all waters gathering (free sample)

All Waters All Waters GatheringGathering

When kindred spirits are separated, life’s paths will cross to unite them again.

A.E.H. Veenman

ALL WATERS GATHERINGPage | ii

An Exobia PublicationThe Netherlands

www.exobia.com [email protected]

© 2002 All Waters Gathering, A.E.H. Veenman. All images, logos, and the Exobia brand are the exclusive property of Exobia Productions, A.E.H. Veenman. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied, redistributed, rewritten, or otherwise published without the express written permission of Author. Any infringement will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. For legal inquiries, please contact [email protected].

ALL WATERS GATHERINGPage | iii

AUTHOR'S DEDICATION

It's true: God sends people into your life when you need his guidance the most.

I thank him for blessing me with two wonderful families who have supported and strengthened me throughout my ups and downs.

I am grateful for their love and encouragement, always.

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PROLOGUEBy marrying a Dutch man, it would only seem logical to be curious about his culture. First, I learned the language then I came to know more about the people. What started out inquiries of general knowledge ended in months of research for a new novel!

The excitement! The adventure!Holland and its history, rich and full in (by far and wide) many

of the world's wondrous civilizations never fail to surprise. Commerce, Fine Arts, and Literature stemming nation to nation (America, Indonesia, Japan, The Antilles, and South Africa) are bound by a single, tiny country.

This was the inspiration for writing All Waters Gathering: different cultures weaved by a single thread—"therefore all waters gathering to form the sea". Life brings new opportunities and missed chances—successes and failures. Very much so is living in Holland.

Very much so is living: Debra Quakerneck learns this truth."The simple noble truths, Debra." We all face adversaries (whether person or plot) at some point

in time. We wake up and tackle each day come what may. On the contrary, how much more difficult would it be for you if you lost your spouse or significant other to infidelity. Lost comes in many different forms and bring their own unique correlating pains.

An act of infidelity renders you a bizarre suffering. Your agony isn't directly from the commitment of the act—no, you fume over the fact he or she has done this to you.

Regardless of your actions taken thereafter, or their justifications, your partner is no longer living with you. Mornings you wake up and, for a split second, feel as if he or she had been beside you throughout the night.

ALL WATERS GATHERINGPage | v

You still love your partner. How do you get over the anger, the feeling of inadequacy, embarrassment or shame? How do you put aside your scorned pride to find forgiveness for your partner?

Debra started her day, as any other ever since her husband, Anthony, was gone; however, that day was going to be different even though she didn't know it.

She met a woman, Mieke (Mee-kă) Adams. Mieke shared stories of her teen years and the lessons she was

taught through the spoken word. By that afternoon, Debra's life took a drastic turn at a traffic light. She was thrown back into a sea of insecurity, and what was once normal had become abnormal. She was even lonelier than she had already been—so she thought! Mieke supported her with loving tales that helped her throughout her ordeal. Not only did Debra learn how to forgive, love unconditionally, and become strong through her weaknesses but overcame her loneliness with the discovery of family –- and her inner self.

Her rewards were two-fold!I invite you now to discover the characters' beginnings, their

middle ways and ends, the final points that reunite the starting points. For one Buddha surpasses this life by learning the ways of the Buddha before him.

And so goes the circle of life.

ALL WATERS GATHERINGPage | 6

Identification is like the sea, which does not decline any water no matter what its source; all waters gathering, therefore, to form the sea.

Teishoin Soto Zen Temple

CHAPTER ONE T 6:30 A.M., DEBRA WAS AWAKE, lying in bed, thinking. Unanswered questions paraded one behind the other. By the time her alarm clock went off at 8:00, she was sitting on the edge

of the bathtub with her face buried in her hands, crying. The tub pressed deep into her skin, causing the back of her thighs to ache, so she lowered the lid of the toilet and sat there for a while. She allowed time to pass and her mind to focus on the day ahead then walked to the sink and gazed at the reflection of her empty bed in the mirror.

AHer drowsy swollen eyes crept from the symbol of her loneliness

toward her own image, and her lips quivered. "Oh, Anthony. . . why?" she said and sighed deeply, repeatedly. She turned on the faucet, shaking her head and telling herself she needed to move on.

Moments later, she stood in front of the dresser and tightened the belt of her skirt around her thin waist. By then, she couldn't help staring downward at the icons that had helped her to this current state of living alone.

She'd found the unsigned birthday card buried in his drawer under some clothes; the lipstick, earring, and restaurant receipts were on the floor of his BMW.

She kept her eyes on the items while she brushed her hair and recalled his explanation. Debra, I can't help it if the woman has holes in her pockets! Why don't you buy Cassandra a good pocketbook for her birthday, one that actually locks!


"Cassandra, my ass," she murmured while picturing the older woman, smiling and talking with Debra's friends and family at her anniversary party last year. Fifty-year-old Cassandra was Anthony's co-worker and, sometimes when they stayed late, he would drop her off at home. Debra knew this and was never fooled for one second that Cassandra had been the woman Anthony was cheating with.

Debra fastened the last button on her blouse then walked downstairs to the living room. There, she packed her cell phone, papers and appointment book in her briefcase. She clipped her pager to her belt then picked up her keys.

"Who in the world," she said when the telephone rang and walked halfway then stopped. "Aw, no, not now." She turned, collected her belongings, and left the house.

After starting up her Volvo, she turned on the air conditioner and radio. "Good morning ladies and gents! You're listening to W.S.P.E.C., SPEC radio. It just couldn't get any hotter out there today. It's Monday, August sixth, and at ten A.M. the meat tester is already reading done! That's right; it's a skin-basting ninety degrees here, in Attelboro Falls . . .."

Debra lowered the volume, rubbed the back of her neck and the right side of her face. When she relaxed some of the tension, she pulled out the driveway. Unaware of whether it was the soft chatter of the D.J. or the hum of the road that relaxed her, she drifted into an effortless trance that took her back to that night.

