Between Darkness and Dawn

by Margaret Duarte

On catching Veronica’s last words, the busser nearly dropped the drinks he was carrying. The conversation died while he set down our glasses and hurried to the next table.

  “Well, that was effective,” Anne said.

  Veronica raised and lowered her shoulders in a display of indifference, which I now recognized as part of her mask. Her shrugs were easy to miss, unless you became a close observer, as I had in the short time I’d known her. You can say that my antennae were fine-tuned as far as my big sister was concerned. “Bet he doesn’t come back with refills,” she said.

  I took a sip of club soda.

  “Marjorie will be in charge tonight,” Anne said.

  My throat seized. Bubbles of carbon dioxide burned my nose. In charge? No way. This was supposed to be a practice run to launch new ideas, Anne’s department, not mine.

  “Marjorie’s going to set up her Medicine Wheel, and we’re going join her in some meditation and prayer. Are you okay with that, Veronica?”

  “Can’t wait. When and where?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  WE CHOSE A CLEARING off the Pfeiffer Falls Trail surrounded by an understory of sorrel, hedge nettle, and sword ferns and topped by a dense redwood canopy. As I listened to the ground hum and the Pfeiffer-Redwood Creek breathe, I started to assemble my Medicine Wheel as Ben Gentle Bear Mendoza had taught me during my stay in Carmel Valley. “We’ll be using five directional aids,” I said, locating a spot facing north with my compass. “To help us envision an encircled cross symbolizing the four-directional Medicine Wheel, which, of course, exists only in our minds. What I’ll be showing you is not a literal version of American Indian ritual. Consider it an adaptation for modern times, one that encompasses the spirit and intent of the ancients.”

  I set the first stone on the earth’s surface. “The white marker represents the North, the direction of receiving.” Then I placed the yellow stone facing east. “East is the direction of determining.”

  A quick glance at Veronica’s intent gaze confirmed that she was listening to, if not completely following, my condensed introduction to the Medicine Wheel.

  “The red stone marks the South, the direction of giving,” I said, situating my red stone at the base of the circle. I moved to the fourth direction of the wheel and put down my black stone. “West is the direction of holding.” Lastly, I set the green stone in the middle of the circle. “The Center is the place of stillness, where energy is generated from within. The Medicine Wheel also represents the four primary elements, air, fire, water, and earth, which are linked symbolically with every energy pattern.”

  “May I interject here?” Anne asked.

  “Sure,” I said, glad for the breather.

  “In witchcraft, we cast a magick circle, a protective area to work in, similar to the Medicine Wheel. Both spheres are meant to hold and concentrate our energies.”

  The similarities between the two spirit traditions comforted me. I was no expert on the Medicine Wheel and its teachings. Using this device to expand my awareness and find my own perception of the truth in learn-as-you-go fashion seemed harmless enough, but sharing the system with others felt like the blind leading the blind.

  “But in witchcraft,” Anne said, “instead of using stones to define our circle, we make a mark on the ground in chalk or with a length of rope.”

  We didn’t share enough history for me to recognize the subtext behind Veronica’s closed-off expression, though by studying her over the past few months, I’d come to a somber conclusion: My sister had suffered and her mask of indifference covered up a bruised heart.

  “We also make use of the four elements, earth, air, fire, and water,” Anne said, “and each has a color and direction. Earth is green and its direction is north, which is associated with growth, nurturing, and abundance. Air’s color is yellow and its direction is east, which is associated with communication, education, and the realm of the intellect. Fire’s color is red, the direction of the south. It represents the passion and desire that burns inside us all. And finally, water is blue, its direction west, which is associated with emotion, intuition, and cleansing.”

  Anne motioned for me to continue.

  So, I did. And as she inserted bits and pieces about witchcraft, I discovered that, like the smudging of the Medicine Wheel, the Magick Circle also needed to be cleansed of negative energy using smoldering incense, and that both circles served as places to receive and make magical calls without interruption.

