Mary continued in silence as they made their way inside, and then, finally, turned toward him.
“Now, Louis,” she said. “Being that you are the King, and he, another, surely you have some say? Some influence over what will happen to him? Surely you can make sure that my son lives, and does not die?”
A surge of anger welled within him, and he tamped it down. Did the woman not have a right to be upset over her son?
For a few moments, he stroked his beard in thought, letting Louisa’s arm drop in the process, to which she protested. “I cannot say that I have much influence on those in Anne’s court,” he began. “Et je ne peux pas dire que James Francis est à l'écoute, plus aucun d'entre nous. Sa vie a été menacée; qu'il souhaite savoir pourquoi. C'est une chose difficile. On the one hand, he is free to make his choices, and on the other, those choices affect our family, and a number of nations. I do not believe he sees it that way.”
“Well, you’d better do something,” Louisa said, turning a heel against him. “Because I’m not planning to marry just because he’s acting like an imbecile.”
“Louisa Maria, mind your manners,” Mary scolded her.
The woman, Louis noticed, had aged considerably since their last meeting; her hair grown thinner, her eyes, baggy around the underside.
“Well, in the meantime…,” Louis said after a few moments. “I shall allow you to settle into your rooms. I have informed the Beausoleils you were coming, and, perchance, you will be able to spend part of the day with Roisin and Clarice tomorrow.”
“As much as I love my dear friends,” Mary said, walking right up to him to look him in the eye, “they are no consolation prize if I lose my only son.”
The tension in the air thickened as he tried to come up with an answer. He could argue her point; the two were not alike or even connected. Or, he could show a little wisdom.
Which was the better part, now that the wind had changed course, and disaster seemed almost eminent?
“Duly noted,” he conceded with a grimace.
No use arguing.
He’d never win…
Thirty Four
Portland, Oregon… February 22, 2025
Edward waved at Jason as the man pulled his vehicle into the parking spot next to his. Glad that everyone had agreed to a quick lunch before getting down to business, and Chang’s Mongolian Grill, an oldie but a goodie, was a nice change of pace from their everyday life.
“Well,” Paloma said as she finished braiding her hair,” I think we’re all here, but for the Ogawas.”
Even as she was speaking, a familiar blue sedan pulled into the lot, parking several spaces down within moments. “Ready, then,” he asked.
“Yeah, just grabbing my purse, and I’ll be right there,” she told him as he opened his door. Softly closing it, he walked around to the other side to help her out and locked up before pocketing his key again.
Once everyone had moved together toward the door, Jason ushered them all inside, and, thankfully, the line ahead of them wasn’t long.
“I can’t believe it’s been three years since we’ve been here,” Edward heard Anouk Chanel whispering to Masao, and he smiled.
“It’s probably been nearly that since I was here last, too, but I just love this place,” he whispered back confidentially as they grabbed their bowls to begin filling.
He allowed Paloma ahead of him, knowing she was quicker getting through the line than he, and carefully spooned out varying portions of his ingredients. He scooped up turkey and lamb, chicken and beef; celery, carrots, spinach, pineapple, and water chestnuts; noodles and a variety of oils, waters, and juices to create a good moisture base before setting the bowls onto the grill counter to watch the chefs perform their magic.
Once they had prayed over their food, they stretched the time out, enjoying the lunch, and some, going back for seconds. It wasn’t until they were beginning their dessert cups that anyone broached the topics they had prepared themselves to discuss.
“So is it odd to anyone else that Abdul and Tessa kept in touch, and somehow ended up friends with Ken Traylor’s son,” Me’chelle finally said, her voice hardly above a whisper, “and that nobody knew anything about it?”
Edward’s thoughts snapped toward the words; he’d been wondering the same thing since Jason called him on Valentine’s Day. The pair of them had discussed it some with Malik the following Monday, and he’d had no idea, either; not about his son’s association with Dennis Traylor.
Tessa, apparently, had gone to the same school as Abdul in the fourth through sixth grades and had initially been on opposing sides of every fight. Then one day, they simply decided it was easier being on the same team than not.
“We haven’t gotten all the facts, but it seems plausible that Dennis knew who the mirror had initially been given to. I mean, it was no secret to anyone that Ethan and Vanessa got it for you two on your wedding, was it,” Anouk Chanel asked, turning toward where he and Paloma were sitting at the end of the table nearest the door.
“What I don’t get is how that involves Tessa or Abdul,” Paloma said. “It’s almost as if, now that we’re onto something, there are forces against us we didn’t know existed; or didn’t realize were working together,” she continued. “And I use ‘forces’ rather… loosely. We know where this is coming from, right?”
Nods around the table showed their assent as the waitress approached them. “Is everything alright, or is there anything else you need,” she asked, her thin arms laden with dirty plates she’d picked up elsewhere.
“I think we are okay,” Masao answered for them all. “And I am ready to pay the bill, if you would be so kind?”
With a nod, the woman headed away from their table, and Edward was the first to protest. “You don’t need to pay for everyone.”
