20. Perchance to Dream

The main task at hand was, of course, to locate Lizzy and bring her back home. However, accomplishing this assignment turned out to be incredibly challenging, if not entirely impossible.

Cassie’s search mirrored the search protocol she had used in Maryland. Initially concentrated in Lakewood, she later expanded her efforts across the broader Denver metropolitan area. Unfortunately, it also mirrored the outcome: She checked hospitals, shelters, and police precincts but unfortunately found no leads.

During a conversation with Jake one night, he inquired about whether Lizzy had a close friend back in Maryland. This question prompted Cassie to reach out to Dianna Manchester.

It didn’t take much prompting for Dianna to share her feelings. Since Lizzy’s departure, Dianna had been burdened with guilt. With no contact from Lizzy for over a year, she could only imagine the worst. Dianna went on to share details about Tommy and their intentions to meet up in Denver in mid-January.

Cassie went online to look up the Flying Wallendas tour schedule. She made several phone calls, but unfortunately, this effort also yielded no results.

“I’m at wit’s end, Jake. I’ve tried everything, and I’m not sure what else to do. Lizzy might not even be around here anymore,” she expressed. Suddenly, she gasped, “She might even be…”

“Don’t go there,” Jake interrupted firmly.

By the summer of 2009, Cassie felt just as adrift as her niece. After months of searching, the realization was settling in that finding Lizzy might not happen – she might even be gone. So, faced with this uncertainty, Cassie grappled with what to do with her own life.

Maryland only held painful and sorrowful memories. Jake continued to extend his offer for her to stay in the guesthouse for as long as she wished or needed. Cassie pondered, Where else would I go?

“Today marks the anniversary of my dad’s death, you know,” Cassie spoke softly while holding the hot chocolate delicately in her fingers. Jake observed her gaze extending across the pasture, are she peered into the then and there. The two had developed a fondness for their morning breakfasts on the deck.

“You’ve got to hold onto your faith,” Jake encouraged.

“To be honest, I think I lost my faith back in Havre de Grace. I told Father Patrick as much. I mean, I prayed… and prayed, and prayed some more. What good did it do?”

“Perhaps your faith is in the wrong place,” Jake proposed. Before she could respond, he went on, “Listen to me. I began feeling this during my time in religious school. Although it was in Judaism, not Christianity, the concept applies to both.”

“Concept?” Cassie inquired, looking at Jake as he scanned the tabletop for the right words.

Consider the saying, ‘Don’t shoot the messenger.’ It’s about separating the message from the person delivering it, isn’t it? However, in both religions, the focus is on the messenger, overlooking or even neglecting the actual message. For example, in the Sermon on the Mount, in the Beatitudes, does Jesus insist that you worship him?”

Cassie had to think back to her Sunday School days to respond. “Um, not exactly. The Beatitudes are more about how to show respect to our Heavenly Father by adopting specific attitudes and behaviors. Is that what you’re getting at?”

“Yeah, that’s what I mean. I’m thinking about ‘Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.’ You see, it’s not just about grieving over someone’s death. This beatitude goes deeper, touching on an inner mourning. Did they go over this in your church? I’m not sure how it’s explained in Catholic teachings.”

“Exactly,” Cassie replied. “The concept is that when everything’s going smoothly, people don’t really think about God. But when they’re facing tough times, that’s when they turn to prayers. And, naturally, in prayer, you seek God’s assistance, and…”

“And, before you ask it is answered?” Jake asked.

“Yeah, but for me, I’ve prayed, and it feels like God hasn’t responded. Lizzy is still nowhere to be found, and I’m left with no family around for me to hug.”

“Do you ever think maybe your prayers have been answered in a different way? It’s kind of like that Garth Brooks song, ‘Unanswered Prayers.’ You familiar with it?”

“Sure. It’s about a man who, with his wife by his side, meets an old high school flame. She turns out to be ‘not quite the angel that I remembered,’ or something along those lines.”

“No, you’ve got it. But it’s the refrain that drives the message, ‘Sometimes I thank God for unanswered prayers. Remember, when you’re talking to the Man Upstairs, that just because he doesn’t answer doesn’t mean he don’t care. Some of God’s greatest gifts are unanswered prayers.’ Did I get it right?” Jake inquired.

“Sounds right,” Cassie replied. “But what exactly are you getting at? I’m a bit puzzled.”

“Just wondering, mind you. Just thinking aloud, keep in mind. What if there’s a reason you haven’t found her yet? Your quest brought you here, didn’t it? What if your inability to find her is meant to keep you here? So, what does this place have that Maryland doesn’t? What’s the first thing that comes to mind?”

“That’s easy. You,” she said.