She'd stared out her office window at the deep gray-blue night; thick white clouds, illuminated by the moon, gathered in the sky. Light snow began to shower the town, the kind that melted into slop once it landed on the pavement.

She'd just finished writing a report to explain the closing of a file and the reason she could no longer visit Mrs. Patterson: the woman had passed away the night before.


Debra walked to her desk, picked up the phone and pressed option one to speed-dial home. Having received a busy signal, she didn't worry since she called Anthony earlier and told him she had to work late. She had then hung up, packed her belongings and left the office.

When she'd arrived home at ten that night, she pulled up behind Joanne's Fiat in the carport and had wondered why she was there.

Debra's attention was drawn from her memories when her pager vibrated against her hip. She unfastened it from her belt and saw the phone number in the LCD display—her jaw tightened. She frowned and tossed it in the passenger's seat. He's got some nerve! What could she say to him—he's forgiven? It was all her fault?

She remembered one of the few times she couldn't reach either, Anthony or Joanne; but, later that evening, he walked through the door. Debra, thinking nothing of it at the time, called Joanne and she answered. Debra should've seen it then, but how could she have ever suspected him of this! Things had been so right; five years of solid commitment and then, suddenly, she didn't know him anymore?

As far back as she could determine, their relationship started to decay as soon as she was promoted to co-coordinator, a position which not only brought more pay but more responsibility and late nights at the office.

Had the wedge that came between them been partly her helping? She drove and reasoned contrary to her guilty feelings that her

work was important. Anthony should've understood that. She hadn't gotten a degree to have a hobby and sure as hell hadn't gone to college to be a housewife.

To relieve herself from reliving the past, she thought about one of her clients, an elderly man caught in a confusing situation. Mr. Jones had explained to her when she'd arrived at his house that he'd called the gas company, because his stove didn't work. He had trouble getting through to anyone since a recording had been telling him to press one, two, and then one again.


"What the hell is that woman talking about?" he had asked Debra at the time. He passed the receiver to her and that's when she had noticed his rotary phone.

Presently, Debra chuckled and made a right turn onto Ocean Avenue. She could focus on the task at hand now, thanks to a fond reminder of why she did this type of work and why it was important to her.

Once on Riven Terrace, she slowed down and looked for house number forty-five. She passed forty-one and glanced ahead at a grand colonial house that stood prominent among the more modernized homes.

God, how long has Mr. Shangley been dead—three or four years now? When was this place put on the market? Regardless of the fact she would've never bought the house, she always admired its antiquity. She noticed it had been restored to its original historical character with dark wood paneling, and red-trimmed windows and rooftop.

Soon, she parked beside a wall made of natural stone bordering a front lawn that was wild with tall grass. Tiny insects hovered above a sea of aged dandelions, mixed with the plants' white fluff and soared above the walkway. She lifted her head toward the house and saw long white curtains, floating like ghosts, pulled outside by the wind. While she waved her hand through the swarm and approached the entrance, thoughts of Joanne's betrayal mingled with lovely surroundings and caused her to reminisce of better days.

Joanne, long-legged and knock-kneed, dodged a naked couple in the tall grass of a nearby meadow and ran through the field with her short, tubby sister stammering behind. The two Quakerneck girls raced toward their home: a huge house shared with other people of the same ideals as their parents.

Their mother Daisy, wearing bell-bottom jeans that swept the floor and a floral-decorated straw hat that screened her eyes, stood on the back porch and waved at her daughters barely seen through the sun's


glare. Sam, her life partner, sat on the steps and plucked the strings of a guitar while singing his daughters' names.

Through the robust smell of burning leaves captured in the warm air, the girls darted through the wild flowers—fences of their childhood—to reach home.

Debra read the name Miko Adams on the mailbox then checked the one her assistant, Angel, had written in her appointment book. She then tapped a coal-colored doorknocker and waited. The door opened, and a smiling woman dressed in a plain, sleeveless red sundress greeted her.

"Um, Miko Adams?""Yes, please come in," she said and waved her inside.Debra saw the woman's frazzled gray hair cling to her face and flow

onto her shoulders; her smile pushed her fleshy cheeks toward her blue eyes, nearly closing them.

She returned pleasantries and followed her into the living room, where a pair of cascading curtains revealed a bonsai garden and a small red bridge in the backyard. Debra ogled the scenery, which was quite contrary to the inside of the colonial house. With oak wood floors, white plaster walls, and dark plank shelves, the house was reminiscent of the nineteenth century.

"Thank you for coming," Miko said. "I'm so glad you were able to fit me into your schedule." She showed Debra to a thick-cushioned sofa then walked near a table.

"You're welcome, Mrs. Adams. We try to always-""Oh, I'm not married," she said and removed a tin can from the

table. "And please, call me Miko." She smiled and held the canister cookies and a handful of napkins toward Debra.

"All right then." She lifted a napkin from and said, "Thank you," then grabbed a couple of plain tea biscuits—their sugary butter smell rising from the batch. "Yes, I noticed the mailbox read Miko, but my assistant had your name written as Mi-Mie-ke."


Miko chuckled and set a silver tray with blue and white tea service on the coffee table. "Meeka," she said phonetically and poured a cup of tea. "It's a typical Dutch name. My grandparents came from Holland." She sat in her chair and continued, "Miko is what I changed my name to after my visit to Japan."

Just then, the garden in the backyard made sense to Debra. She said, "So, what took you all the way there?" She sipped her tea and glanced around the rather plain-looking living room.

"I found out some years back I have relatives there and that started my fascination with finding my roots."

"Now I understand. I've always been keen on genealogy myself."Miko's eyebrows lifted. "Really?""It started years ago when I found my parents' books on Eastern

philosophies, which most speculated that we're all related one way or another."

