Chapter 7
Noa
Seraphine’s advice, make sure you be careful who hears them and the answers have been lingering in my mind ever since she said them.
My whole walk back to the hotel I legit couldn’t get it off my mind.
I thought about it while I ate my dinner, and when Julian called me last night it was so heavy on my mind that I’m sure I sounded distant to him during our conversation.
That’s probably why he kept asking me if I was okay.
I even dreamed about it last night. Now here I was, up and out of my room bright and early by ten this morning standing at the foot of the stairs at Saint Mercy looking up at the humongous white columns that stood strong on both sides of the main entrance.
After adjusting the strap on my camera bag, I walked up the grand stairs, one at a time. Once I made it to the heavy wooden doors, I briefly thought about the dream of my mom’s funeral, and it caused a chill to run down my spine.
Yet, I had to shake it off because I wasn’t here to think about death, I was here looking for answers. As I opened the door, a low groan escaped from the decade old hinges and instantly the smell of candle wax, polished floors, Murphy’s oil soap, old wood and sage engulfed me as my greeting.
Stepping inside, the sun filtered through the stained-glass windows that sat almost as high as the ceiling.
Looking down, the floor was painted in a crimson red and golden pattern.
As I looked around, the church appeared to be empty and as I continued to walk through the main lobby my footsteps echoed loudly.
The inside was just as massive as it looked on the outside, and as I looked at the walls there were signs with directions on how to navigate throughout the building.
Just a little ways down, not too far from the entrance sat the reception desk and as I approached, I noticed an elderly lady was sitting at the desk.
She was so tiny, that you couldn’t really see her until you got closer.
When I walked up, I noticed she was filling in a page on a sudoku book, and she didn’t look up at me until she finished writing in a few numbers on one of the squares.
“You lost, suga?” she asked as she pushed up the over-sized silver glasses that were hanging on the bridge of her nose.
Giving her a gentle smile, I responded, "No ma'am, I’m not lost."
"Good. Cause most of the folks who wander up in here usually are, less they here for Sunday service."
I chuckled softly. "I was hoping you could point me in the direction of the church archives."
One of her eyebrows rose and she gave me a concerned look. "You doing research, huh?"
“Something like that. Just looking for my family history."
The way she was looking at me made me a little uncomfortable as she stared for a minute like she was trying to see if I was being truthful or not. I gave her another smile, then she pointed toward a long hallway.
"Take this here hallway to the end. You’ll see a staircase. Once you get to the basement, you’ll see signs that’ll direct you from there."
"Thank you so much ma’am."
"No problem Ms. Sinclair?" she stated just as I started to walk off.
Her mentioning that I was a Sinclair stopped me in my tracks. I turned around and she was looking down at her sudoku booklet unfazed like she hadn't just told me who I was without me telling her who I was. This was the second time that someone was able to look at me and know my family name.
"How’d you know I’m a Sinclair?"
She continued to scribble in her booklet. “Suga, everybody knows who you are." Waving me off, which let me know she was no longer interested in saying much more about it, she reminded me of why I was there. “Gone and head for the basement nah. You can’t miss the room with the archives.”
I proceeded down the hallway to the winding staircase that led to a cold, stone and brick basement. It wasn’t creepy for a basement, and just as she said there were signs posted that led the rest of the way.
Once I made it to the archive room, I opened the door and there were rows and rows of large file cabinets that stretched the length of the large room. There were shelves along the walls that were lined with books and hundreds of boxes stacked neatly against the wall where there were open spaces.
The journalist in me was screaming with excitement. This was my type of energy as I glanced around at all of the records, pictures that were decades and even centuries old. The hours slipped by as I completely lost myself going through birth records, baptism records, even marriage records.
Of course there were death records, property maps, all kinds of old newspaper clippings and what really made my day was I found dozens and dozens of information on my namesake, the Sinclair’s.
A few years ago, I signed up for ancestry and did a DNA test, that also linked me with possible family members.
