by Karen White
“I told her she needs a scooter,” Gigi said. “Then we wouldn’t have to wait for another year before the flower bloomed again. But then Aunt Helena would be afraid people would think she’s old.”
Both Eleanor and I laughed while Finn just looked confused.
When we neared the porch steps, Finn’s arm replaced my cane.
“What do you mean you have to wait another year?” Eleanor asked.
“It only blooms one night a year,” Gigi said, running down the steps. “And only for a little while. So you really need to hurry.”
“I am,” I said, truly trying to make my old legs move faster.
Bernadett had planted the cactus twenty years ago after reading about it in a novel. Always the romantic, she had written to nurseries around the country until she found one who would ship the plant to her. They did not last long, and she had ordered a new one every three years or so, planting it in a small rock garden near the pecan orchard with a direct view of the creek.
I had once asked her why she went to so much trouble over a plant that bloomed only once a year. She had looked at me oddly, as if I should have known the answer. “Because sometimes that is all we have,” she had answered. I did not want to embarrass myself by asking her what she had meant.
Gigi ran ahead, the glow from the porch light and the full moon lighting her way through the alley of old pecan trees, until she stopped, her pale pink dress like a beacon for those of us in the dark.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, her voice full of awe.
We made our way to stand behind her as she squatted down in front of the large white flower. We needed no light to see it; the petals reflected the moonlight as if according to some prearranged plan. It was only a single bloom, creeping up between the stones and its waxy vine. Silky flowers gathered together on top like a tulip, and behind those were spiky petals resembling a starburst. It was unique and brilliant and magical, but I still could not understand why Bernadett had needed it here in her garden.
“By dawn, it will have already started to wither,” I said, already feeling its loss.
No one said anything for moment. Then, in a hushed voice, Gigi said, “But it was worth it.”
Finn laid his hand gently on her head, while I turned to meet Eleanor’s gaze, as if neither one of us could fathom the wisdom of a child.
Nurse Kester came out from the house. “Miss Szarka, it’s time to get you ready for bed.”
I said good night and allowed the nurse to lead me slowly back into the house, still seeing the bright white bloom in my mind’s eye, and imagining it was Bernadett’s voice telling me that it was worth it.
Eleanor
I sat on the piano bench with a pencil in my hand and a blank spiral music book propped up on the music stand. I was tapping out the melody for the Csárdás in an effort to transpose it into a simple version for Gigi to learn.
“Sounds beautiful,” Finn said from the doorway.
“I’m sure,” I said, placing the pencil down on the piano. “Is Gigi all tucked in?”
“Yes. And she wanted you to go up and say good night to her, but she was already passed out by the time I left her room.”
I smiled awkwardly, suddenly aware that he and I were alone. Finn had sent Nurse Kester home for the night since we would all be there, and both Helena and Gigi were asleep.
“Well, then, I guess I should head back, then, since you’re here.”
“You don’t have to go.” His words hung in the silent house like a question. “Unless you have to.”
I thought of the baby furniture that sat pushed against the wall in my tiny bedroom at home, and the pull of the creek and the marsh tugged at me like a small child at her mother’s hem.
“I don’t want to intrude on your time with Gigi and Helena.”
He leaned against the doorframe. “We enjoy your company. It’s not an intrusion at all.”
I studied his eyes, trying to see behind them, but they remained inscrutable.
“All right, I’ll stay. Thank you.”
“Thank you,” he said. “Now I won’t have to bear the brunt of Helena’s tongue all by myself tomorrow.”
“Right. Like she’s ever said a cross word to you.”
He gave me an uncharacteristic shrug. “Yeah, I know. I just said that to make you feel better.”
We laughed, and the awkwardness was dispelled.
Straightening, he said, “I brought back the silver box you gave me.”
I looked up hopefully. “Did you find a translation?”
“Yes. I’m not exactly sure what it means, but the exact translation is ‘Daughters of the Divine Redeemer.’”
“Sounds like a convent or something.”
“That’s what I thought, too. I looked it up and found that’s exactly what it was.”
“Was?”
He nodded. “The motherhouse for the order was in Budapest before the war. It’s no longer there. I went online to see if I could find out more. The motherhouse is now in Odenburg, about two and a half hours away from Budapest. The congregation has about three hundred sisters, and they’re still very active—conducting schools of all kinds and caring for the sick. Things nuns normally do.”
I thought for a moment. “I wonder if they were forced to move by the Communists after World War II.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You’ve been reading your history books.”
I smiled smugly. “Yes, I have. I’m trying to get Helena to like me.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. She likes you just fine.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Actually,” he continued, “the last mention of the motherhouse in Budapest that I could find was from 1944.”
“The year of the Nazi occupation.”
“Right. So if they were forced to move or close, that would have been a reason. Up until March of that year, Hungary was allied with Germany. From what little Helena and Bernadett told me, people’s lives in the capital remained pretty much the same until the occupation.”
“Even for the Jews?”