"Ah, it's beautiful, isn't it?"Debra nodded and said, "A truly inspiring concept.""So, had you or your parents ever tried to search for any relatives?""No. My father was too busy. Around that time, he cut off his

ponytail and started working for the post office." They laughed, and she continued, "My mother was interested, but she never got the chance. She devoted her time to her children."

Miko smiled, and they took a moment to drink, while Debra summed up the room, observing Miko's living conditions to note in her report. Old scarves with tattered edges, miniature Buddha statues and a replica of a ship lay on the shelves. Odd—they must be placed there for storage and not as decoration; they simply look out of place. She went back to noticing her host and said, "This is lovely tea, Miko."

"Yes, it is. It's a Japanese mixture, herbal and very healthy. Anytime I drink it, it just picks me up."

"Well, I guess I'll start by telling you a little about myself and the Civil Liberties for All center."


"Oh, I found out all I need to know about the center. How long have you been working there?"

"For ten years now, and I've been co-coordinator for five."Miko's mouth propped open. "You must've started right after high

school!""Now, I'm not that young." Her cheeks turned whisper-pink, and

she giggled. "I started as a volunteer when I graduated college. I was twenty-three then."

"You've come a long way.""I worked hard for it. Volunteering paid off when I moved up to

office assistant then assistant counselor.""Well done!" "Thank you. Alice Hunter, who you probably spoke to in order to

arrange our meeting, is the head-coordinator of the center. She contacted me yesterday . . . you'll require assistance settling in Attelboro Falls?"

"That's right.""How long have you been here?" Debra said and placed her

briefcase on her lap. "Just two months.""Okay. First thing you should know, we try to always make our

clients so welcomed they feel more like our friends rather than clients. We-"

"Friends, you say?" She looked at Debra curiously."Yes.""Well, I like this group already." She placed her cup on a saucer on

the coffee table and stood. She made her way over to the shelves Debra saw earlier, and said, "I'm here alone, don't have any friends. They've all passed on."

Sympathetic, Debra replied, "Oh, well, you have new friends now." Miko reached for a ledge. "I'm glad you said that, because this is

something I only show to friends."


Debra smiled, knowing this visit was going to take longer than usual—which normally wouldn't have bothered her if her morning had started out better.

Carrying a porcelain mask, Miko returned to her seat. "I haven't shown this to anyone in years! Oh, what was your name, dear?"

"Debra. Debra Quakerneck.""Quakerneck? That's funny—in Holland, my grandparents

knew a family Quakernaeck," she said, pronouncing the third syllable of the name as ´ache´ and added, "Back in the old days."

"Oh, really? So, you think my surname originated in Holland.""Yes, I know so. You should do some looking up in your family tree."

Miko's eyes sparkled, seemingly excited at the idea of a fellow Dutch descendant.

"Holland . . . Holland, isn't that part of Germany?"Miko quipped, "Not quite," and grinned. "It is bordered by Germany

and Belgium, though." "A-ha, I know the area now. I can picture it," she said, tickled by her

attempt to recall high school geography. "I'd like you to picture something else, Debra." She leaned forward

and held out a life-size, hand-painted geisha mask toward Debra. "Miko, this is a lovely piece, but first I think we should-""This was given to me many years ago by one of my dearest friends,

Anne Sanford; Anneke was her birth name. She's been dead a long time now, but I always kept this."

"Oh, I can't possibly-""I'm not giving it to you, dear—not yet." Debra's mouth rounded silently. "You see, you have to earn it by listening." She adjusted herself in

her chair and whispered, "You do have time, don't you?""Um, yes, if that's what you'd like, but wait please. I have some

questions for you." She began to pull out her forms and a pen from her briefcase.

"I'm sorry. You do have your work to do, don't you?"


Debra laughed softly. "Yes, that's right. Now if you can, just fill out this brief form with your name and the things you'd like us to do for you."

"Us? I was so hoping you'd be the one to help me." Miko slumped back in her chair and said, "I just take a shining to you."

"Oh, that won't be a problem. I'll be the counselor to assist you. Now, if you'll just state that's what you want on the form here. Don't worry about the other sections; I'll fill those out for you." She handed a pen, clipboard, and application to Miko.

"Okay, I'll fill out what you need, and you can start earning that gift," she said and began writing.

"I'd like that." Debra nodded and excused herself when her mobile phone rang. "Debra speaking."

"Hi, it's me," Anthony replied solemnly."Right now isn't a good time. I'm with a client." She slid the

phone from her mouth and smiled at Miko."I want to talk to you. When is a good time?"She spoke removed and professional. "I'm not sure, actually.

I'll have to get back to you." "I miss you, Deb." "Thanks for calling. Good-bye." She turned the mobile off,

looked at Miko, and said, "Another one of my clients.""I know I'm getting the best. Alice said you came highly

recommended." She stood slowly and asked, "Shall we get started?" then walked to a cupboard.

Debra watched her pull candles out a drawer and began placing them around the room.


CHAPTER TWO IKO PULLED THE LIVING ROOM WINDOWS INWARD and their handles downward, locking them, and drew burgundy drapes over sheer white curtains. The room was dark until

she lit the candles she'd placed in the room.M

Debra pinched the center of her blouse and made it pulsate against her chest, creating waves of air across her skin. "Miko?"

"I learned from my friend, Anne, that atmosphere is very important in sharing moments of your life with someone. It helps the mind imagine them in a lifelike picture."

"I see. Miko, do you think we'll be finished by noon? That leaves us about an hour."

"Oh my, a whole hour, you say?" Debra laughed. "Yes, well, I do want to establish what it is you need

our help with—I mean, what it is you want me to do for you." "Well, what I'd like from the center is what you're doing right now."

In the mellow orange glow of the candlelight, she returned to her chair and held the mask like a newborn chick in her palms. "Take a close look, and I'll tell you a story about this mask."

Debra tilted closer and listened to her start a tale of her life as a teenager in the sixties.

