Flowers from Iraq (The Storyteller and the Healer Book 1)

by Sunny Alexander

  “I promised Gayle a massage this evening. How about if I massage you afterward? Maybe that will tell us something.”

  That evening Helen moved the massage table into Kathleen’s bedroom. Kathleen lay on her stomach, trembling and shivering.

  Helen covered her with a light blanket. “What is it, honey?”

  “I’m scared. I’m naked, I’m on a table, and it reminds me of Iraq and hospitals.”

  “Think about where you are. You’re in Los Angeles, surrounded by people who love you and will keep you safe. You’re not in Iraq or Germany and no one is going to hurt you.”

  Kathleen began to relax and drift off to another place. “Helen?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I never saw flowers in Iraq. Sometimes, one of us would get packets of seeds and we’d try to find a protected corner, someplace where there might be some shade. The seeds would begin to grow and peek through the soil. We would get so excited. Then, the heat and the wind would come from nowhere and kill everything. There were no safe corners. I’ve had bad dreams about there being no flowers.”

  “It was a harsh place and you saw more than anyone should ever have to see,” Helen reassured her. “When we get to your new home, we should plant flowers—maybe some bulbs, too. You’ll get out in the fresh air and it’s something we can do together. Would you like that?”

  Kathleen nodded her head and closed her eyes as if she was about to fall asleep.

  Helen poured oil on her hands. “I’m going to slather you with sweet almond oil, give you a massage and get some of the tightness out. You have to tell me if I go too deep and if it hurts. Tomorrow, I want to watch your exercise routine. Maybe I can change or add something that will help loosen your shoulder. Now, I want you to take a deep breath, fill your lungs, and let all the air out.”

  The moving crew got to work after a long and lively breakfast. Gayle was feeling mellow after yesterday’s massage and decided it was time to clean out her kitchen cabinets and closets for duplicates and extras. Gayle knew she had a “minor,” as she referred to it, shopping problem and simply couldn’t resist buying an item if it was on sale. Helen and Gayle hunted through kitchen cabinets and closets, chatting and laughing as they reviewed everything and placed the spare items on the kitchen table.

  Kathleen watched them with their heads together, giggling as if they were two twelve-year-old girls with a special secret. Kathleen worked steadily, wrapping all the extras and duplicates in old newspapers and filling box after box. She didn’t want to admit it, but she felt jealous and left out of their fun.

  Robert and Sam were assigned to the garage to sort out Robert’s extra gardening tools and supplies. Everyone knew how hard that would be for Robert, but after a couple of hours, with a look of triumph on his face and sweat pouring down his brow, a respectable pile of rakes, hoes, and shovels sat on the driveway waiting for a new home. After lunch and several tall glasses of ice tea, Robert and Sam left to pick up the moving van, but not before Helen tucked a long list of cleaning supplies in Sam’s pocket.

  It was still dark outside when they began their caravan to Canfield: four vehicles all in a straight line as if they were floats in a parade. Robert drove the moving van and led the procession. Sam maneuvered the motor home. Gayle and Helen shared Gayle’s car while Kathleen’s car brought up the rear.

  Kathleen relaxed and enjoyed the quiet. She was tired from working nonstop yesterday and perplexed at the amount of giggling that went on between Gayle and Helen. It reminded her of school when she was friendless and felt left out of everything.

  It was early morning when they arrived at Canfield House. The chatting and giggling stopped as all five stood immobile, awed by the regal beauty of Kathleen’s Queen Anne home. Helen broke the silence by saying, “Wow!” and everyone began to laugh.

  Kathleen unlocked the front door and took them on a tour. Some interior walls had been changed to allow for exam rooms and bathrooms. The contractor had made casts of the original moldings and matched the stain on the paneled walls. When the remodeling was completed the new and the old would be indistinguishable.

  They moved some of the work materials to make a clear path to the kitchen. Kathleen opened the kitchen door, stopped frozen in her tracks, and turned to look at the Four Musketeers. They stood there with wide grins.

  Helen spoke first. “You can’t live in your new home without a refrigerator.”