  With my introduction to the Medicine Wheel out of the way, we sat within the sacred circle to begin our work. I lit a white candle and prayed that we end darkness and become open to love and light. I hesitated, unsure how to proceed.

  To my relief, Veronica chose that moment to speak. “Since Antonia told you to ask me about our father, I think this might be a good time to share what I know.”

  Was my sister finally going to divulge the information she’d withheld since we first met? I closed my eyes, preparing to memorize every word.

  “Nearly thirty years ago, our father came to Monterey on a business trip and decided to extend his stay by a few days to take in the sights. He drove the 17-mile road along Pebble Beach and stopped at the site of The Lone Cypress. That’s where he first caught sight of our mother.”

  The fleece-lining of my jacket didn’t insulate me from the chill I felt at my sister’s words. I heard my mother’s voice for the first time while visiting The Lone Cypress on what was meant to be a romantic day-trip with my now ex-fiancé, Cliff. From that point on, my life had taken a drastic turn.

  “She stood there, facing the ocean,” Veronica said, “with the wind blowing through her long, black hair, and he couldn’t look away.”

  “But he was married,” I said.

  “Yes.” Veronica swallowed before continuing. “He told me that he didn’t know how long he’d been watching her before she turned to leave—it could have been minutes, it could have been hours—but when she smiled at him, he was lost.”

  It took no stretch of the imagination to guess what happened next. Same tired old story: man on a business trip gets lonely; cheats on wife; figures no one will ever know; business trip over; man leaves the other woman; goes back to wife; fun while it lasted; guilt sets in; wishes he hadn’t done it; girlfriend gets pregnant...

  “He extended his stay for an additional week and told his wife, Elizabeth, that it was for business. He and our mother ended up spending the entire week together. Her name was Antonia Maria Flores. She was nineteen and trusted him completely.”

  “Did he tell her he was married?” I asked. So many lives affected by this single, misguided affair.

  “Not until he was about to leave. He claims it broke his heart to do so.”

  Oh, Mama. You gave up everything for the man you loved. As I almost did. Until you showed up in my life. Were you trying to warn me?

  “Nine months later, Bob got a telegram. I gave birth to twin daughters. Love, Antonia. He took the next flight to California.”

  What Veronica said next sent another wave of chills through me. “Elizabeth hadn’t been able to conceive, so when Bob saw the two of us in the hospital nursery, he couldn’t leave us behind. He told Antonia he would take us both.”

  I found it hard to speak. “How could he be so selfish?”

  “Because he also loved Elizabeth.”

  “He loved two women?”

  Veronica’s scowl softened. “Yes, he also loved his wife, who later became my adoptive mother.”

  “And what was Antonia’s reaction?”

  Veronica ran a hand through her hair, then rubbed her face as though washing it. “She loved our father and wanted him to be happy, but couldn’t give us up.” Veronica hesitated, as though weighing the effect of what she was about to reveal. “He said he’d force her to let us go. He knew Antonia had little money and that she lived with an elderly aunt and her parents were both dead.”

  “Oh God,” I said.

/>   “Our mother didn’t scream or fuss, just cried. And, in the end, our father couldn’t bear to follow through with his threat.”

  Everything was quiet, except for the trickle of creek water and rustle of air flowing through redwood branches, sounds which, to me, proved more therapeutic than those produced by Himalayan singing bowls. I felt my mother’s pain as if it were my own. And in a way, it was. Veronica’s and mine.

  Veronica’s face tightened. “He agreed to take one twin and leave the other.”

  “So, he took you and left me behind with our mother,” I said, feeling numbness set in.

  “Much later, Bob discovered that Antonia had died soon after leaving the hospital. Her passing was unexpected. She didn’t have time to contact him. He believes that Antonia would have wanted us to be together.”

  “So, that’s how I ended up in the hands of a midwife with babies for sale,” I said in a voice that sounded distant to my ears.

  “And you were adopted within weeks.”

  “Why wasn’t I taken in by our mother’s people?”