So, I had some idea of what names to look for and most of the Sinclair files I stumbled upon were new names to me.
Some of them were buried here in Magnolia Cemetery and others were buried in other counties that were nearby.
As I searched through the names, stories, and dates I began to form somewhat of my family tree.
Then I found something that made me stop. I came upon a file folder that nearly took my breath away.
ISAIAH SINCLAIR MEMORIAL SCHOLARSHIP FUND
Although I’d never met my dad because he died before I was born, I did know his name. So, to see it plastered across a file folder caused my heart to skip a few beats. I never knew there was a scholarship fund in his name memorializing him.
It warmed my heart as I slowly opened the folder. There were dozens of pictures, articles, church newsletters and donation records. I discovered that the scholarship was established shortly after his death and it was sponsored by Saint Mercy and funded entirely by the Dubois Family Foundation.
I lost count of how many times I re-read that…
The Dubois Family Foundation funded my dad’s scholarship fund, but why?
I was confused because I didn’t know or understand the connection the Dubois’ had with my dad.
Why would they fund a scholarship in his memory?
And most importantly, why wasn’t this something that I knew of?
Digging deeper I found a newspaper article with a picture that caught and held my attention completely. It was a picture of my parents, and it was a picture of them that I’d never seen before causing my chest to get tight.
I opened my camera case and took a snapshot of the photo, then studied the photo that I was holding in my hand closely.
They were smiling, young and standing in front of the church.
In the background behind them was a little boy standing off in distance looking in their direction, holding hands with a little girl that looked to be much younger than him.
A wave of emotion hit me as I traced the picture with my finger.
Ion think I’d ever seen my mom look as happy as she did in that picture.
Not that she wasn’t happy throughout my life, but in this picture her smile actually reached her eyes.
It was genuine, not guarded and distant like I remembered her to be throughout the years.
Clearly, she was at her happiest when my dad was alive.
The article was about a community fundraiser that was hosted by the church and listed several prominent families that were in attendance. My eyes raced toward the list of family members. August Dubois. Delphine Dubois. Bishop Dubois. Isaiah Sinclair. Celeste Sinclair. Vivienne Baptiste.
I read the names over and over again, as I began to discover what I thought the connection my family had to the Dubois’ were.
Yet, something deep within me, that journalist side of me was telling me that there was more…
much, much more. Obviously, the Dubois and my parents were close and not casually either because of all the other photos I found, of them hanging out in the same circles, organizations and events all the time.
What I couldn’t understand was why people were making it seem like it was a mystery or a secret that shouldn’t be told though.
What else were they into? Did they have a falling out?
I was in search of finding out what happened because I needed to connect the dots.
I continued to look through more pictures of more events and skimmed over article after article, occasionally taking pictures of the things that I wanted to study later as my phone started vibrating.
When I pulled it out of the camera case and saw that it was Julian, I instantly started smiling.
"Hey babe."
"There goes my sunshine. You feeling better than last night I hope.” His voice always had a way of easing any worry or stress within me.
“I feel great. I was just tired last night.” His comment confirmed that he noticed I was mentally distracted last night.
"How's your investigation going?"
"Wait, why investigation though?” I chuckled.
"If it sounds like an investigation and feels like an investigation...well, you know the rest,” he laughed causing me to laugh along with him.
"That’s fair." I smiled as I leaned back into the chair then looked down at all the information I had scattered in front of me on the small conference table. “You’ll never guess where I’m at?”
“Ouuu, this sounds interesting…enlighten me.”
“The church.”
“Saint Mercy?”
“Yep…how did you know?”
“I’ve been doing a little investigating of my own. What you got going on there?”
“Going through the archives."
There was a brief pause before he asked, “Find anything good?"
Looking down at the pile of information I responded, "Well..."
I stalled, not sure how to explain all the curiosity, unease and confusion I was feeling. Julian was a master at lawyering people and getting information out of them that they weren’t quite prepared to tell. He was a master at reading me through my tone and words.
"Well what baby?"