“They I guess we gotta,” Duncan finally said.
“We will,” Cherish assured him.
Edward smiled through the tears that were continuing to surface, and his daughter moved to give him a hug. Opening his arms, he said a silent prayer as Cherish put her head on his shoulder and they embraced.
“Yes, we will,” he reiterated. “And one day, hopefully, he will learn that bitterly belittling others isn’t the best way to communicate. And neither is ignoring them.”
Part Four:
Richer Strands
Forty Two
Vancouver, Washington… December 21, 2024
Rose sat parked in front of the Stuarts’ house, wishing all the extra cars would just go away.
Did they really have church at their house still?
“Well,” she told herself aloud, pulling her coat more tightly around herself. “If I’m going to get up the gumption to do this, may as well do it now, even with all the extras around.”
She took a deep breath, turned off the radio, unhooked her seatbelt, and got out. Then, she locked the door behind her, and pocketed her keys. And another deep breath. Moved forward as far as the edge of the lawn.
Paused.
How many people will I know, she wondered. Will there be anyone besides the Stuarts, Rutherfords, and Jeffries’ that will even remember me?
She loped rapidly through the inch and a half of crunchy snow to the front door and knocked before she could talk herself out of it only to hear someone tell her to “come on in.”
She hesitated.
What if they don’t want me to stay? What if they tell me to leave and never come back?
The thoughts whirled around in Rose’s head a few more moments when she heard the door open; saw a familiar face.
“Mama,” Cherish yelled into the house, slamming the door, then opening it again.
Suddenly, Cherish was yelling for Paloma, over and over even as she grabbed Rose’s hand, dragging her behind.
And then, Rose was in the living room… twenty-five people on their knees, their eyes looking up at her.
“Told you she’d come back,” Cherish said, smiling.
“You,” she said to Rose, pulling her along. “Sit next to me.”
Paloma watched as her daughter dragged in a much leaner, much wearier and older-looking Rose than the one who had walked out nearly six years prior.
What could have happened in her life that she’d aged that much?
Rose’s skin was sallow, sunken in at the cheekbones. Her eyes, once such a beautiful and sparkling green were dull, as though the life had been drained from her; purple circles hung like hammocks underneath, dramatizing the effect. Her hair, once soft on the eyes and to the touch, looked matted and uncombed.
Had she gotten to use a bathroom to wash up recently?
Paloma could only guess not.
She moved quietly in the crowd of knees and sat on the other side of her newest guest so that Rose was kneeling between them. And as she placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder – now a young woman of nearly twenty-five – the electricity surged and the power went out.
Again.
For the third time in a week, she watched Edward – closer to the door, as well as the hallway – head in search of candles, lamps and lanterns. She hesitated a moment, afraid Rose would leave, but took a deep breath, smiled at Rose and Cherish, and followed her husband upstairs.
The pair of them quickly found a flashlight apiece and grabbed two of the larger lanterns to set outside, and a box of beeswax candles with their holders. Edward grabbed the candles, Paloma grabbed the holders, and they headed downstairs. Some of the older kids ran to get the lanterns, and find more flashlights, before the service resumed.
Fifine Noel was just calling for the final prayer requests as they got the last of the lights ready. Paloma noticed she had moved to Rose’s side, and she smiled. The women held hands and embraced a moment as hands went up for prayer… and as they parted, Rose’s hand joined them.
“Why don’t we let Rose go first,” the woman said, her eyes twinkling in delight. “For those who don’t know – or don’t remember – Rose, this dear girl stayed with my Juanito and I, and our children” she said pointing to each family member. “She stayed with us, and became one of us, and we’ve missed her.”
“Thank you, Mama,” the young woman said.
Her voice sounded as thin as her face looked.
“As Mama Fifine said, some of you will remember me. Some will not. Some, I maybe haven’t even met before. But I’ve had a lot of thinking to do over the years I’ve been gone, and I’ve made a lot of mistakes,” she began, her voice tight, reminding Paloma of embroidery on a hoop.
“I came back because of my mistakes; I came back because God put people who love me in this place. I came back,” she said, looking Paloma in the eye as all attention rested upon her, “because I belong here; I belong here and now, with you all. And I came back because I had nowhere else to go; nobody else to turn to but the people in this room.”
She paused, and someone handed her a glass of water. After a few moments, she drank deeply of it and continued.
“For the last six years, I was living with a man who treated me like utter refuse. He housed me in exchange for my body, and while together, I made my share of mistakes, too. In the last sixty days, I’ve come to realize I needed help. And I didn’t have money; just a car that’s older than I am, and even that doesn’t work sometimes. There was a full gas tank when I left, and along the way, strangers – or dare I say angels? – helped me pay the way to come home.”
She scanned the living room, and Paloma scanned it with her.
“I’m a drug addict,” she said, finally. “I’ve been clean for less than a month, and I don’t know how I’ll be able to keep clean, but so far, God’s done it. It hasn’t been me; God’s kept me from the drugs. I know it hasn’t… because if it were, I’d have never gotten free from the addiction, or from…..”
Rose took off her coat, moving slowly.
