I was still packing until well into the afternoon. When I finished packing my clothes, and all of the books I thought might be deemed 'appropriate,' I had to face the more difficult task of choosing which sentimental articles I would take with me, to remember my family and friends. I chose a photo album and one or two gifts I had been given by Aunt Elizabeth and by Mark, and with a sigh I realized I didn't have anything to remember Clara by. I considered packing the flop-eared rabbit she had once admired, but I decided against the idea, and put him into my backpack instead.
I'd just finished packing when my phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Miranda? It's Clara. I was wondering if you were free to come over."
"Yes, I’m done packing. I'll see you soon."
I walked downstairs quietly to avoid seeing my mother and having to explain where I was going. As lenient as she’d been the past week, I knew she wouldn’t allow me to see Clara alone. When I passed the kitchen door, I could hear mother talking on the phone, so I wrote a note telling her where I would be. Her voice grew louder as I wrote, until she was almost shouting. I tried not to listen, but her words caught my attention.
"No, Lizzy, you're the one who's being unreasonable. You tried to make me get help for Mark, but now you want me to simply ignore Miranda's problems. No matter what I do, it's always wrong in your eyes. I suppose it's very easy to know how to raise other people's children, when you don't have any of your own."
While she was distracted, I placed the note on her favorite chair, ducked past her and ran out the door in a panic. It was obvious that Aunt Elizabeth had been correct, and Mother was merely becoming more obstinate with each attempt Aunt Elizabeth made to sway her. I got into my car and sat until my breath was steady and my trembling had calmed.
#
I drove to Clara's house and, when I arrived, we sat for a time on her front porch, watching the rain while silence hung between us like a veil. There was a beautiful scene before us. The lawn and the streets seemed not grey, but silver, washed clean by the water which struck the eaves of the house in a musical way. Even so, my spirits refused to be soothed, and Clara seemed just as despondent as me. She hung her head, and heaved a sigh of defeat.
"I don't know how to do this, Miranda. I don't know how to say goodbye to you. You've just come into my life, and I can't let go of you, yet."
"I can't let go, either. I can't let go of you, and I can't let go of the life I've already found for myself here. I can't accept the fact that I'm leaving. It seems like it must be a dream, or a nightmare."
"How long will it be?"
"I don't know. My parents say I will be there until I 'recover,' and that won't happen. I will probably be able to come home for a few weeks in the summer, and if I can't convince them to let me stay, they will send me again for the next year. I won't be 18 for almost two years. I won't be able to contact you at all while I'm there, and my parents will probably keep a close eye on me when I come home for vacation. I can't ask for you to wait for me, Clara. This really is goodbye."
"I'm not ready for goodbye, Miranda. I can't say goodbye. So much is happening, now, and I can't face it alone. I can't bear the thought of you being alone, so far away, either. I know you don't want to ask me to wait for two years, but I'm going to try. I'm going to be thinking of you." Clara turned away from the rain to look at me, her eyes blazing with conviction.
"I'll be thinking of you, too, Clara. It’s easier to face this, knowing that you're thinking of me. I don't want you to pine for me, though. Don't become a nun for my sake. This will be a lot easier for me if I know you're happy here. Also, if David's antics become too serious, let Summer murder him."
Clara laughed at this, though I could see tears in her eyes, "thank you for that, Miranda. I know that Summer, at least, will be comforted knowing that she has your permission to kill. I'm sorry, though. I can't stop thinking that this is all my fault. If it weren't for me, your parents wouldn't be sending you away."
"You aren't to blame. My parents have their own list of reasons for doing this. Fear and ignorance are at the top of their list."
"You said, one time, that you didn't know whether or not to forgive ignorance in others."
"I don't know if I will forgive my parents. I don't know if I'll be able to forgive them until they forgive me. I have to keep telling myself, though, that no matter how much I hurt, they are acting out of love."