  “You mean by the elderly aunt? What do you think?”

  “But Antonia belonged to a huge, extended family.”

  “Yet she was alone.”

  “It’s also possible that her extended family was never notified,” Anne said, her voice soft. “Maybe the people responsible for putting you up for adoption thought they were doing you a favor, believing you’d have a better life if adopted by a family with means.”

  Or maybe my adoption had been illegal.

  Veronica lifted the green stone that marked the Center of the Medicine Wheel and cupped it in her hand. “Whatever the circumstances, by the time our father found out about your adoption, the so-called experts warned that you and your new parents had become accustomed to one another and to take you away would traumatize you all. So, he let it be and tried to forget you.”

  “Did he?” I asked, bracing for her answer.

  “He claims that he thought about you every day.”

  Every day? I doubted it. After hearing of our mother’s death, he could’ve kept in contact through my adoptive parents. Not just for my sake, but for Veronica’s as well. “Did he think of our mother, too?”

  “I’d like to believe he did. And here’s the strange part. Dad said that on the day they met, our mother told him she was hearing a voice.”

  The air left my lungs. Oh, God. Just like me.

  “He advised her not to listen, but she said the voice was trying to warn her about something.”

  Anne made the sign of the cross.

  “Veronica,” I whispered, eyeing the darkening landscape around us. “I think someone has joined us.”

  “Yeah, I feel it, too.”

  We turned to Anne for guidance, but her eyes were closed, her body swaying.

  Someone started to cry.

  “Here we go,” Veronica said under her breath.

  Anne’s eyes shot open. “It’s time, girls.”

  We scooted together, joined hands.

  “Look at the candle,” Anne said. “Squint until you see light stabbing in all directions. Then relax and breathe in...

  “Hold... Breathe out... Pause... Breathe in... Feel the power rising within you.”

  I peered at the candle. The light, indeed, appeared to be shooting in all directions. I squeezed Veronica’s hand, then Anne’s, waiting for the feel of rising power.

  There was none.

  “Think of Antonia,” Anne said. “What is it you want to say to her? Breathe in. See her in your mind’s eye. Hold on to that picture. Breathe out. Feel yourself receiving Antonia’s message. Put all your senses to work.”

  It was easy to picture my mother. She looked just like Veronica. What proved hard, was opening to her message.

  Anne adjusted her position next to me. “Let’s activate our thoughts with the power of will. Say out loud with me, ‘As we wish, so it shall be.’”

  Our voices joined to repeat the words, “As we wish, so it shall be.”

  “Before Antonia can manifest herself to us, she must exist in our thoughts,” Anne said. “Breathe in and sense the world for her, so she can feel it, too.”

  I strained to become aware of the world as I was currently experiencing it. The air rustling through the trees with its fresh, piney smell. Warmth radiating from Veronica and Anne’s hands and from their bodies huddled against mine. I felt a deep sense of love for my friend and for my sister, a reciprocal love, the kind of love that makes life worth living. My mother no longer had a body with which to experience these things. She could only experience them by remembering. Maybe I could help her remember true love by encountering and manifesting it through my body. But did I have enough love within me to share?

  “The wind contains the spirit and breath of your mother,” Anne said. “Do you feel it? Open up to it; give your mother a voice.”

  Again, I heard someone crying. It sounded lonely, riding on the wind.

  “Mother, please let Veronica and me help you. Tell us what you want. Tell us what you’re trying to say.”

  Veronica jerked her hand from mine to point at a spot outside our circle. “What’s that?”

  Following the direction of her finger, I thought I detected movement. A cloudy shape materialized in the late-morning air. It appeared to be reaching out to us.

  “Mother,” I cried.

  Veronica said nothing, but I felt her body quiver against mine.

  “Mother,” I said again.

  But she was gone.

  We sat frozen, waiting for her to return.

  Anne was the first to recover. “Time to shut down.”

