Chapter I
‘Christmas again’, Joyce looked out of the frosted window at the bare winter garden. A pair of sparrows was hopping through the frozen grass searching for food, when she suddenly felt the urge to escape from the house to join the sparrows in the garden.
‘Joyce honey, where are you going? Don’t go outside, it’s too cold and it will get dark soon’, said her mother, Theresa, ‘Nick, please say something!’
‘Child, listen to your mother’ said the obedient husband; her parents’ voices sounded like echoes, to which she never paid much attention.
Joyce wasn’t the prettiest girl, although she had a beauty quite peculiar and almost impossible to detect since her long, straight dark brown hair hided her shinning green eyes and made her pointy nose seem much uglier. She had a thin figure and was shorter than the average girls of her age.
She usually wore simple and ordinary clothes, mostly jeans, white t-shirts, sports cardigans and possessing only two pairs of sneakers.
After closing the back door quietly, she went for a walk, wearing her cosiest jacket. The air was cold and humid; her hands were freezing, but she hated wearing gloves.
The property had belonged to the family for two centuries: a big country house with grey walls of stone, dark wooden windows. Two paths diverged from the balcony; one leading to the entrance of the house, the other towards the vast surrounding garden.
Even though she and her family had spent all their Christmas and most of the winters in that house, Joyce couldn’t stop feeling itchy while staying there; even the garden was like a spooky maze to her. Of course the unfortunate incident, nearly five years ago, had added some significance to this feeling of hers, but even before it happened, the only thing she had always loved about the country house was the nice old Frank, the patient gardener, and his lovely wife Rose Mary. The gardener had a thin and fragile figure; his only concern was the welfare of the living plants and creatures of the immense garden, while his wife, a round and sweet woman, held precious and ancient recipes of which she felt so proud of. The warmth of the couple was what made those days bearable.
Joyce thought of going to the couple’s little house, but the windows were closed and their vehicle wasn’t where Frank usually kept it. Therefore, continuing her walk, she passed both the statues and the fountain with big fish in it, towards the exposed trees. There she sat looking at the red, yellow and brown leaves on the ground. Thoughts were drifting, Joyce wished to scream out the loneliness she was feeling, how much she missed her brother and that she hated her idiotic parents. She got up and started to kick the tree that she had previously used to put her back resting on; tears were falling from her eyes and, simultaneously, it started to rain. Unexpectedly, she noticed a star drawn on the pine tree’s trunk; strangely, one of the five points that usually points up was pointing down instead. She looked down and automatically started to dig, right under the star.
After only a couple of minutes the rain stopped; her mud-covered fingers touched a cold surface. Joyce removed a metal box from the hole. Her excitement was at its highest, when she saw that there was a lock on the box but no sign of a matching key in the hole. She was so curious that she thought of trying to break it, but she was afraid to damage what might be in it.
While admiring the box, she discovered an odd inscription written; some kind of a mind puzzle, similar to those she used to decipher with her brother:
“You and I like fish in the sea
When apart, it’s real torture to me
Almost as if I was drowned
And by no mermaid found”
‘Nick! It’s Nick’s!’ – She said out loud, in ecstasy, after reading it. She was no longer annoyed by the fact that the box was locked; in fact, she had loved the verses written by her brother Nick. One more mystery, in memory of the games they used to love playing together.
The rain started to pour, interrupting the moment. Joyce knew it was better to go back home, or else she would have to put up with a “Foster Preach” or two. After hiding the box underneath the jacket, she started to run to the house.
‘Oh dear God, here you are! What happened? You’re soaking wet! ’, Joyce pretended not to listen to her mother and rushed upstairs, before anyone notice her newest private acquisition. Her bedroom was dark blue with dark furniture; the shelves were full of books - there were so many books that some were ended in great piles on the floor; there were several posters of both music bands and paintings on the walls and a desk covered with papers and more books. After putting on the album ‘Yield’, Joyce jumped to sit on the bed, placing the box on her lap.
That night, she didn’t come down to dinner; the desire to solve the enigma her brother had left on the box was too strong and kept her awake until the dark night hours. She fell asleep only a few minutes before the early morning arrival of the Abbots.
‘Christmas again’, Joyce looked out of the frosted window at the bare winter garden. A pair of sparrows was hopping through the frozen grass searching for food, when she suddenly felt the urge to escape from the house to join the sparrows in the garden.
‘Joyce honey, where are you going? Don’t go outside, it’s too cold and it will get dark soon’, said her mother, Theresa, ‘Nick, please say something!’
‘Child, listen to your mother’ said the obedient husband; her parents’ voices sounded like echoes, to which she never paid much attention.
Joyce wasn’t the prettiest girl, although she had a beauty quite peculiar and almost impossible to detect since her long, straight dark brown hair hided her shinning green eyes and made her pointy nose seem much uglier. She had a thin figure and was shorter than the average girls of her age.
She usually wore simple and ordinary clothes, mostly jeans, white t-shirts, sports cardigans and possessing only two pairs of sneakers.
After closing the back door quietly, she went for a walk, wearing her cosiest jacket. The air was cold and humid; her hands were freezing, but she hated wearing gloves.
The property had belonged to the family for two centuries: a big country house with grey walls of stone, dark wooden windows. Two paths diverged from the balcony; one leading to the entrance of the house, the other towards the vast surrounding garden.
Even though she and her family had spent all their Christmas and most of the winters in that house, Joyce couldn’t stop feeling itchy while staying there; even the garden was like a spooky maze to her. Of course the unfortunate incident, nearly five years ago, had added some significance to this feeling of hers, but even before it happened, the only thing she had always loved about the country house was the nice old Frank, the patient gardener, and his lovely wife Rose Mary. The gardener had a thin and fragile figure; his only concern was the welfare of the living plants and creatures of the immense garden, while his wife, a round and sweet woman, held precious and ancient recipes of which she felt so proud of. The warmth of the couple was what made those days bearable.
Joyce thought of going to the couple’s little house, but the windows were closed and their vehicle wasn’t where Frank usually kept it. Therefore, continuing her walk, she passed both the statues and the fountain with big fish in it, towards the exposed trees. There she sat looking at the red, yellow and brown leaves on the ground. Thoughts were drifting, Joyce wished to scream out the loneliness she was feeling, how much she missed her brother and that she hated her idiotic parents. She got up and started to kick the tree that she had previously used to put her back resting on; tears were falling from her eyes and, simultaneously, it started to rain. Unexpectedly, she noticed a star drawn on the pine tree’s trunk; strangely, one of the five points that usually points up was pointing down instead. She looked down and automatically started to dig, right under the star.
After only a couple of minutes the rain stopped; her mud-covered fingers touched a cold surface. Joyce removed a metal box from the hole. Her excitement was at its highest, when she saw that there was a lock on the box but no sign of a matching key in the hole. She was so curious that she thought of trying to break it, but she was afraid to damage what might be in it.
While admiring the box, she discovered an odd inscription written; some kind of a mind puzzle, similar to those she used to decipher with her brother:
“You and I like fish in the sea
When apart, it’s real torture to me
Almost as if I was drowned
And by no mermaid found”
‘Nick! It’s Nick’s!’ – She said out loud, in ecstasy, after reading it. She was no longer annoyed by the fact that the box was locked; in fact, she had loved the verses written by her brother Nick. One more mystery, in memory of the games they used to love playing together.
The rain started to pour, interrupting the moment. Joyce knew it was better to go back home, or else she would have to put up with a “Foster Preach” or two. After hiding the box underneath the jacket, she started to run to the house.
