Rebecca’s Cove

Chapter 9

Twenty minutes later, BJ sat at the Cove’s lunch counter. She had discovered a snack from heaven when JoJo set down a bowl of what looked like Tater Tots along with her cheeseburger. The tidbits were made of potatoes but filled with cheese and bits of jalapeño peppers.

“You want some more of these, Ms. Warren? Another iced tea?” JoJo asked.

“Most definitely, on both counts. These are great. What are they?”

“They’re called munchers. They happen to be from a recipe that belongs to Rebecca. Matter of fact, she asked this morning to meet you when you came in next, and what do you know...you’re here. Funny, ain’t it?”

“Yeah...funny,” BJ said slowly. “Um, sure, I’d be glad to meet her.”

After BJ finished her meal, JoJo ushered her into a separate apartment behind the restaurant. “Grandmother lives here by herself. Of course, someone’s out front until we close, but she spends her evenings on her own. I’d feel better most days if she’d come live with one of the grandkids, but she says she likes to be independent, and I guess I can’t blame her there.”

BJ recognized that the same hand had decorated the restaurant and the apartment. They both seemed like places reminiscent of another time, as if age had not altered them from their original states.

They walked into the space that in modern-day terminology would have been the living room, but BJ thought the term “parlor” fit this particular room. The wallpaper had thin hunter green vertical stripes. A large Persian carpet lay on the polished wood floor, and a love seat nestled along the north wall under a large window. Two overstuffed chairs with Queen Anne legs sat with a small table between them.

“Grandmother, this is Evelyn Warren’s granddaughter. You said you wanted to meet her.”

“Indeed. Thank you, my dear. Please, sit down, Baylor.”

BJ sat in one corner beside the fireplace, wondering when it ever grew cold enough for a fire on Ana Lia. She could only think of one word to describe the older woman—elegant. She remembered JoJo saying Rebecca Ashby was ninety-five, but BJ would have guessed the woman’s age to be closer to seventy. She had hair that shone silver in the subdued lighting of the room. She wore a linen skirt and jacket in a champagne color. A stylishly carved walking stick with a jeweled crown leaned against a small table beside her. Rebecca seemed very different from the rest of the island’s residents.

BJ suddenly felt out of place. She self-consciously looked down at her cutoff jeans, and Rebecca saw the uncomfortable expression in her eyes.

“Do you enjoy a good tea leaf, Baylor?” Rebecca asked. “Um, I suppose so.”

“This is a Moroccan mint, which I have always found odd considering that the plant is grown in Malaysia.”

“I agree,” BJ said. “You’d think they would have called it Malaysian mint or something more in keeping with its place of origin.”

She accepted a delicate china cup from the older woman, then politely waited until Rebecca took a sip of the steaming brew before doing likewise. The mint flavor was wonderfully subtle and refreshing.

“It’s absolutely perfect. Isn’t it?” “Yes, yes, it is.”

“You see, it merely goes to show you how little, or how much, a name matters. There are some who refuse to try this brew because they happen to know that mint is never grown in Morocco. How foolish I’m sure they feel when they discover that a name is sometimes nothing more and nothing less than a name. It doesn’t have to be the be-all and end-all or even have some hidden meaning. There are times when we affix a particular moniker to something just because it feels right. After all, what’s in a name, eh, Baylor? Even Freud said that ‘sometimes, a cigar is just a cigar.’”

BJ sat with her mouth hanging open a bit, her cup of tea still balanced in one hand. She couldn’t put her finger on it, even if someone had pressed her to do so, but she had the strangest feeling that Rebecca wasn’t just talking about tea leaves from the other side of the world. Then there was the way she kept using Baylor’s given name, a name BJ had grown up detesting.

Had BJ actually disliked her name for any reason other than it had been her father’s idea? Was it because he had repeatedly told the story of how he expected his firstborn to be a son and how disappointed he had been when a daughter was placed in his arms? Perhaps BJ’s extreme dislike for her name had come on the day when she stood toe to toe with the man who had made her life so miserable to confront him over his abominable behavior. His answer had been to turn away from his only child to declare that he was sorry he had given such a pervert his beloved father’s name.

“Are you feeling ill, dear?” Rebecca asked.

BJ came back to the present and shook her head to clear away the old anger she felt whenever thinking of her father. “Yes...yes, I’m fine. Do you know my grandmother well, Mrs. Ashby?”

