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IV
246Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOifNj1WZTd
Weak sunlight peeked through the damask draperies surrounding my bed. Yawning, I sat up and surveyed my strange surroundings. A slim finger of light entered through the high slit in the turret wall. It cast the room in a dim, forbidding glow. Optimistically, I hoped our environment would take on a less sinister aspect.
I slid off my bed and shivered in the chill air. Donning my dressing gown over my flannelette nightie, I hurried toward the fire dancing beneath the mantle. Stretching out my hands, I basked in its warmth. I sank into the brocade armchair and propped my feet on the matching ottoman.
My new bedchamber contrasted favorably against the eeriness of the castle beneath the turret. I considered the curiosity of the entire situation. The occupants seemed strange. The austere Baron with his staunch manners and his pale children alarmed me. They appeared to come from a different world, perhaps a different century.
I sat in the brocade armchair with my feet propped on the matching ottoman. The fire chased away the chillness of the room. When the door cracked open, I smiled welcomely at the girl who entered. She placed the breakfast tray on a side table and bobbed a curtsey.
“Helga Balan at your service, ma’am,” she introduced in stilted English. “I’m to assist you and your Mama.”
“I am pleased to meet you, Helga,” I cordially replied. “I am Norah Chamberlain.”
“At your service, Miss Norah,” the young woman muttered, demurely. She bobbed again.
When her dark melancholy eyes met mine, I noticed the nearness of our ages. I guessed her at between fifteen and seventeen. A mass of unkempt curly black hair escaped Helga’s white lace cap, surrounding her apple-red cheeks. Similar to the Baron and his children, her creamy white skin appeared sallow. Nevertheless, I warmed to her and hoped, in time, a companionship would grow between us. I felt I could sorely use a friend within the bleak von Helfin castle.
"I will return with hot water in half an hour," the young servant announced. "You can wash up after breakfast. Then I will help you unpack."
I smiled warmly, noticing she pronounced her ‘w’ with a ‘v’ sound.
Before I could respond, the chamber door swung open, and a large man, carrying my trunk on his shoulder, trundled in. He dropped it to the floor, creating a loud thump. Snatching his flat-hat from his straw-colored hair, he kneaded it with splatted hands. The male servant stared helplessly at me. Then, his soft brown eyes shifted toward Helga. He did not utter a word of greeting or introduction.
“That’s Godoired Cazacu,” my companion whispered, conspiratorily. “He’s a dummy.”
I stared at Helga incredulously. Her abrupt introduction seemed callous and touched my sensibilities. The manservant continued to scrunch his hat in his blunted fingers. Bowing his head, he stared at the floor between his feet. I suddenly realized he could neither speak nor hear. I cringed the term 'dummy.' Papa taught me to respect everyone regardless of their disabilities.
“You mean Godoired is a deaf-mute,” I replied, sharply, “not that he is stupid.”
“Well,” Helga answered, drawing out her response. “He is a little of both.”
I felt my cheeks grow hot with indignation. Although Godoired could not comprehend the conversation’s tone, the disdain Helga showed him irked me.
“I am pleased to meet you, Godoired,” I exclaimed, carefully forming my words. If he understood English, perhaps he could read my lips. “Thank you for bringing my trunk. You may go now.”
“That means ‘get out of here,’” Helga rudely intervened. Grasping the retainer’s arm, she hurried him through the door and slammed it in his face.
I glared at the maidservant angrily. My thoughts of gaining her friendship fled instantly. Swiftly, I rounded on her, ready to scold her. Helga faced me glibly as though nothing untoward had happened. My antagonism flared, then simmered.
“You may go now,” I snapped, coolly. “I will expect the hot water, but I can unpack myself.” Dismissively, I turned to my morning meal.
The crumpets, jam, and pot of coffee appeared inviting. Hungrily, I began to spread the jam on the breakfast pasty. However, when I bit into it, the moldy taste of the previous night evaded my tongue.
“Ugh!” I exclaimed, tossing the crumpet into the fire. If the situation continued, I would surely starve to death. I sank into the armchair and glared at the floor.
“Good morning,” Mama chirped sweetly. She entered through a connecting door, carrying her breakfast tray. Sitting across from me, she began to eat. The taste did not phase her.
"How long must we stay here, Mama?" I snapped, bluntly.
"We've come a long way, Norah," my mother responded. "You cannot expect to depart too swiftly." Pouring a cup of coffee, she sat back in her chair. Daintily, she brought the cup's rim to her lips and sipped.
"But, Mama," I cried, disdainfully.
“There are no ‘buts’ about it, Norah,” my parent remarked. “I must earn my living now that Papa is gone. This was the only opportunity open to us. We must make the best of it.”
Restlessly, I stood and wandered toward the window slit. Leaning against the cold stone wall, I peered through the gap. It did not provide a wide view. However, the uninviting vista sent a shiver down my spine. A black forest stretching toward the horizon greeted my gaze. Angry thunder clouds hovered above it. Forked lightning flashed, followed by the roar of thunder. All about the castle, death seemed to spread its tentacles.
Suddenly, I longed for the green fields of England and autumn apples. A tear formed in the corner of my eye. I lowered my lashes and dashed it away in utter despair. Far away, Prentiss Wills resided at Gray Frair’s vicarage. I could see him standing in the Sunday pulpit delivering the sermon. He stood erect; his wire-framed glasses perched on his nose’s sharp peek. In his soft, imploring voice, he called upon the village sinners to repent.
Papa lay dead in the adjoining cemetery beneath the marble cross erected in his memory. I wanted him to come to life again and take his rightful place in the church. Only a cruel society could rob the world of such a kind and loving soul. However, the new vicar would replace, and Grey Friars would cease to mourn my devout Papa.
I longed to return home again, to run out to the gazebo and into Prentiss's open arms. Behind my mind's eye, I envisioned a young girl in a white dress. Her golden hair flew wild as she crossed the garden and tripped happily toward the summerhouse. Tall and erect, my lover stood in the latticed opening and smiled. The girl flew into his tender embrace, and they kissed.
I sighed and turned away from the window slit. I pressed my back against the stone wall and clutched my hands against my throbbing breast. The young woman was not Norah Chamberlain. Instead, she was the new vicar’s daughter. Bitter tears flooded my swollen eyes.
Oh, cruel life, I silently railed. My mind raged against my shattered dreams. My happy world lay in ruins—as dreadfully destroyed as the dilapidated von Helfin castle. A loud sob caught in my throat and my knees buckled.
“Norah,” Mama soothed, smoothing my hair from my forehead. She knelt on the floor beside me and held my head in her lap.
“I hate it here, Mama,” I whispered furtively. “I want to go home. Papa…”
“My dear, dear child,” my mother murmured, comfortingly. “Papa can’t help us now. We must endure here until we can find something better. I promise we won’t stay here forever.”
I wrapped my arms around her. Burying my head against her shoulder, I felt like a child awakened by a nightmare. She rocked me tenderly and spoke soothingly into my ear. I loved her dearly, but—OH!—how I hated Romania.
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