Fragile Blossoms

by Dodie Hamilton

  Women! Stefan and his women! They were always there. He was with a woman the day Karoline lost the greatest treasure of her life.

  Anger burns! Even here dying anger keeps the motors running, no other fuel, not love or forgiveness, bitter, bitter anger. She’s weary of it. It wounds her soul. She wants to be free. This needle has made it so.

  The magic is working and anger abates.

  Gustave, the horse, poor beast, is afraid. He stands on the edge of the trees trembling. Animals are sensitive to death as they are to life. Karoline seems to think she used to have a horse of her own a hunter, a Schwarzwalder Katblut called White Fire. She used to have many things, a house in a city where church bells rang and where pigeons fouled the windows. There were lofty rooms and fine furniture, an eighteenth century Italian mirror with the prettiest gold lacquered edge, and Mutti’s china glittering in cabinets. There were gardens filled with apple trees and redcurrant bushes, the fruit so heavy it broke the branches. Books, paintings and music, she played cello, and then the viola to Stefan’s cello. Now she has madness and shit under her fingernails.

  The cello lies in the snow like the prow of a sunken ship. To remember Die Forelle as they used to play was a nice thought and typical of the man. The great romantic he was never comfortable in this modern world. He preferred to walk with Siegfried through the Halls of Valhalla, a stethoscope for a sword and the Hippocratic Oath for a shield

  The horse is a little closer now but still afraid. Perhaps he is curious to know why his master and mistress lie together in the snow. Karoline is curious, she thinks it an odd way to end a life that has never really been lived. Maybe, she thinks, God will help us live again, give Stefan and me a Second Chance to get it right. ‘Come, Gustave,’ she whispers. ‘Let me rub your nose one more time.’

  Gustave is the gardener’s horse. They use him to pull the cart and in the spring to plough the far meadow. He is a good horse. He comes every day to the sitting room window. Misha gives him a carrot. She shouldn’t, the cook doesn’t like it, but Misha is young and cares less about rules.

  ‘Gustave, come and I will give you apple strudel.’

  This miraculous drug is working well, the part of the brain that determines real from unreal is detaching, her body is detaching and she, the unhappy, angry Karoline, feels lighter with every breath.

  In a while the Angel will come. Wings unfurled he will settle beside her in the snow. Such a beautiful angel Karoline would like to ask his name but never dared. It would be sacrilege as though asking God His name. The Angel comes when she is overwhelmed with sorrow, when she totters between worlds and snakes hiss at her heel.

  He is gentle. ‘Come with me and I will keep you safe,’ he says.

  In early years fearing she might not return to her body she was reluctant to go with him. Now when he comes despairing of life she leaps to take his hand. He is different every time but recognisable. First he came as a child. Time moved on and he was a youth, handsome and bold. Now she is old and he is a man with mighty wings the colour of sapphires.

  He shows her this world, the wonderful and the terrible, when all she longs for is the next. Sometimes she asks of Stefan. ‘What is he doing?’ The Angel will look at her. ‘Are you sure you want to know?’ To spite her soul she says yes and learns of the smelly house-frau and sex and rice pudding.

  ‘Hello Gustave!’ The horse is here. He breathes on her cheek, a tiny breath, anxious. She strokes his nose and he jumps away. Then he finds pieces of strudel scattered about and lips them up.

  Snow falls and the light dims. The magic is almost complete. A sweet lassitude seeps through her veins not unlike the afterglow of making love. The Angel is coming, she knows it. She feels movement within and without, and a sound like thunder a might staircase sweeping down from the skies.

  Suddenly she remembers it is Christmas and sings, or tries to. ‘Away in a manger, a crib for a bed, the Little Lord Jesus lays down His Sweet head.’

  She stops. No, no thoughts of children! She mustn’t think of children, her mind will not let her. A door made of iron and spiked with baby’s skulls stands between her and a scream. It has always been so. What baby? She doesn’t remember a baby. Cannot think of his name! Does not want to know his name!

  ‘Do Not Tell Me His Name!’

