Stella Maris (The Legendary Rosaries) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Author Note & Acknowledgements

  Additional Notes Relating to the Story

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  STELLA MARIS

  By Marita A. Hansen

  Copyright

  STELLA MARIS

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright 2017 © Marita A. Hansen

  Editor: John Hudspith

  Cover Art by We Got You Covered Book Design

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means whatsoever without the written permission of the author, nor circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. For subsidiary rights inquiries email: [email protected]

  All characters, names, places, and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, or real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  CONTENTS

  Author Note & Acknowledgements

  Additional Notes Relating to the Story

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Epilogue

  Soundtrack

  About the Author

  More Books by the Author

  AUTHOR NOTE

  When I was a young child, I went to a school that I absolutely loved and adored, one that left such fond memories that it inspired not only this novel, but my writing career. STELLA MARIS, originally called Star of the Sea, was the first book I wrote. But since I was new to writing fiction back then, my manuscript wasn’t up to publishing standards. However, the concept of the story was something that I wished I hadn’t pushed aside. Due to this, I regretted not publishing it. So when 2017 came around, I decided that my New Year’s resolution was to finally bring that dream to fruition. I dug out the original manuscript, and with a lot of rewriting and editing, I have finally got the story to a publishable standard. I hope you enjoy Catherine’s and Christopher’s tale, as well as fall in love with the world of the Merges and their legendary rosaries.

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank my family for putting up with all the time that I spend on trying to make my writing career a success, especially with this book, which has been many years in the making. I would also like to thank a number of people on a site called YouWriteOn.com, where I learned a lot about writing, a place that saw multiple variations of this story’s first few chapters.

  Also, I want to thank my editor John Hudspith. He’s edited many of my books, and is an absolute joy to work with. I always feel that I’m putting my best work forward after he’s been through the manuscript.

  ADDITIONAL NOTES

  relating to the story

  Since this book is mostly set in 1989, there are certain things that I would like to highlight:

  In 1989, Catholic confirmations were done at an older age than they are done now (in New Zealand). I know this because I was confirmed at the same age and in the same year as Catherine.

  Since this story is set before Yugoslavia split up, Catherine will still be called Yugoslav instead of Croatian (her family originates from Korčula, which is an island off the Dalmatian Coast).

  British English is used due to the New Zealand setting.

  However, although New Zealanders write in British English, we also use a mixture of sayings from the UK and the US, as well as our own colloquialisms.

  Chapter 1

  ~ CATHERINE ~

  Sunday the 21st of May, 1989

  I stared at myself in the mirror, wondering what people were going to say. My best friend had convinced me to dye my dark-brown hair peroxide blonde. She thought I needed to get out of my funk, to start living again. I didn’t know how dying my hair blonde would do that, though it did kind of look good. If anything, it even made me look a touch like Debbie Harry. Well, a seventeen-year-old version, because the singer was as old as my mum now.

  The ding dong of the doorbell resonated throughout my large two-storey home, pulling my attention away from the mirror. Knowing it was Nicky, I grabbed my house key and shot out of my room, heading for the staircase. Mum poked her head out of the kitchen doorway, giving me a frown. She looked similar to me, just with short black hair and sky blue eyes. Mine were a strange mix of brown, green, and gold. Mum likened them to mood stones, since they constantly shifted between colours. She said they went brown when I was angry, green when I was sad, and gold when I was happy, the latter not happening much after my twin was found murdered.

  I willed myself not to cry at the thought of my sister. Time hadn’t healed a thing. It had been almost two years since I’d lost Vesna. Two years since a massive part of me was ripped from my life. My twin had been found in a reserve, burnt so badly that they had to use dental records to identify her. Just the thought made it feel like someone was ripping my heart out all over again. But I couldn’t cry, because it would set Mum off. And I hated seeing her cry. So I pretended everything was all right, like I usually did. I’d
been pretending for so long that I had it down to a fine art, my Mona Lisa smile unreadable.

  Mum brushed a few strands of hair off her face. “Remember, your father and I are going to the Hanley’s tonight, so you’ll need your key.”

  “Got it.” I removed my key from my vinyl jacket, which I’d zipped up to hide my form-fitting black and white striped shirt. She would probably make me change if she saw it, though she did give my skinny black jeans a semi-disapproving look. She was old school, the skirt-below-your-knees and cardigan type. A fifties child, who loved Cliff Richard and Gene Pitney. I could just imagine her as a kid, thinking Elvis’ moves were scandalous.

