by Nancy Loyan
Victoria shared breakfast with her mother. Usually Bessye was too rushed to eat and had a bus to catch. This morning, Victoria had offered to drive her mother to work. Her mother had protested, not wanting to seem more important than her friends and co-workers by being driven instead of taking public transportation.
The unhurried pace allowed time for omelets from eggs a neighbor generously shared from her coop and fruit handpicked from trees in the yard. Mother and daughter were able to sit at the kitchen table and converse.
“Victoria, you really need to do something. You are far too young and intelligent to sit around,” Bessye said, sipping her strong coffee.
“I’m quite busy with planning my home and life. I have enough money to live on.”
“Money is not as important as using one’s mind and body. I waitress because I like being productive and enjoy meeting people and pleasing them.” Bessye grinned.
Victoria scoffed. “You also have swollen feet to show for it.”
“Child, there is nothing wrong with hard work. Life’s too short to be wasted doing nothing.”
“Life’s too short to be waiting on a bunch of spoiled rich people. You need to take it easy. Why don’t you retire already? I keep telling you that I can support you.” As if her mother would listen. They had gone over this conversation almost daily since Victoria returned home to find her mother tired and weak.
“Hard work has never killed anyone.” Bessye scoffed.
“I have worked hard. Ever since I left the Islands I’ve worked hard, from studying to demanding jobs. I’ve paid my dues. I haven’t been lazy. By moving here I’ve been able to slow the pace of my life. What’s so wrong with that?” Victoria met her mother’s steadfast gaze.
“Just don’t get too comfortable, child.”
Victoria tensed. She hadn’t told her mother of Alexander Wells’ offer of employment. She had been weighing her options ever since their meeting at the Shangri La. Though she was certain her mother would approve, the prospect of working for Alexander Wells was daunting. She was more than capable of doing the job and overseeing the development of her land. She wanted the position, the challenge and the income. She thrived on that. His being Daemon’s father was an issue. Daemon was heir to the empire and would one day be her boss. That was a bridge she would just have to cross when the time came.
After dropping her mother off at the resort, Victoria drove into the city and parked. She needed an escape from her mother. She needed “retail therapy,” a habit she’d acquired while living in the States.
Though downtown Victoria was far from being a city, its quaint pastel and stone shops and bustling traffic offered a hint of hustle and bustle. She made a mental note to plan a flight to Singapore in the near future to really get away. It would also provide the opportunity to visit the headquarters of Eden Resorts before committing to employment.
She strolled Francis Rachel Street and entered Temooljee, the largest store in town. Afterward, she continued on to the shopping arcade. She perused racks of imported clothing and purchased a floral sundress. Leaving the boutique, she surveyed the goods of a street vendor. A string of freshwater pearls caught her eye. In Kreol, she bargained down the vendor to a price she was willing to pay, and walked away with an opera length strand.
On an island filled with tiny mini-Mokes and Fords, her Volvo stood out. As she drove around the hairpin island curves, she lowered the windows to let in the ocean trade winds and increased the volume on the local island songs. For a moment she felt free and easy like a tourist on holiday. The feeling faded as she approached her mother’s modest home.
The moment she entered the house, the phone was ringing. Victoria dropped her packages and raced to get it.
“Bonzour,” she answered.
“Manmzel Montcherry?” the voice on the other line inquired.
“Oui.”
“I’m Nurse Fanchette at Victoria Hospital. I’ve been trying to reach you all afternoon.”
Chills ran up and down Victoria’ spine. She gripped the telephone receiver so tight her hands were turning white and numb.
“What is it? What’s happened?” Victoria asked. From past experience, unexpected news from a hospital was seldom good.
“Your mother has been admitted and Doctor Esparon has requested that you come to Victoria Hospital at once.”