  All she wants is the Blue Angel. In the latter years Stefan found an angel of his own, a human angel beautiful and kind. She visits Karoline, or used to. Breath scented with roses she kisses her cheek, a real kiss not flinching away. They dream together Karoline and this beauty. In such dreams, brief though they are, a door creaks open, and Karoline glimpses another life where Mutti’s china sparkles on unknown shelves. Through this woman’s eyes she sees a cottage in the country and white roses that grow at the hand of a gardener who whistles through his teeth. Blessing after blessing she sees a boy with dark hair and laughing eyes who races up and down stairs, and who teases the maids, and who sleeps with a dog on his bed, a vigilant dog that knows of secret watchers and wags his tail, guardedly.

  Karoline sees all this and sometimes when lonely, and when the co-dreamer is willing, she shares Stefan’s love. A gift or a curse she neither knows nor cares. Such peace as can be found she takes and tries not to mind that she can’t eat from her own plates or drink from her own cup. Best of all is when seeing through the other woman’s eyes she recognises her husband as a friend, a good man, and loves him again. Even now though he lies dead on the ground she hungers for his arms. Anger prevails and so does love.

  The snow continues to fall. Karoline stares into white and wonders if they will disappear forever, the sleigh, the horse, and poor dear Stefan who tried so hard even to the last. Last night, Christmas Eve, he carried her to a chair and kneeling brought gifts from under the tree, pretty things, a jewelled purse and a book of poems by an American poet. There was a scarf too, blue cashmere. She reached out for it. Stefan held it back. ‘I think this was meant for me,’ he said. ‘No!’ she’d held on it, it was the colour of the Angel’s wings.

  Stefan placed the scarf about her shoulders and then sat and read from the book a poem about Hope. He wept as he read tears falling down his cheeks. In that moment Karoline felt such love for the man. Her hope, and her only hope, is that they’ll be together and that all this pain will be as dreams.

  Someone is coming. A doorway opens in the snow.

  Gustave snickers softly in welcome.

  The Angel comes to her. ‘What are you doing down there?’

  ‘I fell.’

  He smiled. ‘As do we all.’

  Kneeling, he took a rug and covered Stefan straightening his limbs. Then he leaned down and kissed him. That kiss broke Karoline’s heart. She felt it snap. Her life is done. Nothing hurts now not her head or her heart. She hugs a piece of worn tapestry and is ready to go but can’t go alone.

  ‘Will you come back and bring my Stefan to me in heaven?’

  ‘Your Stefan is already there.’

  ‘Truly?’

  ‘Truly.’

  ‘So?’ The Angel leaned down. He is so beautiful, his hair the colour of ripened corn and his eyes known. ‘Will you come with me and let me keep you safe?’

  ‘I will,’ she said, ‘if you tell me who you are.’

  ‘Don’t you know who I am?’ he said.

  ‘No,’ she said, fearful of the Gift bursting upon her.

  Anselm reached down and took her in his arms. ‘I am your son, dear mother, and the answer to my father’s prayer.’

  Twenty Seven

  Cup and Lip

  The maids are back and once again the cottage is humming. Dorothy knocked on the parlour door Friday evening and asked if she might speak with Julia. A pretty girl, pale and pink by degrees, she twisted her hands.

  ‘It’s Reggie, madam. He keeps going on about getting wed.’

  ‘And how do your parents feel about that?’

 
‘They are glad, madam. They like Reg well enough. He has a good job at the bakery and is promoted to foreman and wants his own shop.’

  ‘He sounds a respectable young man.’

  ‘He is though I don’t know why he keeps on! It’ll not happen for ages. We can’t afford to buy the tandem he wants never mind marry.’

  ‘Will such a relationship interfere with your work here?’

  ‘No, madam, not if I can help it.

  ‘Then why so anxious?’

  ‘I was worried what you’d think. My last lady wouldn’t let me think of Reg never mind walk out with him. She said I wasn’t to have callers.’