‘Oh dear God, here you are! What happened? You’re soaking wet! ’, Joyce pretended not to listen to her mother and rushed upstairs, before anyone notice her newest private acquisition. Her bedroom was dark blue with dark furniture; the shelves were full of books - there were so many books that some were ended in great piles on the floor; there were several posters of both music bands and paintings on the walls and a desk covered with papers and more books. After putting on the album ‘Yield’, Joyce jumped to sit on the bed, placing the box on her lap.
That night, she didn’t come down to dinner; the desire to solve the enigma her brother had left on the box was too strong and kept her awake until the dark night hours. She fell asleep only a few minutes before the early morning arrival of the Abbots.
Chapter II
The bouncing Rose Mary entered the room gently awaking Joyce with a huge smile, ‘Good morning Miss Foster’. ‘Mrs Abbot…you’re here’, she muttered, and ‘What time is it?’ covering her eyes from the sun’s shining light with her white Egyptian silken sheets. ‘It’s time now, dear. Lunch is almost prepared and your parents have already asked for you. Besides, as far as I’ve heard, yesterday you didn’t eat dinner. Chop, chop!’
Half an hour later, lunch was served and the three members of the Foster family were eating quietly. The long oak table was set with expensive china customised with a silver insignia of the family’s name initial. The silence was only interrupted by Mr. Foster’s remark of astonishment, ‘Just look at the size of these fish: this is laughable!’, ‘Alex, the fish are tasty, stop acting silly’ answered his wife, ‘It’s very tasty, indeed, but I’d be best served with those giant fish we have in the fountain. Joyce stood up so quickly that one of the forks fell on the floor; ‘Joyce, what now? Please sit down, you haven’t even finished your meal!’ said her mother with no hope of understanding the constantly weird behaviour of her teenage daughter; ‘Sorry mother, I’ve just remembered something really important. May I be excused?’, ‘Oh, as if anything could stop you. Go on, rush to whatever is upsetting you’. Excited, Joyce ran to the garden fountain. She knew the key had to be in there, since the fountain was decorated with sea motifs, mermaids in particular; she was shocked by the fact she had missed that valuable detail when she read the rimes. She got into the fountain, without taking off her clothes or shoes. At first that weird sensation of walking through the fish and dirty water disgusted her, but she focused on finding the key; her hands touched the gummy fountain ground, searching the entire surface. Finally, she grabbed a heavy stone. There it was, underneath the rough stone, the key. ‘Aha, found ya’ with the key in her hand, Joyce left the fountain feeling nauseous. The nerves of realising that she was about to open her deceased brother’s secret box replaced all the excitement she was previously feeling; they were impossible to control: what was hidden in that box, no matter how ordinary it might be, she knew it would also be, for certain, incredibly painful. She tried to relax by putting the key in the front pocket of her jeans, not having to look at it for a while, and walked back home.
On the way back she was surprised by the presence of a dog, a big German Shepard, running in her direction, to catch a stick.
‘Lala, come here girl’, yelled a brown eyed boy with light brown curly hair, ‘Sorry if she scared you, she’s a sweet little one. There’s no reason for you to be frightened’, he smiled, feeling proud of his furry friend. ‘I wasn’t, I was just surprised by your presence’, replied the girl. ‘Oh, I apologise for my intermission, I’m Christian. You must be Joyce, heard some fine words ‘bout ya’, he said, still smiling. ‘Thanks, I must go now’ – she cuddled the dog – ‘Bye, Lala’. The boy stood staring at her while she entered the door, only then noticing she was completely wet, from head to toe.
Once upstairs in her room, she couldn’t resist going to the window to look at the boy, Christian; she also couldn’t help feeling pleased about meeting him, after all, she didn’t have any friends in the village. Since he didn’t see her from the garden he left the place where she could see him to nowhere near and the dog followed him. But she had something to do – the thought of it came rapidly to her mind. She at last took the key off her jeans’ pocket before removing the metal box from under the bed and placing it on the rug, where she sat.
‘Ok, the time has come’, she whispered anxiously. The sound of the key entering the lock, followed by the ‘click’ could be heard along with her beating heart in the profound silence of the room. Joyce breathed deeply in…and out. The now opened box seemed a lot bigger, once she saw the uncountable items inside: photos, postcards, letters, drawings and even some small objects. Among them, there were also pictures of her with her elder brother which brought tears to her eyes; she had almost forgotten how blond his hair was and how he was smiling, all the time. He was the perfect young man: fit, tall, charming, funny, joyful, adventurous but sensitive. She admired him; he was her favourite person in the whole world. For a long time, she even hated to be a girl because all she wanted was to be exactly like him. She wiped her tears with the sweatshirt’s sleeve, afraid to wet the prized cards and pictures.
Later, Joyce found a little bottle with a bit of hair tied up; she wondered whose hair it was. Without a hint of an answer, she started to read a letter instead; she quickly recognized her brother’s handwriting. To her surprise, the extended letter was in fact a piece of some kind of journal he kept; her brother talked about a girl called Joan, that in addition to being beautiful like the sunrise, and magical like the sunset, was the only human being capable of understanding him besides his little sister. Joyce was thrilled but also intrigued, for she had never known or heard about a girl in Nicholas’ life, as well as no one called Joan. After reading his journal further and some letters, she realised that Joan must have been his girlfriend for a rather long period; her brother seemed incredibly in love with this girl, who must have been the owner of the hair inside the tiny bottle that Joyce found. Finally, she discovered a picture of a gorgeous young woman, wearing a white linen dress with a somewhat mysterious smile.
The unsolved origin of this unknown character would haunt her for the next couple of days. The more she read and admired her brother’s treasures, the more this mystery encouraged her to find out all about her brother Nicholas and this unheard of girl, Joan.
The bouncing Rose Mary entered the room gently awaking Joyce with a huge smile, ‘Good morning Miss Foster’. ‘Mrs Abbot…you’re here’, she muttered, and ‘What time is it?’ covering her eyes from the sun’s shining light with her white Egyptian silken sheets. ‘It’s time now, dear. Lunch is almost prepared and your parents have already asked for you. Besides, as far as I’ve heard, yesterday you didn’t eat dinner. Chop, chop!’
Half an hour later, lunch was served and the three members of the Foster family were eating quietly. The long oak table was set with expensive china customised with a silver insignia of the family’s name initial. The silence was only interrupted by Mr. Foster’s remark of astonishment, ‘Just look at the size of these fish: this is laughable!’, ‘Alex, the fish are tasty, stop acting silly’ answered his wife, ‘It’s very tasty, indeed, but I’d be best served with those giant fish we have in the fountain. Joyce stood up so quickly that one of the forks fell on the floor; ‘Joyce, what now? Please sit down, you haven’t even finished your meal!’ said her mother with no hope of understanding the constantly weird behaviour of her teenage daughter; ‘Sorry mother, I’ve just remembered something really important. May I be excused?’, ‘Oh, as if anything could stop you. Go on, rush to whatever is upsetting you’. Excited, Joyce ran to the garden fountain. She knew the key had to be in there, since the fountain was decorated with sea motifs, mermaids in particular; she was shocked by the fact she had missed that valuable detail when she read the rimes. She got into the fountain, without taking off her clothes or shoes. At first that weird sensation of walking through the fish and dirty water disgusted her, but she focused on finding the key; her hands touched the gummy fountain ground, searching the entire surface. Finally, she grabbed a heavy stone. There it was, underneath the rough stone, the key. ‘Aha, found ya’ with the key in her hand, Joyce left the fountain feeling nauseous. The nerves of realising that she was about to open her deceased brother’s secret box replaced all the excitement she was previously feeling; they were impossible to control: what was hidden in that box, no matter how ordinary it might be, she knew it would also be, for certain, incredibly painful. She tried to relax by putting the key in the front pocket of her jeans, not having to look at it for a while, and walked back home.
