The Moonlit Garden

by Bomann, Corina

  Rose released her and stepped back, then stumbled to the door.

  With her hair streaming behind her, not caring that her clothes were awry and her makeup smudged, Rose hurried through the streets of Padang. Mai had followed her for a time, but Rose had lost her servant somewhere on the way. It was better that way, as Rose didn’t need her help right then.

  Her heartbeat drowning out all the noise around her, she tried to convince herself that it couldn’t be so bad, that as soon as she turned the corner, she would see her father coming toward her, laughing at her for worrying.

  Once at the harbor, she was immediately faced with a crowd that had gathered around an overturned crane. Harbor workers were trying to reach the scene of the accident with ropes and other equipment.

  “Let me through!” Rose yelled in agitation, in her own language and in Dutch. The people she knew stepped back immediately. Rose tried to ignore their horrified looks. Where was her father? The fact that she had been summoned meant he must be injured, but surely he had only received a few scratches. Nothing bad ever happened to a man like Roger Gallway . . .

  She reached the crane and saw that a number of men were busy trying to lift the heavy structure. It had fallen onto the street, crushing some chests and a small timber house beneath its weight. She heard shouts and whimpering. A few women in the crowd were crying. An unpleasant smell rose slowly from the ground.

  Rose stared at the crane as if it were a monster. She forbade herself from finishing the thought that had sprung into her mind like a tiger. Nothing serious has happened to him, she tried to tell herself. He’ll be back on his feet in no time.

  She was so absorbed in looking at the crane that she did not notice the man who was striding over to her until he was right beside her. Dr. Bruns, who had often helped her family, took her by the arm. Rose felt sick as she saw the blood on his arms and sleeves.

  “Please don’t go any closer, Rose,” he said, using her first name since he had known her since childhood and had never been able to accustom himself to calling her Mejuffrouw Gallway. “Your father is buried beneath the crane along with a couple of workers.”

  “But you must be able to save him!” she burst out. There was a roaring in her ears, and she had difficulty understanding what the doctor was saying. “You can, can’t you, Doctor?”

  Bruns’s face, already pale, turned even whiter as he lowered his head uneasily.

  “Unfortunately there’s nothing more we can do for him.”

  Rose stepped back in horror. Her mouth opened but no cry came, even though everything inside her was crying out, It’s not true! It can’t be true!

  “I want to see him!” she managed to say eventually. “Perhaps there’s been a mistake; perhaps it’s not him.”

  “Rose,” the doctor said slowly, in the same voice he had used to persuade her to take medicine against a fever that had laid her low as a child. “I’m sorry, but there’s no doubt that it’s your father. And I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to see him right now.”

  The quiet emphasis of his words wore down Rose’s defenses. Her mind still refused to believe it—but Bruns was not the kind of man who would lie to her in a situation like this.

  “You’d best go to your mother’s house. I wanted to send someone, but it would be better if you were there to look after her yourself.”

  Rose nodded numbly and turned.

  “I’ll come over to see you this evening. We should be finished here by then,” he called after her, but she hardly heard.

  In a daze, and feeling slightly dizzy as if she were trying to walk the deck of a rolling ship, she made her way through the crowd. This time, she had no need to ask to be let through; the shocked expression on her face was enough to make people draw back. Every now and then someone touched her arm, probably people she knew, but Rose paid no attention to faces. She did not even notice when she had left the throng behind her.

  “Miss Gallway!” called a woman’s voice. For the first time, Rose stopped and looked up. Mai had caught up with her but did not dare to approach to within more than a couple of yards.

  “Go back to the hotel, Mai,” Rose heard herself say. “I don’t need you at the moment.”

  “But, Miss Gallway, I . . . ”

  “Can you do what I say for once without arguing?” Rose hissed and closed her eyes in agitation. She felt tears rolling down her cheeks. The last thing she needed was a talkative girl who had not the slightest idea how she was feeling. Mai withdrew in shock.

  “Yes, miss. I’m going, miss,” she said and whirled around.

  Rose did not watch her go but continued on her way to her parents’ house. Pain raged in her, together with fear of her mother’s reaction. For a moment she tried to persuade herself that the doctor was mistaken. That her father was waiting for her at home, ready to take her in his arms and comfort her.

  As she entered the front door, her mother rushed toward her. Her eyes widened in shock when she saw her daughter’s expression.

  “What’s happened?” she asked as she caught hold of Rose’s arms. Her hands were cold and clammy, and her lips were trembling. Had she any idea what had happened? Rose was at first unable to speak a word. You’ve got to tell her, she said to herself. Now, say something! But her mouth would not obey.

  Only after a long silence did she manage a single word. “Father.”

  She said nothing more. That was all Adit needed. With a dreadful wail she threw herself into her daughter’s arms and both of them burst into tears.

  The following days swept past Rose like a school of fish past a sea anemone. She got up in the mornings and saw to her mother, who was unable to leave her bed, unable even to bear the light of day. People came by occasionally—the pastor, the undertaker, neighbors. Rose talked to them all, though afterward she could not recall a word she had said.

