The Angels' Mirror Pack 2: Books Four through Seven

by Harmony L. Courtney

  Something wasn’t right, and he wanted to know sooner than later what was happening, before there was a problem. One migraine might be a fluke; two were the beginnings of a pattern, but three? There was something happening.

  He just wished he knew what, and how to remedy the situation.

  After the scare with his heart, he wasn’t going to take any chances with his brain. Not with a family to support, and tenants to keep happy, and a job to do, and a church gathering to co-lead. He just couldn’t.

  As he was sitting down again in the living room, his phone rang. “So what do we know about Newsome and Woods,” Jason asked once they’d greeted each other. “Sorry to hear about the headache, but this could be important…” he continued.

  Edward winced at the pain that slammed his head with each word Jason spoke. Why was it that when someone else was talking, it hurt even more than when he did?

  “I don’t know that I recall much that’s helpful,” he said slowly, wincing yet again. “Both bat and throw right-handed; one was from Connecticut, the other from Alabama. Newsome was a good ten years older than Woods, and they only played ball together from ’43 to ’45. It seems they split up after that, and I can’t help but wonder if it had anything to do with whatever happened in the Wishart-Laurents’ apartment.”

  “What about their apartment? Which….”

  Oh, that’s right, Edward thought. That’s what I was calling to tell him about.

  “When I spoke with Rose last week, she said that Peter had told her that Steven had an altercation with the pair…. I guess they went to see The Bells of St. Mary’s the day before and things had seemed fine… then they came busting into the apartment to confront him about something, but Steven never told him what it was. I guess they played cards together now and again, but what would cards have anything to do with an upset like that?”

  “Huh…,” Jason said. Edward could hear his friend’s voice change… his breathing become faster.

  “Well, you feel better and I’ll see if I can find something. Just take the rest of the day off. You have plenty of sick time. Just… take care of yourself. We don’t need any more big scary episodes.”

  Carefully moving to stand, Edward exhaled in relief, glad he didn’t have to fight his cause. It sure wouldn’t have helped the headache.

  “Thanks. I will. I’m going to go lay in the other room in the dark until I need to go get the kids from school.”

  “Nonsense, I’ll leave early and get them. I have to, anyway, because Me’chelle can’t get over there, either. So I’ll just get them when I go pick up Charlie and Clayton,” his brother-in-law replied.

  The man hung up before Edward could answer, and, limply shrugging as another wave of nausea hit him, he opted out of calling him back to say thank you. He was just too faint and drained to make the attempts right now.

  Two

  December 12, 2019

  A knock at the door roused Paloma from her reverie as she moved to finish folding the laundry. Quickly setting aside the pair of socks in her hand, she moved to the door and peeked outside.

  FedEX!

  Was their kitten here, finally?

  She quickly swung the door open and greeted the short, balding deliveryman and signed for three packages. Within minutes, they’d been set inside for her, and she was holding her family’s newest pet.

  And, goodness, had she grown!

  The kitten had grown to nearly twice the size since Paloma had last seen her, and the ringlets in her fur were more pronounced than when the family had first met her, and her big green eyes were already taking in everything around her as Paloma held her to her chest and made sure the door was shut all the way.

  As she set the kitten down to open the other packages, the phone rang in the other room.

  She carefully sidestepped the timid – yet curious – little fur ball and then ran for it. She was able to catch the incoming call on the final ring, and she sat down amidst the half-folded pile of laundry to talk.

  The kitten had followed her, and as she said hello, she scooped her up once more.

  “Mrs. Stuart?” The voice on the other end sounded hesitant; unsure. “Is this Mrs. Paloma Stuart,” they asked again.

  “This is Mrs. Stuart, and who is calling, please?”

  “I’m sorry, I guess you didn’t check the caller ID on your phone, Ma’am. This is the Eastern Oregon Correctional Institute over in Pendleton, Oregon, and we have an inmate here that has been making verbal threats against you and your family lately. A Mr.,” the woman paused, and Paloma could hear her shuffling paperwork around.

  “Quentin Quimby,” Paloma asked before the woman could find what she was looking for. She let go of the cat, and her heart began to race. Her breathing became shallow as she waited for the woman to reply.

  Since when did they call people to discuss verbal threats, unless…?

  “That is correct,” the woman finally answered. “As you may know, we are a fifty-three acre facility housing between sixteen and seventeen hundred medium-security inmates at any given time, and we pride ourselves on being proactive and creative when it comes to helping our community of men here become better citizens,” she continued as Paloma’s heard kept galloping.

  “I don’t mean to be rude,” Paloma said, watching the kitten closely as it began to walk on the clothes she had yet to fold. “But you said something about threats… so what made them so out of the ordinary that you’d call… and how did you get my number?”

  “Well, apparently, Mr. Quimby’s mother, had given it to him over a year ago, after he’d pled with her repeatedly. At least from what we’ve been able to deduce, speaking with both of them; yes, Mrs. Quimby is aware of what is happening, and she is as appalled as I am over this,” the woman informed her.

