The Time Between (14 page)

“And she and her husband live nearby with your mother?”

“We all live together.” I faced her this time because I didn’t want to simply imagine her expression of horror mixed with glee. I found myself surprised to see a fleeting glimpse of sympathy, her eyes narrowing as she studied me like a scientific specimen.

“And you probably imagine that you are still in love with him. To make this Greek tragedy more complete, I would say that he has feelings for you, too, but he is too much of a gentleman to come right out and say it. I’m just guessing, of course—too many novels, I suppose. But am I right?”

I stared at her, unable to move or utter a word. I turned my face away, toward the slope of the grassy wetland that crept down to the dock, listening as the water slapped the sides of the pilings, knowing how they felt.

“Mindenki a maga szerencséjének kovácsa.”
The foreign words were spoken softly, as if she hadn’t expected me to hear.

“What does that mean?” I asked, not sure that I really wanted to know.

She waited for a moment. “The relationship between sisters is a little piece of heaven and hell. But we share the same soul.”

I thought of Bernadett and the closed piano, all the music put away as if she hadn’t expected to need it again. Desperate to deflect her attention, I asked, “Why did your sister stop playing the piano? Did something happen that made her want to stop?”

She drew a deep breath, and I waited for her to answer. Instead, she said, “I need you to gather up all of the piano music and create some sort of filing system for it. I will need to examine each sheet of music that you find so I can help you sort it into pieces you can play and those you should not attempt. A lot of them are old and fragile, so I will need you to make new covers and find a way to attach them. Perhaps you can draw? I would like any artwork reproduced on the new covers. Many are so dilapidated that a photocopier will not have anything to copy, so you will need to reproduce the covers by hand.”

“Reproduce?” I thought back to my conversations with Finn regarding my job description, pretty sure that being tortured had not been included. “I’m not really creative that way. I’ll be happy searching for the music but . . .”

She raised her elegant eyebrows, an expression that was becoming increasingly familiar. “If you are unwilling or unable, please let me know so I can tell Finn that you are not helping out as much as he had hoped.”

I rocked in silence for a moment, wondering at what point the money I was earning would no longer be worth it. “Where is the music?” I asked, trying not to allow her to hear anything but excitement in my tone.

A satisfied smile lit her face. “All over the house, mostly stacked in Bernadett’s sweetgrass baskets.” She became serious for a moment. “But you are not to search in Bernadett’s room. That room is closed to you.”

I studied her face, remembering the locked mirrored doors and wondering if Finn had told her that he’d found me at the opened armoire.

“Do you understand?” she asked when I didn’t say anything.

“Yes,” I said, then swallowed. “I can get started this afternoon, if you like.”

She watched me carefully as I stood, her eyes bright from the reflected sky. “Why do you want this job so badly?”

I felt a little of the old Ellie tugging at me, reminding me that I had very little to lose. “Because Eve is pregnant. And being with you is easier than being with her.”

Her face was unreadable, but I remembered what she’d said earlier:
The relationship between sisters is a little piece of heaven and hell. But we share the same soul.
I’d wanted to prove her wrong, but my admission, I realized too late, had done the opposite.

As if we’d been discussing the weather, she said, “I would like fresh tomatoes on my sandwich at lunch. Please go get some at Pink’s Market—they are always fresh and firm. And then we can begin gathering the music. I am afraid my sister was not very organized and it might take a while to collect it all. But we have time, do we not? I would say at least nine months.”

She struggled to stand with her cane, but I did not offer assistance, nor did she ask for any. Nurse Kester came to the door and opened it, but Helena paused. She was breathing heavily, but I still would not go to her. It was as if the oppressive weight of memories and the past had pressed their hands against our throats.

“If you are quick in gathering the music, I will allow you to play the piano later.”

I frowned. “Finn told me that you enjoy hearing the piano. Wouldn’t I be doing you the favor by playing?”

She frowned back at me, her eyes sharp. “Do not overestimate your talent, Eleanor. God compensates those with a lack of talent with an overabundance of self-confidence.”

I couldn’t hit her, so I chose the next best thing. “Did you ever say that to Bernadett?”

The side of her face creased in a half grin. “Yes. Of course. She was my sister.”

