“Grand-mère! Oh, Grand-mère, you’re awake. I thought … I thought you were ….”
Piper blinked at her great-granddaughter but couldn’t summon the energy to speak. The sound of the baby again reached her heart, and she looked into Gabriela’s arms. So tiny, she thought, so beautiful. I will watch over you little one.
“Grand-mère, this is Claude, Claude Vander, for Papa. Can you believe this is your ninth great-great-grandchild?”
Piper looked at the beautiful woman who had glistening tears on her pink cheeks. Don’t cry for me. I am fine, just old. The baby hiccupped and brought a soft smile to her face which made Gabriela cry harder.
“Oh please don’t leave us, Grand-mère. What will we all do without you?”
Piper prayed silently for the strength to speak. It took several moments but finally she said, “Don’t cry love. It is how God wants it. It’s my end, but only the beginning for you,” she nodded at the baby and continued, “And for him, too. A very long time ago, my mother told me that little girls grow, have children and raise them but then go to heaven to watch over their grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I guess I must be late!”
Gabriela laughed out loud and leaned forward to stroke Piper’s wrinkled cheeks, dry as flint. But before she could say anything the baby was squawking again.
“Grand-mère, I must feed him. He is always hungry it seems. Luuk is here. I’ll get him and then I’ll be right back.” She nodded to Piper as if to ask if she understood.
Piper nodded to Gabriela, then dropping her gaze, looked for the first and last time into the eyes of the boy, who when grown, would turn her tiny perfumery into a legendary business known the world over.
Luuk, her beautiful boy, now an old man himself, came through the bedroom door and stopped. He turned back toward the safety of the parlor but knew he must go in: she had seen him. With reddened eyes and nose, he sat in the chair by her bed, not wanting to look at her. His chest heaved with each breath as he stared at his feet. She thought he looked like the little boy she had scolded once so very long ago when he cut most of his sister’s hair off with the wool shears while she slept. Oh, how he cried then, she thought. Why are they all so sad for me? I am old! Do they think I should live forever? Don’t they know my heart aches for Vander and for my little Philip, too? She lifted her hand and touched his wrinkled face, wiping his tears away the way she had when she explained to him that God gave girls long hair as a special gift for all the hard work and pain they had to endure in life. It’s what made them feel pretty and that he shouldn’t be jealous because his hair was not long and dark like Peyrinne’s and Maman’s. That his hair was like Père’s and Philip’s and that’s why she loved it so much.
“You are my straw boy, just like Père and Philip,” she had told him and held him close. She knew how to make him feel better when he was a child, no taller than the sheep in the stable yard. But now, there was no solace.
“Luuk, don’t cry. It’s just my time, the way God wants it. Don’t be sad, you know I have lived long. I lived a good life.”
He squeezed her hand gently and nodded.
“Yes, Maman, That’s why it’s so hard. We’ll be lost without you.”
She shook her head no.
“Sshhh … don’t say such things. You are a fine man and have raised a beautiful family. Your sons are big and strong and so very smart. And your grandchildren, Luuk! They remind me of your father when he was young.”
Fresh tears fell, and, this time, Luuk wiped hers away and kissed her cheek like he had done a thousand times before. She closed her eyes and pictured him by the sea with the large sweater she had knit for him before he was born, before she knew he had company in her womb. She laughed as she recalled for her son how she and Vander thought she was going to give birth to a giant, her belly had stretched so.
“The sweater didn’t fit you two until you were in your fourth summer,” she laughed.
“That was the year Philip ….” Her voice broke off, remembering his shining eyes and soft skin.
“The year Philip found the pearl in the sand. How proud he was to show it to me, cupping his little hands and holding them up for me. He said, ‘Maman,’ for you! Do you remember, Luuk?”
He nodded his head slightly, eyes glazed and reddened.
“I remember everything about him Mère, everything.”
Piper nodded. “I have kept that pearl all this time. I want your granddaughter to have it, Luuk. Give it to Anna and tell her I will be watching over her.”
The noon day bell rang in the belfry of the church she had last attended the Christmas before. As if it were intended as a reminder to her that time was not a patient friend.
“Peyrinne. Is my Peyrinne here?”
Luuk nodded and stood.
“I’ll get her now. I love you, Maman.”
I’m so tired, she thought, and I want to sleep. She closed her eyes, and, as her lungs drew shallow, raspy breaths, she heard a little boy’s sweet, sweet voice. ‘Mère! Mère! I have been waiting for you! (Philip! My heart, my son!) Mère, it is so beautiful here, you will see. The flowers are much sweeter, and the colors—oh! So many! You will love it. I’ve missed you, Mère, so much and I heard you calling to me through the fire. I was so scared in the night when Papa couldn’t pull me from the flames. But God wanted it that way. I heard Him tell me I must stay. And when you cried in the night and wanted to stop living, God let me show you how to live again. It was my chore to show you the way and I have! I’ve helped with things you don’t even know about yet. But you will, I’ll show you, Mère! Pieferet and Henk miss you so but I take good care of them. Their coats are shinier than ever, you’ll see how I make them shine!
