This is Installment Five of the novel Rose and Justice.   It includes Chapters II,iii, II.iv, and II.v.  It is 3,530 words long.  As installments are posted, links for each will be added under the tab labeled “The Novel” at the top of this page.   Enjoy!

II.iii

            D.C. had smoked since he was 17.  He knew it wasn’t good for him but was still dismayed to be breathing so heavily after climbing only one small flight of stairs.  He also drank in binges.  He could go for weeks without so much as a beer, but then the urge would strike and he would get roaring drunk, sometimes for a whole weekend.  Sandy and his mother often tried to drop small hints about his abuse of his body and how “so many people needed him to be around for a long time.”  He pretended not to hear them and always smoked more and went on a drunken binge after they nudged.  The idea of not being around for a long time actually appealed to D.C. in a strange sort of way.

He always believed that he would die at a relatively early age in some dramatic way, either a motorcycle crash or falling from a mountain he was trying to scale.  Since there were no huge mountains to speak of around Cullman and he didn’t own a motorcycle, these options seemed a little far-fetched, but they still seemed more real to him than living a long life and dying of old age in Cullman, Alabama.  He had even thought of the romance in being murdered, but since no one liked him enough to hate him, that also seemed unlikely.  Briefly, the idea of suicide had crossed his mind.  He had shuddered at the thought.  It seemed the last thing he could bring himself to do even as much as he hated his life.  The closest he could come to suicide was Marlboros and Jack Daniels, so he smoked and drank.

When the twins started high school, Daniel took up golf and joined the Cullman Country Club.  D.C. 3 was a senior at the University of Alabama on a football scholarship, Mary Jo had married Sonny Burtress right out of high school, Clinton went into the Navy, and neither of the twins seemed to be Harvard material, so he relaxed his feeling of responsibility a little and did something for himself.  The country club was a perfect escape.  He went almost every afternoon after work, even if he didn’t play golf on that particular day.  He would go to the lounge and talked to other club members or June Hensley, the bartender.  It was a great way to waste time.  It sounded like he was actually doing something, to say he was going to the club, but all he really did was wile away hours so he wouldn’t have to really live them.  That’s when Jack Daniels became a daily friend to D.C.  On Saturday mornings, he was the fourth for his daddy, Bart Kuntsler, and David Smoot.  They could drag out a round of golf until 2 or 3 in the afternoon, then they would adjourn to the bar.  He rarely arrived home before 7:00 pm.  Sundays he would try to last it out with the family, but usually found himself headed for the club by the time the Sunday dinner dishes were being cleared.  After so many years of being responsible, D.C. slipped comfortably into a life where a day without a buzz was hard to remember.

The difference now was that he rarely, if ever, actually got drunk.  He just wanted to get lost, and the alcohol was a good camouflage for his brain.  He was 39 years old and acted like a well-seasoned middle-aged man.  He counted the days until retirement and played the rest of the time.  Nothing seemed to give him any satisfaction, not even the golf or the drinking.  Oh sure, a cigarette after dinner gave some kind of temporary good feeling, but he had none of the fulfillment of ever accomplishing anything.  Even the kids — he could have jacked off into a cup and handed it to Sandy for all he had done in their existence.  He paid for the meals and the clothes and the summer camps and the doctor bills, but that’s all he had done.  He felt like his only purpose in life was to fulfill everyone else’s purpose.  He had lived his life according to his mama and daddy’s blueprint until the unfortunate mishap with Sandy and then he had lived his life trying to make up for that mistake.  He had never once done anything for himself.

He often thought of leaving the day the twins completed college, which was their mother’s dream for all her children, though only D.C. 3 had accomplished it so far.  Once he had no more responsibility, he could leave Sandy everything they owned and the money in his savings.  She could live fairly well off of that and the support she would get from both their families.  He could just leave.  Take nothing, maybe one small satchel of clothes, and hit the road.  He could hobo across the country on trains or hitch rides with truckers.  He would just disappear and go to parts unknown.  Sandy and his parents would miss him for awhile, but he knew they’d live and get over it.  His kids would fare well enough and remember him in whatever way it was that they thought of him.

But, the biggest difference would be for him.  He could escape.  He could be free.  He could go searching for whatever it was he thought was out there.  He could finally, after all these years, become.  Become the person he had never been and always wanted to be.  Become happy.

So while he marked a mental calendar with the months and years leading to a retirement watch, he also noted that Curtis and Carl would graduate from college in six years.  And if he had the guts, he’d follow them out of the nest.

