by ANDREA SMITH
Maggie, of course, had never kept a picture of her around since she was posing as my natural mother for all of those years. I had the impression that my mother and Maggie didn't resemble each other all that much physically or morally; for, that I was very thankful.
It had only seemed like moments had passed before the alarm clock on the nightstand went off. Preston was still dozing peacefully next to me. I moved quietly from the bed letting her sleep.
I went into the bathroom to freshen up, changing into a pair of dress slacks and blouse for dinner. I had no clue how formal my dad rolled at his estate. Preston was stirring as I returned to the bedroom. I scooped her up and she rubbed her eyes with her hands and yawned.
“Hey, baby girl, did you have a nice nap?”
I cleaned her up, putting a fresh diaper on her and dressing her in a jogging suit. I took my brush and ran it through her baby locks getting rid of her ‘bed head.’
“There,” I said smiling at her. “Preston looks beautiful.”
A high chair had been moved up to the big dining room table for Preston. My father seated us both, taking his place next to the baby.
A servant brought out a lovely roast with new baby potatoes, glazed carrots and freshly made bread. I was famished. I started to get up to feed Preston first but my father motioned for me to remain seated. He said he wanted to do the honors of feeding her. I was sure he didn’t know what he was in for. By the time Dad had finished feeding Preston, they both had their fair share of pureed chicken and yams on them.
Ms. Deeny had come out viewing the aftermath and pursed her lips giving a ‘tsk-tsk’ while shaking her head in disapproval. “Judge, I'll get a cold wet cloth to dab those food stains off of your shirt and tie,” she said heading back to the kitchen.
“No, Karen,” he said abruptly, waving her off. “Please see to cleaning my granddaughter up. I want to eat dinner with my daughter.”
My motherly instincts were on ‘high alert’ as the frigid midget lifted my baby girl from her high chair to take her into the kitchen to clean her up.
“I can do that,” I started.
“Oh, no,” she said to me with a statue-like smile. “I love babies. I've several grandchildren that I thoroughly enjoy.”
Why do I not believe you?
I watched as they disappeared through the swinging door that lead from the dining room into the kitchen. I didn’t like Preston to be out of my site with the hag. I relaxed just a couple of minutes later when Ms. Deeny returned with a cleaned up Preston.
“There she is, all nice and clean,” Karen cooed as she placed her back into the high chair. She must've given Preston a graham cracker in the kitchen as she had one clutched in her chubby little hand. Karen got her situated and belted into the high chair.
Just as she slid the tray back onto the chair, Preston leaned in and grabbed Karen’s gold necklace that was dangling within the baby’s reach. Preston had it clutched in her fingers, pulling at it.
“No! No!” Karen said in a loud voice that startled the baby.
Preston immediately released the chain and turned to me, her face puckered up ready to cry.
“There now,” Karen said as she adjusted the necklace back around her turkey neck. “No harm done, sweetheart.”
Karen brushed past us as she left the dining room. It was if she hadn’t noticed that she'd upset the baby - or hadn’t cared. I lifted Preston out of her high chair her crying now reduced to a whimper; she turned her attention back to the graham cracker as I sat her on my lap to finish eating.
“It’s likely been some time since Ms. Deeny's been around a baby. I’m sure she didn’t mean to come off so harshly,” my dad commented.
I'm sure as hell she did!
“What about those grandchildren of hers she thoroughly enjoys?"
“I believe they live in another state,” he replied.
I then realized her aversion to the baby and me was likely caused by jealousy; pure and simple jealousy. She'd probably thought since Olivia had passed on she'd become mistress of the manor. In her own twisted mind, she may've even presumed she'd share my father’s bed. He was still young and vibrant; she was a dried up hag, trying to look like she still had it going on.
“How long has Ms. Deeny worked for you, Dad?”
“She actually worked for my late wife’s family prior to our getting married. Olivia insisted on having Karen join our staff after our wedding. She thought of Karen like an older sister. Olivia was an only child born late in life to her parents. When Olivia’s mother passed away while she was in college, Karen joined the staff.”
“Karen looks like she's in her sixties,” I commented. “Wouldn’t she have been nearly old enough to be Olivia’s mother?”
“Well, Olivia was eight years older than me so not quite the age gap that you'd imagine.”
“How did you lose Olivia?” I asked.
“She died last year of a sudden cerebral hemorrhage. It was very unexpected. She was physically active and lived a healthy lifestyle.”
I was quiet for several moments, watching Preston gum and slobber on her graham cracker.
“Is there something that you want to ask me, Tylar?”
My father was watching me; a fairly intuitive person but then I supposed in his profession it was a necessity.
“I don’t know how to word this without offending you,” I commented quietly.
“Don’t worry about offending me. Maybe I deserve to be offended - and a lot more. Ask me anything.”
I flushed trying my best to pick my words carefully. “You’ve already told me that you fell in love with my mother the first night you were together; you admitted to her that if you could change things before you married your fiancé you would have.”
“That’s correct,” he stated waiting for more.
“So, why didn’t you call off the wedding? If you really loved my mom, why wouldn’t you've done that?”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that, Tylar. I'd a history with Olivia. I'd made a commitment to her; our plans were in place to build a life together. And there's one very important factor that you've left out.”
