"The Lady in the Red Brick House"

Part 7 and the conclusion of
"The Ruler of the Twelfth House"
A mystery,
The true story of a search

There is a type of astrology which is called Horary. Its purpose is to answer specific questions and to predict the final outcome to whatever those questions might be. Just as people have specific birth charts, so, too, do objects and ideas. Christ preached that ‘Thoughts are things.’ Edgar Cayce stated that ‘Thoughts are as solid as bricks on the spiritual side.’

When I had gathered all the facts that I could in the search for my sister Veronica, I then cast a horary chart hoping to accurately predict the conclusion to my efforts. To my great dissatisfaction, the planetary aspects indicated confusion, deception, dishonesty and disappointment. To worsen matters, the planet Mercury was in retrograde on the day Veronica finally contacted me. Even the most novice astrologer realizes that Mercury retrograde is a curse for matters concerning communications. All forms of communication attempts go haywire until the planet Mercury completes its retrograde cycle and goes direct once again.

I will now share with you the conversation I held with Veronica Simas one Wednesday morning in 1995 to the best of my recollection. It would be far easier to have two performers act out our conversation than it is to write of it, for there were a great many guarded pauses shared between us as well as several incriminating and unintentionally spoken words.

That Wednesday morning at 9:40 a.m., my telephone rang. I was in my office preparing to meet my first client of the day. I answered the call assuming it was someone calling to schedule an appointment for my services.

“Is this Walden Welch?” A woman asked. The voice sounded strong as if from a heavy set woman. I could also sense that she was nervous.

“Yes, this is Walden. What can I do for you?” I asked.

“I called to tell you that I received your letters,” she answered.

“Letters? What letters?” I asked. I had no idea what the woman was talking about.

“The letters you wrote me. My name is Veronica Simas.”

The moment she stated her name I felt as it someone had rammed their hardened fist into my belly. It took me a moment before I could catch my breath. I seated myself at my desk, and when I could finally collect my self and speak I must have sounded like an overly excited child.

“Oh, My God! Veronica! Thank you…thank you for calling me! You did get my letters? I had so hoped you would call me.”

“Yes… (Pause)… yes I received both of your letters. When your first letter arrived I read it to my husband. He became very upset and wanted me to call a lawyer,” she stated bluntly.

I had never for a moment assumed that either of my letters could have possibly provoked such negative reaction. I took several deep calming breaths before replying to her statement. It was obvious that Veronica was ‘on-guard’ and that I best be too.

“But why in the world was he so upset?” I asked. “I thought that the two letters I wrote you were very kind and friendly. I cannot imagine why you would have to consult a lawyer about them. I made no threats. You and your family are all well aware that you were adopted. I was hoping that you would be as excited in discovering me as I was of you.”

“Yes it was a kind letter and I refused to let him take any legal action. In any case, the reason I am calling you is to tell you that I am not the person you are looking for. I am not your half sister!”

Her comment literally stunned me. It had never occurred to me that she would deny being my half sister. I had, however, anticipated the possibility that she might not be interested in pursuing a relationship with me. My mind grasped frantically for ideas as to how to respond to her statement. I knew that I must think quickly and cleverly with hopes of choosing the proper words to keep her attention for I was fearful that she would hang up on me. I was certain that she was my sister and despite her denial, in my heart I felt certain she knew that too.

“But Veronica, I am certain that you are my half sister. I have very, very carefully investigated the matter and all my finding lead to you.”

“What makes you so certain that I am that woman?” she asked. Her words were crisp and direct.

“Well…for one thing, you look exactly like my mother. I have a high school picture of you, and you are the exact replica of my mom,” I offered.

“I am certain that is a simple coincidence,” she replied.

“I know someone who knows you and your daughters. This person also knew my mother and they said that all of you have a more than exceptional resemblance to my mother,” I replied.

“You are probably referring to Connie Vierra. I am aware of the fact that Connie is your cousin and I don’t mean to be rude but Connie is a nosey busybody and she has no right to interfere in my affairs. She asked me several years ago if I was the adopted daughter of an aunt of hers. I told her that I definitely was not, yet she still persists upon spreading that rumor. When you speak with her please tell her to put an end to this! Furthermore, any resemblance my children may have to your mother is also just a coincidence. None of us are related to her I assure you.”

