"Carriage," I sounded the word out carefully. "I wish to order a carriage."
Godoired Cazacu stared at me blankly. Again, my lips pronounced the word. The Baron's mute servant removed his cap and absently scratched at his unruly mop of hair. I held back my impatience and imitated entering a conveyance. Suddenly Godoired's eyes widen in understanding. He vigorously nodded his head, then shook it dolefully.
Defeated, I spoke again. Over the months, I had picked up a spattering of the Romanian language. Yet, it remained challenging to talk to the deaf and mute retainer.
Indicating that Godoired remained, I raced inside, searching for Helga Balan. I discovered her idly swiping at the parlor furniture with a duster. Grabbing her hand, I dragged her outside.
"Mama and I are returning to England for the holidays," I hastily explained. "I am trying to order a conveyance to the village. Can you explain, please?"
Helga's eyes widened. For a moment, she hesitated. Eagerly, I waited for her to speak. The minutes ticked passed.
Awkwardly, we stood in a loose circle. Helga rocked back and forth on her heels, nonchalantly staring over my head. Godoired twisted his cap into a ball and knotted it with his huge hands. My eyes shifted from one to the other. The silence between us continued to drag out.
Why didn't she speak? I wondered. The matter seemed quite urgent to me, and I wanted an answer. Then, I recalled the many conversations between us about my homeland. Helga appeared eager to learn more. Wistfully, she voiced her zeal to travel the world and visit England particularly.
Although Helga's disdainful attitude repulsed me, I felt sorry for her. She lived her life entirely within the confines of von Helfin castle and never experienced the outside world. The little maidservant enviously listened to me describe our travels from France to Romania. Finally, I comprehended the reason for her silence.
"Yes," I exclaimed, lightly touching her arm, "you will accompany us."
A huge grin brightened Helga's wan face. Joyfully, she turned to Godoired. Using her hands as her voice, she mimicked my request. I nearly laughed at her antics but held my expression in repose. The deaf-mute servant's perplexed expression disappeared. He mumbled a response, his sounds dull and hollow. I could not comprehend his answer. However, my young companion nodded vigorously.
"Tomorrow, at noon," the young maid confirmed. "You must not detain the driver. He will not wait for you. Prepare to a-light immediately. No hesitation."
"Yes," I jubilantly exclaimed. The instructions were as I had hoped. The quicker Mama and I departed, the sooner we could put von Helfin castle behind us.
112Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjKvOaSKhkI
******
112Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡF1hYVG8RsA
Mama's enthusiasm had waned since our earlier discussion. Throughout the afternoon, I begged and pleaded with her. The change would do her good, I cajoled. We could visit old friends and leisurely explore London.
"Let's stay a few days in London, Mama," I urged enthusiastically. "We'll spend a whole afternoon in Harrods, Christmas shopping."
I hoped mentioning the department store located on Brompton Road in Knightsbridge would inspire my mother. Often, we stopped there while visiting the English capital, much to Papa's chagrin. Mama loved to shop and frequently spent more money than we could afford. Indeed, a sumptuous hour or more of wandering through the clothing and food halls would impel her to leave this horrible place.
Mama's eyes sparkled, and her dour expression brightened. Then, her countenance suddenly flattened. Glancing at her flimsy black gown, she muttered an exclamation of dismay. She glimpsed her straggly gray hair in the mirror and appeared shocked. Muttering under her breath, she dashed through the connecting door into her chamber.
I followed her and leaned in the doorway. Mama stood in the open wardrobe. She threw her dress, shirtwaists, and skirts onto the bed one by one. Her hat boxes followed her clothing. She dragged out her trunk and began to pack.
Satisfied, I returned to my bedroom and gathered my own belongings. Helga appeared and offered her assistance. Carefully, we folded my clothes into tissue paper. The young maid added a rolled-up dress to my garments.
"I only own the two dresses," Helga exclaimed balefully. Running her callused palms over my pink organdy, she sighed. Then, she held it up against her black maid's outfit and spun around on tiptoes. "I wish…"
"When we get to England, we'll purchase a new wardrobe just for Helga," I announced, anticipating her joy. "We're going to London for a few days to shop for Christmas. I'll make it my gift to you."
"Would you, Miss?" the forlorn maid asked. She stared at me in wonder, then her face fell even further. "Oh, but that's not for me, Miss. Pretty things don't suit me. I'm just a poor gypsy waif. I have to work for my keep."
"Not in England!" I exclaimed, grabbing her hands. "In England, you will become my lady's maid. No, my companion. You'll go with me everywhere I go. You'll take care of my wardrobe and fix my hair. When I marry Prentiss, you will come with me—to assist me."
