Promises

by Aleatha Romig

  Sterling nodded, tugging me closer and planting a kiss on my forehead. “You’re so strong. I am amazed.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you could read my thoughts. I’m a mess.”

  He kissed my forehead again and forced a smile. “Then you’re my favorite kind of mess.”

  The car stopped in the parking lot near a short sidewalk leading to concrete steps that were bordered by a wrought-iron fence. The three of us got out of the car, looking all directions for any witnesses to our breaking and entering. Momentarily, my gaze lingered on the fenced area in the distance with a variety of different-sized headstones.

  The stairway where we’d been dropped off descended below the ground to an old wooden door with a dirty window. The grass on either side of the sidewalk was coated in morning dew as the late summer air began to warm with the rising of the sun. A few leaves had lost their hold of trees, blowing in small cyclones upon the pavement; however, as we descended into the cavern of the stairs, the breeze ceased to find us.

  With Patrick ahead of us, my hand shook in Sterling’s grasp.

  This sort of activity may not be unusual for these two, but it was my first time to break and enter, and I was as nervous about being caught as I was about finding the evidence.

  As if he’d had a key, Patrick did something to the lock and turned the old tarnished brass knob. After a bit of stickiness, probably caused by old paint combined with a rarely used door, a push of his shoulder moved the door inward. Mustiness filled my senses as we stepped into the concrete rectangle seeming to span the entire length and width of the chapel above.

  I lifted my free hand to my nose as our shoes upon the cement caused swirls of dust to come to life. The illumination from the window and Patrick’s phone brought dimness where there had only been black. Scanning the room, the addition of light revealed a lost world inhabited mostly by dust, cobwebs, and spider webs, their intricate designs hanging from rafters and attaching to support beams.

  “I don’t think they come down here much,” Sterling said as we continued to turn, taking in the entire basement.

  “There are so many boxes,” I said. “How will we find it if it’s here?”

  Patrick handed each of us a pair of blue latex gloves from his suit coat pocket—because everyone carries those. We covered our hands and spread out, searching and opening boxes. Some were so old that touching them caused the cardboard to disintegrate in our grasp. Choir robes from forever ago and hymnals that at one time were the standard were among our discoveries. Other findings included files full of records long forgotten—most with writing that was no longer legible—that filled multitudes of boxes left to mildew on rusting metal shelves.

  “I’m going up to the steeple,” Patrick finally said.

  “I want to see the chapel?” I said to Sterling, asking as much as stating.

  He shook his head. “I was so sure this was it. I’m sorry. I thought...” His words trailed away as disappointment infiltrated his tone.

  “Please, before people get here. I want to see where my parents were married.”

  Taking one last look around at the decayed past of this church, he nodded and held my hand, our latex gloves still in place as he first ascended the wooden steps. His weight caused the wood to creak as the rubber soles of my tennis shoes squeaked in the silence. Step by step, we progressed upward in the narrow staircase.

  More than once the stairs turned until we finally came to a landing. Above the landing, there were more stairs. I peered upward into the darkness, knowing that was where Patrick had gone. At the landing, Sterling reached for the old decorative doorknob and pulled the wooden door toward us.

  The door opened to the vestibule of the chapel.

  Together, we stepped out into the fresher air.

  The old wood floor was well worn yet beautifully maintained. Above the doors to the outside was a striking stained-glass window, the morning sun sending colors from the design to the white plaster walls within.

  One more set of double doors and we were inside the chapel.

  I sucked in a breath as Sterling squeezed my hand.

  “It’s lovely,” I said, my gaze searching everywhere from the rows of wooden pews to the tall windows along the side and the huge stained-glass window above the altar. The minister’s pulpit was to one side and a place for a choir was secluded off with more beautiful wood trim. To the other side was a large grand piano.

  I turned to Sterling with tears in my eyes. “Thank you.”

  He shook his head. “It seems this trip has been a waste of time.”

  “No, don’t you see? If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here, seeing this. I know my father did bad things. I know their marriage wasn’t perfect, but they created me. They loved one another when they were here. And I would have lived my entire life without knowing this, without seeing this. It’s all possible because of you.”

  Letting go of my hand, he wrapped his arm around my back and pulled me to his side. “One day, I’d like to be the one saying I do.”

  His declaration washed away a bit of my sadness. “Mr. Sparrow, if that’s a proposal, you’ll need to do better. Remember the asking part?”

  His finger ran over my cheek, the scent of the gloves prevailing, yet the sentiment still there. “That’s right. What were those words again?”

  I lifted myself to my toes and kissed his cheek. “When you remember, let me know.” I tilted my head toward the side of the church. “Before the driver comes I’d like to go see...”

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “I am.”

  Sterling

  “Okay, sunshine, but first, let’s go back in there...” I tilted my head toward the stairway. “...and wait for Patrick. Hopefully he found something.”

  Araneae looked down at her watch. “It’s a little after eight thirty. What time do the people start working?”

  “The offices open at nine. I’d like to be long gone by then.”

