“How are you today, Bitty?” he asked.
Bitty nodded and smiled.
“You look wonderful,” Percy said and watched as her cheeks turned bright pink.
“I, uh, I brought these for you,” he said and pointed to the roses in the vase.
Bitty bent and smelled them. She closed her eyes and took another whiff.
“Do you like them?”
A broad smile spread across her face and she nodded vigorously.
Then, she turned to Percy, inched closer to him, and gave him a gentle kiss on his cheek.
He put his hand on her face and smiled down at her.
“Sit, I have something else,” he said and held out the chair for her.
Bitty looked at Fiona and then back at Percy.
She scribbled on her note pad and slid it in front of him.
“It’s not my birthday.”
“It doesn’t have to be, Bitty. This is for you,” he said and put the small package in front of her.
Bitty fumbled with the paper until the box inside was revealed. She glanced at Percy.
“Go ahead, please. Open it.”
When Bitty pulled out the necklace inside, she gave no reaction, just held it and let it dangle in her fingers.
After a moment of awkward silence, Percy put his hand on her hand.
“Don’t you like it, Bitty? I can exchange it if you’d prefer something else.”
Bitty’s eyes filled with tears as she brushed the necklace against her cheek.
Percy let out the breath he’d been holding.
“It’s fine, then?” he asked her.
She put a hand on his and smiled as the tears ran down her cheeks.
With his handkerchief, he blotted the tears away.
“Don’t cry, Bitty. Please. I don’t want you to be sad. When you’re sad, it seems that the whole world must be sad, too.”
She clutched his hand, rubbed it against her cheek, and smiled.
Then, the sound of giggly laughter escaped from her throat.
10
The Journey
She had not always been blind.
An accident, a blow when she was nineteen, split open her forehead and put her into a deep sleep for over a month. When her eyelids fluttered open, the doctor informed her that the head wound had healed but that she would need to stay in the hospital in Dublin for several more weeks while she regained her strength.
When Eliza told him that she could not make out his image clearly, he reassured her that it was quite common after suffering such a wound to experience minor vision problems.
And when she told him that she had no memory of her past, that she could not remember who she was, or what had happened, or why she’d been traveling, he smiled and patted her hand.
“It will all come back to you, Eliza,” he said. “Your vision and your memory will return. It’s just a side effect.”
She accepted his diagnosis and went back to sleep.
But he’d been wrong, and twelve weeks later, she left the hospital with a white cane that would become her constant companion and a mind full of images that must have belonged to someone else since they meant nothing to her.
She’d been taken to a boarding school for the blind and placed in the care of a family in Dublin who owned the school, a family named Farrell who had a young daughter who was blind and an older son who would eventually become Eliza’s husband, a man she loved most dearly to the depths of her soul.
At twenty, she made a beautiful bride, or so Patrick had told her.
They lived with the family, helped with the boarding school, and never had a care in the world. Blessed by God in every way, Eliza and her new family thrived.
Eliza became accustomed to her poor vision, and Patrick treated her as if she were a delicate princess. She wanted for nothing, not love or attention or food or shelter. The stately home where the Farrells lived gradually became familiar to her. She knew each part of the house as if she’d lived there forever.
The Farrells, all of them, treated her as if she were a prized possession, and she grew to love each one. Eliza became an integral part of the household, helping with meals, tending the gardens, and seeing after the boarding school.
It was a life she cherished, even though there were no children to add to their little family. When she thought about children, something at once familiar yet horrifying seeped into her mind, and though Patrick didn’t understand, he was content, he said, with simply having Eliza as his wife. He would take her in his arms and hold her so tightly that she could hardly breathe, but never once did she pull away from those loving arms.
He had that way about him to make her feel special and adored, no matter the circumstances.
Then, three years later, the sickness called tuberculosis crept in and pulled the rug of security out from under her, sent her flying, spinning into a darkness so all-encompassing that blindness seem only a trivial annoyance.
“I will always love you, Patrick,” she had said to the body prone in the coffin. “Won’t you take me with you, my love? Let me follow you and be by your side always?”
Great beams of light filtered in through the large windows illuminating the outlines of each of the four coffins. She’d bent and whispered her love over and over, as if in death, those lying before her could understand more than she’d been able to tell them in life. She pretended that she could see all of them breathing. She waited for each one—the whole of her family—to open their eyes and tell her it was all a horrible mistake.
They did not.
She was alone.
She grieved.
******
At a little past ten in the morning, Eliza stood outside the gates of the Swan House, her driver beside her holding a rather large basket. She listened for the sounds of the swans.
With her white cane, she swept the ground before she took her first step.
“It’s clear,” the driver said.
From her nearly-blind blue eyes, she saw watery beams of faint light and undefined shapes. In her own kitchen, she could identify every utensil, every pot, every mold. She no longer needed to measure her steps as walking through the galleyed room took no thinking at all. She knew it as well as she knew the contours of her own body. The light and shapes that filtered into her eyes were familiar.
