She could still see Miss Isabella dusting her crystal, proud of the little collection she had maintained in spite of losing so much. Paloma had thought her sons had inherited it, but now that she thought about it, she recalled hearing that boxes were being transferred into her name; into her brother’s name. And just as when Momma and Papa had died suddenly, Miss Isabella’s loss had been such a blow, and they had packed the boxes away without opening a single one.
“There’s a note with the glass, if you want me to read it,” Jason said quietly, pulling a yellowing sheet of pink paper out of the decanter. “It’s addressed to you.”
More than memories, there were words from her beloved Miss Isabella? Paloma’s throat clenched shut as she nodded.
Jason cleared his throat and then began to read: “Mio caro, dolce Paloma,” he began, tears already beginning to slide down his cheeks.
He wiped them quickly and then continued in earnest, making sure to articulate the word as well as he could. And for this, Paloma was thankful the children weren’t hearing it the first reading. It could be translated for them later, but she wanted to hear it in Miss Isabella’s own word.
“C'è tanto desidero dirvi che non ho mai avuto parole per in persona. Ci sono molte cose nel mio cuore, e ogni volta che provo a parlare, mi mancano le parole. Almeno in Inglese. Cosi ho deciso oggi è il giorno per scrivere,” he continued, taking another deep breath.
“Sappiamo entrambi che non ho molti piu giorni sulla terra, e potrebbe anche essere che lei dopo la mia ultima finale sulle orme e battiti cardiaci. Dio solo lo sa.
Oh, come posso lasciare questo mondo quando ci sono quelli come dolce come lei e Jason? E come ho lasciato passare della speranza che vi vedrò sposato, una madre. Non sarà spettacolare, e non c'è nulla dentro di me mi dice che non sarà.
Sono lieto che hai visto attraverso Quentin, inganni. Egli non era un buon anima per essere intorno, e a malincuore lacrime guardare che cosa è lasciarsi vivere con, nei suoi confronti.
Se stai ascoltando o leggendo questo per la prima volta dopo che ho passato tra le braccia di Gesu, al ricongiungimento con la mia famiglia nel cielo, sapere questo: Io vi ho amato la mia propria carne e sangue. Io vi ho amato, Paloma, forse piu di quanto avrei dovuto, ma Ti ho amato con ardore E non so come spiegare. Sei diventata una luce nelle tenebre per me dal momento in cui sono nati. Mi è caro come se si fosse il mio, dopo aver perso il mio quelli dolci.
Ci sono alcune cose che sto per lasciare per ricordati di me. Non voglio alcun argomento; accetta con gioia. Sono vostri, e vi sono alcuni di Jason per condividere, come bene.
Madre Maria, Regina del Cielo, e di suo Figlio, Gesu, il Signore, e vi benedica sempre, alla fine dei tuoi giorni. Il Padre risplenda su di voi tutto suo sorriso, la mia dolce Paloma... e che il vostro cuore mai vicino alla gioia e bontà intorno a voi, anche in mezzo al dolore.
Quando sarà il momento, mi unisco i santi guardando su di te; la tua madre, tuo padre, tuo fratello, e tutti coloro che vi hanno preceduto... e io sarò con voi.
Essere in pace con la mia morte quando si tratta, amica mia... non continuare a tenere a chi deve parte con voi. Questa è una lezione che conosco è necessario, ma credo che tu riesca a.
Tutto il mio amore,
Isabella
For several moments, the trio sat in silence, their eyes watery. Edward had clasped Paloma’s hand a third of the way into the reading, and she held it tight still, her sobs nearly choking her.
To hear Miss Isabella talking about her imminent death so long after it happened was more than she could take. To hear her wish for what she could not see broke Paloma’s heart.
She let go of him and fanned her face. Her mind was still processing the message left in a beautiful language by such a beautiful soul she’d been so blessed to know and love.