"You've just reminded me; I have something for you." Clara stood and went into her house, and emerged a few moments later with a small box, tied with a blue ribbon. I opened it, and inside was a small, silver cross with a heart engraved in the center.
"I thought I should give you something to remind you that no matter what they tell you, all of the guilt they may try to force on you isn't God. God is love, and love is stronger than ignorance or fear."
I was speechless as she took the cross from the box and placed it around my neck. It felt as though I were receiving a benediction- a blessing of love translated through Clara's small but tender act. A few bittersweet tears escaped the barrier I'd built up the past week.
"If love is stronger than ignorance or fear, then maybe there is hope. I can't express how much this means to me, but-"
"It's alright. Don't thank me, please. You'll make me cry again, anyway, and I want to be brave, now. I need to practice being brave."
"You are brave. You've dealt with so many trials. I wish I could do something for you, to help you, before I leave. I have something for you, too, but I'm afraid it isn't nearly as nice as what you got for me."
I reached into my bag and pulled out the flop-eared rabbit. Clara took him from me and smiled.
"Oh, no, he's absolutely perfect! I can't believe you remembered how much I liked him. Thank you."
She put the rabbit down and pulled me into an embrace. The last remnants of my barrier broke, then, and I wept freely and openly. Clara's arms began to tremble, and soon she was shaking with silent sobs as well. We held each other and cried for a long time. Then, as our tears began to subside, Clara pressed her cheek against mine, and then touched her lips to mine in one last, salty, lingering kiss. We broke the kiss, and for a long time afterward, we stood silently, gazing into each other's eyes. The silence was broken by the sound of my phone ringing. I reluctantly looked away from Clara and answered the phone.
It was Mother. "I need you to come home now, Miranda," she said.
"I'm sorry. That was Mother. She wants me to come home," I told Clara.
Clara nodded solemnly, and gave me a final embrace. I stood, and said, "I leave first thing tomorrow morning. I'll call you tonight, to say goodbye."
"Not goodbye. 'See you later,'" Clara corrected, her brave smile back in place. I swallowed back my tears, determined to match her courage. I took my last look at her face- the wide brown eyes and sweet, rosebud mouth- and turned to walk away. She stood on the porch and watched as I got into my car, waved once, and drove away.
#
I drove home with aching eyes and an aching head. When I arrived, my Mother was waiting for me at the kitchen table.
"Where were you? Why didn't you tell me where you were going, instead of leaving a note?"
"You were on the phone when I left, and I didn't want to interrupt. I went to see Clara."
"You know that we don't approve of her influence, yet you deliberately went to see her alone?"
"I just wanted to say goodbye," I said, shrugging out of my raincoat. Mother seemed to notice my exhaustion, and let the matter pass.
Dinner that evening was a sad and awkward affair. I tried to make a final appeal to them to let me stay, but they accused me of sabotaging our final moments together. I didn't have the energy to argue, so I apologized, did the dishes, and went up to my room as quickly as I could.
I called Aunt Elizabeth, to thank her for her help and say goodbye, and then called Summer, Chad and Jason. Finally, I called Clara.
"I'm glad you were able to call," she said.
"I wish I had longer to talk. It's almost time for bed, but I know I won't be able to sleep tonight, anyway."
"Do you remember the time you kept talking until I fell asleep? I can do that for you tonight, if you like."
"I don't think it will work, but I want to hear your voice, anyway." I got into my bed, drew the curtains, and lay down on the soft, white comforter. It was the last time I'd be able to lie in my own bed for a very long time.
"What should I talk about?" She asked.
"I don't know. I never got the chance to learn all of those little details about you, so if you want, you can just talk about yourself."
Clara laughed a little, and said, "I wouldn't know where to begin. I don't think I'm as interesting a person as you think I am."
"Surely you must have some dark, mysterious secrets hidden away," I said teasingly.
"I actually think you know all of my secrets," she said, "aside from one or two you probably don’t want to hear."
