Winter in Full Bloom

by Anita Higman

  I grinned at Julie and then at Camille. “We’d better be on our best behavior, because I doubt we’ll get another invitation like this in our lifetimes.” I let out a chortle. “Sorry.” I cackled again. “Must be hysterical laughter syndrome.”

  “Hey,” Camille said with a twinkle in her eye. “You’re ruining my lugubrious expression.”

  I spewed a snicker again and then tried to rein it in. But failed.

  Then within seconds we both exploded with enough chortles and snorts to make Julie shake her head at us. “You guys are like two little kids. I wonder how hokey you both would have been if you’d grown up together. Unbearable, I’m sure.” She grinned.

  “Definitely,” Camille said. “So, what are you hiding in that paper bag you’re carrying, Lil?”

  “None of your business.” I raised my chin with comedic flair. “It’s a surprise.”

  We tried taking some of the monkeyshine off our grins, and we did just in the nick of time too, since the door opened, revealing Dragan Humphreys in her getup straight from a King Kamehameha parade.

  Oh, to have life lived on a consistent basis. “Hi.” I sucked in my cheeks to keep my giggles from exploding out my mouth. “We’re here for tea with Mother.”

  Ms. Humphreys looked us up and down and then opened the door without even greeting us.

  Hmm. Bad day?

  “Tea is set up in the dining room,” she said as she walked us toward the back of the house. Dragan still smelled of eau de rum, but she had a strange glint in her eyes I hadn’t seen before. One that gave me the creeps. Wonder what that was all about.

  Once in the dining room I was surprised to see that the long mahogany table had been set with lovely tea dishes, lace place mats, and a three-tiered crystal serving tray that was piled high with sweets and savories. A mini-feast for sure. How lovely. Surely Mother hadn’t made any of it, but it was equally hard to imagine Ms. Humphreys toiling over such delights.

  “Wow, what a spread,” Julie said. “I was just a kid when I was in here last. I barely remember any of this.”

  “I’m starving.” Camille reached out to touch one of the tiny cakes and then suddenly drew her hand back as if she’d been slapped.

  “This room looks so pretty, and I can’t believe Granny made all this for us. Maybe she’s changed, Momma, and she’s no longer the odious woman you said she was.”

  “Well, if I am odious,” Mrs. Gray said, walking into the room suddenly, “then it’s God’s fault.” She glared at us each in turn, but smiled when she saw Julie. “I see you’re home from college. I wasn’t sure if you’d be here.”

  “Hi, Granny. You’ve changed some since the last time I saw you ten years ago.”

  “Well, I was old back then,” Mother said. “Now I’m really old.”

  Julie laughed.

  Mother’s face crinkled. “Is that funny?”

  “Yes, the way you said it.” Julie went over and gave her grandmother a hug.

  Even though Mother didn’t embrace Julie, she didn’t pull back but let her granddaughter give her a hug.

  “I had no idea I was such a comic,” Mother said. “Better a comic than being odious I guess.”

  “Sorry you heard that, Mother,” I said, feeling crummy for having told Julie such a thing.

  Mother motioned toward the table covered in dainties. “Please sit down so we can eat this high-caloric food. I don’t approve of these kinds of sugary fat concoctions, but there you have it. I wanted to see if I could do something maternal. See if it fit me.”

  “Of course it does. You have two X chromosomes, don’t you?” Julie smiled at her grandmother so brightly that no scowl could dim its intensity.

  “The things they teach in college these days,” her grandmother said, but there was no growl along with her reply.

  Mother walked to the head chair of the long table and then fidgeted with a cane in her hand.

  I pulled out the chair for Mother. “I don’t remember you using a cane before.”

  “That’s because I haven’t used a cane before.” Mother sat down and scooted up her chair. She handed me her cane, and I leaned it against the table by her hand.

  “Did you injure yourself?” Camille asked.

  “No, but Dragan thought it might be best to have one, since she seems to think I’m getting frail.” Mother fingered the carved rose on top of the cane.

