Winter in Full Bloom (30 page)

“She’s very good. She plays on the streets of Melbourne, and they literally cannot walk away when she starts playing.”

“That is sooo cool, Aunt Camy. That we all love music. I can’t wait to hear you play. I play the piano and guitar, and Mom can play the piano.”

“A little,” I added.

“Maybe we could have a little family band.” Julie raised her cup to us, looking happier than I’d ever seen her.

“Which brings me to something special.” I lifted a present out of the paper bag I had set next to my chair. “I have an early birthday present for Camille, since her birthday is next week. I know I should wait, but I’m too excited to hold back any longer.”

“It’ll be your birthday too,” Camille said, “but I don’t have a present for you. In fact, I totally forgot it was next week.”

“I don’t mind. I have everything I need. All my family is around me. What more could anyone want?”

Mother turned her flashing eyes on me. “I forgot your birthdays were next week.”

I could have so easily said, “You’ve never remembered our birthdays before, so what would it matter now?” But I didn’t. I was a good girl and let her comment wash away with the sweet taste of Earl Grey. But I cringed inside, wondering if Mother was about to show her teeth again and if she’d be sharpening them on me.

“We seem to be a musical family. Granny, do you play an instrument?” Julie asked.

Mother fiddled with her lace collar as if it made her neck itch. “No. Well, I used to play the piano, but no more.”

“Your grandmother has a beautiful grand piano in the front living room.” I tried a bite of the tiny quiche, which melted in my mouth.

“Really? May I see it later?” Julie asked. “It would be wonderful to play on a grand piano. We’ve never had anything so fine.”

“You’d better enjoy it while you can. I was thinking of giving it to Dragan’s daughter.” Mother took a deep draw from her teacup.

“Really? Why?” At that point we all must have stared at Mother, horrified. What she’d said seemed preposterous—that she would give away an heirloom piano to a stranger when her own granddaughter would give anything to play on such an instrument.

“Why are you three staring at me? You make me feel like one of those primates at the zoo.” Mother ran her thumb over the carving on the cane again.

I looked away from Mother, since my glance irritated her. So, Dragan was not only helping herself to Mother’s liquor cabinet, but she was encouraging Mother to give up some of her expensive furnishings as well. Before long Mother would be willing the entire estate to her. But since I wanted our teatime to go well, I took the high road and let that argument go. For now. Eventually, though, I was going to run out of high roads. I got us back on track and handed Camille her gift.

“Thanks, Lily. You’re so sweet to me.”

“You’re welcome. I hope I got the right kind. Marcus helped me buy it this morning when we were out and about together.”

Camille tore off the bow and the pretty paper, and the moment she saw the instrument case, she gasped. She flipped open the latches and lifted the lid. “Ohh, Lily. What a perfect gift. This is wonderful. It’s like you could read my mind, since I’d really been grieving lately over the loss of my flute.”

“Did we get the right one?”

“Yes, you did. This is a western concert flute just like the one I had before.” Camille put the three instrument pieces together and blew in the mouthpiece, testing it. “Good sound, but it’ll take some time for it to come to life properly. All things of beauty take time.” She smiled at me.

“What happened to your other flute?” Mother asked.

Camille didn’t take her eyes off her instrument as she replied, “My boyfriend threw my flute into the Yarra River.”

Mother reared back. “And why would he do a fool thing like that?”

“Because he broke up with me and he was angry. He wanted to punish me.” Camille pressed her fingers on the silvery keys.

“What for?”

My sister looked at Mother then, and as if waking up from a dream. “I guess because at that moment I was in his space. I was breathing his air.”

“Maybe next time you should put some real thought into who you go out with.”

Camille coughed.

Mother coughed too and in the same way.

It was such an uncanny moment that they stared at each other for a second.

“Play us a tune, Aunt Camy,” Julie begged. “Just one. Please. I have to hear you.”

