by Karen White
“It’s a surprise for Mr. Beaufain’s birthday on Saturday. They’re celebrating it out on Edisto with Mr. Beaufain’s great-aunt, who’s Hungarian. Eleanor thought she might appreciate a little taste of home.”
I let my words trail away, aware that she wasn’t listening to me anymore. A car door slammed outside and I felt the old familiar constriction around my heart, a feeling that never seemed to diminish regardless of how long we’d been married.
Glen’s mouth was tight and drawn when he walked through the door, but he quickly disguised it with a smile when he spotted me at the table.
He greeted my mother and then turned his attention to me. “Hello, beautiful,” he said as he bent to kiss me, his lips lingering. His hand strayed to my belly. “How are we today?”
“We’re doing fine,” I said. “No nausea, and Dr. Wise says everything seems to be on target.”
“Dr. Wise?” he asked, pulling back a chair to sit down next to me. “I thought your doctor was Dr. Clemmens.”
I focused on threading a needle so I wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. “I changed doctors. I liked Dr. Clemmens, but she’s starting to talk about retirement. And Laura at the fabric store swears by Dr. Wise, who’s delivered her four.”
I heard a sound at the kitchen door and looked up to see my sister standing in the doorway. I wasn’t sure if her strangled expression was from the lie I’d just uttered or if she’d been there to see Glen’s greeting kiss.
“Hello, Glen,” she said. “I’m afraid dinner will be a little late tonight. I’ve been working on a project in the kitchen and it’s taking longer than I anticipated.”
“Do you need some help?” His tone was almost grudging, and I wondered if Eleanor had noticed. But she seemed distracted by the flour stuck to her blouse.
“No, thanks. I think I’ve got it under control now.”
My mother looked up from the crossword. “Are you working at Pete’s tonight? He called earlier.”
Eleanor blanched. “No, I’m not. I’m not planning on working there again now that I have the job on Edisto. What did you tell him?”
“That you’d call him back. And he wanted the name of the gentleman you left with the last time you worked there. He said he’d lost the man’s card but that he had a message for him.”
We all looked back at Eleanor, whose cheeks had reddened, making the splotches of flour stand out even more. “Thank you, Mama. I’ll call him back.”
I felt Glen stiffen beside me, and I wanted to take his hand and keep him from reaching out to Eleanor. But I didn’t. This wasn’t my battle.
“You remember his name?” he asked, his voice hard.
Eleanor lifted her chin. “It was Mr. Beaufain. I’d had too much to drink and he offered to drive me home. He had somebody bring the car back for you the next morning, remember?”
Glen pretended to relax back into his seat, but I could still feel his tenseness. “I’ve only met your boss a couple of times, but he doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would patronize Pete’s.”
Eleanor began to focus intently on cleaning out the flour and butter from beneath her fingernails. “That was the first time I’d seen him there. He said he was there for a meeting.”
“A meeting? In North Charleston?”
She shrugged, but it was clear to me that she’d had the same thought. “I didn’t ask—it wasn’t any of my business.” She turned to our mother. “Mama, I think Wheel of Fortune is coming on in a minute. Why don’t y’all go watch it so I can set the table and get dinner ready?”
I pushed back from the table but remained there while Glen and Mama walked to the couch. Mama still walked like she was in a pageant or in a line of white-gowned debutantes, and I wondered if it was habit or defiance of her family, who’d turned their backs on her when she married Daddy. I’d always wanted to ask her if it had been worth it, but I was too afraid to hear her answer.
I waited until Eleanor returned from washing her hands and retrieving the silverware from the kitchen before I spoke. “You haven’t said anything to Mama and Glen, have you? About the pregnancy being high risk?”
Eleanor paused, each hand filled with silverware. “You told me not to.”
“Thank you.” I looked toward the den, assuring myself that both faces were trained toward the television. “I know this is too early to be thinking about this, but I don’t think I can sleep before I know I’ve said it.”