  Gayle followed. “Or without a washer and dryer.”

  “Is this what all the giggling was about? Oh, you guys, I felt so left out!”

  Kathleen hugged them and wished she could say the words that couldn’t be released. They were simple words, spoken every day: “I love you.”

  PART THREE

  Spring

  CHAPTER 19

  It was the first day of spring and Kathleen’s office was due to open in ten days. Before undertaking the remodeling project, Kathleen was unaware that her need for perfection extended beyond the field of medicine. She had enjoyed the small restoration projects with Robert, but her need to return Canfield House to its original state now consumed her. She was content to wear a pair of sweats that were years old and threadbare, but nothing was too good for her home.

  She became familiar with the history of Queen Anne architecture and poured over restoration catalogs and websites. She discovered a small company on the east coast specializing in Queen Anne hardware. Switch plates, outlet covers, and doorknobs were all ordered, but until they arrived, inexpensive standins would have to do.

  A cleaning crew spent the day banishing the dirt and dust that had occupied Canfield House for more than three years. The windows sparkled. The house smiled.

  Kathleen looked at her list of “Things To Do,” crossing them off, one by one. Put books on shelves was the lone “Thing” left on her list. She picked up a red pen and circled the words. She glanced at the unopened boxes of books near her desk: ten boxes neatly stacked and labeled Estate of Anna Roth. She got a box cutter and touched the tape sealing the top box. Her chest tightened and she sat on the floor next to the box, rocking back and forth, a little girl grieving for the woman who had given her a second chance at life.

  Boston, 1981

  Kathleen wore a faded hand-me-down dress that was too large for her lanky figure, and shoes that were snug for her growing feet. She took a deep breath and held Alice in Wonderland tightly in her hands before entering Mrs. Roth’s fifth grade classroom.

  Kathleen kept her eyes on the floor, occasionally peeking at the kids sitting at their desks. Girls in new outfits, flirting with boys, became silent as she walked by. Giggles followed her as she walked to the aisle next to the window and sat at the desk in the back of the room. Tears stung her eyes and she tried to be less visible by slumping in her chair.

  She opened Alice to a random page and tried to focus on dissolving words. She stared out the window and watched the white clouds lazily change shape as they drifted across the September sky. She imagined a chariot swooping down to take her to a land with gumdrop flowers and rivers overflowing with lemonade. She saw a gingerbread house resting on a green meadow with her family waiting on the porch. They surrounded her and smothered her with hugs and kisses. They went inside and her da told stories about fairies and leprechauns and strong women warriors, and they made peanut butter sandwiches stacked as high as the sky.

  Mrs. Roth rose from her chair and wrote her name on the blackboard, an unspoken action that called for complete silence. She talked about the classroom rules and then passed out a handout with their homework assignment.

  “There will be no math or spelling homework for tonight,” she announced.

  A happy murmur spread from student to student.

  “Your assignment is to write an essay about your family. The handout asks you to answer some specific questions. I will be checking for spelling and grammar. It’s points off for errors, so use your dictionaries. Your report must be between two and three pages. I want to see neat cursive wri
ting. Absolutely no printing,” she admonished. “They are due tomorrow, and I will return them to you on Monday.”

  Kathleen walked to Mrs. Adams’ home, a small skip in her step. This was the most important assignment of her life. She said hello to Mrs. Adams, got a glass of milk, and climbed the stairs to her room. First, she thought, I should make a cover. Kathleen found scraps of cardboard and drew crayoned flowers in shades of gray and blue.

  She sat at the plain brown desk, scuffed and scarred by years of use by foster children. The tip of her tongue stuck between her teeth, she began to write on a sheet of lined notebook paper:

  “My Family, by Kathleen Moore.

  “I was born on June thirteen, and I am ten years old. There are nine Moores, my father, my mother and seven children. I am the eldest. We live in a very happy home.

  “My father works for a bank in Boston. His title is Vice-President. My mother doesn’t work. She stays home and takes care of the children. A woman comes in every day to help Mother with the cleaning and cooking. Sometimes, when my father comes home from work, he and my mother dance before we eat dinner. I love to watch them. They are the most beautiful couple I know.

