Fragile Blossoms

by Dodie Hamilton

The Matron brought her up to date. ‘We have eight girls at the moment. Three are close to their time the others being still able to work have jobs.’

  ‘What sort of jobs?’

  ‘Very much as they had before, cleaning and working in kitchens. Most can hardly sign their names and so can do little else.’

  ‘But a tutor does come twice a week?’

  ‘He does and we encourage the girls to learn but we don’t force them. They are slow taking it up. It’s not that they’re unwilling. They are young and have other things on their mind beside school books.’

  ‘I realise that.’

  ‘Work is what they want, madam, and a way to earn a living. There is the odd one who sees a future in two-and-two making four and when we see that we give every help but it’s a slow business. I don’t expect too much. The arrangement with the Sanatorium allows girls to work until the last month of their confinement. The trouble is many don’t know how the babies were conceived never mind when so it’s a bit of a wait-and-see. Still they like to work. They don’t get paid much but it helps with self-respect.’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘This is the nursery.’ They gazed through glass at a row of cots. ‘I shan’t be taking you in because as you know the rule of the house is one of privacy.’

  ‘Do you find the rule hampers the running of the house?’

  ‘I believe it a sensible rule and Doctor Adelman a wise man. If the girls want visitors they can have ‘em. Most just want to be safe and in their words get it over with. We have four babies now and are expecting more toward the end of the week. Two are up for adoption.’

  ‘And how do the young mothers cope with that?’

  ‘They are resigned, madam, but have their own feelings. The best they can hope for is a new life for them and a better life for the babies.’ The Matron patted Julia’s arm. ‘Don’t be downhearted, Mrs Dryden. The babies go to good Christian homes, we make sure of that, and the mothers are given a second chance. But for you and folk like you they’d be begging in a gutter or in some hovel selling their bodies, or the babies, for a tot of gin.’

  Julia is to meet Stefan for lunch but as always after visiting the Home has little appetite. They will then go to see Karoline. How long they stay there depends on what they find. Most visits follow a routine, the tasting and disgorging of food followed by washing of hands and feet. Julia believes the vomiting of food a ritual of reproach aimed at Stefan. Things are uncertain. One never knows what one will find. There have been times when no sooner in than they are out again, doors clanging behind them and Karoline shouting and raking the air with her nails. It is on such occasion, Stefan torn with grief that Julia returns to his bed. They make a sad kind of love and she then catches the train home. If that hour of consolation, the love of one human being for another, is a sin, then Julia is a sinner and content to be so.

  It would seem Peggy Carstairs has been indiscreet, Stefan and Julia accused of adultery, a rumpled bed proof of sin. A pity since Stefan relies on her. Julia won’t tell and add to his hurt. These days he’s so tired the only intimacy they share is friendship. It is enough. Overweight, shy and unglamorous, he’s no Winged Angel piercing the skies, yet Stefan is an angel and Julia loves him.

  When peaceful angel is what Karoline says of calls Julia, ‘my pale angel, Meine blasse Engel.’ Bitch is what she says when raging, ‘diebischen hundin,’ a thieving bitch. Stefan apologises. ‘She doesn’t know what she says.’ Julia thinks she does know and at the time of saying means every word. There is more than one woman imprisoned in that emaciated form. The disease that destroyed the original Karoline left interchangeable women in her stead, some benign, others less so. Most days Gentle Karoline is present, on other occasions, as with the Prince of Wales, press the wrong button and all hell is loose. Julia suspects a secret Karoline hides among the Many, an ephemeral being less constrained by the body that travels hither and thither seeking the best for Stefan. It was that Karoline who first urged Julia to visit. She’s the one who lingers at the cottage among delicate Meissen china. It was she who whispered in Julia’s sleeping ear suggesting a scarlet corset, and it is that Karoline who when her husband reaches out for Julia vacates the spirit, and purring, loosens her long silver hair to mingle with the flesh.

  Leaving the restaurant Stefan kissed her cheek. ‘I am so pleased to see you.’

  ‘And I you! Are you well?’

  ‘Today I am a little weary.’

