From the Ashes
Missy Wakeman was only three years old when a tragedy claimed the lives of both her parents. With no living relatives to take her in, the orphaned toddler was adopted by Ernest and Madeline Bigelow, a middle-aged couple from Savannah, Georgia, who had longed for a child for many years but were never blessed with a baby of their own.
When Missy first went to live with her adoptive family, the Bigelows feared that the little girl might be traumatized by the loss of her biological parents, a condition that manifested itself in recurring nightmares. After several months, however, the terrifying dreams lessened in frequency and eventually stopped altogether. Missy gave every indication of being a happy, well-adjusted child with a bright future ahead of her.
Madeline Bigelow was a successful commercial artist and well-known children's book illustrator who taught her adopted daughter to draw and paint at an unusually early age. Missy, the older woman was delighted to discover, had a natural talent and a flare for color. It was no surprise then that after graduating high school, she went on to study at the Savannah College of Art and Design. When not attending classes, she perfected her artistic skills at her mother's studio.
Missy's paintings were mainly of birds, not the types one would find nesting in the backyard tree or on display at a zoo aviary but fantastic creatures with flowing plumage, alive with splashes of vibrant shades, particularly reds and golds.
"I doubt John James Audubon ever painted that species," teased Missy's best friend Gia Siddons when she returned to the United States after studying history in England.
"Any artist can paint a peacock, a great blue heron, a black-capped chickadee or a ruby-throated hummingbird," Missy laughed. "I prefer to use my imagination."
"Your birds make Mandarin ducks and toucans look drab."
Gia's critical gaze traveled from the flamboyant creature on the canvas to her friend's plain, white, tailored blouse and the unadorned, below-the-knee gray skirt, an outfit that made the attractive young woman look downright dowdy and matronly.
"You ought to use a little of that imagination and love of color on your wardrobe," the well-meaning young woman suggested gently. "In that outfit, you look more like the stereotype of an old maid librarian or schoolmarm than a talented young artist. Where do you do your shopping, anyway, Nuns 'R Us?"
It was the type of conversation the two old friends had been having since their grammar school days. Missy was not the least bit offended since she and Gia were like sisters and wanted only the best for each other.
"What do the men in your life think about the way you dress?"
"You mean my father?" Missy asked.
Gia made an exaggerated groan.
"Don't tell me you're still staying true to your vow of chastity?"
"Ha! Ha!"
"Well, have you been seeing anyone while I've been away?"
"No one on a regular basis," Missy reluctantly admitted.
"What does that answer mean, exactly?" Gia prompted.
"I've met a few men but none that I really cared for. Honestly, Gia, sometimes I think I'm incapable of falling in love."
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm sure you'll meet the right guy someday. Perhaps you just have to lower the bar a little."
"So you think I'm too picky when it comes to men?"
"No. It's just that there aren't many guys out there who look like Brad Pitt and have the brains of Albert Einstein."
* * *
Just after Missy's twenty-third birthday, her paintings were shown at a prestigious Philadelphia art gallery. The opening of the exhibit was a great success. Art critics from as far away as Los Angeles and San Francisco attended the event and later wrote rave reviews. An Oscar-winning Hollywood actress, a Fortune 500 company CEO, a bestselling mystery writer, a prominent heart surgeon and the wife of a United States senator all purchased one of her exotic birds.
Her subsequent New York showing proved to be even more successful. Much to Gia's amazement, dressed in a long, sleek black gown with only her mother's single strand of pearls to adorn it, Missy looked very elegant and sophisticated. Her long auburn hair was worn up, revealing the graceful curves of her neck and shoulders.
As she made her way through the crowd of friends, art collectors and critics, she spotted a very attractive man examining one of her paintings. She was about to summon her courage, nonchalantly stroll over toward him and introduce herself when the owner of the gallery cornered her. Missy was disappointed to see that when their conversation was over, there was no sign of the attractive young man.
* * *
Riding on the success of her two previous exhibits, Missy Bigelow returned to Savannah and immediately began a new series of paintings. For the first, she envisioned a magnificent gold and fuchsia bird with its wings spread, painted against a fiery sunset. Within a few hours of starting the piece, the outline of the bird emerged on the canvas.
Shortly before noon, Missy was interrupted by the sound of her doorbell. Annoyed at the disturbance, she put down her brush and answered the door. The frown on her face suddenly vanished. She was astonished to see, standing on her doorstep, the attractive man she had momentarily glimpsed at her New York gallery opening.
"Miss Bigelow? I hope I haven't come at a bad time."
"No, not at all," she replied, having gotten over her recent irritation.
"I'm from Art World Magazine," he announced and handed her his business card, which identified him as Zane Griffith.
"Are you here to sell me a subscription, Mr. Griffith?" she joked.
"No, I'd like to interview you and, hopefully, take a few photos of your incredible artwork."
Missy hesitated.
"If this is an inconvenient time ...."
"No, not at all. Come in, please. Just give me a few minutes to wash the paint off my hands."
"You've also got a gold streak across your cheek."
"Thanks," she said, blushing.
The interview went well, and when it was concluded, the two young people had a pleasant chat that had nothing to do with art. Later that evening they went out to dinner. Zane took Missy to a place well known for its fresh seafood. After having cocktails, he ordered the special of the day, shrimp flambé, but when the server set the flaming dish on their table, Missy pulled back in fear.
"What's wrong?" Zane asked.
"I'm deathly afraid of fire," she replied.
"If I had known that I would have ordered the lobster."
Missy immediately felt foolish.
"I'm sorry. I know it sounds silly, but my parents died in a fire when I was only three. I was rescued from the burning house by a fireman; otherwise, I would have died with them."