“Oh, my, yes. I met Evie and her friend Aimee in Greece in 1947. Very turbulent times back then, but of course, wherever there was political upheaval, that’s where you would find Evie and her camera. In fact, it was in Havana, Cuba, that we ran into each other again. It was 1953 and I was on my honeymoon. I remember those two weeks as if they were yesterday, you know. My husband, Charles, met a man who told us about Ana Lia on that trip. I suppose the rest is history.”

“I had no idea,” BJ said in wonderment. “I mean, I don’t remember Tanti ever telling me how it was that she came to Ana Lia.”

“Sometimes people tell us all sorts of things, and it’s not that we’re not listening, just that we’re not quite ready to hear.”

BJ didn’t know what to say to that. Was it possible that Tanti had told BJ all of these things and she had selfishly paid her grandmother no mind?

“Shall we entertain ourselves?” Rebecca pulled a thick deck of cards from a small drawer in the table between their chairs.

BJ chuckled. “So you’re a fortuneteller?”

“Good heavens, no. It’s a game, merely something to pass the time. Actually, I have heard that the tarot came from an Italian game called tarrochi. Some say it was used as a way to pass on stories that the Christian church didn’t want people to know. You see, in the fourth century, one particular faction of the church was declared ‘official.’Up to that point, there were many manifestations of Christianity. Who is to say who knew the truth and who did not? Well, the Roman emperor Theodosius suddenly said that this one was real, and all the others were contrary to accepted belief.”

“So where do the cards come into play?” BJ had studied much history and literature of ancient cultures while working on her doctorate, but she had never heard this tale before. She had to admit she was intrigued.

“Some people say that one of the heretical factions became known as the ‘Hidden Church.’It’s thought that the cards told the real history of the church. The game became a way to disguise them, yet still pass on the truth. I have no idea if any of what I’ve just told you is fact, but it would explain why the Christian church is so vehemently opposed to the tarot, eh?”

“I guess so. You know, I really don’t believe in such things as tarot cards, ouija boards, or crystal balls,” BJ said as Rebecca shuffled the cards in an oddly different manner. The ancient fingers seemed quite nimble. “It’s not that I think people are goofy who do believe, it’s just that I don’t happen to think life works that way. I don’t take it seriously.”

“Good. That is a prerequisite of mine, Baylor. Frankly, I don’t trust anyone who takes the cards too seriously. That’s playing a dangerous game.” Rebecca arranged the cards face down in three piles on the small table. “The worst thing you can do is to take the tarot too seriously or literally. Then again, I’m not sure I trust anyone who refuses to play the game, either.”

BJ felt as if Rebecca had forced her into a corner with that remark. “Okay, I guess I’m up for it.”

“Excellent. Let’s begin. The deck that I’m using is a Rider deck. I enjoy the artwork myself. The three piles represent your past,” she indicated each pile with one hand, “your present, and your future. The tarot is not a way to predict one’s future. I’ve seen the very same cards read differently by different individuals. That’s why it’s good not to take what you see too seriously.”

“If not to predict, then what are they used for?”

“Most believers feel they are a tool for divination, for spiritual exploration.”

“And you? What do you use them for?”

“Examination. Examination of people, mostly, of human nature. I find it interesting, the things the cards make us think about. Within this first section, we can see your past. More specifically, it’s a way to gain insight into past events. Your present will help you to see what goes on right now, and of course, there is what you may expect in the future.”

“All of the cards have what looks like a court jester or a joker painted on the back. What’s that supposed to mean?” Baylor asked.

“Very observant, my friend. That is the Fool. There are many ways and spreads to the tarot. I choose a traditional way called The Fool’s Journey. It’s like a story.”

“And I’m the fool, I take it?” BJ raised one eyebrow quizzically.

“Don’t be offended, dear Baylor. We are all fools when we start out on a journey. Did you know that the word ‘fool’ used to be used as a term of honor?”

Baylor shook her head. She vaguely remembered her high school Latin and recalled that the Fool played a big part in medieval literature.

“Afool was someone who was pure...protected. Do you recall the story of Parsifal?”

“Yes. He was the knight who found the Grail.”

“Exactly. Parsifal was a knight of the Round Table. He found the Holy Grail, yet he was known as Parsifal, the Holy Fool. His name actually meant ‘naïve fool.’ You see, his mother kept him sheltered and protected from the hurts of the world.”