  ‘Indeed I think you are.’ Julia tucked her arm through his. ‘You didn’t eat the escalope. Was it not good?’

  ‘I am not hungry. Shall we walk a little before the sanatorium? I know it is cold but it is a clean cold and I do need to breathe.’ They walked Stefan’s pace heavy. As always when seeing Julianna he looks forward to the day but now she is here, and with Karoline so obstructive, he wishes her away again.

  ‘Karoline has been difficult of late, so difficult Doctor Davison has asked for her to be removed from the Sanatorium.’

  ‘Oh why?’

  ‘They can’t manage her. In the last month she has attacked members of staff. They refuse to be left alone with her. She won’t be helped. She fights all the time sometimes needing three to restrain her. Davison says the alternative to her leaving is to increase sedation. I do not want that. The last time she was sedated she was so completely comatose she might as well have been dead.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘I don’t know. Many nursing homes are little more than cattle sheds. A patient left in her mess all times of the day? I am not willing to do that to my wife however unmanageable.’

  ‘I am so sorry. Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘There is nothing. For better or for worse I must bring my courage to the fore. Last week my painful duty was to tender regrets to all of my patients, one of whom was Her Majesty. To her I had to say I could no longer make the journey to Osborne House.’

  ‘She understood?’

  ‘She did. She said family must come first. I left that day knowing I had not fulfilled my duty to the Queen but hopefully I shall do so for my wife.’

  ‘And your decision?’

  ‘We’ll go home to Dresden. We have a country house there. It is small but that is a good thing, less room to wander. It is a pretty house, one we used to visit during the summer weeks. I am hoping it will bring her peace.’

  ‘Does she know she is going home?’

  ‘I have not told her. Patients do not like change. It makes them afraid.’

  ‘Will she understand the change?’

  ‘I hope so. Perhaps the move will be the release she begs for. Truthfully I do not know what to do which is why we are walking together before bearding the Lioness in her den. You have a softening effect. I would like you there when I tell her.’

  ‘Not always soft. Last month she told me I had snakes in my hair. What makes you think she’ll feel differently today?’

  ‘She knows who you are. I am sure of it. Yes, she rants and pulls her hair and yet I truly believe beneath that anger she knows we’re friends and is glad.’

  Stefan knelt before Karoline trying to explain. ‘My dear it is for the best. You will comfortable there in your own home among your own things.’

  He talked of the countryside and good fresh air and the necessity of her going to Dresden. For all the notice she took he might have been discussing the mitral valve or latest advances in anaesthesia, indeed a bright woman ever interested in his work it’s likely his wife of old would’ve enjoyed such a chat.

  ‘Professor Adelman!’ A nurse knocked on the door. ‘Doctor Davison sends his compliments. Could you spare a moment?’

  ‘What right now?’

  ‘If you would, sir? A patient is showing signs of cardiac distress.’

  Stefan got to his feet. ‘Stay here then, nurse, while I show Mrs. Dryden out.’

  ‘That
’s alright, Stefan, I can wait here.’

  ‘It is better you come. I do not know how long I shall be.’

  ‘That’s alright. I’ll sit with Karoline.’

  It was warm in that tiny room and for once sweet-smelling, a miniature fir tree in the corner giving a clean odour. The tree was decorated with silver bells. ‘That’s a pretty tree, Karoline,’ said Julia. ‘We have one like that ready to put in the Tea Room but as yet haven’t thought to decorate. Matty gets so excited I decided to wait until closer to Christmas.’

  Karoline continued to stare at the wall. Staff here at the sanatorium say she does this, stares at the same patch hour-after-hour. Today Julia stares with her. She had hoped to be back early at Norfolk but that doesn’t seem likely. This morning she gathered Callie’s letters to return to Greenfields. As far as she can tell there aren’t any letters. There are only reams of note-paper headed ‘My dearest Justine’. Callie makes attempts to write down her thoughts but can’t get beyond the heading. A pity, thought Julia, one letter complete and we’d learn much about the past, not least why she refers to the woman she professes to hate as dearest.