II.iv

            Juliet and Hal had gone over their simple plan so many times that a mistake seemed highly implausible at this point.  She was to leave as soon as a full nine months had passed.  She had heard from the light and was surprised to find how uneventful that was.  It was almost like talking to herself from the deepest part of her soul.  In fact, once it had happened, she had a sneaking suspicion that it could have happened at any time if she had just willed it to.  She had made her reservations with Chris, and then she and Hal waited and planned.  Hal forced her to wait the entire term, convincing her it would be better in the long run.  Besides, the longer she waited, the closer in age she and Romeo would be in the next life.

Hal tried to keep Juliet’s mind off it, but the fact remained that Romeo could remain in his current incarnation for another 30 or 40 years.  That would make things a little more difficult, of course, but not impossible.  Hal assured her that he would keep a close eye on the arrivals list and inform Romeo of the plan as soon as he fully awakened.  Romeo had awakened quickly every other time, like suddenly awakening from a worn-off anesthetic, so it looked promising that he wouldn’t sleep too long this time either.

When the day of her trip arrived, Juliet was so excited she could hardly eat.  Hal forced her to gulp down a good breakfast.  The trip was difficult and taxing; she would need as much strength as possible.  She ate two large golden flapjacks and three eggs over-easy washed down with a glass of orange juice that seemed to never empty.  After Hal was satisfied that she could make the trip without doing any damage to herself physically, he walked with her slowly to the tunnel.

“It’s going to be very lonely here without you,” he said.

“I’m going to miss you, too, Hal.  Just think, only one more lifetime and I’ll be back with my Romeo.  Then we won’t ever have to leave.”

“Hmmm, yes,” Hal said thoughtfully.  He knew things would be different when she returned, whether with or without Romeo.  Their magical time was coming to an end, but the next time would be just as magical in its own way.  He loved her so deeply and so completely that all he could really think about was how much he wanted her to find Romeo.  By truly loving her, he desired the absolute best for her.  And he knew that Romeo was her best.  He would do anything to have them reunited.  But, still, he couldn’t help but be a bit selfish and wish he could keep her here for eternity for them to play in the baths and frolic in the meadows and talk and talk and talk.  Hers was the purest spirit he had ever known and he hated losing her.  But, the plan was set and when it was fulfilled, she would come back forever and never leave again.  Of course, he’d have to share her with Romeo, but Hal understood true love and knew that it didn’t subtract from any other love.

“I wish there was a way I could contact you while I was there,” Juliet interrupted his thoughts.  “You know, just call up your mind now and then and let you know how everything is going.”

“Some people can.  But, it’s very rare and a real burden to the incarnated being.  Besides, you won’t even remember me after your trip.”

“Oh, Hal!  I can hardly stand to think of that!”

“Well, it’s true.  But, if it makes you feel better now, I’ll be watching you as closely as possible.  Remember, I‘ll always be just a frequency away.”

“Well, that is a little better.  But, still, I wish you could go with me.  That’s the part I hate the most, leaving you here.”

“But, just think, I’ll be here when you return and neither one of us will ever leave again.”  Hal tried to smile.  This transition was just as painful for him as it was for the humans who remained on the earth-plane when a loved one returned to the eternal Here.

They reached the boarding zone and could feel the wind from the tunnel.  Juliet turned to Hal one last time.  “Don’t forget.  St. Simons Island.  Keep an eye on me from wherever you are.”

Hal brushed back a tear.  “I will.”  He swallowed hard and tried to keep his sadness to himself.  “You’d better get a move on.  There’s a woman in Georgia who’s going through laborious pains waiting for you to stop hem-hawing around.”  He smiled unconvincingly.

Juliet threw her arms around his neck.  “I love you, Hal.  I don’t know what’s worse, not having Romeo or leaving you.  It’s taking everything within me to walk into that tunnel.”

Hal hugged her back, then stiffened and firmly, but gently, pushed her back.  “It’s time, Juliet.  You must leave now.  I’ll be waiting for you.”

Juliet turned slowly and walked towards the tunnel.  She turned back several times on the way, but only saw Hal standing upright and stiff, like a sentinel guarding her procession.  For the first time, she wondered if she could abort the journey at this late stage, yet she knew she wouldn’t.  She had to go.  She had to find Romeo.  She turned again for the last time and then felt the wind grow stronger behind her.  She took no more steps; the tunnel sucked her in and she was gone.