  “You don’t look frail to me.” Camille pulled out a chair and sat down. “You look as strong as an iron pickax.”

  “Oh, really. Good. Well, at least the cane will work for giving the mailman a good thrashing if he needs it.” Mother motioned toward the food. “Eat up. I won’t bother with saying grace, so please go ahead and—”

  “Well, is it all right if I say grace then, Granny?” Julie asked.

  Mother moved her lower jaw around as a sort of disgruntled reaction to the request, but she said, “Go ahead, if you must.”

  We all bowed our heads, except for Mother.

  “Lord, thanks for these fine goodies, which we will enjoy to the max. And thanks that Mom found her sister and brought her home to us safely. She’s going to be the best aunt. And thank You for Granny who, if not for her, none of us would exist to enjoy this day. Amen.”

  We all looked up and had no words for a moment—maybe we felt a little startled with Julie’s tender but thought-provoking twist at the end of her prayer—but then with pinkies raised, we dug in. Mother didn’t seem to be too displeased, so I took that as a good sign. Maybe I could breathe and actually enjoy some of the tea fare.

  “All right now, pour me some tea, won’t you, child,” Mother said to Julie. “Please.”

  “Sure.” Julie picked up the pot from the warmer and poured her grandmother some tea. “There you go.” She came around and poured tea for Camille and me and then for herself. Julie lifted the tray and went around the table offering dainties to each of us, but she served her grandmother first. To my surprise Mother took several treats from the tray, even though she called them obscene indulgences.

  When we were all situated with our tea and goodies, I asked, “Did Dragan make all this for high tea?”

  Mother snorted. “No, she just called a caterer, and they showed up with it all.”

  “Oh. Well, it was still nice of you to do this. I’ve never been to a high tea before.”

  “To be precise, this isn’t high tea. This is really called low tea. High tea was for the lower classes, the working Brits. So, what do you do, Camille, for a career?” Mother asked, taking the conversation bull by the horns and charging forth.

  Camille minced around on her petit four, licking off the frosting first. “I work in a grocery store.”

  Mother’s fingers tightened around her teacup. “You mean in management?”

  “No, I’m just at the checkout counter, but I like the staff. They’re very kind to me. And that means a lot really.” Camille took a sip of her tea, but when she set it down it made a crash landing into the saucer, spilling some of the tea on the place mat. “I’m sorry.” She righted the cup. “Do you want me to—”

  “Just leave it,” Mother said.

  I stared at Camille, and with bits of facial language, I tried to wordlessly ask her if she was okay. Amazingly, she understood and gave me a quick nod.

  “Hmm. Surely with a little ingenuity, you could find a better situation,” Mother said. “You seem smart enough to improve yourself.”

  I was afraid my sister might set Mother straight with a pointed remark, so to neutralize the air, I said, “Camille is being shy about her talent. She’s a flutist.”

  Julie livened up. “Really? Are you good?”

  “She’s very good. She plays on the streets of Melbourne, and they literally cannot walk away when she starts playing.”

  “That is sooo cool, Aunt Camy. That we all love music. I can’t wait to hear you play. I play the piano and guitar, and Mom can play the piano.”

  “A little,” I added.

  “Ma
ybe we could have a little family band.” Julie raised her cup to us, looking happier than I’d ever seen her.

  “Which brings me to something special.” I lifted a present out of the paper bag I had set next to my chair. “I have an early birthday present for Camille, since her birthday is next week. I know I should wait, but I’m too excited to hold back any longer.”

  “It’ll be your birthday too,” Camille said, “but I don’t have a present for you. In fact, I totally forgot it was next week.”

  “I don’t mind. I have everything I need. All my family is around me. What more could anyone want?”

  Mother turned her flashing eyes on me. “I forgot your birthdays were next week.”

  I could have so easily said, “You’ve never remembered our birthdays before, so what would it matter now?” But I didn’t. I was a good girl and let her comment wash away with the sweet taste of Earl Grey. But I cringed inside, wondering if Mother was about to show her teeth again and if she’d be sharpening them on me.