  “So we were able to retrieve it from his notebook, which was confiscated during a tussle with another inmate. And the threats were found written inside… not just verbally mentioned in a casual manner. It seems he was looking for someone to pay to have you and your husband… well…. How do I say this without scaring you to-,” the woman droned on.

  “Killed, you mean,” Paloma asked her, interrupting.

  “Well… harmed, at least,” the woman said without missing a beat.

  “All the officers working with him could deduce was something about wanting to exact revenge by making sure your kids get the same opportunities as his son, whatever that means? We, um… we weren’t altogether sure what he was talking about with that part of his notes. We just that there was a list of five people Mr. Quimby was trying to get connected to… other men on the inside who are up for parole soon. But we wanted to let you know that there is a call in to your local police to keep an eye on your family once the men are released. They haven’t done anything, and as far as we know, no actual agreements have been made, but…”

  “Seriously,” Paloma said, tears now streaming down her face. The kitten came and curled in her lap, purring.

  “You seriously think that if Quentin Quimby wants us dead that you can prevent it by just… calling the Vancouver Police Department? I don’t mean to be rude, ma’am, but-”

  Paloma glanced at the clock.

  Great… now she was running late to pick up the kids!

  Carefully picking the kitten up with one hand and making sure she didn’t drop the phone with the other, she walked toward the bathroom and deposited the kitten in the tub, closing the door behind her. Poor thing!

  “Mrs. Stuart, do you understand how serious this is, if there truly is a hit on you and your husband?”

  “Listen, I have your number, and I appreciate the heads’ up. I have to go pick my kids up from school now, and I need to process this. May I call back at this number, Miss…?” She waited a moment before the woman replied.

  “Ophelia; just call me Ophelia – I’m the only one here, so it shouldn’t be difficult to track me down. I’m at the front desk, and yes, do your best to call me back tomorrow early or mid-afternoon a
t the latest. We really do need to get some sort of plan in place… and if I can get the attention of the Superintendent when you call, I’ll have you speak directly with her, as well.”

  Paloma locked the door behind her and rushed to the car, grabbing the keys from her purse. “I’ll do that. Thank you, Ophelia. I really do appreciate it; it’s just a lot to take in,” she said once more before hanging up, sliding in behind the wheel of her car, and pulling the door shut.

  If she made traffic just right, she should only be about ten minutes late.

  After waiting for a few cars to go by, she pulled out of the driveway, headed toward Mill Plain, and began to pray.

  All right, Lord, help us out with this, will you? Because we can’t just uproot the kids with no definitive reason, unsure of what we’re going to do or where we’re going to go. If there’s no proof of threat, but it’s real, help us to discern that… because I can’t have my family sitting around paranoid waiting to see if someone is coming after them – after any of us – I just can’t.

  God is for us, she reminded herself. He isn’t against us… we can do all things through Him, because we love Him and He is all-powerful; He is our Strength and our tower of protection. And He never gives us more than we can handle… I just hope I can continue to remember that, because in all honesty, I’m scared to pieces…

  Paloma gently shook her head, trying to clear it, thankful her hair was pulled back from her face for the day.

  Within moments, she turned off onto Hearthwood and made her way up to the school. She heard the bell as she pulled to the curb, and watched as teachers began bringing their classrooms out to meet buses and parents. Several minutes later, she finally spotted Cherish, then the boys, as they made their way outside toward the front entrance of the building.

  She pulled away from the curb again, trying to gain their attention before finally resorting to another stop to call them.

  She tried Chosen’s phone, but got no answer; same with Cherish’s, and then, finally, she dialed Duncan. Still no answer. She sighed and moved to get out of the car when the phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Sorry, Mama. Ringer was still down,” Cherish told her. “Where are you?”

  “In the car.”

  “Come on, Mama, you know what I mean, where’s the car?”

  “Then why didn’t you ask me that,” she replied, chuckling to herself. “I’m parked by the crosswalk on the other side of the street.”

  She heard her daughter mumble something, her hand over the phone.

  “Fine, we’ll be there in a few minutes. Chosen has to ask his teacher something,” Cherish informed her. She looked across the street, trying to make out what was happening between passing cars.

  “Five minutes,” she said. “Your kitten arrived today, and we don’t want to-“

  A shriek pierced her ears, interrupting her, and she pulled the phone away from herself.

  “Be right there, Mama,” her daughter shouted before hanging up on her.

  Paloma rolled her head back to stretch it as she closed her phone, leaving it in her lap as she did so. Moments later, she smiled as she heard the kids knocking for her to unlock the doors and let them in.

  Thank God the kitten arrived today; without it, who knows how long she’d be sitting here, ruminating on her conversation with the prison clerk.

  Three

  Saint-Germain-en-Laye, France… December 12, 1701

  Mary Beatrice strode across the lawn, her black corseted and petticoated gown getting soggier by the minute in the thickening downpour. She could feel the mud as it sucked at her shoes, and the heaviness of it adding to the weight of her dress with each step as it spattered onto the gown.

  I still can’t believe James is gone, she thought to herself as she wept, her tears hidden by her lace handkerchief and an abundance of rain. Has it really been more than three months now?