“Mrs. Simas, I was told by a person who knows you quite well that you have known since childhood that you were adopted. Is this true?”

“Yes, it is. My parents never held that fact from me. Now I will be very honest with you, Mr. Welch. When I was seventeen years old, someone here in town told me that your mother, a lady named Julia Cardoza, was also my birthmother. When I asked my parents if this was true, they stated that it was absolutely NOT true. It was then that they gave me my original adoption record. My birth parents’ names are both clearly printed on that certificate. Your mother’s name is not on it. That is a fact, so please let this be an end to your search as well as our conversation.”

“Veronica, they did not give adoption records nor birth certificates of adopted children to the parents back in those days. This is a fact. You can check that out for yourself if you like.”

“Well I have the adoption record just the same!” she answered quite belligerently.

“Isn’t it possible that your parents might have had a lawyer draw up false records to cover the truth of who your natural parents were? Your father was a very influential and wealthy man and he could have easily done that,” I said.

“He did not! My parents have never lied to me.” Her every statement was spoken as if she had the final and absolute word. Her guard was up and she had no intention of letting me enter into her private world. At this point of our conversation I had nothing more to lose, so I continued with my questioning.

“May I ask what the names of your parents on the adoption records are?”

“No, you may not. I really do not care to give out that information,” she replied.

“May I please ask what your birth date is?”

“I am not comfortable I giving you that information,” she replied. The harshness of her reply warned me that I would have to find a less direct manner in which to question her. Our conversation had turned into a verbal duel and the sword was in her hands.

“I apologize to you. I did not mean to offend you in anyway. Might I at least ask if you ever did a search to find your natural birth parents? Have you ever met either of them?” I asked.

“No, I never did a search to find them nor have I ever cared to. I have no interest or curiosity in that matter whatsoever. My family is here in Tracy with me and it is all the family I want or need.”

“You have lived your entire life in Tracy haven’t you, Veronica?” I asked.

She paused for moment before speaking, “Yes, but actually I was not born in Tracy. My birth record states that I was born in Oakland, California. However, I never lived there. It’s just the city of my birth.”

“Veronica, I know for a fact that the adoption center for babies born in Northern California was the city of Oakland back in the 30’s. The adoption court was located there,” I stated.

Veronica fell into silence once again. My remark had surprised her. I could hear her take several deep breaths before continuing our conversation.

“That time when I was seventeen, when that person told me that your mother was my mother…well I told my parents what that person had said and my parents told me that it was not true. They said that that rumor started because your mother Julia Cardoza had given birth to a baby girl about three months before I was adopted. People confused the birth of that little baby girl with me. It was a coincidence in the timing of our births. My parents said that your mother’s baby was delivered in a hospital here in Tracy.”

“Veronica, there were no hospitals in Tracy back in those days. That is a fact you, yourself, can check out. The nearest hospitals were in Stockton at that time. My maternal Grandmother, Lena Cardoza, was a midwife back in those days. She herself delivered the baby at her home on Linney Road.”

“Well, that’s not the way I was told,” she answered.

“It’s true none the less,” I stated. “Veronica, you knew who Mary Silva was didn’t you?”

“Yes, of course I do. Mary was my grandmother…my adopted mother’s mother. I adored Mary. She passed on ten years ago. Why do you ask if I knew who she was? Of course I knew Mary. Did you know her?” She asked. Her voice had softened greatly when our discussion turned to Mary Silva.

“I remember Mary from when I was a little boy. She often came to The Cardoza family holiday get-togethers. She was fair skinned and had beautiful blue eyes. Although my grandparents were also blue eyed, their skin was not as white as Mary’s. That always stood out with me, for as a child I thought Portuguese people were all dark skinned. I remember that Mary gave me a silver dollar for Christmas one year. It was my very first silver dollar and I kept it for years and years. She was also the first lady I ever saw wearing a fur coat. I thought she was very, very elegant.”

“She was elegant, very…,” Veronica replied.

“Well, the reason I asked you this question, Veronica, is because Mary Lima-Silva was my grandmother’s best friend. Their friendship began in childhood and continued throughout their lifetimes. They both died the very same year.”