Occasionally, Eliza could see quite clearly when the sun filtered images just so. Her refrigerator, she knew, had the letters GE on a silver front plate, as did her stove and ovens. In these brief moments of clear sight, Eliza devoured each image like a ravenous wolf. But then, the light would fade, the images drowned in a cascade of the waves that replaced them.
“Shall we go in, then?” the driver asked as he opened the gates.
Eliza squared her shoulders, patted her hair, and brushed the front of her tweed coat.
“I was only a girl then,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And what is it that they call me now?”
“Well, you’re the Lady of the Flowers,” the driver said.
“Yes, yes. I’d forgotten for a moment.”
When they rang the doorbell to the Swan House, Eliza felt a tightening in her chest.
I’m afraid.
A tall, burly young man wearing a clerical collar greeted them with a smile.
“May I help you?” he said.
Eliza could see only the outline of his body and the brightness in his eyes.
She fidgeted with the buttons on her coat as she spoke.
“Hello, I am Eliza Farrell. I live in Dublin.”
“That’s a fair drive,” he said. “I’m Percy Quinlan. It’s very nice to meet you, Ms. Farrell. Would you like to come in? It’s frightfully cold.”
“No, no thank you,” Eliza said. “I’m looking for someone.”
Percy did not speak.
“I’m wondering if perhaps a young woman lives here.”
“A young woman?”
“Yes, such a beautiful woman. I
remember her so well now. It’s been so many years since I could remember…”
“Please, come in for a few moments, at least. We’ll have some tea. My mother is not here, but I can manage tea quite well.”
Eliza smiled as Percy ushered them into the living room.
“Please, take a seat, while I put the kettle on.”
Eliza stood very still. An image from years ago leapt into her mind. The house. The grand formal living room. The kitchen. A sweet woman who helped her. A lovely young woman. A handsome young man. A troublesome boy.
Eliza put her hands to her forehead.
“Are you ill, Ms. Farrell?” Percy said. “Please, sit down and rest for a moment.”
He nodded to the driver.
“Come along. We’ve plenty of room, and you’re welcome here.”
He returned in a few moments with a large silver tray.
“How do you take your tea?”
“White, I’m afraid, lots of cream and sugar if you have it. I’m quite partial to sweets in all forms, tea included.”
Eliza’s hands trembled as she brought the cup to her lips.
Percy offered a plate of biscuits, sweet cookies that his mother had made earlier that morning.
“Care for a fresh biscuit?” he asked.
“Oh, no thank you,” Eliza said. “I came here not to trouble you but only to inquire about the young woman. She was important to me years ago.”
Percy leaned forward in his chair.
“The young woman who used to live here was named Emalyn, the Lady Emalyn.”
“Emalyn,” Eliza whispered. “Yes, that was her name. Does she still live here by chance?”
“No,” Percy said in a quiet voice. “The Lady Emalyn passed away years ago.”
Eliza brushed away tears that rolled down her cheeks.
“Forgive me,” she said. “I was so hoping to find her.”
“How did you know her?”
“I..I lived at the Sisters of Mercy Orphanage when I was young. I came here one day—a reward for good behavior—to learn about chocolate making.”
“Chocolate making? From the orphanage?”
“Yes, you see,” Eliza said and rubbed her hands together, “I’d been a very good girl and…well, I don’t know how it was arranged…but several of us were chosen to visit here and to learn how to garden. She had a beautiful garden. But I wanted to learn how to make chocolate, and I’d seen some of her candies when she delivered them to the home. They were magnificent.”
“Ah, I see the connection now,” Percy said. “Many girls came here to see Emalyn’s chocolates.”
“She taught me with care and attention, as if I were the only other person in the room. I remember it so clearly now, standing beside her in the kitchen as she tended to each of the candies as if they were her children. There was a woman there who worked beside her, a lovely woman that I thought might be her mother.”
Percy remained quiet for a moment.
“It was my own mother, Fiona, who helped Emalyn in the kitchen.”
“Oh,” Eliza said and stood. “May I, if it is not too much of an inconvenience…may I see the kitchen?”
Sensing that the young man felt awkward at her use of the word “see,” Eliza said to him,
“I am not totally blind, Percy. I can see images and outlines. I would very much like to stand in that kitchen one more time.”
Percy stood.
“Right this way,” he said and gently touched Eliza’s elbow.
“I’m afraid it isn’t the same as it was then. New appliances and such, a bit of remodeling for more room to serve the guests.”
“Guests?”
“Yes, we have a guest house a short distance away. My mother runs it, does all the cooking and cleaning. She is a jewel, my mam.”
Eliza smiled up at him.
“And you are a good son to say so.”
“I’ve not always been. There is still much to make up for,” Percy said.
Eliza knew the moment she stepped into the kitchen.