“Cute. But … something else. Something that’s altered your entire outlook on life.”

“You mean Mile Hi church?”

“And they’re message. Do you realize that each Sunday, you come back here and talk my ear off?” he teased. “You have never said a contrary word about any message you have heard from your beloved Dr. Roger. And don’t you and Rexanne spend hours having spirituality discussions?”

“I guess I do. And I guess we have.”

A few days later, Rexanne and Cassie drove to Idaho Springs for lunch at Beau Jo’s Pizza. Cassie did her best to convey Jake’s idea about unanswered prayers. “What do you think, Rex?”

“Well, I adore Garth,” she said with a wink. “Unanswered questions, and all … but seriously, this situation kind of brings to mind a question Leslie once asked her Uncle Jake a while back.”

“What question?”

“She was curious about whether God controls us or if we control ourselves,” Rexanne clarified.

“That’s quite a profound question. How old is your daughter?” Cassie inquired.

“She’s twelve now. She would have been eleven back then. Anyhow, her question sparked another one from me which I, too, posed to Jake.”

“Which was?”

“Often, over the years, the phrase ‘it was meant to be’ has frustrated me. Yet, major religions emphasize free will. So, what’s the deal? Do we shape our destiny, or is it predetermined before we even come into the world?”

“Interesting question. What was Jake’s response?”

“Classic Jake. Said he was the wrong person to ask,” Rexanne replied with a chuckle.

“Sounds like him,” Cassie remarked, joining in the laughter.

“Anyway, he recommended I consult Dr. Roger. So, I did. And you won’t believe how he responded.”

 “I’m fixated, Rex,” Cassie said. “I’m literally on the edge of my seat,” she added.

“He suggested this book, Journey of Souls. To truly grasp its impact, you’d have to read it. But, Cass, let me tell you, that book has influenced my life and perspective more profoundly than almost anything or anyone else. Ever!”

“Wow, that’s a powerful endorsement. What’s the book about?”

“It’s authored by a hypnotherapist named Dr. Michael Newton. He developed a technique to guide patients, while under hypnosis, back to prior lives – before their current life. So, if you’re not into the idea of reincarnation, this book might not be your cup of tea.” Cassie paused, waiting for a response.

“I don’t really have a stance on that, either way,” Cassie replied.

“Moving on, after meticulously studying the transcripts of thousands of hypnotic sessions, Newton managed to outline the path a soul follows from leaving a dying body, through different stages in the spirit world, to entering the next host body.”

“I get it. It does sound a bit weird. Like, spooky weird,” Cassie commented. “But how does this book address your question about free will? And more importantly, why are you sharing this with me?”

“You’ll understand, Cass. Just hang on. Regarding my question about free will, the book did provide an answer. It appears that as a soul, we have the choice in selecting the life we’ll be born into. Moreover, we get to pick soulmates from our soul cluster – sort of like a soul family – to play various roles in our lives once we’re born. Are you following me so far?” Rexanne checked.

“Yeah, I believe so. Keep going,” Cassie replied.

“So, since souls experience something called soul amnesia when they’re born, there needs to be a way to ensure that soulmates can find each other on Earth. And here’s the twist! The soul has the opportunity to place signposts that both of them will subconsciously recognize once they’re living their human lives. Are you still following?”

“Hanging on, barely … by a thread. Can you give me an example?” Cassie inquired.

“Absolutely,” Rexanne responded. She then shared a tale from the book about a young boy delivering newspapers. “Picture this …” she begins, in a dramatic tone.

“He’s waiting at a crosswalk for the light to change when, suddenly, a bright flash of light catches his attention. He glances over and sees a woman, struggling to cross the busy street with grocery bags in both hands. 

The boy drops his bike and rushes over to help her. Once they safely reach the other side, she thanks him and notices his long fingers. She asks if he plays the piano. He tells her he doesn’t, and in fact, doesn’t even own one. 

She smiles and explains that she’s a piano teacher, offering to teach him if his mother agrees. 

“Really? Does he take the lessons?” Cassie asked, curious. 

“Oh, he does,” Rexanne continued. “But here’s the twist. This woman has a daughter the same age as him, and before long, they fall in love and eventually get married.” She paused, waiting for Cassie’s reaction. 

“So, do you see? The whole love story started because of that flash of light. It turns out, the light was just sunlight reflecting off the pendant around the woman’s neck.” 

“Wait,” Cassie said, trying to piece it together. “So, you are saying that flash of light was like the ‘sign’ … and that both the boy and the woman – or their souls – had arranged that moment before they were even born?”