“But, I do,” I insisted. “I want to know everything. How about a compromise; I’ll tell you one of my secrets for every one of yours."
"Fair enough," Clara said.
"Let me think... I know. What was the worst trouble you ever got in as a kid?" I asked.
"It was probably when I was ten years old, and was staying with my dad for the summer. He lives in a huge colonial estate in New England. I was angry with Dad, so I hid from him in one of the unused rooms, under the bed. I fell asleep, and when I woke up I found that I'd been there all day, and everyone had been searching for me. Before that incident, I hadn't thought that Dad cared about me at all, but I will never forget how worried he looked, or how angry. Of course, that story isn't a secret at all. Everyone in my family knows that story.
"Now, it's your turn. What was the worst thing you ever did as a child?" she asked.
"I told Mark there was no Santa Claus. I was five when I figured it out for myself, but Mother told me not to tell Mark. She said he would stop believing when he was ready. When we were eight, I saw him writing a letter to Santa Claus, and I thought he was being frightfully immature. I told him there was no Santa Claus, but he wouldn't believe me. I got angry, so I showed him where Mother and Daddy had hidden our presents. Mark was crushed. He forgave me pretty quickly, he always did, but that Christmas was ruined for him. Mother didn't get angry, but she seemed disappointed. I think that look of disappointment in her eyes was worse than any punishment."
"My Mom has given me that look before. You're right, it's worse than any punishment. Giselle seems immune to it, though. Of course, no one has ever been able to convince her that she's wrong."
"She'll learn from her mistakes, eventually."
"I'm just worried that some lessons aren't worth the pain. But, listen to me; I know I can handle this. We'll be okay. Ask me another question." As she spoke, I could hear the brave smile that she'd worn earlier in her voice.
"What has been your happiest moment, so far?" I asked, in hopes of lightening the mood.
"The night of the dance, with you, at the pond," she said.
"Even though we were interrupted, that's my happiest moment, too." I said.
"Even though you sprained your wrist?" she asked.
"The sprain was nothing. I only needed to wear the brace for a few days. That moment was my happiest, so far. What was your second happiest moment?" I asked, hoping to keep the mood light.
"When I was eleven my mom took Giselle and I out to see a concert. It was the first time I'd ever been out late, and it was incredible. We dressed up, and we got to sit in the balcony. We listened to selections from Bach's Harpsichord Concertos, and the music was breathtaking. I remember thinking how I never wanted the night to end."
I felt the same way that night, that I never wanted to night to end, though more from dread than pleasure. We kept talking late into the night, and for the most part she kept my spirits high. However, when I began to notice the sky outside my window turning a soft purple, I knew that my time was short. I closed the curtains on my windows against the light, and slipped into bed once more.
"Clara, what is your greatest fear?" I whispered.
"I've been afraid of the dark, ever since I was a little girl. Even now, I sleep with a night-light. It's silly, isn't it?"
"I don't think it's silly at all. I used to be afraid of the dark, too."
"Are you afraid of it, now?"
"No, now my greatest fear is being alone," I admitted. "It's about to come true."
"No, it isn't," she said earnestly. "No matter where you are, you have friends here. As long as you have friends, you aren't alone."
The alarm clock on my bedside table rang.
"What was that?"
"I'm out of time, Clara. I will miss you, so much. Tell the others goodbye for me. And, when I return, even if you've moved on, I would like to take you to a concert. Will you go with me?"
"I'll be waiting," she said.
#
"Miranda, wake up. We're almost there," My mother said.
I shook my head and sat up, still groggy from sleep deprivation and from the movement of the car. I pulled my seat up and looked out of the window.
We were driving through a mountainous, heavily wooded area. Steep rocks and cliffs rose on either side of the road, dark with pine and spruce. The mountains were heavy and foreboding, and I could almost feel their gravity draw me in. I leaned my head against the window and looked up, and saw a small patch of blue sky.
