Just then, Ms. Deeny came into the room carrying a silver tray with an ornate teapot and delicate china cups and saucers. There was a platter in the center with tea biscuits, biscotti and graham crackers. My father motioned for me to sit down in a high backed chair. He was still holding Preston in his arms as he sat across from me. Ms. Deeny, set the tray on the coffee table between us.
“Will there be anything else, Judge?”
“Not at the moment. Thank you, Ms. Deeny.”
He turned from her dismissively. It almost seemed as if he wasn’t fond of the frigid midget either.
“She’s not very warm and fuzzy is she?” I commented, as I poured our tea. I handed him his cup on the saucer.
“That’s an understatement,” my father replied, stirring a sugar cube into his tea. “She was very committed to my wife. She doesn’t like the fact that you represent my infidelity to Olivia while we were engaged. I believe that my wife likely took her into her confidence early on when the ‘negotiations’ were being conducted behind my back between your Uncle Matthew and Olivia.”
My father set his teacup down as Preston squirmed against him spotting the graham crackers on the tray. She recognized the graham crackers. That was one of her favorite snacks. She leaned over toward the tray, her little hand clasping and unclasping as she whined for a cracker.
“Of course, darling, Grandpa will get you a cracker.”
Dad reached for a graham cracker, handing it to her; she immediately started chewing on it.
“Dad, she'll have that cracker a soggy mess all over you within a few minutes.”
“That’s not a problem, Tylar,” he laughed. “I want to enjoy all the things that I missed with you.”
I sipped my tea as my father filled me in on what we were going to do the following day. My dad’s P.I. had located Trinity LaFleur. We'd be going to Vidalia to visit her at a pre-arranged time. It was less than a two hour drive. I told him about the key and the note from my mother instructing Trinity to give Maggie an envelope and I told him the note had been in the other blue velvet jewelry box’s false bottom.
“How strange it is,” he said, “When I gave those to your mother, I had no clue that the boxes would prove to be more valuable than the jewelry itself.”
“That brings a question to my mind about your gift,” I said.
He looked over at me, waiting for me to continue.
“Why give those to my mother? They had belonged to your grandmother. Wouldn’t you've wanted Olivia to have them?”
“Tylar, for the brief period of time that I had the privilege of knowing Marley, I knew immediately that she was an old soul. The jewelry was old and charming; it doesn’t have significant monetary value, but it was something treasured by me because it was my grandmother’s. She'd raised us after our parents were killed in a boating accident. I was just 5 years-old. The jewelry reminded me of the person that had raised and protected me until I reached adult age. I wanted that for Marley.”
“That brings me to another question. In Mom’s diary notebook, it mentions the day that you stopped by her house to give her the jewelry boxes and tell her good-bye. She mentioned that you'd had words with Matthew; she mentioned that he stopped threatening her after that.”
“Oh, that,” he replied. “I put the fear in him. I told him I knew he was running prostitutes, including his own sister. I let him know I'd given Marley my protection and that she'd the means of notifying me if he ever tried to put her to work like that again. I led him to believe he was being watched."
“That was kind of brilliant,” I conceded.
His face looked pained. “If only I'd really done it rather than simply alluding to it. She may be alive today.”
My dad was clearly anguished by the thought that he could have or should have done more. But frankly, who'd have thought Matthew was the sociopath it appeared he'd been? How had he managed to stay underneath the radar for all of these years? It appeared Matthew had graduated to much more lucrative schemes. Just then, our quiet reverie was broken by Preston. Her face was smeared with soggy graham cracker crumbs. She was looking over at me saying, “Num-num, num-num.”
She was squirming in Dad’s arms reaching for me. “I’m not sure what it is she requires,” my father said, handing her off to me.
I blushed taking her from him and feeling her fingers tugging at my shirt. “She wants to be fed,” I said. “I still nurse a couple of times each day.”
“Of course, darling,” he said. “Let me give you your privacy unless you would be more comfortable upstairs in your suite.”
I thought about Ms. Deeny, his nosy housekeeper. I truly hoped she wasn't one in the same with the ‘nanny’ he'd told Trey would be at my disposal.
“I think I'll go to the suite and nurse her. She probably needs changing before I put her down for her afternoon nap.”
“Of course. Do you want to rest up as well?”
I actually was tired. The going-away fuckfest that Trey and I had enjoyed the night before had left me less than rested, sleep-wise.
“That sounds wonderful to me, Dad. I think I'll rest with her as well. I'll see you at dinner then.”
“We'll be eating around six. Enjoy your nap.”
I took Preston to our suite and washed her face off and changed her diaper. I set the alarm clock on the nightstand. Preston and I settled back on the ornate canopy bed and fell asleep within minutes. I dreamt of my mother for the first time ever. Reading her notes and being around my father had conjured her up in my subconscious. I could now picture her and what she'd looked like.
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 seemed like only 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 honor 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 have several grandchildren that I thoroughly enjoy.”
Why do I think you're full of shit?
I watched as they disappeared through the swinging door that lead from the dining room into the kitchen. I didn’t li
ke Preston to be out of my sight 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 as 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.
“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 have 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; he was 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 have done that?”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that, Tylar. I had a history with Olivia. I had 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 were 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 indicated. She closed the door behind us, going back to the storefront.
Miss Trinity LaFleur wasn't what 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 descent; 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 had 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 have 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 sat 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 have 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, I was blessed with a beautiful baby was 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.
Shadows and Dreams (Dream Series Book 2) Page 31