“Yes, that’s precisely what I’m saying because that’s precisely what the book conveys. Hence, when we mention ‘it was meant to be,’ we’re not contradicting the concept of free will.”

“Because,” Cassie interjected, “it is we, not God, who meant it to be. Free will survives. Fascinating!” Cassie took a moment to absorb all of this. “But hold on, how does this connect to my dilemma?”

“Now,” Rexanne began, “this might give you chills, but didn’t you mention having a strange dream back in Maryland at the lighthouse? You saw elk in a field, heard truck airbrakes, and smelled rubber? And didn’t you say that was…”

“..the exact scene I experienced when my car broke down in front of Jake’s place. Oh my gosh! Did I set up those signs,” Cassie said as tears squeezed from her eyes.

“The more important question is, did Jake’s soul play a part in placing those signs? Didn’t Jake mention that he heard airbrakes, which made him glance toward the highway?”

“Hey Cass, do you have time for a spontaneous drive in the countryside?” Rexanne inquired unexpectedly.

“I’ve got plenty of time, Cass. Where are we headed?”

“Ever been to Central City,” Rexanne started as they strolled toward their car.

“Never even heard of it,” Cassie quipped.

“Well, since you’re new to Colorado, let me give you a quick history of this area. Here we are in Idaho Springs, and that’s Interstate 70, the primary east-west route across the Rockies.”

“Oh, yes,” Cassie replied, “that was my route west to California.”

“See that tall mountain up there?” Rexanne gestured towards it. “At the top is Central City, just eight miles north of here. But the important detail is not the is not the distance,” she explained as they both settled into the vehicle and fastened their seatbelts. “It’s the elevation! It’s a 1,100-foot ascent, straight up a narrow, gravelly road that zigzags between towering rock walls and steep drop-offs.”

“I’m starting to get scared,” Cassie admitted as they exited the parking lot and drove east through the charming streets of Idaho Springs, where the speed limit was 25 miles per hour.

“Well, you’re in good company. There’s actually another route to Central City from the east, starting from Golden, to be exact. Golden is about 36 miles away from Central City, so the incline is far more gradual.”

“Legend has it that during the Colorado Gold Rush in 1859, President Grant rode a stagecoach from Golden to Central City for a speech. He didn’t stay long, as he had another speech in Denver that night.

What’s surprising is that in 1859, Central City, with 15,000 people, was the biggest city in Colorado, even bigger than Denver. That’s why Grant stopped there first, with Denver as a backup if there was time.”

“Interesting,” Cassie mumbled, watching the road ahead through the dusty windshield.

“And time’s the key,” Rexanne added as Cassie made a sharp left onto a narrow gravel road. “Historians say Grant’s entourage was running late, so they suggested taking Virginia Canyon Road to Idaho Springs and then to Denver.”

“We’re on Virginia Canyon Road now! Just saw the sign. This is so cool, Rex!”

“It may not seem dangerous now, but we’re still in Idaho Springs. Give it half a mile,” Rexanne warned. Sure enough, the road turned steep and started to narrow.

“Mountain City, now Central City, was thriving during the gold rush. It was so rich that people pushing for it to be the state capital, locating centrally in the state.”

They had traveled about two miles and the road became rougher, with gravel and steep drop-offs. “Now, imagine riding a stagecoach on this!”

“That sounds terrifying,” Cassie said.

“The story goes that President Grant was so scared he gripped the stagecoach, shouting, ‘Oh my God!’ the whole way,” Rexanne continued. Cassie couldn’t keep from staring at the mere inches that separated their car’s tires from the steep drop-off into a distant ravine.

“And that’s how this road got its name, Oh My God Ro—” Rexanne stopped mid-sentence as a mountain goat suddenly appeared in the road, staring at them before running off.

The journey along the eight-mile road took Rexanne and Cassie past the crumbling entrances to numerous abandoned mines. Thirty-five minutes after leaving Idaho Springs, they once again hit asphalt on the outskirts of the touristy town of Central City, Colorado.

“I’ve brought you here for a reason, tied to dreams and signposts,” Rexanne commented.

“Alright, I’m all ears,” Cassie replied.

At this point, they were navigating through the center of town, cruising along Eureka Street at a leisurely pace. “These two blocks of brick buildings symbolize the rebirth of Mountain City,” Rexanne elucidated.

“Rebirth?” Cassie inquired.

“Yes. You see, in 1874, a significant fire destroyed most of the wooden structures in the city. It started when a drunken miner stumbled out of a tavern at the bottom of the hill, right around this area,” Rexanne gestured to the lowest point on Main Street, “and flicked his cigarette.