So much she wanted to tell Isabella in return. So much on her heart that she just didn’t know what to do but keep searching for the joy and peace Miss Isabella challenged her to find. Even in death; even in loss; even in tragedy and sadness, there was something to learn.
She had known that, of course… of course she did. She’d learned the hard way; she and Jason both had when their parents died. But this opened up fresh wounds.
Or did it?
Maybe instead of opening up scars, it is bringing healing rain from the inside, she thought. Maybe this is what we needed this minute, this day, in order to keep it together. A lesson in forgiveness from Mark, of all people… and a reminder of joy from Miss Isabella; she thought, so like a second mother, in so many ways.
“Do you want to continue with the boxes,” Jason asked her gently, placing a hand on her shoulder.
She had no words; she simply nodded, her eyes glued to the box Edward was closest to.
Edward slowly opened and revealed the contents of the next two boxes – books containing recipes Momma had written and enclosed in photo albums, and poems she had written in her spare time as fancy and whim had allowed. A book of drawings Papa had done; animals and plants and buildings; even a few of she and her brother, asleep in their beds as young children.
“Mama, Papa, are you up there,” she heard Duncan ask suddenly, breaking the reverent silence of the office.
“We’re here with Uncle Jason; is something wrong,” Edward called back, his words sounding as choked as she felt.
“Well, Auntie ‘Genie and Uncle Mark are leaving now. Eugenie wanted to know if you could call her later,” her son called again, this time closer. His voice came from the foot of the stairs.
“Alright,” she replied, wiping her tears. “I’ll call her in the morning, okay?”
“Got it.”
She listened as he clomped away from the stairs; heard him calling loudly to Eugenie the message she’d conveyed. Heard muffled goodbyes and the closing door. Jason’s eyes were on her the whole time, and Edward was looking down at the drawings from their father.
“Do you want to wait for the rest? Give it time,” Jason asked her.
“No, I just…”
“Are you sure,” Edward asked, looking at her now.
“I’m sure, I just…”
She moved toward the edge of the chair, making sure she didn’t fall. Edward looked at her again, a question in his eyes.
“I can do this,” she told them “I can. So what’s next?”
Thirty Four
Boston, Massachusetts… July 19, 1937
Peter struggled against the door as it jammed on him for the third time that day.
As if being late to work and being called out for it in front of his coworkers at the plant wasn’t bad enough.
As if there being no rye flour at the store to replenish their supplies hadn’t been a disappointment already, too. He frowned, knowing his wife would be understanding but disappointed.
She had asked for the one thing from the store; just the one, and they had been out.
How can a grocer run out of rye, he thought to himself as he tried the door again. That just doesn’t even make any kind of sense.
“Coming,” he heard Lily call from deep within the bowels of the apartment.
In the distance, Peter could hear the murmur of a neighbor’s television – or was it a radio, he wondered – and the chirrup of a nearby bird as he waited for her footsteps to approach the door.
He loved their little two-bedroom place, he did, but he hated this door with a passion beyond words.
It stayed tight in its lintels when it should open, and sometimes, when it rained, it just wouldn’t stay shut without the clasped hands of the lock to keep it where it belonged.
He could just picture his wife, her rapidly changing figure causing her to waddle, moving slowly toward the door as her feet shuffled along the wood floor. How was she going to be able to open it if he couldn’t?
“On the count of two,” she said, her voice jangling with laughter, as usual. “You push and I’ll pull…. All right?
Peter nodded in the silence and smiled.
�
�Yeah, yeah, stop nodding and answer me, already,” she said, laughing even more.
How was it that she knew him so well?
“Let’s do this,” he said finally. “One…” He placed his hand on the doorknob and turned it. “Two…”
He set his shoulder to the door and pushed – gently enough not to knock her down, but hard enough, he hoped, to budge the door, at the very least.
And within moments, the door was freed from the squeeze of the lintels.
Thank God that Lily had been home.
Had they both been outside the apartment for the day, who knows how long it would have taken to get inside, though Lily seemed to have a finesse about her that made the door open for her nearly on command.
