The Judge's Wife

by Ann O'Loughlin

  “Please Emma, don’t hold back. I can take everything. What else could cause pain? I am stronger than I look.”

  Rosa, realising it was getting late, said, “Maybe we’ve heard enough for tonight. Tomorrow we can talk more.”

  But Vikram was insistent. “Emma?”

  She shuffled her feet as if she wanted to leave. Clenching her hands together, Emma spoke in a low voice.

  “There was a fire. I am sorry to tell you Grace died in a fire at the asylum.” Emma, after blurting it out, felt her throat dry. Her face was swollen with tears.

  Vikram let out a cry and fisted the coffee table hard so that people sitting nearby looked at them. Rosa put her face in her hands and began to sob.

  Vikram reached out to his two daughters when he saw the raw grief in their faces. For now, he set aside his own pain and loss.

  “What is another boulder on our shoulders? We are strong enough to carry them all, if we carry them together,” he whispered, patting their heads as if they were children once again.

  Even now, he thought, he was a lucky man: the father of two fine women. They were the same height, had the same softness in the eyes, their voices the same pitch. Their skin colour was different, but in everything else they were as one.

  After a few minutes, he tapped gently on the coffee table to make an announcement.

  “We will travel together tomorrow to visit the grave. I want to stand with our daughters on either side of me to pay our respects to the woman I loved all my life, your mother.”

  The two girls, both wiping their eyes, nodded, unable to say anything more.

  36

  Knockavanagh, May 1984

  Father O’Brien asked Mandy twice if she was all right, and she smiled at him, saying she might be a bit out of sorts.

  “There was no need to get up. I can get my own breakfast after the Mass. Why don’t you go back to bed?”

  “I might as well be working as lying in bed, not able to sleep.”

  “Is there something bothering you, Mandy? You don’t seem yourself this morning.”

  “There is a lot to do, preparing for the communion on Saturday, and the garden needs a tidy.”

  “On top of that, I forgot to tell you, that woman from Dublin, Emma Moran, rang and said she would be down some time this morning to visit her mother’s grave.”

  “When did she ring?”

  “Late, after I got back last night from the Monsignor’s dinner. You might have to schedule a chat with her on her own. I can drive you up to Dublin someday.”

  “I will play it by ear.”

  “You have to tell her.”

  “I don’t have to do anything. Anyway, what good would it do?”

  “Trust yourself and trust her.”

  Father O’Brien noticed Mandy was tugging at her hair, hunched at the table, a mug of tea in front of her, untouched.

  “I will leave it to yourself, but don’t leave it too long or you may regret it for the rest of your life.”

  Mandy sighed. “As if I don’t have enough regrets already.”

  “You don’t seem well. Maybe have a little rest, even if you don’t sleep. Emma Moran said she was bringing a few friends but they know where to go.”

  “Maybe I will go back to bed,” she said, but he knew she was only pretending to stop him going on.

  “Do you think we should call the doctor?”

  “No need, I will be all right.”

  “All right then. I’ll go and buy the paper,” he said. He grabbed his keys from the counter and was out the door.

  Mandy stayed at the kitchen table.

  Emma Moran was going to be asking more questions. The judge was dead. Mandy did not know about Vikram: maybe he was dead or had got married over there. There had to be a reason he had not come back. He was to be given the benefit of the doubt, because to do otherwise would mean the waiting of all these years, all Grace’s yearning, had been for nothing.

  She heard the sacristan arrive to prepare the church for Mass and felt relief wash over her that he did not call in for a chat.

  If Emma had people with her, she would not be able to sit her down and tell her the whole story. The girl deserved that and she desperately wanted to let it out.

  She wanted to get organised but felt compelled to dither, taking care with her make-up, pressing the powder firmly into her face. Her stomach was sick and a tremble came in her hands to think of Emma Moran and how fine she looked.