On the way back she was surprised by the presence of a dog, a big German Shepard, running in her direction, to catch a stick.
‘Lala, come here girl’, yelled a brown eyed boy with light brown curly hair, ‘Sorry if she scared you, she’s a sweet little one. There’s no reason for you to be frightened’, he smiled, feeling proud of his furry friend. ‘I wasn’t, I was just surprised by your presence’, replied the girl. ‘Oh, I apologise for my intermission, I’m Christian. You must be Joyce, heard some fine words ‘bout ya’, he said, still smiling. ‘Thanks, I must go now’ – she cuddled the dog – ‘Bye, Lala’. The boy stood staring at her while she entered the door, only then noticing she was completely wet, from head to toe.
Once upstairs in her room, she couldn’t resist going to the window to look at the boy, Christian; she also couldn’t help feeling pleased about meeting him, after all, she didn’t have any friends in the village. Since he didn’t see her from the garden he left the place where she could see him to nowhere near and the dog followed him. But she had something to do – the thought of it came rapidly to her mind. She at last took the key off her jeans’ pocket before removing the metal box from under the bed and placing it on the rug, where she sat.
‘Ok, the time has come’, she whispered anxiously. The sound of the key entering the lock, followed by the ‘click’ could be heard along with her beating heart in the profound silence of the room. Joyce breathed deeply in…and out. The now opened box seemed a lot bigger, once she saw the uncountable items inside: photos, postcards, letters, drawings and even some small objects. Among them, there were also pictures of her with her elder brother which brought tears to her eyes; she had almost forgotten how blond his hair was and how he was smiling, all the time. He was the perfect young man: fit, tall, charming, funny, joyful, adventurous but sensitive. She admired him; he was her favourite person in the whole world. For a long time, she even hated to be a girl because all she wanted was to be exactly like him. She wiped her tears with the sweatshirt’s sleeve, afraid to wet the prized cards and pictures.
Later, Joyce found a little bottle with a bit of hair tied up; she wondered whose hair it was. Without a hint of an answer, she started to read a letter instead; she quickly recognized her brother’s handwriting. To her surprise, the extended letter was in fact a piece of some kind of journal he kept; her brother talked about a girl called Joan, that in addition to being beautiful like the sunrise, and magical like the sunset, was the only human being capable of understanding him besides his little sister. Joyce was thrilled but also intrigued, for she had never known or heard about a girl in Nicholas’ life, as well as no one called Joan. After reading his journal further and some letters, she realised that Joan must have been his girlfriend for a rather long period; her brother seemed incredibly in love with this girl, who must have been the owner of the hair inside the tiny bottle that Joyce found. Finally, she discovered a picture of a gorgeous young woman, wearing a white linen dress with a somewhat mysterious smile.
The unsolved origin of this unknown character would haunt her for the next couple of days. The more she read and admired her brother’s treasures, the more this mystery encouraged her to find out all about her brother Nicholas and this unheard of girl, Joan.
Chapter III
Two days had passed since Joyce had opened the box and only three days left to Christmas. She had been to busy helping her mother with the usual shopping, there was almost no time left for her to think about planning the secretive investigation on Joan. Even so, she had already made up her mind about meeting the Abbots and trying to find out if they knew something else, something that might help her.
Joyce got up earlier that morning and found a way to escape her mother shopping program by saying she had some important work to do for the school paper. That excuse would do for the next couple of hours, right until lunch was ready.
‘Good morning Mrs. Abbot’, Joyce started out smoothly, ‘Hmm, this smells yummy! What is it that cook you’re preparing for us?’; ‘Oh dear, thank you. This is nothing, just a nice recipe by my grand grandmother: vegetables and meat stew. It has carrots, that you love so much, innit?’ Joyce smiled to the sweet Mrs Abbot, showing she was pleased with the carrots, though her thoughts and intentions were far beyond vegetables.
The kitchen was the second most inviting room in the whole house, rustic and cosy, with all Rose Mary’s sweet-smelling cooking’s and baking’s.
‘Well, you got up earlier than usual! It’s a nice day; you should go out and enjoy yourself with a nice walk through the garden. Mr. Frank would be thrilled to see you admiring those beloved roses of his’; Joyce took that line of the conversation to pursue her real interest, ‘Oh sure. But actually I was thinking about going to the village’. The girl pretended to be impassive ‘you know, I’m always wondering about Nick’s walks to the village. He must have had many friends here in town; I’d like so much to meet some of them. You wouldn’t know someone I could talk with about him, would you?’ – Mrs. Abbot suddenly started to mix the stew fiercely, with the big wooden spoon, ‘Oh, I’m sure he had many friends, though, alas, I didn’t know any. I guess I cannot be very useful with that’. Joyce caught the uneasiness in Mrs. Abbot’s manners, but she didn’t mind. Hopefully, they could help setting the perfect mood for the question she was anxious to ask, ‘Oh, that’s ok. I don’t know much either, I’ve only heard about a dear friend of his, Joan. I think she’s from the village. Anyway, if I ask someone, they’d probably know how to help me find her, right?’ Mrs. Abbot almost collapsed with the unexpected reference to the name Joan, ‘Auch! Silly me, I’m old enough not to get burn. This oven must be broken. Sorry Joyce, I must finish cooking lunch. Soon, your mother will arrive, and I must have it set on time’.
Joyce never thought the conversation could go so wrong. She knew that anything concerning Nicholas was a taboo in that house, but why something so plain as asking about her brother’s friends caused so much awkwardness, especially between her and the meek and mild Rose Mary. That, she didn’t know.
Mrs. Abbot avoided Joyce all long during lunch. The girl was upset with the situation but that didn’t stop her from going on with her business. Later, after finishing the noon meal, Joyce said to her parents she was going to the village and that she’d be back before dinner. Mr. and Mrs. Foster didn’t like the idea much, but since they could never have figured out the purpose of their daughter’s abrupt determination on going to the unattractive village, they permitted it.
When Joyce left the house, she encountered Mr. Abbot next to the property’s black iron gates, filling up his truck with fruit from the several trees he had planted in the garden, with the Foster’s permission. It was an old blue ford truck with black leather seats. The vehicle was a bit dusty inside and bleached outside, both time and sun’s result.
‘Hi Joyce, going for a walk to the village, are you?’ Joyce imagined that Mrs. Abbot had been talking to her husband, ‘Hey Frank. That’s right. Need help with all those baskets?’, ‘Sure Joyce, you wouldn’t mind helping this old fellow of yours, would you?’; that particular way the gardener had to relate with Joyce made her feel normal and human, instead of seeing in her a fragile and bizarre doll, like her parents did.
Once the back of the truck was filled, Joyce took the opportunity to ask Frank for a ride to the village. He knew that since her brother’s death, she was afraid to ride her bike alone.
They arrived at the village only twenty minutes later. Joyce waved to Frank ‘See you later Frank’; ‘’Later miss. Don’t forget to meet me here at 6 pm, church bell’s hour, alright?’
Joyce hadn’t visited the village since Nicholas funeral; an uncomfortable feeling of lonesome stroked her. She spotted a book shop that she didn’t even know it existed. The wind rose up and so she decided to enter, this way she would keep herself warm plus she could also have a look and see if there were any interesting publications in the historical novels section of the store.