  We can’t give up now. She’s here. Separated by the thinnest of veils. A veil we almost penetrated. How many more chances will we get? This is driving me crazy. I don’t know how much more I can take. I want to go home to Morgan. I want to go home to Joshua. Damn it, I want to go home.

  “It’s okay, Marjorie, we’ll try again,” Anne said, taking hold of my hand and pulling me up.

  Antonia. Come back. I’ve been trying so hard. What more can I do?

  “Marjorie?” Anne said. “It’s okay.”

  Veronica stood and dropped the green stone she’d been holding back into the center of our circle. “So, that’s it?” Her voice mirrored my disappointment, though her eyes remained dry.

  Anne offered a tired smile. “We actually did good.”

  Veronica brushed off the back of her jeans. “Well, isn’t that just great?”

  “Next time we’ll do even better,” Anne said, letting me go and snuffing out the candle, “because we’ll have two more powers on our side.”

  Veronica spun around to face her. “Which are?”

  “The full moon. And Adam.”

  “Who’s Adam?”

  “Our gateway,” she said.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “TALK ABOUT HEAVEN,” Anne said, eyeing the simple fare on her plate. “Roasted hotdogs and toasted buns, garnished with ketchup, mustard, and relish.”

  Although equating the contents of a meal soaked in sodium and fat to heaven was said in jest, Anne was right. Sitting under the canopy of oaks and redwoods at her camp munching on beef wieners was indeed paradise.

  Sheets of sunlight filtered through the leafy tree branches like the fingers of God, highlighting the understory of ferns and vines below. The sound of water rushing in the nearby Big Sur River and the occasional shaq-shaq-shaq of the Steller’s Jay did wonders for my spirit, which was currently riding low.

  It had been two days since my sister had shared with me what she knew about the circumstances of our birth and separation, and two days since we’d heard our mother cry. Why wasn’t Antonia sharing her message? What was holding her back? When I participated in the group circle at the Esalen Institute, Antonia had instructed me to talk to my father, the man who had broken her heart—and abandoned me. What was I supposed to talk
to him about? Even Veronica seemed perplexed. What could he possibly know that Veronica didn’t, having lived with him most of her life?

  Anne and I had been taking it easy, doing little more than eating, hiking, sleeping, and taking care of Adam. A good thing, because I was still trying to absorb the new prologue to my life story. A prologue that had brought more pain than enlightenment.

  Veronica had more or less disappeared. Again.

  “My sister doesn’t know what she’s missing,” I said.

  Anne dabbed at a glob of ketchup that had dripped onto another one of her bohemian maxi skirts. “Veronica has her own take on wonderful.” She poured bottled water onto her napkin and rubbed at the stain.

  “You can hardly see it,” I pointed out. “It’s camouflaged by all the yellow, purple, and pink in your skirt’s patchwork design.”

  Anne rubbed harder. “But like a thorn in my side, I know it’s there.”

  Footsteps crunched on packed vegetation, causing me to wonder which of our fellow campers was out and about? In exception to the departed Circus Campers, the Pfeiffer State Park residents had been amazingly quiet and had pretty much left us alone. Surprising, considering there were about two hundred RV and tent sites available—all occupied. For Adam’s sake, Anne had avoided getting chummy with the neighbors other than to say hello. No use encouraging the predictable questions: “Where you from? Whatcha do for a living? How long you staying?” Anyway, most campers came and went like vehicles sharing the freeway, entering and exiting via conveniently placed on-and-off ramps.

  However, this wasn’t a fellow camper.

  Talk about a thorn in the side.

  “What took you so long?” Anne asked. She crumpled the napkin into her fist, indicating that she was more disturbed by Cecil’s unsolicited visit than her words implied.

  “I had some background checking to do,” he said, grimacing at the remnants of hotdog and condiments on our plates. “I’m an attorney, you see, and that gives me access to a wide variety of research options. In other words, I’m privy to the personal information of even the lowliest, most nondescript, most insignificant citizen. But you, Sister Anne, caught me off-guard. Yes, even a hard-nosed attorney like me can still get hit between the eyes.”