The Rosaries (Crossroads Series) (18 page)

She thought of the prophecy
Lakeisha
told her about. The middle point, she said, was in the center of the Atlantic Ocean; Natalie wondered what mysteries lay under the deep blanket of those waters, and her mind wandered to the concept of fate vs. free will.

According to
Lakeisha
, everything that happened was already pre-destined. So, Natalie wondered, what was the point of making choices? She remembered an old lady she met several years ago during a weekend trip to
New York
. This lady claimed to be a wise woman following what she called the “
Old Ways
”. She told Natalie that people waste time doing works of magic to attract things into their lives, when instead they should do things to see what’s already there. The blessings, the lady explained – Rosina, that was her name – are already around us and don’t need to be attracted. “You can’t attract something that’s already there. God gets confused when you ask for blessings you already have at your disposal.” She told Natalie as the two shared a cup of espresso. “If you want to see real magic,” she continued, “give yourself permission to see the blessings. If you can’t see them it is not because they are not there, but rather because, deep down, you don’t feel you deserve them in your life.”

Natalie thought about the old lady’s words many times, and tried to apply what she learned to her own life. In fact, she often wondered if her adoptive parents’ rejection was caused
by her own feelings of low self-worth. Maybe, deep down she thought that if even her birth mother rejected her, there was something wrong with her, and she couldn’t fully accept herself. It was easier to identify the blocks than it was to heal from them. How could she ever get over the trauma of being rejected by her own mother?

When she was little, her father explained to her that every situation is unique, and if her mother had to give her up, she surely had a good reason for doing so. Intellectually, the concept was an easy one to absorb, but putting the knowledge to work toward personal acceptance was not as easy. Although she understood that her mother certainly had a reason for giving her up, being abandoned by the person who should love her most caused a wound so deep that it would be nearly impossible to heal from it.

She decided to light up a candle and put a healing wish on it – she was sure she still had some small tapers in her emergency cabinet. She found a small stash of them and reached her hand inside the enclosure to grab one, but changed her mind and pulled out two.
Lakeisha
told her about the
Ibeji
, the cosmic twins, and Natalie really needed some balance in her life, especially if it came from happy children. Maybe honoring them would help her on her quest to heal her own childhood, so she lit both candles, side by side, and placed a handful of candy in front of each. She closed her eyes and tried to tune in to her inner guide, and just then she felt as if someone else beside her was there – the sound of children’s laughter filled the room, and although she was sure it was only in her head, Natalie felt like giggling. The
Ibeji
had come to play.

Chapter Eleven

When he opened his e-mail and saw a message from Natalie Sanders, Tom Hadley’s heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t wait to see Catherine’s paintings, and once he opened the attachment, he was genuinely surprised at the quality of his friend’s work. In fact, Catherine’s paintings reminded him of others he had seen before at a gallery in Washington DC, during his last trip to America. He believed the name of the artist was Marcie Walker, although he would need to do a little research to be sure. He remembered this American artist was quite famous, so it would probably be easy enough to find some of her work online to compare the style to Catherine’s.

He scanned through the photos of the paintings – most of them were about little children, and Tom felt a deep wave of compassion tug at his heart as he thought that Catherine never really got over the emotional pain of giving up her daughter. One of them, particularly, caught his attention. It was the portrait of a little girl with golden hair and tiny pig tails. The little girl looked happy as she climbed on a piece of playground equipment, but the woods behind her were dark and ominous. A face – a pale and drawn spectral apparition – watched the little girl from the thick forest; a small pond was right below the ghostly face, fed by her tears of sadness. It was a haunting piece, the fruit of inner pain at work. Tom felt his heart tug as he tried to imagine Catherine’s raw emotions through the delightful and superior display of color.

A lot of the paintings were portraits of different people, including one that she had entitled “The Spirit.” It had a cheerful tone to it, much different than the other ones; it showed a flamboyant old gentleman of color, dressed to impress and holding a walking cane to steady
himself. He stood near a crossroads and appeared to look over his shoulder, smiling mischievously.

There was something about the tone and techniques used that still looked vaguely familiar; if he didn’t know for a fact that Catherine had never shown her paintings to anyone, he would swear he had seen them before. The name Marcie Walker continued to flash in his mind, and he decided to get to the bottom of it. He searched the name online, and was surprised to see many entries -Marcie Walker was even more popular than he initially thought. He found photos of some of her work, and once again he was struck by the similarities between the two. Then, he found an article that tickled his curiosity.

Marcie Walker’s simplest paintings are now estimated to be worth anywhere in between $10,000 and $100,000. Her descriptive style and passion for scenes inspired by daily life are a breath of fresh air, and her paintings are expected to continue rising in value. Nobody has ever been able to interview Miss Walker, as she appears to be very adamant about keeping her private life shielded away from the public eye. 100% of proceeds from the sale of her paintings are handled by Jane Wiley, the director of the Marcie Walker Foundation, an entity which benefits women shelters and provides needed supplies to children going into foster care.

Despite searching, Tom could not locate any interviews with the artist. Even stranger, he could not find a picture of Marcie Walker. A small voice inside his head pushed him to investigate further. His imagination was probably working overtime, but he wondered for a moment if Catherine and Marcie Walker were one and the same.

Some of Marcie’s work was exhibited in a gallery in Birmingham, and Catherine’s niece was planning on sending the paintings for the show scheduled on the following month. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but he instinctually felt that he was dealing with something odd, and he wondered for a moment what he would do if it turned out that the mysterious Marcie Walker was his friend – would he give away her secret?

