by Karen White
I pulled down the Volvo’s visor to block the morning sun, then flicked on the GPS. I knew how to get to Edisto, the roads and bridges across the marshes and creeks as much a part of me as the blue veins that ran under my skin. But I wanted to see them in color on the GPS screen, as if I needed to make sure that all of this was real and not some crazy and dangerous adventure I’d imagined to create a bump in the flat road of my life. I was supposed to have outgrown that need years ago.
Despite the heat, I rolled down the windows to catch the scent of my island before I even reached her. I left the radio off, not wanting to be distracted. No matter how mundane, I couldn’t have music playing without focusing my attention on it and relegating everything else to the background, and I had no intention of damaging the Volvo with distracted driving. Still, I found myself humming to the beat of the tires on the pavement, my fingers playing an imaginary melody on the steering wheel.
Helena’s white Cadillac stood in the driveway next to a blue Toyota, presumably belonging to the nurse on duty. Finn had called me earlier to say that he was taking Gigi to the beach and would be back sometime in the late afternoon, so I hadn’t expected to see them when I arrived.
Although Finn had told me to walk right in, it felt odd, so I rapped on the front door a couple of times and waited, unwilling to use the doorbell in case Helena was asleep. Eventually the door was opened by a frazzled and tall blond woman who started speaking before she’d even opened the door.
“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting!” she said in a thick Southern accent. “I was in the kitchen up to my elbows in wood stain trying to fix those kitchen chairs. They’ve been bothering me since I first started working here. I’m thinking I need to make cushions and curtains, too, when I’m done, but I suppose I need to ask Mr. Beaufain first. Not that I’d want him to pay me; I just enjoy that sort of thing.” She paused long enough to catch her breath and stick out her hand. “I’m Teri Weber, by the way. You can call me Teri, but Mr. Beaufain and Miss Szarka like to call me Nurse Weber.”
I shook her hand and introduced myself, asking her to call me Eleanor, and smelled the distinctive scent of wood stain wafting from the back of the house. Her fingers felt a little sticky to the touch. “I’m sorry to bother you. I didn’t feel right just walking in.”
“Don’t worry about it—I told Mr. Beaufain that I’d be listening for you just in case, and see, I was right! He said you’d be here to keep Miss Helena company, but she’s sleeping now, so I guess you can do whatever you like. I have the TV on in the kitchen watching my shows, but you’re more than welcome to watch something else. I’d be happy for the company.”
“Thanks,” I said, “but I think I’ll explore the house a little more, become familiar with it while I wait for her to wake up. Will you give me a shout when she does?”
“Absolutely. I put a baby monitor in her room so I’ll know the second she opens her eyes.” She beamed at me, then excused herself to return to the chairs and the wood stain.
I stood in the entranceway, wondering what I should do after I was done exploring if Helena still wasn’t awake. Maybe I could make lunch or mop a floor, but I’d already learned that the housekeeper and nurses took care of all that. My gaze strayed to the room with the piano; then just as quickly I glanced away, focusing instead on the paintings in the dining room and on the staircase wall.
It was almost like looking at them underwater, the light from the chandelier hitting the loose rolls of canvas. I had to move my head from side to side to be able to see an entire painting. I thought of Helena refusing to have them reframed, and how stubborn a person would have to be not to have these fixed. The problem was too rampant and obvious to have been overlooked, and I sighed inwardly, remembering Finn mentioning his great-aunt’s “eccentricities.”
The stairs, with their heavy wooden balustrade, rose in front of me. I recalled the closed bedroom doors upstairs and how Finn had said one was the guest room that I would be free to use if I ever ended up staying the night.
It was almost as if the old Eleanor propelled me up the stairs, moving my legs up each riser. I wasn’t trespassing, I assured myself. I just wanted to see which room I would use.
The door to Finn’s childhood room was open. I paused outside, the sight of a duffel bag on the floor holding me back. I suppose it made sense that he would sleep in his old room when he visited, but the image of the grown man sleeping under the paper stars and planets brought a smile to my lips.