Rebecca turned over a card from one of the piles. “I’ve selected a very simple way of reading the tarot for your first experience. Next time, we’ll try something more complex.”

BJ nodded, never questioning the fact that there would be a next time. She watched as Rebecca chose a number of cards from the pile that represented the past. She carefully turned them all face up before speaking.

“The Emperor, the Tower, Strength, and Death. You display fairly strong elements in your past. Some would say your past has been an intense journey that has left its mark on you. The Emperor represents your earthly father.” Rebecca watched as BJ’s upper lip twitched into a sneer. “Sometimes it simply means a person in authority. It can even mean a certain control or structure that you have had to deal with.” She pushed the card aside.

“My father and I had a very...strained relationship.” BJ had no idea why she said it. The words seemed to pop out of her mouth as if her voice had a will of its own.

“How unfortunate. Fathers and daughters...those can be such complex bonds. Your father has passed on, hasn’t he?”

“Yes,” BJ said with a tightening of her jaw.

“Let’s move on. The next card is the Tower. Usually, this represents a shattering of the structure in your life. Perhaps something traumatic, something life altering. This seems to indicate that the event centered on your father.” She slid the card next to the first.

BJ’s silence told Rebecca all she needed to know. She moved on to the next card. “Strength. It means exactly what its name implies. Given the first two cards, it’s no wonder that you had to develop strength to help face the situations in which you were placed.”

“Since I’m still alive, I guess the Death card is wrong, huh?” Baylor asked.

“Death can mean an ending or a change. It is not so much about the physical death as metaphorical. Oddly enough, this is one of the three most misunderstood cards in the Major Arcana of the tarot. Many times, Death can be a good thing, meaning that something you no longer need is gone from your life. It can be a way of life, a habit, maybe a relationship, sometimes innocence. The one thing to remember about death as it relates to change is that when you fight, it can be painful. If you accept it, however, you can move upward and onward in enlightenment.”

“Yeah, well, so much for the past,” BJ said uneasily. Rebecca’s reading was doing exactly what she had predicted. It was making BJ think. She had once believed that she had put all those old terrors to rest, but clearly that wasn’t the case. “How about the present?”

Rebecca turned over four cards from the second pile. “The Magician, the Chariot, the High Priestess, and Temperance. The Magician represents a teacher who tries to help you see your potential. You have all the tools and abilities to face life, Baylor. You haven’t accepted that fact yet. Your teacher will help you see the power that lies within yourself.”

BJ sat listening intently. She didn’t notice that Rebecca had begun to personalize the information. “I don’t suppose you see a name there, do you?” She leaned over to examine the card.

“I’m sorry, dear, but it doesn’t work that way. It could be a friend, a lover, or a relative. The usual pattern is that it’s a person who has earned your trust, someone who believes in you. Suddenly, this person will appear to you in a different light.”

“A little vague, but I guess I can live with it.” BJ smiled. “Okay. Next?”

“The Chariot represent conflicts, decisions, possibly travel. The conflicts will be within you, Baylor. The tarot is not as concerned with the battles you fight outside of yourself as the ones inside.

“Next we see the High Priestess. She is your spiritual mother, mystery you will never be able to explain. It is she who calls to you in those moments of intuition when you follow your instincts but don’t know why.”

BJ stared off into space. Rebecca’s words had ensnared her.

She could see herself, not actually see, but she could feel. She was throwing caution to the wind and acting on instinct. For the first time in her life, she wasn’t worrying about the consequences.

Rebecca’s voice cut through BJ’s vision. “Finally, there is Temperance. It is indicative of the balance between our inner decisions. The mortal lesson that causes us to know that there is more to justice than right and wrong, guilty and innocent.”

“Well, that was pretty painless,” BJ said.

“You see. It can be great fun, even worthy of some honest introspection when we don’t take it too seriously.”

“How about my future? Anything I should look out for? Any long trips I should put off?” Besides the one that got me here in the first place?

“Let’s take a look.” Rebecca drew four cards from the final pile. “The Sun, the Devil, the Hermit, and the Lovers. How very interesting...all entities. What an exciting place your life will be.”

“Really?” Rebecca’s enthusiasm for the cards had infected BJ. “So what do these mean?”

“The Sun is a most favorable card. It shines upon those who have suffered during their journey. The Sun’s brightness indicates finding ultimate joy or prosperity. It shows that happiness will find you.”

“Don’t you mean I’ll find it?”