“If I recall correctly from my own high school history classes, they weren’t forced into ghettos or deported, but most lost their jobs and livelihoods, and many of the young people were forced into labor camps even before the occupation. It’s why many Jews went into hiding. They realized it was just a matter of time.” He paused. “Neither one of the aunts really liked to talk about that period in their lives, so I’m a little ashamed that I don’t know more.”
“I haven’t read the World War II section of the book yet—trying to save the most interesting part for last, I guess. I started with the really old history—the warlord period—and then I skipped to the Communist years and modern day since that was more current. When I was done with that, I was going to go back to the World War II history.” I sent him a sheepish look. “I’m afraid I was never much of a history buff.”
“But you’d study Hungarian history to make an old woman happy.”
“I don’t think that’s possible.” I tapped my fingers on the keyboard, making one of the notes sound. “I’m just wondering why Bernadett would have that box, and why she’d hide it away.”
Finn’s brow wrinkled. “I thought you said it belonged to Helena.”
I closed my eyes, wishing—as usual—that I could call back words. “To be honest, I’m not sure whom it belongs to. We found the basket with the box inside it under Bernadett’s bed.”
“We?”
Realizing that I needed to be completely honest, I said, “Actually, Gigi. Please don’t be angry with her. She was bored one day and exploring the house, and she found the basket under Bernadett’s bed. To her credit, she didn’t look inside until after she’d told me about it and I decided we should see if it held any of Bernadett’s music.”
“And y
ou found the box instead.”
“Along with a few other items that I wanted to ask you about. I don’t know their significance, so I don’t know if we should bury it back under Bernadett’s bed or show it to Helena.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment, and then, “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For your kindness. To Gigi and Helena. For considering their feelings.”
Embarrassed, I looked away. “Anybody would have done it.”
“No. Not really.” He straightened. “Is the basket back in Bernadett’s room?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s go put back the silver box and see what else is in there.”
I felt as if an enormous weight had been lifted from my shoulders, and we climbed the stairs. I retrieved the basket from under the bed while Finn went into his room to get the silver box. We sat on the floor, as if neither one of us wanted to be reminded why the bed frame was starkly empty. As I’d done before with Gigi, I sat like Pandora before the basket and lifted the lid.
As Finn examined the Bible, I took out the photos and spread them on the floor between us, spotting a few that I hadn’t had the time to examine before. I attempted to group all the wedding photos together, and then the random ones of Helena and her two sisters and mother. Finn was already looking at those by the time I moved to the remaining photographs that were too disparate to be grouped—unlabeled pictures of buildings and scenery and people I could not name.
As I was stacking a small group of photos, I realized that two of the photos were stuck together with some sort of adhesive, the front of one attached to the back of another. Very carefully I pried them apart, the yellowed tape coming away easily and making me think that the photo had once been taped to a wall.
It was a photo of a baby propped up in an old-fashioned stroller staring at the camera with an openmouthed grin. Two feminine hands could be seen on the stroller’s handle, the arms covered in long black sleeves, but the woman’s face wasn’t visible. I turned the photograph over, disappointed to find nothing written on the back.
“Do you know who this is?” I asked, holding it up for Finn to see.
“I have no idea. Is there nothing on the back?”
I shook my head. “No.” My gaze fell on the photograph of the soldier. I picked it up again and looked into those wide eyes, wondering what he was trying to say to me.
“Who’s that?” Finn asked.
“I think this was the love of Helena’s life. She told me his name was Gunter Richter, and that name is written on the back.”
He took the photo and flipped it over before studying the front for a long moment. “Helena said that he was the love of her life?”
I nodded. “She told me that they had plans to marry after the war but that he never came back for her.”
He held up the photograph in front of me. “And this is the man?”
“I don’t know for sure. I just assumed.”
Finn was looking at me oddly, as if I’d just told him that the sky and ocean had switched places. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Don’t you recognize this uniform?”
I shook my head, trying not to look as ignorant as I felt.
“It’s a German army uniform from World War II.” He paused as if to let his words sink in. “So if you’re correct, then my aunt was in love with a German soldier.”
CHAPTER 27
Eleanor
The following weekend, I sat in the sunroom with a book from the stack of new ones I’d selected from our last visit to the library. These books focused on Hungary during the war years, the years Helena and Bernadett knew well yet would not speak of. And the more I read about the deprivations and death tolls, the more I began to understand why.
In the middle of the stack was an old booklet that I’d found stuck between two larger books and that I’d added as an afterthought: The Catholic Church and the Holocaust in Hungary. At the time, I’d been thinking about the silver box from the Daughters of the Divine Redeemer and how they’d disappeared from Budapest in 1944. I didn’t know what I expected to find in the obscure booklet. All I knew was that for somebody who had never made higher than a C in history, I was now burning with curiosity.