She looked at me warily. “Said what?”
“If the baby and I survive the pregnancy, but I don’t survive the delivery, would you take care of the baby as if it were your own?”
Eleanor lowered herself, straight backed, into a chair, the silverware clattering onto the table. “Nothing’s going to happen to you. You’re seeing the best doctor. Everything’s under control.”
“I know. But this pregnancy has made me start looking at things differently. We don’t always get second chances, so I want to make sure that I’m doing it right this time. Like with my marriage. And you and me.”
She stared down at her hands. “You and me?”
“Yeah. I’m the older sister, but I’ve never really been allowed to act like it.”
She tilted her head. “Because that’s the way you wanted it to be.”
I shrugged. “Maybe. I’m still trying to figure that out. But one thing I know is that things happen out of our control. And I just want to be prepared. I need to know that you’ll take of the baby.”
“You know you don’t need to ask me that.”
“I need to hear you say it.”
Her eyes remained fixed on mine. “Of course I will. I’m your sister.”
We froze, both of us remembering the last time she’d said those words. I’d just started scaling the large oak tree on Westcott Road and had almost reached the same height Eleanor had in the tree opposite. I was horribly afraid of falling, as afraid as I always was when I was goaded into one of Eleanor’s escapades. I’d been laughing at Glen, who stood in the road looking up at us with a worried expression, before I’d turned to Eleanor. If I get hurt, will you take care of me?
Neither one of us spoke for a long moment, as Pat Sajak’s voice filled the background, the sound of canned laughter floating toward us. “Thank you,” I said, keeping my gaze on my hands as I smoothed down my skirt. “But I won’t give you Glen.”
It was the one thing we never spoke of, the pink elephant that we tiptoed around. Her eyes widened in surprise, looking at me as if I didn’t know my own breathing, or the sound of her footsteps on the front porch late at night. I waved my hand at her as she struggled for words, trying to spare us both.
“He’s never been yours, and whether or not I’m still here, he never will be.” I forced myself to meet her gaze. “I’m not trying to be cruel. But you and Glen are too different; you want different things. Your infatuation has grown simply because it’s the one thing you can’t have—like a child crying for the moon. Once you got him, your disappointment would kill you both.”
She stood suddenly, hitting the table. “I have never . . .”
“I know there has been no infidelity. We wouldn’t be having this conversation if there had been. But that’s not who you are, and it’s not who Glen is. And even if he were free, he wouldn’t make you happy. His dreams are too grounded, like mine. That’s why our marriage has survived. You need to find somebody whose dreams match your own. Somebody who’s not afraid to touch the sun.”
Without a word, she stood, then retreated into the kitchen, where she turned on the sink full force so I wouldn’t hear her cry.
Eleanor
It was still early morning when I reached Luna Point on Saturday. I was eager to get there before Finn and Gigi, and I also wanted to leave home before I had to face Eve again.
I parked in the driveway and then unloaded the cake and presents onto the porch
before I fumbled in my purse for the house key Finn had given me. Teri Weber was in the kitchen replacing the drawer liners. All of the silverware, china, and glassware were laid out on towels on the counter, and Teri stood on a step stool, her head inside one of the cabinets.
“Where should I put the birthday cake?” I asked.
Teri poked her head out of the cabinet. “I made room in the fridge. I hope you don’t mind, but I made a breakfast casserole.”
“That’s great. Thank you. Did you add paprika to it? According to Helena, Hungarians like paprika on everything.”
“No,” Teri said with a wry grin. “But I can always sprinkle some on top of her serving.” She opened the door to the refrigerator and I slid the dobostorta cake onto the top shelf. Then I returned to the porch to bring in the gifts. I’d given up trying to wrap the telescope and had ended up just tying a large red bow on it. Luckily, the book on astronomy had been easier. After I’d hidden both gifts in the piano room, I took the book I’d bought for myself while we were shopping at Blue Bicycle Books on King Street into the sunroom.
