Lifted Veils

By Joani Lacy

Freelance writer Jayne Casey is about to get a lucky break writing an Easter story for a prestigious New Orleans magazine. But as she dives into her research, strange things start to happen around her. First, there are the vivid supernatural dreams of ancient times and cryptic warnings from her friends. Then her elderly psychic godmother, MamaG, falls into an unexplained coma on Palm Sunday. Things go from bad to worse as her friend’s twin nieces go missing without leaving any clues behind.
A retired police chief and his sidekick from Sorry’s Run, Kentucky are called to New Orleans to help discover what’s happened to the missing twins. Is it voodoo or some forbidden ritual from the church? What happened to MamaG? And most importantly, can they find the girls in time? All will be revealed as tension builds and Easter Sunday approaches.
Amidst the gripping backdrop of New Orleans, with its colorful and lively characters, “Lifted Veils” is an intriguing and compelling page turner.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Mar 21, 2023
• ISBN: 9781663251602

Joani Lacy

Joani Lacy is a singer/songwriter who lives with her husband in Cincinnati, Ohio where together they performed in the musical group Robin Lacy & DeZydeco. Find her on Facebook or email her at [e-mail].

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CONTENTS

Author’s Note

Chapter 1     It’s A Sign

Chapter 2     Sparkling Things

Chapter 3     Far-Fetched

Chapter 4     Truly Twisted

Chapter 5     Real Faith

Chapter 6     A Large Shadow

Chapter 7     Should Be Afraid

Chapter 8     Walls Of Jericho

Chapter 9     Fear, Take A Back Seat

Chapter 10   No Negative Thoughts

Chapter 11   Burning The Beef

Chapter 12   Deliver Us

Chapter 13   Seek And Ye Shall Find

Chapter 14   Hope Springs Eternal

Chapter 15   A Scary Place

Chapter 16   Won’t That Be Perfect

Chapter 17   A Warning

Chapter 18   A Little Sadness

Chapter 19   More Hot Sauce

Chapter 20   Puttin’ On The Dog

Chapter 21   An Empty House

Chapter 22   Falling Apart

Chapter 23   Shock Waves

Chapter 24   Total Abandonment

Chapter 25   Wretched People

Chapter 26   The Chief

Chapter 27   Mysterious Ways

Chapter 28   The Right Guy

Chapter 29   Sure As I Am Born

Chapter 30   He Did Bad Things

Chapter 31   Remove All Veils

Chapter 32   Damned Superstition

Chapter 33   The Right Direction

Chapter 34   It’s A Sign

Chapter 35   Deep Into Superstition

Chapter 36   A Compelling Case

Chapter 37   Just Maybe It’s Nuthin’

Chapter 38   Burn In Hell

Chapter 39   Never A Good Idea

Chapter 40   There’s A Story There

Chapter 41   Wasn’t A Doll Person

Chapter 42   An Offer You Can’t Refuse

Chapter 43   An Excellent Secretary

Chapter 44   She Got The Voodoo

Chapter 45   Combined Energies

Chapter 46   Her Time Has Come

Chapter 47   Blindsided

Chapter 48   Escaping Energy

Chapter 49   Crawling

Chapter 50   Element Of Surprise

Chapter 51   The Interview

Chapter 52   Very, Very Close

Chapter 53   She Was Coming

Chapter 54   Not Me

Chapter 55   Miracles Do Happen

Chapter 56   Hope

Epilogue

AUTHOR’S NOTE

This book is dedicated to my Editor Extraordinaire, Levan Burgin, without whom I doubt these pages would have seen the light of day. Thank you, Sis, for being so tenacious and making it fun to boot. We are a good team. And thanks to Todd Burgin, whose skillful synopsis is always appreciated. Love you both.

As for any disclaimers, I must admit that though the telling of this story is set in my beloved New Orleans, I took fictitious license with details as I always do. St. Louis Cathedral of course is real and one of my favorite places on earth, but I made up parts of her interior to meet my needs. The other churches in the story are nonexistent. So go with my imagination and I hope you enjoy my NOLA fairytale.