  We slipped back through the door the direction we’d come, my hand wrapped securely around hers as footsteps from above came closer. I didn’t need to ask. I could tell by the expression on Patrick’s face that his excursion had been as fruitful as ours in the basement. He simply shook his head as he descended the wooden steps in front of us. With Araneae secured between us, I took up the rear.

  Stilling our steps, we peered one last time around the basement, taking in remnants left over the centuries, those of memories, logs, and mementos. These were items—or what was left of them—that at one time someone thought to save. Or maybe they were things that no one cared to discard. Regardless, we hadn’t given ourselves enough time to thoroughly search every nook and crevice.

  We needed to get out of this church now. And yet, by the magnitude of debris, I doubted that a week would be long enough to search.

  We didn’t have a week.

  Our time was running out.

  We tried and came up empty—yet I wasn’t willing to accept defeat.

  Once outside, Patrick secured the door and texted the driver as I stuffed Araneae’s and my blue latex gloves into one of the pockets of my jeans and again secured her hand. Together we walked toward the small graveyard.

  Again, her small hand trembled in my grasp. That was her only outward sign of apprehension. With her neck straight and shoulders back, she stepped determinedly toward the enclosed graveyard. Letting go of my hand, she reached for the latch.

  “Araneae,” I said, stopping her. “I never meant for me finding you to bring you here.”

  She looked up with her soft chocolate eyes, full of a magnitude of emotions. “I’m glad it did.”

  So fucking strong.

  Awe simply didn’t come close to describing the admiration I had for this beautiful, resilient woman beside me. I’d been wrong when I’d said she was fragile. That description didn’t afford her the credit she deserved for all she’d endured in the past twenty-six years or for what I’d subjected her to in the last month.
>
  In my eyes, her strength surpassed mine or even Patrick’s or Reid’s.

  Yes, each of the three of us could look death in the face and walk away unscathed. That took a backbone of steel and a dead, nonfunctioning heart.

  Araneae faced untold challenges and met them with love and emotion, baring herself in a way that scared the shit out of me. She faced the loss of parents and then the possibility of a family, only to have Pauline throw it in her face, and yet she didn’t stop.

  She opened herself to Annabelle.

  She was willing to risk it all for Louisa.

  She had taken a man, one with not all pure motives, and allowed him to see that there’s more to life than success, money, and revenge.

  I tugged Araneae’s hand as she began to enter. “I love you so much.”

  Her small hand reached up to my cheek. “Sterling, I love you too. Thank you again for keeping your promise, being with me for the good and bad, and for bringing me here. I’m sorry we didn’t find what we wanted,” she went on, “but I feel like I’ve found so much more than a few compact discs. With each day since you bulldozed your way into my life, I’m finding more of me.”

  I kissed the top of her head, her silky blonde hair beneath my lips filling my senses with her shampoo and hairspray.

  Taking a deep breath, we stepped carefully between the gravestones. As I scanned the writing, I saw there were some graves dating back to the 1800s. Few were into the second half of the 1900s, and then we came to one that was only a few inches high in the front, a bit taller in the back. A small rectangular-shaped stone. Carved upon the surface was a tiny angel, one with a baby’s body and face.

  * * *

  Araneae McCrie

  From birth to heaven

  Our Angel, may she know she was and will always be loved, until we meet again.

  * * *

  Letting go of my hand, Araneae fell to her knees as she ran her fingers over the engraved stone. Without looking up, she spoke, her voice cracking yet filled with the determination uniquely hers. “It’s surreal to see my own name.”

  I moved down to my haunches, wrapping an arm around her as the sedan entered the parking lot. “We should go.”

  She peered toward me. “Do you think we could find out who this is and give her a proper burial?”

  I shook my head as I stood. “No, the coffin is empty.”

  “What?” she asked, still kneeling on the ground.

  I offered her my hand and helped her stand. “From what I understand, there was a body. Rubio and my father had it exhumed.”

  Her expression changed, morphing to one of shock as she stood and brushed off her knees. “Why? Why would they do that?”

  I shook my head. “My father never told me. My mother mentioned it last week and McFadden confirmed it. Mother said it was to do DNA testing, and Allister told her that he’d been lied to. He said the baby was you.”

  “No, you said...”

  I reached for her shoulders. “I said you...” I emphasized the word. “...are Araneae McCrie and of that I’m confident. The mitochondrial DNA verified it. Sitting at a table with you and Annabelle, not only your coloring but your mannerisms confirmed it. You are Araneae McCrie. My father lied. It was what he did.”

  “It makes me sad to think an infant died and was never properly honored.”

  My mind went not to one infant, but tens—no, hundreds—of children who were never properly honored: those who lived through the hell of the Sparrow and McFadden outfits.

  I reached for Araneae’s hand. As we carefully stepped around the headstones and graves, making our way to the iron gate, another car pulled into the parking lot.

  Leaning against the sedan waiting for us, Patrick looked up, his hand moving under his jacket as he watched the car that was joining our gathering.

  Shit.

  “We need to go,” I whispered.

  Araneae nodded as we shut the gate and hurried to the sedan.

  The recent addition to the parking lot was an older model Buick, not black like our sedan, but a shade of red closer to maroon. As we hurried toward the sedan, the driver’s door opened and a woman approximately in her fifties stepped out.