"Meeker! Girl where that work form at? Let me get that thing signed before you make me late for work." In a cramped kitchenette, Antoinette, Miko's mother, searched cabinet drawers for a pen. Antoinette Kok was happy to have found a two-bedroom apartment, no matter how small, that wasn't in a housing complex but in a family house. "Lord knows we need the money from whatever job they give you," she said when her daughter came out her bedroom.


Fifteen-year-old Mieke scuffled into the kitchen, dropped her backpack to the floor, and then handed the application to her mother.

"Messing around here with you, you gonna make me late." She pulled out a pen, snatched the paper from Mieke and began signing. "Last thing I need is Mack on my ass again. Here!" She shoved the paper at her and stepped over her daughter's school bag. "And pick this up before I kill myself."

She then rushed into the living room, a place separated from the kitchen by an arched doorway and a countertop piled with overdue bills. "Listen, I got the late shift at the diner tonight, so I won't be in until one or one-thirty. I'll have to take the bike 'cause no one can drop me off." She picked up her keys and purse from the couch and continued, "There's a bowl of wieners in the sink, but I want you to go to the store and pick up something for in the morning and tomorrow's dinner. I won't have time to do it, you hear?"

"Yes, Mamma." Mieke picked up her bag and tossed it on the couch. "I got the afternoon shift tomorrow and the store'll be closed by the

time I get home. Now give me a kiss." She grabbed Mieke around her waist, gave her a quick kiss on her head then sped off toward the front door. "Don't stay up all night. I'll see you in the morning."

"Bye, Mamma!" "Bye, baby!"

The next morning after Miko prepared for school, she gently knocked on her mother's bedroom door, eased it open wide enough to stick her head in and whispered, "Mamma, I'm leaving now."

Antoinette's arms crept above her head and straightened like petrified limbs. "Okay, honey," she said in a raspy voice, "have a good day. Don't forget to turn in that work form, okay?"

"Yes, Mamma." Mieke's mother sat up. "Did you go to the store last night like I told

you?" The young girl gasped.


"Well?" "I'll go right now! I can make it there and back before homeroom."

"Aw, girl! I told you ... well, get two dollars out my purse on the couch and hurry up. I want to have something to eat before I leave this afternoon. I told you this yesterday." Her head plopped back on her pillows.

"Okay, Mamma, I'm going." She hurried into the living room, scrambled through her mother's bag, and grabbed the money.

Outside, she tucked the cash into her jeans pocket, climbed onto her mother's bicycle, and rode a couple of blocks to the neighborhood grocer. In front of the shop, the tires screeched when Mieke pressed the pedals back and stopped at the large window, where she stared at a help wanted sign.

During her shopping, she saw the owner, Mr. Ted, stocking items behind a counter and asked about the job. He offered it to her if she could prove she had working papers, and she promised to return after school with them signed. She paid for her groceries and rushed home.

"Mamma! Mamma! I got a job!" She slammed the front door, dropped the paper bag of food on the kitchen table, and ran to the back of the apartment.

"Meeker, what is it?" Antoinette sat up in bed, just as Mieke forced the bedroom door opened.

"Mr. Ted said I could work there after school!" She leaped onto her mother's bed.

"Good girl! God bless him, we have to have him over for dinner some time."

"Yeah." "Okay, you know what you have to do, right?" "Uh-huh." "Good 'cause I don't know nothing about working papers. Take care of

it right away, you hear?"


"Yes, Mamma. I'll get my guidance counselor to sign it during homeroom."

"Good girl, now get going or you'll be late." Mieke wiggled from the bed and headed for the living room. She called

back to her mother, "Love you!" "I love you too, baby!"

Mieke was hired as Mr. Ted had promised, and during the next couple of weeks, she trained with a fellow student named Tiffany. The girls learned how to price items, work the cash register, and fill boxes for the owner when he had to make deliveries. They became good friends, inseparable like sisters, meeting up at lunchtime during the day and going to work together. They talked about everything: from the latest music on the radio to the boys who found out which girls started their periods.

Mieke always respected Mr. Ted, a chunky built man who was neither tall nor short. Having lost his wife some years ago to cancer, he was raising their three boys alone and striving to stay true to his faith and values. He tried hard to balance his business and his home, but the boys often made it difficult. Nevertheless, with just a few gray strands of hair left on his round head, he remained a good man to the neighborhood residents and patrons, despite his problems.

His seventeen-year-old son, David, was a different story. He worked in the shop every Tuesday and Friday, cleaning and stocking shelves in between being disciplined for cursing, smoking, and other habits deemed inappropriate by his father. David's appearance, disregard for authority, and anti-social behavior made him the type of boy who drove girls wild with adolescent desire. He kept his dark hair slicked back (long for those days) and would glance his blue eyes seductively at girls who giggled and talked about him.

Mieke and Tiffany were no exception to his display of machoism. One day, Mr. Ted became ill and sent his son to open and manage

the store. That afternoon, David made it clear to the girls that he was in charge, making them do practically everything.


While they knelt, stocking items on the bottom shelves, he sat behind a counter and read a comic book. They caught him staring at them.

"Oh, my word, he's golden," Tiffany whispered and tried to control her snickers.

"Who? David?""Yeah! Are you blind?"

"Well, as far as looks, he is tops, but I heard he gets five finger discounts." Mieke tried hard not to let her eyes drift his way while she priced a can of green beans and placed it on the shelf.

"Ugh, you can be so square sometimes," Tiffany said and priced a can of corned beef hash. "Don't you know that's what makes him so dreamy? He's, obviously, in need of a woman to put him on the right path."

"And are you that woman?" David said, standing behind them with a smug expression on his face.

The girls released startled gasps and pounced onto their feet. Their hearts pounded in their chests, not knowing if he was mad or entertained.

Mieke uttered, "Umm, er, we were just—" "Well, Dave . . ." Tiffany narrowed her eyes and grinned. "I could be

the right chick for you. It depends if you're the right cat for me," she said and moved closer to him, swinging her hips suggestively.

