CHAPTER TWELVE
IT MADE ME HAPPY TO SEEVIOLET WEARING THE SCARF.The color reminded me of the one Ada was wearing at our first meeting, but I also knew that Violet had overlooked it countless times since she had returned to school.
I felt something shift in Violet’s spirit when she wrapped it around her throat. That’s the amazing power of memory. Without moving anywhere at all, we’re able to travel back in time. We’re once again with those we love, reliving each detail, the emotions returning to us. Memory is the only power we have to reconnect with those we’ve lost.
I watched as she took the gossamer material to her nose and inhaled the scent.
Violet. I smiled thinking that perhaps the young man had given her the scarf because it was the color that evoked her name.
She took an extended route that morning, walking past the Charles River that shimmered in oyster grays. Two lone scullers gracefully rowed over the water. I hovered over Violet making sure her eyes didn’t linger too long on the crew members, as I didn’t want her pulled into a pit of sorrowful thoughts about Hugo.
I shook the branches of the maple trees, with their orange and golden leaves, making sure a few floated in the wind. I coaxed a goldfinch to flutter across her path. Then I shepherded an amber and honey colored waxwing to awaken her spirit.
Birds have the power to remind those in mourning that the skies are full of protectors and, over the years, I have called upon them many times on behalf of my loved ones. It first started in the weeks following my father’s and my deaths, when my mother had remained secluded at Lynnewood Hall and unable to rise from her bed. It was then that I first discovered I had the power to cull my energy in certain ways to help others see past their grief.
From the moment she landed in New York City with the other survivors of theTitanicand our family’s private Pullman car immediately escorted her back to our estate, my mother had spent fourteen days in bed, barely able to eat a morsel, her eyes rimmed in red from her river of tears. She could barely ask about my sister, who was grief-stricken as well and now wanted to call off her wedding.
Mother’s bedroom was shrouded in darkness. The heavy silk drapes closed. The porcelain lamps unlit.
It was particularly painful to witness her anguish. I felt powerless. All I wanted to do was comfort her, as she had always soothed me with her love and warmth. I desperately wanted to let her know that I had not suffered. That, although she could no longer see or touch me, I was still very much there all around her.
Her lady’s maid had come in with a tray of some tea and toast.
“Please, Madame,” Amalie offered sweetly. She had been with my mother for ages. And while a servant normally would have brought in the food, the staff hoped my mother’s most trusted companion might be best able to get some nourishment into her weakened system.
“Just one little bite of food. I’ve brought your favorite French raspberry preserves, too.”
Despite my mother’s efforts to turn her head, Amalie could see her mistress’s weeping.
I could too. I moved through the room like vapor, invisible but otherwise present all the same. My mother’s tears cut through me like a scythe.
“May I open the drapes?” Amalie’s voice was as soft as spun cotton. “We should let a little light into the room, Madame. It is not good to be here all in the dark.”
“No,” it took all of Mother’s strength to say.
I could not bear it one minute longer. My lovely mother, unable to even rise from her bed and enjoy the beauty of the natural world outside her window. It was early May. The garden was ablaze with irises, the pink of cherry blossom trees, and rows and rows of white and yellow French tulips. But the promise of flowers would not in itself be enough to let my mother know I was still there for her.
I knew I needed to create an occurrence so rare and phenomenal that she’d realize only I, her cherished son, could have orchestrated it.
I loosened the enforcements that held up her curtains.
I then communicated to the birds about my wish. And they returned my call.
The heavy blue silk fell to the floor, allowing the light to come pouring in.
“Oh my goodness,” Amalie said as the curtains lay puddled on the ground. She ignored the heap of fallen brocade for a moment and turned to face the sunlight. Her eyes traveled through the glass window to the sight now spreading across the lawn.
“Madame, you must come and see this. I have never witnessed anything like it. It is a miracle, I promise you.”
She walked over to the bed and helped my mother slide her naked feet into her slippers. She extended a hand, steadying my mother as her weakened body tried to stand.
Slowly, with Amalie’s fingers gripped around hers and her other free hand shielding her eyes from the sunlight, my mother inched toward the window.
She stood there for several minutes before saying a word. She took it all in, knowingindeedit was a sign.
Across the long stretch of verdant green lawn, several hundred birds of different varieties, blue jays, robins, finches, sparrows, and even several dozen winter cardinals, had all come out from their nests.
Amalie had always been superstitious, and I knew she could prove a useful ally to me here. “I think it’s a sign from Master Harry,” she declared, bringing a tight fist to her heart.