The door at the end of the hall, behind which Finn had said was the room Gigi used, was also open. I peeked inside and noticed the pink suitcase with the ballet slipper motif on the outside, and the clothes strewn around the room. I pictured Gigi racing to put on her bathing suit—probably pink—after her father told her they were going to the beach.
Not wanting to invade her privacy, I stayed on the threshold to examine the room. It was tastefully furnished with a dark wood double bed with a tall headboard, a brightly colored quilt folded neatly at the bottom. A braided rug in the same colors as the quilt covered the wide plank pine floors, and white lace curtains hung at the two corner windows.
I moved on to the guest room, satisfying myself that it was perfectly fine—if a little dated—and had its own bathroom. It was an inviting room, and if I ever needed to stay overnight, I knew I’d be comfortable.
I closed the door and headed back down the hallway, mentally preparing myself to watch The View or whatever weekday TV program Teri Weber was watching, but I found myself pausing in front of the remaining bedroom door. I recalled Finn telling me that it had been Bernadett’s and that Helena didn’t want anybody going inside. I recalled how hard Helena had been trying to get me to leave, and the part of me that couldn’t resist late-night mysteries on TV couldn’t help but wonder if the reason why lay beyond the closed door to her dead sister’s bedroom.
Again I felt the old Eleanor pushing at me, her fingers and palms a physical force, and I found myself reaching for the door handle and turning it. I half expected to find the door locked, but the handle turned easily in my hand. Before I could stop myself, I’d pushed the door open and found myself looking inside Bernadett’s bedroom.
I just stared for a long moment, wondering if perhaps somebody had already come to take away Bernadett’s things, because the room was devoid of anything personal. Even the bed had been stripped of its mattress and bedclothes. But as my gaze skipped around the Spartan room, I noticed a pair of beige bedroom slippers on the rug beside the single twin bed, the hairbrush and comb sitting on top of the small dresser between two windows. An empty glass, the bottom tinged with the white crust of evaporated water, still sat on the nightstand, where it had been placed near the edge.
A small dressing table without a mirror was pushed up against the far wall. On its polished surface sat a small sweetgrass dish, a black onyx rosary coiled inside it like a snake. Behind it was another sweetgrass basket, this one shaped like a short urn and with a lid that had a small acorn-shaped knob at the center. A secret keeper.
I took three steps into the room, feeling a little like Alice at the rabbit hole, trying to pinpoint what was so off-kilter about the room. I spun around slowly, taking in the twin-sized plain metal bed, the simple wooden crucifix hanging over it. And then I realized. Except for the crucifix, there was nothing on the walls.
I moved closer to the wall behind the bed and could see now the telltale rectangular patterns that dotted the walls. But in the dining room and living room the nail holes had been filled so as not to draw attention. Here, the nail holes were ragged and gaping, as if the frames had been removed with brute force. As if they’d been ripped from the walls.
I rubbed the pad of my thumb over one of the spots, noticing as I did so the fresh feel of powdery plaster and paint that flecked off onto the floor and clung to my skin, as if the damage to the walls had been recent.
Wiping my hand on my skirt, I t
urned away from the wall. A tall antique wardrobe sat against the wall across from the bed, a gold key dangling from the keyhole. Without even thinking about what I was doing, I walked across the room and opened the door.
The heavy scent of mothballs hit me first, and I had to step back. After taking a deep breath of fresh air, I moved in to get a closer look. There were exactly four skirts, one dress, and six blouses hanging inside. I stared at them, wondering if this really was Bernadett’s complete wardrobe, or if Finn had been mistaken about nothing having been touched. I looked at the floor of the wardrobe and found a single pair of low-heeled black pumps and a pair of navy blue Keds, a few grains of sand still clinging to the sides of the rubber soles.
