Nameless

by Marni MacRae

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, child, shall I have Ezra come and carry you to the gardens?” Ms. T is waiting patiently, giggling slightly as I try to keep up, lifting my leg slowly and arching it ahead of me before bringing it down just as slowly.

  “Nope, I got this.” I laugh along with her, and we slowly make our way to the gardens.

  We skirt the edge of the rose gardens which must be at least two acres of green rows of lawn, spaced with rows of dark soil boasting dozens of varieties of roses. Of course, they have yet to even show green on their stems but I can only imagine the grandeur of the view once those bushes bloom.

  At the far end of the roses, I can see the expanse of the greenhouse, and beyond that, pastures hemmed with long white fences as far as the eye can see. I remember Nick mentioning the stables and remind myself to ask about them when we are finished viewing the garden. I wonder how many horses Ms. T has, and for that matter, how many people does she employ?

  Certainly she has a gardener to tend to her grounds, and then, of course, someone to tend the horses as well. I’ve met her cook, Cora, Intsy’s mother. She is as dark skinned as her daughter but much friendlier. Intsy is nice enough, but she has a reserved nature I have to push at to get her to talk to me. And then there’s me, the girl in the carriage house who is in charge of the vegetables. I smile at the thought of me surrounded by carrots and tomatoes, heads of lettuce and cabbage. It’s a job I am happy to have, and I’m excited to finally get a look at where I will be spending my days.

  “Here are the gates,” Elizabeth announces as we approach a high stone wall.

  “The garden is in there?”

  “Yes, my grandmother had it walled in after she lost some crops to scavaging deer. The deer still come up to poke around, but in her day, there were entire herds that would ravage a garden in a single night. Thieves they are.” Elizabeth nods sharply and gives me a knowing look. “Never turn your back on their pretty faces, they’ll eat your flowers in the blink of an eye.”

  I smile and gaze up at the impressive stone wall and wonder what it must have been like to slave away at a garden only to find wild animals had taken your harvest and months of hard work was lost. I would have built a wall too.

  Elizabeth lifts a latch on the gate, and I follow her into my workplace.

  “This is truly impressive, Ms. T.” I stand surveying the rows of raised boxes, the tilled earth along the far wall that will be perfect for corn, and to my right, a garden shed with clay pots of all sizes stacked neatly by the door. My work is cut out for me. Planting and tending a garden this size will be quite an undertaking, no doubt about it. But I welcome the opportunity and even standing here in the rain, I wish I could begin. Dig my fingers into the soil. Plant seeds and watch them grow into food, sustenance.

  I have a suspicion I have gardened before. This feels like a natural thing to me, for already I am eyeing the best spots to put the lettuce, where I can place the beans, and glancing around for stringers for the vines to climb.

  “Monday, you can take inventory and make a list of anything you need. I have an account at the local hardware and garden store on First Street, so feel free to purchase what you need there.”

  “Thank you for bringing me out here.” I realize I have kept her in the rain too long. Elizabeth is feisty to be sure, but she is also old and prone to pick up something she may have a tough time fighting at her age. I gesture toward the gate, “Let’s go finish that pot of coffee and chat about plans.”

  With a curt nod, Ms. T turns, and we retrace our steps back to the main house.

  “Elizabeth?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  She slows to match my boot-clomping stride, and I glance up at her from under my dripping brim.

  “What are you doing tomorrow?”

  “I have no appointments planned. Saturdays are usually spent tending correspondence. I may visit the greenhouse for a bit. Why do you ask dear?”

  “Well, I was invited to go to a May Day barbeque that Nick’s sister-in-law is throwing. I would really like it if you would come.”

  She is silent for a while as we step through puddles in the brick walk approaching the house.

  “I’m not entirely sure I would be welcome, Eve.”

  Ms. T’s voice has changed, and I look up to see…sadness. And frank acceptance.

  “Why would you think that? I’m sure Anabel would be happy to meet you, and Lee said I could bring a guest. I think you would enjoy yourself.”

