Conjuring Sight (Becky Jo Chronicles Book 1) (32 page)

“Why would people make such a fuss for a woman who died over a hundred years ago?”

She looks up at the statue. “They make a fuss because it’s tragic and romantic. My grandpa told me that Rebecca knew she was going to die. She had a premonition and tried to talk Colonel Blair out of marrying her, but he wouldn’t hear of it.  According to Grandpa, the Colonel loved her so much he actually told her that he would marry her even if they only had a few short hours together.”

“How does your grandpa know all this?” I question.

“My name is Susan O’Grady. I know this because my great -great granddad was one of their wedding guests.”

I suddenly understand; Susan is descended from Doctor O’Grady.

She looks at her watch. “I have cheerleading practice. I better go! Don’t forget to make your wish before you leave.”

She hurries back to the road.

I look at the angel, knowing I’ll never make that wish. I’m all out of wishes. All that’s left is a hole in my heart. My greatest wish was to save a man I didn’t know. I put my hand on the angel’s foot. The words of St. Augustine of Hippo fill my mind. Late have I loved you,
O Beauty so ancient and so new. You called, and broke through my defenses, and now I long for you. You breathed your fragrance on me, and I drew in my breath and now I pant for you. I tasted you, and now I hunger and thirst for you. You touched me, and I burn for your peace.

I walk through the cemetery to find Sunny, locating her in a distant and deserted corner. She is moving dead grass off a small gravestone.

“Colonel Blair had the last word,” she says, not looking up from the gravestone. I take a step forward to read the inscription.

SAMUEL BLAIR

Liar, Thief, Fornicator, Coward, and Murderer

May you find nothing but hellfire!

“Was he as bad as all that?” Sunny asks.

“Worse, much worse,” I answer. “James was generous when he wrote those words. I would have added: rapist, ignoramus, parasite, child predator, drunkard, sadistic and racist jerk.”

“Is your violin tuned?” Marina asks me as an army of girls dashes around us.

“Yes, are you sure I shouldn’t wear higher heels to make me appear taller?” I ask as Sunny sprays my hair with hairspray.

“No, just be yourself,” Marina assures me.

“Becky Jo?” Lindsey Simpson joins us, carrying a garment bag over her shoulder. There are curlers in her hair. “Are you in the pageant?  I thought you moved to Nevada?”

“Yes, but she was allowed to keep her title. Becky Jo is still Miss Charleston,” Marina explains, putting a pair of my sneakers into a bag.

Her face drains of its color. “Everyone’s saying you’re the girl to beat.”

“Who cares what everyone’s saying. Just go out there and do your best.” Sunny pats her back. “You better get going, the talent competition’s about to start.”

“I know you’re going to do great,” I call behind her. She forces a nervous smile and waves before disappearing into the crowd of other competitors.

“The girl to beat, huh?” Sunny smirks.

“Becky Jo, you don’t worry about it one second. You just go out there and do your best.” Marina picks up my violin case. “We have to go.”

The strange thing is I’m not nervous at all. I have just gone through the darkest, most trying months of my life. I had still been trying to cope with Mama’s loss when I took my journey to 1875. Then I lost James and came back to a world without Gabe, Clara, and Henry. March, April, May, and June passed slowly and painfully. Fortunately, I had the HSAP, violin lessons, and the Miss South Carolina Pageant to prepare for, because they gave me a reason to get out of bed each morning.  I barely passed the HSAP, and I’ve been doing well with my violin lessons. However, I am still forcing myself to put one foot in front of the other. After everything I’ve gone through, competing in a beauty pageant should be easy.

“Rebecca Douglass, the judges are ready for you,” my name is called.

“Knock ‘em dead,” Marina says, handing me my violin.

I spend the next few days playing my violin, modeling a swimsuit and evening gowns, learning dance numbers, and answering endless questions with a permanent smile on my face. I know the routine. Growing up in Mama’s family, we practiced interviews and modeling every weekend. While other girls played with Barbie dolls, I learned how to answer any question while looking sweet and sincere, and I learned to appear confident. Scholarship pageants are the Douglass family’s college plan. Mama couldn’t afford college tuition, but she could sew gowns and had talented friends who gave Marina piano lessons and me violin lessons, not to mention all the dance lessons. Pageant scholarships got Marina through college, and Mama hoped they would do the same for me. She knew the power of beautiful, confident women.

