by Karen White
Nurse Kester tucked a napkin into the neck of my nightgown and then left the room, walking faster than necessary. With as much dignity as I could, I picked up the spoon and took a bite. Glancing at Gigi, I asked, “What is in the bag?”
“Yesterday was my four-year-remission birthday. So Daddy bought me this.” She turned the bag upside down and something that resembled pink stuffed animals with ribbons tumbled onto the bedclothes. “It’s a mobile of the planets! They’re soft and smushy and pink, so Daddy knew it had to be mine, and we both agreed that my room at home had plenty enough pink in it, so we thought that maybe we could hang it in my room here to make it more like home when I come to stay with you.”
I nodded, then took another bite of oatmeal so that I wouldn’t have to respond. I was still busy translating what she had said.
“Ellie brought you a gift, too, although it’s a just-because gift and not a birthday or remission birthday or anything else. . . .”
Eleanor retrieved the basket, stood, and put a soft hand on Gigi’s arm. As she placed the basket on the night table, she said, “We spotted this at the sweetgrass stand on Highway One-seventy-four and thought you might like it to put your glasses and watch in while you sleep.”
“It’s called Dreams of Rivers. That’s what the basket-maker lady told us.” Gigi gently lifted the glasses from my nose and placed them in the basket along with a pen and notepad and a small tube of hand lotion I kept by the bed. I thought she was done when she spotted the business card and stuck it inside, too, where it disappeared into the bottom of the basket. “Perfect!” she said.
“The name of it made me think of you,” Eleanor said quietly.
Our eyes met, and I wanted to ask her how she had known, how she had seen the two rivers that always flowed through my dreams. But I suppose I already knew, had probably known since I had first heard her playing the piano. She reminded me of Bernadett in many ways, but she reminded me of myself even more. Perhaps my constant irritation with her was simply directed at a younger version of myself intent on making the same mistakes.
“Thank you,” I said. “It is lovely. And so useful, too,” I added for Gigi’s benefit. I glanced at Eleanor. “Have you brought books to read to me?”
She smiled tightly as she picked up the three larger books she’d set on the floor. “Actually, I think these were for Bernadett, but I thought I’d show them to you first and you can decide if we want to keep them or not.”
The hair rose on my arms, as if someone had just walked over my grave. “How do you know they were for her?” I asked, concentrating on my oatmeal, unable to see the titles on the spines because Gigi had removed my glasses.
“I found the first book, The Art of Origami, in the sunroom and saw that it was long overdue. I threw it in the back of my car to return it but kept forgetting to ask you, so instead I went to renew it. While I was there, the librarian told me that Bernadett had requested an interlibrary loan and that the books were still waiting for her. So I brought them home, just in case you were interested in them, too. If you don’t want any of these books, I’d be more than happy to take another trip to the library tomorrow and return them and pick up something else.”
She dropped the origami book on the bench, then held up two more books, the front covers facing me, and I had to squint to see the words. “What are their titles?” I asked, almost sick with impatience, as if she held a communication from beyond the grave from my sister. I dropped my spoon in the bowl and pushed it away from me.
“Great Art of the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries and The Dutch Masters.” She wrinkled her nose. “Probably not great reading-out-loud material.”
I stared at the books as time seemed to stop and I was back in our kitchen in Budapest, at the time when we did not have money for heated water. I sat in a cold tin washtub next to the oven as my mother poured icy-cold water over my head. I remembered that now, remembered it because Eleanor’s words cut into my flesh in much the same way.
The girl was watching me closely, as if to measure my reaction. I kept my face calm as I flicked my hand in the air. “Bernadett always had the oddest reading tastes. I suppose I should keep them since you went to all that trouble. I might enjoy looking at the pictures.”
If she was disappointed by my reaction, she did not say anything. Instead, she placed the books on the bench at the foot of the bed. “Just in case you did need reading material, I brought another book for you, too.” She reached down to the floor again and held up a paperback novel, a man with a woman wearing a gown from a previous century wrapped in a passionate embrace on the cover. “I saw that you already had several books by this author, so I thought you might enjoy her latest.”
Her eyes seemed to challenge me to deny that I knew anything about those books, but I would not give her the satisfaction of telling her that I had been embarrassed to let my sister know what I was reading—my good and dutiful sister who volunteered at church and taught Sunday school. But I had once known the girl with the romantic heart and sweet singing voice who loved a pretty pair of shoes as much as she loved a God she thought she knew. I suppose that the masks we choose to wear can sometimes become permanent if we are not careful.
“How kind,” I said coolly. “Unfortunately, the print in those books is usually too small for me to read, so you will have to read it out loud to me. I hope that certain scenes will not cause you too much embarrassment. Especially since you are an unmarried woman.”
“Not at all,” she said, her tone matching mine. “You’ll just have to let me know when you want me to skip over certain parts, seeing as how you’re also an unmarried woman.” She smiled sweetly and placed the novel on top of the art books.
Touché. It took all of my strength not to give in to the temptation to throw my head back and laugh. I did not want her to know that her words had reached their target, and besides, it would have hurt my neck too much.