The cat purred on her lap as she stared up at the enchanted painting. She stroked the cat’s fur. Closing her eyes, she was easily lulled into a lucid dream of a long-ago time, an ancient world of mystery and sadness. She was time traveling through shaded veils that grew dense and dark and frightening. She cried out but made no sound. Behind her swollen eyelids she saw them, impossibly large cat eyes, black slits in deep pools of the palest green. The cat eyes filled up her dream sky, piercing and all knowing. A bloated tear fell from one sorrowful eye, but the other was fixed and dry and cold…

CHAPTER ONE

IT’S A SIGN

MARCH 2019

MARY JAYNE CASEY FOUND THE RAIN UNSETTLING as it slammed against the heavy panes of glass on the 19th floor. She stared at the backside of the orange neon tubes spelling out NOLA BEAT MAGAZINE. The morning news had reported that the downpour wasn’t going to let up any time soon.

March was going out like a lion.

She got up from the armchair and refilled her coffee cup from the crystal urn on the side table. The strong brew sloshed almost to spilling over the rim of her cup and she noticed her hands shaking. God, girl, get a grip. Jayne dumped the coffee in the small onyx sink and sat back down. The rain was getting on her nerves.

She stared at the expansive office. The far wall was plastered with autographed photographs of famous people, framed awards and accommodations for literary achievements. An embossed name plate sat on the mahogany desk spelling out in bold brass letters, CEO/Editor-In-Chief. If it wasn’t for the fact that the CEO’s fake lashes and fashion sense were a tad overkill, Jayne might have been intimidated. She really was lucky to even be sitting in this room– but she had an in.

Come on, Carmen, don’t keep me here all day.

Just at that moment, a silver-haired woman with large tortoise shell eyeglasses sitting on her prominent nose entered the room. Despite her age, she wore her spiked heels with ease and seemed to float across the floor. Everything about the woman spoke wealth, though her tailored Chanel suit couldn’t contain the midriff bulge that insisted on escaping her waistband. Kept her nicely human.

Jayne went to stand.

Don’t get up, sweetie. The older woman took her seat behind the massive desk stacked with papers and periodicals. She stared out the windows. For god’s sake, would you just look at that weather? Will New Orleans ever catch a break? If I have to live through another levee disaster, I’m calling it quits.

Oh, Carmen, this city couldn’t live without you, and I don’t really think you could live without it. Jayne smiled.

Oh, hell, don’t I know it. This damned town. I think they drug us at birth. Carmen rifled through a stack of papers in front of her. Now where are my damned notes.

Did you look at my piece? Jayne’s green eyes brightened in anticipation.

Well, hon, that’s just why I dragged you down here. Andrew had a suggestion. And you know I don’t encourage my husband to ever suggest anything. She winked and kept shuffling papers. Ah, here it is. Yes. He thinks we need a church piece to publish in our Easter Edition. Now what was it he was saying…okay, found it. A piece revisiting traditional religious values. That’s it. I think my husband is gettin’ sentimental in his old age. I’ve noticed he’s reminiscing about his Catholic upbringing lately. I know it’s a phase, but for some reason I want to humor him. She winked.

You’re the boss. What are you thinking?

Well, I’m thinking I actually agree with him. I mean, who needs another article on the French Quarter Fest. Not that your piece wasn’t exceptional. I’ll keep it on file. But no, since our next publication comes out the week of Easter, he suggested you do a nice story on the Catholic Church. You know, with the angle of traditional values and Biblical relevance in modern life? Carmen raised a penciled-in eyebrow.

Oh my god, that’s too weird for words. I have been having a strong feeling about writing a religious piece, but I didn’t think you guys would go for it.

Carmen smiled at the petite redhead in front of her. What, you think we’re too hip to revisit the greatest story ever told?

Well, okay, then. I’ll figure out an angle and pitch it to you.

Lovely. Carmen stared at the young woman she had pretty much watch grow up. Mary Jayne, you know how I loved your mama and you know how I love your godmother. She raised her head back up and flashed her million dollar smile. And speaking of which, how is Geraldine?

Oh, MamaG is better than good. You know my godmother. You take a day that’s good for one thing only, and that’s stayin’ under the covers, and she’s all about… I think I’ll take a ride on the streetcar. Jayne grinned.

Yeah, that’s her all right. I never knew a lady with so much energy. Her mind always workin’. I miss her. I think I better give her a call, Carmen mused, and continued, okay, then, you come up with an angle by the end of the week.

Jayne jumped to her feet. I will call you by Friday. Trust me. She teased. And give Andrew a kiss for me.