  She sighed her You’re such an annoying teenager sigh, then disappeared around the corner, muttering, “Have fun.”

  Wondering how anyone could have fun at a church group, I headed down the staircase, almost slipping on the plastic runner covering the blue-patterned carpet. Righting myself, I jumped down the last two steps and skidded across the tiled floor in my black suede ankle-boots. I opened the front door, getting a goofy smile from my best friend, who looked like she’d taken fashion tips from Cyndi Lauper. Her red hair was spiked on top of her head, adding a few inches to her height, which she needed, because Nicky was tiny.

  She tugged on the long, colourful beads around her neck, shrieking, “I have the front seat!” She took off, acting like a little kid instead of a high school senior.

  Rolling my eyes, but still smiling, I closed the front door and followed her through the lighted walkway, the second-floor balcony above our heads. On my right, through an archway, was a massive palm tree, its dark fronds painting shadows across the concrete walkway.

  I emerged from the walkway, out onto the driveway. Nicky was already sitting in the front passenger seat of her mum’s maroon-coloured station wagon. She pulled in her flared gypsy-skirt and slammed her door shut, getting a loud telling off from her mum. Smirking, I climbed into the backseat, saying hi to Nicky’s mum, who looked like an obese version of her daughter, both of them redheads.

  Within seconds, Nicky’s mum was driving us towards Saint Dominic’s church at the speed of light, the woman having a lead foot. I’d joked to Nicky that her mum must’ve been a Formula One driver in a past life, because she sure as hell loved speeding.

  Unfortunately, she didn’t slow down for corners either. I gripped onto the seat as she swerved into the church’s driveway, the bottom of the station wagon scraping over a bump in the road. She mumbled under her breath as she parked in front of Saint Dominic’s. It was a smallish church, with a triangular-shaped roof. Its four walls were made up of brick, clear glass, and stained-glass saints, the interior light making them sparkle under the night sky. When I’d been little, I’d imagined the stained-glass saints coming alive after we’d gone to bed, protecting us from the demons of the night.

  I went to climb out of the car, but faltered, seeing one of those demons getting out of a BMW. My ex. Stephen Mackey. I’d thought he’d moved churches, but there he was, loping up the grassy knoll with a man and a guy wearing a hood. The three of them disappeared around the corner of the church.

  Nicky’s mother made a tsking sound. “Such a horrid boy, that Mackey kid. I don’t know why you went out with him, Catherine.”

  “I plead temporary insanity.”

  She chuckled. “At least you’re not with him anymore.”

  I placed the back of my hand against my forehead. “Two weeks of my life I’ll never get back,” I lamented, hamming it up.

  She chuckled louder and nudged Nicky with her elbow. “You two better run along or you’ll be late. I’ll pick you up at eight.”

  Not bothering to say bye to her mum, Nicky climbed out of the car, her mind probably locked on Stephen. She was Mills & Boon in love with my ex, something she’d kept to herself until after I’d broken up with him. I’d told her he was an idiot, but if she really wanted to ask him out, I wouldn’t stand in her way. She was just too chicken to do it.

  Thanking Mrs. Taylor, I followed Nicky up the grassy knoll and around the church, aiming for the small one-storey, nondescript school nestled behind it. The building was bland in comparison to the church, a wallflower hiding behind the belle of the ball.

  We stepped through the main doorway and headed down the narrow passage on our right, entering the classroom at the end. Clumsy, but sweet drawings made by tiny hands adorned the walls, with children’s books filling a row of shelves. In the middle of the room, a group of teenagers and adults were sitting in a circle of chairs, all the tables pushed aside. I frowned, wondering why there were parents there, since Nicky had told me they weren’t meant to come.

  A forty-something woman, who used to be a teacher aide at my old primary school, indicated for us to take the last two chairs. Once Nicky and I were seated, the woman started talking, “Welcome, my name’s Janet Harwood. I’m here to assist you on your journey to God. When you were baptised as babies you didn’t choose to become Catholic. But now that you’re old enough, we want to place the choice firmly in your hands. By the end of this course, you’ll be asked whether you would like to stay in our community or walk away from the light…”

  While Janet droned on and on in her religious fervour, my gaze swept over the class, coming to a stop on my ex. The douche was staring at me, his long blond hair putting Bret Michaels from Poison to shame. Stephen smiled, mouthing something, the stupid mime he was doing with his hands suggesting he liked my new hairstyle.