‘Hello miss, can I help you?’ she didn’t notice the presence of an employee when she entered the shop, ‘I’m just having a look, thanks’ she replied. ‘Hey, it’s me, Chris. Remember?’ the boy she had met playing with his dog in her garden, ‘Oh, didn’t see you, sorry. You work here?’, ‘Nah, I’m just stalking you, you know’, he teased her causing Joyce’s embarrassment, whose cheeks were already tomato red, ‘I’m kidding, alright’; he said trying to tranquilize her, ‘Yeah, I know that’. ‘So, you decided to pay us a little visit. Looking for something in particular, besides some lame romances?’ the boy asked, trying to make conversation; ‘Yeah, some interesting romances, instead of the lame ones I can only seem to find in here’ she replied sounding slightly unpleasant. ‘People don’t read much here, I’m sorry. Oh, but I know someone who has access to good reading, if you’re interested’; ‘No, there’s no need, thanks. In fact, I don’t have much time to read right now’, she felt bad about her previous remark, so she added ‘Well, truly, I’m trying to find someone’. The boy was smiling again, ‘Oh, for that you need me, do you?’ Joyce regretted feeling guilty since the boy seemed a bit too cocky for her. ‘Listen Chris, this is kind of a serious matter to me, so if you don’t mind, quit joking, alright?’, ‘Ok, ok. Go on. Who’s that “someone”?’ he agreed.
Joyce didn’t want to trust him all the information she had, the private letters and photos, but she did tell Chris that Joan was a close friend of her deceased brother, Nick.
‘Oh, I’m sorry ‘bout your loss. What happened? He was so young and it seems like he was a vigorous person, at least by how you described him’ said the boy; ‘Yeah, he really was. He caught a serious pneumonia...so strong that he couldn’t have resisted. For some reason got him badly, no one expected it. I don’t even remember him being that sick… it was kind of sudden, you know’. ‘I’m sad to hear it’, the boy responded with a grave face, a very different expression from the one he always had, and the existence of this mature side in some way pleased Joyce.
‘About the girl Joan, I think I’ve heard some stories about her. Not sure if it’s the same person, but I think so’, within seconds Chris caught all Joyce’s interest with that announcement. ‘Tell me everything you know. Who’s she? Where can I find her?’ Joyce rushed; Chris was afraid to disappoint the girl ‘Well, as I said, I don’t know that much…I’ve just heard she was kind of a weird girl, anyway’. ‘She was? What do you mean, isn’t she weird any longer?’ quickly interrupted Joyce, ‘From what I was told, she disappeared a long time ago. I don’t even know if she’s still alive, you see, I think she was somehow hill and that they took her to another village nearby – to a clinic or something’. The given information, has the boy feared, did disappoint Joyce, ‘Now I’m screwed. The only name I had was this and currently…it seems like a dead end…’, ‘Hey girl, take it easy. It’s not a dead end ‘til Chris’ says so’, he smiled and ‘…we’ll come up with something, eventually. Now let me close this thing so I can take you to wherever you must go to.’
The church bell echoed its third ring when they left the closed shop, alongside Lala. The dog barked, looking annoyed by the loud noise of the bells.
Frank was already waiting for Joyce to meet him when he saw she was not alone. ‘Hi Frank. You must know Chris already’ said the long time hidden happier version of Joyce, ‘Sure I do. Is he comin’ with us?’; the girl looked at Chris, expecting his approval, which soon was visible, ‘Why not?’ she answered.
*
‘’Evening!’, Chris said rather self-conscious about his unexpected and probably unwelcome presence in the Foster’s home.
‘Good evening Christian Hewson, innit right?’ replied the Foster’s patriarch.
‘Yes Sir’ responded Chris, adding a strong hand shake. The boy, despite being nervous, kept smiling while introducing himself.
Joyce couldn’t stop admiring his shinning curls. Chris gave the impression of remaining unaware of the girl’s curiosity and acted as natural as he could, during the whole dinner.
‘Thanks for inviting me, your parents were very nice for receiving me such short notice’ said the boy making his way through the front balcony’s steps.
‘Oh, shut up! They’re dreadful and you’re a bad liar’ Joyce retorted making the boy laugh.
‘You’re funny, who’d know. No, seriously, I had a great time. You must come and join the humble Hewson family someday; my mother would be honoured by your presence’. Their eyes met, Joyce seared. ‘Hey, wanna meet tomorrow morning? We could ride our bikes through the grassland all the way to the village and have chocolate fudge or something…’ Chris asked.
‘Ok…round 8am?’ she agreed.
The boy told her he would be there on time and waved goodbye.
Once alone in the balcony, Joyce sat in the green metal bench. A strange and never before experienced feeling arose and provoked a chill that went down through the girl’s spine. She smiled nervously at the moon. It was shinning and so was Joyce.
Two days had passed since Joyce had opened the box and only three days left to Christmas. She had been to busy helping her mother with the usual shopping, there was almost no time left for her to think about planning the secretive investigation on Joan. Even so, she had already made up her mind about meeting the Abbots and trying to find out if they knew something else, something that might help her.
Joyce got up earlier that morning and found a way to escape her mother shopping program by saying she had some important work to do for the school paper. That excuse would do for the next couple of hours, right until lunch was ready.
‘Good morning Mrs. Abbot’, Joyce started out smoothly, ‘Hmm, this smells yummy! What is it that cook you’re preparing for us?’; ‘Oh dear, thank you. This is nothing, just a nice recipe by my grand grandmother: vegetables and meat stew. It has carrots, that you love so much, innit?’ Joyce smiled to the sweet Mrs Abbot, showing she was pleased with the carrots, though her thoughts and intentions were far beyond vegetables.
The kitchen was the second most inviting room in the whole house, rustic and cosy, with all Rose Mary’s sweet-smelling cooking’s and baking’s.
‘Well, you got up earlier than usual! It’s a nice day; you should go out and enjoy yourself with a nice walk through the garden. Mr. Frank would be thrilled to see you admiring those beloved roses of his’; Joyce took that line of the conversation to pursue her real interest, ‘Oh sure. But actually I was thinking about going to the village’. The girl pretended to be impassive ‘you know, I’m always wondering about Nick’s walks to the village. He must have had many friends here in town; I’d like so much to meet some of them. You wouldn’t know someone I could talk with about him, would you?’ – Mrs. Abbot suddenly started to mix the stew fiercely, with the big wooden spoon, ‘Oh, I’m sure he had many friends, though, alas, I didn’t know any. I guess I cannot be very useful with that’. Joyce caught the uneasiness in Mrs. Abbot’s manners, but she didn’t mind. Hopefully, they could help setting the perfect mood for the question she was anxious to ask, ‘Oh, that’s ok. I don’t know much either, I’ve only heard about a dear friend of his, Joan. I think she’s from the village. Anyway, if I ask someone, they’d probably know how to help me find her, right?’ Mrs. Abbot almost collapsed with the unexpected reference to the name Joan, ‘Auch! Silly me, I’m old enough not to get burn. This oven must be broken. Sorry Joyce, I must finish cooking lunch. Soon, your mother will arrive, and I must have it set on time’.
Joyce never thought the conversation could go so wrong. She knew that anything concerning Nicholas was a taboo in that house, but why something so plain as asking about her brother’s friends caused so much awkwardness, especially between her and the meek and mild Rose Mary. That, she didn’t know.
Mrs. Abbot avoided Joyce all long during lunch. The girl was upset with the situation but that didn’t stop her from going on with her business. Later, after finishing the noon meal, Joyce said to her parents she was going to the village and that she’d be back before dinner. Mr. and Mrs. Foster didn’t like the idea much, but since they could never have figured out the purpose of their daughter’s abrupt determination on going to the unattractive village, they permitted it.
When Joyce left the house, she encountered Mr. Abbot next to the property’s black iron gates, filling up his truck with fruit from the several trees he had planted in the garden, with the Foster’s permission. It was an old blue ford truck with black leather seats. The vehicle was a bit dusty inside and bleached outside, both time and sun’s result.