“I want you to play for me again today. Perhaps after Gigi’s lesson. After supper I would like to go for a drive with the windows down. And then after we put Gigi to bed, we can sit in the sunroom and you can read to me.”
Eleanor slapped her palms against the tops of her legs. “Glad to see you have your day planned. That’s a good sign.”
I looked up at her sharply. “A good sign of what? That I’m not planning on dying today?”
She flushed, then sent a glance over to Gigi, who was busy studying the origami book. “No. Of course not. I meant it’s a good sign that you want to get out and do things. That means you’re moving forward.”
“And you know so much about that.”
She stood very still, her eyes flashing. “You know nothing about me. Please don’t pretend that you do, and just let me do my job.”
“I know a lot more than you would like to think. You and I are not that different. Except I have had more years on this earth to dwell on my mistakes. And you are still young enough to wrongly believe that your mistakes are permanent.”
Her chest rose and fell in an attempt to dispel her anger, or maybe she was simply trying to decide who would get in the last word or if she should just leave. I was not surprised when she chose the former.
“Those art books—did you know that Bernadett went all the way to the Mount Pleasant Library and ordered them to be sent there? And she left instructions that they would be held for her until she came to collect them—that under no circumstances should anybody call this house to let her know they were in, because I’m assuming she didn’t want you to know about them. I can’t imagine why she’d be so secretive. Can you?”
Our eyes remained locked for a long moment. “It is of no consequence, is it? Bernadett is dead. Her wishes need no longer be understood.”
Her expression softened. “Maybe Finn should know. Maybe Bernadett had unfinished business that should be taken care of.”
Her words lacked malice, which ma
de it clear to me that she was more concerned about my dead sister and her legacy than about shining a light into the dark corners of my past.
“Do not concern Finn with such trivial matters. He has plenty to keep him busy.” I indicated sweet Gigi, praying that for once God would forgive me.
Eleanor nodded. “All right. I’ll go tell Nurse Kester that you’re finished with your breakfast, then start with Gigi’s piano lesson.”
“I would like to hear Mendelssohn. I am especially partial to his Songs Without Words.”
Eleanor’s eyes lit with interest. “Are you familiar with the Venetian gondola songs?”
“Not really. I never played them. My mother considered them too foreign.”
“Good. Then those are the ones I’ll play. Maybe that way you’ll be less critical.” Eleanor reached for Gigi’s hand and began walking out of the room.
I waited until they were both out of sight before I allowed myself to smile.
Eleanor
“I am more than capable of driving my own car.” Helena stood by the side of her Cadillac, stamping her cane into the sandy ground.
Nurse Kester had already gone home and Nurse Weber hadn’t yet arrived, so I had no one except Gigi to help me coerce the old woman into the passenger seat of the Volvo. And it was a good thing that Gigi was there, or I might have resorted to foul language or just thrown my hands in the air and stormed into the house. It was startling to realize how much the presence of a child could make adults act more like adults.
“Aunt Helena, you get to sit up front. And the seats have air conditioners or heaters for your bottom in case you’re hot or cold.” Gigi smiled encouragingly up at her great-great-aunt but was rewarded with only a softening of the old lady’s frown.
“I would like to drive. I always have and see no reason why I should stop now. Besides, I have more years of experience than Eleanor.” She looked at me smugly, as if daring me to argue that point.
I refused to take this on a personal level—I didn’t have the energy. So I tried another tactic. “I already called Finn and he said absolutely not. Especially not with Gigi in the car.”
Helena stayed where she was, her hand tightly grasping the top of her cane. “He is not here. And he will not know unless somebody tells him.”
I resisted the impulse to roll my eyes. “I know you didn’t just ask Gigi and me to lie to her father.” I took a step toward her, an idea forming in my head as I recalled her sneaking second helpings of cake and ice cream at Finn’s birthday party, away from the watchful eyes of her nurse. “Let’s compromise. We’ll take the Cadillac, but I’ll drive. And after we drive to wherever you want to go, we’ll stop by Island Video and Ice Cream for a treat. We’ll eat it there so Nurse Weber will have no idea what you’ve been up to.”
A bright gleam formed in her eyes. “I suppose that will work. But next time, I drive.”
I didn’t say anything as I led her around to the passenger side, then helped her in. Gigi climbed into the enormous backseat and buckled her seat belt.
I started the engine, then turned to Helena. “Where to?”
“To see Magda.”
I looked at her closely, wondering if I had heard her correctly. “Your sister Magda?”
“Do you know of another? Of course my sister.”
I continued to stare at her, needing more direction.
She looked at me with exasperation. “I am not suggesting we go ghost hunting, or that I have become unhinged, if that is what you think. I would like to visit her grave.”
I hid my sigh of relief as I put the car in drive. I drove slowly down the long driveway, admiring the way the late-afternoon sun wove through the branches of the pecan trees and shot arcs of light through to Steamboat Creek. “I wasn’t aware she was buried on Edisto.”
“She loved it here, even though she lived in Charleston. That is why she requested to be buried here. Finn’s father had a box of Hungarian soil shipped to us here to be buried with her.”
