Veiled Existence Page 10

  Selecting a box labeled “Marriage Certificates,” she cracked the lid, unsurprised but disappointed to see blank forms. “So that’s probably what all of these are,” she murmured to Dale, pointing at the “Baptism” and “Confirmation” labels. Crouching lower, she spied boxes on the bottom shelf marked with hand-written dates and drew one from the cupboard. Dale’s light illuminated a book inside the carton which reminded her of the composition notebooks some of her teachers liked the students to use, except instead of heavy cardboard, the cover was leather. She delicately pinched a corner of the cover and peeled it back, revealing yellowed pages. “These look like church records.”

  Dale nodded and Jeni stood to place the disintegrating box on the counter. Glancing sideways, she saw Tyler replacing the cover on a box of candles. Carefully removing the journal, Jeni opened the cover to reveal lists of information scrawled in faded ink. “These are accounts of baptisms and weddings.”

  “Burials too.” Dale observed.

  “Does this help us? It is history.”

  A crease appeared between Dale’s black eyebrows. “Not really. I got the impression there would be actual historical accounts. Like news clippings or a diary.”

  A scraping sound and then a clatter echoed from the interior of the church. Jeni glanced wide-eyed at Dale and then her cousin, who silently slid the box in his hands onto the shelf and closed the cupboard door. Following suit, Jeni attempted to put the lid on the journal’s box but her shaking hands were ineffective on the degrading cardboard. Elbowing her aside, Dale took the lid and nodded toward Tyler, who had stepped through the doorway which led behind the altar.

  Jeni hustled to catch up to her cousin in the shadowy passage, sights set on the dark rectangle in front of him while her heart beat wildly. She stiffened when the shrill sound of a whistle came from the other side of the wall. The melodic warble marked the maintenance man’s whereabouts and Jeni glanced behind her, relieved to see Dale’s silhouette moving through the archway.

  Unaware that Tyler had stopped to fiddle with his phone, she plowed into his back, shoving him into the darkness. He hissed a curse and a moment later the flashlight on his phone lit up the small space.

  The room resembled a walk-in closet. Priest’s robes, shirts and different colored stoles hung neatly from a wooden pole running the short width of the room’s back wall. Along with the vestments were folded cloths draped pants-style over the bottom of hangers, presumably altar linens. More robes lined the wall to their right—all seemingly identical except for length—perhaps for a choir.

  They paused, listening, and then the man’s whistled tune changed in timbre as it no longer sounded through the wall, but from the room behind them.

  Tyler swept the choir robes aside and dodged between them, squatting down so the garments would cover him. Jeni motioned Dale toward the priest’s vestments, which were hung on a higher rod. When he slid between them, bending at the knees, she quickly rearranged the clothes to cover him.

  Tyler’s light went out, leaving Jeni standing in darkness. Then footsteps scuffled at the end of the hallway and the whistling stopped. Jeni tiptoed toward the choir robes, arms outstretched. When her hands closed on fabric-covered hangers, she wriggled behind them, pressing herself to the wall.

  Jeni’s pounding heart seemed to fill the close space. Already her thighs screamed at the awkward position she was frozen in, knees bent so her head was below the tops of the robes and leg muscles pinning her to the wall. Easing the strain wasn’t an option however, as the scrape of shoes on wood advanced down the passageway. She knew the man had entered the room when the footfalls paused.

  Her heart nearly jumped from her chest at a loud click, and then dim yellow light leaked around the hanging garments. Jeni barely breathed as she pictured him inspecting the area. She’d had no time to arrange the robes after she climbed behind them. Looking down, she wondered if her feet were visible, or Tyler’s, or Dale’s.

  Either he was looking for something he didn’t find or they were actually well-hidden, because after a long hair-raising moment the light snapped off and the footsteps retreated.

  The air in her lungs released in a rush. No one moved until a door slammed and Tyler spoke in a low voice. “I think he left.”

  When Jeni emerged from the robes, the guys were tall shadows in the murky light that sifted down the passage. Dale said, “That was close. We should get out of here before he comes back.”