Hal watched the tunnel entrance for a long time.  He was supposed to be above the realms of time and space here, but he felt such a deep loneliness now that she was gone.  He knew how to make the time fly past and knew she would be back in a much shorter relative time span than a lifetime feels like on earth.  But, still he missed her and felt the sadness a goodbye brings on any plane.

II.v

            Marabelle Quatrease Jackson wanted to pull every nappy hair out of the head of her husband, Phillip.  Her labor wasn’t long, none of hers ever were, but it was more intensely painful than any of her other deliveries had been, and they hadn’t exactly been joyrides.   She had arrived at Brunswick Memorial at midnight thinking she would pop this young’un any minute.  She thought she could handle the delivery gracefully since she was getting to be a pro at it, but instead she was growing tired of the ceiling of the delivery room and wished some benevolent doctor would just come cut her open and rip this thing out.  Phillip stood by her side being annoyingly helpful.

“It won’t be much longer now, baby.  You’re dilated ten centimeters and our baby’ll be here any minute.  Keep breathin’, baby.  Just like they told you.  You just keep breathing.”

She wanted to say, “I am breathing, Phillip.  I’m still here, aren’t I?”  But, she knew what he was really trying to say and worked harder to breathe the way the nurse had instructed her.

Phillip looked like it was his birthday, or Christmas, or every great day rolled into one.  He had been there for the birth of all their children, even though he had to fight the doctor to do so every time.  By 1974, the fight was starting to get easier.  Some men actually stayed in the room while their wives gave birth now, and the same doctor had delivered all their children, so he was familiar with Phillip’s position on the issue.  This would be number four, and Phillip just seemed to get more excited each time.  Having babies didn’t grow old to him.  Of course, he didn’t have to experience a human life being expelled from his sexual organs either.  Phillip and Marabelle had three sons, and it was Phillip praying for a girl this time.  Marabelle had realized long ago that boys were easier and had no desire to complicate her life with pigtails, explaining menstruation, and beating off young suitors.  Phillip relished the idea.

Phillip, Jr., Paris, and Peter were good boys.  Phillip, Sr., had been what some would call “strict” with his sons.  They knew they had better call adults “sir” and “ma’am,” open doors for ladies, and bring home good grades to assure admission into a strong academic college.  They would be good big brothers to a little girl and Phillip felt confident that he had trained them well for that particular role.  A daughter born into the Jackson family wouldn’t have a chance.  If she had some strong compulsion to be an unwed mother or drug user, she would have to get through an army of Jackson men to do so.

The Jackson heritage was something Phillip could have scorned, but instead he chose to parade it as a badge of honor.  George Jackson, Phillip’s great-great-great grandfather had been a slave on the Clarington Plantation just south of Jesup.  He had married a slave named Mary from the Moore Plantation six miles away in Broadhurst.  When freedom came, they didn’t know whether New York City was a hundred or a thousand miles away, but George Jackson did know a thing or two about raising the cotton he had been forced to pick his entire life.  They walked to Brunswick and inquired about tenant farming.  It seemed the cotton grown on the barrier islands had been about the finest anywhere and the plantation owners were in a bad way with no work force all of a sudden.   St. Simon’s had been the most successful of the islands during the pre-emancipation cotton-growing era and many of the former slaves were staying around to scratch out whatever opportunity there was in paying your former owner for the privilege to do the same work you used to at least get fed for.  George Jackson was a newcomer, but he was a hard worker and enough people had left the island for a better life somewhere to make a little room for him.

George and Mary’s second son, Julep, hated farm life and read every book he could get his hands on in an attempt to educate himself.  He married Felicia Donald and worked his entire life to give her what he knew she deserved, but it was hard on a stable master’s pay.   Julep was self-educated to a degree most college graduates didn’t reach, but all anyone seemed to want from him were his remarkable skills in animal husbandry.  He worked for the sons of former slave owners and said all the same “yassuhs” his ancestors had grinned through.   But, once or twice a year he would catch a ride on a shrimp boat and spend a month on Jekyll, an island you could see from the southern end of St. Simons.  Jekyll Island was owned by a group of the richest men in the world, Rockefellers and Vanderbilts, Morgans and Pulitzers.  They would come to the island to escape, live the simple life uninterrupted by business, reporters, or scandal.  Their idea of the simple life, however, included gourmet dinners in mansions they insisted on calling “cottages” and hunting excursions that entailed an entourage of people and horses.  It was for these excursions that Julep would go to the island.  His horseman skills were unequaled in Georgia, perhaps the entire south, and it became quickly apparent to the wealthy men who would temporarily employ him.  They paid him well and tipped him generously.  Every hunting season, they would offer Julep full-time employment on Jekyll and each time he would kindly turn it down between grins and “well, suhs.”  He knew full-time employment would mean the same barely livable wage the rest of the Jekyll Island staff was given.  No, he’d rather stay special and in demand.  And by doing so, he earned as much in two months on Jekyll as he did in ten months on St. Simons, which is exactly how all three of his boys managed to go to Morehouse University.