“You are confusing me. What does all this have to do with me?” Veronica asked.

“What it has to do with you is the fact that Mary Lima- Silva gave birth to a daughter she named Katherine. Katherine is of course the woman who adopted you. When she became an adult and married, it was discovered that Katherine was unable to bear children. She and her husband desperately wanted a child. Isn’t it extremely probable that my grandmother would give the child up for adoption to her very best friend’s daughter? Besides that, she would be put into a Portuguese family. People were very ethnically aware back then,” I concluded.

“I told you that I am Italian. My adopted parents are Portuguese, but I am Italian. Your story may sound logical but it is not the truth. I am not your sister!”

I was getting no where. Veronica debated each and every piece of information that I furnished her. Finally, in exasperation, I said, “I have an aunt who told me that she contacted you back in 1975. She stated that she talked with you personally on the telephone and invited you to a Cardoza family reunion. My aunt states that you told her that you had no interest in the matter what so ever and that if she ever contacted her again you would sue her. Surely you remember that incident, Veronica?”

“I have no recollection of such a happening what-so-ever! I am certain that your aunt has me confused with someone else,” she replied sharply.

At this point of our conversation I could no longer think of anything to say. I had dealt my final card. I had promised William Mattos that I would never mention to Veronica that I had met him, and therefore all the information he had given me was useless. I was frustrated and painfully disappointed, for it was obvious that Veronica had no intention of every admitting who she was. It was time for me to give up.

“Now I have a few questions to ask you, Walden. I just cannot understand why this is so important to you. Why do you feel compelled to find your half sister?”

“I have felt compelled to find my sister because I loved my mother very much. When I discovered that she had searched for the child up until the time she died, I felt compelled to find you,” I replied.

“Her! You felt compelled to find ‘her.’ And just what kind of woman was your mother?” Veronica asked.

“She was the sweetest, kindest and most loving person I have ever known,” I replied.

Suddenly Veronica’s voice became angry and loud. “Well please explain to me how such a sweet, kind and loving woman could have given two children away?”

Her question made it quite clear that Veronica was aware that there was another child and that she had at some point investigated her birthmother just as William Mattos had told me she had. It may have been the anger she was feeling at the moment that caused her to let her guard down, but I did not want to question her statement as to where she had received this information for I was afraid that if I did she might back away from me once again.

“I was going to tell you about the other child. I wanted to present this fact to you once we had met and after I had explained other things to you first. I was afraid that if I told you my mother had two children out of wedlock by two different men that you would be disgusted and not want to know more.”

Veronica laughed softly. It was a sarcastic laugh and it hurt me deeply. “Tell me about your mother. I find it difficult to comprehend how you can feel such endearment for her considering…” Veronica did not complete her statement. She realized she was being hurtfully judgmental and I sensed that she was mentally fumbling for words that would correct her derogatory statement. “I’m sorry. I should not have said that,” she replied.

“You need not apologize. No one was more surprised and hurt than I was when I discovered the truth. Veronica, my sister Marilyn’s situation was different from yours…”

“You mean Marilyn’s situation was different from the other girls. I repeat; I am not your sister!” Veronica interrupted.

“Excuse me…the other girl.” I corrected myself and continued, “Marilyn was raised by my mother’s parents. Much of that decision was her own, for my mother wanted her to live with us but Marilyn chose not too. The other child… well, she was taken from my mother by her parents and was given up for adoption against my mother’s will. My mother was stricken with Rheumatic Fever as a young child. The disease did great damage to her heart. Doctors predicted she would not live beyond the age of eighteen, so my grandparents adopted the child thinking that they were doing what was best for both the child and their daughter.”

“I understand that. Now, please tell me why your mother married three different men,” Veronica asked.

This question, like her previous one, gave away the fact that she had indeed at some point researched my mother’s background. The fact that she had asked this question validated the fact that she was disturbed by my mother’s multiple marriages. I knew she had a strong Roman Catholic background and I anticipated she would consider my mother’s behavior to be immoral. I took a deep breath and tried to think as clearly as possible before answering her question.

