by ADAMS, J.
What readers are saying about The Legacy!
“This is an awesome novel. I laughed, I cried and cried some more. I couldn't put this book down. Mrs. Adams did a wonderful job of expressing true and unconditional love!”
“All I have to say is that this book was a great read. It made me cry, it made me think, and made me love romance. Please buy this book. You would not regret it.”
“This a wonderful book. I thought it would be your average quick story, but it is actually a beautiful story of belief in self, God, transitions, love, jealousy, and forgiveness. It will make you laugh and cry and be thankful for the blessings you take for granted. This is a story of a full lifetime of commitment and it was very refreshing. It is very true to what we live through in this real game called life. I hope you will take time to explore a really unique and different approach to an interracial relationship.”
“This is the most captivating story I have read for a good while. I couldn't put it down.”
“Jewel Adams has written a wonderful book that has intertwined many story lines. Just when you think you know where she is going with a story line, she fools you and the story takes an unexpected turn. You had better have a tissue box next to you also. There are several times in the story that you will cry. It has touched my heart in several places by hitting very close to home. She has shown us how through trials and tribulations that we can come to learn unconditional love and learn to forgive, not only ourselves, but others as well, bringing us joy, peace of mind, and helping us find our own true self-worth.”
"This is one of the most amazing stories I have ever read. I've never been filled with so much emotion from a book. I'm glad I got a chance to read it. Jewel Adams is an amazing author, who knows exactly how to reach our minds and hearts. I laughed and cried. And I enjoyed every second."
"I could die happy now. This is just the best story I've read in my life!" “This story is absolutely beautiful. It constantly tugged at my heart, and brought me to tears on numerous occasions. I could not stop reading it. Reading this book helped me understand and appreciate my own life, and helped bring me closer to God.”
“I couldn't stop reading! It is truly the best love story I have EVER read. I laughed, I cried, I felt as though their lives was unfolding before me. The writer is so talented. I definitely will recommend this book to everyone.”
The Legacy
J. Adams
Second Edition
The Legacy
Second Edition Copyright © 2013 Copyright © 2010, 2011 J. Adams Jewel of the West Publishing All Rights Reserved
ISBN-13: 978-0615502588
ISBN-10: 061550258X
Library of Congress Control Number: 2011910410
Cover design by Laura J Miller anaurthorsart.com For my mom A higher power has charted the course for my life, and my feet are set on that path. Now, I will just be still.
Adagio St. John's journal Asheville, North Carolina
I am so tired, I can't move!
Dropping into a chair at one of the restaurant tables, I count the tips I've made for the night. Using a linen napkin, I wipe the remaining beads of perspiration from my forehead, grateful that my workday is over. It had been a very busy shift and I am pretty sure I have done well. After counting my cash and the tips left on credit card receipts, I smile. I have indeed done well, and just as I normally do after every shift, I silently thank the heavens for blessing me with the money I need. Somehow I am always able to reach my nightly goal.
After I pay my rent and buy some groceries, I will have a little money left to buy a new pair of shoes, which I desperately need. I need other things as well, but they will just have to wait.
One of my coworkers calls from behind the bar, “Cisely, you need a ride home?” I gratefully accept the offer. It saves me the taxi fare I would have to pay because there are no buses running late at night.
By the time I get to the small apartment I call home, I am so exhausted, I can barely get changed into my pajamas.
Slipping into bed, I turn out the light, hoping my tiredness is a good sign. Maybe I will be able to forgo the usual thoughts that haunt me, no matter how hard I try to keep them away. Maybe tonight I will have some peace. But as soon as I close my eyes, the familiar feelings of loneliness and doubt of my worth fill my heart once more.
Not tonight. I won’t feel this way tonight.
Instead, I try to focus my final thoughts on a dream I had a week ago today. In the dream, I sat next a little boy on the bank of a beautiful river. He was young, but his emerald eyes were full of wisdom. He told me that because I have changed my life, new changes will soon come, and I will be blessed with great and marvelous things.
He said there is a wonderful life prepared for me. And though I will still go through sorrow and great trials, I will one day come to experience joy unlike any I have ever known. He told me these things were promised to me before this life and will only be mine if I remain strong.
I have no idea what those changes will be. I only hope I will be ready for the future and everything that will come with it. I also hope I will be worthy of these wondrous gifts when they do come.
One
Having stuffed my last pair of jeans into a large suitcase, I zip it shut and hope the seams won’t burst. It was given to me by a friend because I've never had one of my own. I've never traveled anywhere before to need one, and until now, I never thought I would. After filling the carry-on bag with the few cosmetics and toiletries I possess, I take in my reflection in the large mirror hanging above an old, cracked dresser that until today, held all of my clothes. It has to be the oldest piece of furniture in the apartment.
Studying the brown-skinned woman looking back at me, I smile, but my honey-colored eyes hold a sadness I have never been able to rid them of. People have always told me I have sad eyes. I know it is true, yet they aren't privy the pain behind my eyes. I have never let anyone get close enough. I don’t know if I ever will.