Julep and Felicia’s third child, Phillip’s grandfather, Franklin Jefferson Washington Jackson, studied physics at Morehouse and then returned to St. Simon’s and the only job he could get – as an apprentice bookkeeper for a large hotel not far from the lighthouse.

Franklin Jefferson Washington Jackson’s only son, William, broke the still new Morehouse tradition and went to Meharry Medical School in Nashville, Tennessee.  He returned as a doctor, settled into a family practice in Brunswick and lived his life on an income pathetic by the standards of most of his colleagues.  He and his wife, Cynthia, had six sons – Paul, Peter, Potter, Plato, Pan, and Phillip, the last being the anticipatory father making Marabelle crazy in the delivery room.  The first five became doctors and all settled in Atlanta where they had burgeoning practices and rolled in the dough.  Phillip attended two years of college as a pre-med major, then switched to his true love – music.  At the risk of being disowned by his father, Phillip worked harder than all of his brothers combined to become an accomplished musician.  He received a master’s degree in music performance and taught band at Glynn Academy.  During the summers, he played the resort hotels on St. Simons and Jekyll, now both connected to the mainland by causeways, with his jazz combo, The Jackson Four.  Phillip and Marabelle moved back to the island where his ancestors had lived when they got married, poor but happy in the modest house on the Island’s south end.

Phillip had provided for his family well, but as it grew he began to realize that he had taken the hard road.  He wanted his children to do what they loved, but hoped it wasn’t music.  It just didn’t pay.  He sent his hard-earned dollars through the mail for Morehouse sweatshirts for his three boys.  He drove them south for Florida A&M football games.  He took them along when his high school band played in a music festival at Howard University.  He mollified himself with the knowledge that he could have been a famous musician, but chose to provide a stable life for his family.

Phillip knew his little girl would be special.  She would have everything it was in his power to obtain.  He was a wonderful father and believed that it started from before his children were even born.  That’s why he stood at the edge of Marabelle’s bed and offered whatever encouragement he could offer.  Somewhere deep within him, he just knew his children couldn’t be born without him there coaching, sweating, and smiling through every labor pain.

Phillip knew that Marabelle loved him.  He had also been through the birthing experience enough times to know that her love wouldn’t be overly evident during labor.  He smiled every time she cussed him under her breath.

“Damnit, Phillip.  This is the last baby we’re havin’.  I don’t care if it’s a boy, girl, or puppy, this is the last one.  Do you hear me?”  Marabelle ended her question with a scream of pain.

“Don’t you worry, baby.  This is all.  You’re right.  In just a few minutes we’ll have our little girl and our family will be done.  Just keep breathing, baby.”

© Deborah E. Moore – 2011

This is Installment Four of the novel Rose and Justice.   It includes Chapters II.i and II.ii.  It is 4,138 words long.  As installments are posted, links for each will be added under the tab labeled “The Novel” at the top of this page.   Enjoy!

II.i

            D.C. felt restless all the time.  No one seemed to notice this; they just thought he was an antsy kind of guy.  He had held 14 jobs in the first six years of his marriage until he finally landed a position in the Cullman Water Department.  He hated it, but he had seemed to hate everything else he had done as well, so he made the water department a career.  He had also grown tired of the endless lectures from his father about “being a man” and “providing a good living.”  The security of working in city government held his father’s tirades off, and besides the benefits were good and he made enough to keep them about average in the Cullman social hierarchy.  The problem was that D.C. hated average, hated Cullman, and hated just about everything else about his life.

The kids were o.k.  After Daniel Christopher Carter, III, or D.C.3, had been born, Sandy seemed to be pregnant or nursing all the time.  Mary Jo followed D.C.3 by 16 months and Clinton followed her by two years to the day.  Then came the twins – Curtis and Carl.  D.C. was probably the only man in the world who had slept with his wife a grand total of four times and had five kids.  All four times, D.C. had been drunk.  It was the only way he seemed able to show Sandy any affection at all.  He was kind to her, she deserved at least that much, but she wasn’t much more to him than a casual acquaintance and the mother of his children.