I paused at the end of the drive onto Steamboat Landing Road. “At the Catholic church?”
“No. She is at the Presbyterian cemetery. Magda converted when she married Finn’s grandfather. I am just glad our mother was not there to witness it. She was very Catholic and wanted at least one of her daughters to be a nun.”
“But you and Bernadett remained Catholic?”
She twisted in her seat to look at me more closely. “Why would you assume we remained Catholic?”
I thought of the crucifix in Bernadett’s room and the rosary found in the basket under her bed and knew I couldn’t tell Helena about either of them. “Gigi mentioned that you and your sister would go to another church on Christmas and Easter, so I just assumed. If you’d like, I’d be happy to take you to Mass on Sunday.”
“Perhaps. Although God and I have not been on good terms for a long time.”
I stared straight ahead through the windshield, unwilling to dig any deeper. I was here as an employee and not as a confidante and friend. Borrowing her darkness would not lighten my own.
I stopped at the intersection with Highway 174 and then turned right. “I remember you and Bernadett at the Presbyterian church with Finn when we were children. We were always late and had to sit in the back because Eve took too long getting dressed, but the three of you were in the front pew without fail.”
Helena actually chuckled, the sound so rare it startled me. “Bernadett made us get there twenty minutes early, regardless of which church we attended. Before the Catholic mission was started here on Edisto, we would have to drive all the way into Charleston to attend Mass. There are so many churches here on Edisto that I would tell her that we could just pick one, but she insisted.” Her voice grew softer. “She was always very strict about doing the right thing.”
We’d reached the Presbyterian church, with its bright white clapboards and steeple, the green shutters making it look like we’d accidentally stepped into New England. But the palmettos and Spanish moss were easy reminders of where we were.
The church was deserted as I parked beside the cemetery and helped Helena out of the car. I knew she wouldn’t ask, so I took her elbow and pretended that she wasn’t leaning on me as heavily as she was. She had her cane, but it seemed to me that she might need a walker. I would not, under any circumstances, be the one to suggest it to her.
She was unusually subdued as she indicated our direction through the old cemetery, through the blackened tombstones and mausoleums, many of the markers leaning toward each other like gossiping old women. I knew the church building was almost two hundred years old, but the congregation and cemetery went back further than that, as evidenced by the familiar names on the ancient tombstones of the founding families of the island: Whaley, McConkey, Pope, Bailey. There were even a good number of Murrays, perhaps more prosperous branches of my own family tree.
“Is Bernadett buried near Magda?” I asked, watching as Gigi trailed her fingers along an old stone on which the writing was no longer visible. I had the brief thought that I should not have brought her here to this place of death, that I was tempting a fate that had already spared her once.
Helena paused for a moment before answering. “No,” she said softly. “I have her with me.”
Confused, I turned to her and then realized what she was telling me. “She was cremated?”
Helena nodded.
“Oh,” I said, surprised. “I didn’t think Catholics—”
“It was my decision in the end,” she said, cutting off my question. “She wanted to return to Hungary. I have hopes that one day she will.”
We’d stopped and I realized that we were in a section with newer graves, where the inscriptions were still legible and time had not yet painted the passage of years on them. I looked down at the marble stone and read the inscription:
IN MEMORY OF
MAGDA
KATHERINA BEAUFAIN
1920–1988
BELOVED WIFE, MOTHER & SISTER
Engraved on the top of the tombstone were three beautiful tulips in different stages of blooming.
“Why the tulip?” I asked.
She gave an irritated shake of her head. “You apparently have not been reading your Hungarian history books. The tulip is the national flower of Hungary. And I am hoping you can at least determine why there are three.”
I didn’t dignify her comment with an answer. Instead, I said, “I do know that in Hungary the tradition is to put the last name first. But not on Magda’s tombstone.”
Helena shook her head. “William—Finn’s grandfather—would not have allowed that. But he agreed about the tulips.” She frowned. “I always bring her flowers when I visit. If tulips are not in season, I bring another flower—as long as they are red. I cannot believe that I forgot.”
She seemed genuinely upset, and I put a steadying hand on her arm. “It’s all right. I’ll be happy to bring you back tomorrow, or I can come back by myself. Just let me know in the morning.”
Helena gave me a grateful look. I didn’t expect words of gratitude; her look was enough.
“Why red?” I asked.
She gave a little shrug. “Red tulips are used to symbolize Hungary more than other colors. Did you know we even have two separate words in Hungarian for different shades of red? They are considered completely different colors.”
“Interesting,” I said, looking up and realizing that we were alone. “Where’s Gigi?” I glanced around the deserted cemetery. I was only mildly concerned, having often wandered this same cemetery with Lucy and Eve as a child. I looked for a flash of pink amid the dark green and brown of the cemetery foliage, and when I didn’t see any I called her name.
Her response came from a distance, but I knew where she’d gone. It was a place where all curious Edisto children found themselves at one time or another. I looked at Helena. “Are you okay to walk a little more? Otherwise, I can take you back to the car and turn the air conditioner on while I go get Gigi.”