Golden Lilies

by Eileen Goudge

  My sleeve is wet with bitter rain; but tears cannot blot out the dream visions that memory wakes, and the dead years answer to my call. I see my boy, my baby, who was the gift of kindly gods. When I first opened my eyes upon him, I closed them to all the world besides, and my soul rested in peace beside the jewel within its cradle. The one sole wish of my heart was to be near him, to sit close by his side, to have him day by day within my happy sight, and to lay my cheek upon his rose-tipped feet at night. The sun’s light seemed more beautiful where it touched him, and the moon that lit my Heaven was his eyes.

  As he grew older he was fond of asking questions to which none but the gods could give reply, and I answered as only mothers will. When he wished to play I laid aside my work to play with him, and when he tired and wished to rest, I told him stories of the past. At evening when the lamps were lighted I taught him the words of the evening prayer, and when he slept I brought my work close by his cradle and watched the still sweetness of his face. Sometimes he would smile in his dreams, and I knew that Kwan-yin the Divine was playing shadow-play with him, and I would murmur a silent prayer to the Mother of all Mercies to protect my treasure and keep him from harm.

  I can see my courtyard in far Szechwan; and in the wooden box within my bedroom are all his baby clothes. There are the shoes with worn-out toes and heels that tried so hard to confine restless, eager feet; the cap with Buddha and his saints, all broken and tarnished where tiny baby teeth have left their marks; and, Mother, do you remember when we made him clothing like the soldier at the Yamen? And the bamboo that the gateman polished he carried for a gun ...

  O my son, my son! How can I rise to begin the bitter work of life through the twilights yet to come!

  29

  How can I tell you, Mother of mine, of the happiness within my heart! It is passed; it was but a dream, a mirage. He is here, my boy, his hand in mine, his cheek against my cheek; he is mine own again, my boy, by man-child, my son.

  It was not he; the culprit has been found; and in the golden morning light my son stood free before me. I cannot write you more at present, I am so filled with joy. What matter if the sun shines on wrinkles and white hair, the symbol of the fullness of my sorrow—I have mine own again!

  30

  My Dear Mother,

  I can talk to you more calmly, and I know you hunger for full news. Do you remember Liang Tai-tai, she who I wrote you was so anxious for the mercy of the gods that she spent her time praying instead of looking after her household duties and her son? He was the one who tried to pass the Dark Water and I talked to him and we sent him to the Prefect at Canton. It was he who found the man for whom my son was accused. It seemed he felt he owed us much for helping him in his time of trouble, and now he has repaid.

  I feel that I have laughed too oft at Liang Tai-tai and her gods, but now I will go with her from temple shrine to temple shrine. I will buy candles, incense, spirit money for her, until the gods look down in wonder from their thrones. I am so filled with gratitude that when I see my friend, I will fall before her feet and bathe them with my happy tears for having trod the path of motherhood and given to the world a man-child, who has saved for me my son.

  Kwei-li

  31

  My Mother,

  We are home, and have not written you for long, but have telegraphed you twice daily, so that you have been assured that all is well.

  We found our dear one, Li-ti, bending over her babe, holding it safely, nestling it, murmuring, softly, whispers of mother love. This son, born in the hour of trouble and despair, is a token of the happiness to come, of the new life that will come forth from grief and sorrow.

  He has learned a lesson, this boy of mine, and he will walk more carefully, guard more surely his footsteps, now he is the father of a son.

  Kwei-li

  32

  O Mother of graciousness, we are coming to you! When all the hills are white with blossoms, we shall set forth, our eager hearts and souls one great, glad longing for the sight of you standing in the archway, searching with earnest gaze the road, listening for the bearers’ footsteps as we mount the hillside.

  We leave this place full of trial and turmoil. I want my children to come within the shelter of your compound walls, where safety lies; and with the “shell of forgetfulness” clasped tightly in our hands, we will forget these days of anguish and despair. Then only, when my dear ones are far from here, shall my soul obtain the peace it craves, forgetful of the hostile, striving, plotting treachery of this foreign world I fear.