“What factor?” I asked.
“Your mother had given me no indication that she cared for me, let alone loved me. They were words she wrote in a diary of sorts that I didn’t see for decades - after it was too late.”
“If you'd known my mother loved you - if she'd said those words to you back then would it have changed anything?”
“That’s not a fair question, Tylar, given what I now know. I can't answer it objectively, I’m sorry.”
“One final question, Dad, did your marriage to Olivia boost your appointment to the federal bench?”
He looked at me and was clearly bothered by what I'd asked.
"In all truthfulness, Tylar, I have to say that having the backing of such a powerful and prestigious family as my wife’s certainly didn’t hurt. Was that my sole purpose in marrying her? I can honestly say it wasn't.”
I looked at him for several moments; I assessed what I saw and what my instincts so far in life had taught me. I believed him.
CHAPTER 44
The drive to Vidalia took less than two hours. My dad had arranged for a limo to take us. Preston was kept entertained by the assortment of toys we'd brought along with us.
Vidalia was a small town with less than five thousand residents. It was quaint and had an attractive river walk along the banks of the Mississippi river. The sign that welcomed travelers into town boasted Vidalia as being the ‘sister’ city of Natchez, Mississippi directly across the river.
Miss Trinity LaFleur owned a shop in the small downtown area. It was located in an old brick building on the end of the main thoroughfare. My father opened the door of the shop for me and a bell overhead tinkled our entrance.
The shop wasn't well-lit and had a musty smell to it. The shelving that adorned all of the walls displayed a variety of homemade pottery in various shapes and sizes. They we
re hand-painted with exquisite landscaped scenes of the river and the town itself. There were glass cases that held a variety of small potted herb plants; various seed mixtures were bagged and labeled. There were books for herbal remedies and holistic healing.
“A little bit of everything it appears,” my father commented as we headed to the back of the store. The aisles were narrow so my main concern was keeping Preston from reaching out to touch the colorful pottery. A door from behind the glass counter creaked open and a light-skinned black woman appeared.
“May I help you?”
“Are you Miss LaFleur?” my father asked. “We're expected.”
“Ah yes,” she replied with a faint smile. “Judge Tylar and Mrs. Sinclair, please come around through here. Trinity's in the parlor.”
We followed her down a hallway and entered the room she'd indicated. She closed the door behind us going back to the storefront.
Miss Trinity LaFleur wasn't as I'd expected. She appeared to be in her early forties which would've made her fairly young at the time of my birth. She was of Creole dissent; dark eyes, hair and creamy pale skin. Her ear lobes boasted multiple piercings from which a variety of long, dangling earrings danced about sounding musical. She'd a very exotic look about her.
She came toward us and I noticed she was dressed in an ankle-length silk caftan. She wore socks underneath her laced up leather sandals. Her focus was immediately turned to me as I clutched the baby close.
“You've the essence of Marla,” she stated simply taking my free hand into hers. “It was there at your birth and it still remains.”
I wasn’t sure exactly what that meant but I decided to take it as a compliment. “Thank you, Miss LaFleur.”
“Please, call me Trinity. Your mama and I were once very close. We remain close in the spirit world. I assisted in your birthing more than twenty years past. You were born behind a veil. That's always a good sign.”
She turned her attention to my father, extending her hand in greeting. “Judge Tylar,” she said, “It's nice to put a face to the voice on the phone. Both of you please sit down.”
We did as instructed my father taking a seat in an over-stuffed floral chair; Preston and I sitting on the matching settee. Trinity took her seat beside us.
“Trinity,” I said, “Can you explain what you meant by my being born ‘behind a veil?’ I've no point of reference on that.”
She smiled, nodding her head at my confusion. “Technically, you were born with a caul attached to your face. It's a very rare but mystical occurrence. Don’t be alarmed by the sound of it please. It's nothing more than part of the amniotic membrane that breaks away and forms tightly against the head during the birthing process. It appears like a translucent veil covering the baby’s face.”
It sounded totally gross to me; Trinity read my reaction.
“Trust me, Mon Cher’, it's indeed something to be proud of because it does offer some mystical and magical elements. Tell me that you've not had good fortune in your life?”
I thought about it and it was true. I'd had the good fortune of loving and being loved by Trey; blessed with a beautiful baby and finally locating my father, but at what cost to my mother?
“I’ve been blessed in many ways, Trinity, that's true, but never knowing my mother or what happened to her haunts me now.”
“Ah yes, Mon Cher, and that's what brought you to me. Things unfolded the way that they did for a reason. Don't believe that it's pure coincidence that you and your father sit before me now. There's a purpose to all of this. It's the finishing of the story and proper punishment for the guilty.”
Preston was enamored with her soft, melodic voice as was I. She watched the dangling earrings and I shifted her on my lap afraid she might reach over to pull on them as she sometimes did with mine. Trinity turned her attention to Preston who had begun squirming in my arms wanting free reign.
“And who is Ce bel enfant?”
“This is my daughter, Preston.”
“A very exquisite child,” she commented.