I will, darlin’, now get out of here. I have a magazine to run. The older woman tried her best to snarl at the younger woman, but she fell short, and Jayne was moved at how she had been favored once again by the New Orleans literary icon.

She nearly skipped down the hall to the elevators. When the doors opened an elegant man in his 60s stepped out. Well, hey, there, Ms. Jayne. How are you this fine rainy day? Have you been in to see the boss? He grinned.

Hi Andrew. Yes, I was just there. She’s going to give me a few days to pitch a religious idea for your Easter edition.

Really? Well, you are indeed her pet. I admire your nerve. She may be my wife, but she scares the hell out of me. He laughed. Good for you. I know I’m supposed to stick to marketing and sales and let Carmen worry about content, but I had a strong feeling about this issue that I couldn’t ignore. So she’ll be hearing from you later this week, right? He raised an eyebrow.

Yes, of course. And Andrew, you guys won’t be sorry.

Good. Feeling sorry is one of our most disagreeable emotions. Smiling, he headed down the hall and his handsome face had its usual relaxing effect on her.

Jayne rode the elevator down to the lobby of the high rise and joined the throngs of people mulling about. She was once again reminded of how lucky she was to work from home. If she had to battle this kind of crowd every day she might have given up the city for good. And today was especially crazy because of the weather. Delivery guys were everywhere bringing sacks of fast food and New Orleans favorites to the hundreds of offices.

She wanted to get back to the Garden District and start researching. But what in hell was she going to research? Easter? That would get her too much and not enough. What was the slant she was looking for? Something different. Something that would really get the reader’s attention. She reached into her backpack and pulled out the flyer she had found crumpled up beside a dumpster on St. Charles. Strange that she had even seen it, and stranger still that she had carried it around for two days. She stared at the picture of three biblical women looking upward to the sky. They were so beautiful and looked so sad, but at the same time, hopeful. The flyer had no inscription, no lettering at all, just three flawless faces looking up.

Jayne had been fascinated with the picture. It’s a sign, she thought. Her godmother was all about signs and she had taught Jayne well about being on the lookout for them. Live in the now, she would say, and watch for the signs.

Jayne spoke out loud to the photo, You better damn straight be a sign.

She folded the flyer back up and stuffed it into the front pocket of her backpack. She didn’t want to blow this. She hadn’t had an article in BEAT for a long time, and Carmen Dural paid better than almost any of the other magazines in New Orleans. Jayne needed the money and she needed the feather in her cap. But beyond the practical needs, she felt something else gnawing at her, an emotional need that was begging for attention. Hmmm….

Jayne was proud that she was able to eke out a living writing freelance in the city, though sometimes the stress was almost more than she could handle. But it was always at that point, just when she was certain it was time to give it up and get a steady day job that the right assignment would miraculously present itself. Geraldine always liked to take credit for such tiny miracles. I saw the sign, she would say and laugh.

Well, I think this time I was the one who saw the sign. She spoke out loud. Now if I can just figure out what it means and what I’m supposed to do with it. Jayne found her phone and punched in the number of her favorite Uber driver.

The drive home was longer than usual. There were some traffic tie ups due to the inclement weather. Jayne just sat back and relaxed and watched the old city out the car window. New Orleans, even on a gray day, had always appealed to her romantic nature. The wet live oak trees looked overly burdened with gnarly branches dressed in oily black bark bursting with new leaves. She loved it. She wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. Something about the way New Orleans looked, the way it smelled, the way it felt. Especially in the spring when everything was popping with new life. It was home. It scared her sometimes because it was wild and it could be dangerous, but she would only miss it if she left. It was as Carmen had said, they must drug everybody at birth. Something in the water, Jayne laughed to herself.

Here you are, ma’am, the Uber driver pulled up in front of a classic Victorian.

Thanks! You know I appreciate it. You be careful out there in the jungle. She smiled at the young man.

You bet. And same to you.

Jayne let herself into the big house, climbed the steps to her apartment and changed into what had been her mother’s favorite Happi coat. She imagined her godmother wasn’t home yet, so she pulled her laptop out of her backpack and set it up on the kitchen table. After heating some water for tea she got the folded flyer out again and stared at the picture. She had a pretty good idea who the women were. They had to be the three Marys: Mary Magdalene, Mary of Bethany and of course, Mary, Mother of Jesus. Jayne focused on the one she liked to think was Mary Magdalene. She was the one who was most interesting, because so little was written or even known about her. She would make for an intriguing slant on her article for Easter.