He laughed, blowing air between his lips. "Oh, is that right?" Tiffany's womanly facial expression collapsed into that of a

frustrated child. "Yeah that's right. You don't know me, boy, but you should! Too bad you blown your chance now!" She walked away in humiliation.

He slurred, "Right," then stepped closer to Mieke and stood behind her. Leaning over her shoulder, he spoke in her ear. "And what about you, huh? You think you can make me honest? God-fearing? A family-raising daddy-o, hmm?"

"I don't know, probably not," she said and her fingers shook.


Tiffany returned and said, "Why don't you leave her alone. She didn't say nothing, I did!

"Why don't you shut up? I'm talking to Meeker here, damn!" Tiffany mumbled and stormed to another aisle, while Mieke lowered

her head and balled her lips. "So, finally, the grownups can talk," he whispered in Mieke's ear. She felt warmth crawl up her cheeks, swallowing her whole face,

and heat flush her hands. "You think I'm like a grownup?" "Oh yeah, much more grownup than some of the other chicks in this

town." He put his arm around her waist from behind and squeezed. Her breath cut short and her knees started to tremble, weaken.

"That's why you—get—" He started to ease her away from him, near the open aisle. Her heart pounded in expectation. "To do—the deliveries today!" He shoved her toward the front of the store and said, "Get ready to take this crap to some old bag."

Tiffany's chuckles shot out from behind the shelves. Mieke dragged her feet toward the counter and rolled her eyes at him. She then sneered at Tiffany, who pointed and responded with a revived burst of laughter.

David grabbed a half-filled box from the floor, tossed in the final packages from shelves behind the register then set the delivery on the countertop. "Take this to 112 Harlem Avenue, and don't forget to get some dough from that bag. My old man said her tab is running high—I think it's time for her to settle." He returned to his seat and buried his face behind the comic.

"Harlem Ave? I can't walk that far!" He slammed the book to his lap, shook his head, and gave her a pitied

stare. "Take my bike. One scratch, or speck of dirt, and I'll dock your pay after breaking your arm." He raised the booklet and continued gazing at the pages.

She looked at Tiffany, who acknowledged her with a smile and a shrug of her shoulders.

Mieke shook her head, sighed and went on her way with the box.


CHAPTER THREEEBRA WAS SILENT. Wax dripped down the sides of the candles like raindrops on leaves. A small window wasn't properly locked and was thrown open by a gust of wind that blew out a candle.

Debra found the floral-scented breeze refreshing, but the hour was pressing. "Miko, I hate to interrupt you," she said, looking at her watch, "but it's well passed noon, and I didn't have time for breakfast this morning. Do you think—"

D"Oh, I'm so sorry," Miko said with a cheerful tone and continued,

"Here I am just rambling on and lost track of time." "It's quite all right. I wouldn't have stopped you, if I hadn't been so

hungry." She smiled and collected her papers to put back in her briefcase.

"I have some finger sandwiches already prepared in the fridge. I'll get them, okay? I think you'll enjoy our afternoon together." She stood, supporting her hips with her hands and delicately straightening her back.

"Are you all right, do you need some help?" Debra stood and reached for her.

"I'm fine, dear, just need to lose a little weight that's all." She chuckled then said, "Excuse me, I'll just be a moment." With her strength regained, she walked out the living room.

Debra waited until she was gone and uttered, "Jesus Christ, this is going to take all day." She massaged her right temple, soothing the pulsating pain that grew stronger since she left home. Soon, she heard clanking noises in the kitchen and Miko humming an unusual song.

Miko yelled out, "I was able to get everything ready this morning since I'm always up so early. You just can't sleep passed six when you get up in age."

"Yes, I've heard that from many others," she called back to her. "It's perfectly understandable."


Miko returned with a silver platter of sandwiches cut into circles, squares, and triangles and placed on paper doilies.

"Wow, what a beautiful spread, Miko." "You haven't seen anything yet. Would you be a dear and bring

those dishes, there on the red table." "Of course." Debra stood and spotted a tray with two plates, a

crystal dish filled with candy, and two glasses. "Do I bring everything?" "Yes, if you can carry it all."

Debra turned with the dishes and only then noticed the bottle of wine under Miko's arm. Just what she needed! She followed Miko out the living room, to the right and down a hall, which led to beautiful French windows drenched in lace. With the bottle and food, Miko managed to pull a brass handle on the window downward. A gust of wind helped her by opening the panels all the way to reveal the most breathtaking view Debra had ever seen in Attelboro Falls.

The wind was a gentle breath of heaven, rustling through the cherry blossom trees and carrying the out-of-seasoned petals through the air. The short healthy grass was like a soft bed inviting a child to rest rather than play. The women strolled along a walkway of reddish stones that led to the far end of the garden.

Acers: red, brown, and varied shades of green, Japanese cloud trees, and pompom bushes bordered the sides of the backyard with perennials, pink phlox, purple flax, and yellow wallflower.

A trail of grayish-white gravel, raked with care into circular patterns around the plants, outlined the lawn and shrubs. The red bridge Debra had seen through the living room window was on the far right side. Beside it, standing on white sand, was an antique-white Kasuga lamp surrounded by large rocks, creeping juniper and ferns.

As Debra walked along the path in awe of her surroundings, she saw a pond under the bridge. In the water were two Koi, typical Japanese carp with white and red markings, swimming back and forth underneath a lily pad topped with a pale-pink lotus flower. Miniature Kasuga lamps


outlined the way of stones toward the rear of the yard, where a vine-rose-covered trellis led to an expo of splendor awaiting them.

When the women were near the end of the garden, Debra heard the trickling of water. There stood an unusual gazebo made of logs with a pyramid roof, its four corners extending outwards and curling upward in traditional Japanese style. Behind the structure was a vast rock wall with miniature cactus plants embedded in the crevices. A small spout stuck out from the stones and poured water into another pond surrounded by manicured bonsai in ceramic pots with oriental motifs. The wall extended around the whole garden and separated the tranquility from the rush of the busy modern world. Debra was more than happy to have seen this haven and even more anxious to visit again.

