She repeated, this time to no one, “Time surely does march on.” She turned toward the house and decided the evening meal could wait a little longer, as she wanted to play with her children before the light faded. She snuck around the back of the house and sprang up from the tall grass behind the garden and sent her two sons bolting and screaming from her, not bothering to look back at the voice that was now giggling at them. She raised her voice so they could hear her, “Boys, it’s me, it’s Maman. Come play.”
They turned and ran at her, saying that they thought she was a wolf coming to eat them.
“I would never let a wolf eat my boys. Never!”
When the twins tackled her, knocking her to the ground, she hugged them close to her, feeling their ribs poking into her sides.
“Ouch!” she said comically. “Doesn’t your Maman feed you two?”
“Yes, yes, yes, she feeds us! Don’t you know her, she looks just like you.”
They rolled around in the grass, tossing leaves and grasshoppers at each other, Piper playing with them the way she had learned to do with Marek long ago. Peyrinne joined them, and the four of them tickled one another until they were all laughing so hard, no one heard Marek’s horse as he rode up to the house.
It was Luuk who saw him first.
“Maman! It’s Uncle Marek.”
He scuttled behind his mother, always wary of the uncle he didn’t know well.
“Marek!” Piper called and waved to him. A pang of sadness jumped in her chest as she looked at her disheveled brother. She had hoped he would marry and find happiness, but those things were hard to find when you were always at the bottom of an ale barrel or in a fist fight. As he approached, the children gathered themselves and she instructed the boys to wash up and help her get the evening meal ready. Piper so wished her children could have known that Marek would never hurt them; that he had been small once, just like them, but was so very sad. She hugged her brother tightly and chastised him for not coming around more often. He rubbed his eyes, sniffled, and shoved his hands nervously into his trouser pockets.
“Where is your husband tonight?” Marek asked in a way that was urgent, almost demanding.
“Uhh, he went for a ride, to cool off at the brook. He’ll be back soon. We will be eating then. You’ll stay won’t you?”
He shook his head and looked over his shoulder at the field to see if he could spy Vander returning home.
“Is something wrong, Marek? Your eyes ….”
“No, I just need to ask Vander something. I’ll wait for him.”
He turned and walked past the house, not seeing the twins peering from behind the curtains at him. He walked out to the stable yard, kicking the goat kids away with his boot as they tried to nuzzle him. Sadness was always his closest friend. She turned toward the garden. And anger a close second. Please, Maman, watch over him.
She didn’t want to go into the house and leave her brother out here alone, but it seemed that was what he wanted. She looked over at the horse he had ridden out to the farm, a flea-bitten gray she had never seen before. He was favoring a hind leg, not putting weight on it. She went to the garden and brought up three large purple carrots, shook the soil from them, and snapped the tops off. Tossing the tops over the fence for the rabbit who had narrowly escaped her boys earlier seemed the kind thing to do. At the well, she washed the roots clean and filled a bucket with fresh cool water. She offered both to the poor old horse who had clearly, or so she hoped, seen better days. His ribs were visible through his dull coat, his eyes sad and watery, flies collecting in their corners. She brushed them away and rubbed the old fellow’s neck. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the kindness he rarely received. He took the carrots with his old and worn teeth, and she could see eating was not the pleasure it was for younger, well-cared-for horses.
“It’s all right, Love. I’ll make you some mash for dinner. Would you like that?” He leaned in as she scratched behind his ears, with the carrots, partially chewed, dropping to the ground. It had been years since someone had treated him as anything more than transportation.
In the house, the chicken and vegetables were cooking, Peyrinne being a natural at the hearth. Her mother inhaled deeply and nodded her exaggerated approval. “Boys, would you help me get some bran mash for the poor horse your uncle rode here?” They looked up at their mother with concern clearly swimming behind their blue eyes. Their hands fiddled with each other behind their backs, as they squirmed uncomfortably. Piper’s dismay was something she didn’t hide well, but she didn’t want to upset her children any more than they clearly were.
“You don’t have to bring it outside, just fetch it for me from the pantry.” Relieved, they galloped past the hearth to the small pantry where the dry goods were stored. When they returned to their mother, they each had almost as much of the bran flakes in their hair as they did in the half-filled wooden bucket. Caught by surprise, she laughed heartily at the adorable, yet serious faces staring up at her. She shook their hair out over the bucket, catching the loose flakes as they fell. The boys giggled, loving their mother’s sense of humor. She added some warm water from the stove top to make the mash. To it she added more than the customary pinch of sugar, a bit of salt and two handsful of raisins. After mixing it, she asked the boys if they’d like to help. They looked into each other’s eyes and with that mysterious way that twins have of communicating, made up their minds to stay put.
When Piper took the mash to the malnourished horse, she could hear loud voices coming from the barn. She froze when she heard Vander shouting. There were very few times she could count when she had heard her husband raise his voice in anger. She slipped the horse’s bridle over his ears and let the bit slide out of his mouth so he could eat his dinner.