Jayne sipped on the herbal tea and stared at the faded faces of the angelic women. Something was reaching out to her, begging for attention. It had begun with an intense dream and then a startling premonition from Geraldine. It had been so intriguing and had put her on this track. And now, with finding the unusual picture of three women who could be…well, it was definitely a sign. Jayne had no idea why she had had such a dream. Maybe it was the upcoming season, though usually Mardi Gras dwarfed Easter. But this year, it was as if she was rediscovering something about her church, about her childhood. She felt compelled to write a piece about the upcoming Easter season. And could there be a more enigmatic biblical figure than Mary Magdalene? How amazing the Durals at BEAT had asked her to write just the article she was fantasizing about.

She took her steaming mug and walked into the living room and stood in front of her favorite framed photograph. It portrayed an attractive couple holding hands with a little girl, all three smiling widely at the camera in City Park. It was a perfect picture of a perfect family. Jayne raised her cup and toasted, Mom, Dad, don’t be angry. I know the church was never your thing, but something is coming at me that I can’t ignore. Forgive, please?

Jayne let her mind wander back to a time that still sent fresh jabs of emotional pain to her insides just thinking of it. She had tragically lost her parents shortly after high school. It had been the loneliest and scariest time in her life. Geraldine had taken her role as godmother seriously and had seen Jayne through her hardest days. Being an only child, she learned to love Geraldine like a grandmother. Now they shared the restored Victorian in the Garden District that had been divided into three apartments. Geraldine was on the ground floor and Jayne was above her. If Geraldine needed Jayne, she would just take her broom handle and bang on her ceiling. Jayne always teased her, You could text me like a normal person if you want me. But Geraldine had reminded her that the only technology she wanted or needed was God technology and she was just fine communicating through her thoughts and prayers and the reliable broom handle. Jayne had finally given up trying to get her to buy a cell phone, so the floorboards reverberated a lot.

The third apartment across the hall from Geraldine on the first floor was rented to a college professor who had just come through a difficult divorce. He taught at Tulane and was rarely home, so Geraldine and Jayne had the big house to themselves a great deal of the time. There was a lush flower garden out back in the courtyard and it was a special place where they liked to commune with nature and with each other. The women were very happy living independently, but under the same roof, and they spoke almost daily.

Geraldine oftentimes blurted out strange and unexpected comments, as though she were having a running conversation with someone unseen. It had been just such a comment in the garden a week ago. The women had been enjoying a pot of chicory coffee when Geraldine had gotten quiet and contemplative as she stared at the bougainvillea climbing up the rock wall of the garden. Jayne never intruded on her godmother’s quiet moments. They were rare and almost always resulted in some enlightened way of looking at and thinking about the physical world. Jayne brought the steaming mug to her mouth and waited and then it came. Geraldine looked at her young ward in a focused manner and said, Jaynie, I have just gotten a strong spiritual message that you were present at the time Jesus walked the earth, and more importantly, that you were vibrationally related to Mary Magdalene.

Just like that she had said it. It immediately put Jayne into a tailspin. In the dream she had seen herself in what she imagined to be ancient Jerusalem, and now her godmother had just put into words something that Jayne would never admit to herself but had thought. Jayne returned the intense look and then asked out loud, Okay, MamaG, how did you do that? You read my mind, right?

Geraldine smiled slowly and said, No. I heard a voice. She leaned in and whispered, But it wasn’t yours.

So now on top of all that, finding the flyer and the Durals rejecting her French Quarter music story, asking instead for a religious subject, there was no doubt she would write the article about Mary.

She nodded to the picture, Mom, Dad, wish me luck. Jayne went back to the kitchen to finish her tea and study some more on the three faces who had captured her imagination.

In the living room an unusual stillness crept over everything. Even St. Charles Avenue traffic didn’t cut into the heavy hush that had suddenly blanketed the room. Next to her family photo a painting hung on Jayne’s wall. Carved into its large wooden frame were the words The Gypsy.

If anyone had been watching they would have thought they saw the raven-haired beauty depicted there move ever so slightly and look up with startling green cat eyes, arresting in their intensity. If anyone had been watching, they would have thought they saw the young woman grin, at first in an enticing manner and then her lips opening too wide, her mouth too harsh and a sinister grin replacing the lovely smile. If anyone had been watching they would have thought the painting had to be enchanted with some kind of dark magic and they would have been very afraid.