A change came over her, pushing aside cobwebs that clouded her memory.
She had come to the right place, the place where Emalyn had taught her skills that would stay with her forever, skills which she used to this very day to create her own chocolates and candies.
“Yes,” she said. “I remember.”
Tears of joy fell on her cheeks.
“I’ve come back to where I started. At last, after all these years, I remember.”
11
The Lullaby
Percy and Bitty sat on the front porch steps enjoying a break in the weather. The sun shone out across the land and sparkled across the top of the pond.
Bitty had been with them for over a month now. She’d written her name on the outside of an envelope so that they would know what to call her, but she’d done this only after she became convinced that she was safe with them.
Her heart skipped a beat each time she saw Percy. She hoped his did the same when he saw her.
He took her hand and brought it gently to his lips.
“You are my shining rose, Bitty.”
She smiled at him and caressed his cheek.
He grabbed her in an embrace that nearly took her breath.
He wrapped his strong arms around her and put his chin on the top of her head.
“Yes,” he said, “you are my shining rose.”
Bitty felt safe in those arms of his, safe and loved.
But sometimes, the old doubts crept in as they did now.
Perhaps he’d change his mind and remember that she was inferior to him, brought up as a working slave in the Laundry. Or it would come to him that no man could love someone who couldn’t speak or whose background was questionable.
She knew she was not good enough for him, but her heart whispered, “He loves you, Bitty Brown. He loves you.”
She chose to heed those little whisperings and let her love for him take nourishment from his every gesture.
When she was well enough, she took to bathing every day. She loved the luxury of the warm water and now enjoyed washing her hair and letting Fiona braid it, put it up in a bun, or simply tie it back with a bright ribbon. She liked a touch of blush on her cheeks and a bit of shine and delicate color on her lips.
She wore dresses that had once belonged to the Lady Emalyn, though Fiona had taken her to town and bought her several new outfits of her own. For some reason, she preferred Emalyn’s clothes and found herself occasionally standing in front of the great wardrobe still filled with all of the Lady’s belongings.
She thought those clothes suited her, made her look quite elegant, and best of all, pretty. And she wanted desperately to be pretty for Percy.
When he released her from the embrace, she smiled up at his handsome face. She sat as close to him as she could get, not wanting the warmth to leave her.
“Your hair smells wonderful,” he said. “And that perfume. Oh, Bitty, you are such a beautiful person, inside and out. Do you know how wonderful you are to me?”
She blushed and put her head on his shoulder.
Then, he pointed out to the pond.
Bitty sat up and followed his finger.
“Gorgeous, aren’t they?” he said and pointed to the pond. “The swans.”
Bitty nodded.
Fiona had given her a small notebook with a slot on the outside for a pen or pencil, and she carried it with her always so that she could communicate. She wrote a few words and showed them to Percy.
“Have they always been here?”
Percy shook his head.
“My mother got them right after Emalyn and Owen died. Twenty years ago now.”
“Swans live that long?” she wrote.
“These do,” he replied.
From somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.
Percy shot up off the steps and ran all the way to the gate, slowed in the process by his limp. When he reached the gate, he opened it and went to the road, look
ing up and down, right and left.
“Are you there,” he called out. “Is it you?”
After a few moments, he bent and rested his hands on his thighs, his head bowed low.
Bitty walked up behind him and put her hand on his back.
“I’m sorry,” Percy said. “I shouldn’t have run off from you like that, but I’ve been searching for him for so long.”
She drew closer to him, then sighed and turned to go back to the house.
“Bitty?” he called.
Then, he was beside her, his hand on her elbow.
She felt a spark of excitement at his touch.
“Would you like some tea?” he said and wrapped an arm around her waist.
She looked at him without smiling.
Quickly, she scribbled a message.
“I will serve you tea if you wish.”
He handed the paper back to her.
“On the contrary,” he said, “I will serve you, Bitty Brown. A cup of tea for my shining rose.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks. She couldn’t stop them and didn’t know what had brought on this sadness. She wiped them away, but more followed until her cheeks glistened with tears.
“Whatever is it, Bitty?” Percy asked. “Did I do something wrong?”
He bent down and with his thumb wiped the tears from her face.
“Did I hurt you in some way?”
The tears rolled.
Percy took out his handkerchief and dabbed at Bitty’s face.
“Please, tell me what’s wrong.”
He brushed a stray wisp of hair from her forehead.
“Dry your eyes, Bitty. There’s no reason to cry, is there?”
He put an arm around her shoulder and led her back to the house.
“Let’s have some tea.”
She drew closer and closer to him as they walked.
When they passed the pond, Bitty stepped beside it and knelt. She let her hand glide through the warm water.
She glanced at the lovely pair of swans sliding across the surface. Each one stopped and turned to look at her. From the two swans, one golden beam of light shone and fell on Bitty’s face, the warmth of it seeping into every pore, every ounce of her being.
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