I watched as Nurse Kester assisted her into the house, Helena’s crippled hand grasping the top of her cane. I sat down heavily in the rocking chair, bristling with anger and indignation. But I also felt energized and renewed somehow, like I’d been on a long, punishing run to clear my thoughts.

Two yellow kayaks skimmed through the water, the paddles moving in sync, and I felt myself breathing deeply in rhythm with their strokes. I’d managed to forget my worry over Eve’s pregnancy, and Helena had somehow managed to get me to confess my entire past. Most of it. She’d compared it to a Greek tragedy, but she hadn’t turned away in disgust, either.

I stood to go back into the house, recalling her grin as she’d turned to go, as if she’d succeeded in some mission. And as I walked to the door with a lighter step, I couldn’t help but wonder if she had.

Helena

A
soft, warm breath brushed my cheek as I felt a slight pressure on the side of my bed. I opened my eyes and turned my head to see Gigi’s sweet face. Her chin was cradled in the heels of her hands, her elbows digging into the mattress.

“Are you awake yet?” she asked.

I pretended to think for a moment. “I believe so,
bogárkám
.”

She laughed and wrinkled her nose. “I’m not a little bug!”

I smiled at her, my aches no longer hurting so much. “I am glad to know your father is teaching you a little Hungarian.” I studied her, recalling that she had not been here last night when I had gone to bed. “Is it Saturday already?”

She laughed again and jumped up on the bed, careful not to land on me. “How can you not know what day it is? I had dance camp all week and we had our big show yesterday, so that meant it was Friday. And today is Saturday because Saturday always comes after Friday.”

As usual, her words were too fast for me to grasp completely, but I was able to interpret enough to know what she was saying. I lifted my arm and took my wristwatch from the nightstand and squinted at it. “It is only nine o’clock. Why are you here so early?”

Sliding off the bed, she reached for the bench at the foot of the bed and picked up two see-through plastic covers with three holes punched in the side. One was pink, the other purple. “We needed to know which color you like better.”

“We?”

“Yes. Ellie and me. We’re organizing all of Aunt Bernadett’s piano music.”

I held back a laugh. Of course Eleanor had found a way to do what I had asked but without doing what I had asked. Just like Bernadett. It was astonishing, really, how similar they were, and in more ways than I would ever tell Eleanor. I remembered what she had said about her sister Eve’s accident.
All the worst ideas were always mine.
I was quite certain that Bernadett had said the same thing once, although their reasons and justifications would have been different.

Gigi saw me squinting and quickly grabbed my glasses from the night table and adjusted them on my nose. “And what do these plastic covers have to do with Bernadett’s music?” I kept my voice haughty so she would know that I was displeased and pass that along to Eleanor.

The little girl seemed too excited to notice. “Nurse Weber is helping us because she’s really into crafts and stuff, so Eleanor told her what we needed and this is what she brought.” She wrinkled her forehead as if thinking hard. “She says they’re ar-
ki
-val quality to protect the old paper. You can see through them so you know what’s inside, you can slide the music out the top, and—the best part—you can decorate the cover any way you like.” She smiled broadly. “Ellie said she’d take me to the store to buy the three-ring binders to put all the music in when we’re done. She said I could pick the colors.”

“Will they all be pink?” I asked, not as horrified at the thought as I probably should have been. One of the few blessings of age was not caring so much about how things looked.

“I told Ellie that I would keep an open mind.”

As if conjured, Eleanor appeared in the doorway with my breakfast tray. “Good morning, Miss Szarka. I hope Gigi didn’t wake you. I told her to be very quiet.”

I watched as she placed the tray on the bench at the foot of the bed and met her insincere smile with one of my own. As she adjusted my pillows and helped me sit up, I said, “Where is Nurse Weber?”

“She’s occupied making die cuts of musical notes and pianos. I told her I would be happy to bring in your breakfast.”

I snorted, making sure to keep my nose wrinkled as she settled the tray on my lap. “I was quite sure that I gave you the job of organizing the music.”

Still smiling, she tucked the cloth napkin into the neck of my nightgown. “Yes, you told me the job needed to be done, but I assumed by whom was being left to my discretion.”

“So pink or purple, Aunt Helena?” Gigi persisted, placing the two folders between my breakfast and me. “We have two big boxes of each one, so it doesn’t matter.”