God knows why, but Sandy adored D.C.  She was a loving and supportive wife and never seemed to be too concerned about their non-existent sex life.  She was really far too good for him, he thought, and therefore he lived with continuous guilt.  He was a pretty good dad, but wasn’t in the running for any father-of-the-year awards.  All in all, D.C. was pretty average himself, and he hated that most of all.

Mostly, he had never felt connected.  Not to his parents, not to Sandy, not to his hometown, and not even to himself.  He felt like the real D.C. Carter was out there somewhere waiting for him to join up and see the world.  When he was a senior, a few of his buddies talked him into skipping a day of school and going to Birmingham with them.  It was the only time in his life that he had ever been out of Cullman.  In retrospect, it was also the only time in his life when he had ever felt alive.  He had probably been the only man in America who wished he could go to Korea, but a bum knee from his football days made him 4-F.  His life here was like living in someone else’s skin, someone he didn’t even like.

He showed up to the right functions, went to the right church, signed his boys up for summer baseball leagues at the Dixieland Ballpark, and went to his daughter’s ballet recitals.  Most people seemed to like having him around, but didn’t go out of their way to make sure he was there.  He really wondered if anyone would miss him if he were gone.  He knew he wouldn’t miss anyone here.  Sure, he loved his kids, but they never really felt like “his.”  Not that he thought Sandy would ever fool around.  He knew she hadn’t.  His kids just seemed like strangers to him.  And it wasn’t just his kids.  He felt like he lived in the midst of strangers, even around friends he had known since kindergarten.  Or, more likely, he was the stranger, and everybody else was right at home.

He had never fooled around either, though most wouldn’t believe that if they knew about his sex life at home.  He’d had opportunities but never followed through on them.  He didn’t seem to care enough to do so.  Besides, every time he had ever had sex, it had been less than memorable and only increased his burden by one or two more mouths to feed.  No, Daniel found his release in other ways.

Every now and then, not in a regular sort of way but when the mood hit him, he would awaken before anyone else, throw on some pants and a shirt, and walk into the woods behind their house.  About a mile into the forest was a small bluff overlooking a cleared valley below.  It was a peaceful place, completely isolated, and as far as he knew no one else ever came here.  He would sit on the edge of the bluff and watch the sun rise directly ahead of him.   He never consciously understood what happened here, nor could he have explained it if he did, but in this place, watching the eastern sky begin to fill with light, he felt less alone.  The bluff at sunrise was the only place and time when he didn’t feel like a misfit to his own life.  He would alternately watch the streaks of dawn run across the sky and close his eyes to try to see the something else he felt was also here for him to see.  He retained just enough hope to believe that this couldn’t possibly be all there was, that a life experience as expansive as the early morning sky was available to him.  And as he sat there, D.C. would imagine the other part of himself he knew was out there somewhere.

II.ii

            “How much longer?”  Juliet asked with incredible regularity.  The answer was always the same – “Soon enough.”  Hal was vague in his answers, yet as precise as he could be.  He didn’t really know much better than she how long it would be, although he knew it would be here much too soon for him.  She felt stronger every day and knew so much more than she would have ever thought possible.  She was ready.  At least, she felt ready.

With each passing day and with everything she learned, she grew to love Romeo more and more.  She ached for him inside and felt incomplete even with all the beauty and perfection around her.  Sometimes her heart burned like it was on fire and she knew there could be no greater pain than living without the only one who could truly heal her ache.  Hal was a comfort to her, but even he knew that he could only do so much.  She would live with this burning until she could find her Romeo again.

“I think it won’t be long now.”  Hal’s answer finally changed.

“Why?  Why do you say that?”  Juliet became excited and started shaking Hal’s arm.

He smiled.  “Because the light is starting to shine from you.  You will hear from the light very soon.  I think, perhaps, it’s time to see the alchemist.”

Hal had told Juliet about the return process.  When a being was due to return by order of the Light for continued learning, they were sent back to a group of Beings they had known in previous incarnations in order to continue the work they had already done together.  After being contacted by the Light, the being would report to the return tunnel and wait for further instructions.  In these instances, you were pretty certain about the world you would return to and the people you would know.  But, if you were choosing to go back, you had no control of where you would end up.  You could simply show up at the return tunnel and request a trip, trusting that wherever you ended up would work out.  But, that was much like playing a huge Roulette wheel, and Juliet wanted to give herself a little better odds.  To accomplish this, you had to visit the alchemist who would work the appropriate magic to get you into the best place and situation for achieving your desired goal.