  “We seem to be a musical family. Granny, do you play an instrument?” Julie asked.

  Mother fiddled with her lace collar as if it made her neck itch. “No. Well, I used to play the piano, but no more.”

  “Your grandmother has a beautiful grand piano in the front living room.” I tried a bite of the tiny quiche, which melted in my mouth.

  “Really? May I see it later?” Julie asked. “It would be wonderful to play on a grand piano. We’ve never had anything so fine.”

  “You’d better enjoy it while you can. I was thinking of giving it to Dragan’s daughter.” Mother took a deep draw from her teacup.

  “Really? Why?” At that point we all must have stared at Mother, horrified. What she’d said seemed preposterous—that she would give away an heirloom piano to a stranger when her own granddaughter would give anything to play on such an instrument.

  “Why are you three staring at me? You make me feel like one of those primates at the zoo.” Mother ran her thumb over the carving on the cane again.

  I looked away from Mother, since my glance irritated her. So, Dragan was not only helping herself to Mother’s liquor cabinet, but she was encouraging Mother to give up some of her expensive furnishings as well. Before long Mother would be willing the entire estate to her. But since I wanted our teatime to go well, I took the high road and let that argument go. For now. Eventually, though, I was going to run out of high roads. I got us back on track and handed Camille her gift.

  “Thanks, Lily. You’re so sweet to me.”

  “You’re welcome. I hope I got the right kind. Marcus helped me buy it this morning when we were out and about together.”

  Camille tore off the bow and the pretty paper, and the moment she saw the instrument case, she gasped. She flipped open the latches and lifted the lid. “Ohh, Lily. What a perfect gift. This is wonderful. It’s like you could read my mind, since I’d really been grieving lately over the loss of my flute.”

  “Did we get the right one?”

  “Yes, you did. This is a western concert flute just like the one I had before.” Camille put the three instrument pieces together and blew in the mouthpiece, testing it. “Good sound, but it’ll take some time for it to come to life properly. All things of beauty take time.” She smiled at me.

  “What happened to your other flute?” Mother asked.

  Camille didn’t take her eyes off her instrument as she replied, “My boyfriend threw my flute into the Yarra River.”

  Mother reared back. “And why would he do a fool thing like that?”

  “Because he broke up with me and he was angry. He wanted to punish me.” Camille pressed her fingers on the silvery keys.

  “What for?”

  My sister looked at Mother then, and as if waking up from a dream. “I guess because at that moment I was in his space. I was breathing his air.”

  “Maybe next time you should put some real thought into who you go out with.”

  Camille coughed.

  Mother coughed too and in the same way.

  It was such an uncanny moment that they stared at each other for a second.

  “Play us a tune, Aunt Camy,” Julie begged. “Just one. Please. I have to hear you.”

  “Well, maybe one.” Camille stood. “I would like to hear the sound of it myself.” She held up her flute, positioned her fingers, and lowered her lips to the mouthpiece. For a moment she closed her eyes, pausing as if she were gathering some inner strength or summoning that peaceful garden place that she must imagine when she played—and then she blew life into the flute.

  The haunting sound of the Irish classic “Danny Boy” curled its way through the room and then rose, finding its home not only in the rafters of the cathedral ceiling but in our hearts. It took my imaginings on a journey to the verdant valleys and hills of Ireland—a country I’d always wanted to visit but had never seen. My sister had her music back, and I couldn’t have been happier.

  Engulfed inside the sounds and longings was a desire to see Marcus’s face. Maybe I’d been too rash in telling him this wasn’t a good time to propose. Perhaps I should have put aside my concerns and married him as soon as I could sign the papers. As fast as I could say yes. Why not embrace joy? But what nonsense. It was just the magic of the music carrying me away.

  Julie’s eyes grew wide and dreamy and misty—obviously she relished every second of her aunt’s playing. She hummed along and then sang along. Her voice, coupled with the sound of the flute, added an exquisite quality to a moment I knew I would never forget. Perhaps Julie had learned the lyrics in choir. So lovely and moving.