I reached out to stroke her fine hair, trying not to notice my ugly hands. “You pick your favorite,
bogárkám
. The music will be yours one day, so it should be your choice.”

“But I dance, Aunt Helena. I don’t have enough time to dance
and
play the piano, remember? Mommy said I needed to make a choice because doing both would be too time-consuming.”

For Harper,
I thought. It was difficult not to throw my hands in the air and say horrible things about the child’s mother. My restraint over the years would make me worthy of sainthood. “It is summertime. Perhaps now, when you are not in school, you should be able to pursue other interests.”

Eleanor went very still, and I wondered why until the idea came to me. “Eleanor can teach you! And by the end of summer, you should have a few elementary pieces ready for a small recital.”

“I’m not a teacher—,” Eleanor began.

I cut her off. “You continually tell me what you are not. If I had known that you were so reluctant to do things, I would have told Finn from the beginning that you were not suitable for a job as my companion. Perhaps he would have listened then.”

I do not know why I continued to provoke her. It was clear that her motivations for staying were much stronger than her motivations for leaving. And, if I were to be honest with myself, I was no longer so sure that I wanted her to leave. It was almost as if she had given me a reason to get out of bed each morning. And her similarities to Bernadett brought back a little of my lost sister.

“But you’ve made it clear that my own playing is substandard. I’m surprised you want your grandniece to be exposed to it.”

Touché.
If anybody was keeping score, I imagined we would be tied.

“Is she eating?” Finn entered the room, dominating it without overwhelming it. I liked to think that he’d inherited the trait from my sister Magda, whose beauty and charm had been legendary. Certainly grand enough to entice a Charleston businessman in a Paris salon to marry her despite her limited knowledge of English.

But Finn possessed his own strength of bearing, born from a lifetime of suppressing his wants in favor of doing what was expected of him. It was why I had kept his boyhood room unchanged. Everyone needed to be reminded of the person he or she had once hoped to be.

“I have lost my appetite,” I said, pushing away the bowl of oatmeal despite my gnawing hunger. “I asked a simple favor from Eleanor and she has refused.”

I kept my face down so that I wouldn’t laugh at the girl’s expression.

Finn seemed genuinely concerned. “What favor, Eleanor?”

I interrupted, making my voice as old and pathetic as I could—which was not as difficult as I would have hoped. “I thought this summer would be a good time for Gigi to learn piano—when she is not at school and dance class all the time. Music was so important to Bernadett—and to me—I thought it would be a fitting tribute.”

“And Eleanor said no?”

“That is not what I said,” Eleanor broke in. “I simply said that I wasn’t a teacher.”

“But you have extensive knowledge of the piano and could certainly teach the rudiments to a beginner pupil.” Finn’s argument was full of reason and logic. “Unless Gigi isn’t interested.”

“I am! I am!” she shouted, jumping high enough that I could see her pink leggings and sandals.

“Fine,” Eleanor said, and I wondered if anybody else heard the hard edge to her voice. “We’ll start next week. Because this week I’ll be too busy gathering music and redecorating the covers.”

“Is that what Nurse Weber is doing?” Finn asked. “I wondered.” He slid my oatmeal back toward me. “Now that we have that all settled, why don’t you eat?”

I picked up my spoon, eagerly anticipating Eleanor’s next move. I did not have long to wait. She held back as Finn and Gigi left the room, studying the single painting on the wall that I had brought down from my former bedroom.

Without turning around, she said, “When you are done with breakfast, maybe you’d like to join us at the kitchen table to help with the new covers.”

I frowned. “Why would you think I would be interested in that? I can barely hold my spoon.”

“True. But it’s obvious you like do-it-yourself projects.”

“I do not, and I have no idea what you are talking about.” I took a quick bite of my oatmeal, burning my tongue, looking away to show my dismissal. My mother had used that technique, and it had always worked. But Eleanor was not as easily dissuaded.

“All of the paintings in the house—they weren’t professionally framed. Did you do them all by yourself or did Bernadett help you?”

My spoon froze halfway between my bowl and my mouth. I lowered it back to the bowl, then lifted my gaze to meet hers. “When my sister and I came from Hungary, we had the artwork from our home in Budapest but very little money. We were dependent on our sister, Magda, and her husband for food and shelter. I did not want to waste money on framing when I believed it could be done with more economy.”

