The Rose Gardener

by Charlotte Link

  “Mae, you can learn a great deal from my wife Helene,” he said. “Really. A great deal.”

  Helene’s face turned red. Mae looked confused.

  Erich set the cup back down. It rattled softly; his movement had been abrupt. “Helene has a very special way of teaching young girls to be prepared for later in life,” he continued. “A clever way, because Helene is very clever.”

  Will turned away. He looked uncomfortable. Helene looked like she was about to panic.

  Erich lovingly ran his finger along the cup’s gold trim. “We’re having a garden party today, right? This was decided this morning, once it became clear that the weather would be sunny. And so, I said to Helene, you can set the table in the garden, and indeed, that is what she has done. And how prettily she’s done it, too.”

  “Erich,” said Helene. It sounded like a cry of pain.

  Erich again took the cup in his hand. He raised it up and let it drop. The thin, delicate porcelain shattered on the hard, dry earth.

  Everyone around the table froze.

  “Helene likes to show young girls just what it is they shouldn’t do,” said Erich. He picked up his plate and let it fall and shatter as well.

  “Did your mother ever use these dishes in the garden?” Erich turned to Beatrice.

  “I don’t remember,” Beatrice replied quietly.

  “You don’t remember? How strange. I never got the sense that you had a bad memory. Whatever the case may be, I don’t believe your mother was ever so dumb as to carry her best and most precious dishes out to the garden where they could so easily be broken.” He stood up, and before anyone could stop him, he had ripped the tablecloth from the table. Cups and plates, a coffee pot, flatware and cake dishes — all fell to the ground with a loud crash. Coffee and hot cocoa splattered in every direction. The cakes lay in the grass in a heap of dough, apples, mirabelles, and cream.

  Helene screamed. “Don’t do this, Erich! Please!”

  But of course it was too late, and regardless, she’d never have been able to prevent his violent outburst. Everyone had jumped aside and now stared in disbelief at the chaos at their feet.

  “Good heavens, Herr Major,” murmured Will.

  Helene burst into tears, and Mae looked like she was about to follow suit.

  Erich yelled for the two Frenchmen. “Julien! Pierre! Come here at once!”

  The two of them appeared from somewhere deep within the garden, deferent and frightened as two dogs that have been brutally trained.

  “Clean this up,” Erich ordered. “And I don’t want to see a single shard, otherwise you’ll have something coming to you.”

  He stormed off, and shortly afterwards they heard a motor start up and a car shoot down the drive, tires squealing.

  “You girls had better go up to Beatrice’s room and stay there for awhile,” said Will. “I’ll look after Mrs. Feldmann.”

  By then Helene’s whole body was shaking with sobs, which threatened to spill over into hysterics.

  “Is he always like this?” Mae asked, terrified.

  “Sometimes he is and sometimes he isn’t,” Beatrice answered.

  The sight of the heap of broken remains made her furious. How Deborah had loved her china, how she had cherished and cared for it and only brought it out on special occasions. She was astonished to find that on a certain level she agreed with Erich: it had been stupid of Helene to choose these of all dishes for the garden! But she’d probably only wanted to get everything absolutely right. It could also have happened that Erich yelled at her for not choosing to put out the best dishes. Gradually, it became clear to Beatrice how cruel a system it was: if Erich’s anger needed an outlet, then however Helene behaved, whatever she said or did, it was all the same. It was always wrong, and it never failed to provoke his rage.

  Will went off with the sobbing Helene, and the two Frenchmen crouched down on the ground and gathered up the shards.

  Beatrice took Mae with her out behind the white wall with the grapes ripening next to it. “Mae, it’s good that we can talk alone,” she said without preface. “I’d really like to let my parents know that I’m okay, and I would like even more to know how they’re doing. But from here I can’t do anything. Do you think your father could try and make contact with them?”

  “I’ll ask him,” Mae promised, but she hardly looked confident. “He said that there wasn’t any contact between here and London. The Germans have shut it all down. No matter where they’re fighting, they win. My father says they want to conquer the whole world.”