“I will answer your question as truthfully as I can. My mother obviously made some bad choices with her relationship with men. However, I do not believe, having known her, that my mother could have possibly had an intimate relationship with a man she did not truly love. She was young and very pretty, naïve and with no knowledge about sexuality whatsoever. In those days, matters of sexuality were never discussed openly. Children were given no sexual education. The pill did not exist, and having come from a Roman Catholic family, my mother’s parents would have certainly forbidden abortion, and more than likely birth control too, due to The Church’s stance against these practices.”

“What you are telling me sounds perfectly logical and very likely true. However, what I asked you was ‘Why did she marry three different men?’” Veronica asked again.

“I’m sorry. I just wanted to give some reason for what came before the marriages.” I continued. “Mom’s great love was my father. His name was Arthur Welch but everybody called him ‘Bud.’ They married around 1940. In 1942, they had a daughter named Priscilla. She lived only a few short months and was buried in the old Tracy Cemetery. I was born in December of 1943. My father was an alcoholic and although my mother loved him desperately, she left him when I was one year old. As I child I stated, ‘My Dad must be an awful person. He was a drunk and he doesn’t even send any money to help us.’ I was well aware of the fact that we were poor.

Mom replied, ‘Your father was the most wonderful man I have ever known, but he has a disease called alcoholism and I could not cure him. I left him because I didn’t want you to see his disease. I pray every day that you will grow up to be as wonderful a man as he is.’

‘But why doesn’t he send us any money to help us?’ I questioned.

‘Because I won’t let him, Wally… I have to pretend that he is dead. I don’t want him to know where we are,’ mom replied.

I knew then how dearly she still loved him. Due to Mom’s bad health she was told she would never be able to work. However she took jobs as a waitress, a hosiery saleslady and whatever other menial jobs she could find to support us. When I was five years old, she married a man named Les Harless and we moved from Tracy to San Francisco to be with him. I do not know if she truly loved him or if she married to as a means to support us. I do recall her being very affectionate with him, however ,their marriage lasted less than one year. When Mom discovered that Les was a bigamist, she left him and she and I moved to Stockton to live with my Aunt Marion and her family. Shortly after our move, Mom went into congestive heart failure and was bed ridden for several months. It was at that time that we discovered that she would have to have open heart surgery. Unable to work, and without any money, she married a man by the name of Guy Foss. My Aunt Marion told me recently that their’s was a prearranged sort of marriage. Guy wanted my mother for his wife and she vowed she would be devoted to him so long as he supported us and pay for her heart surgery.”

Although Veronica never interrupted me, I could tell she was uninterested in my story. I finished what I had to say by stating, “I guess what I am trying to tell you is simply that we had no other way to survive financially unless Mom married someone who could offer us security. She had lost you, she had lost Marilyn, she had lost Priscilla. She couldn’t bare to lose me too. Under her circumstances, I cannot see what other choice she had.”

“Well anyway…after her heart surgery she contracted Rheumatic Fever for the second time in her life. Her heart was further damaged and she was bedridden until I was twelve years old. Guy Foss turned out to be a horribly cruel man. He had a sadistic nature and was a womanizer of the worst sort. After Mom recovered from Rheumatic Fever and could walk once again, we left him. We had no place to go to except our neighbor lady friend who lived across the street. We lived with her for several weeks in hiding. Unbeknownst to either my mother or me, our neighbor lady friend contacted my father. She said to him, ‘I’m the busy body best friend of your ex-wife. If you happen to still love her as much as I know she does you…then now is your chance. You will come and get her and your son.’ The most wonderful thing that ever happened in my mother’s life was that after twelve years of being separated she and my father remarried. In the years since their parting, my father had fully recovered from his alcoholism. Neither of my parents had ever stopped loving each other, nor did they ever dream the chance would come when they could one day be together again. Mom and I left Stockton to live with him in Bakersfield. In the years to come, she had to undergo two more heart surgeries. Although she never had a moment of good health, she and my father were very happy and devoted to each other. She died following her third heart surgery in 1972. My father died one year later. ”

“What caused his death?” Veronica asked.

“A broken heart,” I replied.

