Forever Hearts Page 3
Chapter 7
What!!!!
Dr. O’Leary ended their session abruptly, telling Valeria she had an emergency she needed to attend to. As soon as Valeria was gone, she had her receptionist cancel all of her appointments for the day. In the lavatory, she splashed herself with cold water several times.
When Kate arrived at an empty house, she put a cold compress on her head and slumped down on the sofa. One word kept echoing in her head, preventing her from a single moment of relaxation.
Reincarnation.
She had read and heard about this happening to some, a select few, of her colleagues when they hypnotized patients, but she hadn’t actually believed it. Thinking it was a way to get publicity for themselves, she had dismissed those psychiatrists as quacks. There has to be a logical explanation, she kept telling herself. There has to be!
By the time her lover arrived home, she had convinced herself she’d have to dig further into Valeria’s psyche to get to the truth.
“How was your day?” asked Enzo, pecking her lips.
“Complicated.”
“Oh?” He raised one eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she murmured.
“You look a little out of it, Katie,” he said, concerned.
“Sweetheart, do you believe in reincarnation?” she blurted, embarrassed.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she stated.
“Did you ask me if I believed in reincarnation?”
“I’m just making conversation,” she stammered.
“Have you been talking to Constance next door?”
“Of course not,” Kate retorted. While they liked Constance well enough, they both thought she was a little addled in the brain. She was one of those new age people who had a house full of crystals and believed in all kinds of unusual ideas like past lives.
”Then why are you asking me about reincarnation?” he asked.
“I’m just curious.”
He looked at her strangely. “Do you really want to know?”
“Yes.”
His voice turned mischievous. “Well, if you must know, I think I was an insect in another life.”
Kate rolled her eyes. “Be serious.”
He chuckled darkly. “You actually want to have a serious conversation about reincarnation?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Katie, what is bringing this on?” he asked, concerned.
She absolutely couldn’t tell him what was happening. First, it had to do with doctor/patient confidentiality and also, she just didn’t want to admit to the craziness swallowing her up.
“It’s just something I’ve been wondering about,” she stated, hoping she had sounded convincing.
“Is this about Lindsey?” he asked gently.
“No, I—“
“Katie, you can’t bring her back,” he said quietly, caressing her hair. “She’s gone.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you asking me about reincarnation?”
“I’ve already told you. I’m curious.”
He frowned. “No, I don’t believe in reincarnation.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“You’re positive there’s no such thing?” she asked. “Absolutely positive?”
“Yes.”
“You’re the one who said that there seems to be more out there than we can understand, remember?”
“Yes, I said it but I didn’t mean something as ridiculous as reincarnation.”
“Ridiculous?”
“Katie, you’re going to get through what happened to Lindsey.”
“Enzo—“
“We’ll take it one day at a time, okay?”
“Enzo—“
“Okay?”
Kate stared out the window, lost in her thoughts. “Okay,” she said feebly.
During Valeria’s next session, Dr. O’Leary decided she wanted to speak to someone older than a teen-ager. There has to be a logical explanation, reverberated in her mind.
“How old are you?” she asked Valentina.
“I’m in my mid-twenties.”
“I’m assuming that your name is still Valentina.”
“Yes, of course.”
Valentina sounded very mature and unlike the child and adolescent she had spoken to before. “Are you still full of secrets?”
“No, life has cured me of them.”
“It has?” asked Dr. O’Leary.
“Yes,” Valentina said bitterly. “A lot has happened.”
“Are you sure that you’re in the late1800’s?”
“I’m not in the late 1800’s.”
“You’re not?” Dr. O’Leary asked, relieved.
“I’m in the early 1900’s,” Valentina stated matter-of-factly.
Dr. O’Leary wanted to kick herself. Of course Valentina was no longer in 1898. Having forwarded Valentina so she was talking to a young lady had forwarded time also.
“The last time I talked to you, it was going to be your sixteenth birthday and you were taking a picture.”
Valentina nodded. “That birthday was so important.”
“It was?”
“It was the day that changed the whole course of my life.”
“Will you tell me about it?”
“Are you sure you’re interested in it?”
“I want you to tell me about your life,” Dr. O'Leary assured.
“My life?”
“Yes.”
“I find that most people are too caught up with their own problems to want to hear someone else’s.”
“Valentina, I’m very interested in your story. Start from the beginning.”
“Are you sure you want to hear this?”
“Tell me everything, please.”
Chapter 8: Valentina’s Story
My mother told me that I was born during the hottest summer she’d ever seen. “It was so hot that the cows laid down in the pasture with their tongues sticking out,” she’d say in her exaggerated way. She worried that I wouldn’t make it through the scorching summer, that I’d die of dehydration like so many babies were doing but that wasn’t my destiny.
Instead, I grew strong and even helped my mother at the Big House where she worked as the head cook. The Sevillas would never allow anyone, young or old, to be idle at the hacienda—except for themselves. According to them, if you were born of the lower classes and were older than a toddler, then you should be earning your keep.