  “But…” Jeni said, her protest weak after nearly getting caught. “Is there somewhere else we should look?”

  “Yeah, probably the rectory,” Dale grumbled. “Which is in Lansing.”

  “We might want to check here,” Tyler said, turning on his flashlight and shoving the choir robes to the side.

  Set into the wall was the outline of a small door. “Although we’d need a key.” Tyler rubbed his thumb over a metal keyhole in the wood.

  Jeni leaned close to examine the hole. “This looks like the lock on an antique desk we have at home. I bet it would be super easy to pick.”

  Tyler snorted. “You know how to pick a lock?”

  Jeni shrugged. “No. But I think I might know how this lock works.”

  Her cousin reached into his pocket and then extended his open hand with a small knife in the palm. “This might help.”

  Familiar with the Swiss Army knife, Jeni took it, hoping the little tweezers would do the trick. Removing them from the knife, she poked the tweezers into the keyhole, feeling for an edge to leverage against. At first it seemed she was only prodding metal against metal, but finally the tiny instrument touched something that shifted. With an image in her mind of the latch on the cabinet at home, she pressed against the part and when it resisted, she nudged it in the opposite direction. A metallic rasp was followed by a click, and then the door popped outward enough for her to get her fingertips on the edge.

  With a satisfied smile, Jeni handed the knife and tweezers back to Tyler and then pulled the door open, recoiling slightly as a stale odor wafted out. The space was roughly the size of a small microwave or toaster oven. Jeni wondered if, back in the day, it might have been the church’s safe.

  Stacked inside were four leather-bound books. Two of the four tomes were ancient bibles, the pages marked by silk ribbon. Gold letters pronounced another: “The Gospel According to Luke.” The last volume was covered in plain, worn leather. Jeni opened it and Dale shifted his flashlight to shine directly on the page and illuminate the handwritten entries.

  Jeni pointed. “Look, each passage is signed with the letter T.”

  Dale’s eyes lit with excitement, softening his stern countenance. “Father Kerr’s first name was Thomas.”

  “This is the diary of the church’s founder?” Tyler asked, a bit smugly.

  Dale shrugged. “Looks like it.”

  Jeni brushed her fingers over the journal’s cover. “We can’t steal this, though.”

  The beam of Dale’s flashlight shifted and then his phone screen lit his face. “No, but we can take pictures of it.”

  Setting the diary on the floor, Jeni gingerly held the book flat as Dale snapped pictures of the pages. Tyler padded down the hallway to check on the whereabouts of the maintenance man. He returned a few minutes later to report that he’d seen a pick-up truck leaving from the driveway next door.

  With deliberate motions, Jeni carefully closed the journal and placed it into the cubbyhole. She pressed the door closed, but without the latch holding it in place, the panel popped open slightly. “Give me the tweezers,” she said to Tyler.

  “Just leave it,” he said.

  “No,” she argued. “We don’t know how valuable any of this stuff is.”

  Making a noise in the back of his throat, Tyler got out his knife and handed her the tweezers. It didn’t take Jeni long to push the latch back into place, and then they crept out of the church.
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  Jeni’s pulse pounded as they crossed the open expanse of lawn, expecting to hear an angry shout, but they made it to the car without incident. As they buckled their seat belts, she said to Dale, “Hey, send me those pictures so I can check out the diary.”

  While Tyler made a sarcastic comment she didn’t catch, Dale unlocked his phone and handed it to her. “We can’t send anything until we have cell service.”

  Bringing up the photos, Jeni hoped the motion sickness preventative she took that morning would hold up because she couldn’t stand the thought of having information at her fingertips that she couldn’t access. Zooming in on a page, she wrinkled her nose at the faded ink and erratic scrawl.

  She found though, that after deciphering the formation of most of the letters, she was able to begin making out words, and from there, sentences. Becoming acclimated to the cadence of nineteenth century speech also helped speed the process.

  When she felt she had a handle on it, she began reading the diary out loud.

