by Karen White
“In Rama was there a voice heard, lamentation, and weeping, and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children, and would not be comforted, because they are no more,” I quoted, my voice quiet, as if I was afraid to speak louder and have my words absorbed into the room, soiling the room forever. I’d never been able to remember Bible verses in Sunday school, but I remembered this one as if it had been burned into my brain.
Her voice was hoarse. “Where did you see that?”
“In a Bible hidden in Bernadett’s room. I didn’t understand why that was the only verse marked. But now I do.”
“She made me mark it. She put the pen in my hand and made me mark it.” She raised desolate eyes to mine. “All of these years I kept the secret, and then . . .” Her voice trailed away.
I swallowed, finding it hard to ask my next question. “Did Gunter not reach the convent in time?”
She shook her head. “I do not know. I will never know what really happened. The war, with all of its uncertainty—it was foolish of us to believe we could follow a plan.” Her eyes bore into mine. “But in my heart, I know with all certainty that Gunter tried to save them. He was a good man. He loved children, and he loved hearing me talk about Samuel. Gunter told me that he would want a son just like him.” Her voice wilted to a near whisper. “He would have saved them if he could have.”
I sat down next to her, afraid to touch her, afraid that she would break. “Is that why Bernadett killed herself? Because she found out about the children?” Something Helena had said to me when we first met came back to me. Have you ever known grieving that ends only when your own heart stops beating? I did know, and I understood.
I touched her softly on the hand, and then tentatively, slowly, I reached my arms around her in a gentle hug, the human need to touch and be touched overwhelming.
She stiffened at first, then bent her face into my shoulder and began to cry. I closed my eyes, remembering when Eve and I were small, how even after a fight I’d climb into her bed and she’d put her arm around me, words unnecessary, and that had been enough. When had we lost that? When had we both allowed ourselves to pull away, separating two halves of the same soul?
Helena pulled back, using a tissue she kept in the wrist of her sleeve to dry her face and wipe her nose. Without looking at me she said, “I do not want to be inside anymore. I need fresh air.”
I wanted to tell her that she wasn’t done, that there was so much more to her story. But what she’d already said sat heavily on my heart, a riptide that threatened to drag us both out to sea.
Helena struggled to stand, pushing away my attempts to help her. “Call Nurse Weber. I want her to take me to the dock so I can see the river.”
I didn’t tell her that it was too warm outside or that the grass was still too wet with dew for her to walk on. I couldn’t. “I’ll let her know. I’ll go set up two chairs in the shade.”
“I want to be alone,” she said, her eyes cold as they met mine.
“I’m not judging you,” I said, wanting to tell her that all I saw was her courage. And her fear. And her inability to forgive herself.
She raised silent eyebrows.
“I told Eve that I had wanted her to die. That I willed her to die. And she forgave me. But I see now that I need to forgive myself, or the past will never let me go. Can you see that, Helena? Can you see that you don’t need Bernadett’s forgiveness? She wasn’t there to make the tough decisions you had to make. But you were, and you made them, and you’ve lived with the consequences all of these years. You need to forgive yourself for any mistakes you might have made along the way, or you will never rest.”
She shook her head. “I’m too old for forgiveness. All that is left for me is my punishment.”
She made her way slowly from the room and I watched her leave, my gaze slowly traveling to the painting of the woman in red velvet. I wanted to cry, needed to cry for Gigi and the lost children, and for Samuel and Bernadett, and for an old woman who’d never been allowed to forgive or forget.
CHAPTER 34
Eleanor
For two days, Helena and I existed in a kind of limbo, fitfully sleeping, barely eating, and waiting for the phone to ring. Her story remained unfinished, neither of us willing to immerse ourselves in more darkness. We danced around each other like two prizefighters, each no longer sure what the prize would be if we won. And so we waited.
I spoke to Finn briefly throughout the day, the news never changing. Gigi was neither getting better nor getting worse, which, in the absence of an immediate recovery, was the best news we could expect.
On the third day, I heard the approach of a car on the drive outside. I ran to the door, my stomach climbing into my throat, wondering if Finn had come to tell me bad news in person.
I stood on the steps, watching with surprise as Glen’s car pulled up, Eve in the passenger seat. The car stopped and I ran down the steps to Eve’s side of the car, where she was already opening the door.
She looked up at me, her smile hesitant. “I hope it’s okay that I’m here. I didn’t want to call first and have you tell me no.”
I stared at my sister, seeing the small swell of her belly and the new fullness to her cheeks, my mind trying to process all the reasons she would be there.
When I still didn’t respond, she said, “Your phone calls have been so short and I know how worried you are about Gigi. I thought you could use a little moral support.”
“I don’t. I mean . . .” I stopped, feeling the press of tears in the back of my throat, and watched as Glen lifted Eve’s wheelchair from the trunk, then moved it up to the porch. “Of course it’s all right.” I swallowed, feeling like a drowning victim being tossed a life ring. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Glen lifted Eve from the car and placed her in the wheelchair. “I don’t want to be in the way, so I’m just delivering her. I’ll be back in a few hours to pick her up.”