‘Hi Joyce, going for a walk to the village, are you?’ Joyce imagined that Mrs. Abbot had been talking to her husband, ‘Hey Frank. That’s right. Need help with all those baskets?’, ‘Sure Joyce, you wouldn’t mind helping this old fellow of yours, would you?’; that particular way the gardener had to relate with Joyce made her feel normal and human, instead of seeing in her a fragile and bizarre doll, like her parents did.
Once the back of the truck was filled, Joyce took the opportunity to ask Frank for a ride to the village. He knew that since her brother’s death, she was afraid to ride her bike alone.
They arrived at the village only twenty minutes later. Joyce waved to Frank ‘See you later Frank’; ‘’Later miss. Don’t forget to meet me here at 6 pm, church bell’s hour, alright?’
Joyce hadn’t visited the village since Nicholas funeral; an uncomfortable feeling of lonesome stroked her. She spotted a book shop that she didn’t even know it existed. The wind rose up and so she decided to enter, this way she would keep herself warm plus she could also have a look and see if there were any interesting publications in the historical novels section of the store.
‘Hello miss, can I help you?’ she didn’t notice the presence of an employee when she entered the shop, ‘I’m just having a look, thanks’ she replied. ‘Hey, it’s me, Chris. Remember?’ the boy she had met playing with his dog in her garden, ‘Oh, didn’t see you, sorry. You work here?’, ‘Nah, I’m just stalking you, you know’, he teased her causing Joyce’s embarrassment, whose cheeks were already tomato red, ‘I’m kidding, alright’; he said trying to tranquilize her, ‘Yeah, I know that’. ‘So, you decided to pay us a little visit. Looking for something in particular, besides some lame romances?’ the boy asked, trying to make conversation; ‘Yeah, some interesting romances, instead of the lame ones I can only seem to find in here’ she replied sounding slightly unpleasant. ‘People don’t read much here, I’m sorry. Oh, but I know someone who has access to good reading, if you’re interested’; ‘No, there’s no need, thanks. In fact, I don’t have much time to read right now’, she felt bad about her previous remark, so she added ‘Well, truly, I’m trying to find someone’. The boy was smiling again, ‘Oh, for that you need me, do you?’ Joyce regretted feeling guilty since the boy seemed a bit too cocky for her. ‘Listen Chris, this is kind of a serious matter to me, so if you don’t mind, quit joking, alright?’, ‘Ok, ok. Go on. Who’s that “someone”?’ he agreed.
Joyce didn’t want to trust him all the information she had, the private letters and photos, but she did tell Chris that Joan was a close friend of her deceased brother, Nick.
‘Oh, I’m sorry ‘bout your loss. What happened? He was so young and it seems like he was a vigorous person, at least by how you described him’ said the boy; ‘Yeah, he really was. He caught a serious pneumonia...so strong that he couldn’t have resisted. For some reason got him badly, no one expected it. I don’t even remember him being that sick… it was kind of sudden, you know’. ‘I’m sad to hear it’, the boy responded with a grave face, a very different expression from the one he always had, and the existence of this mature side in some way pleased Joyce.
‘About the girl Joan, I think I’ve heard some stories about her. Not sure if it’s the same person, but I think so’, within seconds Chris caught all Joyce’s interest with that announcement. ‘Tell me everything you know. Who’s she? Where can I find her?’ Joyce rushed; Chris was afraid to disappoint the girl ‘Well, as I said, I don’t know that much…I’ve just heard she was kind of a weird girl, anyway’. ‘She was? What do you mean, isn’t she weird any longer?’ quickly interrupted Joyce, ‘From what I was told, she disappeared a long time ago. I don’t even know if she’s still alive, you see, I think she was somehow hill and that they took her to another village nearby – to a clinic or something’. The given information, has the boy feared, did disappoint Joyce, ‘Now I’m screwed. The only name I had was this and currently…it seems like a dead end…’, ‘Hey girl, take it easy. It’s not a dead end ‘til Chris’ says so’, he smiled and ‘…we’ll come up with something, eventually. Now let me close this thing so I can take you to wherever you must go to.’
The church bell echoed its third ring when they left the closed shop, alongside Lala. The dog barked, looking annoyed by the loud noise of the bells.
Frank was already waiting for Joyce to meet him when he saw she was not alone. ‘Hi Frank. You must know Chris already’ said the long time hidden happier version of Joyce, ‘Sure I do. Is he comin’ with us?’; the girl looked at Chris, expecting his approval, which soon was visible, ‘Why not?’ she answered.
*
‘’Evening!’, Chris said rather self-conscious about his unexpected and probably unwelcome presence in the Foster’s home.
‘Good evening Christian Hewson, innit right?’ replied the Foster’s patriarch.
‘Yes Sir’ responded Chris, adding a strong hand shake. The boy, despite being nervous, kept smiling while introducing himself.
Joyce couldn’t stop admiring his shinning curls. Chris gave the impression of remaining unaware of the girl’s curiosity and acted as natural as he could, during the whole dinner.
‘Thanks for inviting me, your parents were very nice for receiving me such short notice’ said the boy making his way through the front balcony’s steps.
‘Oh, shut up! They’re dreadful and you’re a bad liar’ Joyce retorted making the boy laugh.
‘You’re funny, who’d know. No, seriously, I had a great time. You must come and join the humble Hewson family someday; my mother would be honoured by your presence’. Their eyes met, Joyce seared. ‘Hey, wanna meet tomorrow morning? We could ride our bikes through the grassland all the way to the village and have chocolate fudge or something…’ Chris asked.
‘Ok…round 8am?’ she agreed.
The boy told her he would be there on time and waved goodbye.
Once alone in the balcony, Joyce sat in the green metal bench. A strange and never before experienced feeling arose and provoked a chill that went down through the girl’s spine. She smiled nervously at the moon. It was shinning and so was Joyce.
Chapter IV
In the crack of dawn, when the birds started to sing, Joyce was already awaken but still, appreciating the nice heat of her sheets, waiting for Chris to come. Eventually, all the enthusiasm forced her to get up. She grabbed the brush and began to comb her long straight hair; Joyce liked what she saw in the mirror, which was a first. Taking advantage of this sparkling mood, she put the new black converse sneakers on, the light blue jeans and a white sweatshirt underneath her dark red sports jacket that looked great with her long brown hair.
A few minutes later, after listening to the sound of a howl, she heard a ‘clack, clack’ – something was hitting the window. Joyce got closer to it, looked down and saw Christian making funny faces and hand signs for her to come down; next to him the bike lying on the grass. She made a hand sign for him to wait. Then, she quietly left her room, foot after foot, going down the stairs, certifying that no one was watching her.
Before leaving the house, she picked up her old rag backpack she had filled up in the previous night with: snacks, bottles of water, a note book, a pen and some of her brother’s writings, merely the ones that could have clues about where to search for answers.
‘’Morning Joy’ the boy greeted. ‘Smiling already? Is that even humanly possible?’ the girl teased. They took hold of their bikes towards the gates of the property. Once outside, Joyce began to regret the idea, she didn’t feel ready to ride her bike yet. ‘You know what, I could borrow Frank’s car’ she attempted. ‘Nah, it’d be cooler to ride our bikes, don’t you think? Plus I don’t have a licence and I’m positive you’re not old enough to have one’ the boy answered without acknowledging the dread that was stamped on the girl’s face. He was admiring her morning glow when he realised she was looking cautious about riding the bike. ‘Hey, I can slow down if you want to…that way we’ll have a better chance to appreciate the nice views during the sunrise’ he articulated naturally, trying to comfort her fear. The statement made indeed Joyce feel more confident about riding again, after such a long period without even looking at the bicycle.