“I see. Your mother sounds as if she were a very nice lady. It was sweet of you to share your memories with me. I certainly can understand why she made the choices she did and I am happy for her that she finally found happiness. However, you need not tell me anymore because I am not the woman you are looking for. When you finally locate your real half sister you can share your stories with her. Are you married?” she asked.

The directness of her question caught me off guard. “In a way I am. I am in a long term committed relationship,” I replied, hoping that she would not ask me any more about my personal life.

“And what profession are you in?” she asked. I hesitated for a moment before deciding to answer her question honestly for I was fearful my unusual profession, like my lifestyle, would offend her Catholic morals.

“I am an astrologer,” I replied.

“I see” was the only comment she made. “What is your sister Marilyn like?”

“She is an exceptional woman in every way. Everybody loves her. She looks a great deal like you. She and her husband have been married since their teen years and they have recently retired and live in Sacramento.”

“Does Marilyn have children?” Veronica asked.

I replied, “She has a son and a daughter and both have given birth to twin sons. Marilyn is having a good, good life. She has married a wonderful man and they seem to both be very happy.”

“How does she feel about this search you are doing?” Veronica asked.

“She thinks that nothing will come of it and she is worried that I am going to be hurt,” I answered.

“Why is that?” she questioned.

“Marilyn feels that the woman won’t care to become involved with us,” I replied.

“I see. Well who knows? Perhaps she is wrong. I can only wish you luck in your pursuit to find your other sister. However, I would suggest you never again request information from Mildred Kane. If you wish to acquire the truth to anything, never go to her. Mildred is the worst gossip in town. Your cousin Connie is second runner up! ”Veronica said with a laugh.

I was embarrassed to find that Veronica had known I had spoken with Mildred Kane. “Any information Mildred gave me was not very helpful, Veronica. Almost everything she told me was contradicted by my Aunt Marion, whose word I trust.”

“Then please tell Mildred so. She has taunted me since I was a child. I want nothing to do with that woman. She phoned me and told me everything that you asked her the moment she finished her telephone conversation with you.”

“I sincerely apologize to you for any embarrassment I may have caused. I have no intention of ever speaking with Mildred Kane again,” I replied.

“May I ask a favor of you?” Veronica asked.

“Of course,” I replied. “Would you please send me a copy of the photograph you have of my Grandmother Mary Silva that was taken at your grandparents wedding?”

“I will mail you a copy tomorrow,” I answered.

“Please send it to my office address. Don’t put your name or return address on the envelope please. I do not want my husband to know I have had any contact whatsoever with you. I must also ask something else of you.”

“Yes, what is it?” I asked despite the fact that I well sensed what that ‘something else’ would be.

“I must ask you to never contact me again. I am not the woman whom you hoped to find. I am sorry that you failed in your attempt to find her. I will keep your telephone number. I will contact you if I should ever hear of anyone here in Tracy who knows who that person is.”

My final words to Veronica were, “Veronica, you know very well that you are that woman! I will not pretend that you are not. I had hoped to have an enlightening conversation with you, but unfortunately our entire conversation turned out to be more of a sparing match of ‘yes, you are’ and ‘no, I’m not!’ If you don’t want a relationship with me, I would be grateful if you would just say so, but please don’t keep up these pretenses. Please tell me why you are pretending not to be her.

She did not answer me.

I asked again, “Please tell me why you refuse to admit that you are my sister?”

Her silence continued.

“Very well, Veronica. My search has ended. I will not trespass into your life again. I think that it is very probable that one day in the not too distant future, one of your children may become interested in genealogy and that they will do a search and will discover that you had a half-sister and brother who lived within a close proximity to you. I hope they will discover the letters I wrote to you and will come to realize that my intentions to find you were entirely well intended and came from the sincerest part of my heart. I am sorry that you are not interested in knowing me, but I will honor your wishes and bother you no more.”

When Veronica finally spoke it sounded as if she were crying. “I’m sorry. I’m very sorry,” she said as she quietly hung up the phone.

I did not sleep much that night, nor did I cry. Sometimes, the pain of disappointment cannot be eased by tears. The following day, I worked as usual. As I read for my clients, I listened as Stephen answered my phone calls in the reception room outside my office door. Yes, of course, my hopes were that Veronica had thought things over and had decided to call and admit that she was my sister and ask that we meet, but in my heart I knew that would never happen. The calls were from my clients asking to book appointments.

