The Sacred Scarf

Everyone called her Babe. She disliked the name Babs as it reminded her of some early 60’s sitcom character that wore a pink poodle skirt. She was damaged in a way a lot of orphans are. Missing a piece of themselves. Yearning to know her past, the memory of one’s own parental nurture, nurtured from one’s history. Having missed the most basic of human contact, parent and child, she had always felt lost and cheated.

The one thing she treasured was a photo of her birth mother Barbara, whom she was named after. Her mother resembled Angie Dickinson and the photograph was given to her by a man, whose name and face she couldn’t recollect when she was very young. Having then been adopted, she fancied herself French and wanted to be called Babette. She had tattoos crawling up her neck with piercings everywhere; ears, lips and nose and she was partial to the color black and snakes. She wasn’t one who prayed or even knew how, but that was soon to change as her life would after she found that antique scarf in a rundown thrift store in a part of town she’d never been.

Babette took the Euclid Ave bus as she had a hundred times before to go to work in the old Tudor mansions in Bratenahl for the cleaning agency, Glitter Maids. She was running late as it was Saturday, her day off. After cleaning her own apartment, feeding a mouse to her pet snake Kingston, she was off to see Jolene, an old friend of her mother’s. Jolene had somehow found Babe and sent her a letter stating that she had something very important to tell her. If she was interested, she was to leave a message, to confirm the address, phone number, date and time to meet.

Babe never knew anything about her mother other than her name and that old, yellowed photo. She knew even less who her birth father was, telling herself unconvincingly; how could you lose something that you never really had?

Sitting near the front of the bus on that warm December day, she was scrolling TikTok videos on her phone daydreaming, when she noticed a strange man staring at her. As she turned her head from his creepy glare, she realized she just missed the Waterloo stop. She was now well past and had to get off at the Windermere depot. Her phone was an older model Android and no longer held a charge for long, even though she had charged it earlier that morning, it was now dead.

Babe got off the E185 bus and noticed the strange man getting off right behind her. An odd stranger, even though he appeared young, he had white gray curly hair. More troubling was that he appeared to be talking to himself. She turned to look both ways and decided to go into the first store she could. The first business, The Jamaican breakfast restaurant called “The Reggae Eggie.” She pulled on the door, but it was locked. It was already closed. She quickly turned and saw the man slowly coming towards her and she raced to the next business, a secondhand store that had a neon “Open” sign, called “Mama Ima Comin Home.”

Babe pushed as hard as she could as the jingle bells rang on the old wooden door announcing she had entered as the Bob Marley song, “No Woman No Cry” played on the sound system.

“Hello? Is anyone here? Hello?

“Justa minay, mia be der in a moment” a voice echoed from the back room.

Babe nervously looked out the front window to see where the stranger was.

“Me name is Honeybee, now wha caneye do for you?”

“I just stopped in to see what you…”

“Oh girl, let me know if I can help you.”

Honeybee was a tall elegant black woman who resembled Dionne Warwick.

The front doorbells rang again. It was the white-haired stranger. As he stared at Babe, she turned away from him and she picked up the first thing in front of her, a scarf.

“My name is Babette, but you can call me Babe. Ms. Honeybee, can you tell me about this scarf?”

“Why sure my dear. It’s more of a shawl or head cover than a scarf. Me calls it da holy scarf from St. Agnes Catholic Church in Chester Castle, Jamaica. It was found after Hurricane Melissa in 2025 among a crucifix and da holy chalice. It was given to me brother who owns the Reggae Eggie by da French priest fora donation to rebuild da church.”

As Honeybee explained the objects’ origin, the white-haired stranger with cocoa skin was now sidled up uncomfortably next to Babe.

“Excuse you me? May I help you?” Honeybee sternly inquired noticing his unnatural closeness.

The stranger stared and just shook his head and shrunk back in the aisle like a salamander under a rock.

“Yes, I am interested in the scarf. How much is it?” Babe inquired.

I am sorry, it is not for sale.” Honeybee slowly annunciated.

It was a black scarf with a sapphire blue and emerald-green floral pattern, yellow fringe and a blood red and gold cross.

Babe felt that there was a reason she was in this store, at this particular time, holding this particular item. The scarf. She noticed how unusual and beautifully colored the scarf really was.

The stranger now came closer again looking at some knick-knacks, albums and lamps.

Babe started moving away from the interloper and asked,

“Why is it in your store then if it’s not for sale?”

“Twas me broda who left it der.”

“It’s your brothers?”

“Ya t’is”

“Is he here?”

“No…not yet, heeza next door, he’s closin’ da breakfast spot da Egg.”

Just then the stranger grabbed the scarf from her clutch and ran toward the exit. When another man opened the door. The stranger struggled to get outside as Honeybee yelled out.

“Stop. Stop ‘em dat man!”

After a short struggle, the stranger dropped the scarf and ran away out the door as the other man bent over and picked it up. It was Honeybee’s brother, Quinn.

“We always have a da tieves in here tryan to take tings dey don’t belong to and no pay for. Quinn this is Babette, she isa interested it dat scarf.”

“Hello Babette”

“Hi Quinn, please call me Babe. The scarf is very unique, and Honeybee told me the inspiring story behind it.”

“Yes, the priest who gave it to me said it was found swaddling and wrapped around the Crucifix and Holy Chalice without even a speck of dirt or mud on it as the church was swallowed up in the waters and devastation from Hurricane Melissa. He will be back this evening, he called me and would like it back as it has become a venerated item in the Hanover Parrish church. St Agnes.”