I smiled my gratitude. “Thanks, Glen. Thank you both.” I hadn’t realized how alone I’d been in the last few days since Helena shared her story, how much I wanted to reach out in mutual consolation with as much fervor as she pushed me away.
Glenn took a grocery bag out of the backseat and handed it to Eve before kissing her and saying good-bye to both of us. Neither of us spoke until the car had disappeared.
Eve was looking at my forehead, where I’d left off the bandage, tired of trying to scratch through layers of gauze. The stitches were still visible under the ointment, the skin around it angry and red. “That’s going to leave a scar.”
I barked out a laugh, the sound coming from the scared, dark corner of my heart. It felt so good for things to be normal between us again. “Yeah, probably.”
“What’s with the bag?” I asked her as I wheeled her into the foyer.
“A present. For you and Gigi.”
I stopped and moved in front of her, watching as she took out two pink T-shirts from the bag. She handed the first one to me, and I held it up to see the front. The edges of the sleeves and collar had been embellished with soft white lace, the hem embroidered with blue thread to make it look like waves. And stitched across the front of the shirt, in large, quilted letters, were the words BIG GEECHEE GIRL, Lucy’s nickname for me when we were children and I’d wanted so badly to be a part of her Gullah family. Being called a Geechee girl was as close as I’d come.
I laughed. “It’s adorable. Thank you.”
With a searching look, Eve handed me the second shirt. I held it up, seeing how tiny it seemed against mine. The two shirts were identical, from the lace to the blue embroidery, but the letters on this one read LITTLE GEECHEE GIRL.
“Remember a million years ago when Lucy gave us T-shirts with GEECHEE GIRL on them? I had this idea of how cute you and Gigi would look, running around Edisto with matching shirts. I just guessed on the size. I knew yours, of course, but I’ve only seen G
igi once, and I remember how small she is. . . .”
I pressed the shirt to my mouth, stifling the sobs that had lingered there for days, tears for Gigi, and Samuel, and all those lost to Helena. Then Eve’s touch on my hand was like a talisman from my past, reminding me that I wasn’t alone anymore. The sobs came from deep within me, pouring out all the years of keeping the hurt inside, making room for something new, a simultaneous hollowing out and filling up. I knelt on the floor next to Eve’s chair and cried while she stroked my cheek and smoothed the hair away from my face, saying the little words our mother had once said to us when she rocked us to sleep, little words lost in the years between then and now.
When I was done, I sat back and looked at my sister with swollen eyes. “It’s going to be okay, right?”
“I can’t promise you anything except that I’ll be here.”
She took my hand and squeezed. Glancing around the foyer at the warped paintings and odd rectangles of color, she said, “I’ve always wanted to know what it looked like inside. It’s a little . . . eccentric.”
I smiled carefully. “You have no idea.”
“Is she awake? Helena?”
I sat back on my heels. “Why?”
“You talk so much about her, I figured it was time I finally met her. I’ve made sure to gird my loins first.”
I sniffed, wiping my nose against the back of my hand. “She’s actually been pretty docile, which worries me. She’s in the sunroom.” I stood and took a deep breath. “Be gentle with her. She’s been carrying some pretty large burdens.”
“Haven’t we all?” Eve said quietly as I moved behind her chair and pushed her toward the sunroom.
Helena sat in the armchair that had been hers, staring at the bend of the property where creek met river, the current wide and fast. There was no book in her lap, and the television was off. But the framed photo of Gigi in her ballet recital costume lay faceup on the side table as if it had just been placed there. Helena didn’t look up when we entered.
“Helena? Miss Szarka? I’ve brought somebody to meet you.”
She didn’t turn around.
“It’s my sister, Eve.”
Eve moved forward. “I’m so sorry about Gigi. My mama and I have been praying every day for her, and we added her name to the prayer list at church.” She smiled at the old woman, a trick that had never failed to garner notice. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Miss Szarka. Eleanor has told me so much about you.”
That seemed to rouse her, and she turned her head slowly in our direction. She regarded Eve in silence. Just when I thought she would turn around and ignore us completely, she said, “She is not that much prettier than you, Eleanor. But her hands are much daintier and more feminine.”
Eve looked at me with a raised eyebrow, but I shook my head slightly to let her know that she didn’t need to play older sister and defend me. I was happy to have Helena score a point if it meant she was doing more than staring out a window or lying in bed.
Helena’s bony fingers tapped against the arms of the chair. “But then again, how can one play the piano with such small hands?”
“I can’t play at all,” Eve confessed. “I always wanted to, but it was like I had two left hands.”
I sat down on the ottoman and watched as Helena’s lips curved. “Less competition that way.”
I smiled to myself, surprised yet grateful to hear Helena defending me.
Eve laughed. “Oh, there were so many things she was good at, it wouldn’t have mattered if there’d been one more.”
Teri Weber stepped into the room, her face showing the tension we’d all been feeling since the accident. “Can I get some refreshments for anyone? Iced tea? And I made my chocolate chip cookies. They’re Gigi’s favorites.”