That evening after dinner, the phone rang once again. The Moon position had shifted from the Sign of Taurus into Gemini at 4:45 pm that evening. I usually refuse to answer calls when the moon is in the early stages of that sign, because it sets off havoc in my personal astrological chart. However, I decided to ignore my own rule. Despite the fact that I was undergoing a grand square in mutual signs, I decided to answer the call. At the other end of the line I heard the unmistakable voice of none other than Mrs. Mildred Kane.

“Mr. Welch, this is Mildred Kane! I am quite upset, and I have a bone to pick with you, sir!” she shouted.

I couldn’t help but smile at the appropriateness of her wording. ‘A bone to pick with you’…spoken as a true bitch, although not of the canine variety.

“That horrid illegitimate sister of yours verbally attacked me today! She had the audacity to ring my doorbell and when I opened the door, she stood on my front porch and screamed insults and obscenities at me!”

“What does that have to do with me?” I asked.

“It has absolutely EVERYTHING to do with you, you ungrateful Judas! Don’t play innocent with me, young man. How dare you repay me for my kindness in helping you by telling that mad woman that I was your informer? The truths that I shared with you were for your ears and your ears only. They were not to be repeated to Veronica Simas.”

“Truths? Did you say ‘truths,’ Mrs. Kane?” I asked. “There wasn’t anything whatsoever that you told me that was true. Not one word of it.”

“What do you mean by that statement? Are you calling me a liar, sir? I demand an answer!”

“Yes, I suppose that I am calling you a liar. First, let me tell you that never once did I say anything to Veronica Simas about anything you told me. It was YOU who telephoned her and it was You who told her that I had contacted you,” I answered.

“How vulgar and rude of you to contradict me! Everything I told you about Veronica’s past history was true. I was only trying to help you,” she screamed.

“Barely one single word of anything you told me about Veronica’s past history was true, Mrs. Kane,” I replied. “No wonder Veronica dislikes you so much. She has every reason to. You have spread mistruths about her since the day she was born. Both your lack of sensitivity towards her and your gossipy tongue has forced her to live in embarrassment in her own community. You have intruded into both her’s and her family’s personal lives into areas only God and they themselves belong. You have hurt, humiliated, and embarrassed Veronica and her family since the day they adopted her. It is high time she told you off. Whatever it is that she has said to you I am certain you deserved.”

Mrs. Kane paused for a moment. I could feel the wheels of her mean little brain working, seeking something acidly wicked to reply to me. She spoke the following words in crisp bullet like syllables. “Well…you and she are certainly of the same white trash blood! Anyone can see that.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at her choice of words. “But you are very wrong about that Mrs. Kane,” I replied.

“Wrong about what?” she asked curtly.

“Being of the same blood. Veronica and I are not of the same blood. Veronica is not my half-sister. She is not the daughter of my mother. I was misguided into believing that Veronica was she. My entire search has been a mistake. The viciously hurtful and inappropriate stories that you have gossiped about the Simas and Cardoza families throughout the years are for the most part entirely untrue. Please forget them and be done with them and never repeat them again, Mrs. Kane! I urge you to leave Veronica and her family alone. She has every cause to sue you and she may just do that.”

I waited for what seemed a long while before Mildred replied. When she did so, her words were calm and controlled and extremely deliberate.

“Mr. Welch, what has led you on this foolish search? If you truly loved your mother as you stated that you did, then why do you besmirch her reputation? You are trying to justify her whorish behavior ,aren’t you? The embarrassment and shame of what her conduct has caused you is just too unbearable for you to handle, isn’t it, sir?”

Once she had spit out her words she laughed gleefully like a cackling old hen. It was obvious that Mildred was delighted with her deliciously selective choice of words. Each word has been specifically chosen to purposely hurt and humiliate me.