Victoria rushed out of the house and hopped in her car. She raced around the winding curves of the coast like a NASCAR driver in a final lap. The nurse had been purposely vague as to her mother’s malady and condition, a sign that things had to be critical. How Victoria managed to get to Victoria Hospital was a miracle. A higher power had to be guiding and safeguarding her journey.
She parked and raced through the front doors of the hospital. At the reception desk, the woman behind the desk told her and Victoria ran off to find the Intensive Care Unit.
She barged into the unit. A nurse stopped her before she could enter the patient area.
“Excuse me. You are?”
“Victoria Montcherry,” she mumbled. Her heart was beating so rapidly she could hardly speak.
“Oh, Miss Montcherry,” the young nurse said in a mellow voice. “I’m Nurse Fanchette. We spoke on the phone.”
“Where is she?” Victoria asked, eyes darting about the space, seeking a sign of her mother.
“Resting. I think it best you speak to Doctor Esparon first.” The nurse pointed to a small office.
Victoria followed the nurse and sat across from a man in a crisp white lab coat, the color in contrast to his dark skin.
“How is she?” Victoria asked, sitting upright in the wood chair as if ready to pounce.
The doctor looked up from a medical chart and met her gaze. His dark eyes were soft with empathy.
“I will be very honest with you, Miss Montcherry. Your mother has suffered a severe heart attack. From what I’ve been told, she was serving guests and suddenly collapsed. She was rushed here.”
“A heart attack?” A punch to her stomach wouldn’t have been as stunning or hurt as bad. If her mother had been retired instead of working, this wouldn’t have happened. Victoria knew she should have insisted her mother stop working. In the battle of wills, her mother had won and now was paying the price.
“As her cardiologist, I had urged her to retire well over a year ago,” the doctor continued. “Though she is a reasonably young woman of fifty-five, her heart is like that of an old woman. I’d prescribed medication that she refused to take, relying instead on island voodoo. I fear island voodoo will do her no good now.”
Even her doctor had urged Bessye to retire and she didn’t listen!
“What are you saying?”
“Your mother’s heart is very weak.”
“And?” Victoria leapt up from the chair, the chair’s legs wobbling on the tile. “What about surgery?”
He shook his head. “Surgery is out of the question. Your mother is suffering from acute heart failure. There’s nothing to be done.”
Victoria slumped back into the chair, the wind knocked out of her. “Nothing? Are you telling me that my mother is dying? That there is no hope?”
“I’m sorry, Miss Montcherry. If there were hope, your mother would be on the first plane to Singapore for the best medical care in the world. Trust me, there is nothing anyone can do but pray.”
There it was again, that word trust! That damn dirty word trust! Victoria felt the bile rise in her throat. She cupped her hand over her mouth to suppress the urge to gag.
“We can try, can’t we? I can hire a private plane to fly her to Singapore. I can afford the best medical care in the world. Money isn’t an issue,” Victoria insisted.
The doctor shook his head. “All of the money in the world cannot save your mother. Money cannot buy health.”
“I want a second opinion.”
“I’ve consulted with cardiologists in Singapore and even in the U.S. Nothing more can be done.”
Victoria stared at him i
n a daze. This couldn’t be happening.
“Why don’t you go in and sit with your mother. Hold her hand. Comfort her. Talk to her. Spend time with her. She needs you now. You need her.” The doctor stood.
Victoria just sat in stunned silence. This was another nightmare.
The doctor put out his hand and Victoria took it. He led her to her mother, enclosed behind a curtain. She sat in a wood bedside chair after the doctor left.
“Vic-toria,” her mother said, her voice barely above a whisper, the plastic oxygen canula beneath her nose. A heart monitor beeped at every precious heartbeat.
Victoria drew a breath for composure. The medicinal smell of the place offered no relief. She grasped her mother’s hand in hers. The hand that had always been so strong was almost too weak to squeeze.
Dark brown eyes met hers, the same shade and almond shape with the same dark lashes. There was a sense of peace in her mother’s gaze. Victoria had been expecting defeat and disappointment.