I looked over at Helena, wondering if she’d heard Teri, and saw she was deep in thought.
“Yes, thank you, Teri,” I said.
I watched as Helena’s face became more animated than I’d seen for a while. “Eleanor told me that she was always getting you into trouble when you were girls and that all the worst ideas were hers.”
Eve nodded. “Oh, definitely. It made life more exciting. I suppose we were both looking for something to change our lives, and I always depended on Eleanor to make that happen.”
“Even if it meant falling from a tree and ending up in a wheelchair?” Helena’s voice lacked any malice, as if she really needed to know the answer.
Eve stilled. “Even then,” she said. “Did she ever tell you that she almost died that day?”
“No. She has not.” Helena sent an accusing glance toward me, while I just stared at Eve, wishing she’d stop.
Teri brought in the drinks and a plate of cookies, and I was hoping Eve had forgotten the question. She hadn’t.
“When I fell,” Eve said, “Eleanor let go of the branch she’d been clinging to, trying to get to me as quickly as possible. She hit the ground, and when the medics finally got there, her heart had stopped.”
Eve looked at me over the glass of her iced tea, her violet eyes soft. “I never knew if she’d done it to try to save me or because she didn’t want to live without me, so instead I simply blamed her for my own stupidity. In the end it was easier than trying to thank her for almost killing herself to try to save me.”
“And you think it is possible to simply change your mind and pluck another chance at life right from the air?” Helena’s hands were folded in her lap, like a psychologist listening to a patient.
Eve’s delicate brow wrinkled. “We all make choices, Miss Szarka. And if it doesn’t work out the way we wanted it to, we can spend a lifetime blaming ourselves or blaming others. Either way, we’ve spent a lifetime blaming instead of a lifetime doing other things.” She rested her hand on her stomach. “This pregnancy has brought a whole new perspective to the way I look at the world. I think the possibilities for second chances are everywhere if we just look hard enough.”
Eve focused on placing her glass on a coaster, avoiding our eyes as a confessor might.
I looked at my sister, wondering who this person was in the wheelchair next to me. Under my breath, I said, “Have you been watching Dr. Phil?”
Her violet eyes met mine as I smelled a hot summer afternoon and a dusty road. Very quietly, she said, “All good-bye ain’t gone, right, Eleanor?”
I didn’t say anything but remained transfixed.
“I heard her, too. I guess we were supposed to figure out what she meant on our own.”
Helena was watching us closely, her eyes bright and clear, the shadows temporarily parted. She leaned forward, reminding me of the first time I’d met her, when she was trying to get me to leave and told me that I didn’t look like a musician.
Using her most imperious tone, she turned to Eve and said, “I would like to know what it was like growing up with Eleanor. I would imagine it was very wearying.”
I watched Eve and Helena as they talked, tossing in a word or two here and there, but enjoying listening to them taking turns being on the offensive and defensive in their discussion of me. I eventually gave up and simply leaned back and listened, my heart lighter than it had felt in a long, long time.
Later, after Helena had gone to her room to rest, Eve and I sat on the porch waiting for Glen to return and for news of Gigi. She put her arm around me, just as she had when we were small, and it was enough.
On the fourth day, Finn called, his words guarded, but I could still hear the hopefulness behind them. “The swelling has been steadily going down since last night, and her brain activity is normal. They’re already talking about bringing her out of the coma.”
“Oh, Finn,” I said, my eyes squeezed tight, unable to think of any words that would say what I wanted to.
“It’s still too early to say anything definitive, and the doctors are being very cautious in what they’re tel
ling us, but they’re all very, very optimistic.”
“When can I see her?” I said, no longer trying to keep the tears from my voice.
“As soon as she’s out of the ICU. I’ll come pick you up myself.”
“I’m fine, Finn. I can drive Helena’s Cadillac.” I wasn’t absolutely sure that I could drive without panicking at every horn or siren, but I’d figure that out later. I didn’t want him to worry about one more thing.
“No. I’d rather know you’re safe. And I need to be on the island. I need . . .” He paused. “I need to be there.”
He didn’t need to explain what he meant. I’d understood how salt water ran through some veins and not in others, like a blood type that identified those who belonged here.
“Call and I’ll be ready,” I said.
Neither one of us said anything for a long moment as we simply listened to each other breathe.
Finn broke the silence. “How is Helena?”
“The same.” I had not told him Helena’s story. It was not my story to tell. “She won’t talk about Gigi and she’s not eating or sleeping much, although none of us is doing much of either. But don’t worry, the nurses are keeping a close eye on her. She did seem to perk up a little yesterday. Eve stopped by.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. To see how I was doing. She brought a present for Gigi and me. I’ll show you when you come home.” Come home. The words hung in the space between us, undefined and undefinable. “We had iced tea and Nurse Weber’s chocolate chip cookies. Tell Gigi that we’ve frozen some of the cookies for her when she’s better.” My throat seemed to thicken and I turned away from my phone so I could swallow without him hearing me.