Once inside the gazebo, Miko set the food and wine on a verdigris patio table. "So, here we are! You can set those here," she said and pointed to a butler's tray. "Well, what do you think? You've been awfully quiet." She smiled and set the places for lunch.

"Miko, I'm, I'm speechless. Really, I—" "Oh, dear!" She chuckled and replied, "Thank you." "I've never seen anything so beautiful. I'm amazed at how you—how

on earth did you manage this?""Well . . .." She passed out sandwiches and continued, "It took lots

of energy. The land was already taken care of with a lot of the greenery still intact. It just needed a little bit of simple, humble touches I'd say."

"Simple? You say you've only lived here two months?" "That's right. Although I've been here a short time, this place was

being well prepared for my arrival. Everyone needs a prepared place to come to at the prepared time."

Seeing the serious look in Miko's eyes, Debra got the feeling she was trying to tell her something. She wondered if they'd already discussed it; however, not being able to figure it out just yet, she accepted the plate of food graciously and decided to probe for answers. "I still can't imagine how Mr. Shangley ever got this garden in such good


condition. Maybe his wife started with him when she was still alive, you think?"

Miko ignored the question. "Now, shall we make a toast?" she said and placed a glass before Debra and one for herself. She grasped the section of cork that stuck out from the bottle and closed her eyes. She took a moment to pause, then inhaled deeply and pulled the stopper out with an upward twist.

Debra's eyes widened and she blurted, "God, you're strong for your age! Oh, I didn't mean that, or anything by it, I just meant I could never do that!"

She laughed and said, "I tell you—it's all in the wrist," then leaned over the table and whispered, "And in the mind, of course. Your mind allows you to do things you couldn't imagine possible, if you only believe." She ended with a wink and started to pour. Debra responded with a wide closed-lip smile. With a bow of her head, she raised her glass and tapped it against Miko's.

In the shade of the gazebo, the women ate, drank, and engulfed themselves in friendly conversation and laughter.


CHAPTER FOUR

HE CIVIL LIBERTIES FOR ALL CENTER was an active environment: laughter from its workers and a chorus of incomprehensible chatter filled the office, along with shrieks from

a few women when a ceramic mug crashed to the floor. The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee floated through while several tabletop fans whirred, cooling the employees and visitors.

TAlice Hunter, the chief coordinator, walked over to her desk and

spoke to a young woman holding a receiver. "Sandra, did you get in touch with Debra?"

"No, not yet. I don't get an answer on her cell, so I'm paging her right now—got myself a cup of coffee and thought I'd use your phone while I was here."

"Sure. Knock yourself out."Sandra set the phone on speaker and dialed. A recording

announced, "Thank you for using IntelliBeep, the intelligent way to page," and the line disconnected.

Alice flipped through the mail in a tray then, afterwards, placed her hand on her assistant's shoulder. "Thanks a lot, Sand. Keep trying," she said and walked away.

Meanwhile, Debra's pager was lying under the steering wheel and her mobile lay inside her briefcase, playing her greeting and taking messages. In the gazebo, the half-emptied bottle of wine began to warm despite the cool wind. The ladies leaned back in their chairs, contented with full stomachs and a summer's day laziness shared between friends.

"Your parents seem like wonderful people, Debra.""They are. The greatest thing about our relationship is that I like

them as much as love them, you know what I mean?""Absolutely."


"Not too long ago, I watched my grandfather waste away in a nursing home. I guess that's why I got involved in this type of work. I felt if I couldn't heal others like him, I could at least help the ones who could still get around."

"I think what you're doing is wonderful, and he's smiling down on you, proudly." Miko stretched and said, "Boy, I've really enjoyed myself."

"I must say I have, too. It's so nice to get out the office in weather like this."

"Yes, yes. Well, I guess it's time we go back in and finish up." Miko stood and started to collect the dishes.

"Sure, let me help you with that." Arms loaded, the women made their way back through the garden

toward the house. Debra walked with a warm calmness that made her feel as if she were floating. The thumping in her head had subsided, and she didn't know whether her pleasantly numb state was due to the beauty of her surroundings, the break from the office, or the wine. She was only sure it had been a wonderful day, so far.

Once the soiled dishes were placed in the sink, the women settled themselves in the living room. Debra was concerned, however, that she hadn't thought about extinguishing the candles earlier. "The candles are melted down. Should I blow them out for you?"

"No, it's okay, leave them. I'm almost finished my story, won't take long now." Miko held the mask she'd shown Debra earlier, the gift she had to earn.

Debra smiled and said, "I'm ready when you are." Great, she thought, the story again. Well, why not? After all, Miko had fed her. She secretly released her stomach below the belt of her skirt and relaxed in her chair.

Miko smacked her lap and said, "Okay, so where did I leave off . . . oh, yes."

Mieke arrived at 112 Harlem Avenue and stood in front of a white house surrounded by a picket fence, most of its paint chipped away. She leaned


David's bike against the railing and moved up the walkway to the entrance; the door crept open before she reached it. An elderly lady—white hair hanging over most of her face, and her body hunched forward—waited in the doorway. Her wrinkled hands pulled the door wider, and she shuffled backwards.

Her soft, trembling voice asked, "You from Mr. Ted's shop?" "Yeah, I have the items you wanted, ma'am." Remembering the

stories she heard from classmates who lived in the area, Mieke wouldn't cross the threshold. She hadn't given the rumors much thought until then as her legs and arms grew weak and shook.

"Oh, good. C'mon in. You have to set that box on the table. I reckon it's too heavy for me, dear." The woman pointed to the kitchen on the other side of the living room. "You can set it there on the table. I'll go fetch the money I owe you." She walked up the stairs, treading each step, carefully.