  We are coming home to you, Mother of my husband, and I have learned in life’s great, bitter school that the joy of my Chinese womanhood is to stand within the sheltered courtyard, with my family close about me, and my son’s son in my arms.

  Kwei-li

  A Biography of Eileen Goudge

  Eileen Goudge (b. 1950) is one of the nation’s most successful authors of women’s fiction, beginning with the acclaimed six-million-copy bestseller Garden of Lies.

  Goudge is one of six children, and the joys and strife that come with a large family have informed her fiction, much of which centers on issues of sisterhood and family. At eighteen she quit college to get married, a whirlwind experience that two years later left her divorced, broke, and responsible for her first child. It was then that she started writing in earnest.

  On a typewriter borrowed from a neighbor, Goudge began turning out short stories and articles. For years she had limited success—selling work to McCall’s, Reader’s Digest, and the San Francisco Chronicle—but in the early eighties she took a job writing for a new young adult series that would become the phenomenally successful Sweet Valley High.

  Goudge moved her family from California to New York City, where she spent several years writing young-adult fiction, creating series such as Seniors, Swept Away, and Who Killed Peggy Sue? In 1986 she published her first novel of adult fiction, Garden of Lies, inspired by a childhood anxiety that, because she did not resemble her brothers and sisters, she had been secretly adopted—a suspicion so strong that, at twelve, Goudge broke into her father’s lockbox expecting to find adoption papers. (She did not.) The tale of children swapped at birth was a national sensation, spent sixteen weeks on the New York Times bestseller list, and eventually yielded a sequel, Thorns of Truth (1998), which Goudge wrote in response to a decade of fan mail demanding she resolve the story.

  Since then, Goudge has continued writing women’s fiction, producing a total of thirteen novels to date. Her most popular works include the three-book saga of Carson Springs—Stranger in Paradise (2001), Taste of Honey (2002), and Wish Come True (2003)—a small, secret-ridden town that Goudge based on scenic Ojai, California. She has also published a cookbook, Something Warm from the Oven, which contains recipes that Goudge developed as a reprieve from the stresses of writing novels.

  Goudge met her current husband while conducting an interview over the telephone. Entertainment reporter Sandy Kenyon was so taken with the author that he asked if he could call her back when the interview was done, and after weeks of late-night conversations they met in person and were married in 1996.

  Goudge lives with Kenyon in New York City.

  Goudge at age two, sitting on her father’s shoulders at the San Francisco Zoo. Goudge’s father was a talented painter. In the 1940s he painted caricatures at county fairs though once his family grew he focused on his insurance agency and self-taught skill at architecture.

  Goudge, age three, and her sister, Laura, in a playhouse built by their father. In addition to being a painter and insurance agent, Goudge’s father also designed and built houses.

  Goudge at seven years old, before her First Communion. The photograph was taken in the backyard of her parent’s first house in San Mateo, California. One of six children, Goudge loved being singled out from her brothers and sisters.

  Goudge, second from right, smiling with her three sisters in matching dresses. Goudge’s mother used to make clothes for her children. By th
e time Goudge entered high school, she had picked up sewing from her mother and begun to make all of her own clothes.

  Goudge with her younger sister, Patty, at a book signing for Garden of Lies in 1986. For Goudge, one of the most exciting aspects of the book’s release was being able to share with her friends and family a project she’d been working on for so long.

  Goudge dancing with her son Michael on her and Sandy Kenyon’s wedding day in 1996. The ceremony was held at a garden restaurant in New York City and the newlyweds honeymooned in Quebec City.

  Goudge with Barbara Walters on The View in 1999. Goudge said of Walters, “It’s no wonder why she’s famous. Barbara instantly puts you at ease. She also has the best lighting—there was an apricot glow that is so calming and flattering.”