  “No one can conquer the whole world,” said Beatrice, but she wasn’t sure. Maybe the Germans could after all. And even Mae looked as though her hope that everything would be better again one day had suffered a heavy blow. For two weeks she had been seeing “the Germans” in every corner of the island, but she had yet to really see them up close. Now she had experienced Erich in top form, and he had seemed to her the very embodiment of the terror that came into people’s voices whenever they spoke of “the Germans.” She now understood her mother’s fear and the fixed expression of worry on her father’s face.

  “It would have been better to get away,” she said, but Beatrice replied softly, “I’m happy you and your parents are still here. I would feel completely abandoned otherwise.”

  They sat silently in the grass for a while longer, sunning their faces and breathing in the roses’ perfume. At some point they heard Will calling. They stood up and came out from behind the wall so that he could see them. The Frenchmen had gone, and with them all traces of the disastrous tea party. The garden was quiet and peaceful.

  “I’ll drive you home now, Mae,” said Will. “Beatrice, you could go and check on Mrs. Feldmann. She’s in her room, and I’m afraid she’s not doing too well.”

  Mae and Beatrice said goodbye to each other, both of them distraught, both despondent, afraid of what would come next.

  “We’ll see each other again soon,” promised Mae, but Beatrice knew that this depended entirely on Erich’s whim, and that he would have fun making it especially difficult for her to keep up contact with her friend.

  She watched Will’s car until it reached the foot of the drive, then she went into the house. She hurried up the stairs and carefully knocked on the bedroom door. No one answered. Hesitantly, she opened the door, but the room was empty. On the bed was an open suitcase. Inside were a few balled up pieces of clothing, obviously chosen at random. The dresser was open; a few skirts lay on the floor right in front of it. It looked as if someone had been in a great rush to get away, had grabbed whatever was lying around, and had then lost all patience in the middle of packing it into a suitcase. Beatrice thought that Erich would be sure to react to the disorder in the room with the fiercest rage. How could Helene provoke him like that? And where was she, anyway?

  As she was standing there, indecisive, considering whether it was better for her to look for Helene or tidy up in the bedroom herself, she heard a muted thud. It had come from the bathroom. She hurried over, hesitated just a moment, then ripped open the unlocked door. She froze, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

  The bathtub was filled to the brim with water. It was already starting to overflow; puddles were forming on the stone tiles. Helene lay beside the tub. She wore nothing but her apricot-colored bathrobe. It had come open in front to expose her naked, girlishly small body. Her long hair was wet, a shade darker than usual. It covered her head like a cushion. The puddles next to her were red. Streams of blood pulsed rhythmically from her wrists.

  The sight of blood was a shock to Beatrice, even though in that first moment her mind refused to grasp what must have happened. She stepped carefully in between the puddles which, as she now saw, were everywhere streaked with blood, and turned off the faucet over the tub. Then she kneeled down next to Helene. She saw the razor blade tha
t lay a step away from her on the floor, and the deep, ugly gashes on Helene’s wrists.

  “Oh my dear God,” she whispered in horror.

  Helene wasn’t moving, and her face was so transparently pale that for one terrifying moment Beatrice was convinced that she was already dead. But then she realized that Helene’s chest was rising and falling, ever so slightly: she had lost consciousness, but she was still alive.

  “Oh God,” Beatrice murmured again. She jumped to her feet and yelled for Will, but then she remembered that he had just left to drive Mae home. Mae! She had to call Mae’s father at once!

  She ran down the stairs to the living room, dialed the operator with trembling fingers and asked to be connected to Dr. Wyatt. She prayed that he would be at home. She sensed without really knowing anything about situations like this that it couldn’t be much longer until Helene had bled to death.

  Mae’s mother answered. She immediately became nervous when she heard the agitation in Beatrice’s voice. “What is it? Is something the matter with Mae?”