  Julia laughed. ‘That was then. This is twentieth century. Women are no longer to be held in Purdah. As long as you do your job I have no problems with you looking ahead. After all I’m doing much the same, aren’t I?’

  Dorothy grinned. ‘Yes, you are, madam.’

  ‘So let’s think ahead. The tea-shop closed until Tuesday I thought to buy some new linen. The napkins are not as they should be. I’m going into Kings Lynn tomorrow to brave Bentalls sales. Would you like to come with me?’

  ‘I would.’

  ‘Matthew is with Mr Roberts as usual. Mrs Mac is busy working out next year’s calendar, Maggie is cleaning the silver, or supposed to be, and Leah in the village buying too much of everything, and so let us two promised people take a tram and creep away.’

  Oh what fun to laugh with a female who will not take offence, and who will not try to offer advice, and who is young enough to remember how it feels to be in love. Like a rose bud unfurling her love for Luke grows every day. The love she had yesterday is nowhere near the love she’ll have tomorrow. She wants to touch him and stroke him, to handle his face, his shoulders, everywhere. The need is there all the time, her fingertips burn! She is not alone in this. There is that about the man that pulls. Maybe it is his walk, or the square shoulders, or the tuft of hair back of his head that won’t lie down, or his smile, it draws all of the time. The maids react to the power and not just them. He walks in and Delilah, the cat, arrives out of nowhere and purring rubs all over his legs and feet. Julia wants to do the same.

  All this in three or four days? What was wrong before? Why was she so blind and so stubborn? And who cares! At least she sees him now for who he is and so doing sees Julianna Dryden. The needs of yesterday are under change and with it the desire to remain in Norfolk. Moving was mentioned earlier when Luke came to pick up Matty.

  Betty, the old horse, was in the shafts.

  Matty, ecstatic, ran out the door. ‘Oh, you’ve come, Betty!’

  Luke jumped down from the cart. ‘Now give her chance to breathe. This old lady will be coming to live with you soon, or you with her, so you might want to put out a paw and say ‘good day, Mrs Betty, and how are you?’’

  Matty held out his hand. ‘Good day Mrs Betty and how are you?’

  ‘That’s it. Then maybe she’ll come closer.’ Over the horse’s flank Luke smiled at Julianna. ‘Good day to you, Mrs Dryden, and how are you.’

  ‘Good day to you, Mr Roberts. Thank I am well.’

  ‘That’s good. I wondered if I might call this evening for a short visit. I’ve a mind to talk about where we plan to live when we’re wed.’

  When we are wed? Once again Julia was blushing. ‘That is a good idea.’

  ‘Have you seen my house on the Common?’

  ‘From the outside yes.’

  ‘Then why don’t you take a look from the inside? It might help to give you an idea of things. Of course we don’t have to stay here in Bakers.’

  ‘No, we don’t.’

  ‘We can go anywhere the three of us.’

  ‘Yes, anywhere.’

  ‘I can’t stay. Being the last of my holiday I thought I’d work on his room.’

  ‘Matty has a room?’

  ‘Oh yes! Didn’t he tell you? We’ve been arranging things in case you do fancy living on the Common, a room for Matty, rooms for maids if you want them, a room for you and me, and a spare room.’

  ‘A spare room?’

  ‘Yes but nothing hasty.’ He reached over the horse and rested his forehead against Julia’s. ‘Just a room tucked away out back for Matty’s little brother or sister for whenever they’re beautiful mother is ready.’

  ‘That woman!’ Mrs Mac came in from the front parlour. ‘I wish she’d make up her mind. Her and her headed note-paper! I’ve better things to do.’

  Julia stood before the mirror adjusting her fur bonnet. It’s a beautiful day but cold, and with snow heavy everywhere it’s likely the trams will be few and far between. ‘I take it you’re referring to our new Mayoress.’

  ‘I am. Aggie Simpkin wrote only last week confirming her bookings. Now she’s cancelling the lot, her daughter’s wedding breakfast and the Good Wives Christmas Luncheon.’

  ‘But her daughter’s wedding is not until the spring of ’02.’