Running a brush through the dark auburn hair hanging down past my shoulders, I push it back with a brown headband. I ponder adding a few curls but decide against it. Straightening the collar of the yellow blouse I purchased for this trip, I apply some clear gloss to my full lips, a coat of mascara to my lashes, and a touch of blush to my cheeks. Studying my reflection once more, I decide this is as good as it's going to get.
I have always considered myself average looking, and I just don't see what others say they see when they looked at me. I have been told by the people around me that I am beautiful– that my skin is satiny smooth, my voluptuous figure very trim, and my voice is like silk to the ears. Truthfully, I have never seen any of these things and I can't help but wonder how and why others see them. Pondering this a moment, I deduct that my mind has somehow been trained to think there isn’t anything about me that is worth much, and no matter how hard I try to tell myself otherwise, all I ever see are flaws.
Sighing, I sit on the edge of the bed and look around the almost bare studio apartment I've lived in for the past year and a half. A bout of sadness envelops me as I think about my life up to this point, and once again, I begin to doubt my worth.
In my twenty-two years of life, I have seen and suffered things no one should have to. Having been raised by an alcoholic mother and an abusive father, childhood was nothing but miserable for me. From the age of six to twelve years old, when other children were laughing and playing and sharing secrets with their friends, I was a woman-child, barely surviving and telling my secrets to no one. In the afternoons after school when I should have been busy being a child, I was subjected to the screams of my mother as my father beat her. And at night while other children were safely tucked in their beds and sleeping, I was forced to endure the sickening presence of my father in my room
as he abused and defiled me.
One day my mother finally found the courage to leave her husband. She packed our things while he was working and moved us from Charlotte back to her hometown of Asheville. Unfortunately, the move was too little, too late, for my life had been permanently scarred. And it didn’t help that every man my mother moved into our home seemed to think I should be part of the deal.
Throughout my life I felt dirty and cheap, but more than anything, I felt alone. There was no one I could turn to and share my painful burdens. Later in life, that loneliness guided me to make decisions that only added to my misery, bringing even more shame upon me.
A single tear slips down my cheek as I remember the days and nights of endless partying, each episode filled with drugs, alcohol, and sometimes immoral conduct. When I was younger, my father made it his solemn duty to tell me repeatedly that I was worthless and only good for one thing in life. It seemed his comments found a permanent place in my mind and heart. My father had foreseen my future and helped as much as he could to make that future happen. But I know in the end the choices had been my own, just as the choice to finally change my life had been.
A heavy melancholy encompasses me as I think back to the day I made the decision to abandon the self-destructive lifestyle. It was a little over a year ago. I had just gotten home from work. I was tired, my feet were sore after working all day waiting tables, and I was looking forward to a tall can of beer and some rest. I had just sat down when there was a knock at the door.
When I opened the door to a braid-wearing teenage girl donning heavy makeup, a dirty mini skirt, and scuffed up high heels–one of them broken–my first words were, “Sorry, no customers at this house.”
She gave me a teary smile and replied, “I'm not looking for a customer . . . I'm looking for a way out.”
Warm tears trail down my face as I ponder how my heart had instantly gone out to her. I knew the life she'd lived and what she'd suffered before reaching this point. No, I didn't know her; I had never seen her before. But I knew, because I had been there, myself.
Stepping aside, I invited her in and listened as she talked, my suspicions about her abusive childhood confirmed. I fed her and gave her some clothes to change into. Taking the tips I'd made that day from my purse, I called a cab, took her to the bus station, and put her on a bus to Raleigh to go and live with her aunt. Arriving back home, I sat on the sofa, closed my eyes and cried. Nothing I'd ever done in my life left me feeling as much peace as that one act had.
I immediately threw away every bit of alcohol in the apartment, vowing to never take another drink, pop another pill, or smoke another joint for the rest of my life. I stopped partying and made a commitment to change my life. I was determined to do this, despite family members and friends telling me I would never change. Sadly, there was no support from anyone except the counselor assigned to me when I enrolled in a free substance abuse program. No one in my family, nor the people I associated with, would let go of the past. So how was I supposed to? I couldn’t escape it because it surrounded me and was constantly being thrown back in my face.
Even now, I still struggle with doubts. I've listened to several motivational talks on learning to forgive oneself, letting go of past mistakes and moving on, but the messages never seem to stick, and in my heart I continue to feel too unworthy to deserve more in life. We reap what we sow, as they say. I haven't sown enough good.
Opening my purse, I pull out a letter that came in the mail three weeks ago. It is from an older woman I met a couple of months ago when she was visiting from Salt Lake City.
I met Jessica Kelly at a motivational conference for women that was held downtown. We sat next to each other and were instantly taken with one another. At the close of the conference, Jessica told me she wanted to get to know me better. Reflex prompted me to ask why–there had to be a hidden reason, of course–but I bit my tongue.