  “Brighton Valley has been my home for eighty-two years.” Elizabeth looks down at me briefly and reaches to open the door to the kitchen. “Yes, I am eighty-two. Do not repeat that information.”

  “Of course not.”

  “For as long as I have lived here, I have never been invited to a barbeque.” Her lips twist wryly, and then she pulls the hat from her head, hanging it on a hook.

  “Have you invited Brighton Valley’s residents to your home?”

  “Of course not, dear, don’t be silly.”

  We both strip off our coats, and I kick my boots into the pile along the wall. I sit down on a low stool against the wall and slip on my canvas shoes. As I tie the laces, I shake my head and say what is on my mind.

  “I don’t think it’s silly. I think people think of you what you let them see. You are a generous woman, I have heard that, but also distant and that you think you're better than them.”

  I shrug my shoulders at the shocked look on Elizabeth’s face.

  “I know better, Elizabeth, because you let me see that you are also kind and funny and a real person with a heart who appreciates friendship.”

  “Humph.” I hear her boots smack against the wall as she kicks them off. “Well, you seem to have some opinions formed, little Eve.”

  “Don’t we all? How can we not form opinions with the information given us? Come to the barbeque. You're eighty-two, you own the town, what do you have to lose?” I waggle my eyebrows at her and whisper, “Maxwell might be there. You can pester him. I think he likes you.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, you do say the strangest things.”

  Elizabeth turns away in a huff, marching toward the dining room, but not before I catch a blush creep into her cheeks. Hmmm, maybe I’m on to something.

  I traipse after Ms. T and plop down into the chair I had vacated only a short time ago. The platters of food are gone, but I’m happy to see the carafe of coffee remains along with a bowl of cream and some sugar cubes in a dish. I say nothing as I drop two cubes into my cup of steaming liquid and add a dollop of cream. As I stir the coffee with a dainty spoon, I turn an innocent smile to Elizabeth who is looking into her coffee with a glazed expression.

  “So, are you coming, or do I need to give you more reasons. I can pester you for hours you know.”

  “No, you can’t. You have an appointment.”

  “Oh, yes, that. Well, when I return. I can definitely pester you then.”

  Elizabeth chuckles softly and shakes her head. Her gray ponytail swishing. “Eve, dear, you win. I will go to this barbeque and do my best to get along with the townsfolk.”

  “Um, as a show of good faith, maybe you could not refer to them as 'townsfolk'.”

  “Humph. Ezra!”

  Elizabeth raises her voice just enough to reach the next room where Ezra must have been waiting for he steps into the room silently and stands beside Ms. T’s chair awaiting her command. I roll my eyes and laugh quietly. Elizabeth was bred to rule. She really is a queen.

  “Take Miss Eve to her appointment. She is finished pestering me.” Elizabeth looks me in the eye as she says it, but I catch a gleam of humor there and her eyes are soft.

  “For now.” I lean over and kiss her cheek and push my chair back. “Thanks for breakfast, Elizabeth, and for showing me the garden. Tomorrow at four, OK?”

  “Yes, yes.” She gives me her trademark shooing motion with her hand, and I hook my arm into Ezra’s before he can leave the room.

  “Hey, Ezra. Do yo
u want to go to a barbeque?”

  * * *

  Sitting in the waiting room at Dr. Leesing’s, I am nervous. It feels homey and comfortable, not at all like what I thought a therapist’s office would be like. The sterility of the hospital had been looming in my head, and I had pictured machines and more tests. But this feels nice. Warm and inviting. But I’m still nervous.

  What am I supposed to say? What does this doctor expect from me? Intsy had said therapists are emotional doctors, they want you to talk a lot and hear you tell them about your life. I have three days’ worth of life to share. Maybe it will make the appointment end sooner. It’s a nice thought, but somehow, I doubt it.