  “No. Mae will be home any moment. Mrs. Wyatt, something horrible has happened! Mrs. Feldmann cut her wrists open. She’s in the bathroom, and there’s blood everywhere, and I think she’s going to die any minute!”

  She heard a slight crackle over the line and then heard a sharp intake of breath from the woman at the switchboard. Right away the thought came to her that the news that Major Feldmann’s young wife had tried to take her own life would now spread like wildfire all over Guernsey. She thought how incensed Erich would be to know that the drama couldn’t be kept secret.

  “I’ll send my husband over at once,” Edith Wyatt said, and she hung up.

  Beatrice ran upstairs and back to the bathroom, where the pools of blood were now worryingly large. She pulled a stack of towels out of the cabinet and wrapped them around Helene’s wrists. She hoped that the bleeding would stop, but the towels were quickly soaked and it seemed there was nothing that could halt the life escaping from Helene’s body.

  Panic was rising in Beatrice, but with an effort she brought it under control. There was no sense losing her nerve now. She ran downstairs one more time, looked out the front door and prayed she’d see Dr. Wyatt’s car turning the corner. But the drive lay quiet and empty before her. A cool breeze came from the garden, vapor rose from the grass. The September evening was approaching; it was already getting dark.

  She’s going to die. The thought flew through Beatrice’s head. She’s going to die!

  The thought was painful in a way she hadn’t expected. She didn’t know if the pain had to do with Helene or with the prospect of having to live alone with Erich again. Hopelessly she kept on the lookout for Julien or Pierre or one of the soldiers that were always on patrol around the house, but there was no one. Right at that moment, however, Dr. Wyatt’s car sped up the drive and with brakes squealing skidded to a halt outside the front door.

  “Where is she?” The doctor asked at once.

  Beatrice turned around and ran ahead of him up the stairs and into the bathroom. It looked like a slaughterhouse inside.

  “Damn it, time’s almost up!” Dr. Wyatt yelled, pushed Beatrice aside and went quickly to Helene.

  “Will she make it?” Beatrice asked. She was shocked to hear her teeth chattering as she spoke the words.

  “Pray for her,” was Dr. Wyatt’s terse reply. There was little hope in his voice.

  Will gave her warm milk with honey and suggested that she change her clothes, which were covered in blood from top to bottom. Beatrice put on her bathrobe and huddled next to the living room hearth, where Will had lit a fire. She drank her milk in small sips. She was trembling. Will was upstairs for a long time cleaning the bathroom. After the first aid measures Dr. Wyatt had provided, an ambulance had come and taken Helene to a clinic in St. Martin. Will, who just then had arrived having already been informed of what had happened by Mrs. Wyatt, had been able to catch a glimpse of Helene’s gaunt, gray face and for a second was frozen in horror. He too had thought that she was already dead. Dr. Wyatt had explained that she was still alive but that he feared she wouldn’t make it.

  “I’ll go with her to the clinic,” he said. “Could you look after Beatrice? The poor girl seems to be just about at the limit of strength. She shouldn’t be left on her own right now under any circumstances.”

  “I’ll look after her, of course,” Will promised. He seemed shaken in a way Beatrice had never seen him before.

  “Is it possible to reach Major Feldmann?” Dr. Wyatt wanted to know. “He must be informed of his wife’s condition.”

  “I don’t know where he is,” Will said helplessly. “I’ve already tried to reach him over the radio many times this afternoon, but he doesn’t have his turned on. But he’ll have to be coming home soon.” Will ran both hands through his hair. He looked ill and distraught. “I shouldn’t have left. She was completely beside herself, and I had a bad feeling. But she shouted at me, she said she wanted to be alone, and she went off into her bedroom, and I could hardly follow her in there, right? Then I went to my room, and later I drove Mae home, and …”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself now,” Dr. Wyatt said reassuringly. “You couldn’t have known that she would reach for the razor blade. When it comes down to it, no one can prevent a person from doing it if she’s absolutely determined to.” He clapped his hand on Will’s shoulder in encouragement and then got into his car to follow the ambulance, which had already reached the garden gate.