“Mrs. Kane, I do not think I have ever heard a nastier sounding word than ‘besmirch.’ Only you could think of using such a distasteful word. Let me assure you that it has never been my intention of ‘besmirching’ the memory of my mother. My search has in fact increased both my love and my compassion towards my mother. My disgust is not with her, but with the society that she and your generation had to live in back in those days. Your’s was a generation within a time period when people professed to be Christians but were anything but. My mother’s life, and those of thousands of other young ladies, were slaughtered by the wickedness of a society that called itself moral, righteous and spiritually justified. In today’s world, Mrs. Kane, families do not subject their daughters to such shameful punishment as to take their illegitimate children away from them and sell them to the highest bidder. Families sit down together and discuss what is best for both mother and child. In our modern world, we have become more compassionate and understanding of the needs of others…”

Suddenly Mrs. Kane repeatedly banged the receiver of her telephone against either a wall or a table. The sound nearly deafened me. When the banging finally stopped I cautiously put the receiver back to my ear. In her most authoritative and commanding voice, she spoke her final words to me.

“You listen to me, Mr. God damned Righteousness Welch! I have heard quite all I care to hear from you! Were I not a lady I would tell you to go fuck yourself!” She then slammed the receiver of her telephone into its cradle with such a blow that she must have surely broken it. Despite the earache that it gave me I was grateful that she had for it was a pleasure to be done with her.

During our Friday luncheon, Marilyn and Stephen listened intently to my every word as I retold, word for word, my conversation with Veronica. My aunt, on the other hand, was only intermittently aware of the conversation. Her stroke had not only damaged and weakened her body, it had also dulled and confused her mind. Sometimes her eyes would lose focus and she would look about the room as if other people had gathered there. She sometimes turned and spoke to someone or something that only she could see. We discover that if we spoke very quietly or in whisper Marion could not hear us.

When I had finished my story, Marilyn reached across the dinning table and put her hand into mine. “I am so terribly sorry you didn’t get what you wanted,” she whispered. “I was expecting that Veronica would refuse to acknowledge us. I am sorry that my intuition was right.”

I replied, “At lease I attempted to welcome her into our lives. Despite it all, we discovered the truth. I found her for us, and I found her for Mom.”

“What are you smiling about?” Stephen asked.

“I wasn’t aware that I was smiling,” I replied.

“Well you are. What are you thinking about?”

“I was thinking about how nice it is for Veronica that she doesn’t want to know Marilyn and me.”

“What’s nice about that?” Stephen asked.

“I mean that, in a way it is wonderful to know that she has had a happy and fulfilling life because of the family that adopted her. She has no need of us and it pleases me to know that her life turned out so well.”

“I agree with you,” Marilyn commented.

Suddenly my aunt who was sitting beside Marilyn put her head in her hands and began crying. Marilyn put an arm around her and asked, “What’s wrong Aunt Marion? Why are you crying? Have we upset you?”

“No! No you haven’t upset me,” she wailed. “I have done something stupid. I hope you won’t all be angry with me? It’s about that Italian name…Veronica’s parents… Sometimes I forget things. I can’t help it. I’m so sorry,” she cried.

“What did you forget?” I asked.

“The thing that I wanted to tell Wally… the thing that I remembered,” she replied.

“Yes, what is it you wanted to tell me?” I asked.

My aunt looked directly at me while Marilyn took her table napkin and dabbed the tears from her eyes. “Veronica’s father is not Nate Haugh, ” she stated. “The father of the child was Julia’s boyfriend, the one she started dating after she and Nate had broken up. I don’t remember his first name. He had two brothers. His family owned a dairy farm in Byron, that little town near Livermore. His last name was Andrade. That’s all I can remember.”

“Andrade?” I repeated. I felt as if someone had slugged me along side my head. For a moment I could not speak. Marilyn stared at me in silence. It appeared as if she were as if she were reading my mind. “Andrade? Andrade? Aunt Marion, isn’t Andrade an Italian name?” I asked.

She nodded her head ‘yes’ and then once again placed her head in her hands.

“I know what you are thinking,” Marilyn whispered. I nodded my head ‘yes’ for I knew she was right. Maybe Veronica did not think I was her true half brother because I did not give her the name of Andrade? Was that the Italian name listed on her certificate?

“Don’t even think it!” Marilyn whispered. “It wouldn’t matter to her anyway. It wouldn’t change one thing. Let it go! Please just let it go once and for all.”