The path through Mystic Wood seemed to go every direction.  Up and down, left and right, circles around immense primeval oak trees, angular turns with mountain on one side and ravine on the other.   For awhile they followed a river that was singing an ancient Celtic song.  Juliet looked for another source for the music, but Hal confirmed it was indeed the river.

Large boulders rounded by years of river wear formed a natural stepping-stone bridge that Hal and Juliet used to cross the water and move deeper into the wooded mountains where the alchemist was said to live.  The alchemist was a master of transformation and must be consulted for a voluntary return trip.  Shifting from Here-spirit-being to Earth-human-being required a bit of magic.  Most beings never met the alchemist.  Even Hal had to ask directions from a seraphim who lived near the edge of Mystic Wood.

Juliet felt as if they were just going in circles, though she was too disoriented to be certain of even that.  Suddenly Hal stopped.

“There it is,” he spoke more to himself than to her, and then, as if trying to remember.  “From the gray-speckled boulder, 12 paces along the path, 90 degree right turn and six paces to the patch of clary sage, turn three complete circles, look directly over left shoulder and walk seven paces toward the first mountain laurel bush you see, left turn four paces, right turn three, bend down between the two large elderberry trees and wait.”

Hal seemed to have ended up about two small steps away from where he began.  Juliet watched him with questioning eyes.  She wanted to trust him completely, and she did in her heart, but this was beginning to test the strength of that trust.   Hal remained crouched in his spot like a large toad.

Just as Juliet was beginning to think she might need to take over the task of leading them out of there, a small moss-covered door opened in the ground beneath Hal.  It had been invisible just the second before, perfectly camouflaged by the intertwining of mossy tendrils.   A small man about six inches tall with emerald green knickers, a blousy shirt of creamy eggshell, a plaid vest, and a black velvet jacket emerged from the door by way of a ladder and stepped gingerly out onto the mossy carpet.  His mop of curly hair fell around slightly pointed ears.

“Good day.”

Hal straightened up, but remained on his knees.   He didn’t seem to be the least bit surprised to be addressed by such a small person.  He cleared his throat.  “Good day.  My name is Hal, and this is Juliet.  We wish to see the alchemist.”

“Of course you do.  It’s about the only reason your kind comes into the Mystic Wood anymore.  We used to be overrun with Beings like you, but then most of you stopped vibrating at our frequency.  My name is Bernard Oxley Millwright IV, and I shall show you the way.  Follow me.”  Bernard turned briskly on his heels and, as he did so, revealed two neat, tightly folded wings tucked close to his back.

Juliet was delighted by this little man and enchanted by this place.  The Eternal Here had flowers and trees and dirt, but this place seemed earthier, somehow, more moss, more mushrooms, more mud.  “Is this . . . is this earth?”  She just knew it couldn’t be so, but didn’t know what else to make of it all.

Bernard Oxley Millwright IV looked at her over his shoulder, but kept walking as he talked.  “Earth?  Sure, why not.  It’s all earth if you get right down to it.  There really isn’t a here or there or earth or not-earth.  There are just different speeds of vibration.”

“So, when you say that you used to be overrun with Beings like us . . .”

“Yes, well, apparently it used to be much easier for Beings in the human form to visit us.  We would make friends and sit and talk along the banks of the Singing River.  Then it seems the ones who couldn’t make the leap from human vibration to Mystic Wood vibration began telling those who could that they were a bit off in the head, as it were.  Fewer and fewer humans came to see us.  The last one I saw was a little girl, and that was many, many moons ago.  She told me herself that her mother had told her I wasn’t real.  I asked if she could see me, and she said yes.  I thought she believed me, but then I never saw her again.”  Bernard stared off into the woods and became misty-eyed for a brief moment.  “At any rate, humans will come back to us one day.  I’m sure of it.”

Hal and Juliet followed Bernard in silence for a few more minutes until he stopped at the base of the sudden rising of a hill.  He turned to Hal, “Reach down to just in front of where I’m standing.”  Hal reached down for the ground, not at all certain of what he was reaching for.  “There, do you feel it?  There’s the handle.  Now, pull.”

Hal pulled up a much larger door, but one hidden invisibly in the mossy ground the same way Bernard Oxley Millwright IV’s door had been.   Inside the door, they could see steps descending into the hillside and nothing beyond that.

“There you are.  Good day to you.”  Oxley fluttered his wings for the first time, shook a few drops of dew from them, and then lifted off the earth and flew away with his arms crossed in front of him and his feet crossed at the ankles.

Hal and Juliet watched him with their mouths slightly open, then Hal came back to the moment.  “All right, then.  I guess we should go see to your future.”