Mieke entered the house, each foot taking its own sweet time to move. She closed the door behind her just enough to seem polite but surely not all the way. Once inside, she sped to the kitchen, set the package down, and returned to the front door. Hearing the woman rummage upstairs, she moved back into the room and paced around a bit, until she spotted a curio cabinet and tiptoed closer.

Showcased through glass were items of foreign characteristics: statues, shawls, and a miniature boat. The statues were wooden figurines of tribesmen, each in a different fighting stance, posed with spears in their hands. Pink silk scarves with shiny red, yellow, and green markings draped the base of the figurines. The model of a ship had a name carved in it, which was of a language Mieke couldn't identify.

Another glass shelf held a dried stick. By the rings around its ends and middle she guessed must have been bamboo, and next to it lay ten to fifteen golden rings scattered.

On the top level were several Japanese trinkets made of porcelain and reddish-brown Buddha statues. One figurine stood out from the others: an ivory Buddha with a gold band around its neck and platform


bottom, head decorated with a golden fan spanning from one side to the other, and a tiny door on its chest. Mieke wondered if the door could open whether there'd be a heart inside.

Overall, the items seemed worn because of chips and tattered edges, especially the scarves. Inexplicably, she found them beautiful, having never seen so many antiques outside of Polinsky's shop before. The whole experience reminded her of her late grandmother, who never had items like these, but Mieke remembered how she'd loved to delve through the old chests—the sweet smell of the wood, the damp musky odor of the attic, and the soft, flaky feel of the dust between her fingers.

Below the shelves were three small drawers. It wasn't like her to pry into strangers' belongings; nevertheless, before she knew it, she had opened the top drawer. It was filled with more scarves, all the colors of the rainbow and laced with gold threads. In the middle drawer were black velvet cloths with a bulge in the center; she pushed them away and unburied a white, oriental mask with detailed painted eyes and mouth. She recognized that type of design, because she saw it on television once. The exact makeup was worn by a Japanese woman who prostituted herself to Japanese men.

Mieke wondered why the old lady had an item that depicted such a disgraceful act and guessed it was the reason it wasn't displayed like the other things.

Being swept away in thought, she didn't realize until she heard a creak in the wood that the woman was already making her way down the steps.

Mieke turned and stretched her arms behind her, trying to grab a knob to close the drawer, but it was too low even with her knees bent. Instead, she rushed toward the woman and said, "Here, let me help you." She took the woman's hand and assisted her toward the door.

"Thank you, child. You're so kind." She smiled and buried the money in Mieke's hand. Holding on, she said, "How you like my mask, dear?"

The girl's eyes bulged, and her heart pounded in her throat as she tried to explain, "I ... I don't know what came over me, I—"


The woman cackled. "Oh, never you mind. I'm glad. It shows you have an interest in something other than boys. I'd like to show you more and tell you all about them someday." She released her hand and trailed behind her to the doorway. "So, what do you say? You come back again, and I'll give you something."

"Um, okay, sure," Mieke agreed, only to get out the house. "Good. I'll wait for you to come again, and I'll share some stories

with you." "Okay, thanks, bye." She ran down the walkway and hopped onto

David's bicycle. She arrived at the corner of Fifth Street and Madison Avenue and waited for a red light.

An eerie tingle ran down her back and then came up her legs like a rushing wave of cold water. Someone, unlike anyone she knew, called her name in a loud whisper. Mieke's eyebrows knitted above toward the bridge of her nose and, with a sharp twist, she turned. The old woman stood on the corner of Harlem Avenue and stared at her.

Mieke raised her leg and tried to pedal, but her foot slipped. She lost her balance and tumbled over into a crowd of people waiting for the light. Through the commotion of them asking her if she was all right, she struggled to get a view of the corner between their legs.

Someone helped her up and told her to be careful. She kept her eyes on the corner until she could get a clearer view, but looked away for a split second to pick up the bicycle. She straightened, holding David's bike upright, and gazed at the empty bend of Harlem Avenue.

She blinked, trying to focus on the spot where she'd seen the woman, where at that moment no one stood. Not realizing the light had already changed, Mieke started to stroll into traffic and was nearly deafened by blaring car horns. She hopped onto the bicycle and dodged the oncoming traffic, eager to get back to the store to tell Tiffany what had happened.


CHAPTER FIVE

"Never send me back there again!" Mieke slammed the money on the countertop and walked away. David snickered and watched her pull Tiffany away from a customer.

The lady lifted her hand and shouted, "Hey, I wasn't finished," then stormed to the front of the store.

The girls rushed to an empty aisle, and Tiffany asked, "What's gotten into you!" She then snatched her arm from Mieke's grasp.

"I'll tell you what's wrong. David sent me to that witch! She's evil!" "What happened? What did she do to you?" "Well, she didn't do anything to me. She's just scary." Mieke

smoothed her breathing, calmed herself then continued. "First of all, she's got these creepy items in her house, right?"

"I knew the stories were true, everybody said she was a witch." "Wait, that's nothing! When I left her house, I was down the street

and around the corner in only a minute. I felt really scared . . . like someone was watching me."

Tiffany leaned closer. "Yeah?" "Suddenly, I turn around and she's standing on the corner, staring

at me! There's no way any old lady could've gotten there that fast!"


"Huh? You mean she was there on the street after you just left the house?"

"Yes!" "You goof, you hallucinated." She smacked Mieke's arm and laughed.

"What, you sneak a drink from the lady's stash?" "No, really," Mieke pleaded, "She was there!" "Come on, we've got to close up soon." She walked away while Mieke

tagged behind, trying to convince her the incident was real. David finished helping a patron and stepped from behind the

counter toward the girls. "Hey! What's the big idea leaving a customer like that," he yelled.

Tiffany grinned and shook her head. "Wait, Dave, you gotta hear this."

"That woman is a witch," Mieke professed again, "and I'm never going there again."

"What the hell are you talking about," David said. "Everybody knows that."