* * *
In the weeks that followed, Missy saw a great deal of the handsome magazine journalist. Enjoying his company immensely, she began to believe that falling in love was possible after all. The two grew so close, in fact, that when Zane asked her to go away with him for the long Columbus Day weekend, Missy readily agreed.
They flew to Boston and rented a log cabin, high in the Berkshire Mountains, where the trees were resplendent in their autumn foliage.
"The view here is breathtaking!" Missy exclaimed. "Too bad I didn't bring my paints and canvas. I could have captured it for posterity."
"I thought you only painted birds."
"Usually, but I feel inspired right now."
Zane smiled at her comment, his eyes twinkling mischievously.
"I'm inspired myself," he teased and kissed Missy on the cheek.
"How about I make us both some lunch, Romeo?" the artist asked as they carried in the luggage and bags of groceries Zane had purchased during their drive from Logan Airport. "We haven't eaten anything since breakfast."
"Great idea. I'm starved."
Missy, who usually lived on salads, frozen dinners and take-out food, made them both grilled cheese sandwiches.
"You can cook," Zane kidded her. "I'm impressed."
"If you call this cooking, you'll love what I can do with a box of Kraft macaroni and cheese."
After lunch, they took a long walk through the woods, enjoying the autumn foliage. The sun was warm, but the October air was cool, and Missy, shivering, buttoned her jacket.
"With all this fresh air and exercise, I'll sleep like a baby tonight," Zane said.
"That was the idea of this mini vacation. We've both been working too hard and need some rest and relaxation."
"I hope we can fit in a little romance, too," Zane said hopefully.
"I'm sure we can work something out."
As the sun journeyed west, the temperature slowly dropped, and Missy and Zane headed toward the cabin. They got back just as darkness fell.
"It's my turn to cook," Zane volunteered. "How about a tossed salad, linguini with marinara sauce, garlic bread and, for dessert, the best cannolis west of Italy."
"You thought of everything!"
"I tried."
As the pasta boiled, Zane lit two candles and opened a bottle of wine.
"You're going to spoil me," Missy declared as she tasted his delicious meal. "How can I ever go back to my usual eating habits after this weekend?"
"I guess you'll just have to marry me then, so you can continue the good life."
After dinner, Zane insisted on doing the dishes while Missy took a hot, relaxing bubble bath. When she came out of the bathroom in her fleece robe, he had a fire burning in the stone fireplace. She froze with fear.
"Don't be afraid," he gently urged. "It won't hurt you."
"I used to have nightmares when I was a child: horrible, vivid nightmares about fires that caused me to wake up screaming."
"You mustn't be afraid."
He took hold of her hand and tried to lead her to the living room.
"I won't let anything happen to you. Come sit with me on the sofa."
"No, I can't."
"Yes, you can. Just sit down and relax."
With great effort, Missy crossed the room and sat on the couch, but she kept her head turned away, refusing to look at the flames.
"Your parents did not die in that fire," Zane declared, suddenly seeming much older and wiser.
"How would you know that?"
"I know because I am like them, and so are you."
"What are you talking about?"
"We're not human, you and I."
"Stop this foolish talk. You're starting to frighten me."
"Just look into the fire. The truth is there for you to see."
At first Missy resisted, but eventually her will succumbed to his.
"Look deep into the flames."
Zane's voice was commanding yet soft and hypnotic.
"Tell me what you see."
Missy began to tremble with fear.
"I see a great fire, an inferno. The flames are getting closer," she cried and tried to run, but Zane held her firmly, preventing her escape. "I'm going to die, to burn to death."
"No. It won't hurt you, darling. I promise. What you see took place in the past. Just look into the flames without fear."
Missy became calmer when Zane spoke to her soothingly.
"I see a great city, Chicago, I believe. Wait. It's London or—no it can't be. It looks more like ancient Egypt."
"What you see is a series of images, all events in your past lives."
"Is that possible?"
"Yes. You and I, together, have seen great cities burn: London, Rome, Chicago, Atlanta, Alexandria and many others."
"I don't understand. Who are you?" Missy asked, turning to face him, wanting to seek out the truth in his eyes.
"Don't look at me. The answer is in the flames."
Again the images she saw frightened her. She witnessed herself being burned as a witch in medieval Europe and thrown alive on her husband's funeral pyre in India.
"The fire will not hurt you," Zane said as he walked toward the fireplace, took out a burning branch of kindling wood and set fire to the living room drapes.
Missy screamed and ran to the door, frantically pulling on the handle, but the door wouldn't budge.
The flames climbed higher, heading toward the ceiling.
"You're insane!" she screamed. "We'll both be killed."
"It's all right, darling. The flames won't harm us. You and I were born of fire."
Missy picked up the fireplace poker and tried to break the glass in the kitchen window. It cracked but did not shatter.
"Help!" she shouted, knowing there was no one to hear her cries.
"It is from the ashes of the fire that we will be reborn, as we have hundreds of times over the centuries."
The carpet caught fire, and within minutes the living room was engulfed in flames. There was no way out. Missy was going to burn to death along with the handsome madman who had brought her to the isolated cabin high in the Berkshire Mountains. Resigned to her fate, she reluctantly surrendered to Zane's embrace. As the young man held her tightly in his arms, the raging fire consumed them both.
* * *
By morning, the flames had died out, leaving only smoldering embers where the log cabin once stood. As the sun rose on the eastern horizon, two exquisite birds with scarlet and golden plumage emerged from the smoking ashes. The male and female Phoenix spread their wings, soared through the air and flew away to a new incarnation.
Oh no! Look what came out of the ashes in my fireplace - Salem!
