The Rosaries (Crossroads Series) (5 page)

“Tea will be ready in a few minutes, Aunt Catherine. Now, going back to what we were talking about before…what is it you want to know?”

“The gallery that caught fire last night – was your work in there?”

Natalie knew Aunt Catherine better than that, and knew the old lady wasn’t just concerned about some works of art.

“A wealth of local talent was in that building, Aunt Catherine.”

“I didn’t ask that, Natalie. I asked if
your
paintings were there.”

“Why, yes, Aunt Catherine. The work of several months is now completely gone, with nothing to show for it. I guess you’ve always been right – art is a flaky thing, here one day and gone the next.”

“That’s nonsense, child. Art is a beautiful thing and its vulnerability is what makes it priceless.”

It wasn’t just Aunt Catherine’s words that sounded foreign – her face also looked more relaxed and human. Natalie was at a loss. Catherine seemed to have captured her niece’s confusion, and smiled with sincere affection – something she had never done before.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking this morning, Natalie. If art is what drives your inner passion, then your family should support you. You are different than the rest of us, and even if your lifestyle has offended our sense of decorum at times, you are not a bad person. And as
Lakeisha
said, all of us have hidden qualities.”

“
Lakeisha
? Isn’t she your housekeeper?”

“Well, she is my baby-sitter, really. Not officially of course, but I think your mother is afraid I am not able to care for myself any longer.”

Natalie detected both humor and sadness in Aunt Catherine’s statement, and didn’t know what to make of it, so she held her peace and sealed her lips.

“My paintings are gone, Aunt Catherine. I just took them down to the gallery two days ago, when I went to dinner at my parents’. Mrs. Wilson wanted them there in advance so I took most of them.”

“Mrs. Wilson is surely insured, Natalie.”

“She is, she already told me so, but it’s not really the money I’m so heartbroken about. This was my chance to showcase my work to others, and prove that I am not all that bad after all.”

As hard as she tried, Natalie couldn’t control hot tears from rising up to her eyes and escaping down her cheeks. She wiped them quickly, but it was too late – Aunt Catherine had already seen them, and quickly pulled out an ironed white kerchief from her handbag which she handed to Natalie.

“There, there, Sugar. It will be alright. You are the new talent Mrs. Wilson was so proud to show off, aren’t you? You can paint again.”

Natalie wasn’t sure whether her tears were coming from pain or from shock. What had happened to Aunt Catherine? She dried her tears and looked up at the unfamiliar kind face of a lady she didn’t know, and she could barely utter a few words. “Thank you, Aunt Catherine.”

Aunt Catherine smiled, and then delivered the real whopper.

“After I heard of the accident, I called my old friend Tom. He has a gallery in
London
,
England
, and said that he would be pleased to display some of your work when you are ready for it. I told him I was going to talk to you about it, and I would call him back this afternoon.”

Natalie was speechless. She shook her head, hoping to release her vocal cords from the grip of utter surprise, but no sound came out. It took her a moment to process that last sentence. Finally, her voice came back around.

“
London
? Tom? Aunt Catherine, I didn’t know you knew anyone in the world of art. Wow… Europe?! I would love to exhibit my work there!”

Catherine smiled, and her eyes slightly glazed in remembrance. “There is quite a bit you don’t know about me, Child. Now go on, and make yourself presentable. We’ll have tea and then I’ll be on my way to call Tom.”

Natalie went to shower and dress, while Aunt Catherine prepared tea for both of them. By the time she came back to the kitchen, she felt refreshed and hopeful, but more than anything she felt like she had just been united with a relative she never truly met.

He sat in the shadows and lit up a cigarette, watching the rings of smoke disperse quickly in the air-conditioned room. He was running out of time – of that he was fairly certain – but he had no earthly clue how to proceed from that moment on.

Finding the rosary had been an all-devouring obsession since he met Celeste Hudson. He felt that his meeting with Celeste, the prostitute he encountered after she left New Orleans in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, was a divine appointment.

Celeste’s great-aunt, Sister Serene, was the keeper of the rosary, and upon her death she passed the legacy to Celeste, her only living survivor, instead of entrusting it to one of the other nuns. Before her death, Sister Serene instructed Celeste to keep the rosary safe and revealed to her that it was a vital element in the unfolding of a grand prophecy. Celeste didn’t really know if she should believe her aunt’s words, but she loved Aunt Serene like a mother, so she solemnly promised to look out for the rosary. When she mentioned the prophecy to him, he was electrified.

Unfortunately, Celeste had soon stumbled into the demon of addiction, and had chosen to trade the mystical beads for a handful of cold hard cash. He still remembered her face when she told him about the sale to Hidden Treasures, and the way she tortured herself for betraying Sister
Serene’s
trust. Tears had streaked her tired and heavily made-up face, giving her the appearance of a sad clown. He almost felt sorry for Celeste that night; sorry enough, in fact, that he held her for a long time, forfeiting the fleeting pleasure he had paid for.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he literally jumped when Tess walked in the room with a cup of steaming coffee. Her platinum hair was pulled into a tight bun, and her deep blue eyes looked darker in the dim light. He watched her as she turned the small lamp on the side table, savored her every move, and swallowed hard when the curve of her breasts rubbed ever so slightly against his shoulder. God, she was beautiful! He thought himself a bit foolish, but he couldn’t help feeling like a school boy when Tess was around, even if flirting with her was equal to playing Russian roulette. His wife and his God would never forgive him.

“These papers came in for you today. Would you like me to file them?’

He shook his head. “No, that’s okay. Leave them on my desk and I will take care of them.”

“Anything else I can do for you before I leave?”