  Her grief for her father made her long all the more for Paul. When would she see him again? When would she be able to feel his arms around her? When could she allow herself to be comforted by him? When would he be there to take away all the dreadful pain that was raging inside her?

  Each day finally came to an end without her having done a thing, not once touching the violin that Mai had brought for her the day after the accident.

  Rose had never wondered whether she could bring herself to play a requiem for someone beloved at a funeral. But as she knew how much her father had liked to listen to her play, the task had fallen to her now. She asked Carmichael to make the necessary arrangements and bring the music she needed to practice.

  She had only played Mozart’s Requiem once in her life, yet she remembered every single note. She had to summon all her strength to set the bow to the strings by her father’s graveside. Her hands were shaking, and the thought that she would never see her father again made her knees weak until she almost collapsed.

  As the first melancholy notes rang out over the cemetery, the pain became a little more bearable. Rose allowed herself to be carried away by the melody and ignored the tears that flowed down her cheeks. Her father’s soul should ascend to Heaven accompanied by beautiful music, she thought. When she finished playing, she stepped back, head bowed. She did not look at the other mourners, but she could sense they were moved. Even the pastor was unable to find the words at first. The melody echoed in the silence for a few moments before the funeral continued.

  On their way back from the cemetery, Rose and her mother were very quiet. Adit felt that it was unseemly to arrange a funeral reception, so she had simply thanked those present and withdrawn.

  Rose did not know whether people understood her mother’s decision, and at that moment she did not care. She kept asking herself whether her presumptuousness in seeking her own happiness was at the root of it all. But what could she have done to prevent her father from being struck down by a falling crane? She had not been down at the harbor; she had no idea . . .

  The two women sat down at the kitchen table, and although they looked at one
another, they were each lost in their own thoughts. At that moment Rose wished Paul were still here, that she could have the chance to talk to him, to lean against his breast. But her beloved was far away, and she was sitting here. Darkness crept over the house, and the bustle of the street outside faded to stillness.

  More days of lethargy followed. Rose spent most of the time sitting by the window and trying to catch a melody in her head that she could never quite hear.

  Carmichael managed to be patient with her for two weeks, but at the start of the third week he appeared at the Gallways’ house. When she saw him at the door, Rose felt like hiding away or running out the back door, but she knew that would be childish. And she also knew there was no avoiding what Carmichael was going to ask. The tour should continue, to India and then on to Australia. Rose had all the dates in her head and knew that he had already cancelled three appearances. Cancelling more would not do. But could she simply step out onto the stage as if nothing had happened? Could she play?

  As Carmichael knocked for the second time, she stared at her hands. They appeared not to have changed since playing the Requiem at the cemetery, but Rose nevertheless doubted that she could play as well as before the accident. The music came not only from her hands but from her soul, and this was now doubly wounded. She couldn’t simply act as if nothing had happened.

  “Aren’t you going to answer the door, child?” her mother asked suddenly. The persistent knocking had roused her from her bed, and she was standing, pale and wretched looking, in the kitchen. “I know you can’t stay here forever. Your life is calling you, Rose.”

  “But what about you?” Rose asked helplessly, hoping that Carmichael would go away. But he remained where he was, listening. He must have heard their voices from the start.

  “I’ll be fine, Rose. It will be hard for me, and I don’t know how I’m going to live without your father, but imagine how it would have been if you hadn’t happened to be here but were at the other end of the world. The news probably wouldn’t have reached you until weeks later, and you wouldn’t have been here for weeks more.”

  “But—”

  “Now go and open the door—otherwise he’ll beat a hole in it. At least hear what he’s got to say. Then you can make your decision.”

  Rose nodded, and as her mother withdrew back into her room, she smoothed her dress and went to the door.

  “Rose, thank God!” cried Carmichael, who had obviously been worrying. “I thought . . . ”

  “Don’t worry, no one here is seriously ill or threatening suicide,” she replied harshly, stepping aside to let him pass. “Come in. I assume you want to speak to me.”

  Carmichael studied her quickly before walking past her.

  “How are you and your mother?” he asked as he stood, somewhat at a loss, in the kitchen.

  Rose suppressed a cynical answer, saying merely “As you’d expect.”

  “Very well,” he replied, looking in embarrassment at his shoes.

  “Sit down,” Rose said, making her way slowly to the kitchen table.

  Had her body always felt this heavy? Over the last few days she had felt distanced from everything, but Carmichael’s visit seemed to bring her back to reality.

  “You must have come to tell me that I should prepare to continue the tour.”

  Carmichael looked at her, first with surprise and then with apparent relief, as if she had saved him from broaching the subject himself.

  “You know we’re behind on our schedule. Of course it’s understandable in your situation, and no one understands that better than I do—I, too, lost my father in an accident—but the promoters won’t wait forever. And if we disappoint a whole country, it will have a bad effect on your reputation.”

  Rose knew that, but her doubts were stronger than her fear of losing her reputation. She thought, not for the first time, that she was responsible for supporting her mother—especially financially, as it was by no means definite that the owner of the crane would be able to pay her a pension or damages.

  “When would the next feasible date be?” she asked, again drawing a surprised look from Carmichael.