Catherine was gone now, so there was no reason to keep things under wraps. After all, Marcie Walker was a benefactor, and her family would certainly be amenable to bringing her
name out. Never mind the fact that with her death the value of the paintings would skyrocket overnight. He looked at the photos again. The more he studied them, the stronger he felt that these were originals from Marcie Walker, and the thought excited him. Then, he remembered something…

It happened about a week before Catherine went into labor. She had asked Tom to go for a walk at Hyde Park and they planned to meet at Clarendon Gate. When Catherine arrived, her face glowed with a special light and she seemed happy, in spite of the fact that she was only days away from losing her child. Considering how tortured she had been since Tom met her three months before, he was sure something happened to cause this dramatic change of attitude in his friend. They strolled together to the Hudson Memorial. Catherine smiled as she walked, occasionally tossing her head back and closing her eyes, soaking in the sun rays.

“Something happened yesterday, Tom”, she said with a suddenly serious face. “I came here alone and sat in the sanctuary, hoping to get my mind off what’s happening by doing a little bird watching. A bird was sitting on the ground, near there, and it seemed to have trouble flying off; when I looked closer, I saw that it had a small net wrapped around one of its legs. I approached it slowly not to scare it more, and held it in my hand while I carefully slid off the net. It looked at me, and in that moment I felt I could understand what the bird was feeling – it wasn’t scared any more, but rather relieved that someone had gotten there at the right time to set it free. I opened my hands and it spread its wings; it paused for a second, and then it flew away toward the dying sun. Watching it take off made me think about my unborn child. I realized I am helping it come into the world, but it has a destiny of its own; no matter what, even if the circumstances around the birth are not optimal, and the start is rough, one day he or she will also spread wings and fly toward the sun. All I have to do is find a way to provide something that will give hope to lost children, and will facilitate their flight. God gave me a talent, Tom, and I will use it, someday, to free the abandoned children.”

He asked what she had in mind, but Catherine smiled sweetly and changed the subject.

After so many years, Tom had forgotten about that conversation but now it echoed in his soul. He couldn’t wait to analyze Catherine’s paintings, and determine if she was Marcie Walker.

He decided to place a call to Natalie and see if she could expedite the delivery of the paintings to the gallery.

Angela Sanders sat at her vanity table and inspected her face closely -- that bastard was giving her wrinkles. She lightly ran a finger above her cheekbone where she thought she saw two lines. Just thinking about Phillip made her blood boil, and she felt her blood pressure shoot up.

How dare he? Has he forgotten he was nobody before he married her? When Angela met him the first time at Café Express, he was a student in law school, barely making ends meet, and scraping tuition with grants, loans and a pitiful night job washing dishes in a cheap restaurant. Angela fought her parents when they tried to dissuade her from seeing him, and secretly gave him money to supplement his meager income. After he graduated from law school she introduced him to the right people, advanced him funds to open a practice, and gave up many of her interests to be a good wife, and always be by his side.

And instead of thanking her, look at what that insensitive son of a bitch was doing while she sat at home crying over their inability to conceive a child of their own! He screwed her mousy sister, and pretended to be a loving husband. And what did he say at the funeral service?

“…everyone who knew her was blessed to have encountered such kindness.” That asshole! She shivered at the thought of people finding out – they would all remember those final words, his way of subtly salivating after Catherine, and they would laugh at Angela.

She couldn’t allow that to happen, no matter what it took to make sure the secret wouldn’t leave the family. She needed to talk to Natalie, and explain to her the importance of this matter. Natalie didn’t always understand the necessity of keeping up appearances, but Angela was confident that she could make her daughter see things her way. After all, what would anyone gain from airing out old, dirty laundry? She resolved to call Natalie that same afternoon.

She hadn’t seen Phillip at all since the day she told him to stay away, two weeks before, and had only spoken to him twice regarding some issues with a rental property they owned in Asheville. It wasn’t going to be long until people would start wondering if something was wrong. Until now she told everybody that her husband was staying at their Raleigh apartment to follow new leads in a difficult case, and driving back and forth to his office in downtown Wilmington.

Perhaps she had moved too fast, without thinking things through, and it would be best to maintain a united front even if they lived separate lives behind closed doors. She picked up the
phone to call him, but her hands shook as she dialed the number. She felt a knot in her throat and hung up quickly, before his secretary picked up. She realized tears were flowing down her cheeks – what hurt more? Was it her sister’s betrayal, her husband’s philandering, or the fact that for once she didn’t feel like the star of the show?

Angela was always the star, even when she and her sister were children; her father doted on her and made her every wish come true. Catherine, instead, was the odd child, the one that never stood out in the crowd. Daddy always joked about Catherine being the only debutante who couldn’t find a suitor. And how could she? She was mousy and uninteresting, and was never blessed with striking looks – a real plain Jane.

But Phillip liked her enough…

She pushed that thought aside and began to apply make-up. She was still a beautiful woman, one that men looked at with interest in spite of her age; if she wanted to, she could get Phillip to come back. In fact, she would do just that, and hopefully the old bastard would come back to restore her spotless reputation. She smiled at herself in the mirror, suddenly pleased with her plan. She dialed the number again, this time with increased strength. A woman answered the phone but didn’t sound like Mrs. Barnes. Angela wondered who she was.

“Sanders Law Offices”

“Yes, this is Mrs. Sanders; I would like to speak to my husband, please.”