CHAPTER 3
IT WAS TIME. A restless unease had settled over her, making it almost impossible to concentrate on her singing. Finally, throwing up her hands, she stomped off in search of her Mama Marina. Mama Doreen was away on a calling.
"Mama," Chantelle called out frantically. She was feeling nauseous and headachy.
This isn't good, she thought, pressing her right hand over her stomach. The growling and roiling didn't bode well for things to come.
"What is it?" Doreen asked, wiping her hands on a small towel as she entered the room. A patch of white flour covered her left cheek and forehead. When she saw Chantelle's pale face, she hurried over to her daughter anxiously. "Are you sick, child?"
"I feel awful, mama. Like when I had the flu... but I know it's not that."
"It's a calling, sweetie," Doreen said, gently pushing Chantelle into a chair. "The first is always the worst."
"What am I supposed to do?"
"You must follow it... but only after you've rested. In a few hours the symptoms will diminish, and then you'll know where you need to go. I'll pack a bag and food for your journey."
"But where am I going? How will I know when I get where I need to be?"
"You'll know. Healers always know. Now, go rest. I promise when you wake up, you'll feel better and things will be clearer." Helping Chantelle to her feet, Marina nudged her toward her bedroom. "Trust me, child."
"Always, mama," Chantelle said, giving her adopted mother a hug. "Always."