No one was watching…

CHAPTER TWO

SPARKLING THINGS

GERALDINE SHAW WATCHED AS THE PRIEST BOARDED THE ST. CHARLES STREETCAR. He grabbed the first open seat and slid all the way over to the window, acknowledging no one. He was drenched and looked miserable. Shoulda carried an umbrella, Father, she thought. Normally Geraldine would have spoken to any priest in her presence, but not this one. He looked for all the world like he was not wanting any kind of human contact. Humph, well, you better get yourself straight, Father. This is God’s perfect rain that He has made and you are blessed to be alive and to feel it.

She turned her attention away from the strange cleric and looked out at the passing scenery. Geraldine cracked the double-hung window open and breathed in the wet air. It worked its usual charms. I think it’s the fragrance of the magnolia trees that keeps my senses alive and wanting more, she mused, while her round brown eyes were drawn to the feather-like moss drenching the ancient oak trees. Or maybe it’s my sense of fashion and timeless style. She smiled to herself as she looked down at her perfectly pressed blue linen suit. She smoothed her coarse gray hair under the classic pillbox hat that gently netted her face. It was a constant surprise that at the age of seventy-seven she still found life interesting.

Although she knew why.

She had been born with a second sight which made it almost impossible to be bored for very long. It was Geraldine’s curse and her blessing to be gifted with knowing things. But know things she did, just not always when and how she wanted to. At times her clairvoyance was crystal clear in its visions and at other times it was a muddled mess that she had to sort through like some cosmic mystery.

There had been moments when she was a little girl when the overwhelming feelings she would get about certain people and places scared her. Geraldine’s first vivid memory of her clairvoyance had been in elementary school when she had seen her best friend, Sadie, with blood running down her arm. Little Geraldine had run to help her only to find there was no blood on her friend’s arm. It wasn’t until a week later that Sadie fell on a rock in the park and nearly lost her arm to a bad cut. Geraldine had run home crying to her mother. She felt bad about her friend and afraid of what she had seen, but her mother had just smiled and held onto her. She whispered in her little girl’s ears as she soothed her, Geraldine, honey, don’t you be afraid. You got the sparkle, girl. You got the sparkle. Geraldine had begged her mother to explain. "I has it and my mama had it too. It’s a gift from God, Geri. Don’t you let it scare you. You can help folks or hurt folks. It’s all up to you. But be careful of it. When you sparklin’ God is speakin’ to you. You is special, girl, because you sparkle. You is special."

Geraldine liked sparkling things so it made her happy and she did feel special from then on. Her mother had warned her, though, not to tell people. Geri, they won’t understand. It’s better you keep the sparklin’ to yourself. You will learn how best to use it.

And use it, she had. Only it had been confusing at times and she had gotten things wrong. She would lose trust in her gift for a while, but then something would happen that would clear her up. It would be as though someone turned hot electricity on in her bones and she knew she was sparkling for real. But rather than be blunt about any visions, she just tried to counsel people and that had served her well. And she had decided long ago that if it was God who sparkled through her she would stay close to the church and God would stay close to her. As a result of her subtlety, people trusted and respected Geraldine and thought her to be a very wise woman.

The streetcar rattled and banged its way toward the Garden District. Geraldine closed her window to keep the rain out and pulled her hat lower on her forehead. She shut her eyes so she could retreat to that private place where she listened. Her ancestors were speaking to her and she was trying to understand, but her own thoughts kept intruding. I’m blessed to have lived so well. Hard living for the most part, being a black girl from a poor family, but much romance and fun, too. And god, the music and the parties… once I decided to give up trying to change the world.

Geraldine let herself relax into the swing of the car on the steel rails. Its constant sway lulled her into a lucid dream state, then, and in her subconscious mind the peaceful feeling she had enjoyed just moments ago gave way to an uneasy sense of foreboding. As though in a trance, she drifted away from reality and a disturbing dream invaded her rest, taking her somewhere unfamiliar, then somewhere unspeakable.

Ma’am? Ma’am, are you all right?

She awoke, startled, to see an unfamiliar young man, and a familiar older woman shaking her gently. She was still in the grips of the dream and tried to push them away before she regained her senses.

Geraldine, you done had a nightmare, girl. The woman was a streetcar acquaintance.

Geraldine nodded her head slowly, Yeah, Marcella, you right about that. Lord, it was a bad one.