We had lunch together the next day. And throughout that week when I wasn’t working, I spent a great deal of time with her and we did many things together, seeing and visiting places in the city that I never thought I would.
Jessica managed to get me to open up a little about my life, something I had never done before. I don't know how she did it. Maybe a deeper part of me needed to share, if only to relieve a little pressure. Though I didn’t give many details, the little I shared with her brought the poor woman to tears. I hated making her cry, but I appreciated that she cared.
In that week, I grew to care about Jessica a great deal, and I found myself wishing my own mother could be more like her. How sad that in just one week I developed more of a relationship with the older woman than I ever had with my own mother.
Jessica told me she had always been alone. She never married and it saddened her that she was never blessed with children of her own. And except for the times her nephew came to visit her from Australia, her life was basically a solitary one.
I read the letter again in renewed awe. Jessica has invited me to come and stay with her for a while in Salt Lake City. She even sent a plane ticket with the letter, making it harder for me to say no, just as she had known it would. She knows me well. I've never dreamed of going so far away, and to say I am nervous is an understatement. But the excitement of starting over somewhere where no one knows me or anything about my past overrides my nervousness. I re-read the last part of the letter.
Now I know you don’t like to feel like you’re not pulling your own weight, so before you say no, I just want to tell you I own a women’s clothing boutique downtown. One of my sales ladies had to quit suddenly. The position is yours if you want it. It is only three days a week, so we will still have plenty of time to visit and sight see, and of course, shop. We’re going to have the time of our lives! It will mean so much to me to have you here, Cisely. More than you could ever know. Call me soon.
Much love,
Jessica.
Hearing the taxi honking outside, I refold the letter and slip it back in my purse. After touching up my makeup, I place the key to the apartment on the counter for the landlord. Sadly, there are no more goodbyes to be said. My mother doesn’t seem to care that I'm leaving. Neither does anyone else for that matter, but I have received various opinions on how they think my life will turn out. “You’ll be back,” my so-called friends told me. “You’re going to be right back here partying with the rest of us. You can never escape where you’ve been or who you are.”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I shake my head to dislodge the negative thoughts. Looking around the half empty room one last time, I grab my bags and leave.
Two
Salt Lake City, Utah Cutting up the last of the fruit, I arrange it in the crystal dish on the counter. I have been in Salt Lake for two weeks now, and I finally feel comfortable and and settled in Jessica’s large and stately home. It reminds me of one of the mansions in Biltmore Forrest, an old and very prominent section of Asheville.
Jessica’s home is beautiful. It boasts a large wraparound porch with a swing. There are three levels with hardwood floors and cherry wood doors and molding throughout the house. The kitchen is large and airy with windows stretching to the ceiling.
I love the kitchen. It is one of my favorite places in the house, next to the bedroom I sleep in. If I didn’t know any better, I would swear Jessica gave me the largest room in the house. My whole apartment could easily fit into the one room, and that's not including the connecting bathroom.
But the place I love best in the house is the living room, because in its center sits a beautiful, black baby grand piano. I learned to play the piano in the first grade and had stuck with it through the years. Having developed my singing voice in high school, I fell in love with playing and singing. Later in life, the talent lay dormant for a long time, and now that I have access to a piano, I've picked it up again. It is like reconnecting with a lost love, and I am giddy every time I play.
Everything in Jessica's home is so elegant, it's like I am living in a palace. I have n
ever stayed in a place so lovely, not even close. Still, with all the material things Jessica possesses, she is the kindest, most loving and down to earth person I have ever known, and I feel blessed to be in her home.
“I think that’s it,” Jessica says, taking the plate of muffins over to the small breakfast nook by the corner windows.
“I think you’re spoiling me too much,” I tell her as we sit down to eat. Since the day I arrived, Jessica has made every meal special. In the mornings the table is set with everything from fruit, cheeses and muffins, to bacon and Belgium waffles. Lunches are finger sandwiches, meats, and luscious pastries. And dinner is always so full of variety, three meals can easily be made from the one. Having grown up poor and standing in government food lines with my mother, and then always having to budget for even cookies as an adult, I am continually overwhelmed with the wealth of food I am now receiving.
“You deserve to be spoiled, my dear.”
My smile is guarded. If only I could see the facade of myself no one seems to be able to look past, and I can’t stop the negative thoughts from intruding.
If you really knew me and everything I’ve done, you wouldn’t feel that way about me.
As if Jessica can read my thoughts, she places a hand over mine. “You deserve everything that’s good in this life, Cisely. Truly you do.” She pauses, her voice growing softer. “I don’t know the full extent of what you have lived through, but you are truly more special than you could possibly know, and I know with all my heart that there are some marvelous things in store for you.”
I smile, refusing to let the tears come. I have never felt so much love from someone. I can’t count the many hours and agonizing moments I spent as a child, wishing for and needing a mother’s love–for someone to hug me and tell me everything would be okay. I squeeze Jessica’s hand.
“Thank you for being so good to me,” I say softly, swallowing hard at the lump pressing in my throat.