Juliet led the way.  They stepped through the doorway and descended 13 steps until they reached a large room which, although sensibly should have been a cave, was lit by the natural light of several large and inexplicable windows.  The only furniture in the room was a roll-top desk against the back wall, several long wooden tables, and bookshelves from floor to ceiling on two walls.  The tables were littered with open books, scales, mortars and pestles of various sizes, vials of bubbling liquids squatting over candle flames, and smudged sheets of aged parchment scattered about.

Beside the desk was a t-shaped perch on which sat a large Snowy Owl.  He seemed unreal, but then moved his head slightly and Juliet realized he had been watching them from the moment they entered the room.  The owl’s eyes were golden and unblinking and watched the two Beings in a such a way that Juliet knew there was a keen intelligence behind them.

Hanging from the high ceiling were orbs of various sizes hanging from mobiles and spinning and circling each other.  There was a large yellow orb with nine or ten smaller orbs circling it.  And there were other yellow and bright white orbs circled by countless smaller ones, every size, every color, forming an entire universe on this ceiling of this almost invisible cave.

This place was different from anything else Juliet had seen Here and felt quite certain she was not technically still Here.  It felt strangely familiar, as if she were seeing for the first time a place she had visited yesterday.

From one wall hung a considerable tapestry woven with the design of an astrological chart, except that rather than 12 signs there were 40 or 50 at least.  Next to the tapestry was a giant gong on a stand.

The air was hazy with candle smoke and incense.  The smell of patchouli and dragon’s blood mingled in the expansive room and permeated the wood of the furniture.  The alchemist rose from her writing desk as Hal and Juliet approached.  She greeted them with a warm smile.  “I am Maria Claricy.  And are you Juliet?”

Juliet was surprised beyond speech for a few seconds, but then found her tongue.  “Yes.  How did you know my name?”

Marie Claricy twitched her nose and crinkled her brow as if this was an odd and silly question and the answer all too obvious.  “The runes told me, of course.”  She turned to walk away, then looked back over her shoulder.  “Well?  Are you coming?”

Juliet turned to Hal who gestured her forward to follow Maria Claricy.  She trailed the alchemist across the huge hall that seemed to grow bigger the more her eyes were able to take it all in.  Juliet studied the woman in front of her as they walked.

Maria Claricy looked surprisingly young for someone so versed in her craft.  Juliet would have expected a decrepit crone leaning on a crooked walking stick, a large wart on her nose and missing teeth.  Maria Claricy was the polar opposite.  She had long blond hair, mounds of it, loose strands interspersed with random braids, billowing about her shoulders and down past her waist.   It seemed more than a head of hair; it seemed a visible, touchable aura that hovered about the upper half of her body.  Her clothes were layers of fluttering diaphanous purple and gold scarves tied and draped and twisted over a tie-dyed shift of deep blues, greens and reds.  She fluttered as she walked, her scarves like gossamer wings moving through the air.  Bangles and bracelets of silver and amethyst clinked on each wrist and from each bare-footed ankle.

From out of the hidden depths of her hair and across her forehead lay a silver chain with a single white Selenite stone resting directly above and between her vivid green eyes.  She smelled of lavender and rosemary and pine.  Her energy was warm and gentle, open and accepting.  Being in this room and in her presence felt like being hugged by the earth, and for a moment Juliet remembered her former home and all of its splendor.

Maria Claricy led Juliet to a small round table near the astrology tapestry.  In the center of the table was a large crystal globe.  Beside it sat a calico cat and a set of worn Tarot cards.  Maria Claricy shooed the cat off the table and motioned to a chair on the opposite side for Juliet.  When both women were seated, Maria Claricy clasped her hands together, her baubles tinkling around her wrists, and smiled broadly.  “So, now, tell me about this return trip you’re wishing.”

Juliet was still a bit overwhelmed with the trappings of the laboratory.  “Do you believe in all these tools of divination?”

“I believe in energy.  And evvv-rything is energy.”  Maria Claricy drew out the word with great drama.  “I could use the wag of the cat’s tail for divination if I so chose.  But when I use the Tarot or the runes, I am able to combine my energy with the ancient energy of countless oracles, alchemists and seers who have done this work before me.  So, why re-invent the wheel?”

“How are these things going to help me get back to Romeo?”

“I have no idea.  Once you,” Maria Claricy continued, “tell me what it is you want to do, then I’ll know what kind of magic we will need.”