Girl, anybody that looks as purty as you do in that sweet blue suit shouldn’t be havin’ no nightmares about nothin’. The woman smiled and returned to her seat.

Geraldine returned the smile weakly and realized she had been slumped over. She straightened her skirt and sat up taller.

The young man asked, Are you sure you’re all right, ma’am? Should I help you off at the next stop? Maybe call somebody?

Well, aren’t you sweet. No, really, I’m fine, outside of bein’ a little embarrassed.

Well, don’t be. You just gave us a scare. It was like you were about to scream, he spoke quietly.

Geraldine felt a cold shiver flash over her as she remembered. Then she sat up taller still and raised the netting on her pillbox hat. She looked directly into her rescuer’s eyes and thought she saw genuine concern there. She patted the seat next to her and he sat down. My name is Geraldine. She extended her gloved hand to him.

Nice to meet you, Geraldine. I am Marshal. Are you sure I’m not disturbing you?

Oh, hon, at my age a disturbance is like a sweet elixir that quenches a thirst. But you are so young. Are you a tourist, just visitin’ New Orleans? she asked.

No, ma’am, I am a math student at Tulane. I am originally from Kentucky, though, and am having the coolest time being here.

I see. Kentucky is a beautiful state. I visited there long ago for a very brief time, but I remember the hills.

So you were there?

Just for a breath of time. In them days we was all protestin’ somethin’ and I rode many a bus with my best friend touring a lot of states tryin’ to stamp out segregation. You know what I’m talking about?

Oh, yes, ma’am. Unfortunately, I do.

Geraldine smiled again and nodded.

Is your friend still with you? he asked.

No, I lost her in one of those fights. And I ain’t fought since. I decided love was better than war and I do believe I have lived happier because of it. Tell me, Marshal, how do you feel about things?

Ma’am?

I mean, do you feel hopeful?

Oh, sure, ma’am. I sure do. There’s so much beauty in the world that there is always hope.

You sound like my goddaughter, Jayne. She always sees the sunny side. Well, and that’s how it’s supposed to be with the young folks. It keeps the world turnin’.

You have a goddaughter? he asked.

Yes. Jayne’s parents were dear friends of mine. They passed way too young, and Jayne and I have been together ever since. I love her like she’s my own.

That’s awesome, ma’am. Well, this is my stop. I sure enjoyed speaking with you. And I just have to say that that is truly one killer hat! Stay dry! He grinned impishly and shook her hand before he deboarded with the other riders getting off at First Avenue.

Geraldine sat back in her seat for the short ride she had remaining, and she wondered at the chance encounter with the Tulane student, Marshal. Of course, she didn’t really believe in chance. She believed in destiny and she felt certain she was meant to have met the young man, if for no other reason than to remember that young people still held onto hope.

Jayne sure did. But something was coming. Geraldine knew it in her bones. And the nightmare she had just had confirmed it. It was a foretelling and she needed to heed the warning. She glanced over at the unfriendly priest and saw that he appeared to be sleeping, clearly not wanting to be bothered. He hadn’t even been kind enough to help her like Marshal had.

The streetcar screeched to another stop and as Geraldine raised her umbrella and stepped onto the sidewalk she felt an unnamed dread creeping over her.

The priest got off at the next stop. His mood tanked even more when he got slapped in the face with the torrential downpour. Damn, I’ll be soaked by the time I get to Magazine Street. Why in hell did I forget my umbrella? Monday mornings were getting increasingly bad for him, even without the rain. It was because his Sundays were becoming such a chore. Nobody gave a rat’s ass about his sermons and he felt completely irrelevant standing in front of his dwindling congregation. He knew he was just going through the motions. But that was all about to change. He had been in the dark long enough, swirling in his anger and resentment. But not for long. Yes, that was all about to change. The priest picked up his step, almost jogging through the rain to get to his brethren who would be his guiding light.

CHAPTER THREE

FAR-FETCHED

I’M JUST SAYING THAT STRANGER THINGS HAVE HAPPENED, Jayne protested as she came to an abrupt stop in front of Jackson Square on Decatur Street. She glared up at her best friend.

Jaynie, it’s just your Catholic upbringing. You were brainwashed. And besides, this article is making you crazy. You know how nuts you get at the beginning of a story. And this is slightly far-fetched, more like wishful thinking on your part? The tall brunette winked.