It was a cold, cold morning. The low temperature forced them to accelerate their pace, so they could avoid freezing. ‘Are you ok?’ asked the boy, worried about Joyce, fearing she couldn’t bear that much physical effort in such a wintry day. ‘I’m fine, just wondering about something…’ she tried to smile back at him. ‘Hey, want to stop a bit? We could go and visit Father Adrian. He must be writing somewhere near the graveyard. He’s a weird but kind man’; ‘nah’ Joyce replied, immediately disapproving Chris’ idea. ‘I think you’re missing the point Joyce. You’re forgetting that priests always know everything that happens in the village, in fact, better than anyone else. If we act smoothly enough, he’d probably let some information slip through his careful tongue’. The girl was happy to have Chris with her. Besides admiring his good looks, she found him very nice and reasonably sharp. ‘Chris, thanks for doing this with me’ the girl sounded grateful. She didn’t want to be alone at that particular time; she knew it could be too much for her to handle on her own. ‘There he is, can you see him?’ the boy pointed forwards ‘Over there, next to that gothic mausoleum, do you see him now?’; Joyce did see him but she was more focused on slowing down her pace to make sure that she would brake safely, particularly without seeming ridiculous to Chris.
‘Oh! Children, you scared me to death! I thought I was the only one coming to this side of the fields so early…especially with this chilly weather. Is everything alright with you two?’ the priest asked feeling more relaxed about their unforeseen presence. ‘Yes, Father. Everything’s just fine; we decided to ride our bikes since they were turning quite rusty’ the boy responded looking outlandishly cheerful ‘I see you still have that habit of writing down everything in your diary; I wonder what secrets it keeps hidden’. Joyce was in no way a religious person so she wasn’t surprised to spot the priest smirking to Chris’ comment, apparently, so wasn’t Chris who took the opportunity to strike the priest with the question Joyce was anxious to see answered ‘oh, about that, you know a girl, some Ann… or was it Joan? Well, one of those usual names…Anyway, my granny was saying the other day she never knew what happened to that sweet girl - yeah, those were her words… I told her maybe Father Adrian would have an idea and let her know what happened to the girl… Then, here we are and I’ve just reminded to ask you, now that I have a chance’ Chris said nearly flawlessly, as if he had prepared a script, Joyce thought, when he ended the performance by adding ‘Of course I’m aware that I’m the one to blame for not having that many opportunities to chat and I’m sorry, but you must comprehend: I’m young and fool, church is not the best place for me to be and I’d be afraid to embarrass my lovely aunt – you know she’s a great admirer of your work here, with everything you’ve done to help our community’. Father Adrian might be kind but he was most definitely arrogant and aparantely difficult to trick. Despite all the confidence Chris had on his acting skills, they weren’t sufficient to acquire the information they hoped to receive. ‘I’m glad your grandmother appreciates my doings and I do understand how young men minds work, though I’d still be very pleased to see you next Sunday in our modest house of the Lord’ said the Father, playing the same game Chris had started ‘Joan, I do remember her, a dearly admired girl…too bad’ he stopped and turned his eyes to Joyce, whom he was now staring at ‘she flew too high…that’s what usually happens to those who choose to madly love other than the mighty one, besides, those bad genes…I dare to say’ he completed, now facing the morning’s soft pink horizon. The razor-sharp priest said no more than simply a farewell, leaving Joyce and Chris feeling rather uncomfortable with the dubious and provoking thoughts he had shared. Once they were no longer in the mood to talk, they got back to the road again, and riding their bikes, they kept wondering about Father Adrian’s upsetting words.
In the next couple of hours, Joyce and Christian ended up having fun, no longer thinking about the episode near the graveyard. They told silly jokes to each other while eating their sandwiches in a spot Christian knew, under the bridge that worked as a fine shelter from the wind. It was the first time Christian glimpsed a genuine smile coming from Joyce, he thought, when he confessed to her his secret fear of cockroaches.
Everything was fine until they passed next to the book shop where Christian worked at. A girl came running from inside the shop, jumping to the boy’s arms, screaming his name.
‘Chriiiis! You came to visit me, did you?’ the girl said out loud, acting as if she hadn’t notice Joyce was with Christian ‘Want to come in? I’ll prepare you a hot coffee!’; Chris passed his fingers through his curls, ill at ease because of all the girl’s overwhelming enthusiasm ‘Oh, Michelle, thanks but…I can’t right now, I’ve got some stuff to do. Maybe later’ he tried to escape from both girls’ reactions. Joyce started shaking her right leg nervously, looking offended by the girl’s display of care and disgusted by her hysteric ways. ‘Oh, don’t worry, I’ll be just fine. Off you may go, really! I mean it!’ Joyce said, turning mad red; ‘Really? But I thought’ Chris was interrupted by Joyce’s sudden rage ‘No, truly. I’m going to see if anyone knows something about Jo – oh never mind’. Joyce didn’t end the sentence and Christian was pulled by the other girl into the shop, what enabled him to answer and make sure she was not acting on pure jealousy.
Joyce was walking irately through the town’s streets, conjecturing as many ways of torturing Christian as she could when she heard someone calling her. ‘Miss Foster, Miss Foster’ called a bustling lady standing in a tiny veranda. Joyce didn’t know the perky and humble woman but she was even more surprised about the fact that the old lady knew her. ‘I’m sorry; you’re Miss Foster, aren’t you?’ the woman asked nervously; ‘Yes, I am. Sorry but... do I know you?’ Joyce said politely. ‘Oh, I suppose you couldn’t remember me…you were so young, a tiny cute little baby, though a bit funny’ Joyce wasn’t very pleased by the comment but the fact that it was true made her stay and keep interested on what the lady was going to say, the woman continued ‘you know, I wouldn’t call you if – but it’s a like a miracle – if Rita wasn’t in this terrible, terrible condition. Oh, silly me! Please come inside, I’ll serve you a nice tea. Please come in. Let me just go down there, child, to open you the door’. Joyce still didn’t know the woman’s identity, but as the woman seemed nice and familiar, she accepted the invitation to enter into the lady’s modest home.
The house reminded Joyce of her doll’s house, the one built by Frank for her 5th anniversary, since it had everything made out of wood, decorated only with framed cross-stitch embroideries, crochet table-clothes and porcelain dolls in various sizes and shapes, some of them with no taste at all, almost scary, at least to Joyce. But the ambience was comfy and it had good vibes – possibly because of the vases with real and fresh flowers, exactly like those Joyce had seen on her way to the village, and all the handmade traditional artwork.
After noticing every piece of furniture and dusty bibelots, Joyce sat in one of the three chairs, waiting for the lady to finish preparing the tea. The woman began talking before leaving the kitchen ‘As I was saying, I wasn’t expecting you to remember me…but…how could I forget you, you or my dear Nicholas…Oh, I hope I’m not upsetting you my sweet Joyce’ the woman interrupted when realising that the girl’s face turned stiff ‘I was your nanny ‘til you turn two years old. Your brother would obviously remember me, I took care of him for a longer time…My name is Lourdes’. Finally the woman had identified herself, thought Joyce, without knowing what to say. It didn’t matter, since Lourdes seemed to have a lot to tell ‘Dear, you must be wondering why I call you…but I never saw you here, walking in the village alone…I think you were sent by god, seriously, Rita is getting sicker, she’s getting worse at each tick tack…my poor sister; I think she needs to confess all her sins, she blames herself for what happened, you know. Joan, oh how we miss her, but Rita, Rita was never the same again…my sister is younger than me but her time has come. She believes her time here is over and I, I can only hope she’d be happier up there. You see, I can do no good for her, I tried real hard…I did. But I no longer have strength to carry on for the both of us… alone’ the woman stopped briefly, only to fill Joyce’s tea cup, who was still too shocked by the fact that the woman had just mentioned the name Joan. The woman kept on talking ‘Do you think you could go and see her, up in her room? Maybe she’d feel relieved, I don’t know…’ Joyce wasn’t comfortable to go and meet a complete stranger, but the avid will to know all about Joan and Nicholas made her instantly consent the woman’s request.