Two small, mirrored doors sat closed above the hanging rod, and I reached up and tugged on one of the knobs. As I looked closer, I saw that a small keyhole had been placed in the mirror on one of the doors, but this lock had no key. I tugged on it harder, not really sure what I expected the doors to do. There was something about this room, something that told me before I’d even tried that the lock without a key was meant to stay locked.
“What are you doing in here?”
I stepped back quickly from the armoire, my blood lapping through my veins. Jerking around, I saw Finn standing inside the doorway, his face unreadable but his eyes dark and serious.
As if I’d just returned from a trip down the rabbit hole, I became suddenly aware of the sound of thunder outside and the lashing rain against the windows. I smelled suntan lotion and noticed that Finn wore a T-shirt and swimming trunks, his feet clad in loafers, so at least that part of him was recognizable.
I realized I was staring and that I’d pressed the heel of my hand hard against my chest as if I could slow down the thudding. “I’m sorry,” I said, sounding breathless. “I was waiting for Helena to wake up and thought I’d do some exploring. I didn’t mean to pry.”
He stared at me for a brief second before he spoke, repeating the words he’d said the first time I’d visited the house. “This was Bernadett’s room. We don’t go in here.”
He stood back away from the door, and I hurried past him into the hallway like a schoolgirl caught running in the hall. I didn’t look at him until I’d heard the click of the door latch behind me.
“I’m sorry,” I said again. “I was looking for the guest room to see where I might stay—”
He cut me off. “Aunt Helena’s awake. Gigi’s with her, but it’s a one-way conversation, I’m afraid. I was hoping you could go down now and sit with Helena while Nurse Weber gets her lunch tray ready.” After pausing for a moment, he said, “You’re the only person who’s elicited any kind of reaction since Helena’s come home from the hospital. I think that’s a good sign.”
I remembered my conversation with the old woman from my last visit and wasn’t exactly looking forward to a rematch. But then I thought of Eve and Glen and I found myself squaring my shoulders, knowing there were things much worse than facing an old woman who did not want me to stay.
“Of course,” I said. “That’s what I’m here for.” I walked ahead of him down the stairs, sensing him watching me from behind.
When we reached the foyer, he said, “I enjoyed meeting your family the other day.”
“No, you didn’t.” The words were out before I could call them back.
As if I hadn’t rudely interrupted, he said, “I’ve met Eve before, but I don’t think she remembered.”
“Eve doesn’t forget anything.” I bit my lip, wondering where I’d left my filters. My father had taught me to be kind but to speak my mind. Maybe the salt air was reminding me of the girl my father had known.
He shook his head. “No, she probably blocked it out on purpose.”
I frowned up at him. “What do you mean?”
“It was after church, when we were kids. I was with my aunts, and you and your sister were with your parents. Eve was wearing a ridiculous purple dress with lots of bows and ruffles. It was after I’d heard you play that one night—my aunt Bernadett had pointed you out to me.
“You and your family walked past us outside and I decided I wanted to say hello to you, but just as I turned, Eve stepped in front of me, blocking my way, and introduced herself. I didn’t mean to be rude, but you were walking toward a group of your friends, and I wanted to reach you first.” He shrugged, a boyish gesture that he wouldn’t have made in one of his suits. “So I ignored her and kind of, well, shoved her aside so I could catch up to you. But I was too late. When I turned back to Eve to apologize, she looked so angry that I pretended I didn’t see her and walked right past her to my aunts. I felt badly and planned to find her the next Sunday to apologize, but I didn’t see you at church after that.”
I didn’t remember any of it, of course, except for the dress. Eve had worn it to my father’s memorial service because it was new and her favorite.
“Mama stopped taking us to church after my father died, and then we moved,” I said simply, forcing a smile I didn’t feel. “Let’s go see how your aunt and Gigi are doing.”
I began to walk toward the kitchen, but his hand stopped me.
“Don’t mention that you were in Bernadett’s room. Aunt Helena would be upset if she knew anybody had been in there.”
“Sure,” I said, turning down the corridor. I heard his footsteps on the wood floor behind me as I thought about the locked doors inside the armoire and wondered if more than sentimentality was behind the reason for keeping a dead woman’s bedroom door closed.