  I glanced over at Mother, trying to gauge her reaction. Would she at least have some pride in her offspring for creating such beauty?

  Mother squeezed her chin until her fingers seemed knobbier than ever. She appeared spellbound, and yet like a murky tide, there was something running just beneath the surface of her expression that seemed foreboding.

  I closed my eyes to shut her out, not wanting any kind of sour temper to ruin the pretty moment. I let myself imagine streams in the Emerald Isle, as they ambled through woods and flashed down bluffs and then all joined together into one great river. It was the way I’d hoped our family could be, each of us coming together at last, all flowing into one. But then the tune came to a close, and we returned to our real world.

  Camille gazed down and touched her womb with tenderness. I was the only one who knew what was in her heart—she’d not been playing for us but for the baby growing inside her.

  Julie and I applauded, while Mother sat, clinging to her cane.

  “Your singing is lovely, Julie,” Camille said. “We should do this often.”

  Julie beamed. “I would love it. You’re wonderful. I think—”

  “Camille,” Mother broke in, “why don’t you play professionally? Surely you don’t want to play on the streets the rest of your life.”

  “I don’t mind it.” Camille took a soft cloth out of the case and gingerly ran it along the metal instrument. “It will take a couple of weeks, but we will become the best of friends,” she said to her flute. Then she looked at me. “Thank you again, Lily. It’s the most meaningful gift anyone has ever given me.”

  Camille’s smile touched me, warming me all the way through.

  “But except for tips you can’t make any money that way,” Mother ranted on. “And it’s so beneath a Gray family member to play on the streets.”

  Camille took the instrument apart and settled the pieces in their velvet nest. “I have never thought of where I play my music as demeaning, and my tips are sometimes four hundred dollars a week. With my music and job I’ve been able to get along. I’m not getting rich, but then that was never my goal. I just wanted to use the gift God gave me. To create something lovely in a cold world.”

  “Bah.” Mother raised her chin. “God. I see. Can’t you do it for yourself?”

  “Would you like some more tea, Granny?” Julie asked.

  “No, tha
nk you, dear,” Mother said. “I think I’ve had enough.”

  “Are you okay, Granny?” Julie’s face lit with rosy innocence, unaware that her grandmother’s temper could be as volatile as a volcano’s and her words could pelt her with burning lava at any moment.

  Mother’s expression dissolved into a scowl, a routine that her flesh must have been accustomed to. “Of course I am. I’m fine.”

  Camille started to take a bite of her quiche but she set it back down. “And I know it embarrasses you for a Gray to play music on the streets, but you don’t have to concern yourself with that. Do remember. I am not a Gray. I am a Daniels.”

  “How could I forget? You won’t let me,” Mother snapped.

  “Granny?” Julie lifted the pot, which trembled in her hand. “Are you sure you don’t want some more tea or sweets?”

  “No,” Mother said. “Stop asking me that.”

  Oh, Lord, give me calm. I could see it already, that slow descent into a sad and lonely place. My Julie, who had started out by being herself around Granny, and almost winning her over, was now hedging and flinching. My Julie was starting to walk on the eggshells that my mother invariably put out for her entertainment. Or because her misery could offer nothing else. I could handle the badgering, but the sight of my Julie being mistreated was more than sad—it tore me to pieces. “Mother, don’t snap at my daughter. It’s not a—”

  “Déanaim cad ba mhaith liom i mo theach féin.” Mother’s jaw gyrated in a hard line.

  My fingers ached to pick at my skin, but I refused to give in to it. I no longer wanted to torture my flesh for my mother’s failings. I instead rested my fingers on the edge of the table and squeezed.

  “I’m sorry,” Camille said. “I need to leave, Lily. I’m not feeling well. But first, where’s your bathroom?”

  “It’s the first door on the right.” Oh dear. Did she have nausea?

  “What’s wrong with you, girl?” All the pretense of teatime etiquette had now vanished like a sweet breeze consumed by a foul breath.

  Camille stared at Mother. “If you must know … I’m pregnant.”