Lourdes leaded the way up the noisy staircase – at each step the house was filled up with the sound of the rough wood –, after passing by two doors; she finally pointed to the third door standing on the left side of the corridor.
As the door flew open, Joyce slowly entered the room where she felt the agonizing smell of time and infirmity. A woman, who seemed to be asleep, lying on the bed, moaned. A cough followed by a sound of despair ‘Joan… is that you? You have finally come to take me…haven’t you?’ the delusional woman said; ‘Rita, it’s me. Do you remember Nicholas little sister, Joyce? Well, she’s here with me; I thought you’d like to see her’ Lourdes told her sister, letting Joyce grasp a tone of uncertainty in her voice. She turned her head back ‘come Joyce, dear, sit here’ pulling the girl gently in the direction of the modest chair standing next to bed ‘you know Rita, she’s all grown up – what a pretty girl – I’m sure she’ll turn out a fine lady! Well, I’m going to leave you two here, you have so much to talk about. Off I go now, call me if you need me’ said Lourdes while exiting the room, leaving the door behind her slightly opened.
Joyce was starring at the pictures, recognising the girl in most of them as being Joan; she had the same curled hair and mysterious smile as the girl from the photograph she had found on her brother’s box. The sick woman interrupted Joyce’s thoughts ‘Joan…I know you’re here’ – grabbing her hand strongly – ‘please, take me with you! The pain is unbearable…I can’t even look at his eyes…the same as his father’s’.
Joyce couldn’t understand what she said, so she tried to ask her something ‘What do you mean? Look at whose eyes?’; ‘Your baby, I never meant to hurt you. I never thought you’d go mad. I’m sorry. B-but, you know I just wanted what I wished… what I believed it was best for you. Joan… I didn’t want you to have to go through the same as I did when I had you, after your father rejecting you’ the woman said painfully ‘it wasn’t your fault’.
Lourdes entered cautiously and whispered ‘Rita, Joyce has to go, I bagged the cookies already for her to take and it’s time for you to rest before eating your meal. I made you that chicken soup you love so much. Joyce’s eager to hear more of the woman’s testimony was strong, but so were the nerves of having been told so much information.
As she waited downstairs for Lourdes, she took notice of a picture of a baby boy with blonde curly hair sitting on the lap of a jolly boy ‘That’s Christian, my godson, and he’s holding Andrew’ she made a brief pause, took a deep breath and then continued ‘my grandson’ explained the lady, confirming some of Joyce’s suspicions.
‘Lourdes, that may be your godson, but Andrew isn’t your grandson’ Joyce stated.
‘Oh, Joy…no, I’m afraid not. I kind of hoped you’d figure that out by yourself…I must tell you all about it, mustn’t I?’ Joyce nodded, ‘Well…here it goes. When I was taking care of your sweet brother Nick…he met my niece, Joan, and they fell deeply in love at first sight. Too bad she was special in many ways… and I am sad to admit that even though she was sweet and bright, when she got pregnant with your brother’s son… she was delusional, saying she’d ran away with her love and the baby against’ their parents will. Rita forbidden her from running away saying his family was too wealthy to approve such relationship, they would ruin her life; but since she kept escaping to meet him, my sister made a pact with your parents. Rita would simulate the baby’s death during the birth and put Joan in a clinic to recover from the loss, while they would say to him that the baby had died and that Joan had lost her mind after the sad miscarriage. What they never imagined was that he would try to keep his promise as much alive as his love for her…he would marry her still. But… - oh this is too much… not even Shakespeare would think of it…’ Joyce was numb, cold as glass ready to break, she never suspected that the hate she had always felt for her parents would have so horrible reasons to make it strengthen and prevail. ‘Continue Lourdes, I must know, I have to’. Lourdes took another deep breath, ‘Joyce, one thing you must know is that Rita told your parents that the baby had in fact died, although he didn’t, she was not willing to lose him forever to the Fosters’, yet the girl wasn’t relieved with acknowledging the detail, ‘well…the sad and unpredictable end took place when Rita made her daughter believe she had lost her lover’s baby… and when your brother finally found out in which clinic she was hidden in…it was too late – Joan had already hanged herself… your brother couldn’t bear the suffer, the loss of the two miracles in his life…so’, Joyce interrupted the woman’s sting by finishing the sentence herself ‘so he hanged himself in the same way she did’.
Joyce wanted to walk out of there so to sob freely, and she did.
‘Dear, you shouldn’t go alone!’ screamed Lourdes, having received no sign of approval by the girl that turned away, speechless.
‘Joyce, Joyce!!! Come here’, screamed Chris after seeing her going numbly up the road. She didn’t turn her head; he ran so to reach her and when he did ‘What happened?’ he asked while holding her face with both his hands. His fingers touched the watery cheeks of the girl. ‘He-he-killed-h-him-self. They lied! He killed himself. No, they killed him’, Joyce sobbed and the boy did not know what to do in order to calm her down. He sat her down in a wall of stones. ‘Here, here’ he held her head close to his chest as he gently crossed his fingers through her silky-smooth hair.
In the crack of dawn, when the birds started to sing, Joyce was already awaken but still, appreciating the nice heat of her sheets, waiting for Chris to come. Eventually, all the enthusiasm forced her to get up. She grabbed the brush and began to comb her long straight hair; Joyce liked what she saw in the mirror, which was a first. Taking advantage of this sparkling mood, she put the new black converse sneakers on, the light blue jeans and a white sweatshirt underneath her dark red sports jacket that looked great with her long brown hair.
A few minutes later, after listening to the sound of a howl, she heard a ‘clack, clack’ – something was hitting the window. Joyce got closer to it, looked down and saw Christian making funny faces and hand signs for her to come down; next to him the bike lying on the grass. She made a hand sign for him to wait. Then, she quietly left her room, foot after foot, going down the stairs, certifying that no one was watching her.
Before leaving the house, she picked up her old rag backpack she had filled up in the previous night with: snacks, bottles of water, a note book, a pen and some of her brother’s writings, merely the ones that could have clues about where to search for answers.
‘’Morning Joy’ the boy greeted. ‘Smiling already? Is that even humanly possible?’ the girl teased. They took hold of their bikes towards the gates of the property. Once outside, Joyce began to regret the idea, she didn’t feel ready to ride her bike yet. ‘You know what, I could borrow Frank’s car’ she attempted. ‘Nah, it’d be cooler to ride our bikes, don’t you think? Plus I don’t have a licence and I’m positive you’re not old enough to have one’ the boy answered without acknowledging the dread that was stamped on the girl’s face. He was admiring her morning glow when he realised she was looking cautious about riding the bike. ‘Hey, I can slow down if you want to…that way we’ll have a better chance to appreciate the nice views during the sunrise’ he articulated naturally, trying to comfort her fear. The statement made indeed Joyce feel more confident about riding again, after such a long period without even looking at the bicycle.
It was a cold, cold morning. The low temperature forced them to accelerate their pace, so they could avoid freezing. ‘Are you ok?’ asked the boy, worried about Joyce, fearing she couldn’t bear that much physical effort in such a wintry day. ‘I’m fine, just wondering about something…’ she tried to smile back at him. ‘Hey, want to stop a bit? We could go and visit Father Adrian. He must be writing somewhere near the graveyard. He’s a weird but kind man’; ‘nah’ Joyce replied, immediately disapproving Chris’ idea. ‘I think you’re missing the point Joyce. You’re forgetting that priests always know everything that happens in the village, in fact, better than anyone else. If we act smoothly enough, he’d probably let some information slip through his careful tongue’. The girl was happy to have Chris with her. Besides admiring his good looks, she found him very nice and reasonably sharp. ‘Chris, thanks for doing this with me’ the girl sounded grateful. She didn’t want to be alone at that particular time; she knew it could be too much for her to handle on her own. ‘There he is, can you see him?’ the boy pointed forwards ‘Over there, next to that gothic mausoleum, do you see him now?’; Joyce did see him but she was more focused on slowing down her pace to make sure that she would brake safely, particularly without seeming ridiculous to Chris.