“No, Marek. I have said it before and this is the last time. No!”
Marek, never being able to hide his feelings of despair, of abandonment, shouted back, “What kind of brother are you, treating me like a stranger?”
Piper shook her head, wishing she could help her brother, but knowing it was never a good idea to interfere with dealings between men. She didn’t see Marek often, and when she did, it seemed her memory was kinder to him than he deserved. Each visit was more intense and more often than not ended with Marek departing abruptly, leaving her feeling guilty, somehow responsible for his loneliness.
When the old gray gelding finished his bran mash, Piper slid the bridle back on and wished him a good evening, clearing his eyes of flies once more. She brought the buckets back to the well and set them down, and as she did, Marek stormed through the stable yard gate and left it wide open. The goats and sheep thundered through in a frenzy of bleating and dust and headed for the open pasture. Vander cursed him, but when he saw his wife, tried his best to compose himself.
Piper called to Marek then, her heart sinking to see two of the men she loved most, arguing.
“Come back, Marek. Have a meal with us!”
Her voice cracked as tears of sympathy and despair slid down her cheeks. She went to the barn and filled a bucket with corn and oats and headed to the field with her husband to try to round up the loose animals before darkness fell and brought the wolves from deep in the woods.
Chapter 20
THE DAYS FOLLOWING Paul’s death blended one into another until Piper couldn’t tell night from day. She wanted only to be alone on her farm, but family and friends refused to let her stay by herself for more than a day. After a week of nonstop unsolicited concern and pity, she took to lying to each one who called, saying that someone else was staying the night, thereby getting her wish to suffer alone. Curled in her bed under her covers was where she wanted to be unless she was feeding the animals, the only thing she didn’t mind doing. But as soon as her chores were done, she went straight back to her bed which still smelled like Paul, his skin, his soap, his aftershave. The tears, sobs, and anger devoured her energy, and despite the endless pans of lasagna, meatballs, salads, and brownies that were brought to her
door, she was losing weight. Sleeping in Paul’s shirts and boxers comforted her only in that it reminded her of how he loved to see her in his big clothes.
Thanksgiving and Christmas came and went without notice, though New Year’s Eve brought a handful of phone calls from well-meaning friends and colleagues; but Piper turned them all down. Curled up in bed with a box of her favorite fried rice she had had delivered, she ignored the next several phone calls that came. Celebrate? How can I celebrate? And how does the world just continue to do all of these ridiculous, meaningless things? How could I have enjoyed anything at all in life knowing someone was suffering like this? I guess I never knew what this was like?
She took a mouthful of the now cold, dry rice and decided it didn’t taste very good and that she wasn’t very hungry. She lay back on Paul’s pillow and tried to feel him around her. She spoke out loud as if someone were there with her.
“Where are you? People say they can feel their loved ones once they are gone. If that’s true, where are you, Paul? Show me a sign. Something? Anything.”
She looked at the blank television screen and willed it to turn on. Then she looked at the light in the ceiling fan above the bed. “Just a flicker? Please?” With a heavy sigh, she closed her eyes and tried to picture Paul there with her, feel him there. She took a couple of deep breaths and let the stillness of the house surround her, and she focused on every sensation in her body.
Just as she was about to open her eyes, she felt a rising panic in her stomach and thought she might vomit. But bolting upright she realized the feeling was now more in her chest and she grasped her bathrobe. Now further up in her throat she felt as if she could not take another breath. She tried inhaling and began choking, heart racing and terror traipsing through her mind on a galloping horse. I’m dying. I’m going to die! I’m alone and I’m going to die that way!
Her mind spun and spun all the while her pulse kept up its frantic dance. She realized she had gotten out of bed and was heading for the stairs. Why?
Piper then realized that if she was asking herself rational questions, then she was probably okay. Finally, taking a full breath and feeling the sweat that had announced her first panic attack, she relaxed.
She reached with a shaking hand into the pocket of her robe and pulled out her phone. As she listened to the ringtone on the phone she thanked God for cell phones and pre-programmed numbers.
“Sharon! Hi, umm. I think I just had a heart attack. Or a panic attack. Or something … not sure what.”
Just then, as she turned toward the stairs that would lead to the comfort of her kitchen, she missed the flicker of her nightstand lamp and the scent of Paul’s cologne as it circled his pillow.
“No. I don’t need an ambulance. I’m okay. No, really. Please, Sharon, don’t. I just—”
And then without warning another wave of adrenaline swept up from her stomach to her chest. She dropped her phone and ran to the bathroom. Over the sink, she bent low and splashed cool water on her face as she gasped for air. My God, what’s happening?
Chapter 21
CATHERINE, Honey. It’s Mom and Dad. We’re here, Cathy. It’s going to be okay.”
Piper fought to open her eyes but the sedative was still working on her. Who was calling her Catherine, she wondered. No matter. She liked the feeling of warmth and comfort she found only in this in-between state. There was no pain here, only serenity.