“Mère, I’m here.” It was Peyrinne, her voice so gentle. “Mère, can you open your eyes for me?”
Piper knew she could open them but also knew that once she saw her beautiful daughter, she would not want to close them again. Philip, wait for Maman! She was torn between the two worlds, each so close and tugging at her heart. “Peyrinne,” she whispered and took a deep breath, slowly opening her eyes. “You are wearing the new scent. It smells right on you. Parfait.” She looked up at the dark, watery eyes over her bed. How funny to have your child taking care of you, she thought. “Did René tell you the name of it?” Her daughter nodded and raised her kerchief to her eyes, blotting away tears to make room for new ones to fall.
She said, “I love it, Mère. And it is. Notré Vie Belle, it is a beautiful life.”
The two women sat this way for a long time, in the bedroom of the apartment they had lived in together until Peyrinne left for university, something young women rarely did. In the dim light of the room, love whittled away time and age, accomplishment and fear, courage and scars. And as with all matters of the heart, only what truly mattered was all that was left. Together they were simply mother and daughter, entwined forever, their bond never to be severed. They shared memories and laughter, joy and tears, hopes and sorrow. And when it was finished, when her time was near, Piper nodded her exaggerated approval and slipped painlessly away into the warmth of the light and the ocean of ceaseless love that sometimes gives and sometimes takes away.
Don’t cry for me, Peyrinne, my heart. It is only this life and there is so much more.
Chapter 28
ON HER WAY DOWN Route 84 to her appointment with Dr. Corcoran, Piper kept looking over her shoulder at the back seat where she had left her notebook.
“It’s not going anywhere, Ding-a-ling. Just drive.”
She was aware that she now spoke to herself aloud quite often. And she really liked it. Positive affirmations were something she used to laugh at. But that was before. Before her life changed in ways she could not have imagined even just a year ago.
She took a deep breath. Gripping the wheel and pressing the accelerator, she picked up speed and turned on the radio. Vander, I want to know more about you, and Philip, Luuk, and Peyrinne, too. She felt it a bit odd that this thinking didn�
�t seem crazy to her; nor did observing herself now as more than just a person—more than just flesh and bone and ego-driven human. She was curious to find out what else there was to learn about herself, whatever it might be. Sharon had said to her on more than one occasion, “Chickadee, this is your new normal. I’m here while you figure it all out.”
Piper realized that resisting the changes only made the changes seem like punishment and therefore more painful. She decided that she was in control now. And not in the way she had tried controlling everything in her life until Paul’s accident. No, this was more in the way of controlling how she reacted to that which she could not control. In short, she was willing to try anything to feel better again.
John had asked her to keep a log of all her scent-aches and her poetry to see if there was a connection. More pieces of the puzzle as it were. She was going to arrive early, a habit she had gotten into when she was young and needed to feed Victory and braid his mane and tail before a show. She always hated the feeling of being late. She quoted aloud something her beloved riding instructor always said, “Early is on time and on time is late.”
After getting her coffee from One Lump or Two around the corner from John’s office, she sat in the parking lot as she had done on her previous visits. This time, though, she wasn’t forlorn or feeling shattered. In fact, she felt good, alive again. She took the notebook from the backseat and flipped it open, thumbing through some of the older poetry she didn’t want to read at the moment.
January 9th. Her heart quickened and she immediately took a deep breath and held it until her heart slowed its pace, not unlike the way she would get her horse to slow when he tried to rush a fence. January 9th. The hospital. She thought how wonderful it would be to tear those ugly pages out of their spiral-bound place in her life and she resisted the urge to slam the notebook closed. Knowing it was part of her experience, her lesson, an essential step toward wherever it was she was going, she smoothed the pages and decided she would not judge herself and what she wrote from her hospital bed.
“Compassion.”
She looked at herself in her rearview mirror and nodded. John coached her on being gentle with herself and using only loving thoughts and words. And as much as she stumbled through the minefield of criticism in her head, she slowly began to become her own friend. And she really did like herself. This surprised her in a way she hadn’t expected.
Running her fingers over the words, smoothing the pages flat, she could feel the indentations her pen had made that night, her anger burning through her and onto the page.
Paul
Tides wash you from my skin
And flesh from your bone
Waiting for you is my penance
God’s love turned to stone
The breath in my body stale
My lifeblood ends here
Darling, turn not the tides
My only solace this fear
Come to me in the storm
Hold me in the fray
Reap not what you’ve sown
I have given it all away
Lonely hearts
On wings of pain
Cry into the dark
I need you again
The moon pulled her tide
Before time grew old
The candles flicker
My blood runs cold
Where are you my Love
I hear you in the night
My heart feels your weight
As this dream takes flight.
She whistled through her teeth and thought, I was in a very dark place that night. Looking back at some of her older poetry dating back to her time with Darrick, she saw how much she really had grown since meeting Paul. Her world had changed when they met and it was a good change, one that she felt she deserved at the time. But now she wasn’t so sure. Looking up at the clock on the dash she realized that because of her earliness, she was now going to be late.