“What is his name if I may ask?”

“Fr. Montaigne”

“Do you think I can meet this priest, Fr. Montaigne?”

“Well, we are going to dinner at the French restaurant “L’ Aubergine” so I suppose if you can stop by after our meeting and dinner around 8.”

“Thank you Quinn, somehow I feel, there is a reason I met you and Honeybee, and I would very much like to meet this, Father Montaigne.” Babe relayed her gratitude.

Babe had almost forgotten that she had a date with her mother’s friend, Jolene. Her mother’s old friend who had known her mother since they were children. They had gone to nursing school together when her mother became pregnant and dropped out. Jolene, she imagined, was the only person who knew the whole story of her birth and who her father was.

“Thank you, see you later tonight.”

“Goodbye dear, nice ta meet ja, lucky dat man didn’t steal da scarf.”

As she waited outside at the bus stop, she anxiously looked all around to see if that curly white-haired thief was still lurking in the alleyways between the buildings.

She reached into her pocket and clutched the picture of her mother and pressed it against her side. She never took it out of her apartment, but on this day, she needed to bring it since she was meeting Jolene. Maybe it was part of the reason she went into the thrift store.

She got back on the bus as it started the eastward trek back to the Collinwood neighborhood where she had missed her stop. When she got off the bus, she walked 2 blocks to the address that she had scribbled on the piece of paper earlier.

She buzzed the doorbell to the unit on the yellow brick duplex and waited anxiously as the door slowly opened to Jolene smiling while holding a cat.

Jolene had been a trauma nurse in Chicago and had recently moved back to Cleveland where she’d grown up.

“Hi Babette, it’s been far too long since I’ve seen you. I’m sure you don’t remember me?”

“Hello Jolene. I remember, maybe a little.” Babe fibbed, failing to convince herself that she’d seen her before.

“Please come in, let me look at you and give you a hug.”

Jolene informed Babe as a nurse she had seen the worst and best of mankind. Maybe even witnessed a miracle here and there. Now it was time for her to make a wrong, right once again.

The hours passed quickly, and it was time to leave.

She left, leaving her unfinished coffee with a promise to visit again.

She went to meet Quinn and the priest at L’ Aubergine after their dinner, to have desert. A chocolate Sunday on a Saturday night.

It was remarkably busy that Saturday night when Babe walked into the restaurant. She could see Quinn on the far back wall motioning for her to come over.

“Those gentlemen are expecting me” as she waved back telling the Maître D.

Babe could not get what Jolene had told her out of her head. It was like on autoplay. Repeating over and over. If he really was who she said he was, could this priest, she was soon to meet, somehow be responsible? I mean really what was the likelihood? It was too farfetched.

She almost didn’t go.

“Hello Babe, good to see you, glad you could make it” Quinn said, as if he was the one who invited her, forgetting she had requested and invited herself.

“Hi again Quinn” she smiled.

“Babe this is Father Montaigne.”

“Hello, my dear” the priest said, staring intently at her with tired eyelids half closed that looked like they had Vaseline rubbed on them.

‘Bonjour” she said somewhat awkwardly.

“Please sit down, can I get you a coffee or some desert. A chocolate tartine perhaps?”

“Thank you, coffee would be fine.”

As she looked at Fr. Montaigne, he was staring at her with a smile that was somehow familiar and comforting at the same time.

“I understand you are interested in the scarf. Why is that?”

“I had just stopped in at Quinn’s sister Honeybee’s thrift store when I found it, but…”

“Yes, that is what Quinn told me. But you know what has happened in Jamaica with the hurricane and how the scarf has become a venerated object. No?”

“Yes, I have heard, but today I found out something else that I had not known before about my mother and Father.”

“You mean your mother Barbara?”

“Yes, how do you know her name is Barbara?”

“I knew both women Barbara and Jolene when we all were in medical school in Chicago, I was a young med student from Quebec, Canada. I had fallen in love with Jolene, but I had an affair with her friend Barbara. Barbara became pregnant but she died in childbirth, and that child was given up for adoption. Jolene stayed in Chicago, and I returned to Canada and became a priest.”

“What are you saying?”

“That child was you Babette, I am your father.”

“My father?”

“Yes, I was coming today to see Jolene when she let me know that she had contacted you to meet after all these years.”

Quinn extended his hands to them both as if in prayer and said,

“I had met Fr. Montaigne among the ruins of what remained of St. Agnes in Jamaica after the storm and he gave me the scarf to raise money for the church back here in the U.S.”

“My parish requested I return with the scarf as it protected so many. Quinn informed me about meeting you today and your interest in the scarf. When he mentioned your name, Babette, I knew it was you.”

“How did you know that I lived here in town?”

“Jolene. She told me about your meeting. It is the Blessed Scarf, it’s sacred. It brought us back together.”

“I still don’t understand how you’ve ended up here?”

“Because of the hurricane and the miracle of the Sacred Scarf.”

“Father? May I call you Father? I guess I can.” As tears started to well up.

“You most certainly can my daughter.”

The waiter brought her chocolate dessert to the table as they stood up.

Father and daughter embraced and clutched the Sacred Scarf, the photo of Barbara pressed against her heart.

“Don’t cry Babette, it’s all gonna be alright, we finally found each other. Don’t cry, Je vous aime.”