“I’m so nervous!” Lindsey whispers to me while we line up to begin the performance.

“You’ll be fine,” I comfort her. “Just remember to smile and breathe.”

The music sounds and immediately we’re under bright lights as the show begins.

After the first group dance routine, they narrow the contestants using the judges’ ratings from the earlier rounds of competition. I’m not surprised when I make the top ten because I have prepared my whole life for this moment, but I pretend to be, enthusiastically joining the other nine at the front of the stage. I am by far the smallest.

The next round is swimsuit competition. I make my rounds across the stage wearing a pale pink bikini. The audience fills with cheers when I flirtatiously blow a kiss to the judges as I walk pass. When the contestants are narrowed even further, I am among the top five.

When I return from changing into my talent gown, I am grateful to see Lindsey crowned as Miss Congeniality. She may not have made the top ten, but I’m happy she doesn’t walk away empty-handed.

There is a polite applause when I walk onto the stage with my violin. I smile as I take my place in front of the microphone.

“I’m Rebecca Douglass representing the beautiful city of Charleston. I will be playing a rendition of
A Night on the Bare Mountain
, by Mussorgsky.”

The random whisperings from the audience simply cease as my violin rings out into the performance hall. I chose this piece because it resonates with me. The intense, almost animalistic moments of pain and sorrow, the brief periods of calm, and then the daybreak for which I’m still hoping and waiting. Everything I have experienced over the past year is encompassed in this song. I pour my heart out through the strings of my violin. When I finish, there is silence for a moment and then thunderous applause. Even with the bright stage lights in my face, I know the audience is on their feet, bestowing me with a standing ovation to express their appreciation. I bow my head in a gesture of humble gratitude.

“Good Lord, Becky Jo!” Lindsey whispers to me as I walk off stage. “I didn’t know you could play the violin like that?”

“There are a lot of things people don’t know about me,” I reply before going to change into my evening gown for the final round of competition.

Of the top five, my pink dress is by far the simplest. I decided to wear the last dress Mama made. It isn’t bright or flashy but perfectly accentuates my curves and coloring. Every pageant dress Mama sewed was specifically made for the girl who would be wearing it. She was convinced that a glittery dress would overshadow me. She wanted the world to see me and not just my dress. The light, flowing material makes me feel almost as though I’m walking on air. I think back to my fairy princess costume and the winged statue James commissioned of me. The people who love me see me with wings, wings they have given me.

After we model our evening gowns, we take our turns answering a final question. Being last, I quietly take my place at the microphone.

“Rebecca, what is the greatest lesson you have ever learned?” the M.C. asks.

A hundred safe answers run through my head, but I push them away. I would dishonor James, Mama, and myself if I didn’t answer truthfully. I smile sadly as I look out into the audience.

“The greatest lesson I have ever learned is not to take anything for granted. I was a foster child, without a family, before I was adopted by a loving mother. When the recession hit Charleston, I lost my home, but I was fine because I had my mom. Last year, I lost her to breast cancer. I have loved and lost, and I guarantee I never take a single moment for granted. We have one chance in this life. There is no do-over or rewind button. We must live every moment as though it is our last, and we must love to our dying breath. This is the greatest lesson I have ever learned. Thank you.”

I’m given a polite applause and the judges’ faces are unreadable as I take my place next to the other girls. I just cost myself the competition by deviating off the acceptable standard answer of world peace, but I don’t care. What I said was the truth. I know Mama and James are looking down at me from heaven, and they are proud of me. The thought makes tears well up in my eyes, and I try to blink them away. I’m so caught up in my thoughts that I’m barely listening to the M.C.

“…and this year’s Miss South Carolina is Miss Charleston, Rebecca Douglass!” he announces.

I’m honestly stunned as the crowd jumps to their feet. This time, I can’t fight back the tears. They stream freely down my face as the crown is placed on my head and a bouquet of roses is put in my arms. I cry even more as I think about the last time I was given roses. Tears stream down my face the entire lonely walk across the stage.

I cry even harder when Marina and Sunny congratulate me in the dressing room. Marina simply holds me and allows me weep into the shoulder of her expensive suit.

“I know,” she says. “I wish she were here, too.”

I shake my head with tears streaming down my face. “It’s not that. Mama’s happy where she is. I was just hoping that maybe I’ve finally made you proud of me.”

“Becky Jo, what on earth are you talking about?” She pulls away and frowns deeply.