  In between heating the milk for Beatrice, lighting a fire, and cleaning the bathroom, Will kept trying to reach Erich on the radio, but without success.

  When he came and sat down in the living room with Beatrice, he looked completely exhausted. “The bathroom is all straightened up,” he said. “My God, she must have been losing blood by the quart. I’d really like to know …” He didn’t finish the sentence. He said instead, “you should go to bed, Beatrice. You’ve got to be dead tired. Today was a nightmare, huh?”

  “I wouldn’t be able to sleep right now,” said Beatrice. “I’d rather stay down here.”

  “Alright. If I only knew how all of this was going to turn out! My God, if Major Feldmann would finally just come home!”

  “Do you think that someone at the hospital would call us if …” Beatrice didn’t know how she was supposed to put the unthinkable into words.

  “They’ll call us, whatever happens,” said Will.

  He stared at the telephone. “As long as nobody calls, it’s a good sign.”

  At half past ten Will called the hospital himself. Mrs. Feldmann’s condition hadn’t changed, he was told. She had still not regained consciousness. Dr. Wyatt was with her.

  “At least she’s still alive,” said Will. His face was ashen. The thought slowly dawned on Beatrice that it wasn’t only worry for Helene that weighed on him, but also worry for himself. How would Erich react when he found out what had happened? He would try to find a guilty party so that he wouldn’t have to admit guilt himself. And who better than Will? He had left Helene alone at a critical moment, and then he’d even driven off. Beatrice was suddenly quite certain that Erich would be very angry with Will.

  Just after midnight they finally heard a car drive up outside, followed by the sound of a car door slamming. Moments later, Erich came into the room. He seemed to be in a rather cheery mood, somewhat tired, but even-tempered. He was surprised when he saw the scene that awaited him in the living room.

  “Well hello, what are you two doing here? Couldn’t sleep?”

  Will stood up. It seemed to Beatrice that his legs were shaking. “Herr Major,” he began. He spoke German, but Beatrice could still pick up on what he was saying, more or less. Haltingly, he gave a report of what had happened.

  Erich struggled to keep his composure. He barked an order at Will to get the hospital in S
t. Martin on the line at once.

  “Why, God damn it, did you not call a German doctor?” He yelled.

  “Well, Beatrice only knew …” Will began, but Erich immediately cut him off. “Where were you? How could you leave my wife in such a hysterical condition? All alone with just a twelve-year-old child!”

  Will handed him the receiver. “The hospital, Herr Major.”

  Erich shouted his name into the telephone and demanded to speak to the doctor in charge of his wife’s treatment right away. He listened for a long time and said finally, “Yes, yes. Thank you. Yes, that would be nice. Thank you.”

  He put down the receiver and turned towards Will. “She is no longer unconscious. Her condition has stabilized. The doctor thinks she’ll make it.” His face was wet with sweat. “I need a whiskey.”

  Will poured what he’d asked for and handed him the glass. Erich downed its contents in one quick motion. “I need another.”

  He drank the second whiskey as quickly as the first. It seemed to Beatrice that he hadn’t been quite sober beforehand. If he kept this up he’d soon be completely drunk. She clutched the mug of warm milk with both hands and felt her fear settle on her like a cold mist.

  Daggers glinted in Erich’s eyes as he stared at Will. “Will, you may go to your quarters and go to sleep. This incident will have repercussions for you. You expect nothing else, I’m sure. What exactly is going to happen is something I still have to consider.”

  “If there’s anything I still can do …” mumbled Will, but he was met with only a cynical, wordless smile. He left the room with his head hung low. Soon afterwards there came the sound of his boots crunching on the gravel outside.

  Erich got himself another whiskey. The motion he made in pouring it seemed somewhat shaky.

  “Thank goodness you were here, Beatrice,” he said. He was slurring his words. “Thank goodness we have you here with us. You’re a brave, resourceful girl. My Helene would probably be dead now if you hadn’t acted with such resolve.”