“Ah, but this, I insist on. There is much to say, and to share, and it would not have been considerate of me to do so when you were all hungry. It is the least I can do to help prepare you for the mental and emotional journey we are about to embark on,” the man said.
Edward couldn’t see his face from where he sat, and so stood, moving closer. “Well,” he answered after a moment. “Thank you. I don’t wish to be rude or unhospitable. Your gift is appreciated,” he continued.
There was no reason to fight tradition; not when there was no harm in it.
Within the next few minutes, Masao settled the bill and the six of them were headed out the door, grabbing mints on the way out. “I believe your van is the largest, Edward, yes?”
With a quick nod, he pulled his keys out, let them all in, and got in behind the wheel.
“Ah… I need my notes,” Masao told everyone, laughing. “I will be back in just a few moments.”
He quickly exited the minivan, jogged to his vehicle, and was soon back.
The wait was about to end.
Thirty Five
Boston, Massachusetts… February 22, 1942
Steven quietly followed his family into the little church, almost afraid to even enter.
The first Sunday he’d been back since exposing his deception to his wife; his error in judgment, and he wasn’t sure how those in the congregation that knew him – the ball players and Rocky, especially – would respond.
After Shiloh confronted him early Valentine’s Day morning, knocking more than an hour ahead of when he normally left for work, Steven knew there was nothing to be done about it. “You tell her, or I’ll have to; she’s my sister, Steven,” he remembered the man saying with tears in his eyes.
His brother-in-law had walked him to the diner where he’d shared conversation with someone who knew what was happening; it had to be someone on the inside, but why?
Steven had tried to wrack his brain in the interim, thankful more than ever that he had declined the offers of others to buy the jewelry he’d decided to give his wife. It wasn’t going to make things perfect; in fact, she hadn’t worn it, but he hoped in time, she would see that his heart had been in
the right place, even if his mind wasn’t.
The strains of an unfamiliar hymn began to fill the air, and Steven reluctantly followed Liraz, Shannen, Shannen Rose, and the rest of the family who had attended into the sanctuary. As they approached their regular bench, he saw that it was full and sighed in relief; it meant they’d need to sit further back.
He turned around before the rest of the family even noticed, heading toward the fourth row from the back, which was not only clear, but away from the eyes of those who would know his business. He waited for the rest of his family to join him, and to his surprise, they parted into two smaller groups in order to sit closer to the front. So, with a shrug, he sat down at the end of the pew, awkwardly aware of how empty it was: only one other person shared his space, and it was on the other end.
The face was familiar, but he was sure they had not spoken before. Had they?
The older woman, head covered with a kerchief, fingers arthritically closed together, weakly waved a hand as she smiled, revealing a mostly-empty mouth and shining blue eyes. With a quick nod, he waved back before trying to figure out what to do with himself.
Had he ever sat alone in church before?
Memories of when his mother and sister died flooded in on him, and he moved to palm his face, cradling it in his hands.
Yes.
Yes, he certainly had.
When his mother and Sarah Jene had died; when Father had finally let him go stay with the Schwartzes after Rose and Miss Roisin disappeared; when sweet old Mrs. Moira McKinney was found dead in her house…
He had gone to Our Lady of Good Voyage each time, in tears. Once the pain had set in; once he had a free hour to get away.
With the baby, he’d just run. He hadn’t cared that the church was several blocks away, on Prospect Street, away from the harbors; he just needed comfort and solace and somewhere to go; someone to listen to him as he raged against the injustice of it all. He hadn’t cared that most of the congregants were Portuguese – most of their neighbors were, though their father had been adamant they not become friends with any of them.
He left everyone that day, though; said nothing; just ran.
He ran until his lungs felt like they would explode and his feet would fall off if he took another step, and still, he’d run. He paused only to catch his breath a few moments at the bottom of the steps, looking up at the bell towers on either side of him as his heart raced within him, and then pushed his way inside, past the other parishioners, who were taking their time.
He’d slid into the first empty pew he could find and knelt down on the prie Dieu – the kneeling bench – falling upon it so hard in his haste that he thought it might break. For several moments, all he could do was continue to catch his breath as, finally, he allowed his tears to flow in anger; in pain; in confusion.
The bishop he spoke with that day – the same one who had come to find them when Steven’s father was injured and his crew killed – had been more than kind. He had spent nearly two hours talking with Steven; praying with him, though he could have spent time with so many others that day.
Suddenly, the church was quiet as Pastor Fredrickson moved toward the altar rail, and then, to the pulpit, snapping Steven’s attention back to the present. “And now, for the reading of the Word of God,” the man said, his chins wobbling as he moved to open the pages before him.
“We will be reading from the ninth chapter of the book of Genesis, verses eleven through sixteen,” the pastor continued. “And I will establish my covenant with you, neither shall all flesh be cut off any more by the waters of a flood; neither shall there any more be a flood to destroy the earth.”
There was a pause as the pastor looked around for his handkerchief, wiping his brow. He turned the page as he continued reading.