“Well, maybe one.” Camille stood. “I would like to hear the sound of it myself.” She held up her flute, positioned her fingers, and lowered her lips to the mouthpiece. For a moment she closed her eyes, pausing as if she were gathering some inner strength or summoning that peaceful garden place that she must imagine when she played—and then she blew life into the flute.

The haunting sound of the Irish classic “Danny Boy” curled its way through the room and then rose, finding its home not only in the rafters of the cathedral ceiling but in our hearts. It took my imaginings on a journey to the verdant valleys and hills of Ireland—a country I’d always wanted to visit but had never seen. My sister had her music back, and I couldn’t have been happier.

Engulfed inside the sounds and longings was a desire to see Marcus’s face. Maybe I’d been too rash in telling him this wasn’t a good time to propose. Perhaps I should have put aside my concerns and married him as soon as I could sign the papers. As fast as I could say yes. Why not embrace joy? But what nonsense. It was just the magic of the music carrying me away.

Julie’s eyes grew wide and dreamy and misty—obviously she relished every second of her aunt’s playing. She hummed along and then sang along. Her voice, coupled with the sound of the flute, added an exquisite quality to a moment I knew I would never forget. Perhaps Julie had learned the lyrics in choir. So lovely and moving.

I glanced over at Mother, trying to gauge her reaction. Would she at least have some pride in her offspring for creating such beauty?

Mother squeezed her chin until her fingers seemed knobbier than ever. She appeared spellbound, and yet like a murky tide, there was something running just beneath the surface of her expression that seemed foreboding.

I closed my eyes to shut her out, not wanting any kind of sour temper to ruin the pretty moment. I let myself imagine streams in the Emerald Isle, as they ambled through woods and flashed down bluffs and then all joined together into one great river. It was the way I’d hoped our family could be, each of us coming together at last, all flowing into one. But then the tune came to a close, and we returned to our real world.

Camille gazed down and touched her womb with tenderness. I was the only one who knew what was in her heart—she’d not been playing for us but for the baby growing inside her.

Julie and I applauded, while Mother sat, clinging to her cane.

“Your singing is lovely, Julie,” Camille said. “We should do this often.”

Julie beamed. “I would love it. You’re wonderful. I think—”

“Camille,” Mother broke in, “why don’t you play professionally? Surely you don’t want to play on the streets the rest of your life.”

“I don’t mind it.” Camille took a soft cloth out of the case and gingerly ran it along the metal instrument. “It will take a couple of weeks, but we will become the best of friends,” she said to her flute. Then she looked at me. “Thank you again, Lily. It’s the most meaningful gift anyone has ever given me.”

Camille’s smile touched me, warming me all the way through.

“But except for tips you can’t make any money that way,” Mother ranted on. “And it’s so beneath a Gray family member to play on the streets.”

Camille took the instrument apart and settled the pieces in their velvet nest. “I have never thought of where I play my music as demeaning, and my tips are sometimes four hundred dollars a week. With my music and job I’ve been able to get along. I’m not getting rich, but then that was never my goal. I just wanted to use the gift God gave me. To create something lovely in a cold world.”

“Bah.” Mother raised her chin. “God. I see. Can’t you do it for yourself?”

“Would you like some more tea, Granny?” Julie asked.

“No, thank you, dear,” Mother said. “I think I’ve had enough.”

“Are you okay, Granny?” Julie’s face lit with rosy innocence, unaware that her grandmother’s temper could be as volatile as a volcano’s and her words could pelt her with burning lava at any moment.

Mother’s expression dissolved into a scowl, a routine that her flesh must have been accustomed to. “Of course I am. I’m fine.”

Camille started to take a bite of her quiche but she set it back down. “And I know it embarrasses you for a Gray to play music on the streets, but you don’t have to concern yourself with that. Do remember. I am not a Gray. I am a Daniels.”

“How could I forget? You won’t let me,” Mother snapped.

“Granny?” Julie lifted the pot, which trembled in her hand. “Are you sure you don’t want some more tea or sweets?”

“No,” Mother said. “Stop asking me that.”