Helena
When Genevieve was born, Bernadett and I held hands over her bassinet, marveling at her tiny perfection, at her rose-white skin, and feeling grateful she had not been a boy who would have reminded us of another. Even God could not be that cruel.
We did not like the child’s mother, Harper, or understand the French name she chose for the little girl. But even that could not dampen our joy at this affirmation of life, this nod from Fortune, who had finally deigned to take pity on us. At least that is what Bernadett thought. I had merely held my breath, waiting. When Genevieve got sick, I had felt the finger of God on my neck, waiting to exact due punishment. And when Bernadett died, I knew He still wasn’t done with me.
I closed my eyes, listening to Genevieve’s chatter. She spoke so quickly, like most Americans, so that I understood only half of what she said. But I did not need to hear all of it. Her babble was the same language of little girls all over the world, spoken through telephones and across bedrooms where another twin bed might be. It was comforting in its familiarity, even as it brought to mind the bitter winter mornings in Budapest when Bernadett and I exhaled frosty breaths into the chilly room.
My head hurt, and all I wanted to do was hold Gigi’s sweet hand and sleep. I would be happy if I could die like this, to simply go to sleep in the company of a child. But I did not deserve an easy death.
“Aunt Helena? Eleanor is here,” Finn’s voice announced from the doorway.
Gigi jumped off the edge of the bed. “I call her Ellie. If you ask her nicely, she might let you call her that, too.”
Eleanor flinched slightly when Genevieve said “Ellie,” and I might have missed it if I had not been looking at her, noticing how pale she was, how round her eyes. It was almost, I thought, as if she had just seen a ghost.
“Ellie,” I said, just to see her react again, but she was more prepared this time and just smiled at me. I do not know why I felt the need to press on her bruises. Maybe it was because I resented her presence as an impediment to an end to my life. Or maybe it was because I was an old woman who did not have the time to wait before I dug deep into a person’s heart to see who they really were. But perhaps I was simply trying to make sure she did not have the time to dig too deeply into my own.
“You can call me Ellie, if you like,” she said, as if I had been asking permission.
“No,” I said. “Ellie
is the name for a sweet young girl. I shall call you Eleanor.” I frowned at her. “You came back.”
“Yes. I said I would, and I always do as I say.”
“Do you?” I asked, wondering if I had been too late, if she had already seen the dark place where my heart had once been. “That is not as much a virtue as one would think.”
Finn broke in. “Gigi and I are going upstairs to change out of our swim things. I’ll leave you two to sort out what you’d like to do today.”
He smiled hopefully, as if he were not an investor who knew that a return on investment usually took years and not days. I simply stared back at him.
“We’ll be fine,” Eleanor said, as if she really believed it.
When they had gone, I turned my attention to the girl—although I suppose she was actually a woman. At ninety years old, I saw any younger woman as a mere girl. “Who called you Ellie?”
I must have caught her off guard, because she flinched. “My father.”
Ah. “And he died when you were a girl.”
She paused. “How did you know that?”
I sighed. “I recognize the signs.”
She regarded me with pale blue eyes. “My father died when I was fourteen.”
“How did he die?”
She stood and began fluffing the pillows behind my head. “He drowned in a storm. He had a shrimp boat here on Edisto.”
“And your mother?”
As she reached over me, I faintly caught her scent. I had once had a keen sense of smell, but its loss had been one of the first things that told me that I was getting old. Still, every once in a while, I smelled things, detected scents that were tied to a memory like a string binding the years together. She smelled like soap, and her hair like the salt marsh, and I wondered if she had driven with her windows down. Bernadett had liked to do that, too, and if I closed my eyes I could imagine it was her leaning over me, her hair smelling like salt and sweetgrass.
“She lives in North Charleston with my sister, Eve, and Eve’s husband, Glen. Eve and Glen are expecting their first child at the beginning of next year.”