“And God said, This is the token of the covenant which I make between me and you and every living creature that is with you, for perpetual generations: I do set my bow in the cloud, and it shall be for a token of a covenant between me and the earth. And it shall come to pass, when I bring a cloud over the earth, that the bow shall be seen in the cloud: And I will remember my covenant, which is between me and you and every living creature of all flesh,” the man read as tears began to flow down Steven’s cheeks.
Sipping his water quickly, the pastor continued, “and the waters shall no more become a flood to destroy all flesh. And the bow shall be in the cloud; and I will look upon it, that I may remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is upon the earth.”
At this, the pastor closed the Bible in front of him, cleared his throat, and began to speak.
Steven’s heart began to thud within him as more memories flooded in on him, thankful that nobody he knew could see him, as tears now ricocheted off his chin and landed on his collar.
God’s promises.
How could he have forgotten?
Not just His promise of never flooding the earth again; not just His promise never to kill all life, no matter how bad things got. But promises that told him nothing was impossible, if he believed. That with God, even the things that he thought could never be done – like seeing Rosie again – might actually happen.
It wasn’t that he’d given up on her; it was that he’d given up hope of his life ever changing for the better. It was as good as it would get, at least, before he’d begun to get sucked under the tow of addiction. But even then, if nothing was impossible, did that mean that, just as Father had finally stopped drinking, he himself could stop betting? Stop playing dice and cards?
Or was that beyond the scope of what God cared about?
Didn’t the Bible say He took care, even of the birds that flew and the animals in need of shelter?
So why not him? Why couldn’t God do something to change him? To free him from this cycle he had fallen into?
And why couldn’t he have hope, like Warren, that Rosie would someday, somehow come home again? Until the last year, he had held onto that hope as if it were the only candle in a dark night, and now? He felt he sat in utter darkness, with only the faint outline of a doorway before him, drawing him toward light.
But once he opened the door, should he find the knob, what would be on the other side?
Would he be able to endure, or give up even more, daunted by the task and season ahead?
The words of the pastor continued on in the background of his mind as he continued to ponder what had happened to his life. He heard the man telling them, in his deep, deep voice, that while God doesn’t forget, it is still good that He be reminded; that something He promised is brought before Him.
“This is true all throughout Scriptures, that people tell God what He has done; what He has promised, as a means of sharing the record with Him. A means of showing that we’re paying as much attention as He is, and that there are some things too important to give up on,” he continued.
“And what could be more important than God? What could be more important than seeing His promises come to fruition in our everyday world,” he asked the audience. “Nothing but trusting Christ.”
Thirty Six
Meridian, Mississippi… February 22, 2025
Calico laughed along with Angus to the antics of Minkle and Stub as they waded through the backwoods of North Carolina in order to solve their current mystery. Stub, his electronic arm halfway hidden underneath his brightly colored Hawaiian shirt and a bright yellow wig in place, followed his plaid-clad friend Minkle as they hunted down their client’s missing scuba gear, to hilarious results.
In the background, she could hear Romeo placing a call to check on the status of their medical records, which, somehow, had been misplaced in the transfer from California.
She could have told him it would happen, but there was no point in making a big deal of it; when she’d gone into the HUVA program as Rosemary, it had taken five months to get things straightened out… and that didn’t include any back records she’d needed to forget about for the sake of savi
ng her life.
“I don’t care how you get them here, I want them transferred to the right city; the right clinician. I want them transferred by the end of tomorrow’s business day, and that’s final, unless you’re interested in trouble for your company. This is a life or death situation, and your company hindering the process of fully relocating is not going to be tolerated,” she heard him say, becoming impatient.
“What’s this over here in the bushes, Stub,” Minkle said, his voice reminding her just a little of Rodney Dangerfield to Stub’s Kevin Jamesesque murmurings and shouts, “I think there’s another clue.”
“I’m sorry to hear your database has had issues loading into your new system,” Romeo said, “but that shouldn’t have had a bearing on these records. I requested them sent nearly three weeks ago in preparation of this move; a good week before-”
“Oh, what could it be,” Stub said excitedly, pulling his magnifying glass out of his pocket to get a closer look. Angus laughed as the poor alligator lost his wig in a sudden wind. “Well, there goes my cover.”
“Yes, I understand that these things happen,” she heard Romeo say, his voice receding back toward the master bedroom. “Do you understand the meaning of life and death?”
“Why, it’s a magic wand,” the perplexed Stub said as someone knocked on the door. “That has nothing to do with scuba gear, does it?”
“Stay here,” Calico told her son as she went to see who had come.
“Calico? Romeo? It’s Prudence Song… might I come in,” she heard the exotic and fun little woman say as she approached the door to let her in. “Thanks,” she said, giving Calico an unexpected hug even as the door shut.
“Prudece,” Angus hollered behind her, his little feet stomping quickly toward them. “Come in, Prudece!”
The Angels' Mirror Pack 2: Books Four through Seven Page 53