  Goudge with her husband, Sandy Kenyon, near his homestead in Vermont. Goudge’s own real-life romance reads like those in her novels: After three failed marriages, she met Kenyon while being interviewed for the radio. When the interview ended, they continued the conversation, talking up to three hours each night, and married soon after.

  Goudge with her mother looking at old family photographs at her mother’s beach house in Santa Cruz, California.

  Goudge in her condo in midtown Manhattan in 2010. Sandy Kenyon, her husband, took the photograph. On Saturdays, Eileen’s favorite activity is to walk around the city with Sandy, exploring new neighborhoods.

  Author’s Note

  I’ve led a storied life in more ways than one. I’ve gone places and done things that astound me, looking back on it. Where did I ever find the courage? The willpower? Much of it I would advise against, were I to go back in time and have a heart-to-heart with my younger self. But good or bad, it was all grist for the mill, so I regret none of it. (Though I feel fortunate not to be haunted by compromising photos of myself online, having come of age in the pre-Internet era). The beauty of fiction is you can reshape past events however you please. I wasn’t popular in high school but got to hang out with the cool kids when I wrote for the phenomenally successful teen series Sweet Valley High in the early years of my career. Trust me, you wouldn’t have wanted to live through some of what I lived through, but hopefully you’ve enjoyed the novels that came of it.

  If you Google my name, you will see my Cinderella story: welfare mom to millionaire. Every word is true, though the reality is I was a starving artist for a much longer period of time than I was on welfare. With two young children to support on my own, I often had to forgo purchasing the office supplies and stamps needed for submitting the articles and short stories I wrote on spec. Instead I used that money to put food on the table.

  The lean years were the making of me, though. When I wrote my first adult novel, Garden of Lies, the story of babies switched at birth, one of whom grows up rich, the other poor, I knew what it was to go hungry. I knew what it was like for Rose putting on the skirt she wears to work every day, ironed so many times it’s shiny in spots. Garden of Lies went on to become a New York Times bestseller, translated into twenty-two languages. I attribute its success in part to my having suffered.

  I’ve also had my share of romantic ups and downs. More grist for the mill and the reason my fictional characters tend to be of the folks-this-ain’t-my-first-rodeo variety. I’ve been married more than once. At one point, I was married to my agent. His client list boasts some notable names, and just recently I was struck by the realization that I had dined with two of the famous people depicted in the movies The Theory of Everything and Selma: professor Stephen Hawking and Coretta Scott King, respectively. How extraordinary! I witnessed history and saw it reenacted on film.

  I met my current and forever husband, Sandy Kenyon, in a Hollywood meet-cute, which seems fitting given he’s in the entertainment business, as a TV reporter and film critic. He had a radio talk show in Arizona at the time. I was a guest on his show, phoning in from New York City, where I live. He called me at home that night, at my invitation, and we talked for three hours. It became our nightly ritual, and when we finally met it was love at first sight, though we were hardly strangers. We married in 1996, and he became the inspiration for talk-show host Eric Sandstrom in Thorns of Truth. Though, as Sandy’s fond of saying, he never killed a coanchor while driving drunk.

  I have many people to thank for the support and guidance I’ve received along the way.

  First and foremost, my husband, Sandy, who’s been there every step of the way and who reads multiple drafts of my novels. He’s patient, kind, and wise. He understands when I’m there in body but somewhere else in my mind, and doesn’t get too upset at having to repeat himself more than once to get through to me. From him I learned the true meaning of romantic love, which has enriched my fictional love stories immeasurably. He’s also partly the reason I’m still walking this earth. More than once it was his hand on my arm, pulling me to safety, that kept me from stepping into the path of a moving vehicle while in one of my preoccupied states.

