The Rosaries (Crossroads Series) (3 page)

“I would really like to, Ryan, but I am working around the clock to finalize the details of my upcoming art show, and I doubt I will have any time to socialize.”

“Art show? Wow, Natalie, I didn’t know you are an artist!”

Just one more of my bohemian downfalls, didn’t sweet Aunt Catherine tell you about that?
Natalie thought, and quietly snickered at the sad private joke.

“But I won’t take no for an answer,” Ryan said, “in fact, I can come down there where you are and help you. Managing time is my hidden talent.”

“Really, Ryan, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you…”

“No bother, Natalie. I would love to help, and it would be really great to see you again. I will be down the day after tomorrow and I will call you to get exact directions to your place.”

Natalie was too busy silently cursing Aunt Catherine in her head to think of a quick reply to avoid what she knew would be a boring encounter, and Ryan took her lack of a prompt response as an affirmative sign.

“Awesome! I will see you on Wednesday, then.”

Before Natalie could reply, Ryan had already hung up. The sound of the communication being cut off brought her string of silent litanies to an end.

“Wonderful. Now I even have Mr. Perfect coming down to stick his nose into my business!” She realized she was thinking out loud, and smiled when she noticed Billy had curled up against her feet and was purring madly. Too tired and annoyed to eat her donuts, she started toward her bedroom when the phone rang again.

“Miss Sanders? This is Ms. Nettie, your neighbor. I am just watching the news and heard there is a terrible fire in downtown
Wilmington
. I remember you telling me that your family lives near there and I called to make sure everybody is okay.”

“Downtown Wilmington? Where, Ms. Nettie? Wait, let me turn on my TV – are they showing it right now?” Natalie asked nonchalantly.

“Yes, it’s breaking news, Ms. Sanders. Your family is okay, right?”

Natalie could no longer hear Ms. Nettie, as blood thundered in her ears and made her head spin. The phone dropped beside her and she nearly collapsed on her bed when she turned on the TV set and saw flames engulfing a building that looked quite familiar. It took a moment to process what she was seeing; in front of her eyes, the art gallery was turning into toast, and with it, Natalie’s paintings. She shook her head in disbelief, and closed her eyes for a moment to shut out her shock at the horrifying sight. It couldn’t be! Her work of this whole past year was in that gallery; her dream of becoming a well-known painter was screaming in agony from its prison of hungry flames. She stared at the TV screen as if hypnotized, unable to move or catch a liberating breath. It was all gone - her passion, the proof that she could do something right, her chance to accomplish something on her own merit. Once again, Natalie wished to be swallowed by a wave.

Chapter Two

Catherine
Bouvier
sighed as she tried to motivate her old bones to cooperate with her wish to get out of bed. Time had surely taken its toll on her, and she couldn’t help but feel a little melancholy when she thought of times when she could spring as agile as a doe in a field. Those days were long past, and gone with them was Catherine’s opportunity to create a real life for herself. She had received the best education money could buy, and had attended all the right socials a young lady could dream of, but when it came to relationships she was always a day late and a dollar short. She never crossed paths with the right man, or more precisely, her timid demeanor was never a match to her sister Angela’s southern belle charm, and every possible suitor Catherine found attractive always ended up falling in love with her prettier and giddier sibling.

In her mid-thirties, when the ghost of spinsterhood had first begun to flash its ugly face, Catherine knew she was battling time. She embarked on a relationship with a gentleman who was already married, but assured her of his undying love. When she became pregnant and unwanted, her family sent her away to have the baby, using the excuse that she was gone to further her studies and indulge her passion for the fine arts in Europe. By the time she came back, Catherine’s heart was broken from having given away her child, and she was angry for allowing herself to be so vulnerable.

Losing her daughter shifted something inside of her. Suddenly she hated children, despised women who were as loose as she had been, and vowed that never again she would allow herself to be that open with her feelings. She became a model of etiquette and committed
her life to taking care of her aging parents. Of course, the constant demands of elder care forced her to forfeit any type of social life, but by then Catherine had made her choice – a sheltered and boring life was far better than the heartache she had suffered, and if she was to spend her life alone to save herself any more pain, then she was happy to accept the consequences of her choice. Everything worked smoothly and efficiently in her life for a while, until she met Phillip…

“Ms.
Bouvier
?”
Lakeisha’s
voice echoed softly in the grand hallway behind Catherine’s bedroom door.
Lakeisha
was the nurse her sister Angela insisted to hire to help Catherine in her daily affairs.

“Yes,
Lakeisha
, come in. I’m just getting up.”

“Would you like some breakfast, Miss?”

Catherine was not hungry, but worried that if she didn’t make an effort to swallow at least a few bites,
Lakeisha
would immediately report to Angela. The last thing she wanted to do today was to once again explain to her sister that she didn’t need a baby-sitter.

“Just some toast and coffee will be fine,
Lakeisha
. Thank you.”

Lakeisha
lifted her right eyebrow as she always did when she wanted to say something that was really none of her business. The tiny gold stud on the side of her nose caught a ray of sunlight coming through the cream colored curtains and sparkled against the smooth caramel tone of her skin. Her hair was cropped short enough to highlight the fullness of her face and she had a pleasant smile that made her whole bulky, five-foot-ten frame appear less imposing. Catherine liked
Lakeisha
, and although she didn’t feel she needed a nurse, nor a housekeeper,
Lakeisha
was quite discreet and allowed her to maintain some dignity by not intruding in Catherine’s personal space unless she was called.