“I see you're a very proud mama and, dare I say, the judge is a very proud grand-pere?”
“Je Suis effectivement cela,” my father responded in perfect French.
I took that as a ‘yes’ being that I couldn’t speak French.
My father took Preston from me allowing me to present Trinity with the plastic bag that held the key and the note that I'd found hidden in the jewelry box.
She accepted it from me and read the brief note instructing her to give the envelope to Maggie. Her face grew dark with something that felt like anger.
“I told Marla not to trust that sister of hers! I knew in the end, Maggie wouldn't cross Matthew.”
She shook her head in sorrow. “If she'd only done what Marla requested of her when she knew she was dying, perhaps the monster would be behind bars right now.”
“He is,” my father replied, bouncing Preston on his knee.
Trinity’s head snapped up in surprise. “Then evidence has surfaced about his involvement in Marla’s death?”
“I’m afraid not,” my father replied. “He’s been arrested on unrelated charges. I think I explained that Maggie confided to Tylar on her deathbed that she felt he'd poisoned her the same way that he'd poisoned Marley.”
“Yes, I recall that Judge. But, will those unrelated charges keep him in prison for the rest of his miserable life?”
“Perhaps,” he replied, “but they won’t get him the death penalty.” I looked over at my father’s somber expression. He wanted an eye for an eye. He wanted to avenge my mother’s murder. I felt the same way.
Trinity rose and went to a tall wooden cabinet in the corner of the parlor. She opened the door and searched the top shelf finally pulling out a small envelope. She handed it to me. It was sealed; ‘Maggie’ was written on the front. It was my mother’s handwriting. I recognized it from the pages she'd written and torn from the notebook. I opened the sealed envelope and took the folded piece of paper from it. There was a curly lock of hair taped to the paper. It looked like baby hair. The note was short and direct.
Maggie,
Please take this lock of Tylar’s hair to Preston in Baton Rouge. Tell him he has a daughter and she needs his protection.
The hair will provide the DNA proof she's his child. He'll protect you as well for doing this good deed. Trinity will know what the key opens.
Love,
Marla
The business card my father had given to my mother before he left was enclosed in the envelope. I handed it over to my father to read. Tears sprang to my eyes as I sat back down and tried to compose myself. My father looked up, first at me, and then at Trinity.
“I don’t understand why Marley would've trusted Maggie with a task such as this,” he said, handing the note to Trinity to read.
She shook her head; her eyes were full of sadness. “I’m so sorry, Judge. Marla was still trying to look out for Maggie in some way it would seem. She knew that Maggie needed to be kept safe from Matthew; she knew that you were one person who could do that.”
Trinity wiped an errant tear from her cheek. “She never shared with me the contents of that envelope there or the contents of the metal box. She said it was family business; it wasn’t safe for me to know too much. Marla loved me like a sister but she was a very private person. Why, I never knew you were her baby’s father until I received your phone call. She did ask me if the key ever found its way to me if I'd do what I could to assist.”
I was confused; my father appeared to be as well. “Assist in what way?” I asked.
“In getting the metal box opened,” she replied.
“Let’s do it then,” my father replied standing up holding Preston.
“Can you get the metal box for us?”
“I’m afraid not, Judge Tylar,” Trinity replied softly.
“Why not?” My dad and I both asked in unison.
“It’s hidden inside the casket with Marla.”
; CHAPTER 45
The ride back to Baton Rouge was a quiet one. Preston was sleeping soundly in her car seat. I was lost in thought about all we'd learned from Trinity today. I suspected my father was as well.
Shortly after the botched attempt by my mother and Maggie to leave New Orleans and return to Mississippi, Trinity had moved to Vidalia. She'd preferred the quiet life of a small town to the crowded, noisy life in New Orleans. Around the same time, Matthew had moved to Baton Rouge with my mother, Maggie and me. This had allowed my mother to stay in touch with Trinity and she'd done just that.
Trinity said it hadn’t been more than a month since they'd moved to Baton Rouge when my mother had shown up at her apartment in Vidalia. She'd taken a bus from Baton Rouge. Trinity had been concerned because my mother hadn't brought me with her. She'd questioned my mother about it. My mother had told her that she'd been really sick; that she had to stop breast-feeding me because it'd been making me sick. I'd started vomiting after nursing. She'd put me on formula and left me with Maggie while she went to Trinity for help.
Trinity said that my mother had looked deathly ill. She'd put some various herbs and roots together in a mixture instructing my mother to drink the concoction several times a day. She said it would flush her system of whatever virus or infection she had going. My mother had given Trinity the envelope asking her to keep it in case Maggie ever came to her. She wouldn’t tell Trinity anything further.
It was barely a week later that my mother had again shown up at Trinity’s. This time she had me with her. Trinity said she looked worse than before. She was having trouble breathing and complained of hallucinations. She asked Trinity if we could stay with her. She'd told Trinity that she suspected someone was trying to kill her.
Trinity said that my mother’s behavior had been very erratic. She'd rambled incoherently at times; but handed Trinity a locked metal box and made her promise that if anything happened to her, she'd place the box inside her casket hidden underneath the blanket where no one would see it. Trinity promised her she would.