Or so it seemed to him.
“One of these days, I need to talk to the manager,” he mumbled to himself, picking his briefcase up and heading inside. He paused to kiss his wife, and felt a stirring in his heart and belly.
Enough of that for now, he thought, taking in a deep breath as she wrapped her arms around him. Instead of obeying his mind, his body followed Lily’s lead, and he set his briefcase down, kicking the door shut behind him.
He moved her toward the couch, his hands in her hair, and continued to kiss her.
He could smell the pot roast she had been cooking; he could smell strawberries, and honey, and the homey scent of the lavender she kept hung upside down in the window to dry, and still, he kissed her.
He could smell the lotion on her skin, and the fresh bread he knew she made every Monday and Thursday, and still, he kissed her, setting her on the couch, their lips never parting. Taking her hands in his now, holding them to his heart; pausing for breath as he sat down, too.
I’ve got to get a handle on this, he thought, even as he took her in his arms to kiss her again. I’m the man of the house, and it’s my responsibility to keep things under control. We have more important things to attend to tonight, and I just….
It seemed as though all his disappointment, all the pressure he had been feeling at work, all the stress with his family, all of it was wrapped up into the messy package of that kiss, and still he kissed her. He kissed her until he thought he would never breathe again, and still he kissed her. He kissed her until she put her hands against his chest and pushed gently against him.
“I take it you didn’t have a very good day,” she said once she’d caught her breath. “And I’m sorry for it, but glad for the benefit of the attention.”
Her voice was husky now, raspy. It sank deep into his soul and he relished it; drank it in.
“I’m sorry,” he told her. “I don’t know what it is that comes over me; I don’t know why I get like this, but I just-”
She moved her fingers to his lips, silencing him. She slid her fingers into his hair, undoing him.
“We all have bad days, Peter. That’s why we have God’s help in times of trouble. And that’s why I make sure there’s dinner on the table when you come in the door. I know it’s a little thing… but I hope it makes for one less stress; one less thing to worry about.”
“They didn’t have any rye,” he said, stilling her hands, bringing them back down to his lap. His thumb traced patterns on the ripe flesh of her left hand, and she gasped.
“Who needs rye? I’ll try to get some next time I go. We have enough flour… it just won’t be your favorite,” she finally replied, standing up. “But for now, let’s try to concentrate on dinner. Dinner’s hot now… it won’t keep if we sit here.”
Peter’s stomach growled, but he resisted a few moments more, wishing he could sit there holding her hand forever.
Finally, with great effort, he followed her to the table and sat down next to her.
It was a simple table, with blue china and mismatched silverware amidst the food covering a cheery yellow tablecloth, but it was theirs. And their simple table was more than he thought he’d ever end up with.
In spite of the day, and in spite of their stubborn door, he was thankful.
Shannen moved across the apartment quickly as her daughter began to cry in the night, leaving Steven rolling over in a grumble as he tried to get back to sleep.
Shannen Rose – named for both she and Steven’s sister, at his insistence – had kept her up for three nights straight already. It was as if, come two thirty AM, the girl decided it was time to exercise her lungs.
Sure, she had a tooth cutting in, possibly two, and Shannen felt miserable that she couldn’t alleviate the pain for the child, but at the same time, she wished to get a full night’s sleep… even if it was just once a week.
For the last three nights, Shannen had walked the apartment, singing softly to her daughter and praying the downstairs neighbor would understand the necessity of the creaking that inevitably occurred every time she turned around near the window in the living room.
Her mother, Liraz, was staying with Shalom and Jerusha for the month, which meant it was up to her, and her alone, to make sure Shannen Rose and Steven both got the sleep they needed. Steven, to keep his sanity and job, and Shannen Rose to get her back into a regular schedule of sleeping through the night.
“There, there,” she whispered to her young daughter, whose eyes were bright with tears. “We shall sing a song and be back to sleep before you know it,” she said, praying it was true.