  18 Oct 1850

  It seems befitting to start a new journal on this, the cusp of a new life. For in three days hence my Wexford flock shall set sail for Liverpool where I have arranged their passage to America. Though it grieves me to depart my homeland, the scarcity of food behooves parents to starve in favor of morsels for their children. All who make the crossing seek a better life.

  I have but one task before my leaving. On the morrow shall I return north to the province of my birth in hopes that I might achieve a measure of peace for those in the region, Londonderry of Ulster. From there will I commence my journey to Liverpool and on to the United States.

  20 Oct 1850

  Crossing overland by carriage is arduous, particularly in light of the knowledge that this same journey will be made in relative comfort once the railways are completed. It seems everywhere that they are under construction. Alas, it is a mode of transportation that I shall have to wait to experience.

  But I have arrived in Londonderry and already it is the eve of my departure to Liverpool. I sit at a worn table in an Inn on the shores of Lac Dunnagh where my—

  Jeni broke off. “I’m not sure about this word. Daidoe?” She spelled it for Dale.

  “I’m pretty sure that’s Irish for grandfather,” he said.

  “Okay, yeah. That makes sense then.” Jeni continued.

  …where my daidoe first divulged the tragic tale. Tis but lore yet my earnest heart cannot be quieted and I design to bring about better fortune for purest love and happiness.

  The trees still lean forward, one each on opposite shores, branches like fingers never touching, yet eternally grasping. I watch day fade from the sky awaiting the cloak of darkness for my deed.

  “His deed?” Tyler interrupted.

  “Yeah,” Jen said. “Just wait. I’m getting to it.”

  21 Oct 1850

  The sight that met my eyes with the rising sun is most terrible yet heartening. The tree under which her bones lay was toppled and dying. This came as no surprise to me as I decimated the roots while reclaiming the bones. What I witnessed across the lac all but proved the legend’s truth. Though I touched it not, this tree was withered and had heaved itself unto the waters.

  A crowd has amassed on the shores of the lac as I gather my belongings, now increased by one piece of baggage. They titter inquiries for which no answers are forthcoming. I deem my secret is safe.

  “Hold on.” Tyler shifted so he could look at Jeni in the back seat. “Is he saying that he dug someone up?”

  “Sounds like it.” Jeni noticed Dale’s pinched expression in the rear view mirror. “Do you know what legend he’s talking about?”

  Shoulders stiff, Dale gripped the wheel in both hands. “There’s no shortage of Irish and Celtic legends. He could be talking about anything.”

  Jeni narrowed her eyes. “Come on, Dale. You know something. You should tell us.”

  The hum of tires on asphalt filled the car for a minute, and then Dale spoke. “There’s a famous legend about a girl named Deirdre. I’ve heard a few different endings to the story, one that involves trees planted across a lake from each other.”

  “Tell us the legend then,” Jeni said.

  Dale blew out a breath. “Deirdre was the daughter of the king’s storyteller. When she was born, a druid foretold that her beauty would, basically, wreak havoc. A lot of blood would be shed on her account. So her father sent her away with a nurse, or foster mother, to live in the mountains. Eventually though, a lost hunter saw Deirdre. He told the king how beautiful she was and then of course the king had to find her.

  “So Deirdre became engaged to the king, but long story short, she fell in love with someone else and ran away. When they were found, her lover was killed. Some stories say Deirdre died of a broken heart, some say she killed herself, but in the end, her death did cause a lot of battles and lost lives. Just like the druid foretold.”

  “Where do the trees come in?” Tyler asked.

  “Some say the king buried Deirdre and her lover on opposite sides of a lake. A tree grew up from each of their graves, the branches reaching across the water toward each other.”

  “Well that’s pretty on the nose,” Jeni said. “But do you really think Father Kerr dug up the bones of Deirdre?”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Tyler said.

  “I wasn’t asking you,” Jeni shot back.

  Dale’s cheek flinched as he clenched his teeth. “I think he believed it.”

  “Awesome,” Jeni muttered sarcastically to herself, then went back to the diary.