“I’m praying for a miracle,” she said, rolling up the sleeves of the oversized yellow sweater she was wearing. “I’m praying for a miracle because not only am I a drug addict, but I’m going to have a baby. And I can’t do this to myself anymore, and I can’t do this to a child that has still got some semblance of a chance to live.”
She began to walk around the room, her arms out, wrists up. When she got to Paloma, the marks in Rose’s arms made her want to gag; made her want to cry, want to scream.
Paloma’s mind drifted back to when she’d first met Rose; a sad, confused, and upset young fifteen year old who’d endured the trauma of time travel only to have one of the people she stayed with initially treat her like dirt. And it was no wonder she’d had such a difficult time of it, with how her family treated her once they’d found her again; no wonder at all, though it was no excuse.
Nothing could excuse what had happened to Rose; not a thing.
Rose crumpled at Paloma’s feet, her face a lonely cavern of sorrows, and they clasped hands. Eugenie, Me’chelle, and Mama Fifine stepped forward, and then, everyone who could manage to touch her surrounded her like a swarm.
And there, in the candlelight of the Sunday before Christmas, they were a family again. They were whole. They were hurting for the one they’d lost who’d come back; their own prodigal, and they were praying.
One at a time, all around the room, the adults and a handful of the teenagers prayed.
They prayed for comfort, for healing, for protection and wisdom. They prayed blessings over Rose and her unborn child. They prayed for deliverance from addiction and for resources to hook her into, and they prayed so long the candles began to gutter; the lights came on, and still they prayed. Lunchtime passed, and still they prayed. And then, as if all had been settled, they moved back to their seats. Mama Fifine was asking the others who’d raised their hands for their requests, and they were hearing more stories; more requests than they had
since the day Mark had asked Juanito for forgiveness, and they prayed.
Nobody turned on the music; nobody complained they were hungry, or had to leave. They stayed, and they prayed. And darkness came, and they prayed. And Paloma stepped out to block in the chickens, and still they were praying when she returned.
And Rose was back in their midst, and the silence was over between them. The awful unknowing was over, and Paloma’s heart was glad for it, and sad for her dear friend, and hopeful for the future.
Forty Three
December 24, 2024
Edward awakened to the scent of apple-cheddar strudel baking and smiled, turning over, before he roused himself out of bed. The air was chilly, and it sent goosebumps across his arms and legs as he sat up.
Can I seriously be fifty years old?
He had been thinking about age for weeks now, trying to figure out what it was about fifty that scared him so. Was it because, in reality, he’d been born in 1656… over three hundred and sixty years prior? Or was it a normal fear, like he’d seen with other friends who’d hit the milestone before him?
Some, like Tom, had embraced fifty. Others, not so much.
Edward took a good hard look at himself in the mirror; noted the bags that now lived under his eyes on a permanent basis; the white landing strips along the sides of his face blending in with the blonde, which had begun to darken just a little since being transported. He took note of the crows’ feet and crinkle lines near his eyes, and the smile marks that created shadows on the sides of his face. Shoulders that were just a little narrower and less defined than when he’d arrived at thirty-six. A belly just a hair softer. The scar from his heart surgery, now a plum and copper swirl of closed up skin worn smooth with time.
And he didn’t disagree with what he saw. The time he had lived had made its mark, and he was still here to see 2024’s end. His surgeons told him at the time he likely wouldn’t see the day, and he was here, and celebrated it in spite of his fear.
“Edward, are you awake,” he heard Paloma asking as she neared their door. Quickly donning a shirt, he let her in, kissed her, and followed her – and the smell of strudel – down the hallway to greet the rest of his family.
He and Paloma had stayed up until nearly four in the morning making sure all of the kids’ presents – nieces, nephews, cousins, and friends’ children – were wrapped before their celebration, and he was still tired. Had he really slept in until nearly ten, though?
It became tradition after the twins were born to do all of their get-together celebrations on Christmas Eve – despite it being his birthday – in order to allow for a day of family rest on Christmas Day.
So,” he said as he sat down, “good morning, everyone!”
“Happy birthday, Papa,” the kids shouted, not quite in sync.
The table was already set with a pale blue tablecloth and matching napkins, tree-decorated plates, and ivory-handled silverware. There was French toast and its multiple topping choices, and the waffle iron was out and ready. There was bacon, eggs, and breakfast sausage patties, and the strudel was just coming out of the oven.
Milk, the makings for hot chocolate, and three different types of juice were on the counter nearby, as well.
“Thanks, guys. Your old man’s an old man now,” he told them with a wink, enjoying their laughter.
Confetti crept up into his lap, and Paloma turned down the radio – set to the Classical station – so they could pray.
“Would you like to do the honors, Birthday Boy,” she said with a wink of her own.
“Papa’s not a boy. He’s Papa,” Cherish said, laughing even harder.
“I’d be delighted,” he answered, just as someone’s phone, sitting on the counter out of sight, began to ring. Ignoring it, he reached for Paloma and Duncan’s hands on either side of him and began to pray.
