A specter hovered over my bed when I awoke on a crisp December morning. The waxen face and deeply sunken eyes wavered in the dimly lit room. Ogling it in terror, I sat up and clutched the blanket.
"Norah," the apparition spoke.
I squinted at it until I recognized Mama. Grasping her icy hands, I pulled her onto the mattress. Tenderly, I brushed aside her straggly grey hair. It hung limply across her gauzy nightdress. She swayed and collapsed, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.
"Mama," I breathed, astonished.
The minutes swept passed agonizingly. Frantically, I patted her cheeks, hoping to revive her. Finally, I poured a glass of water from the ewer and dumped it on her forehead. Mama abruptly sat up, blinking at her surroundings.
"You're ill," I stated when she focused on me.
More than a month had passed since I last saw her. The dramatic changes in her appearance set me back. She looked close to death.
"Neculai has taken the children away," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. "He claims I require rejuvenation. I must rest while they are gone and build my strength."
"But…where have they gone?" I questioned. My voice rose in sudden expectation.
News of the Baron's departure enlightened me. I could convince my parent to leave the hellish castle environment if I could overwhelm von Helfin's iron grip. Despite Mama's blighted countenance, I became filled with joy.
"Hunting," she stated flatly.
"Hunting!" I exclaimed in astonishment. "The little girls too?"
Traditionally, men took their sons hunting when the boys reached certain ages. I could easily imagine the Baron planning such a trip for young Vlad. Perhaps Ranulf accompanied them, but he undoubtedly left Luiza and Vanda behind.
"Well, certainly," Mama responded, rolling her shoulders. "The Baron is eager for fresh bloo…." Mama hesitated a moment, stumbling over the last word. "Fresh meat," she corrected after a momentary hesitation.
"Oh." My mouth formed the word; however, I did not make a sound. Indeed, she began to say 'blood' instead of 'meat'—an odd choice.
Edging closer, I placed my arm tenderly across her shoulder. Mama leaned onto my side and brushed away a tear. She sobbed lightly. I gently kissed her on the forehead and buried my face into her matted gray hair.
The door cracked open, and Helga backed in carrying the breakfast tray. Hastily, I waved her away. Nodding briskly, she departed silently.
"Mama?" I whispered. "If you are ill, perhaps we should call the village doctor."
"No!" my mother exclaimed heatedly. Then, she calmed immediately. "Oh, no, that's not necessary."
"But, Mama!"
"There are no 'buts,' Norah," my parent remonstrated. "Neculai decided I require a rest. He took his children hunting. That's an end to it."
I scanned Mama's face, searching for the old sparkle in her eyes. She looked at me vaguely as though from miles and miles away. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she finally grasped my hands. For a moment, I noticed the old gleam in her eyes and her excited uplifting voice. Despite her haggard appearance, she brightened. Then, the quick flash of color faded from her cheeks.
"Let's go home to England," I announced ecstatically. "Let's leave this gloom and doom castle. I long for the green fields of home, the narrow lanes, and the old churchyard. Let's arrive in time to bring in the Yule log and hang the mistletoe."
Hugging myself, I danced about the room. My nightdress's long flannel skirt swirled above my ankles. I pictured the snowy pathway to the church door and Papa greeting his congregation on Christmas morning. Mama and I stood behind him, smiling at the joyous parishioners.
Stiffly, Mama rose and drifted toward the door. Grasping the knob, she thrust it open and stepped into the turret's rotunda. Then, like a statue brought to life, she turned to face me.
"My home is in Romania, Norah," she firmly stated. "Neculai is my husband. England is long ago and far away. I will never return."
"Oh, but Mama," I exclaimed, rushing toward her, "how can you forget England and Papa? Remember how wonderful it was. How loving we were together. Here…" I spread my hands wide to indicate our decrepit surroundings. "It's not our home at all. It's dark and dismal and horrid."
"Neculai has provided a home for us. He is our family now," my parent hollowly stated. Her blank eyes seemed to stare through me. "His children are my children. I belong to him…to them."
I watched her long shadow slide along the brick wall as she descended the spiral stairway. All that remained of my Mama was that shadow, I thought. Leaning in the doorway, I felt my spirit dissipate. A tear welled in my eye and crept along my cheek.
Closing the door, I leaned against it. I cried for Papa and Mama. I lost both of them. Alone…I felt so alone in the vast, forbidden Romanian castle. I longed for my old life. Nevertheless, it hovered in my mind's eye like some strange dream.
Sinking onto the bed, I buried my face in the pillow and sobbed. Visions of Mama playing pat-a-cake with Vanda crept into my thoughts. The Baron's little girl took my place in my mother's heart. Did she tuck the child into bed and kiss her pale cheeks as she had once kissed mine? Did she gather daisies with Luiza and weave them into a chain? Oh, but where would she find daisies in a place as dead as Castle von Helfin?