Juliet paused.  She wanted to be sure she remembered every detail Hal had coached her through.  “I need to return to earth, the earth-plane, to meet again with my true love, Romeo.  He is there now.  I must return to that plane before he returns Here.  So, Hal and I have determined a meeting place.  St. Simon’s Island, Georgia.  I need to go to St. Simon’s Island, Georgia, and Hal will direct Romeo to request the same location for his next trip.”  Juliet paused, and then added more softly, “He’s been looking for me for 400 years and I’ve . . . been asleep.”

Maria Claricy sat back in her chair and crossed her arms.  She studied Juliet’s face intently, as if trying to decide something, then suddenly leaned forward and looked deeply into the ball.  “You do understand there is no guarantee you and Romeo will meet in this next incarnation.  We can put you in the same vicinity, that’s not a challenge at all, but once you have both become incarnate your paths may cross or may not completely at the fancy of destiny’s wind.”  Maria Claricy studied the crystal ball as she spoke, not really looking at Juliet or seemingly aware of her at all.  “Ooh, knife wound.  You must have hurt deeply.”

“I still do,” Juliet whispered.

Maria Claricy glanced at Juliet quickly, then back to her crystal.  “It seems that St. Simon’s Island, Georgia, is a bit of a resort area.  There are year-round inhabitants, but not many.  Metropolitan areas are so much easier.  Of course, if you’re not picky, I could probably get you in the mainland city of Brunswick with no problem.  Your first choice is not impossible, mind you, just fraught with more obstacles.”

Damn Malcolm, Juliet thought.  “What kind of obstacles?”

Maria Claricy lifted the crystal and sat it aside.  She pulled out a bag of runes and tossed them two by two on the table, studying the runes’ symbols and direction intently after each toss.  “Well, there is a greatly reduced chance that you will actually know the family into which you are born.  They may not be in your soul group.  Sex?”

“Um, excuse me?”

“Sex.  What sex would you like to be?”

Juliet wasn’t ready for the question, but tried to adjust.  “Female, please.”

“As suspected.  You do know I cannot guarantee the sex of the person you are trying to meet, nor can I guarantee that you will be female, although I will do the best I can.”

Juliet nodded.

Maria Claricy swept the runes off the table and back into their pouch.  She turned to a bookshelf behind her, opened a drawer, and pulled out a scroll of yellowed parchment.  She opened the scroll and spread it across the table.  “This is a list of women on St. Simon’s Island of child-bearing age.  Those who are married, involved, getting serious, or having an affair are noted as such.  Do you have a preference of anyone on this list?”

Juliet studied the paper closely, not sure what she was looking for.  “I’m. . . I just don’t know.”

Maria Claricy leaned forward and placed her hand tenderly on Juliet’s arm.  “If you knew anyone on the list, then you would recognize a glow from the name, even if it is different from when you knew them.”

“Well.  I guess any one will do them.”  Juliet gave a tight-lipped smile and shrugged slightly.

“Oh, don’t make it so easy on me.  I would normally love this situation where I could slough somebody off on one of the lesser desirables.  But, I like you.  And 400 years is a very long time to wait.”  Maria Claricy’s smile was that of a beautiful young maiden and a mother all at the same time.  “I can see you haven’t heard from the light yet, but your glow is getting strong.  It should be any day.  I’ll begin working on the spell and you let me know the instant you hear from the light.”

“Is that it?”  Juliet asked.

“For now.”

“But, one question.  If the person I’m trying to meet and I end up the same sex in this next life, will it create a problem?  I mean, if one of us isn’t . . . you know, . . . open to that?”

Maria Claricy reached across the table and took Juliet’s hand in her own.  It was electric, form on form.  The energy was completely different from when she had touched Juliet’s arm earlier.  “My beautiful girl, we’re all open to that.  Trust me, if you are able to find the person with whom you share a true love, you’ll adapt.  Anything else?”

“Once I hear from the light, how soon can I leave?”

“It’s best if you wait a complete nine earth-months.  You may override at any time, of course, but that’s very risky.  After seven earth-months, you’re pretty safe.”

Juliet and Maria Claricy rose and walked arm-in-arm slowly back toward Hal.  They had quickly formed a bond, much as a mother will bond with her child upon first sight.  Before leaving, Juliet hugged Maria Claricy for a very long time and with a very tight squeeze.  “You will help me, won’t you?  You will help me feel all put together again, won’t you?”

“Oh, my dear.  I will do my part, and you will do yours, and Romeo his.  And then there are the stars.  But, I will do my part, of that you can be certain.”

© Deborah E. Moore – 2011