Oh, Lord, give me calm.
I could see it already, that slow descent into a sad and lonely place. My Julie, who had started out by being herself around Granny, and almost winning her over, was now hedging and flinching. My Julie was starting to walk on the eggshells that my mother invariably put out for her entertainment. Or because her misery could offer nothing else. I could handle the badgering, but the sight of my Julie being mistreated was more than sad—it tore me to pieces. “Mother, don’t snap at my daughter. It’s not a—”

“Déanaim cad ba mhaith liom i mo theach féin.”
Mother’s jaw gyrated in a hard line.

My fingers ached to pick at my skin, but I refused to give in to it. I no longer wanted to torture my flesh for my mother’s failings. I instead rested my fingers on the edge of the table and squeezed.

“I’m sorry,” Camille said. “I need to leave, Lily. I’m not feeling well. But first, where’s your bathroom?”

“It’s the first door on the right.” Oh dear. Did she have nausea?

“What’s wrong with you, girl?” All the pretense of teatime etiquette had now vanished like a sweet breeze consumed by a foul breath.

Camille stared at Mother. “If you must know … I’m pregnant.”

I swallowed my gasp
. Why would Camille tell Mother what she’d hoped to keep a secret? Probably she felt desperately cornered.

Mother’s face blazed red. “Who’s the father? Was it that ridiculous boyfriend of yours who tossed your flute into the river?”

Camille covered her mouth with her napkin and ran from the room.

Julie looked at me—confusion and fear consuming her lovely face.

“It’ll be all right, Julie, but I need to see about Camille.” I gave Mother a sharp look, not caring in the least if it upset her sensibilities. I rose, slapped the napkin on the table, and stormed out of the room.

I heard a chair move behind me. Julie must be following me, since she was surely afraid of staying in the same room with Mother when she was in such an agitated state.

When I got to the bathroom door I tried the knob. The door was locked. “Camille, please let me in. I want to help.”

“I’ll be all right. I’m just sick at my stomach.” Her voice sounded weak and desolate.

Oh, Camille. I’m so sorry I brought you to this house, to America.
I had wanted all to be well, for us to be a family. Would it never be? “I’ll stay right here if you need me.”

Julie joined me by the bathroom door. “Mom, is Aunt Camy going to be okay?”

“Yes.” But really, I had no idea if my sister would be all right. Since Camille was ill on and off, I had no idea what a pregnancy would do to her weakened condition.

Cane in hand, Mother came marching full throttle toward us like a locomotive.

I shuddered at the sight, since I knew she was about to spew more of her bile.

“Please move out of my way.” She waved her cane at us, but I didn’t move an inch.

Julie stepped aside.

Mother banged on the door with the top of her cane. “What do you mean, you’re pregnant? How could you be so promiscuous?” she hollered through the door. “Here you’ve played your flute, trying to make me think you’re somebody special. You’re nobody. Worse than that … you’re a tramp. But then I guess you’re used to being on the streets.”

If blood could boil, mine was at a full roll. At that moment I wanted to rail and scream at my mother—maybe even smack some sense into her. I couldn’t believe she’d said such unthinkably cruel things to Camille and in front of my Julie. “Mother, that has to be one of the most vulgar and heartless things I’ve ever heard a mother utter to her daughter.”

Mother hissed, “She’s not my daughter.”

“You’re right.” I nodded. “Nor should she be. You’re the last person on earth who deserves her.”

“Bah. I should have listened to Dragan,” Mother said. “She told me it was a bad idea to have this tea.”

“Oh she did. Well, I can tell you, I’ve heard enough about that woman. And just so you know, Camille is not promiscuous. Her former boyfriend raped her! But you would never know that, since you toss vicious accusations without care or concern for anyone. You live your life in judgment of your family without an ounce of love or mercy. I guess it’s because you’ve saved it all up for the hired help!” By the time I was finished, my breathing was raspy, and I felt dizzy. But I never should have told Mother that Camille was raped. It wasn’t my place to tell her, and it was certainly none of Mother’s business.