Remember, Love, I am here, in the midst. Years mean nothing here, and here there is no sorrow. I have waited so long for you—lifetimes. I would wait an eternity to hold you in my arms again, in the fields of your favorite lavender. To see your hands reaching for mine as we dance between the rows and feel the warmth of the sun on our faces, and to watch the children grow and learn to ride Pieferet. To see all three of them at once on his back is a memory so sweet it begs me to break my ancient promise to be silent. I long to bury my face in your hair and to feel your fingers in mine; if only God would allow it. I know your pain is crushing you, Love, but you will go on and you will live the life God wants you to. We all do. Learning is never easy when it must be done alone. But alone, you will finally learn it. Paul was there to bring you to this point, and a fine job he did. He was born to teach you. Your path is there, my beautiful one; look for it. And look for me. I will never be far. I am the V you assign to all that you love; I am in the songs you feel deep inside. I am the words on your page. Look for me, I am not gone.
“Catherine, can you hear me? Can you open your eyes, honey? Catherine Elizabeth! Open your eyes!”
Piper opened one eye warily. She could only make out her mother’s fuzzy figure. She was wearing her customary blazer over a turtleneck and her hand clasped her crucifix necklace. Piper thought to herself. Are we at church or lunch? Those are the turtleneck/blazer occasions. Where am I? And who is Catherine?
She let her eye slide shut again and wanted to feel the warm light, but it was gone. And the voice came again.
“Cathy. It’s Mom. Can you hear me?”
Now she opened her eyes and squinted at the face looking down at her with a stern yet loving expression.
“Mom,” she said, not realizing how much energy one word could use. “Why? Why are you ….?”
“Shhh. It’s okay, just rest.”
Piper, through the fog of medication and confusion, had one clear and conscious thought: My mother has a way of making me feel guilty, silly, and three years old, all with just the tone of her voice.
Then she heard her father’s voice somewhere beyond her mother’s shoulder.
“Your mother just wanted you to know we’re here. Go back to sleep, Sweetheart.”
“Dad, why is Mom calling me ….?”
“Shh, Go back to sleep. We’ll be here when you wake up in the morning.”
And with permission from the two people who brought her into this life, Piper fell into a dark and dreamless sleep.
When she woke again in the blue light of early morning, the stillness of the hospital gave her the chills. She sat up and looked at the clock across from her bed: 5:49. She reached for the call button on her bed rail. A nurse came in quietly and smiled at Piper like she was a small child.
“Yes?” she asked.
Piper looked in her direction but didn’t want to look her in the eye. “I need to leave. I have to feed my animals and ….”
The nurse looked at her, and with lips pursed, she noted something on the chart in her arms; as if Piper had not just spoken, she said, “Now, I can get you something to help you sleep.”
Piper looked at her. “I just woke up. I don’t want to sleep anymore.”
The nurse turned and said, “I’ll get the doctor, sit tight, Hon.”
She watched the hands on the clock as they barely moved. After ten minutes passed, there was a knock and the door opened. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to remind herself to listen and be patient.
“Catherine, this is Dr. Randolph. He’s been taking care of you since you came in.” It was her mother’s voice but for the life of her, Piper couldn’t understand why she was calling her Catherine. She shook the man’s hand and looked into his small, unfriendly eyes for any clues as to why she would be here in the hospital and feeling so confused. Did I have an accident? No, Paul had an accident. Paul! Paul, I need you. I am so sorry.
“Nice to meet you,” she responded to his obligatory greeting.
Piper’s mother looked pleased to have gotten through to her daughter and to see her awake and alert. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go find your father. He’s probably in the cafeteria. I’ll be right back.”
Piper nodded to her frazzled, disheveled mother, feeling badly that she couldn’t even remember the last time she had visited with her. She’s starting to look old, really old.
Dr. Randolph pulled up a chair to her bedside and flipped open her chart. “Okay, let’s take a look at your eyes.” He pulled out his penlight and asked her to follow it as he traced a figure eight in the
space between them.
“Good. Very good.” He noted this in the chart.
“Excuse me, Dr. … Randolph is it?”
Piper was quickly losing what little patience her loss of consciousness might have temporarily bestowed on her.
“Can you explain to me exactly why I’m here?”
The doctor looked at her and sighed, hating this part of his job about as much as Sergeant Van der Beck hated some of his duties.
“Well, you are here right now just for observation. You were brought in on the 31st for a panic attack, by ambulance. Do you remember that night?”
She rested her head back on the pillow and looked up to the ceiling. She nodded and looked back to the short man with the glasses.
“Yes, a little. What day is it?”
He looked at her and answered, “Today’s the fourth. Happy belated New Year.” He tried to sound cheerful and missed the mark by a mile.
“The fourth? Oh my God! I have to get out of here. My horses, my dog. Oh my God ….”
The doctor stood now, wanting to prevent her from jumping up which is exactly what Piper was preparing to do. He reached into his pocket, but she lay back, feeling lightheaded and weak.
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