“Oh, Mamma,” Victoria said, holding back tears that wanted to flow.
Victoria didn’t know what to do or what to say. If she had never left the Islands, her son, her mother. If only she had returned home to the Islands earlier. If she had insisted more that her mother retire and physically prevented her mother from working. If she and her mother didn’t disagree so much. If … Would her mother have a more positive prognosis? A longer life?
“Child, it’s time for me to go. God’s calling me and I can’t disappoint him now, can I?” Bessye said between ragged breaths.
“It’s too early to be talking like that.”
Bessye shook her head, barely moving. “You’re a brave girl. Always been. Don’t always have to be so brave. You have to learn to trust yourself and to trust others. Remember, trust has to be earned, child.”
Trust! Victoria had to look away, clear her throat and her thoughts.
“Make peace with the Islands, with your past, with Justin and with Mr. Wells. I can tell that he loves you. You were meant for each other. Don’t run away and hide, child. Go out and embrace life. Life’s too short for regrets.” Bessye gently squeezed Victoria’s hand and their eyes met.
“Do you have regrets, Mamma?”
“We all have regrets, child. Mine have been too few to worry about.”
Her misty eyes told another story and Victoria wondered what her mother was thinking.
She swiped back her own tears.
“I regret not having enough time with you,” Victoria whispered.
Chapter 19
The funeral was typical Seychellois. Victoria had to adjust to the island rituals, though she found some of them morbid. She joined her mother’s close friends in cleansing the body and preparing it for viewing. Bessy was attired in her best cotton dress, her hair curled and combed. She lay in a simple wood casket set in the main room of her home. As tradition required, her head faced the mountain and her feet the ocean. Candles created an eerie glow, with shadows of visitors bouncing off the walls and ceiling.
Victoria sat nearby, greeting guests who came from all over the Islands to pay their respects. She tried to act composed though she was aching inside. Each handshake and word of condolence reinforced the fact that her mother was gone to her forever. The unfamiliar faces reminded her of how little she knew her mother. Most of the people were strangers, some distant relatives she didn’t even know. Fellow employees and management from the resort where Bessye worked came with tears in their eyes. Flowers and plants were set about the room, adding fragrance to the otherwise hot and stuffy space. The largest arrangement was from Eden Resorts with a personal note of condolence from Alexander Wells. Even the coldest heart melted at word of Bessye’s passing.
Victoria sat keeping vigil as guests came and went, as daylight turned to dusk, to night, to dawn and back to daylight. The sound of neighbors playing dominoes outside rattled the silence and, supposedly, kept evil spirits at bay.
Though exhaustion stiffened her bones, Victoria was the dutiful daughter. She refused to leave her mother’s side, though others offered to take her place. Sleep evaded her as memories of her mother and regrets over the years they had spent apart replayed in her mind. She joined in prayers, in song, and cried with the other ladies.
As the next day dawned, Victoria rose only to get freshened up and changed for what was to be another long and difficult day. Alone. She had never felt so alone. There was no one to hold her, no one to offer words of comfort and encouragement. She no longer had a parent. She no longer had family.
Men came with a handcart. While they waited outside, Victoria pressed a last kiss on to her mother’s cold cheek before the coffin was nailed shut. Mamma! Oh, Mamma! What am I to do without you? The finality of it all made her heart lurch. Men carried the coffin out and loaded it on the cart as Victoria stood by weeping into her handkerchief. The men pushed the handcart to the local church, a procession of mourners following.
A full mass conducted by the local priest was celebrated. A choir sang. Victoria looked up at the stained glass and could feel her mother’s spirit through the shades of blue, red and yellow. She knew that her mother was watching over the proceedings, impressed. The church had meant a great deal to Bessye and the priest’s homily reflected her dedication.