  She did not know how to dress: should she be formal or casual? She pushed through the clothes in her wardrobe, not satisfied with any of them but eventually deciding on a navy-blue tweed skirt with a little bit of kick at the hem, and a light-blue blouse with a wide collar. Sweeping up her hair in a tight bun at the back of her head, she checked and rechecked her make-up. Emma Moran might not even bother calling in, but Mandy dressed as if they had a date for tea.

  She had no idea when they were due to arrive, but she could not put her mind to anything. Instead she paced the front sitting room, stopping every few minutes to check the long driveway. It was some time before eleven when she saw a car turn in from the road, and she went to the kitchen so it did not appear as if she was waiting. She did not know why, but she started to wash up the breakfast cups, watching the road through the side kitchen window.

  An Indian woman, her hair long and black, got out of the car, and Mandy waved to indicate she would come to the front door. She dried her hands as she made for the front hall and was still holding the tea towel when she swung back the door.

  Rosa and Emma both turned around when the door was pulled back.

  “Miss McGuane, this is my twin sister, Rosa. She is here to see our mother’s grave.”

  Mandy stared at the Indian woman. She was wearing gold jewellery. Her hair was glossy black. Pain shot up the back of Mandy’s neck and over the top of her head.

  The woman held out her hand. “Hello, I am Rosa.”

  Mandy could not answer. She fell back against the wall, unable to utter a word.

  “Ma’am, are you all right?”

  Rosa reached out and caught Mandy by the shoulders to steady her.

  “Is there somewhere you can sit?” Emma asked as she opened a door to a front sitting room and they helped Mandy in.

  “I am all right, there is no need to fuss,” she said.

  Emma filled a glass of water from the tap in the kitchen and brought it back to her.

  “Who exactly are you?” Mandy asked the Indian woman.

  “Vikram Fernandes is my father.”

  “From Bangalore?”

  “Yes, how did you know?”

  “I don’t understand.” Mandy jumped up, tears gushing down her face. “What are you saying?”

  “We are Grace’s daughters: twin sisters.”

  Mandy screamed at the top of her voice and ran from the room.

  Father O’Brien, making his way back home to cook his own breakfast, nearly slipped on the path when he heard the commotion. Thinking Mandy was being attacked, he rushed into the house to find Rosa and Emma standing in the middle of the sitting room.

  “What is happening? Where is Miss McGuane?”

  “Father O’Brien, we have done nothing wrong. I have found my twin sister, we are Grace’s daughters,” Emma said.

  The priest shook his head and ran, shouting Grace’s name. He found her in her room, sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall.

  “Twin daughters, alive all this time. Tell me, what do I do now?”

  He did not answer immediately, because he had no answer. He sat beside her. Gently, he tugged at her arm.

  “Come and meet your daughters, Grace.”

  “Those fine ladies don’t want to know the likes of me.”

  Emma stood in the doorway, Rosa at her shoulder.

  “You are Grace? All my life I wanted a mother, all the times I dreamed of it. Don’t give up on us now, Grace.”

  “They told me you were dead.” Her voice faded awa
y, tears gulped out instead of words. Emma and Rosa ran to their mother. Grace leaned into them.

  “We thought you were dead, buried in the graveyard,” Emma said.

  Father O’Brien cleared his throat and said, “I’ll go and put the kettle on,” but Grace pulled him back.

  “Explain it to them,” she said, and he did not argue.

  “Mandy McGuane, God rest her soul, died in the fire, and Grace survived it. Nobody in the village knew Mandy back then. The poor thing who died in the fire was not in any way recognisable.”

  “How did it happen?”

  “Mandy had no family left. Her parents were dead; her brother had sold the farm and emigrated years before. Everybody thought it was Mandy in the hospital. She was admitted under that name. She was there for a month, and by the time she came back out everybody in the asylum had been transferred off to different hospitals. Mandy had been buried as Grace, and Grace knew she was now free. She told old Father Grennan the truth, and he and I have kept her secret until now.”

  “Didn’t the judge ever visit the grave?”