******
The weeks crept slowly past, and the Baron did not return. Mama frequently joined me for breakfast. Then, she took up residence in her bedroom across the rotunda.
"Good morning!" I called out, entering her room with my morning tray.
The sun's first rays brightened the scarlet room. I pulled a chair into the bright slant and basked in its warmth. Rising, Mama sat opposite me, her tray perched on her lap. She appeared refreshed, and a peach tint brightened her cheeks.
"I often think about Prentiss, Mama," I began, buttering a slice of toast. "I wonder if he remained at Gray Friars after the new vicar arrived."
"Papa was quite fond of Prentiss," my mother stated, a smile played on her lips. "He expected you would marry and have your own church."
"Yes." I drew out my response contemplatively. "I'm fond of Prentiss too, Mama. He spoke to me last Easter. He wanted to wait another two years to announce our engagement. When I turned eighteen, he said."
"A wise choice, my dear." Reaching out, Mama patted my knee. "Papa proposed on my eighteenth birthday."
I leaned forward, knowing I drew her out. Romantic thoughts danced behind my eyes. How I loved hearing about my parents' early days together.
"Of course, I had my eye on Robert Chamberlain, your uncle." Mama sat back in her chair and stared above my head. "Squire's son. There were three sons and two daughters. Robert, the eldest and heir; Forrest, who went into the army; and Millard, who entered the church. Bob married Melora Campbell, Forrest remained a bachelor, and I wed Millard."
"Aunt Mary and Aunt Dix remained spinsters," I added, recalling Papa's family. "They remained in the manor house to tend Grandpapa Robert until he died. Then, they moved into the dower house."
"Indeed," Mama muttered, sipping her coffee.
"Let's go home," I exclaimed merrily. "Aunt Mary and Aunt Dix will welcome us, surely. It feels like years since we've seen them."
"Oh, perhaps in a week or so," my mother finally relented. "When I feel stronger, Norah. I am not quite fit for travel yet." A faraway look crept into her eyes. I hoped she longed for home as much as I did.
I filled our days with chatter about England. Fervently, I began to make plans. A westward journey on the Orient Express thrilled me. Perhaps we could spend a few days shopping in Paris. Then, we would travel to Calais and cross the channel. If only Mama would agree before Neculai von Helfin returned!
"If we could get home before Christmas…." I began expectantly.
"We'll see, love." Mama patted my hand and smiled weakly.
My dreary spirits uplifted as each day passed. I chatted effortlessly about caroling, sleigh rides, and drinking hot cider before a crackling fire. Methodically, I reminisced about Christmas stockings filled with walnuts and oranges.
"Remember the year Papa appeared at the orphanage dressed as Father Christmas?" I recollected.
I could still see him in his red suit trimmed with white fur. The long snowy beard hid his smile, but I recognized the twinkle in his soft blue eyes. Noticing my eagerness to expose him, Mama cautioned me to remain silent. At age seven, I was without guile and ready to burst with my knowledge.
"You'll spoil the children's Christmas if you call him Papa," Mama remonstrated harshly. "Keep your tattle-tailing mouth closed."
The old memories flooded me. Blithely, I recalled other holiday mornings in the vicarage parlor. When I glanced at my mother, I could see her falling further into the past. I hoped to stir her into a desire to return home.
"Children adored your papa," my mother stated, her voice filled with delight. "They climbed all over him and grabbed at the toys. He had such great patience for them."
"We had wonderful times together, Mama," I exclaimed encouragingly.
Rising, I stood with my back to the fire and clasped my hands behind me. I hummed, 'Jingle Bells.' My mother added her voice, and we sang in harmony. One after the other, we sang the long beloved carols. Finally, when we couldn't think of another, we collapsed into our chairs.
The warm fire danced merrily before us, and the room grew cozy. We lost ourselves in shared memories until Helga appeared with our dinner trays. The usual goulash tasted better than expected, and the warm tea soothed our souls. Drowsily, we reclined in our armchairs.
"Let's go home, Norah," Mama finally consented. She smiled at me demurely for a moment, then a wide Cheshire Cat grin crossed her face.
A weight suddenly lifted from her shoulders. Her cheeks flushed crimson, and she leaped from her seat. Grasping my hands, Mama jigged around the room in hopeless abandon. Our skirts swirled merrily to the rhythm of our stamping feet.
Finally, I fell across my bed, and Mama landed beside me. We laugh like schoolgirls contemplating their first holiday abroad.
"We'll make the arrangements immediately," I happily gushed. "Let's surprise Aunt Mary and Aunt Dix on Christmas day."
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