Well, okay, maybe, but still… Jayne’s gaze drifted to the Saturday crowd gathering for beignets at Café Du Monde across the street. I mean, maybe it’s a sign.

You mean because Geraldine thinks it’s a sign, don’t you? Or is it just because your first name is Mary?

Oh, shut up. Really, don’t you think it’s kinda weird that I was asked to do an Easter article first time ever after I have this mind-blowing biblical dream that was so real I felt like I was living it? And then I found a discarded flyer picturing three women who just have to be the three Marys. Don’t you think that’s weird, or at least incredibly interesting? I mean, Geraldine sure found it interesting, especially when she picked up on a Mary Magdalene vibe before I even said anything to her about it. Then she felt her flesh shiver when I told her about my dream and that it was important. She looked at me so intensely when she said it, as if she were relating some of the mystery of Mary M to me.

So, you think you’re a reincarnated Mary Magdalene? Beth grinned at her friend and patted her on the head. You know, of course, that Mary of Magdala was rumored to be stunningly beautiful with gorgeous eyes and a head of hair to die for. Beth reached back over and put her hand in Jayne’s thin, wavy reddish hair. I don’t think so.

Jayne swatted Beth’s hand away and her cheeks reddened in embarrassment. Not reincarnated. But what if I’m tapping into her energy somehow? I can’t explain it, but It feels like it could be possible.

Well, see, that’s what I’m saying. You’re getting too involved in this church business and it’s putting all kinds of ideas in your head. Mary Magdalene? Can you imagine.

Jayne relaxed and sighed, Yeah, okay. You’re probably right. But it’s kinda fun, you know? Anyway, since I got the go ahead from Carmen to write about Mary M I have been digging into the research for the story and I’m really fascinated. There is so much to learn about the early beginnings of Christianity. If Carmen likes it she promises my article will go in the Easter issue. Wouldn’t that be just awesome?

Yeah, my whimsical friend, that would be just awesome. So I guess that means you won’t be going to Coop’s with me?

I can’t. My interview with the priest is at four o’clock. Eat some red beans for me.

Okay, Jaynie. But just keep in mind, whenever you start digging into religious beliefs you’re most likely opening up a nasty can of worms. If you end up getting all controversial on this stuff there could be hell to pay. Beth raised a dark eyebrow and then flashed a smile. But I know you, and you won’t stop until you think you’ve got it right. It’s your most annoying and most admirable trait. So go interview your priest but stay away from snake charmers and live chickens. She laughed.

Jayne pretended to jab her friend in the arm. Meet me at Igor’s later. I’ll tell you if I’m still a Catholic, she shouted as Beth headed on down Decatur Street.

Jayne was really looking forward to talking to Father Joe. Geraldine said he was the kindest and most open-minded priest at the parish. She thought about what Beth had said, that it was her Catholic upbringing that was getting in the way of her objectivity. And there was certainly some truth in that. Her parents hadn’t been practicing Catholics, but MamaG sure was and she had been the one to keep Jayne involved. Jayne had always particularly loved studying the New Testament in catechism classes when she was a teenager. The tragedy of Jesus’ short life appealed to her sense of romance and intrigue. The whole Son of God thing was as enticing as it gets. And yet she had gotten farther and farther away from the teachings of her church as she had grown older, and it hadn’t been too long before the season of Mardi Gras completely overshadowed the seasons of Easter and Lent.

But her godmother still had faith that she would come back around. Jayne smiled thinking of Geraldine who had pretty much watched her grow up. Though Geraldine was a devout Catholic, she also believed spirituality came in all forms and flavors. And though she loved her church, she was just as reverent when it came to recognizing some of the oldest religions on the planet. Living in New Orleans, she certainly had brushed up against voodoo a time or two. She felt all energies were intertwined in a world that couldn’t be seen but could be sensed if someone was open to it. And she believed this story would really heighten Jayne’s senses about her vibrational family. Whatever that meant. Jayne smiled to herself again.

Sometimes she thought Geraldine wasn’t of this earth at all, but really a devoted angel and confidante. It had been such a blessing having the full-figured, five-foot-tall powerhouse of a woman as her godmother. It was just a plus that she was Jayne’s most magical friend. But Jayne felt embarrassed by Geraldine’s insistence that she was being guided to the church story because of her energy connection to the biblical siren.