“No, not this time. Happiness is like the butterfly that constantly eludes your grasp. When you finally sit back, relax, and open your hand, it settles comfortably in your palm.”

“Huh.”

“Next, the Devil.”

“Now that sounds more like me.” BJ grinned at Rebecca. “The Devil isn’t so much a person we can blame, but rather

the hell and suffering we create in our life. There is an old saying, ‘we make our own devils.’ Most people don’t want to take responsibility for their life by saying they are where they are because of themselves. It’s easier to say ‘the devil made me do it.’ That way, they release themselves of any responsibility.

“Some of these cards depict the devil in ropes or chains. You have drawn a card with an image that is free of such bindings. This expresses an ability to escape your hell, to break away from the negativity. We make our own demons. We can destroy them, too.”

BJ found herself asking a question to which she feared the answer. “Do you believe they can be destroyed, Mrs. Ashby? Can it be that simple?”

“Don’t confuse simplicity with ease. Yes, I believe it’s that simple, and no, it is never easy.”

BJ and Rebecca stared at each other. BJ felt there were more questions to ask, but she couldn’t think of them.

“Let’s see what’s next. The Hermit. How appropriate for a loner such as you,” Rebecca said.

BJ didn’t think to ask how Rebecca knew that. She had tried to tell herself that she lived that life because she was having too much fun to commit, but besides some great sex and fun times, she never had much fun. “So why is this guy so fitting for me?”

“The Hermit represents two factors: solitude and a search for the truth. You see, Baylor, you must travel alone when searching for the truth. It’s one of those tasks only you can do. You can certainly surround yourself with those you love as support, but ultimately, it’s up to you to find the key to unlock that door.”

BJ looked up sharply. This was the third time since her arrival on Ana Lia that she had heard or read about the key to happiness. She looked down at the last card in her future. “The Lovers. I kind of like the sound of that.”

“As with most of these cards, the Lovers are not literally a string of lovers that will make their way to your bed. Instead, they represent lessons you will learn through love—and that includes loving yourself, which is the most important lesson we can learn. If we can do that, how can others not love us, as well?”

BJ became silent, thinking of all Rebecca had told her. She looked up at the mantel clock above the fireplace. “I had no idea it was so late. I’ve been here for hours. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to monopolize your time.”

“Not at all. I thoroughly enjoyed meeting you and I do hope you don’t mind the small diversion.” Rebecca indicated the cards.

“Not at all. I don’t go in much for that sort of thing, but this was interesting.”

“I do hope you’ll come back and see me again. I don’t get out much. I have a hip that troubles me some in this humidity. I hear that you’ve become friends with our Hobie Lynn. Perhaps you’ll bring her to tea some afternoon.”

“I’d love to talk with you again.” BJ smiled. “Hobie and I do seem to keep running into each other.” She wasn’t sure how much to explain. “But to say we’re friends might be pushing it a tad.”

“Well, you two appear to get on so well. I’m sure the longer you stay in Ana Lia, the more you’ll get to know each other.”

“Yes, well...I’m not sure I anticipate staying on the island too much longer. Tanti’s doctor said she was almost ready to come home. Since I’m not able to care for her with my leg the way it is, I thought I’d just hire someone to take care of the place and Tanti.”

“Let me say that you will be sorely missed here, by more people than you know.”

Once BJ was safely on her way, Rebecca sat at her kitchen table and picked up the cordless telephone. She still looked at the object as though it were something foreign, but she had to admit that some changes in life were good—not all, but some. She dialed and waited.

“Hello, Sarah Jane, how is your mother? Yes, I’m so glad you still recognize this old voice. Is Evie awake this afternoon? I wonder if you wouldn’t mind checking for me, dear.” Rebecca waited on the line for a few moments.

“She is? Marvelous...would you mind? Thank you, and be sure to tell your mother I said hello.” She listened to the canned music and began to hum “The Girl from Ipanema” as Evelyn Warren picked up the line.

“Evie! How are you, gal? You’ll never believe who I just spent the afternoon with...Oh, well, you think you’re so smart.” Rebecca chuckled at her friend’s laughter on the other end of the line. “Yes, my dear, it’s precisely as you said. We have more important things to worry about right now, though.” Rebecca repeated BJ’s parting words.

“Yes, I know. Everything will be ruined if she leaves now. Evie, we must come up with a way to keep Baylor on this island for a little longer.”