“I know I’ve been a huge burden, and I’m not exactly a little sister you can brag about at work.” More tears escape my eyes.

Marina takes hold of my shoulders. “You just won Miss South Carolina, and you’re worried about whether I’m proud of you?”

“But I’m not smart like you,” I object. “I’m just small, plain me.”

“Don’t you ever say that!” she orders. She starts crying uncontrollably. My strong, powerful sister can’t hold back the floodgates. It takes a several moments for her to calm down.

“You and I have very different perceptions of reality,” she finally says, wiping tears off her cheeks.

“But I have bad grades, and I barely passed the HASP, and I’ll be lucky to get into college.”

“Becky Jo, why were your grades bad?” Marina asks, fighting to keep her emotions under control.

“I told you. I’m not smart.”

She shakes her head fiercely.

“No, your grades were bad because you cared for our mother as she died!” She begins crying a second time.

“For over six years, you took her to doctor’s appointments, served as her nurse, and even kept a roof over your heads. While other teenagers were going to the prom, you were at her side in the hospital. You balanced the checkbook, paid the bills, ran the household, and still managed to win Miss Charleston and finish high school. I’m proud of you every moment of every day! You are the most remarkable woman I know, and you’re only eighteen!”

“Here, here!” Sunny concurs. “Becky Jo, you are truly one of a kind.”

Marina nods her head. “I’m convinced the world has got it backwards. Great accomplishments are just words on paper. It is how we love that defines us. I’m proud of you because you know how to love, not because you can win a beauty pageant! I wish I were more like you.”

Her words stun me. My whole life I’ve compared myself to Marina, and she wants to be more like me. This proves it – I really am not very bright.

*     *     *

After countless congratulations, photos, and several television interviews, I am finally free to go back to the hotel room for the night. Marina and Sunny send me to the car while they finish organizing my things. When I walk into the wonderful South Carolina air, I am grateful Marina parked the rental under a streetlight. Thinking of a cup of warm milk and a soft bed, I push the button on the car remote to unlock the doors. I don’t notice the man sitting on the car in the next parking spot until he speaks.

“Good evening, Ma’am,” he says in an all too familiar soft-spoken voice.

I jump and drop my roses. I look into a pair of beautiful brown eyes with disbelief. I gasp. I have to believe the easiest explanation; this man must be a descendant of James’s. At least that’s what I think, until he speaks a second time.

“Perhaps you could tell me where I can find my wife?” He stands up and takes a step forward. His eyes continue to peer into mine. “Her name is Rebecca Josephine Harris Douglass Blair.”

“James?” I whisper, not daring to believe what I see and hear.

He smiles faintly, holding up a hand.

“In the flesh,” he says.

I cautiously reach for him. His large, warm hand wraps firmly around mine.

“Tell me you didn’t conjure yourself here!” I exclaim. “I couldn’t stand to lose you again!”

His smile widens slightly. “No, I didn’t conjure myself here, not exactly anyway. I’m really here.”

“And you won’t disappear from my time in fifteen days?” I demand. “Because that would be the cruelest thing you could ever do to me!”

“Rebecca, I’m not going anywhere.” He continues to stare at me as though I, too, might disappear.

“But how is this possible?” I’m trying to resist being dragged into my hallucination, but James looks, smells, and feels completely real.

“That, I’m afraid, is a
very
long story. It’s best shared another day.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I told you, I’ve been looking for my wife. She just up and disappeared on our wedding day, and I need to tell her something.”

“What do you need to tell her?” I ask.

He tenderly moves a strand of hair out of my face.

“I need to tell her that I can’t live without her,” he whispers.

He gently outlines my face with his fingertips as though he thinks I may also be an illusion. It is immensely intimate. I sigh at his touch.

Someone clears their throat behind us.

I turn around to find Marina looking at us with one of her sculpted eyebrows raised. Behind her, Sunny is standing with wide eyes.

“Good evening, Ma’am.” James offers Marina his hand. “You must be Rebecca’s sister.”

“I know who I am. Who exactly are you?” she replies, glaring at his hand.

“I’m Rebecca’s …um… boyfriend.” He fills in the word. “My name is James Blair.”

“Becky Jo, I didn’t know you were dating anyone,” she says with her eyebrow still raised.

“They met while you were in China,” Sunny finds her tongue. “James has been out of town.”

“James, there you are!” A huge man jogs into the glow of the streetlight, followed by a gangly guy with a limp. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”