Her defiant stare met my own and held, as if we were each daring the other to break contact first. We were saved when Finn reentered the bedroom to remove the breakfast tray. He had apparently overheard at least a part of our conversation.

“Aunt Helena, maybe we should get all the paintings reframed. I would hate to think any permanent damage is being done.”

I allowed the tray to be lifted from my lap as I prayed that my breakfast would not come back. “They are fine,” I said. “There is nothing to be done with them.”

Finn stood in the doorway with the tray in his hand and stared at the painting of Moses. “I still say that we should at least have an art appraiser come in and give us an estimate of their worth.”

I shook my head. “As I’ve said again and again, I do not want strangers in this house, pawing over my belongings. There will be time enough for that after I am dead.”

He turned away, but not before I saw his mouth tighten. This argument was an old one, and one which I could not afford to lose.

Eleanor began to follow him out of the room until her attention was diverted by the old gramophone in the corner of my room and one of Bernadett’s baskets that sat beneath it.

“I forgot about this basket. Is there more piano music in here? I’ve seen the records but didn’t dig through them to see if there was anything else at the bottom.”

Before I could reply, she’d reached into the round basket and lifted one of the records. “Are these very old?”

“Obviously.” I leaned back against my pillows, watching her with mild disinterest. It was startling how easily she distracted herself from the bigger problems in her life with mundane tasks, refocusing her mind on things she could control and direct. In the end, Bernadett had been the same way, packing up her music and closing up the piano as if the rest of our world was not falling apart. As if sprinkling a little water on a house would save it from fire.

She began flipping through records, pausing over one that still had its cover. Holding it up, she read the label out loud. “The Szarka Sisters?”

“Did Finn not tell you? My sisters—Bernadett and Magda—and I were quite well-known in Hungary and had great plans for moving to America for our singing career.”

Slowly, she read the small print under the title out loud. “Featuring ‘All Alone’ by Irving Berlin.”

“That was recorded in 1937.”

Eleanor looked down at the record again, as if I had spoken in Hungarian and she was attempting to translate. “You recorded an album?”

“Yes. We were quite the success in England.”

She approached the bed, the record held carefully between the flattened palms of both hands. “So you sing, too.”

The old pride surged back in me as the good memories resurfaced. “We were compared to the Andrews Sisters—but we were much prettier.” I never would have admitted that before, but I was an old woman, and false modesty was something I had easily let go of along with my blond hair and straight fingers. “We were approached to record ‘Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy of Company B’—which would have meant a new record deal and a move to America—but we had to turn it down. Bad for us but a good thing for the Andrews Sisters. But Magda got married in 1940 and her husband did not think a respectable wife should make recordings. And then there was the matter of the war.”

“The war?”

I sighed. “World War II. Perhaps you have heard of it.”

At least she flushed. “Yes. Of course. I studied it in school, but history wasn’t my favorite subject.” She tilted her head. “Is that why you had to stop—because your country was invaded by the Nazis?”

I frowned at her. “You need to go back to your history books, Eleanor. Hungary was part of the Axis powers. We were allies with Germany. At least in the beginning.” I closed my eyes, praying for patience, anticipating her next question. “No, I was not a Nazi, nor were any of my family or friends.” I paused, remembering how long we had clung to our old lives in Budapest as if nothing had changed. As if we didn’t know that the rest of the world was on fire. Perhaps it was human nature to attempt to avoid disaster by averting our attention to the mundane. Meeting her gaze, I said, “We were able to escape during the Nazi occupation in 1944. And then we came here.”

She regarded me for a long moment, as if she knew there was more to the story, that my telling of it had been merely an accounting of the breeze before a hurricane.

“Did you ever go back? To Hungary?”

The familiar burning in the back of my throat began, and I knew I would not try to speak. I simply shook my head, the one action keeping in check years of absence, of lost friends and history, of my own past.

She focused on the record she held. “Does the gramophone still work?”

I shrugged. “It has been a while since I listened to it, but I imagine it still does. It is a portable model, one you have to wind up.”

Her eyes brightened. “I’d love to hear one of your songs. Can I play it now?”

My heart seemed to shudder in my chest. Each night when I went to sleep I prayed that I would not hear my sisters’ voices, afraid of what they would say to me. I could not bear to hear them now.