“I will not permit any lazy, good-for-nothings on my hacienda!” snapped Don Clemencio when the workers were dragging their tired bodies from waking up at the crack of dawn and not getting to their homes until way after dark.
So ever since I was five years old, I had a full work load. While my hands were small, I could still cut potatoes faster than a grown-up. And I was happy to take some of the burden away from my mother. She worried that I was too mature for my age even though most of the children born into hunger were forced to grow up fast. There wasn’t a lot of playtime for those with constant growling stomachs—only hard work that never seemed to end.
Toiling away in the main house of the Sevilla Hacienda was a wretched nightmare to a child with my explosive temper. It wasn’t a coincidence that I was born during the most blistering day of the year. To most of the other servant children, the Big House was a dreamy fantasy but to me it was the opposite. The pompous two-story home with very little warmth and affection stood in the middle of endless stretches of land—much further than the eyes could see and amongst the most fertile in the whole state of Chihuahua, Mexico. Ranch animals like horses, pigs, chickens, cows, and dogs had their run of the outside but inside the house, it was nothing but the most elegant, the most beautiful, and the most expensive.
Money was never spared to make the Big House into a showplace for the family in it to keep their heads way above everyone else. The dark reddish-brown heavy furn
iture inside all came from Europe and the décor of woven tapestries, unique paintings, and delicate figurines only served to emphasize the exalted position the Sevillas insisted they have in society.
Life seemed like just a game for the overdressed men with their superior airs and for the carefree ladies with their hoop dresses, shiny jewelry, and silky hair on top of their heads in fancy hairstyles. The world of the upper classes was full of grandiose balls where ladies and gentlemen danced their fancy waltzes and ate aromatic foods that took days and days to prepare. An unbelievable assortment of silver platters with mounds of different kinds of meats, spices, and delicacies adorned the formal tables, the overwhelming presentation more important than the food itself. To the guests, the ostentatious display didn’t affect their stomachs in the least. Food was supposed to always be at their disposal. It didn’t matter who was desperately dying for it.
They didn’t care that an enormous feast like the ones they held could feed the poor in town for at least a week, that the servants’ empty bellies growled painfully and uncontrollably just by looking at it. It didn’t even cross their indifferent minds. Instead, the guests acted as if it was their right to possess so much. They were entitled to whatever they wanted, not needing to thank others or even God for what they had. Why should they feel even a tiny morsel of gratitude for those who farmed the food for them, prepared it, and brought it to their tables? It was taken for granted that their every wish was our command.
We were nobodies—invisible except when they needed to be served.
In the name of progress and modernization, our President Porfirio Diaz, actually a dictator, had sold my country out to the highest bidder because Mestizos and Indios no longer owned the land that had been in their families for ages but often without paperwork to prove it. Us, Mestizos with our indigenous and Spanish blood, and the full blooded Indians were dispossessed as Diaz ordered land reforms and encouraged foreigners to buy up Mexico. For anyone who tried to get out of their constraints, Diaz had brutal enforcers that did whatever he decided was necessary to stamp out rebellious acts. So my country was now in the hands of the very few—the outsiders and the wealthy with European bloodlines.
I would wonder what it would be like to live in their Mexico of expensive perfumes and endless dresses instead of the hardship of my Mexico. What would it be like not to have to work so hard almost since birth? Not to ever be hungry? Not to see your parents practically crawl with exhaustion at the end of each day and have so little to show for it?
But it was of no good use to have these thoughts swirling into an awful mess in my head. All it did was make me want to lash out with the sharpest words I could find. My mother had warned me many times about keeping my loose tongue in place.
“Unfortunately, you have my bull-like temper,” she’d say with a mournful tone.
“I’m glad,” my father interjected. “I’m very glad she’s high spirited.”
“I just worry that your unfiltered mouth,” she told me, “will get you in trouble like it’s done to me so many times.”
“What’s wrong with saying what you feel?”
I would soon choke on those huge words because my parents almost got fired due to my flippant attitude. I was ten years old and alone while kneading the masa for tortillas when the Sevilla daughters stepped into the kitchen—something they rarely did. They were about my age and even though we existed in the same space, we lived in completely different worlds. Their parents made certain we understood the differences. Doña Clotilde, the grand queen of the Sevilla Hacienda, and her two daughters were always dressed in the most costly outfits, helping them cement their reputation as the most beautiful and sophisticated ladies in our pueblo of Cevallos. But to me, they were as repulsive and as deliberate as vultures circling their prey.
“Hey, you,” Leonor, the oldest daughter, snapped. She had never learned my name. “Get us some apples.”
“They’re on the table next to you,” I threw out as I kept kneading.
Leonor’s and Josefina’s eyes widened with the surprise of how I had spoken to them and then narrowed furiously.
“You get them for us!”
“I’m busy,” I grunted loudly, not even looking at them.