I looked up as Finn walked in, smelling of soap, his hair still damp from his recent shower. He’d spent most of the afternoon at the beach with Gigi in exchange for leaving her at home with Nurse Weber this evening. She’d been promised a nonending marathon of Disney princess movies—something Nurse Weber said she was looking forward to, as her own daughter was now in college and long past the Disney stage.
I’d been invited to go with them to the beach, but I’d had to point out that my job was to be with Helena, who had a list of things she wanted me to do. Secretly, I’d been glad. Spending time with Finn at the beach would mean that every time I saw him at the office, I’d most likely be picturing him with his shirt off.
“Are you ready?” he asked, straightening his cuffs.
“Yes,” I said, noticing his clothing for the first time. “Your suit is gray.”
“It is,” he said slowly. “Is that a problem? The Waterfront restaurant isn’t really fancy, but I could find a tux if you think it’s necessary.”
“No, I meant your suit isn’t black. I didn’t think you owned one in any other color.”
He frowned at me. “My father and grandfather always wore black suits and built a successful business.”
“Sure—but I bet it wasn’t because they looked like funeral directors.”
Still frowning, he said, “Have you been talking with Gigi? She said I looked like the character Gru from Despicable Me.”
“She’s a very observant girl,” I said, repressing a smile. “So you bought a new suit based on that?”
“Actually, I bought it last year. Just haven’t worn it yet.”
“Well, it looks very nice,” I said, noticing how the shade brought out the color of his eyes.
“Thank you for noticing,” he said quietly.
“You’re welcome,” I said. I placed the book on the ottoman in front of me and stood, taking my time smoothing down the skirt of my dress. It belonged to Eve, who’d practically threatened me if I didn’t wear it tonight. It was a soft, sapphire blue knit with a wrap top and wide belt that flattered any figure. I loved the way the skirt swished against my legs, and the way the shade of blue brought out the color in my eyes. All the reasons why I wanted to refuse Eve’s offer. But it’s very hard to argue with a woman in a wheelchair.
Finn and I were taking Helena to dinner, ostensibly to celebrate her Hungarian name day, but in reality to talk about her past. I hadn’t expected Finn to be so eager to delve into a part of Helena’s life that nobody seemed to know anything about. But when I’d placed Gunter’s photo back in the basket and suggested we replace everything under the bed, he’d touched my hand to stop me. His eyes had been shuttered as he’d regarded me, and it had suddenly occurred to me that this wasn’t the first time he’d seen the basket. And that there was something he wasn’t telling me.
Now, as he stood in the sunroom looking at me with serious gray eyes, his body moving with restless anticipation, I knew that I’d been right.
“I like your dress.”
I flushed, embarrassed that he’d noticed the dress, but flattered, too. “I borrowed it from Eve. She wore it for her engagement party, but we’re about the same size and she’s saved it all these years and thought it would work for tonight and because I don’t really have any dresses and it didn’t need alterations, I thought I might as well . . .”
He held up his hand. “Stop. Please. Maybe it’s not such a good idea for you to be hanging around Gigi so much.” His lips twitched into a half smile. “You look beautiful tonight. And it’s okay to accept a compliment.”
I opened my mouth to say more, then closed i
t and just said, “Thank you.”
“She’s ready!” Gigi shouted from the front of the house.
I picked up the gift bag from the end table and preceded Finn from the room.
I almost didn’t recognize the woman standing in the foyer. Helena’s white hair had been brushed until it shone and was coiled in an elegant French twist at the back of her head. Her blue eyes were accentuated with a tasteful application of eye shadow and mascara, her cheeks and lips delicately colored with rouge and lipstick. She wore an old-fashioned green floral silk dress that still managed to look regal, despite the low hem and sensible pumps on her feet.
“You look wonderful,” I said, meaning it. She had come such a long way in the three months since I’d first met her, a bedridden and wan old woman. She’d managed to transform herself into this person who bore a strong resemblance to the beautiful young woman she’d been.
“And you do not look too terrible, either, Eleanor.” She waved her free hand as if to signal an end to all compliments for the evening. Turning to Finn, she said, “I am starving. I suppose if you had asked, you would know that I eat at five o’clock and then you would not have made the reservation for the ungodly time of six o’clock.”
“Yes, Aunt Helena,” Finn said graciously. “I’ll remember that for next time.”
Her eyes were bright like a little girl’s as Finn escorted her to his car and settled her into the passenger seat.
I hugged Gigi good-bye, suspicious that there weren’t more protestations, despite the promise of Disney movies.
“We’ll be fine,” Teri Weber said, waving me through the front door. “We’re going to make a sparkly tiara and my world-famous brownies, so don’t worry about us getting bored.”
“I won’t,” I said, the door closing before the last word had left my mouth.
The Waterfront restaurant was located on Jungle Road on Edisto Beach, almost on the elbow where the island jutted out into the Atlantic. Although the food was excellent, the Waterfront wasn’t a jacket-required eatery, but Finn’s suggestion that we take Helena to Charleston and one of its myriad high-end restaurants had been quickly dismissed by both Helena and me because of the long drive for Helena.