And now, as she stood in front of Jackson Square and watched Beth walk away from her, she really regretted having shared Geraldine’s comment. Far-fetched was an understatement and she didn’t really believe the dream was anything more than that, just a dream. Instead, Jayne reasoned that she had always been particularly drawn to the story of Jesus and the famous Marys from the Bible. It ignited her imagination enough to try to find out more information, particularly about the most famous harlot of all time who had been absolved of her sins. Jayne liked that, all the intimate moments of kindnesses between Mary Magdalene and Jesus in a monumentally shifting time in the world. Forgiveness. That was something that seemed to be a lost art. Who really forgave anybody anymore? Instead, people beat each other up on social media and purged their sins through Tweets and Facebook posts. It was obnoxious to Jayne, the way the world had seemed to have lost its soul.

Hummm….maybe that’s my angle. She could come at the piece with that subject line. Has the world finally lost its soul to digital blurbs in cyberspace?

Jayne yanked out her cell phone and texted a reminder note to herself, and then walked past the costumed soothsayers toward the famous cathedral. The buskers were going strong in front of the church on Jackson Square and a nice weekend crowd was cheering and filling their tip jars as musicians played everything from Dixieland jazz to blues. Jayne smiled at the familiar scene. Then she pulled out a small mirror to check her makeup. God, Beth was right. Who was she kidding? Her reflection was hardly that of a beautiful woman, and her hair was its usual mess. She tried to fluff it up, applied some lip gloss and pinched her cheeks. Hopefully, he’ll like my personality. She took a deep breath and entered the venerated cathedral.

The immediate and overwhelming hush was always the best part. The intense quiet in the church caused the beating of her heart to slow down, putting her nearly into a surreal slow motion. Jayne took a deep breath and listened. She noticed a muted whirring sound high up in the rafters. She could imagine ghostly souls of past worshippers hovering, inhaling and exhaling in synchronicity to keep worldly noise out and the spirit of God heavy in the incensed air. Jayne was observing how empty the church was when suddenly a wall of sound crashed through the hush. She nearly jumped out of her skin and immediately heard a man’s laughter close behind her.

That’s our dramatic organist, Alfred, showing off his tubular bells.

Jayne turned around to see a handsome man in a priest’s garb smiling at her. He stretched out his hand. Mary Jayne Casey, I assume?

Jayne took his hand and smiled nervously back at him. When did priests get so good looking? Yes, and you are Father Joe? She took her hand back and made an awkward attempt at fluffing her hair again.

In the flesh. Follow me, Jayne. I do think young Alfred is going to have his way with the organ for a time. It’s a beautiful day. Let’s take a walk.

He led the way back through the massive doors and out into the warm sunlight. She followed the priest around the corner to Pirate’s Alley, where he started chatting easily as he nodded to people they passed. You never know if they’re a parishioner or a potential parishioner, he explained, seeming to know everyone. Then he slowed their walk and turned his attention to her. So, Geraldine tells me you’re a pretty successful freelance writer, Jayne?

Yes, Father, I like to think I am. I’m not getting rich and I’m certainly not a Pulitzer Prize hopeful, but so far I’ve managed to pay the rent by writing for local New Orleans papers and magazines. I’m usually the one writing the fluff pieces, so I was happy when BEAT Magazine gave me this assignment. It intrigues me, you know? And they thought the subject matter would be appealing for their Easter edition. Anyway, I hope so.

Father Joe smiled and led her to a wrought iron bench. Well, then, sit and let’s talk. I have heard that you are most interested in the holy women of ancient Christianity who shared the name Mary and most particularly Mary Magdalene? He smiled at her and she sat down next to him.

Do you mind? She pointed to her digital recorder.

Of course not. Nothing I say is going to be anything I wouldn’t tell my congregation. So what do you want to know?

Well, I remember when I was growing up and taking catechism that we were taught that there were three independent Marys documented in the scriptures around the time of Jesus. There was the Virgin Mary, of course, and then Mary Magdalene and then the Other Mary? I guess my first question would be, is that still the same doctrine in the church? Because I’ve heard there’s been a change of thought?

"Yes, you’re right about that. Mary of Magdala was the woman Jesus saved from being publicly stoned after having been accused of adultery, and the Other Mary was thought to have been the woman who anointed the Christ with her hair and precious oils. The church took the position for centuries that these were two separate women. But most recently religious historians have come to believe that it is more likely that the woman