Throughout the months, I had grown fond of Helga Balan. Beneath her strange exterior, she displayed a strong personality. I longed to protect her and remove her from the von Helfin environment.
Flopping onto my bed, I spoke vibrantly of London and the English countryside. However, when I mentioned the Christmas holidays, Helga became withdrawn. Her dark eyes shadowed, and her complexion paled. Bowing her head, she dolefully shook her head.
"Don't you celebrate the holiday in Romania?" I asked, perplexed. "But, surely, you do."
Helga shook her head and withdrew further into herself. Then, she hastily grabbed her bundle from my trunk and flew from the room. Leaping from the bed, I rushed after her. However, I lost sight of her when I reached the lower level.
I wandered aimlessly along the castle corridors and peeked into the disused rooms. One by one, I flung open wardrobes and peeked beneath the beds. Finally, reaching the ground floor, I discovered the young maidservant in the kitchen. She cowered behind her grandmother, clutching her skirts. Reveca Balan turned upon me and waved her wooden spoon menacingly.
"The Baron forbids talk of Christianity and Christian celebrations," the elderly housekeeper proclaimed. "You will not fill my granddaughter's head with such mysticism. Mark my words: you will do well to forget your English beliefs." She spat out my beloved country's name disdainfully.
I bowed my head and turned away. Papa taught me to avoid debates with non-believers. Dolefully, I left Helga with her furious grandmother and returned to my turret room.
Picking up my pink organdy, I folded it and placed it in my trunk. Then, my face crumpled. Unexpected tears welled in my eyes. I thought of happy mornings gathered around the holiday tree and holly boughs on the mantlepiece. Mrs. Balan's urge to forget about Christmas joy shocked me. I closed my trunk and wandered into Mama's room.
I found Mama sitting at her vanity table. The candles in their sconces glowed brightly, framing her haggard face. Lethargically, she pulled a comb through her tangled hair. I gently took it from her and began working on the gray knots.
"You seem different, Mama," I mentioned, swallowing a throat lump. "We arrived only a short time ago, yet so much has changed." I hesitated, biting my lip thoughtfully.
"Change occurs in everyone's life, now and then," my mother offered, smiling slightly. "We must accept it and carry on as best we can."
"I suppose," I remarked pensively. "Still…" I worried my lip again.
The minutes dragged past as I worked on an intricate tangle. Mama gasped when I pulled at a clump, and I apologized.
"Mama," I began again, "You still believe, don't you? I mean, in God and Christmas?"
"It doesn't matter what we believe, Norah," my parent exclaimed. Turning on her stool, she suddenly grasped my hands. I met her dull eyes with my earnest ones. "Nicolai prohibits all talk of Christianity. We must comply with his wishes."
"Oh, but…Mama!" I placed the comb onto the tabletop and stepped away hastily. "You can't mean… What about Papa? Papa believed; Papa…"
"Papa doesn't matter any longer, my dear child." Mama rose languidly and drifted toward the door. She grasped the knob and hesitated. "We owe much to the Baron…Nicolai… Your Papa is in the grave he dug for himself, and Nicolai is my husband now. We comply with his wishes."
My mother disappeared before I could speak. I stood in her room, clutching my fists. We must depart quickly, I assured myself. I determined to break the unholy chain that bound my once beautiful mother to her heathen husband.
Mama must have realized the Baron's adversity to Christianity when she took her wedding vows. Yet, she married him and clung to him and… My racing thoughts halted, and my fist tightened. And she obeyed him. I shuddered.
Long ago and far away, we lived an idyllic life. We worshipped in the small church together and participated in local gatherings. Mama took charge of the summer fetes and autumn harvest dances. Our friends in the village looked up to us for guidance, both spiritual and temporal. We upheld firm Victorian standards and shunned adversity.
I could not comprehend Mama's change in attitude. Her marriage to the Baron reversed all her past beliefs. She turned her back on her life with Papa completely. Once upon a time, my father meant all to her. We worshiped in the church together as a family. Following the service, she stood on the sanctuary's porch and spoke kindly to the parishioners. Her warm smile never left her face.
I shuddered at the Baron's adversity to Christianity. I could not put Papa in my past as swiftly as Mama had. I loved him still and thought of him in his cold grave. If I could turn back time, I would have prevented him from turning himself into the police. He had acted in the defense of a poor prostitute. My mind railed against fate.
I clutched the stairway banister with white knuckles. Then, I flung myself down the spiral stairway, my footsteps echoing loudly against the vaulted ceiling. Propelling myself across the rotunda, I grasped the door handle and pulled. It did not budge. I yanked again and again until my arm ached. Balling my fists, I pounded on the oaken egress and yelled Mama's name. No response. Defeated, I sank onto the bottom step and covered my face with my hands. I sobbed.
ns 15.158.61.8da2