“Listen, servant,” Leonor retorted. “I gave you an order.”
I have a boiling point inside me that can scorch water within seconds. “Is something wrong with your legs?” I hissed as I snapped my enraged eyes on them.
“No—“
“Is something wrong with your hands?” I retorted, burying my rabid, leveled sight into them. Confronting people with my eyes has never been a problem for me.
I waited for an answer, not taking my aggressive sight off them. Instead, their haughty stares crumbled and were replaced with naked fear. They scrambled out of the kitchen like chickens that just saw a fox.
“She’s got evil eyes,” Josefina garbled. “Just like La Llorona.”
I chuckled as I kneaded the masa and thought about the famous folktale. Being compared to a frightful woman at a river didn’t bother me at all. But my smile didn’t last long.
The Sevilla girls went straight to their parents who immediately harangued my mother and father. The only reason they didn’t lose their jobs was because my mama was the best cook in the region and my papa a valuable worker. The hacienda wouldn’t be able to run as smoothly without them. I thought my parents were going to scold me that night when we got home, but what they said took me completely by surprise.
“Those spoiled, bratty children,” my mama hissed. “A rat has better manners.”
My father nodded. “They’ll grow up to be just like their parents.”
“Unfortunately, we have to live at the selfish whims of the Sevillas.”
“We’re sorry that we can’t provide a better life for you, my daughter,” my father told me, his eyes moist.
I was the one who was supposed to be regretful and not them, I thought to myself, except I wasn’t sorry at all that I had pulled down those two uppity princesses.
“But there is no where else for us to go,” murmured mama.
I definitely felt remorseful about my behavior then—sorry because I had almost gotten us thrown out of the hacienda when jobs were so scarce. I made a pact with myself that I would try to keep my mouth in restraints.
Chapter 9
After Valeria had left the office, Dr. O’Leary stood at her window with an odd expression on her face. She stared down at the busy passers-by going about their ordinary business. How lucky they were in not knowing what was going on in her office, Dr. O’Leary thought. How fortunate not to be burdened with such outright craziness.
Deciding that she couldn’t stand it any longer, she cancelled the rest of her appointments for the day and rushed out the door. She had to search for some information and try to get the situation under some kind of control. It had to start making sense and there was one person she knew who could give her the answers she needed. At her destination, she told herself to stay calm and focused before knocking on the door. When Constance finally answered, she was ready.
“Kate!” Constance exclaimed, hugging her.
“Hi, Constance,” Kate said, overwhelmed with the welcome. She still wasn’t accustomed to her gregarious neighbor.
“It’s been a long time since you visited me,” she chided.
“I’ve been very busy.”
“Come in. Come right in.”
Kate smiled as her eyes darted around the living room. Every time she visited, she noticed the changes to Constance’s house. Constance loved change. This time she had a King Arthur motif with pewter replicas of all the images that went with him. In the middle of her cocktail table sat an enormous porcelain doll of Merlin, complete with a pointy blue hat with silver stars. Constance had also transformed her appearance. Her hair was now a silky golden blonde instead of bleached white. It contrasted nicely with her light blue e
yes and the long, filmy, black dress she wore.
“Would you like something to drink?” asked Constance. “I just made some green tea.”
“Sure.”
Constance left to the kitchen, a room that was open to the living room, and she chattered about the sunny weather. In the meantime, Kate put her thoughts in order.
“What’s this visit about?” Constance asked, handing her a cup that had a picture of Guinevere in the front center.
“I need to talk to you about something,” Kate said with hesitation.
“What about?”
“Reincarnation.”
“Reincarnation?”
“I know that I’ve never been interested in it before, but now it’s suddenly become important for me to know about it.”
“Why has it become important?”
Kate cleared her throat. “Oh, just because. The whole questioning life thing.” She hoped Constance would buy it.
Constance’s eyes grew wide with excitement. “Great! And you shouldn’t feel bad about having these questions, my friend. It’s normal to get to a point in your life where you ask yourself what it all means.”
“Yes, right.”
“What do you want to know about reincarnation?”
“Do you think it really exists?”
“Yes, I’m one hundred percent sure.”
“Lindsey could be out there somewhere?” Kate asked anxiously.
“Your friend is not dead.”
“Can I really believe that?”
“Yes.”
“But—“
“Kate, there are too many people out there who have had strange things happen to them, things they’ve linked to a past life.”
Kate nodded in deep thought. “Yes, strange things do happen.”
“It’s all part of Karma.”
“Karma? You mean that tit for tat thing?”
“No,” Constance stated as if Kate had said something especially distasteful to her. “No, not really tit for tat.”
“What do you mean?”
“Things in the universe follow a motion. When you do something then something else happens. Karma is the universe balancing itself out.”
“Yes, tit for tat.”
Constance let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re trying to make Karma out to be a revenge thing and it’s not.”
“It’s not?”
“No.”
“If I kill someone then there are no repercussions?”