As Bethel rode the train home that day, her father’s stern words echoed in her mind: “Straight to school. Straight back home.”

Being an overly protective father, with ease, he continually forgot she was 14 years old and quite mature.  Bethel, however, understood - her father was all she had, and she was his all and all.  The time was now 4:45 in the afternoon and Bethel would not reach her subway stop until 5:15.  Her late arrival meant sure punishment; she was supposed to be home by 4:00.  No way did she want to be grounded.

The city was too dangerous for a young, budding beauty to be out alone after dusk.  Unfortunately, 1996 was a busy year for crime in Washington, DC.  Vices were especially evident in Lincoln Heights with drugs and murder interwoven into the fabric of that particular community.  If the crime did not take her from him, then Bethel could fight and win forever.

To Bethel’s father, this beautiful child - his only daughter - was everything special in life.  Nothing else mattered.  He loved Bethel so much that he feared for her life every day.  He knew about the curse.  Her mother often joked uneasily about the malevolence before they married.  Numerous times she shared that the women in her family faced ‘The Shaman’s Curse.’

At first he thought the happening to be a tall tale.  Consequently, he chose to focus on the wonderful things about his wife: her captivating brown eyes, her cream colored skin, her soft hands and her heart filled with a special love for life.  With the eyes of the present looking into the past, he now saw clearly that his wife’s jesting was a means to handle the inevitable truth.

From the first day they began dating, their love beamed brighter than the sun - though he did not believe he was good enough for her.  She was absolutely the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, as she was.  He felt honored that she loved him with all sincerity - a gorgeous woman loving an everyday man such as he was mind-boggling.  However, as their love grew stronger, as they meshed into one being, he could detect an inherited gloominess dwelling in her heart.  The internal darkness emerged whenever she repeated her family’s disturbing accounts of true love lost.  Over and over, she shared the burdensome story until he knew the legend word for word.

***

On Bethel’s twelfth birthday, her father gifted to her an old wooden box.  With this aged heirloom, he also surrendered his heart. 

“You protect this box with your life,” he told her tenderly.   “This box represents your history.”

The legend he began to reveal was not the tale she expected to hear.  She always imagined her mother as a bright light illuminating all in her immediate surroundings.   Her father continued to speak to Bethel in a quiet voice and exposed more of his heart.

“Dawn Antonia was your mother’s name, as you well know.  However, I never told you one thing - you look so much like her.  It’s truly amazing just how much.”

Bethel never saw a picture of her mother.  All photographs were destroyed in a mysterious fire soon after her mother died.  Her father knew the experience of premature losses and their toll on a person’s soul.  Remembering those tragic events, he paused to gather strength to finish his words.

“Baby, your mother died giving me love,” he said.  “You see, I begged Dawn to have a child.  I always wanted her to spread her beauty and she did just that by having you!  Yet if I had not begged her, Bethel, you would not be here and she would instead.  But I just can’t imagine that - you not being born.  Know that your mother wanted to give you life as much as I did.”

Bethel’s father paused for another moment, hanging his head down to his chin.  His heart was feeding his mind emotions of times past and those thoughts were weighing heavily.  He finally took a deep breath, raised his head and continued, though his voice shook and tears gathered in his eyes.

“To be honest, baby, we prayed to God for a boy.  That way I - no, we - could have the best of both worlds but instead, I got the best of all worlds… you.”

With those last words hot, burning tears formed rivers on his face and even at 12 years of age, Bethel knew she was definitely born of love.  This gentle giant - her father - never yelled at her.  He never judged her harshly.  Nor did he did treat her like a wife but what she was - his baby.

***

A baby in his eyes always, but her father also taught her everything about being a lady.  He taught her to dance, how to do her hair, how to cook, how to clean, even how to sew - but never for him.  Eventually, the day would come for his daughter to wed and he wanted her to be a fine wife.  His primary concern, however, was cultivating RESPECT, HONESTY and COURAGE.  These were words from his wife, her mother and her mother’s ancestors - values that had to be instilled at an early age.

Yet like her mother Dawn, Bethel was born with an inner strength that was strong enough to handle her life and keep her father from being too overly protective.  Indeed, she exhibited an innate tendency to face challenges with the mental finesse of a mature woman.

As Bethel rode the train, she drifted off into a deep sleep.  She had had dreams about her mother constantly but time after time, the dream was different.  Each time, her mother wore different clothing in different surroundings; she knew her mother’s old wooden box was telling her a story.

That night as Bethel walked up to her front door, something was different.  Every inch of her body felt the almost tangible change.  When she went through the entrance, she saw her father waiting in the living room near the foyer.

“Bethel, where have you been?” he asked sternly but his voice also exposed a hint of relief.

“Sorry, daddy.  I fell asleep on the train again,” she quietly mumbled while hanging her sweater and then putting down her books. 

Bethel walked over to her dad and kissed him on both cheeks.  That gesture always quelled his emotions, at least beforehand.  Today however, her father remained stoic.  Trying another tactic, Bethel delved into conversation. 

“Daddy, I had another dream,” she said.  This time it was different. I think I was there.”

Arnold George did not want to hear about her dream.  He was upset about the child’s late arrival and tapped repeatedly on the crystal of his wristwatch.

“Bethel, do you know what time it is?  You are only 14 years old and arrive home over an hour late!  No, really, you have gotten home nearly two hours late and then you try to tell me about a dream - a dream, Bethel?  Baby, you are my only child, and I want you to grow old and be happy but it is far too dangerous for you to be so careless.  I wish I had waited to tell you about your mother and her stories -and that box.” 

Bethel’s sole response was a meek smile followed by a blown kiss and a girly giggle.  Arnold shook his head and then let out a hearty laugh.  With his concern now fully vented, he stood, kissed Bethel on the forehead and told her to get ready for dinner.  As he walked toward the kitchen, Arnold reflected upon a promise to his deceased wife, Dawn while she was pregnant with Bethel.  The promise was to tell their daughter all about her and her ancestors.  Arnold, however, did not really care for the stories.

As they sat down to eat dinner, Bethel asked her father to share more of a particular account regarding her mother.  For the first time, Arnold refused and Bethel questioned his decision.

“I have no more to tell you, baby,” he replied quietly.  “I have told you everything I remember.  Plus I don’t want to believe in that crazy story… the conversation is over.” 

Bethel did not press the issue, so dinner was eaten with the accompaniment of trivial topics, such as the weather and community happenings.  After eating and cleaning the kitchen, Bethel retreated to her room and attempted to do her school assignments but she became increasingly distracted by the box Dawn Antonia had left her.  Clearly, Bethel understood the box was to remain unopened until she was married and ready for a child.  Though temptation to open the heirloom was upon her, she opted to stare at the box for a few minutes before drifting off to sleep.