  Her baby boy, James Francis – no longer just a boy – had taken over as the Jacobean claimant to the throne of England after her husband died.

  It had happened just days after the Battle of Chiari had taken place in early September, and her life had changed forever… all of their lives had.

  Of course, James had not participated… he hadn’t been able to if he’d wanted to, but the eeriness of the timing still spooked her to this day.

  The orator over his funeral, a doctor from the Sorbonne, had done a fair job, considering the status her early departed James had as a pretender. Most of the family refused to show up, and many who did begrudged being there. It had been a difficult thing to witness… almost as difficult as his death had been.

  She still sometimes wondered if he’d been poisoned, the way things had unfolded, but of course, there was no way to ever know.

  Not from where she stood.

  And so, she’d made sure James Francis had been instated, and that Louisa Maria, four years his junior, had been placed into the care of le duc de Lauzun, as James’ father wished it. Since there was nothing to change what had happened, all she could do was what she’d been instructed from the very day James Francis, and then Louisa Maria, had been born.

  Mary, herself, had yet to move into the duc and duchess’s residence, considering her distrust of the man, in spite of James’ request that she do so. Chills ran down her spine just thinking of the man, and still, she knew not what it was about him that had always worried her so.

  It wasn’t as though they had only just met; they’d known each other since 1685, and still… though she made sure to show a semblance of trust in him when he was around, there was an uneasiness she sensed in his presence.

  She knew he could be trusted, so what was it that unnerved her so? Was it simply that she had known he would take over care for her daughter should something happen to James, or was there more to it than that?

  She stepped under the eaves out of the rain for a few moments to think, taking the wet froth of her hair and wringing the moisture from it as well as possible.

  The man had helped her and James Francis safely arrive in France when her son was just a baby. So, in terms of life, he was trustworthy. She knew he was – that was why, once again, Mary reminded herself – she had so continually made sure to show good faith in him. And, of course, that James had entrusted the life of their very daughter to him… that had to count for something as well, didn’t it?

  Probably as much, if not more, than her own life had been entrusted….

  But given that James Francis is the new king – at least in the eyes of the Jacobeans, and even Louis himself, she thought. And given that le duc had spared and kept us alive so long ago, it means a lot more now, she thought, drying her tears a fifth time since heading outside.

  Not that anyone would see the tears for the rain.

  It makes sense now, why some have seen le duc a hero after the fact, and not just at the time. And that surely is something, too, is it not?

  She shrugged her shoulders, bewildered at her tangled, torturous thoughts, even as she began to shiver.

  Why had she come out in this weather? She knew better than allow herself to catch a cold.

  After a few moments, she started back.

  “Can I help you, Miss Mary,” she heard someone call from near the chapel.

  She turned to see one of the priest’s assistants waving at her from the doorway.

  “It’s alright. I think I’ll… I think I’ll wait until there isn’t as much rain,” she called back, looking around her.

  Had anyone else witnessed the unladylike manner of her speech? She was, after all, Queen… at least in the eyes of the Jacobites.

  With a sigh, she hefted her skirts and headed for the stairs.

  Maybe a nice warm couple of hours by the fire would be the better place to think, now that she was soaked to the bone.

  James Francis would certainly have a conniption fit if he’d seen me traipsing around in all this rain, she thought, smiling bitterly to herself as she began her ascent toward the
house. And it would serve me right to catch cold just to be found out.

  Four

  Boston, Massachusetts… December 12, 1936

  Peter whistled as he unlocked the door and then, without warning her, picked his new bride, Lily, up and carried her over the threshold of their freshly painted and decorated apartment. He had spent the past three weeks getting it ready for her so that once they’d wed, they could move her right in.

  “You put me down, young man,” she teased him, kicking her feet and giggling all the way. “Put me down,” she said again.

  Young man.

  Their private joke, because she was three days older than he was. She’d caught a younger guy, and he, an older woman.

  “Fine, fine,” he told her, setting her gently onto the brand new couch he’d saved up for. “Old lady,” he said, giving her a wink before kissing her.

  Theirs had been a lovely wedding, though a small one. They had only invited family and a few very close friends.

  He still wished that somehow, Rose could have been there, but even to think on it pained him.

  Her loss was still fresh and felt like an open wound.

  But she would have liked Lily, he thought, smiling down at his wife before he settled in next to her. I know she would have! Same taste in music, love of the sea, and similar ways of thinking about the world around them. Not to even mention that they’d have me in common.

  “What are you thinking about, with that silly grin on your face, young man,” his wife asked him, poking him in the ribs and giggling again.

  “I was wishing Rosie was here. I just… I wish she was here sharing our big day with us, and I was thinking about how much I know she would have really loved you, and I think you’d have really loved her, too.” He took her hands in his and pulled them into his lap.

  “I just… I’m not sure how to explain what it’s like to know she’s out there… somewhere. I can still feel her presence, so I know I’ll see her again, but when? Where? How long will it be before I see her again? Or am I just imagining the whole thing? It feels like…” he paused for a moment, getting the tears threatening to spill under control.