I’d just settled into a chair to read when I heard the unmistakable thumping of Helena’s cane on the wall. Knowing that if she’d wanted Teri she would have just called out, I assumed the summons was for me.
With my book in hand, I made my way to Helena’s bedroom. She was propped up on her ruffled pillows, a white lace bed jacket tied with a satin bow at her neck. Teri was in the process of placing a breakfast tray on her lap despite Helena’s protests.
“I am not hungry. Are you trying to make me fat?”
I looked at Helena, seeing that she wore a little blush and lipstick and her eyelashes were darkened with mascara, a pale reminder of the beauty she’d once been. This woman propped up like a doll seemed so different from the gray, frail old lady I’d first met. This new person wasn’t exactly what I would call a beacon of hope and optimism, but she was a much-improved version of the woman who’d planned to die alongside her sister.
“You look very pretty this morning, Miss Szarka.”
She frowned but I could tell she was pleased. “Hrumph. I am just old. Nurse Weber insisted on the makeup since it was Finn’s birthday. I told her it would be like draping tinsel on a dead Christmas tree. But she would not listen to me.”
Teri shook her head as she tucked a napkin under Helena’s chin. “Are you up to feeding yourself this morning?”
Helena’s dark blue eyes met mine. “I want Eleanor to do it.”
Not wanting to give her the satisfaction of protesting, I set my book on the bedside table and took my place on the chair drawn up to the side of the bed. “Do you want butter on your toast?”
“Just a little. It is that low-fat rubbish that Nurse Weber insists on, and I do not want it to ruin the taste of the bread.”
I did as she asked and broke the bread in half, placing it on the tray in front of her. I filled the spoon with oatmeal and held it to her mouth, and she ate it slowly and thoroughly. As I prepared the next spoonful, I said, “It’s amazing how you can find the strength to grab a cane and bang it against the wall, but you can’t hold a small spoon.”
Her eyes flashed but not with irritation. She chewed and swallowed the next bite. “What book are you reading?”
“It’s a book on the history of Hungary. Our conversation the other day piqued my curiosity, and when I was at the bookstore looking for Finn’s birthday present, I picked it up. I’m still in the Magyar period in the first century, so don’t spoil the ending for me.”
She raised her eyebrows as she tried to suppress a smile. “I would not dream of it. I am old but not that old. When you get to the nineteenth century, I might know more.”
I handed her a piece of toast and waited while she ate it. “Gigi had money left over from the envelope you gave her. I’ve given it to Nurse Weber to put away for you. It was quite a bit of money.”
“In Hungary we celebrated name days—an old Catholic tradition—as much as birthdays, but here we only celebrate the birthdays. Since I missed Finn’s name day, I thought I might be allowed to be more extravagant.”
I nodded as I scooped up the rest of the oatmeal onto the spoon. “Do you have a gift for Finn that you’d like me to wrap?”
She leaned back against her pillow. “I was not planning on wrapping it, but if you insist . . .”
I suppressed a sigh. “Tell me where it is and I’ll take care of it before they get here—which should be any minute.”
“It is under my bed. Not the most clever place to hide it, but I did not think that Finn would be hunting for gifts.”
The mental image made me laugh out loud, granting me a startled look from Helena. I knelt beside the bed and pulled out an approximately twelve-inch-square package wrapped in brown paper and masking tape. I sat down in the chair and carefully unstuck some of the tape so I could slide out the framed object inside. I let the paper fall to the floor as I held the black frame in my outstretched arms.
It was an old record album cover, in the colors and style of the early 1940s. “The Szarka Sisters” was written at the top in a large, red bold font. It was like I was looking at a Clairol ad from the last century. One of the women was a redhead, the other two blond, all with shiny hair and porcelain skin. I peered closely at the tallest blond, recognizing the blue eyes and perfect nose. Even the aristocratic lift of the eyebrows had been captured perfectly in this rendering of Helena Szarka and her two sisters. All three women had large, almond-shaped eyes, hinting of perhaps a bit more than a drop of Gypsy blood.