“Father God, we come before You in thanksgiving today,” he began as the phone rang again. “We thank You for all You’ve done for us, and for Who You are; we thank You for life, and that, in abundance. We thank You for another year together as a family. We thank You for proving the surgeons wrong; for allowing me to be here to watch my children grow up and become productive citizens who love You and want to be pleasing in Your sight. Thank You for protecting us in spite of the obstacles we’ve faced and the foes we’ve encountered. Thank You for reminding us that we fight not against flesh and blood, but against those things in the spiritual realm which aim to overtake us.”
He paused a moment, and, phone still ringing, Paloma picked up where he left off. “Lord, we thank You beyond what words can say. We thank You for this meal, and this day, and all You have in store for our future – separately and as a family. Praise You, Jesus, and accept this prayer in Your name,” she said. “Amen.”
“Amen,” everyone said in near-unison as Confetti began to get antsy for attention.
They released hands and began to divvy up food; Chosen manned the waffle iron for the first batch. As the waffle iron was switched off – at least for the time being – the ringing of the phone once more became an issue.
Whoever’s calling either had an emergency, or doesn’t get the picture, Edward thought as he finally stood to see who it was.
The ID said Jason Rutherford.
Now, why would Jason be calling when he’s planning to be here in just a few hours, Edward thought, answering it. “Hello?”
“Edward? Boy, am I glad it’s you. I was afraid I wouldn’t get to tell you until later, and then, everyone would be around and we wouldn’t’ have any privacy.”
“We’re just having breakfast. What’s going on,” he replied, heading back to the table and giving Paloma a thumbs-up.
“Well,” Jason began. “I think I may have found something else linked with the mirror… I’m not entirely positive, and we can’t work on it until Monday, but… there’s hope. I know the clues have been rare discoveries, and I just thought that, for your birthday, a little extra hope might be a good gift to give. I just wanted to do it in private; it’s related to France. We can look at it more when we’re back at work.”
A surge of joy made its way through him, quick as the lightening that struck the night he’d crossed time.
After more than four years, he’d begun to think they wouldn’t find anything else and just weren’t meant to get the whole story. The silent thread of years had worn down his hope… not to the point of nothing, but certainly, the weft and weave of it had loosened and become less constant.
“I appreciate it, Jason. I appreciate it more than… well, more than words can say. And you’re right. I’m thankful for the hope. When did you find…?”
“Three days ago, but I wanted it to keep for today, considering…”
“Yeah,” Edward replied, nodding as he reached for some peanut butter, as well as apple compote, to top his waffle. He looked up to see his family watching him. “What,” he asked them, smiling. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
“We will,” Jason asked him.
“Not you… Paloma and the kids. I’ll tell them tomorrow; the very least they can do is pray about it as we study more on Monday, right?”
“There’s that,” his brother-in-law, said, chuckling. “Well, anyway, we’ll see you later, then. And looking forward to it.”
“Sure.”
“Okay, then.”
He hung up the phone, setting it on the table nearby.
“I said I’ll talk with you all tomorrow about it. It’s all good... really. No worries, alright,” he said, laughing cheerfully when he noticed everyone else was still looking at him.
“Well, Dear, whatever that was, I’m glad it put you in such a good mood,” Paloma told him. “Because we still have a few things to do after breakfast to prepare for company, and not a lot of time to do it all in.”
Rose sat in the corner, at the end of the Stuarts’ old green velvet couch, petting and talking with Confetti as other guests began to show up for the Christmas and dual birthday celebr
ation: Edward’s fiftieth, and Majesta’s eleventh.
Most of the people who were coming had been there the day she’d sought prayer. I wonder if they’re going to treat me like a loser now that I’ve shown them my weaknesses, she thought, trying to concentrate on the cat’s fur. She ran her hand over the curls of it, letting it slide between her fingers.
She had been thankful that S. Gillam and Angelique had offered her a place to stay, no questions asked. There had been no more talk of drugs, or of Roger, the man who she’d allowed to consume so much of her life. The man who’d fathered her child and who, even now, might be searching for her.
“Hey,” she heard someone call.
The voice was familiar, and she looked up. Who was the intended recipient?
Pilar Iglesias, who hadn’t been at Church the day she’d come back, stood there, her arms wide open for a hug.
“Me?”
“Of course, you, Rose. I’m just sorry I didn’t get to see you sooner. I was still traveling to get here. I’ve been away at college, and had some extra things to do at work; couldn’t catch the train until the same day you arrived.”
Rose carefully set the cat down and stood, smiling tentatively at first, and then more so. Pilar moved toward her, and she took a few steps forward, as well, before they met in the middle for a long, bittersweet hug.
It was a hug that seemed to sweep her insides clean of all the years that had been lost between them, and all the pain that went along with it. Her smile broadened as they stood there, and for the second time since she’d arrived back in Vancouver, Rose didn’t care what everyone else thought.
She cared about the woman in her arms, and who she wanted to become – not for her sake alone but for the child she carried. A child she prayed God would have mercy on, whether or not she was able to care for him or her. A child God had chosen to bring her in spite of her actions, fears, and faults.
“You’re going to be a Mama,” Pilar whispered. It was a question more than a statement, and Rose nodded.
The Angels' Mirror Pack 2: Books Four through Seven Page 25