  To my children, Michael and Mary, for being the quirky, loving individuals they are. Whenever I beat myself up for having been a less-than-perfect parent (which pretty much describes every single parent), they tell me they couldn’t love me any more than they do. They also both have a wicked sense of humor, which they get from me. When I was exploring the idea of having another child, with Sandy, I was told I’d need an egg donor. Which led to the what-if scenario that would have me giving birth to my own grandchild (and writing the bestseller that would come of it!), at which point my daughter remarked dryly, “Mom, would you like that over easy or sunny side up?”

  To friends and family who have made their vacation homes available to me through the years. Their generosity has allowed me to go away for extended periods of time to write in solitude amid serene settings. Bill and Valerie Anders. Frank Cassata and Thomas Rosamilia. Miles and Karen Potter. Jon Giswold. Thanks to my friend Jon, I was introduced to the scenic wonders of northern Wisconsin and befriended by the good people of Grantsburg, which I now consider my home away from home.

  To my friends and author pals, who are my cheering section. Whenever I’m at a low point or feeling blue, they’re always there to offer a hug, a pat on the back, or a word of encouragement. I wouldn’t be where I am today if not for them.

  I smile, and brush away a tear, whenever I think of my oldest friend, Kay Terzian, who had every single one of my titles, in multiple editions, when she passed away. She would always say she was my biggest fan. I never doubted it.

  I am also blessed to have many loyal readers. They range in age from fourteen to ninety-four and come from all walks of life and all parts of the globe. One, a prisoner doing time on a drug offense, sent letters commenting intelligently on my novels, which I was happy to know were available in prison libraries. Shortly before his release, he sent me a Mother’s Day card. I had written a few times in response to his letters, but would hardly describe myself as a pen pal, let alone a surrogate mom. I think he regarded me fondly because he felt he knew what was in my heart, which I pour into the pages of my novels. That is the greatest compliment of all and the best part of what I do for a living, worth more to me than fame or fortune.

  Thank you for taking this journey with me. If you’ve enjoyed what you’ve read, leave a comment on Amazon or Goodreads to help spread the word, so I can keep doing what I do.

  Eileen Goudge

  A Biography of Eileen Goudge

  Eileen Goudge (b. 1950) is one of the nation’s most successful authors of women’s fiction, beginning with the acclaimed six-million-copy bestseller Garden of Lies.

  Goudge is one of six children, and the joys and strife that come with a large family have informed her fiction, much of which centers on issues of sisterhood and family. At eighteen she quit college to get married, a whirlwind experience that two years later left her divorced, broke, and responsible for her first child. It was then that she started writing in earnest.

  On a typewriter borrowed from a neighbor, Goudge began turning out sho
rt stories and articles. For years she had limited success—selling work to McCall’s, Reader’s Digest, and the San Francisco Chronicle—but in the early eighties she took a job writing for a new young adult series that would become the phenomenally successful Sweet Valley High.

  Goudge moved her family from California to New York City, where she spent several years writing young-adult fiction, creating series such as Seniors, Swept Away, and Who Killed Peggy Sue? In 1986 she published her first novel of adult fiction, Garden of Lies, inspired by a childhood anxiety that, because she did not resemble her brothers and sisters, she had been secretly adopted—a suspicion so strong that, at twelve, Goudge broke into her father’s lockbox expecting to find adoption papers. (She did not.) The tale of children swapped at birth was a national sensation, spent sixteen weeks on the New York Times bestseller list, and eventually yielded a sequel, Thorns of Truth (1998), which Goudge wrote in response to a decade of fan mail demanding she resolve the story.

  Since then, Goudge has continued writing women’s fiction, producing a total of thirteen novels to date. Her most popular works include the three-book saga of Carson Springs—Stranger in Paradise (2001), Taste of Honey (2002), and Wish Come True (2003)—a small, secret-ridden town that Goudge based on scenic Ojai, California. She has also published a cookbook, Something Warm from the Oven, which contains recipes that Goudge developed as a reprieve from the stresses of writing novels.