Earlier that morning, Daddy had driven Mother and me to the airport. He gave me a final hug, saying, "please forgive us for this, Miranda. We're doing it because we love you. You'll see that this was all for the best. Take care of yourself."
I'd nodded thought my tears and returned the hug. Then we'd boarded the plane. I'd slept on the plane, and for most of the drive from the airport. Now, it seemed, we were almost at the end of our journey. Mother turned off the highway and onto an unpaved side road. Ahead, in the shadow of the mountain, was a large wall, built from rough, granite blocks. As we approached, I could make out the worn steeple of a church rising from behind the main building enclosed within the walls.
"Mother, this is an abbey," I said, as we drove through the main gate. "Are you really sending me to be cloistered away, like a nun?"
"Of course I’m not. This used to be a mission, and later it was a school, for the Native Americans, I think. Prodigal Ministries bought it and refurbished it after the school was shut down."
This reassurance was little comfort to me as drove through the iron gate, and I felt as though I’d been trapped behind the granite wall. Mother parked on the gravel driveway in front, and we walked up a long, gravel path leading to a foreboding, gothic building. On the face of the building was a heavy, studded oak door, surrounded by clumps of overgrown juniper bushes. A middle aged woman with lank, dark hair and a sour expression was standing by the door. She was talking into an intercom, which looked thoroughly out-of-place on the face of an old mission, while another girl, who seemed to be about my age, stood behind her with her arms crossed.
The girl turned to look at my mother and me as we approached. She was scowling, like the woman, and wore a look of contempt in her almond-shaped blue eyes. Her hair was blonde and shoulder-length, though it was cut asymmetrically, so that it was slightly longer in the front. She wore an oversized tartan jumper, and a black shirt with sleeves she had pulled down over her hands against the cold. She examined me for a few moments, her eyes lingering over my conservative clothes and long hair, smirked, and turned away.
"Hey, Janet, another victim is here," the girl said to the older woman.
"Alice, how many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?" the woman rebuked. She turned from the intercom, smiled, and held her hand out to my mother. "I'm sorry about that. I'm Janet Smythe and this is my daughter, Alice."
"Ex-daughter," Alice murmured.
"I'm Julia Rothschild, and this is my daughter, Miranda," Mother replied.
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"It's good to meet you. I wish I knew what was taking so long, but the woman on the intercom said she would be out shortly. Where are you two from?"
"Most recently, we're from San Avila, Texas," Mother said.
"It's a small world, isn't it? We're from Houston, ourselves. The climate here is a shock. It was still warm when we left Texas." said Mrs. Smythe.
"Are we seriously discussing the weather?" Alice asked incredulously. Before her mother could scold her again, the front door opened with a jarring creek, and we were left facing a young, smiling woman.
"I'm sorry that took so long," she said. "We're a bit understaffed at the moment. My name is Rachel Sweeny. I'm a councilor here."
We all introduced ourselves, and then Ms. Sweeny welcomed us warmly into the front parlor and took our coats.
"If you'd just follow me into the main office, we'll get you registered, and then I'll take you for a small tour. This is really a remarkable old abbey, full of history. We're lucky we were able to obtain it"
She led us through another heavy, oak door into a hallway, and through the first door off the hallway into a spacious, comfortable office. While Mother and Mrs. Smythe talked with Ms. Sweeney and filled out various forms, I looked curiously at the rich furniture and ornaments which decorated the rough, stone room.
"So, Miranda, ready to be 'cured?'" Alice asked with mock enthusiasm while our mothers were distracted.
I wanted to laugh at her words, but faltered, and found I couldn't force even ironic humor. Alice scoffed and folded her arms again, leaning against the wall. "It figures; you probably think you're broken, don't you. You probably think if you fight who you are; God will reward you, or at least be a little bit merciful, loathsome sinner that you are."
Mephisto Waltz Page 16