  27 Oct 1850

  Oh to be back in the overland carriage! Passengers traveling such as I, on packet vessels, reside belowdecks, in steerage. On the mildest of oceans the space would yet be close, dim and dank. For us, a gale wind has blown since reaching open water. Mountain high waves break over the ship in all directions. Deemed one of the roughest crossings by Captain Clarke, steerage has become dirty and foul-smelling both due to limited sanitation and sick stomachs. We often wake to insect or vermin bites and much of my flock has fallen ill.

  The old mother, whom I met in Liverpool begging passage as she’d lost all her family, weathers all with surprising resilience. I once wondered that she would survive the crossing, but younger members of the flock are faring worse than she.

  “Ugh, traveling by ship sounds aw—” Jeni jumped as the phone in her hand chimed. “It’s a text message from a Mrs. Tresler? Do you want me to read it, Dale?”

  “Yeah, read it,” Dale replied immediately. “That’s Ice’s mom.”

  Her heart skipped a beat as she switched to Dale’s messages. “They found Ice’s Jeep.”

  Jeni was straddled on his lap, bare arms twined around his neck. The setting sun backlit her honey blonde hair with an ethereal glow. The look of contentment on her face revealed that she wasn’t experiencing the visions brought on by their skin to skin contact.

  Ice smiled. Nik had done him a huge favor by applying their Ojibwe tripartite belief in a body, free soul and ego soul to the problem of causing Jeni to see visions.

  He slid his hands up her arms and across her shoulders, plunging his fingers into her fine, silky hair. She leaned forward and pressed her lips on his. Ice had a fleeting concern about her parents coming out on the deck before he gave in to the kiss.

  “I wish we were alone,” Jeni murmured into his ear when they came up for breath.

  Ice chuckled and shook his head. “I’m not sure I could guarantee my good behavior if we were alone. It’s probably better if we have a safeguard.”

  “Maybe I don’t want a safeguard.” Jeni’s breath on his neck sent a thrill across the base of his skull which tingled down his back.

  He drew her into another kiss which began playfully, but intensified, and soon his hands were traveling along her torso enjoying the feminine contours. His fing
ertips slipped under the edge of Jeni’s shirt and as the struggle with his basic instincts began, another consciousness interrupted.

  The sweet memory of kissing Jeni in her backyard faded. Once it was gone, he realized his body was sending a message for him to wake up.

  Ice fluttered his eyes open with a groan. The utter blackness didn’t diminish the sensation of his swimming head. He lay still, struggling to breathe, wishing he could return to the dream. If he was on the brink of death, it was a great last memory.

  But now that he was conscious, his will to live reinstated itself. He thumbed on the lamp, turning his head away from the brightness and blinking until his sight adjusted. Eyes on the small opening that he knew was the way out, Ice slithered closer. He grasped the edge of the hole with both hands and brought his face forward. Drawing in a gulp of air, he suddenly realized that his head protruded into the adjoining tunnel.

  He stayed in that position, pulling in lungful after lungful of air until the dizziness abated. After Elletre left, he’d drifted off…but…did she come back later? Or had the old woman been here? Recollections floated in his brain, bits and pieces that he struggled to fit together.

  Resting his head on the side of the hole, Ice tried one of the mind clearing exercises he’d learned to employ on a vision quest. Fear, dread and helplessness rose before any concrete memory. Then the parched sound of the old woman’s voice. She had told him something. Something that smothered his soul.

  The path was open. He could leave. He could leave but…

  Nothing.

  He swallowed, wincing. His throat felt like it was coated with sand. He scooted backward to retrieve one of the remaining water bottles from the pack Elletre brought with her.

  “You’re under a geis, Ice.” The remembrance struck him in astonishing clarity, the woman’s voice sharp with loathing and vengeance. “You can leave, but outside of this cavern, you’ll forget the curse. You will go and destroy all that is good in your life. And then, when your world is in tatters, you’ll remember my words, and you’ll know that you voluntarily brought this on yourself and your loved ones. The heartache will consume you until you can no longer live with the guilt and the pain.”