"No, I mean a real witch!" "Dave, get this . . ." Tiffany stepped closer to him. "The woman

magically appeared on the street and stood behind Mieke." "I don't care if you don't believe me, I know what I saw!" David went to the front door and said, "She walks, eh? What are

you, stoned?" and then flipped the store sign over to read CLOSED from the outside.

Mieke folded her arms across her chest and shook her head. He looked at her. "So, what did you say to the old bag?"

"I didn't say anything, I took off! Before I left the house, she told me she wanted me to come back to hear a story." Mieke gathered her belongings, as she explained, "She's got these knick-knacks, gold rings and stuff in a cabinet. She said she'd give me something."

David's eyebrows rose and his ears lifted when he heard about the jewelry. "And what other things did you see at her pad?" He stepped in front of Mieke when she tried to leave.


"Stuff, just the junk I said. Now move! I want to go home and relax!" "Whoa-ho, sor-ry!" he dramatized. "We'll talk more about that junk

when you come to work tomorrow," he said calmly then stepped aside. She sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm just-" "Hey, it's okay. I know you're a cool chick. The old bag just scared

you a bit, that's all. I know something," he said with a smooth tone and then stepped closer, leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "that'll really help you mellow out. Meet me outside your house at ten." He swerved back and unlocked the door.

She stared with her jaw dropped and nodded quickly. Tiffany gawked with her jaw dropped, not able to determine exactly what he did.

"See ya later alligator," he said in a deep voice and held the door open for Mieke as she left.

"Hold up, wait for me!" Tiffany grabbed her jacket and followed.

In the light of sunset, they made haste along the avenue, scarce of the day walking people: children, older folks, and mothers pushing carriages. Instead, the corners were flooding with the night crawlers: young men smoking hand-wrapped cigarettes, teenage girls popping gum and crowding around, and cars drag racing down the main boulevard. Through the scent of burnt rubber and smoke, Mieke and Tiffany hurried to make their way home before dark.

The girls exuded excitement and Tiffany jokingly said, "If you don't start spilling your guts, I'm going to pound you! I swear to Buddha, I'm going to knock you out!" She bounced around Mieke, like a lapdog begging for a bone. "What did he say, what'd he say?"

"All he said was he wanted to meet outside of my house tonight." She blushed and failed to hide the huge grin creeping upon her face.

Tiffany let out a whimsical squeal and said, "Oh, my word! He thinks you're golden—you of all people—you lucky skag!" She grabbed Mieke's shoulders and playfully shook her.


"I know!" Laughter poured out of her as if she'd been a carbonated drink made to overflow. "What am I going to do?" She stopped walking. "What does he want, I wonder."

"I'll tell you what he wants!" "You're so nasty, no he doesn't!" She backed away as if Tiffany was

contagious. "What else could he possibly want from you?"

Insulted, Mieke stood with her hands on her hips and lips tightened.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean nothing by it. What I mean is Dave is a loner, you know? He's a bad cat, and guys like them only do bad things to good people." Tiffany stepped in front of her and said, "I really don't know what he's got planned tonight, but you be careful, you hear?"

They hugged, and Tiffany said, "And make sure you tell me every juicy detail tomorrow morning, or I swear to Buddha I'll pound ya!" Mieke backed away from her, and she yelled, "Come here."

Without a ready steady go, they shot off and ran the rest of the way home, laughing and joking about the evening rendezvous.

Later that night, Mieke kissed Antoinette good night and, before long, could hear her mother's snores through the walls of her room. Mieke glanced at her clock—it was 10:01—and she sprang from her bed. Being fully dressed underneath, she pulled off her nightgown. She then crept to bedroom door, eased it open, and then tiptoed through the dark living room.

She managed to get to the front door undetected. She unlocked it and gradually opened it to expose David leaning against the threshold. She smothered her shriek with the palm of her hand.

"Who were you expecting?" he said. "The boogie man?" "Oh, no, hi." Mieke grinned and stared at him.

"You gonna let me in? It's cold out here." He didn't wait for an answer and made his way inside.


She whispered, "Sorry, yeah," and took his hand. She led him through the darkness to the couch and gently turned on a small lamp.

"Bitchin', mood light. I can dig it." She sat beside him, and he leaned over. He kissed her neck, tickling her

with his lips. She closed her eyes and felt them roll upward behind their lids. Her heart felt like it sank to the depth of her stomach, and she thought she'd slide to the floor from melting.

"You know, Meeker, I really feel close to you. You're a chick I can really get into." He continued to kiss her neck, trailing upward to her earlobe.

"Really? I think you're the most," she said with breathy words. Without warning, he pulled away and stared at the floor. She looked

strangely at him. "What's wrong?" "It's just I never had anybody think of me the way you do, not even

my old man." He pouted then continued, "I always said if I found a really out-of-sight chick, I'd take her away. We'd live in this far out pad and maybe even have some littlings, you know?"

He turned to her and held her hands tightly. His blue eyes drooped and invited her to dive in for a swim. "But it takes some dough to make all that happen. I wish I could start saving up for our future."

He kept talking, but Mieke's concentration faded away—she was focused on 'our future'.

"So, you catch my drift?" She shook her daydreams away. "Huh? Oh, yeah." "If you do this a couple times, we could be out of here. Just you and

me against the world, babe." He planted a deep, sexual-sparked kiss on her lips.

She closed her eyes and held her breath. He released her and said, "I'm so stoked I found you, Meeker. I

never have to worry about being treated like a spaz again." Her eyes crept open, and she replied, "Me too."


He rose from his seat while holding her hand and stretching her arm far above her. She walked—as if she were on clouds—with him to the door.

"My old man's still puking his guts out, so, I'll see you tomorrow. Alright?"

"Yeah, I'll be there. I can't wait." "Me neither." He gave her one last peck on her forehead.

After he left, Mieke took the same care in returning to her room as she had leaving it. She undressed then put on her nightgown and went to bed. Deep in thought about having a future with David, she gazed at the ceiling until she fell asleep.

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