  To distract myself I think about the ride over with Ezra. I had begged him to consider joining us, assuring him he would enjoy it, but he wouldn’t budge. He didn’t say much at all really except “No, thank you, Miss Eve.” For some reason, I feel compelled to get him to open up, to smile at least once. I have yet to see any expression on his face, which makes me wonder what he’s like when he is alone. Does he smile, laugh, dance in his kitchen? Picturing that makes me chuckle, but then I swallow the sound when the receptionist steps around her large desk and calls my name.

  “Eve? Right this way. Dr. Leesing will see you now.”

  I’m shown into a room that looks similar to the office at the carriage house. It instantly sets me at ease, as if I am at home, just visiting with Valerie Leesing. No doctor stuff or constant questioning.

  “Eve.” A woman steps from behind a desk against the far wall and approaches me. She’s not much taller than I am, maybe only a few inches, and has a similar build. I note how slim and pretty she is as she approaches. “I’m Valerie. So glad you were able to make it in.”

  She gestures to a sofa near a set of windows, and we both walk over and sit down.

  “Yes. Well, um, thanks for seeing me.” I attempt a smile but give up when my nerves get the better of me.

  “I was happy to. Now, Dr. Eston gave me some basic information regarding your condition. How are things going for you? Are you settling in okay?”

  “Oh, yes.” I clasp my hands in my lap and focus on her hair. It’s easier than looking into her eyes or blatantly not looking at her at all. “I am staying with Elizabeth Thornton. We’ve arranged a trade. I’m to help her with her gardens in exchange for use of her carriage house.”

  “I understand she has award-winning flowers. It’s very kind of her to offer her home, but I am sure the work will be more than fair compensation. She has quite a large estate.”

  “Oh, yes, I toured part of the gardens this morning. I hadn’t realized they were so expansive. I’m looking forward to starting the planting on Monday.”

  Valerie relaxes against the couch and smiles. She really is a very pretty woman. With green eyes and a wild pile of light brown hair that curls naturally, it is hard to look at her and not feel comfortable.

  “I’m happy to hear you’ve set some goals and have a bit of focus moving forward.”

  I nod my head, not sure how to respond to that.

  “Would you like some coffee, water, tea?”

  “No, thank you.” I sit perched on the edge of the couch, unsure of what I should do with my hands so I keep them in my lap to keep them from fiddling nervously.

  “You must have a few questions for me.” Valerie smiles warmly, and I feel myself relaxing a bit. “Feel free to ask anything that comes to mind.”

  “Oh, OK.” I hadn’t realized it would be a give and take. Valerie seems like just another person. Not intimidating or clinical at all. “Well, I guess I would like to know if you can help me get my memory back.”

  I glance at her from the corner of my eye to gauge her reaction to such a large request.

  “Well, Eve, together we can work on unlocking what may be blocking you from your memories. When it comes to self-preservation and the inner workings of the subconscious mind, things can be tricky. Almost a mystery. It’s much like untangling a knot. You can’t pull on it, or the knot will only get tighter. You must loosen it slowly, one loop at a time and work the rope out of its binding. When it comes to the emotional state or psychological state that got you into this knot—to keep to the example—we need to try to work at it as it allows us to unravel it.”

  “How do we do that? “

  Valerie smiles gently and tilts her head to the side. “Let’s talk about how you feel right now. Give me an idea of your opinion of your amnesia.”

  “I feel confused. My feelings about it change. Often, actually.”

  “Really?” Can you walk me through those changes? Help me understand how you feel as you are dealing with your confusion.”

  I take in a breath and blow it out slowly, sorting through my confusion to the beginning. “When I woke up in the field, all I wanted was to know who I was. To fix me. I felt lost and scared and worried I was crazy. I didn’t know why I couldn’t remember anything. Then, later, after Dr. Eston explained I hadn’t been hurt, that my memory loss was most likely a choice I had made, I began to understand the feeling of fear I had when I tried to remember my past. I ran from somewhere and wanted to forget.”

  Valerie nods as I talk, and it feels good to sort through the steps aloud, so I go on.