  Father O’Brien snorted loudly. “He sent a cheque every year for the upkeep of the memorial plot, but after the funeral he never came back here.”

  Rosa spoke for the first time. “What about Vik? We must tell him.”

  Emma made to stop her.

  “Give Grace a little time, let’s see if she is all right first,” Father O’Brien said.

  Grace, shaking, her hands clenched, spoke quietly and firmly. “Please, tell me of Vikram.”

  Rosa looked at Grace. “I thought you knew. He is with us. He went straight to the grave.”

  “Oh God, my grave.”

  She pushed past her daughters and bolted for the back door, stopping only at the top of the small hill. Vikram was standing, his head bowed. She wanted to shout to him but no words would come out; she wanted to run but could only stumble. She wanted to say something but no words could represent the love and fear bursting inside her. Slowly but deliberately, she walked towards the lonely figure.

  *

  Vikram stood, looking down at the well-tended memorial.

  How had it come to this? A beautiful woman in a cold, damp hollow in the shadow of the asylum walls. Slowly, he made his way down the gravel path.

  He bowed his head. The crows seemed to caw out Grace’s name, as if they were mocking his presence. There was a flurry of steps down the hill and then a quieter footfall behind him. He thought it was Rosa.

  “I let her down so badly, Rosa.”

  There was no answer, but he felt a hand reach for his.

  “You never let me down, Vikram Fernandes. I knew you would come back.”

  He froze. His limbs were heavy, his heart hurting. He turned and looked in her eyes. Reaching out, he grabbed her with both hands to make sure she was not an apparition come to haunt him. He pummelled with his hands along her arms, then let his fingers glide over her hair.

  “Grace. Grace.”

  He wanted to ask so many questions but could only mutter her name. He thought he might collapse, but he fought the weakness that was creeping through him.

  “You came back, Vik. I knew you would.”

  “How can this be, Gracie? Everybody said you died.”

  “They put me away, Vik, but the fire freed me.”

  Gently, he put his hands to her face, tracing from her eyes to her nose to her mouth. “Grace, is it really you?”

  “I knew you would find me one day. You were not to blame, Vik.” She reached out and took one of his hands.

  “What do we do now?” He pulled her to him and she pressed her face into the nape of his neck. Overhead, the crows cawed louder and the wind swirled about them, making the trees creak.

  “Our babies, Vik. I never knew.”

  He gulped big wet tears into her hair. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a small grey embroidered handkerchief.

  “Wipe, Vikram. There are no need for tears now.”

  They heard Emma and Rosa walk down the path, one girl so like her mother, the other more like her father.

  “We are a family, finally,” Vikram whispered.

  She nodded and he held her. When he pulled back so he could talk, she put her hands to his lips.

  “Hush. We have a lifetime left for talking.” She took his hand and gently pressed a small piece of white marble to it, closing his fist around it. “I knew you would find me.”

  “I love you to eternity and beyond, Grace.”

  “I know.”

  He took her hand and they walked hand and hand up the hill, their daughters following behind.

  Epilogue

  The Fernandes Estate, Chikmagalur, India, July 1984

  Vikram sat out on the balcony listening intently. The insects hummed and in the distance a bird whooped, but he remained focussed, waiting for the Range Rover to growl as it pushed up the hill and around the steep bends, past the waterfall and the small stream that spilled out on the road to the bungalow.

  He had left Grace sleeping, hoping Rhya and his daughters would arrive before she woke up. This would be the first time he had met his sister since returning to India with Grace. He knew when he told her over the phone that they would go straight to Chikmagalur that she was disappointed.

  “Am I a nobody now?” she asked. “I have served my function.” And he had to strangle a laugh, turning it into a cough so she did not notice.

  “Rhya, Rosa and Emma are coming straight to you. Grace and I need some time alone, you surely understand that.”

  “What does it matter? Plans have been made,” she said and he could see a picture of her pouting tightly in her indignation. She sighed and he asked, “What is wrong, Rhya?”