Shoving the notebook aside and finishing her coffee, she scolded herself.
“Only you Piper, only you.” And then, “It’s okay. You’re on time, not late.”
She parked in a handicap parking space, again feeling like maybe the world did in fact owe her something for what she’d been through. Out of breath by the time she climbed the stairs, she rushed into the office only to realize that the clock in her car was a few minutes fast and she was, in fact, early as usual. Rolling her eyes, she hung her coat in the waiting room but didn’t feel like sitting still so she decided to take a closer look at the diplomas on the walls.
Reverend Fr. John A. Corcoran.
Piper raised one eyebrow. Father? Hmm.
“A priest?” she said, not loudly but still surprising herself just the same.
Another diploma hung near the reception desk, but she had never bothered to look at any of them before.
The Sorbonne, Paris.
Just then she heard footsteps. A young woman was talking with John and making an appointment for next month. Babs must still be out.
John wished his client a great day and turned toward Piper, smiling.
“Hi Piper, how are you?”
She turned toward him and smiled back.
“I’m here so I guess that means I’m good. Or at least getting there.”
John nodded, “I’ve been looking forward to today. Come on in.”
When they reached the room in which he had hypnotized her twice before, Piper let her impatience get the better of her.
“I have to ask you something.”
John extended his arm so that she could enter the room before him. She nodded thank you and walked in, took a seat, and said, “Was your father a priest?”
He looked at her and laughed genuinely, nodding. “Yeah, he was a priest for about nine years before meeting two people who he said changed his entire world.” Piper nodded, hoping he would continue, which he did.
“One of those people was Pierre Doucette, one of his psychology professors in Paris who introduced him to hypnosis and ultimately past-life regression therapy.”
He stopped there to see if she would ask who the other person was. He stepped behind his desk and straightened some paperwork that didn’t need straightening. Her eyes widened and she shook her head ever so slightly, waiting.
“And who was the other person?” she blurted out.
He smiled before looking up at him, waiting to see if she would venture a guess. When she didn’t, he looked directly at her and said, “My mother.”
Piper covered her nose and mouth as she laughed, not wanting him to take offense, but not being able to hold it in either.
“I know. It’s a strange thought, but love finds a way I guess,” he said.
She sat back and looked down at her nervous hands.
“Yeah, I guess it does.”
He came back around the desk then and sat in the chair opposite her, not seeming much like a doctor to her at the moment and continued, “Do you believe that, too?”
Piper looked down at her hand where her wedding ring used to sit. “I’m not sure what I believe anymore. That’s why I’m here, John.”
Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward, hands out in front of him, fiddling with a pencil. He said, “There’s more to this, Piper. You see, my father was a devout Catholic, my grandparents made sure of it. But from an early age he had, well, he had experiences that he just couldn’t explain. I mean literally, he couldn’t explain them without catching a beating with the belt, or worse. My dad saw spirits and heard voices and I guess today you’d say he had some psychic abilities. But back then, when he was growing up in an Irish Catholic household—boy, you just called it trouble. One of his grandmothers was a very well-known healer from the Mac Veigh family. She was punished publicly for healing people, which under British rule had become illegal. According to Dad, though, she helped a lot of people with figuring out what was happening in their life, interpreting signs in nature and making medicines from memory. They were from books her father had owned that wer
e confiscated by the king’s soldiers. He had been a doctor, too, as was his father. Dad learned quickly that these weren’t things to be talked about unless you wanted to be punished. So he did what was expected of him and joined the priesthood. But he said that the day he arrived in Doucette’s classroom, he was liberated. He said that to know other people take this stuff seriously and that he wasn’t the devil incarnate, really freed him. And of course meeting Ciara, and falling in love with her didn’t go over well with the church either, so … well, the rest is history.”
Piper looked at him with kindness and said, “Wow. That’s a beautiful story. Thanks for sharing it with me.”
He snapped back into professional mode and said, “Sure, but there’s one more thing.”
She looked at him, one eyebrow raised and feeling apprehensive but hoping that whatever that one last thing was, it had a happy ending.
“You know how your mother brought you to see a priest when you were very young?”
She nodded, not quite catching on.
“That was my father.”
She sat up straight in her chair and felt her heart begin to race.
“He was pastor at St. Vincent’s for just a couple of years before leaving for Paris, and he was the priest your mother brought you to see. That’s why, when your parents brought you here, to Connecticut years later, he felt it must be fate, that it was part of God’s plan that he help you. What he didn’t realize at the time was that you were helping him in so many ways, too. ‘A pearl in the sand,’ he called you. He said that you were the first patient who made him truly believe, without a doubt, that past lives exist. His notes were filled with exclamation marks and pure excitement. He told me once that he prayed for you each and every day of his life, that he regarded you as an old soul, if you will, and someone who was destined to do good in this life.”
Piper’s eyes began to water, and she wished she had remembered to bring some tissues with her.
“Wow. I … I had no idea,” was all that she could say. John walked to his closet and took out a box of Kleenex and tore off the cardboard top. He handed her a tissue.
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