  “Well, Nick—”

  “Nick Donovan? He found you on the road, yes?”

  “Right. Yes. He and…” I don’t know how to say how I feel about Nick, how it had started from that first day, the first time he touched me really. “We are friends.”

  I glance up from my hands in my lap to see if Valerie is judging me for that. Her expression is calm and interested, and I let out a breath of pent-up nerves.

  “I like him,” I admit softly. “And I began thinking, I have a new name and new people in my life who are so caring and kind and funny, like Laurel.”

  I smile, remembering Laurel dancing around the kitchen last night.

  “And I chose to forget, didn’t I, so why should I try to get something back I clearly went to great lengths to get rid of?”

  I take a breath and turn to look at Valerie. I catch her eyes, and they look into mine with warmth and concern.

  “But it was me. It was me I got rid of. And being Eve felt like I was being a coward and that I gave up on the real me. After Nick kissed me…”

  Valerie smiles softly at the admission

  “Well, I began thinking that I would never really be Eve. I needed to find out the truth. Drag me back from wherever I’m hiding.” I tap my head in frustration and sit back against the cushions of the couch. “I can’t be with Nick, not really, if I’m not me. So I went back.”

  “Back where?”

  “To the field.” My voice can barely form the words, and I sit up straight, turning my body to face Valerie directly. “I went back to where I woke up. Nick went with me. I remembered…something. A door closing and locking. Me trying to get out. I remember a voice telling me…to be grateful.”

  The word feels like poison in my mouth, and I swallow, trying to rid myself of the taste.

  “I remember misery and fear. I had thought maybe I had left someone behind, a husband, a child. But I can feel that I didn’t. The police check missing persons every day, and no one is looking for me. I left something that was enough to make me wipe away all that I know of me, and no one wants me back. So now, once I left the field again, I decided that being Eve, even if it’s not real, is better than going back to who I was. Here I have Ms. T and Laurel. And Nick.”

  I swallow and take a deep breath, amazed I hadn’t cried or screamed or fainted. I feel better than I thought I could. Saying it aloud feels validating, like I can own my decisions and not be ashamed of them.

  I look at Valerie who has remained quiet and calm through my retelling of the last few crazy days, a story that I’ve condensed into five minutes.

  “Well done.” Valerie reaches over and lays her hands over mine. Her eyes are full of concern and a sweetness that makes me want to hug her.

 
“You have clearly been through an experience that is quite uncommon, and you have handled it with grace and self-honesty. You should feel proud of yourself, Eve. You have character that is admirable. Many people in your situation would not have done half as well.”

  “Well, Ms. Thornton and Nick helped—”

  “No,” Valerie interrupts me. “I don’t mean where you live, or even your gardening job, not your friendships you have formed, but how you are. As a person. You care. You are trying to make good decisions. To do what’s right, even amid your own pain and struggles. So, well done.”

  She squeezes my hands, then lets go and rises to her feet.

  “I think I’ll have a cup of tea. Would you like one?”

  “Yes. Tea sounds nice, thank you.”

  “Given your explanation of what you are struggling with internally”—Valerie drops two tea bags into mugs and pours steaming water over them from a pot sitting on a low shelf— “I believe you should relax and stop pressuring yourself into answers. Allow Eve to thrive while you work things out internally. However, who you are is who you are. Sugar?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  She drops two cubes into both cups and hands one to me as she reclaims her seat on the couch.

  “Your name is a word. Don’t get caught up in that being your identity. You may have forgotten your history, but your instincts are intact. Your character, your muscle memories. They are all there.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Let’s assume your true name is Mary.”

  I nod my head. I like the name Mary.

  “And before Mary leaves and ends up in that field, she is active, she is kind, she likes to fish and sing.”

  I smile, I like Mary. She sounds fun.

  “Now, Mary loses her memories, she can’t remember the biggest fish she ever caught, but she can still cast a line. She still likes to fish, even though her name is Eve.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “Mary can’t remember the last song she sang, but she can still remember the words to all her favorites.”