  “I am lucky, because as the eldest child I have my own bedroom. Here is a photograph of my room.”

  Kathleen opened the desk drawer and carefully took out a page she had saved from an old magazine.

  She looked at it, smiled, and thought perfect!

  She used her school scissors to cut around the outline of a picture of a girl’s bedroom and pasted it onto the first page of her report. The room was furnished with a canopy bed covered with a pink floral chintz spread. Shelves, filled with dolls, books, and games, lined the walls. Dresses, shoes, and play clothing hung in the closet.

  “Mother and I went shopping and bought everything for my bedroom,” she continued to write. “We had so much fun.

  “My parents travel a lot, mostly on business, but sometimes they take a vacation to Europe. I suppose I will go with them soon. They think traveling will be good for my development.

  “I’m not sure what I want to be when I grow up, but I love to read and my favorite subject is science. Right now, I am working on an invention so I can become invisible.

  “Father told me I could attend the University of my choosing. He is happy to pay the tuition. Perhaps I will become a doctor so I can help the poor.”

  Kathleen’s eyes lit up when Mrs. Roth returned the essays on Monday and she saw an “A” written boldly on the cover, in bright red.

  That afternoon, after the dismissal bell rang, Mrs. Roth asked Kathleen to stay for a few minutes. Kathleen was shaking inside. Did Mrs. Roth know? Was she in trouble?

  When the last child left, Mrs. Roth said, “You’re not in trouble, Kathleen. Come sit next to me.”

  She wondered, was Mrs. Roth a mind reader?

  Mrs. Roth opened the desk drawer and took out a plate of homemade cookies. She placed one on a napkin and offered the plate to Kathleen. Kathleen hesitated before taking a single cookie and placing it carefully on a napkin. Kathleen followed Mrs. Roth’s example by breaking off a small piece before putting the morsel in her mouth.

  Mrs. Roth said, “Kathleen, you are a bright girl and I thoroughly enjoyed your essay. In your paper you wrote about your love of science. I believe you could become a doctor, perhaps even a surgeon if you wanted.”

  Mrs. Roth paused for a moment. “I was wondering if you would like to stay after school for some tutoring. I thought you might enjoy a special reading assignment, something we won’t read in class. After you’ve read the book, we can discuss it. You would be surprised at the hidden meaning in books.”

  “I like to read,” she whispered.

  Mrs. Roth nodded. “I thought so. Alice in Wonderland was one of my special books when I was child. What is your favorite part?”

  Kathleen’s lips quivered when she spoke. “When Alice gets to go down the rabbit hole into a different world.”

  “Yes, that was an exciting time for Alice. Kathleen, who looks after you when your parents are traveling?”

  Kathleen focused on her feet and spoke shamefully. “Mrs. Adams. I stay with Mrs. Adams when Mother and Father are gone.”

  “I want you to take this note to Mrs. Adams. It’s asking permission for you to stay after school to get tutored.” Kathleen clutched the permission slip as if it was a life preserver ring thrown to a drowning person.

  “Before you leave, would you mind taking the rest of the cookies with you? I’m starting a new diet and I won’t be able to eat them.”

  Kathleen munched on the cookies as she walked home, leaving nothing but an empty paper plate and a few crumbs to be thrown away in a nearby trashcan.

  The next day, Kathleen returned to school with the signed permission slip in her hand. The relationship that began with a fragile piece of paper lasted throughout her school years and beyond, until one day, Kathleen’s letter to Mrs. Roth was returned and she learned that the woman who had given her another chance at life had died.

  The daylight began to fade and Kathleen stepped outside her office to watch the sun disappear behind the hills. She vowed never to take her home, the sunset, or anyone she loved for granted. As the darkness crept in, the night air began to feel more like winter than early spring. Seeking protection from the night chill, she went inside, put on a sweater, and started a fire in the fireplace.