  Not caring for his opinion, I looked away, coming to a grinding halt on the guy who’d come in the same car as Stephen. He was dressed from head-to-toe in black, with a trench coat over a hoodie. He had his head bowed, the hood hiding his face. I imagined him holding a sickle, a Grim Reaper in Doc Martens. He continued to stare at the floor, not paying any attention to Janet. Or maybe he’d nodded off to sleep, which I couldn’t blame him for, because Janet’s voice was monotonous.

  The forty-something man on his left elbowed him, muttering something under his breath. Grim Reaper boy lifted his head and pushed his hood back, making my eyes bug out.

  He was gorgeous.

  No, he was more than gorgeous. His face was heavenly, every feature perfectly proportioned. Too perfect. It was as though God had decided that he’d failed with all other males and had created a new model, an angel amongst demons. Though, the boy’s getup was anything but heavenly. He had a lip ring in the corner of his mouth, and jet black hair that had to be dyed, the colour too dark for his soft-olive complexion.

  His chocolate-brown eyes moved to me. He raised an eyebrow, amusement pulling at his lips. Embarrassed I’d been caught staring, I went to look away, but stopped as he flicked his tongue out, the motion capturing my full attention. He ran it over his lip ring provocatively, the glint in his eyes more devilish than angelic. A flush of heat hit my cheeks. My mind screamed at me to stop staring, but my eyes refused to obey. It was almost as though he’d cast a spell over me, capturing me with his beauty.

  The forty-something man next to him growled at Angel Face, drawing his attention away, thankfully breaking the spell. I quickly looked over at Janet, who was asking everyone in the class to introduce themselves. The redheaded boy on Nicky’s left raised his hand, saying his name in a voice that hadn’t fully broken. More students followed suit, stating their names and which school they went to.

  While my ex took his turn introducing himself, I leaned my head towards Nicky and whispered into her ear, imitating Stephen’s voice, “Hi, I’m Dumbo. I have an IQ of sixty-four. To get into normal school, my mama had to sleep with the principal.”

  Nicky elbowed me, making me snigger.

  After Stephen had finished, Angel Face started talking, drawing my attention back to him. “Ciao, my name’s Christopher Laboure,” he said, with an Italian accent. “I’m Stephen’s cousin. I’ll be going to Agnaru High from tomorrow.” He winked at me as if he knew I went there, making me wonder whether Stephen had told him about me.

  Nicky giggled
next to me, obviously noticing the wink. I ignored her and forced my gaze to the forty-something man next to Christopher, who had started introducing himself.

  “Hello, my name’s Reprebus Rosario,” he said, his accent more Kiwi than Italian. “I’m Chris’ grandfather.”

  My eyebrows shot up, punching a hole in the ceiling, because he definitely didn’t look old enough to be Christopher’s grandfather. His father, yes, but not a grandparent. He was wrinkle free and Hollywood perfect, the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. The type of man who could command the big screen, because he was certainly commanding all the mothers’ attentions, Janet’s too. I’d noticed her stealing glances at him before, although her full attention was locked onto him right now.

  “Reprebus, you look far too young to be a grandfather of a teenager,” Janet said.

  Other people murmured their agreement, mostly the mothers. Reprebus smiled, looking pleased with the comments. They eventually stopped stroking his ego, returning to the introductions. After a few more people introduced themselves, I took my turn, trying to avoid Christopher’s gaze as I spoke. But it was so hard, because all I could feel was his eyes on me. It almost felt like I was sitting in front of him naked, his dark eyes stripping me bare.

  Once I was finished, along with Nicky, Janet took over the class, describing what was going to happen in each of the six sessions. I forced myself to listen, latching onto her monotonous voice to stop my gaze from veering back to Christopher.

  Janet continued, “Everyone doing the course needs to choose a sponsor to help guide them through their spiritual journey.”

  I frowned, wondering who I should choose, since my mum and dad were always busy, Dad with his metal polishing business and Mum with her exercise groups and art classes. They hadn’t been like that when Vesna was alive. They’d always made time to take us to activities, sporting events, family holidays, but now... I couldn’t remember the last time we went on a family holiday. It almost felt like they didn’t want to be around me, my face a constant reminder of the daughter they’d lost.

  After the session finished, I got up to leave with the rest of the group, making sure I was on the other side of Nicky as Christopher passed us with his grandfather and Stephen. He glanced back at me just before the door, then pulled his hoodie over his head and left the room.