  There’s something of Evie in Callie Masson and something too of Freddie, and who knows something of Julia. They are all searching for love and apparently in the wrong places. Julia stared at the little Christmas tree and thought of the Great Pyramid. We are lost. We need an Oracle to tell us where to look. Perhaps we should send for Kitty Radcliff. Unhampered by good manners or laws she seemed to know what to do with her life and how to do it.

  Stefan away so long Karoline’s not been fed her dainties, the bag containing apple strudel and champagne on the table. Julia has never attempted to feed but time moving on she thought to try. ‘Might I feed Frau Adelman?’

  The nurse grimaced. ‘Are you sure? The lady can be very tricky.’

  ‘She seems calm.’

  ‘Begging your pardon, ma’m, but seeming isn’t exactly being.’

  ‘I’m sure you are right but it is only food.’

  ‘Yes and you could get bitten as have two or three here.’

  ‘Even so I think I shall risk it.’

  ‘As you wish but don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

  Julia knelt down and offered a morsel of pie. ‘Might you try this, Karoline?’

  For a while there was no reaction. Then Karoline turned and leaning forward, and momentarily creating the whimsical image of a graceful Giraffe bending from a great height, she opened her mouth to receive the pie.

  ‘Quick, ma’m!’ The nurse leaned forward. ‘Put the dish under her chin and lean back. You don’t want her spitting on your nice gown.’

  Julia did as she was bid. Karoline chewed and then swallowed. ‘Did you see that?’ She turned to the nurse. ‘She swallowed it!’ Such joy to see the pie stay down she might’ve been an anxious mother and Karoline a stubborn child!

  ‘Again?’ Another piece that was chewed and swallowed. So intense was the moment Julia found she was chewing along with Karoline.

  So it progressed until the whole of the pie was gone.

  ‘Should I offer a drink?’

  The nurse shrugged. ‘Why not? You got further than any of us.’

  ‘Karoline?’ Julia asked. ‘Would you care for a sip of champagne?’

  No words, only haunted eyes staring, and then Karoline nodded.

  ‘Oh Stefan!’ Julia whispered, ‘why aren’t you here to see this?’

  A measure of champagne was held it to the lips, sipped and swallowed.

  ‘Is it because you’re going home?’ said Julia dabbing Karoline’s chin with a napkin. ‘Are you happy to go? Is that why you eat and drink today?’

  Still no words only a sense of observation and sad humour back of the eyes.

  The nurse washed Karoline’s hands and tidied things away. There was nothing now Julia could do but wait for Stefan. Head tilted at an awkward angle Karoline was again staring at the wall. A doll with a broken neck she looked uncomfortable the bells on the tree glittering on her robe like fireflies on lint.

  Why sit hour-after-hour gazing at that wall? What is that takes her gaze?

  ‘It is being parted from this wall that unsettles her.’ Stefan once told Julia.

  ‘What does she see do you suppose?’

  ‘I don’t know. Not being able to access her mind I am afraid to imagine.’

  Julia found a book of poems by the American poet, Emily Dickenson, among Callie’s unwritten letters. Passionate in intensity one so took her fancy she brought it with her. Now looking at Karoline and remembering the dream on the train, the beautiful woman at her tapestry, Julia took out the poem and read it. ‘Hope is a thing with feathers that perches in the soul...’

  At the station Stefan held onto Julia his knuckles white and shoulders hunched. They said goodbye as though it was forever. ‘But we shall meet again, Stefan,’ she said trying to believe. ‘My dear, it’s only Germany. It’s not the far side of the moon.’

  He smiled. ‘No it is not the moon and we shall meet. I am sure of it. I shall come to London and we will sit and chat as though never apart.’

  ‘Yes, as though never apart.’

  ‘And there is always the telephone!’

  ‘Yes! The telephone!’

  ‘And the business to run, the Nanny Tea-Shops, tea-for-two and all that is needed and necessary? I mean to say we are still partners.’

  ‘We are partners, Professor Stefan Adelman, and always will be.’

  One last hug to bind her close and then he wept. ‘Kiss me then, dearest Julia, and hold me in your heart so it is au revoir rather than Auf Wiedersehen.’