  “Um . . . as far as I know . . . Delhi . . . yes, that’s it, Delhi . . . on the seventeenth.”

  Of course Rose already had the date in her head. It was not the first time she would be playing in India. She had been in Delhi shortly after her first major performance, at the invitation of an earl who had seen her in London. She had been fascinated by the colorful city with its wonderful palaces. Perhaps playing there would distract her a little.

  “All right, we’ll go to Delhi,” she decided suddenly, even though she didn’t know whether she could resume her previous repertoire. “Have everything packed and tell me when we depart. I’ll stay with my mother until then. She needs me.”

  Carmichael nodded and got to his feet. “Give her my condolences, will you?”

  Rose nodded and went with him to the door.

  Once he had gone, Rose went to her parents’ bedroom. Contrary to her expectation, her mother had not lain down again but was sitting on a wicker chair by the window, from which she could see the sea between two houses.

  “You’re going on tour again, aren’t you?” she asked without looking around.

  “Yes, Mother. I’m not doing it because the music is more important to me than you, but to ensure I’m able to support you.”

  At first her mother, who had doubtless overheard the conversation, said nothing.

  “Even if you did put the music before me, I wouldn’t hold it against you,” she said eventually. She stood heavily, as if she had lived through eighty-five years rather than forty-five.

  “But, Mother, I . . . ”

  “It’s fine, my love. Your father was so proud of you, and it would be a great shame for you to stay here and watch your fame fade away. Go on tour with a clear conscience. Play. Play well for your father, who will probably be watching you from Heaven.” She came up close to Rose and took her face between her hands. “You’re something very special, Rose. Promise me that you’ll always take good care of yourself, because your father will live on in you and your children.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen to me, don’t worry,” Rose replied bravely. “I’ve come through life well so far.”

  “You have indeed, but now that you’re all that’s left to me, take particular care of yourself, won’t you?”

  This request seemed a little strange to Rose, but she nodded, took her mother’s hands, and pressed them to her own brow.

  “Do you think the old woman . . . ,” she began hesitantly after straightening up. “Do you think she’s cursed us, after you refused . . . ”

  Adit shook her head. “No, my child, that woman has no power to curse us. If that were the case, if it were my fault that your father is dead, I would have ended my life immediately. Perhaps it was fate trying to warn me by sending the old woman, but a different decision couldn’t have saved your father. Some things in life are predetermined. Now, clearly, I should take up the inheritance of my people. One day you’ll be the one faced with this decision. As long as I live, I’ll prevent them from coming to you. But when I’m dead, you’ll be the next headwoman. When that time comes, you’ll have to decide what’s important to you.”

  Rose looked at her pensively. She had already made one decision. As soon as Paul returned, she would go with him. She had no intention of telling her mother that, though, not when she had just lost her husband.

  “I will,” she said simply.

  She took her mother’s hands again, and as she pressed them to her cheek, she sent out a silent wish that Paul would come back soon.

  18

  London, 2011

  Lilly shifted around nervously on the sofa. She felt as if a heap of dynamite were about to explode beneath her.

  She was beginning to regret agreeing to Ellen’s suggestion. At first it had seemed an excellent idea, but now she was afraid that Ellen would be able to see the confusion Gabriel cau
sed within her. The fact that she was behaving like a schoolgirl was the perfect evidence.

  Ellen grinned at her. “You seem to be really looking forward to Gabriel’s visit.”

  “Me?” Lilly froze, as if caught red-handed.

  “You’re fidgeting around on that sofa as if you had ants in your pants. I haven’t seen you so excited since Markus Hansen took you to the prom.”

  “Don’t be silly!”

  If she were honest, she felt as on edge as on the day of her first date with Peter, but since the date had been preceded by absolute chaos, Ellen had not noticed the extent of her excitement. And anyway, that was different.

  “I’m just looking forward to hearing what he’s found,” Lilly said.

  “Yes, he’s probably discovered the perfume Rose Gallway always used.”

  “Don’t be mean!” Lilly dug her elbow into Ellen’s ribs.

  “I’m not. I’m just saying it’s likely we’ll have more to report to him than he has to tell us.”

  “Let’s just wait and see.”

  The sound of a car engine brought their discussion to an end.

  “There he is!” Lilly jumped up from the sofa and was about to hurry to the door, but Ellen held her back.

  “Wait a minute. Let him get out of the car first!”

  Lilly stopped, smoothed her dress down, and hopped from one foot to the other.

  “Actually, you should be the one who opens the door, shouldn’t you? You’re the hostess, after all.”

  “I am, but he’s coming on your account. Why don’t we both go? We’re a team, aren’t we?”

  The bell rang, and it took all Lilly’s self-control not to run to the door. At a leisurely pace, as if they were only waiting for some distant acquaintance, they went into the hall. Lilly stood back to let Ellen answer the door.

  “Good evening, Mr. Thornton.”

  “Please, call me Gabriel.”

  “I hope you found your way here all right.”

  Thornton smiled broadly at them both. “It wasn’t totally straightforward, to tell you the truth, but I’ve made it.” He handed them a small bunch of flowers. “Just a token of thanks for allowing me to take up your time this evening.”