“Nothing I can think of. Have a great evening.”

If Tess could read his mind she would know there was plenty she could do for him, but professionally she was done for the night.

She smiled and headed toward the door. “See you in the morning then. Will you be here?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be here?”

Tess shrugged her shoulders and smiled.” Well, you weren’t here this morning. Anyway, see you tomorrow.”

And with that she was gone, leaving behind a barely detectable scent of citrus. He waited for her to close the door and picked up the yellow envelope Tess brought in. Inside were a fake ID, a passport, and a birth certificate, all in the name of Chris Barnum. He stood up and looked in the small mirror he kept in his office for when he needed an emergency shave. “Yes, I definitely look like a Chris Barnum.”

He smiled, “The game is on.”

Lakeisha
Jackson waited until the tub was filled with lukewarm water before throwing in the small bag she prepared that afternoon. Taking a purifying bath before retiring was a ritual she repeated every day, since she became a nun. As the warm water soaked the bag, a light scent of lemon filled the room. She took pride grating the peel herself, every single afternoon, just for that simple olfactory pleasure. Salt and lemon - two ingredients common enough to be found in every kitchen, yet powerful enough to cut through any kind of negative thought-form or dark vibe. She stepped into the water and gently lowered herself until her whole body was soaked, and almost immediately, thoughts of Catherine
Bouvier
filled her head.

Something was wrong, deeply wrong. Could the old lady be somehow connected to the prophecy? Was this the reason why
Lakeisha
was sent to live here with her?
Lakeisha
doubted it highly, but also knew that appearances can often be deceiving. She was not one of the elders, but she knew enough of the prophecy, by now, to be certain that nothing was happening at random. However insignificant something might appear, things were unfolding in the manner they were supposed to, and everything was speeding up toward the fulfillment.

She said three prayers – her usual – then got out of the tub and towel-dried her short hair. After getting into her nightgown she opened a book she kept buried behind a box in her closet and pulled out a piece of parchment Sister Justine had given her to read every time she felt doubtful or impatient. It was only one sentence, a mantra to be repeated over and over, but
Lakeisha
felt it vibrate in her hands as she read.

“The fate of All rests with a universal awakening…”

The fate of All rests with a Universal Awakening…
what was her specific role in this? The last time she asked Sister Justine, she was told it wasn’t for her to know – signs would lead her to her purpose in Wilmington, NC. So far,
Lakeisha
hadn’t seen any signs. All she had seen was a bitter old lady who cried in her room every night, who didn’t seem, in any way, connected to anything sacred.

She doesn’t seem,
Lakeisha
…that doesn’t mean she isn’t…things aren’t always as they seem.

The words were hushed by her ear with the gentleness of a lover’s kiss, and although
Lakeisha
was quite certain nobody had spoken, they were still vibrating in the silence of her room. She lit a candle and some incense, before she opened her laptop and prepared to update and send her daily report. She knew Sister Justine was waiting for it, and as she did every night,
Lakeisha
humbly complied with her task without asking unnecessary questions. She had just clicked on the send button when she heard something outside her window - an owl singing his song of mourning, an omen of death.
Lakeisha
crossed hers
elf and said a silent prayer.

Ryan Wheeler stretched out on his king-size bed and stared at the ceiling. Even if he was quite tired physically, his mind was reluctant to let go of the incessant flow of thoughts rushing through his head. He was planning to go see Natalie tomorrow, but as he lay in the quiet stillness of his room, he wondered if he was making the right choice. He was still very angry with Ashton Logan, but was undeniably in love with her. However, Natalie was the sole heiress of the Sanders’ fortune, and Ryan knew that his father counted on him.

Natalie Sanders was a beautiful girl; certainly he would forget about Ashton in time, wouldn’t he? His family wouldn’t accept Ashton, a poorly educated waitress, as his wife anyway; and Natalie’s family had money, real money; the type of money that could save his family from a financial catastrophe. There was no doubt his father couldn’t survive losing everything; and his mother…what would be of her? Although their hardship was well concealed, it would only be a matter of time before the devastating news leaked to the rest of Wilmington’s upper crust. Ryan was the eldest of the Wheeler sons, and the only one with some business acumen, so it only made sense that he would be the one to save the reputation of his family. He turned on his side and reached for the phone on the bedside table. It rang four times before Natalie picked up.

“Hello”

“Natalie! Ryan Wheeler. How are you?”

Natalie sighed on the other end of the line. “You haven’t heard? There was a fire at the art gallery and my paintings are gone. I thought Aunt Catherine, or my mother, would have passed the word.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t hear. I am so sorry, Natalie.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry too. Six months of work gone with the wind. Or with the flames, I should say.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“I guess I’m going to start back from square one and paint away. Aunt Catherine said she knows someone in
London
who wouldn’t mind to exhibit my work.”

“
London
? That sounds awesome! Better than Wilmington by far, that’s for sure. Listen, would you still like to get together?”

“Sure, why not? Do you know how to get here? Take 421 S until you see signs for
Carolina
Beach
. I’m at 431 Hamlet, four blocks down from the boardwalk, on
Pleasure
Island
.”

“I’m sure I can find it, I can Google the address. Would ten or so be good for you?”

“Ten is great. See you then.”

“See you tomorrow, Natalie. I look forward to seeing you again.”

“Yeah, me too. Bye for now.”

Ryan smiled as he realized his task was going to be easier than he had originally envisioned. Natalie was upset about the paintings and he had the opportunity to be her shoulder to cry on, her comforting force. “It will be a piece of cake, Dad. Our family is going to be okay,” he thought out loud, and smiled to himself.