Suddenly my Aunt Marion pushed aside her dining chair and stood. She faced the doorway leading into the room and smiled as if someone had entered the room. We all turned our heads in unison to see what had attracted her attention but no one was there. A moment later, an overwhelmingly powerful surge of energy engulfed and almost suffocated the four of us. We gasped for breath as if all the oxygen had been taken from the room. We all knew without question that some powerful presence had joined us. Stephen and Marilyn were frightened. I smiled at them to let them know that everything would be o.k. In the following moment, the feeling of electrical static cleared the room and a moment later I felt as if an angel had entered into our presence.

Aunt Marion smiled sweetly at the something that only she saw. She then turned to look at me and said, “Yes, she wants you to let go too. She wants you to be finished with it.”

“Who wants me to let go too? Who wants me to be finished with it?” I asked.

“The nice lady who just entered the room,” She replied.

Marilyn looked sadly into my eyes. By the look she gave me I knew she felt Aunt Marion was hallucinating from the damage the stroke had done to her brain.

“You had better go to your bedroom and take a nap now, Aunt Marion. Let me take you to your room,” Marilyn said.

“No. She will take me to my bedroom. You stay and visit,” Marion replied.

“Who will take you to your bedroom?” Marilyn asked.

“What is your name dear? Are you my new nurse?” Marion asked the something that only she could see standing at the doorway. She listened intently for a moment as if someone was speaking to her and then looked at me and smiled and said, “The Nurses name is Pearl Shannon.”

I rose from my chair with a sense of astonishment and starred into the space where Marion had been looking. In less than a moment, Stephen stood too, for although we did not see her we both knew that Pearl Shannon’s presence was with us.

“Excuse me, she isn’t a nurse, she says she is a reverend,” my aunt remarked. As her aged eyes peered into space, they squinted as if she were deaf and reading the lips from some unseen person who was speaking to her. After listening to whatever it was she was being told, Marion smiled and seemed quite happy with what she had heard. “Oh, I love poems” she said with a giggle. She listened intently to whatever it was that she alone heard.

“Did she give you the words to the poem Aunt Marion? Do you remember them? I asked.

“Yes. They are very strange but pretty words,” she replied.

“Please share them with us,” I urged.

Aunt Marion, still looking into the face of her spirit friend replied, ‘Tears for three…then shall come to be…a blessed Magi…to comfort thee.” She then turned and once again faced me and said, “Pearl asks me to tell you to ‘Please let go. Put this behind you.’ She says that your search has been completed. She asks that you be finished with it. She says that the Gypsy’s riddle has finally been solved.”

As Stephen and I drove away from my aunt’s house, I watched the images of Marion and Marilyn waving good-bye to us through the passenger mirror to the right of me. They were standing on the doorstep entrance into Marion’s home. Suddenly, between the bodies of the two of them, another form appeared. The apparition was of an attractive tall, large framed woman. I recognized her immediately. It was Pearl Shannon. She smiled at me and raised her hand to attract my attention. I blinked my eyes to clear my vision to be certain I was not imagining things. When I reopened them, she was still there. A second later her image disappeared.

I turned to look at Stephen to see if he too had seen her. He obviously had not, for he was staring intensely at the road before us concentrating on his driving.

“I am overwhelmed by what happened in that room a few minutes ago,” Stephen stated. “It was as if an angel from God had joined us for that moment.”

I smiled and replied, “One had. Her name was Pearl Shannon.”

Stephen turned to look at me and then smiled as if he agreed. “The mystery of The Gypsy’s Riddle has finally been solved. It has been an emotionally exhausting journey for you, Walden. Despite the disappointments you had to deal with, are you satisfied with the ending?” he asked.

“Yes, Stephen, I am. Despite my disappointment in not meeting Veronica, in truth I am satisfied with the ending. It didn’t end as I wanted it to, but I do believe that it ended as it was destined to,” I replied. “The riddle has finally been solved and my search has come to an end.”

~ THE END ~

This story is dedicated to my two beloved friends
Dr. Gina Cerminara
and
Reverend Pearl Shannon
Who both now exist in the world of spirit
As well as in the hearts of all of those who continue to love them.

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