When
Lakeisha
disappeared again through the big mahogany door and closed it quietly as she exited, Catherine got out of bed and began her morning rituals. She opened the window to let in a little morning breeze. Although summer hadn’t officially started, the days were already warm and humid; if she hoped to get any fresh air into her room, this was the time to do it. She always considered the early morning breeze to be a messenger of sorts, and loved to listen to the sounds of the town as it woke up each day. Her gaze rested for a few seconds on all the things she was familiar with -- the antique poster bed, the ornate vanity, the Victorian chest, the creamy lace curtains which gave the room a soft, dreamy feel, complemented by the lilac flowers
embroidered in the hand-sewn bed spread. By the time she sat at the vanity table and began to brush her hair,
Lakeisha
came back in with a tray, which she sat on the desk near the window before gently taking the brush from Catherine to stroke the old lady’s long, gray hair.

“I couldn’t believe how many fire trucks went by last night. It was a real mess out there.”
Lakeisha
said.

“Fire trucks? Was there a fire?” Catherine was genuinely surprised and locked eyes with
Lakeisha
through her reflection in the mirror.

“Goodness, Miss, you didn’t hear the engines going through? There was a fire at the art gallery on
Main
. The whole building is reduced to a charred skeleton. The owner, Mrs. Wilson, is beside herself, I hear. She was preparing for an art show next month, and was very excited about a local artist who, according to her, is a new impressive talent. Nobody knows who that is; Mrs. Wilson was determined to keep her new pet a secret until the show.”

Catherine shook her head. “A promising artist discovered in Wilmington? Mrs. Wilson is quite the dreamer.” She said, a hint of disdain only slightly lacing her perfectly trained and controlled tone of voice.

“Isn’t that niece of yours a painter too, Miss
Bouvier
? You don’t think…”

Catherine sighed deeply, as the awareness that the artist
could
be her niece rose to her mind for the first time. “I must admit that I have never seen her paintings, but unfortunately, my niece and I don’t always see things eye to eye. That girl has been an embarrassment and a cross to bear for my family the whole time she has lived with us. The good Lord must have really been angry with my sister for giving her such an untamed brat.”

Lakeisha
was unsure if she should even respond. While she didn’t know Natalie Sanders well, she remembered the girl as being well mannered and pleasant. She still remembered how her senses were jarred when she first saw Natalie upon her arrival at Ms. Catherine’s house. The girl had an uncanny resemblance to someone she met long before, someone from her past, but after carefully asking Ms. Catherine, she learned that Natalie was an only child, so there was no chance they had met before. Something about her nagged at her soul, but she quickly dismissed the feeling and focused on her new job in the
Bouvier
household.

“Now, now, Miss Catherine, gold can be found in a river full of common pebbles. I’m sure this young lady has some good qualities.”

Catherine yanked the brush away from
Lakeisha’s
hand and slammed it on the vanity table. “There is nothing in her but bad blood,
Lakeisha
. You don’t know her, so I would appreciate it if you could keep your thoughts to yourself. I will call you when I am done with the tray.”

Lakeisha
was stunned into silence by the old lady’s heated reaction. What was the matter with her? Why did she hate that child so much?  Catherine
Bouvier
was a bitter old lady, and
Lakeisha
was sure the old bat was fighting incipient dementia. How could Catherine
Bouvier
not have heard all those sirens last night? They came blaring right past the house at a time when it was too early for her to be sound asleep, and were loud enough to break the barrier of numbness from the two
Ambien
Catherine took every night to shut out the demons that ate her up during her waking hours. There was something deeper and more disturbing in the old woman’s venomous feelings against the Sanders family --
Lakeisha
could feel it in her bones. She was no psychiatrist, merely a common nurse, but her spiritual training had given her an extra edge into the human psyche. Regardless, it was really none of
Lakeisha’s
business, so she headed for the stairs and had only gone a few steps when she heard a muffled sound come from Miss
Bouvier’s
door. The old lady was crying…no, she was downright sobbing, and all
Lakeisha
could hear was one phrase repeated over and over…
Why, Phillip? Why?

Belinda Allen got busy polishing some of the items in the store while she kept a watchful eye on the activity on the street. The acrid stench of smoke and burnt dreams still hung heavily in the air, and sneaked in every time a customer opened the door to inquire about the price of one of the antiques on display.

Buying the store had been a late life business decision when she and her husband both refused to retire to a couch. They started two small businesses doing something they enjoyed, and they were both quite happy to meet at lunch and dinner to discuss daily events. Today, she could not wait to meet her husband, and find out if he heard any more details about the fire at the art gallery the night before. All she knew was that an electrical problem was the likely cause of the initial spark, and in a place filled with canvas and flammable paints, it didn’t take long for the flames to spread. Within fifteen minutes the building was almost completely charred, and Mrs.
Wilson was devastated. Belinda made a mental note to go by her place this evening, after closing the shop, to comfort her old friend.

The small chime on the front door announced someone entering, so she glanced once more at her image in the antique mirror and smiled -- she was fairly satisfied with the pretty lady looking back at her. Her light make-up accentuated the impish light perpetually dancing in her bright blue eyes, and her blond hair was elegantly coiffed in a soft bun pinned right above her neck line. She wasn’t too tall – something she always wished she could change about herself – but was quite proportioned and in decent shape. If anything, being petite, she could always find good deals at the Sears bargain basement. She loved pretty clothes, and took great pride in matching her outfits. Today’s ensemble was a baby powder cotton suit, which she had accessorized with a delicate strand of fresh water pearls and matching earrings, aside from the usual silver spider brooch she wore every day. She wasn’t sure why she liked spiders so much, but she suspected her fascination with them came from an old tale her mother told her many years before. According to the tale, spiders were magical creatures that took care of the souls of the dead, and if someone died a violent death, the spiders would lend them their bodies, so they could come back to punish the person responsible and restore balance. She knew it was only an old tale, but in her heart she liked to think that victims were at least allowed the dignity to take final justice into their own hands. She turned away from the mirror and greeted the new customer.