  “May I help you?” she asked.

  Our feet stopped as for a moment we remained silent.

  “I’m Jackie Fellows,” she said. “I’m the senior minister here. Are you looking for someone?”

  “No,” I replied. “We’ll be on our way.”

  She took a step toward us, looking closer at Araneae than at me. “Miss, are you all right? Would you like to talk to someone?”

  “I’m fine, thank you,” Araneae replied.

  “You look sad.”

  Araneae’s gaze went from Patrick to me and back to the minister. “I came to see a grave, and now, it was...more emotional than I expected.”

  The woman took another step closer. “I don’t have meetings until later.” She finally looked up at me and forced a smile. “Please, come in the church and we can talk.”

  Araneae

  The woman began walking toward the church. I peered upward at Sterling’s expression, knowing that going inside the church and speaking to this woman wasn’t what he wanted.

  “Maybe she can help,” I whispered.

  “I don’t like this.” His deep tone left little room for rebuttal.

  I let go of his hand. “Then stay with Patrick. I’ll go in alone.”

  “Hell no,” he growled, retrieving my hand as we walked past Patrick and the black sedan, following Jackie Fellows, not into the basement where we’d been, but into an entry taking us into the newer addition, a sprawling, more modern wing. The outside lawn was deep green, and above the path, recently fallen leaves blew in the light breeze. The peaceful surroundings were contrary to the quandary within my mind.

  After Pastor Fellows unlocked double glass doors, she asked us to follow her through a wide entry and down a hallway. The walls were lined with bulletin boards filled with announcements of all kinds and brightly colored paper borders, reminding me of my elementary school.

  The office where she stopped had a nameplate near the door: Pastor Jackie Fellows. The next line said: Senior Minister.

  I took a deep breath as we entered her small office as she turned on lights and opened the blinds. The view through the window was out to the street in front of the church, not the parking lot or cemetery.

  “May I get the two of you something to drink? Coffee or water?”

  “No, we’re in a hurry,” Sterling replied.

  “No, thank you,” I corrected, reaching for Sterling’s arm. “As I said, this has been more emotional for me than I planned.”

  “Please, have a seat...” She motioned to two chairs across from a standard desk. “My secretary will be here shortly, but we can keep this private if you prefer. First...” She leaned forward in her chair as Sterling and I sat. “...as I said, I’m Jackie. And you are?”

  “I-I’m...” I began first. “...Kennedy Hawkins.”

  “Mrs. Hawkins?”

  “Miss,” I replied, “and my—”

  “Kennedy and I are dating,” Sterling replied. “I’m her boyfriend.”

  I held back a smile, still unsure about that title. As he mentioned last night, Sterling Sparrow was hardly a boy. It was also clear that he wasn’t offering his name.

  “Kennedy,” Jackie’s tone was soothing, despite the scary-guy act coming from the man beside me. “Would you like to speak alone?”

  “No,” I answered quickly. “He’s been helping me uncover some family secrets. You see I was adopted, and now I’m trying to make sense of an unknown family history.”

  My mostly truthful answer seemed to relax the pastor a bit.

  “Well, as you probably know,” she began, “this is a very old church. Our chapel dates back to 1851. What is it about our church and our graveyard that you believe is connected to your family history?”

  “From stories I’ve been able to piece together,”
I answered, “at one time, my father was close with a minister here. I believe his name was Kenneth Watkins.”

  Jackie nodded. “He was the senior minister here for quite a stint. While many ministers like to move about, I understand why he was here for so long. I’ll admit presiding over this church is a gem.”

  “Is he...may I contact him?” I asked.

  “No, I’m sorry. He’s deceased. I’m the...” She seemed to be thinking. “...third senior pastor since Minister Watkins.”

  I let out a long breath at another dead end.

  “Kennedy, what were you hoping to find?”

  I shrugged, gazing from the pastor to Sterling and back. His dark gaze was fixed on me and his jaw clenched. It was no secret he was uncomfortable and wanted to leave. “I really don’t know,” I answered honestly. “There’s an old wives’ tale—”

  Sterling sat taller, every cell in his body emitting his disapproval of what I was saying.

  I swallowed. “Supposedly, my father was close to Minister Watkins, and my father left something with the minister for safekeeping. I don’t even know what it was, but I know I’m supposed to find it.”

  “That’s quite a story. A hidden treasure?”

  A smile came to my face. “I know it sounds farfetched. It’s fine.” I started to stand. “Thank you for your time. We can—”

  “Kennedy...”

  I stopped.

  “Can you give me any more information about this hidden treasure?”

  I looked to Sterling and opened my palm his direction. “I have this key.”

  Begrudgingly, Sterling reached into the pocket of his jeans and removed the small key, placing it in my palm.

  Jackie Fellows exhaled and leaned back in her chair. “This is highly unusual.”

  “I know. I’m sorry to waste—”

  “Can you tell me whose grave you were visiting?”

  I didn’t want to tell her mine. Instead, my mind searched for names that I’d read on the headstones. The truth was that I hadn’t paid that close of attention to any but mine. And then I remembered a name that I’d read.