  “Rosa for sure is angry at me. Emma won’t like me.”

  He laughed loudly until he heard her snuffle back a tear. “Rosa understands, Rhya. She loves you: you are her mother. Emma just wants to meet you, get to know you.”

  “Grace is my girl’s mother, we all know that.”

  “Rosa is lucky to have two mothers. Grace is grateful to you. Did you ever think of that?”

  There was silence for a moment, before Rhya croaked, “No, I hadn’t.”

  They both fell quiet again before Vikram said, “I must go.”

  With that, Rhya regained her strength. “You can’t bring a woman who has only stepped out in India to the coffee estate. What will she think of your rough-and-ready style? The boy in the kitchen won’t know what to cook for her. It will be too quiet, too rural.”

  “Which is exactly why I am bringing Grace there: all we ever wanted was to be in Chikmagalur together.”

  Rhya sighed loudly and he took the opportunity to run off the phone.

  The clouds were falling off the hills, rolling about, making the air grey. A peacock called out and in the trees some birds sounded an alarm of something approaching through the thickness of the coffee plants. The old dog sat up for a moment, watching the grey, but he settled quickly back down, placing his head on Vikram’s foot.

  Vikram did not sense Grace come up behind until he felt her finger his hair.

  “You should have woken me. It is way past four. I need time to get ready to meet them all.”

  He looked at her in the floaty kaftan she liked to wear when it was just the two them and he thought she looked so lovely, the simplicity of the sweep of the cotton garment highlighting the beauty of her face.

  “You appeared so peaceful, curling up for your afternoon sleep, I could not wake you. Soon, the car will be here.”

  She looked agitated and he got up and put his arms around her.

  “My sister is loud, a little annoying, but inside she is a woman who loves fiercely, and she will love you, I know it.”

  “I hope so.”

  When, soon after, he heard the revving of the engine as the Range Rover dipped into the shallow stream flowing too near the road, he whispered to Grace, who ran off to get dressed.

  The old dog stood up
, on alert, listening before ambling to wait at the gate for the car to arrive. The boy in the kitchen got a tray of cold drinks ready and the workers passing by stopped at the side of the road to watch for the visitors.

  Grace, wearing a pale-blue shalwar kameez embellished with beads and silver embroidery, made it out onto the veranda and sat down on the swing seat, making it creak as the car pulled up in front of the bungalow.

  Rosa was the first out. “I think these clouds see me coming and come down specially to greet me,” she said as she helped Emma from the back of the car.

  “It is so beautiful here. I never want to leave,” Emma said, and Grace smiled, nodding her head.

  Rhya was the last to emerge, but they had heard her first. She had called to the boy to bring drinks and snapped at the driver in Kannada to unpack all the food from the back.

  “There is so much to be done and not a moment to spare,” she said, and Vikram smiled at her fake, business-like voice. When she got to the bottom of the steps leading to the veranda, she stopped and looked directly at Grace. “Grace, you are welcome to India. I doubt if that brother of mine had the manners to say that.”

  Grace stood up and smiled at the tall woman who looked so like Vikram but was so different in temperament. Rhya was the first to speak.

  “I have brought you a present, a very nice silk sari. I guessed the blouse size and the sandals, so hopefully all will be well for tomorrow.”

  “What about tomorrow?” Vikram asked.

  Rhya stared at her brother. “Surely we can all dress up and have a feast to celebrate Vikram and Grace Fernandes and the love that endured so long.”

  Grace gently patted Vikram on the back. “You are being very kind, Rhya. Of course we can celebrate.” Grace walked over to Rhya and enclosed her in a hug. “You will always be Rosa’s mother. I am so jealous of you, but I thank you for giving her a mother’s love, for bringing her up and making her happy.”

  Rhya felt herself slump and a well of tears began to rumble inside her, so she quickly hugged Grace back and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Nonsense, I did what any other woman would do. Now, have you spoken to the boy in the kitchen? Does he prepare the food you like?”