She tried to think back to the songs that her mother had taught her… the songs her mother had sung when she was a child. Several were in Russian or Hebrew, and she didn’t know the meaning of all the words, but a few were in English; songs her mother had created in her mind and shared with Shannen and Shalom from the time they were standing; possibly even before.
“Let’s see…,” she said, pulling a whimpering Shannen Rose up to her shoulder.
She thought some more.
What if she sang one of the French songs that Steven had taught her? She could try that for once, couldn’t she?
One of the songs of his mother, and his grandmother before her?
How do the words go again, she thought, trying to recall the way Steven had sung it, tender and with great care, for her to learn. The one about the moon, and God’s guiding as the mother learns to truly love her child? What are the words?
At first, they came slowly… she had to stop herself from stuttering through the first line or two, but then, she was remembering, and as she cradled her daughter’s head with one hand and held her body with the other… as she paced the floor in a soothing motion that always seemed to help, she sang.
She sang just above a whisper; just enough for her emotions to be evident in the words.
Pour un grand nombre de lunes, J'ai réalisé que vous
Je vous a porté au sein de ma mère, mon coeur
Pour de nombreuses lunes, je t'ai aimé
Avant que nous ayons jamais rencontré face à face pour
De nombreuses lunes, Dieu m'a guidé
Avec l'aide de Mère Marie
Et pour de nombreuses lunes, J'ai prié pour vous
Je vais donc prier jusqu'à ma mort jour
The words moved her to tears, and she began yet another of the songs Steven had taught her, praying within her that Shannen Rose, somehow, would remember this in her spirit, if not in her mind.
She prayed that she would fall asleep quickly, and not continue to whimper and cry out in pain, sporadic as it was, keeping them both awake. That this would be a night to remember for the good it did, and for the beauty of these moments together.
Comme les étoiles réfléchir sur l'eau, oh, ma petite étoile,
Mon âme reflète de qui vous êtes et sont de plus en plus
Et je le gasp en moi à la grande joie de vous voir grandir
Comme les étoiles réfléchir sur l'eau, oh, ma petite étoile
Je solliciter les conseils de ci-dessus, sur comment vous aider à briller
Et prier à l'intérieur de moi-même que Dieu bénisse le monde à travers vous
She paused a moment to resituate Shannen Rose
on her other shoulder and turn on the tea kettle for hot water before resuming the song she’d begun.
Comme les étoiles sont éparpillés dans le soir, le ciel
Sont donc mes pensées dans mon coeur vers vous
Chaque jour amène de nouveaux miracles pour moi de voir
Que je vous regarder grandir et vous regarder ...
Chaque jour nous apporte son lot de nouveaux miracles pour moi de voir
Que Dieu ne choses étonnantes grâce à vous
Que les étoiles réfléchir sur l'eau, oh, ma petite étoile, le
Soir, le ciel blooming avec les œuvres de Dieu
Je vois des nouveaux miracles dans vos yeux, votre sourire
Et je me réjouis de vous, car vous êtes les œuvres d'art
Dieu m'a donné à voir, jour après jour,
Oeuvres d'art qu'il utilise pour lever mon coeur au ciel
Et de réfléchir sur les étoiles une fois de plus
Je prie pour le mieux qu'il peut vous donner de la vie
Et regarder, stupéfait, comme il répond à mes prières
Dans sa divine calendrier et contacts
She sang the last bit of the song again in English, a little quieter now as Shannen Rose whimpered just a little more. She altered the wording little; just enough for the translation to make sense.
As the stars reflect on the water, oh, my little star
I seek advice from above, on how to help you shine
And pray that God bless the world through you
As the stars are scattered across the evening sky,
The thoughts in my heart are scattered toward you
Each day brings new miracles for me to see
As I watch you grow up and watch you become...
Each day brings new miracles for me to see…
God does amazing things through you
That the stars reflect on the water, oh, my little star,
The evening sky blooming with the works of God
The Angels' Mirror Pack 2: Books Four through Seven Page 19