  It was difficult for Kathleen to believe that Canfield House was hers. She looked at the room that had been the library. Her desk was positioned in front of three large windows that faced the north side of the house. During the day, natural light streamed through, brightening what might otherwise be a dark room. A small conservatory led outside to the wraparound porch. A single wing chair, covered in light brown velvet, rested comfortably inside the conservatory. Ferns and palms, placed near the door, made the outside and inside seem as one. It was a perfect spot to read a favorite book.

  A couch and two chairs were arranged in front of the tiled fireplace. It would be a pleasant sitting area to be used for intakes and consultations. Kathleen didn’t like the idea of sitting behind her desk when she spoke with patients. If she was delivering good news, she wanted to share in the joy, and if the news was bad, she didn’t want a barrier between her and the patient.

  Hunger pains reminded her that she had waited too long before eating. Kathleen turned around, not wanting to separate from the room she loved. She scanned her office as if she was creating a photograph and securing it to her heart.

  As Kathleen walked toward the kitchen she took in every detail: the oak paneling on the walls, the hardwood floors that creaked, even the drafts that came through the old windows and made her shiver. She tried to stay in her lucky feeling and quiet the small voice that told her she must have been insane to take on such a huge responsibility.

  Kathleen opened the kitchen door and hesitated before walking in. She flinched at the sight of the green cabinets and the orange patterned linoleum. She vowed that, someday, she would return Canfield House to its former state of glory.

  CHAPTER 20

  Claire Hollander sat at the dining table in her grandmother’s efficiency apartment, while Bubba, as she called her, fussed over dinner. “Eat, eat,” Bubba commanded, handing Claire a plate piled high with brisket, mashed potatoes, and peas.

  Claire stared at the plate and thought, from my lips to my hips. “Uh, Bubba, do we have any salad?”

  “Do we have salad? I’m always forgetting something.”

  “Wow! That’s a salad,” said Claire, when Bubba returned carrying a bowl heaped high with spring lettuce and raw vegetables.

  “Now, down to business,” said Bubba.

  Claire was planning on taking her grandmother’s green, 1997 Saturn station wagon on her trip from New York to Los Angeles—a generous and unexpected parting gift.

  “Before I give you my car, I want three promises from you,” her elflike grandmother had said.

  Claire l
ooked at her beloved Bubba, with hazel eyes that couldn’t hide a glint of humor. “What kind of promises?”

  “I want you to promise you’ll always keep the car doors locked and don’t give anyone a ride, not even a sweet-looking young girl.” The old woman’s index finger kept time with her words like a conductor’s baton. “Last week on TV, I saw a program and this driver stopped to pick up a girl who was hitchhiking, and once the door was opened two murderous thugs jumped from behind a bush and slit the driver’s throat. I want you to stop at a motel before dark and I want you to call me every night.”

  Claire almost laughed at the murderous thug comment, but she knew if she made a promise she would have to keep it. “I promise, Bubba.”

  Bubba handed Claire the keys and a bulging manila envelope. “Registration, proof of insurance and owner’s manual. Use it in good health, tatala,” she said, using the affectionate Yiddish term for child. “You’re starting a new life, and it’s time I gave up driving. Ah, if I were ten years younger I’d be going with you.”

  Claire threw her arms around her grandmother. “Oh, Bubba, thank you, thank you, thank you. You’re the best! I’m going to miss you so much. Please don’t worry. I’ll be staying with friends along the way and I promise to be really careful. I don’t take as many risks as people think.”

  “No? Skydiving? Hiking through Ireland? Climbing mountains in Switzerland? It’s time you settled down. Maybe this change will be good for you. You’ll have a steady job and a chance to meet a nice boy. He doesn’t even have to be a doctor.”

  Claire knew Bubba was right; it was time for her to settle down. At thirty-three, most of her friends had at least one child and some had had more than one marriage. Perhaps her luck would change in Los Angeles.

  Claire was amazed at how much the station wagon held. While a sixties VW bus would have been much more to her liking, free was free and she was grateful for Bubba’s generous gift. She felt a little bit like a nomad with all her possessions piled high in a wagon. During the times when she would get fidgety, and feel the need to travel or try a different profession, she would wonder about the part in her that couldn’t put down roots or stick with any one thing for very long.