  On the train back Julia slept. Then, as though only marking time before renewing her acquaintance, the ladies arrived, Justine in the corner reading the diary and Karoline at her tapestry. Julia dreamed and wondered. Why are you here? Why am I seeing this? What is it you sew so tenderly, Karoline? And you, Justine, why do you haunt the cottage? What is it that holds you?

  Perhaps Joe is right when he speaks of weeds strangling delicate plants. Once Julia might’ve thought Justine Newman a weed and Callie the fragile plant but having lately experienced that old lady’s iron will she wonders if Callie is the stronger plant and Justine, though older and wiser, the strangled one.

  Silent and beautiful maintaining a perpetual secret the ladies read and sewed. Watching them and aware of the train carrying her away from Stefan and all that he meant panic rose in Julia. God bless you, Dear Friend, shall I ever see you again? She didn’t tell him Karoline accepted food and drink and asked the nurse not to tell. Somehow she knew it would hurt rather than please. Not that it mattered. The food didn’t stay down. Ten minutes after eating Karoline brought the whole lot back. What’s more she did it by her own hand.

  ‘Oh look out, Miss!’ There was a cry from the nurse, Karoline with fingers pushed down her throat. Up it came every last morsel, the nurse mopping up

  So much for any idea female partisanship Julia may have had. Karoline had no intention of pleasing anyone, the look in her eyes when finally she ceased retching saying so. ‘There,’ said the sad eyes. ‘I’m in charge of this agony not you, so don’t give yourself airs. ’

  Brakes screeching the train pulled into the station. Julia began to waken and the phantoms of the past to fade, their bright colours and vivid life-force retreating before the noise and pollution of the twentieth century.

  Lamps on the station platform swung back and forth. Light flickered over the pale forms like starlight on marble. All was still but for Karoline, and her needle, and the bright blue thread, and the blue cherub she sewed.

  ‘Ah, yes!’

  It was as though God leaned into the carriage and poked Julia. It was so obvious. She knew what Karoline saw in the patch of wall. She saw herself, she saw this, young and lovely Frau Adelman awaiting her child. Belly swollen under her robe
that Karoline sewed a blue cherub, the tapestry held to her breast in anticipation of her child.

  Knowing what was to come, sorrow and madness, tears filled Julia’s eyes. No wonder she holds onto that image; who would not.

  Then lamp-light shimmered again on the tapestry and tears dried. Why be sad? That piece of wall is God’s gift to Karoline. It shows a memory of a time when there was no sadness, when there was only love and hope.

  Blip!

  Karoline was gone. She faded away a flashing needle and blue thread the last glimpse of yesterday. But all was not done, God ever Merciful, the Giver and the Gift continued. Justine Newman put down the diary and turning toward Julia began to chant in a soft Irish lilt the Emily Dickenson’s poem.

  ‘Hope is a thing with feathers that perches in the soul

  and sings the tune without the words and never stops at all.

  And sweetest in the gale is heard and sore must be the storm

  that can abash the little bird that kept so many warm.

  I’ve heard it in the chilliest land and on the strangest sea,

  yet never in extremity it asked a crumb of me.’

  Twenty Three

  The Right Hands

  The fellow died in his arms. The only way Daniel could manage after that was to see the tragedy as a Message from Above. One minute they’re talking, the next the guy from the Pretoria News is dead, eyes wide and fists locked into Daniel’s shirt. He didn’t even know his name! They were in a wagon on the way back to Camp. ‘I’m off home tomorrow,’ the chap was saying. ‘It’s my boy’s first Christmas. I got him this!’ Then a guerrilla sniper thinking him a mercenary took a shot and a rabbit’s foot charm bought for the boy is wet with blood.

  That night in Port Elizabeth Daniel tried to sleep but couldn’t get past the look of surprise on the guy’s face. It is said when close to death your life rushes before you. There was nothing in that fellow’s eyes but a future snuffed out and a child made fatherless. Daniel made a decision, the next time Julianna presents an amiable smile but not her heart it’s over. Life’s too short to wait on one woman no matter how desirable.