“By morning, 150 buildings had turned into smoldering ash. The Teller House, here,” she pointed out, “and Washington Hall, here,” she indicated again, “managed to survive. However, a quarter of the town’s population perished that night. Most are laid to rest up on Cemetery Hill.”

“That’s awful,” Cassie said, her face reddening with sorrow. Cassie was so engrossed in the narrative that she was unaware Rexanne had steered the car out of town and onto Upper Apex Road.

“Now, just about a mile north of here is Central City Cemetery. But I have another story to share with you.” Rexanne glanced at Cassie, gauging her reaction. “I know you’re a Beatles fan. My son Brian and his dad, Harry, knew every Beatles song by heart.”

“My favorite was Paul,” Cassie admitted.

“Well, that’s fantastic, because Paul was in this very place,” Rexanne revealed.

“Here? Where? Uh, why?”

“Well, in April 1967, Paul brought his fiancée, Jane Asher, on a trip to America for her 21st birthday.”

“Must be nice,” Cassie muttered.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Rexanne replied. “Anyway, Paul had always been fascinated by stories of America’s wild west. Remember Rocky Racoon,” she asked, interrupting herself. “So, when his roadie, Mal Evans, proposed a road trip up to Central City, Paul was the first one in their rental car.”

“As they cruised through town, Paul spotted a place called Paul’s Café and couldn’t resist popping in. While enjoying a relaxed dinner, they caught wind of stories about the 1874 fire and the people laid to rest up on Cemetery Hill. ‘We gotta go see that,’ Paul exclaimed on a whim.

“Mal got directions and soon enough they were driving up this exact road.” By this point, Rexanne was steering the car onto the side of the dirt road that ran along the front of the cemetery. “Let’s go,” she said, unlocking the passenger door electronically so Cassie could exit.

The gravel made a crunching sound as they strolled somberly beneath the arched entrance that read, ‘Central City Cemetery.’ Cassie observed Rexanne scanning the surroundings, as if searching for something specific.

Turning around and spotting what she sought, Rexanne exclaimed, “Ah, yes. This is it. This is perfect. Here,” she motioned to Cassie, “sit here with me.” Cassie followed suit as Rexanne settled on the ground, leaning her back against a weathered tombstone.

“Look,” Cassie commented, her body twisted around, and her hand rubbing a headstone. “I can’t make out the name, but the date seems to be ‘May 21, 1874.’ Is that when the fire happened?”

“Uh-huh,” Rexanne confirmed. Then, extending her right arm to point, “See that mine over there? It’s called the Boodle Mine. Quite famous back then. Well, as the tale goes, Paul heard stories about the Boodle Mine and wanted to see it for himself.”

“Did he?”

“According to Mal Evans’ memoirs, Jane stayed back in Denver while the two of them came back to Central City the next day, and went straight to this cemetery. They sat right here, leaning against tombstones. He described them looking directly across the road, where they saw Boodle Mine in the distance.”

“Just like we’re doing,” Cassie said, smiling.

“Just like we’re doing,” Rexanne repeated. “But there’s more to the story. The guys sat here for a spell, the sun warming their faces. The wind rustling through that stand of trees over there. Before you knew it, they had dozed off.”

“Really!” Cassie turned to Rexanne. “So, I suppose, to keep it authentic, you want us to take a nap?” she teased.

“That’s up to you. I’ve got plenty of time. But to finish the story, when Paul woke up, he shared with his friend that he had an idea for how to bounce back from the recent loss of Brian Epstein. He said it came to him in a dream.”

“He was their business manager,” Cassie noted. As she heard herself say, “Died by suicide,” a wave of terror surged through her veins. “Wait! Is that why you brought me here?”

“No, no. Goodness, no! Not because of that random detail. I promise. But it is relevant to this story that Paul was grappling with figuring out what the group should do next, and how they should move forward. And yes, that part of the coincidence did cross my mind, as you grapple with what to do next.” Rexanne gently lifted Cassie’s wrist. “I hope I didn’t upset you.”

Cassie brushed away her tears. “No, it’s fine. I get it. And I appreciate you making this journey.”

Rexanne asked, “Aren’t you going to ask if Paul had any profound realizations here?”

Cassie responded, “Well, did he?”

“Oh yeah, he did. It happened on this hill, in this graveyard, gazing at that mine. Here’s where he had a dream about a magical mystery tour.”

“No way,” was Cassie’s astonished response.

“So, whether you doze off here and dream, or you head home and dream… maybe, in some way, possibly through a dream, you’ll receive your next signpost.”

Cassie added, “A signpost I set for myself.” She leaned back, closed her eyes, and listened to a mourning dove cooing in the distance. As she started to drift off to sleep, in a nearly whispered voice, she said, “Perchance to dream.”