  ‘I know. She says she’s unsure of dates and cancels now to avoid any problems nearer the time. Silly woman! The only problem she has is with her silly mayoral chain and how to hang it.’

  ‘Did we take a booking fee for both dates?’

  ‘We did.’

  ‘Return it.’

  ‘What both?’

  ‘Yes and no scrimping.’ Julia picked up her gloves. ‘I’m taking Dorothy into Kings Lynn to look at linen. Is there anything you need?’

  ‘No, unless it’s more patience for dealing with foolish people, but then I’m not sure Bentalls will sell that by the yard.’

  ‘And if they did it would be sold out by now. Have there been other cancellations. I’ve had a few of my own rearranged.’

  ‘No, have you?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. I was to attend a luncheon party at the Dower House in Kent trying to raise money for the Girl’s School but have had a letter saying that due to unforeseen circumstances the luncheon is cancelled. And judging the three similar cancellations there’s a lot of unforeseen circumstances about.’

  ‘Oh, madam, I am sorry.’

  Julia sighed. ‘So am I. Not because they’re withdrawn! People must do what they do. The Dower House was generous. I don’t want the school to suffer because of changes in my life.’

  ‘I don’t see why it should. Your life and the person you marry have nothing to do with raising funds.’

  ‘One would think not but as we know there is power in a name and while mine was associated with certain influential people my power prevailed.’

  Mrs Mac coughed. ‘Has His Royal Highness cancelled any meetings?’

  ‘We didn’t have any meetings to cancel. Her Majesty being so ill there were other more immediate concerns. I did write when I knew what was happening, I thought it only polite, but so far have had no reply.’

  ‘Do you expect one?’

  ‘I do. The Prince of Wales is an honourable man. I am sure I shall hear from him. Anyway, let’s not give that more thought, at least not today. Have there been cancellations in Cambridge?’

  ‘No everything there is fine.’

  ‘So it’s just here at the moment?’

  ‘Yes and it will rally.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘I do and we’ll be serving people who want to be served and not silly fools trying to make a silly point. I mean Mr Luke Roberts!’ Mrs Mac tossed her head. ‘A finer gentleman you couldn’t wish to meet.’

  Julia smiled. From a dithering mouse to a lion that roars Maud has really come on, and an attractive lion at that with hair suspiciously darker of hue and lips tinted a gentle red. ‘Is Ben Faulkner coming by today?’

  Mrs Mac coughed. ‘He said he’d pop in.’

  ‘Do give him my regards. And thank you, Maud, you are a good friend.’

  ‘No, madam, I am a grateful friend and will always be so. I take i
t Matty won’t be back for lunch?’

  ‘I doubt it. He’s at the house on the Common decorating his room.’

  ‘Does that mean you’ll be living there rather than here?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Right well I’ll be off and tackle that problem.’

  ‘What problem is that?’

  Mrs Mac grinned and tapped the side of her nose. ‘A secret problem.’

  ‘Ah then I won’t ask.’

  ‘Best you don’t. By-the-by I found Matty a little upset this morning at his bath. He said he’d had a dream.’

  ‘Oh Matty and his dreams! Did he say what about?’

  ‘It was something to do with bears.’

  Matty is painting the wall but very slowly. There is a spider. He is afraid of splashing it with paint and tries shooing it away but it won’t go.

  Luke looked across. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Spider.’

  ‘Knock him down.’

  ‘No, he might smash!’

  Luke caught the spider and dropped it out the window. Matty continued pushing the brush up and down.

  ‘You’re quiet.’ Luke was watching. ‘Don’t you like painting?’

  ‘I like blue. Blue is for boys.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘Why did Susan die?’

  Luke’s back stiffened. Oh hell, not that again! It’s all he talks about these days. ‘Why are you asking? Is Maggie Jeffers been spinning rubbish again?’

  ‘Maggie says she’ll lose her job when we move away.’

  ‘Well that is a possibility. Would you mind moving?’

  ‘Would we go far?’

  ‘We might.