I looked up at Helena.
“I think Finn will love this. Which one is his grandmother?”
“The redhead, Magda. She was the real beauty. And she and Bernadett had all the charm.”
If she’d been wanting me to refute her comments, she was disappointed. Instead, with only a hint of sarcasm, I said, “Then you must have had all the musical talent.”
“Most of it. But not all,” she said matter-of-factly. “We could all sing and play piano. But I was better at it than they were.”
“So you were the reason for the Szarka Sisters’ success.”
“I did not say that. It takes three voices to sing in three-part harmony, after all. But Bernadette had the best voice—like that of an angel. She wrote music, too. Not that she would ever allow us to record one of her songs. She was much too shy for that.
“Magda was the brains of the operation, as they say. She was the one who talked her way into a recording session in London. She was so persistent, I think the poor man just gave in so she would not pester him again.” A soft smile crossed her face. “She had the sort of beauty that would make the earth spin a little slower. On her sixteenth birthday our mother took us to dinner at the New York Palace Café in Budapest.”
“New York Palace? That doesn’t sound very Hungarian.”
“It was very Hungarian, I assure you. It was commissioned by the New York Insurance Company for their offices, but it was designed and built by the best Hungarian craftsman. The café was on the ground floor and open to everyone. You’ve never seen such beauty—everything was marble, bronze, silk, crystal, and velvet. A mix of Italian Renaissance and baroque styles if you can imagine such a thing. I remember being a little afraid of the sixteen devilish fauns that decorated the outside windows, and completely awed by the beautiful paintings and frescoes on the ceilings and walls inside. I have never seen anything like it here in America.”
“It sounds lovely,” I said, easily picturing the three beautiful Szarka sisters in such a setting.
“It was,” Helena said, her voice wistful. “And by the time we left, Magda had three marriage proposals and another gentleman had paid our bill.”
I raised an eyebrow, wondering how much was true.
“It is all fact, I assure you. Men were gentlemen in those days. But it took a gentleman from Charleston
to turn Magda’s head. Finn looks a great deal like his grandfather, so you can imagine how handsome he was.”
I thought of Finn at the office and how I didn’t think I’d ever realized what he looked like beyond the austere suits. And when I’d seen him that night at Pete’s Bar, he’d seemed almost intimidating. But when I pictured him here, on the island, I could definitely see what Magda must have seen in his grandfather.
Eager to change the conversation, I said, “Did you live near the Danube?”
“Not too far—up Castle Hill on Uri Utca. It was an easy ride up the steep slope on the Siklo, which I believe in English is called a funicular railway. We lived on the Buda side. Did you learn that yet? That Budapest is actually two cities, Buda and Pest, that are separated by the Danube?” She didn’t wait for me to answer. Her face was animated as if she were no longer sitting in her bedroom on Edisto Island but in a place that had lived only in her memories for a very long time. “We lived in a small house on a cobblestone street, over a bakery where my mother worked. We could not see the river from our house, but on very warm days, we could smell it. And sometimes, on very still nights, we could hear the boats.”
She closed her eyes and I watched as they moved under the paper-thin lids.
“Bernadett and I shared a room, but Magda, because she was the eldest, had her own tiny room in the attic. She did not care that it was so small, because she did not have to share. But even when Magda married and moved to America, Bernadett and I chose to stay together. It is that way with sisters, is it not?”
I answered without hesitation. “Yes. Eve and I shared a room our whole lives. Even when we had a three-bedroom home, we chose to share.”
“Until her marriage.”
I looked at her sharply. “Yes. Even after her accident, we shared. It was easier to take care of her that way.”
“I am sure.” She studied the framed record cover for a moment. “You being nosy with the record albums made me think of this. Thank you.”