After, the handcart was pushed to the cemetery. Many vaults and granite headstones were above ground, most with flower niches, tiny alters with crosses on top. The ground for Bessye had been dug and prepared. Victoria stared, the reality of her mother’s passing evident in the scene. The priest read “The Lord is My Shepherd …” while mourners wailed. Though the sky was blue and the sun shone brightly, the mood was as somber as Victoria’s drab black dress.
Victoria perused the gathered crowd. There were familiar and unfamiliar faces, young and old, all races. Her mother had touched more lives than she had ever thought and was deeply missed. Bessye Montcherry may have lived on an island, isolated by most of civilization, but she hadn’t lived as an island. Her impact was far-reaching.
One man caught her attention. He was standing on the edge of the crowd, leaning on a brass tipped walking stick. He was white and his attire all white linen. Even the tilted fedora on his head was white straw. From what she could tell, he was probably in his sixties, tall, and sophisticated and didn’t seem like a native. He hadn’t been at the viewing but watched the funeral proceedings with interest. When he removed a handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes, Victoria had the urge to find out who he was.
“I’m sorry, Victoria.”
Victoria turned to see Daemon. He stood in a tan tropical weight suit, conservative yet dapper. He grabbed her hand and held it in his. His touch was warm and welcoming. How did he know to come, right when she needed him most? They stood in silence as the priest finished his prayer and the graveside service ended.
Daemon continued to hold her hand as they walked through the cemetery. His grasp offered a sense of comfort and strength. Victoria gave one more glance over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of the gravediggers
“I can’t believe she’s gone,” Victoria said, choking on her words. “She’s really gone.”
“I just learned of her passing today or I would have been at the vyey mortye.” He squeezed her hand.
“Trust me. Viewings are far from pleasant. You didn’t miss a thing,” she said with trembling lips.
“I missed being with you in a time of need.”
She cast a look his way as they walked. She needed him now. Daemon had been concerned enough to attend her mother’s funeral. She was touched. His presence meant more than he could realize. He came and it was as if a dark cloud had been lifted. She looked up at the sun and wondered if her mother had a hand in this.
“I know how devastating it is to lose one’s family,” Daemon continued. “You’re not alone, Victoria. I want you to know that as long as I’m around, you’ll never be alone.”
She didn’t know what to say. Tears glistened in her eyes and she didn’t know if t
hey were from grief or from Daemon’s words.
“We need to talk. I know this isn’t the time or place. As Bessye would attest, life is far too short for regrets.”
Daemon had to hit on her mother’s last words without even knowing them. Once again, it was as if he knew everything about her.
“Yes, we can talk,” Victoria said.
Though she looked at Daemon, she couldn’t help but notice the man in the white suit walking away. He had a limp but had a dignified way of walking, his head held high and the posture of a man of wealth and breeding.
“Who is that man?” she asked.
Daemon quickly replied, “Jacques LeGrande, the famous writer.”
“Writer?”
“Yes, in France he’s considered on par with Hemingway,” Daemon explained, looking at the man.
“What is he doing here?”
“He lives here. Has lived here for years. Actually, he owns his own private island. Extremely talented but lives like a hermit,” Daemon said.
“Why would he be at my mother’s funeral?” Her mother had touched many lives, but a famous writer?
Daemon just shrugged.
Victoria sat cross-legged on a woven rug on the floor of her mother’s house, a house that was far too quiet. Without Bessye, the atmosphere had changed. Without Bessye’s vibrant personality and wisdom, the house was just a structure and no longer a home. Without her mother, Victoria was no longer someone’s child but an adult. Alone.
One reason she had returned to the islands was to reconnect with her mother, to make up for all those lost years when she wandered the world in search of herself. Yet, the real Victoria Montcherry was found in the Seychelles Islands. Did she have to find herself at the same time she lost her mother?
What would she do without her mother? She would miss the “I told you so’s” and the island gossip. She would miss the contentious conversation as well as the unconditional love only a mother could give. Tears pooled in her eyes and she choked them back. Though she knew her mother had been in ill health, she never expected her to die so soon. So young.