The Sacred Scarf

Everyone called her Babe. She disliked the name Babs as it reminded her of some early 50’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. She slightly resembled her mother in the worn photograph that 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 ya?”

“I just stopped in to see what you…”

“Oh girl, we gots a most tings eye ya need and tum you doan”

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 broda 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 helpya?” 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 very interested in the scarf. How much is it?” Babe inquired.

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

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.” Honeybee waved goodbye as Babette walked out the jingle jangling door.

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.

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 her cat Tosh.

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.” My my my, you’re a spittin’ image of your mother”

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.

After a while of listening to Jolene talk about herself and her love of orchids, coffee and cats, Babe could wait no longer. She felt this question may be of great consequence.

“Ms. Jolene. I know you found me and you wanted to tell me something important. I do have a question. Why did you finally reach out to me Jolene?”

Jolene leaned in without saying anything.

“How did my mother really die? Did she die in childbirth like I’ve been led to believe? Or did she die of an overdose as the rumor that I’ve been told?”

“I wanted the truth to come out”

“The truth?”

“Yes the truth. It’s a story that for whatever reason has been obscured. She was going to join the convent to become a Nun. She had found her calling while on her nursing and missionary work in the Caribbean. But God had another plan. She had met a fellow missionary and became pregnant. You are a twin”

That remark stayed with her like an ink stain on a crisp white shirt.

When self-awareness feels like a broken mirror, sometimes it doesn’t show you a clear, whole picture of yourself. Instead, it breaks your reflection into little sharp, jagged pieces. She tried not to focus too hard on those shattered parts.

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.

She waved back, telling the Maître D, “Those gentlemen are expecting me”

Babe could not get what Jolene had told her out of her head. It was like on autoplay. Repeating over and over. Her head spinning as she now was processing the fact she had a twin somewhere that may still be alive. The scarf now seemed the least of her concerns.

She almost didn’t go.

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

“Hi again Quinn”

“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 look 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 do know what has happened in Jamaica with the hurricane and how the scarf has become a venerated object. No?”

“Yes, I have heard that from Honeybee, 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 Barbara when we were in The Caribbean”

“You know Jolene too. How?”

“I was a young med student from Quebec, Canada and was sent to the Caribbean to help give medical vaccines. That is where I met Jolene and Barbara. I had fallen in love with your mother Barbara, but I had had an affair with her friend Jolene. I was young and reckless. Barbara and I had a big argument when she found out about our affair, and she decided she was leaving me. Feeling betrayed by me and her girlfriend, she was going to leave and enter the Convent. I pleaded with her to forgive me and to not leave me”

“What about Jolene, where did she go?”

“Waiter. We’ll take that Chocolate Tartine now.. She went back to Chicago and I returned to Canada to become a priest. We never saw each other again. I could never figure out why I couldn’t locate her through the church. It was because she never became a Nun”

“I thought she died?"

“Yes years later Jolene sent me a letter that Barbara had died. I don’t know why she waited so long to let me know, maybe she didn't want to tell me or couldn’t locate me? Jolene told me she was pregnant, but she never told me that Barbara had died in childbirth. She just said she passed away. The fact that the child was given up for adoption. I never knew. I never knew”

“What does this have to do with me? 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,

“Father contacted me to meet him 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. It’s 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 suppose I can.” As tears started to well up.

“You most certainly can my daughter.”

The waiter placed her melting chocolate tartine on the table as they stood up and embraced clutching the Sacred Scarf, the photo of Barbara pressed against her heart.

“Babe, don’t cry, Je vous aime. Quinn is your brother”