn.” He took a step closer to Emily. “I’m Sean Jr., your nephew. My daddy was your brother.”
The thrill Emily had felt since learning she had a brother coiled around her heart and squeezed. “Was?”
“Daddy died two years ago.” Sadness and a hint of disapproval played on the other adults’ faces. None spoke.
Emily took his long hands. “Sean, I’m sorry about your daddy. I’m sad I won’t get to know him. But I’m grateful to know you.” She hugged her nephew, her brother’s son. He looked like the boy from the fountain.
Over Sean’s shoulder, her eyes met those of the rosy-cheeked man who patiently waited. The two little girls ducked behind him, peeking around at Emily. When Sean released her, the ruddy man took her hand.
“I’m Don Foster, Morgan’s husband. Which makes me your uncle. I was stationed in Iran when you were born and then in Afghanistan afterward. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Emily.” He bowed with a flourish that made her smile.
“Uncle Don, the pleasure is mine. Are these your children?”
The two girls snickered. The younger, dark-haired child hid behind the older one, who in turn hid behind Don.
“You darling girl, no. They’re my granddaughters. Maria, Sirona, come meet your cousin Emily.”
The blond took a hesitant step forward, but the little one held her back.
“It’s okay, sweetie. Emily won’t hurt you,” Don cajoled. “She’s from California.”
A light sprang on in both little faces, and they rushed to Emily, words tumbling out and jumbling together. “California! We love California! But the news said it fell into the sea. Did you live by the ocean? Were you in the earthquake? What did it feel like? Was it scary? Is California still there? Did you get hurt? Is that why you came to Atlanta?”
Emily grinned and waited for the barrage to slow. When it did, she addressed the eldest. “I’m Emily. Are you Maria?”
“No, I’m Maria.” The youngest jostled her sister aside to thrust her hand and chest out.
“Well, hello, Maria. It’s nice to meet you.” Emily took the tiny hand and extended her other to the older child. “Then that would make you Sirona. Hello, Sirona.”
Sirona hesitated, then took her outstretched hand, peeking up from beneath lush, dark lashes. “Hello,” she whispered.
A doctor swept into the room, dressed in burgundy scrubs and reeking of apprehension. He was tall and lanky with spiky, walnut hair that sprouted around a face that would do a wolf justice. His yellow eyes were like none Emily had seen.
This must be Finn. Fascinated, Emily stared over the girls’ heads as the doctor made a beeline for Morgan. The little ones twisted away and squealed, “Daddy!”
“Mother,” Finn guttered. He stepped into the circle of Morgan’s outstretched arms, then let go when the girls threw themselves at him. He patted their heads and looked around the room. The wolf-eyes widened when they fell on Emily.
Nodding acknowledgment, Finn said in an official voice, “Uncle Hamilton is out of surgery but still unconscious. He’ll be in intensive care, at least until morning. You should all go home. There’s nothing to be done. I will call if anything changes.”
Everyone spoke at once. “What happened?” “Will he be okay?” “What if he dies?” “I’m staying.” “I’m not leaving.”
Maria’s high-pitched whine shrilled above the voices. “Daddy, is Uncle Ham going to live?”
The doctor bent to scoop Maria in his arms. “Sweetie, that’s the plan. In the meantime, I want you to go home with Nana and Bop-Bop. You can see your Uncle Ham when he wakes tomorrow. Deal?”
Maria nodded and giggled when Finn tickled her under the chin. Then he handed her off to Don and lifted an impatient Sirona, who’d been dancing around with her arms in the air. Finn buried his face in her silken hair before setting her back on the floor.
“You be good for Nana and Bop,” he told them both.
“But I want to stay with you,” Maria whined, leaning away from Don to reach for Finn.
The doctor touched his shaggy brow to hers. “Honey, Daddy’s got to work.”
“Please, Daddy. Can’t we stay and help Uncle Ham wake up?” Sirona wrapped little arms around his leg. “You know we can.”
Finn glanced at Emily. “No, sweetie, not this time. You need supper, then bed. Tomorrow’s a school day, remember?”
He patiently peeled Sirona’s arms from his legs and placed them around his neck to lift her off the floor and swing her around, singing a tune that tickled Emily’s memory. “Good night ladies, good night ladies, good night ladies, I’m going to leave you now.”
“No!” Maria shrilled.
“Sweet dreams ladies, sweet dreams ladies, sweet dreams ladies…” Finn held the last note and planted kisses on both girls’ cheeks.
Sirona relented first. “O-kaay. If we have to.” The words dragged out in a pout.
The girls chorused a vexed “goodnight” and promised everyone, including Emily, they would see them tomorrow.
When they left with Don and Morgan, Finn addressed Emily. “I’m Finn Foster, proud father of those little vixens. And you’re our long-lost Emily; come home after all this time.”
Dana sidled up and pinched her brother.
“Ouch!” Finn yelped, rubbing his arm. “What’d you do that for?”
“I owed you one.” Dana cut her eyes toward Emily. “Cuz, this here is the great hope of the Foster clan, Finn Hester Foster, Emory neurosurgeon-extraordinaire.”
Emily was duly impressed. “A brain surgeon. Wow. It’s nice to meet you.”
The outstretched hand engulfed her own.
“And you as well, Emily. Welcome to Atlanta. The timing sucks, but let’s hope tomorrow is a better day.” His demeanor was gracious, as were his words.
“Amen to that.” Anything else from Emily would sound trite or self-serving, but she had to try. “I know I have yet to meet my father, Finn, while you have known him all your life. But please, don’t let him die.” Tears rendered her last words unintelligible, but the yellow eyes conveyed understanding.
“We’re doing everything we—” His voice broke.
Swallowing, the surgeon continued, steadier. “You must be exhausted after flying all day and meeting this crazy family for the first time. Go on over to Wren’s Roost and get some rest. We’ll let you know if anything changes. I promise.”
Looking around the room at the stragglers, Finn-the-doctor commanded, “That goes for all of you. Now skedaddle.”
~ To be continued in Episode 7, Chapters 13 and 14, Carriage House and Quoth the Raven.
Sooo, dear one, what do you think? Like it? Love it? Hate it? Want more? Please drop a comment to let me know. Thank you for reading and supporting Awen’s Porch.
From my heart to yours, Olivia/O. J.
Want to read my spin-off serial, Crossed, Cursed, & Nearly Dead? Upgrade to paid to get this urban fantasy thriller in your inbox starting Monday, June 30th.
It’s my birthday! On June 30th, I’ll be 60-something years young. To celebrate, through July 5th, 2025, I’m offering paid memberships at 50% off—that’s an annual subscription for only $25 and a monthly subscription for $2.50.
Becoming a paid member does three things:
Grants you access to my new paid serial, Crossed, Cursed, & Nearly Dead, (beg 6/30), gifts you a free eBook of Awen Rising, and provides access to my growing archives of humorous (and not-so) self-help, slice-of-life, and writing tips articles. Also available in July—a character list for Awen Rising that will help you keep track of the multiple POVs.Puts Awen’s Porch in the running for Substack’s Leaderboards. Why is this important? It furthers our mission of helping readers find and join our growing community.Makes this indie author happy that you care enough to be part of her lonely day-to-day writing world.
By the way, most of my content is free so that as many as possible can enjoy it. But paid subscriptions, leaving a tip, or buying me a tea are ways you can make me (the author) happy, too. Your generosity is greatly appreciated.❤️
THANK YOU! Olivia/O. J.