‘Oh! Children, you scared me to death! I thought I was the only one coming to this side of the fields so early…especially with this chilly weather. Is everything alright with you two?’ the priest asked feeling more relaxed about their unforeseen presence. ‘Yes, Father. Everything’s just fine; we decided to ride our bikes since they were turning quite rusty’ the boy responded looking outlandishly cheerful ‘I see you still have that habit of writing down everything in your diary; I wonder what secrets it keeps hidden’. Joyce was in no way a religious person so she wasn’t surprised to spot the priest smirking to Chris’ comment, apparently, so wasn’t Chris who took the opportunity to strike the priest with the question Joyce was anxious to see answered ‘oh, about that, you know a girl, some Ann… or was it Joan? Well, one of those usual names…Anyway, my granny was saying the other day she never knew what happened to that sweet girl - yeah, those were her words… I told her maybe Father Adrian would have an idea and let her know what happened to the girl… Then, here we are and I’ve just reminded to ask you, now that I have a chance’ Chris said nearly flawlessly, as if he had prepared a script, Joyce thought, when he ended the performance by adding ‘Of course I’m aware that I’m the one to blame for not having that many opportunities to chat and I’m sorry, but you must comprehend: I’m young and fool, church is not the best place for me to be and I’d be afraid to embarrass my lovely aunt – you know she’s a great admirer of your work here, with everything you’ve done to help our community’. Father Adrian might be kind but he was most definitely arrogant and aparantely difficult to trick. Despite all the confidence Chris had on his acting skills, they weren’t sufficient to acquire the information they hoped to receive. ‘I’m glad your grandmother appreciates my doings and I do understand how young men minds work, though I’d still be very pleased to see you next Sunday in our modest house of the Lord’ said the Father, playing the same game Chris had started ‘Joan, I do remember her, a dearly admired girl…too bad’ he stopped and turned his eyes to Joyce, whom he was now staring at ‘she flew too high…that’s what usually happens to those who choose to madly love other than the mighty one, besides, those bad genes…I dare to say’ he completed, now facing the morning’s soft pink horizon. The razor-sharp priest said no more than simply a farewell, leaving Joyce and Chris feeling rather uncomfortable with the dubious and provoking thoughts he had shared. Once they were no longer in the mood to talk, they got back to the road again, and riding their bikes, they kept wondering about Father Adrian’s upsetting words.
In the next couple of hours, Joyce and Christian ended up having fun, no longer thinking about the episode near the graveyard. They told silly jokes to each other while eating their sandwiches in a spot Christian knew, under the bridge that worked as a fine shelter from the wind. It was the first time Christian glimpsed a genuine smile coming from Joyce, he thought, when he confessed to her his secret fear of cockroaches.
Everything was fine until they passed next to the book shop where Christian worked at. A girl came running from inside the shop, jumping to the boy’s arms, screaming his name.
‘Chriiiis! You came to visit me, did you?’ the girl said out loud, acting as if she hadn’t notice Joyce was with Christian ‘Want to come in? I’ll prepare you a hot coffee!’; Chris passed his fingers through his curls, ill at ease because of all the girl’s overwhelming enthusiasm ‘Oh, Michelle, thanks but…I can’t right now, I’ve got some stuff to do. Maybe later’ he tried to escape from both girls’ reactions. Joyce started shaking her right leg nervously, looking offended by the girl’s display of care and disgusted by her hysteric ways. ‘Oh, don’t worry, I’ll be just fine. Off you may go, really! I mean it!’ Joyce said, turning mad red; ‘Really? But I thought’ Chris was interrupted by Joyce’s sudden rage ‘No, truly. I’m going to see if anyone knows something about Jo – oh never mind’. Joyce didn’t end the sentence and Christian was pulled by the other girl into the shop, what enabled him to answer and make sure she was not acting on pure jealousy.
Joyce was walking irately through the town’s streets, conjecturing as many ways of torturing Christian as she could when she heard someone calling her. ‘Miss Foster, Miss Foster’ called a bustling lady standing in a tiny veranda. Joyce didn’t know the perky and humble woman but she was even more surprised about the fact that the old lady knew her. ‘I’m sorry; you’re Miss Foster, aren’t you?’ the woman asked nervously; ‘Yes, I am. Sorry but... do I know you?’ Joyce said politely. ‘Oh, I suppose you couldn’t remember me…you were so young, a tiny cute little baby, though a bit funny’ Joyce wasn’t very pleased by the comment but the fact that it was true made her stay and keep interested on what the lady was going to say, the woman continued ‘you know, I wouldn’t call you if – but it’s a like a miracle – if Rita wasn’t in this terrible, terrible condition. Oh, silly me! Please come inside, I’ll serve you a nice tea. Please come in. Let me just go down there, child, to open you the door’. Joyce still didn’t know the woman’s identity, but as the woman seemed nice and familiar, she accepted the invitation to enter into the lady’s modest home.
The house reminded Joyce of her doll’s house, the one built by Frank for her 5th anniversary, since it had everything made out of wood, decorated only with framed cross-stitch embroideries, crochet table-clothes and porcelain dolls in various sizes and shapes, some of them with no taste at all, almost scary, at least to Joyce. But the ambience was comfy and it had good vibes – possibly because of the vases with real and fresh flowers, exactly like those Joyce had seen on her way to the village, and all the handmade traditional artwork.
After noticing every piece of furniture and dusty bibelots, Joyce sat in one of the three chairs, waiting for the lady to finish preparing the tea. The woman began talking before leaving the kitchen ‘As I was saying, I wasn’t expecting you to remember me…but…how could I forget you, you or my dear Nicholas…Oh, I hope I’m not upsetting you my sweet Joyce’ the woman interrupted when realising that the girl’s face turned stiff ‘I was your nanny ‘til you turn two years old. Your brother would obviously remember me, I took care of him for a longer time…My name is Lourdes’. Finally the woman had identified herself, thought Joyce, without knowing what to say. It didn’t matter, since Lourdes seemed to have a lot to tell ‘Dear, you must be wondering why I call you…but I never saw you here, walking in the village alone…I think you were sent by god, seriously, Rita is getting sicker, she’s getting worse at each tick tack…my poor sister; I think she needs to confess all her sins, she blames herself for what happened, you know. Joan, oh how we miss her, but Rita, Rita was never the same again…my sister is younger than me but her time has come. She believes her time here is over and I, I can only hope she’d be happier up there. You see, I can do no good for her, I tried real hard…I did. But I no longer have strength to carry on for the both of us… alone’ the woman stopped briefly, only to fill Joyce’s tea cup, who was still too shocked by the fact that the woman had just mentioned the name Joan. The woman kept on talking ‘Do you think you could go and see her, up in her room? Maybe she’d feel relieved, I don’t know…’ Joyce wasn’t comfortable to go and meet a complete stranger, but the avid will to know all about Joan and Nicholas made her instantly consent the woman’s request.
Lourdes leaded the way up the noisy staircase – at each step the house was filled up with the sound of the rough wood –, after passing by two doors; she finally pointed to the third door standing on the left side of the corridor.
As the door flew open, Joyce slowly entered the room where she felt the agonizing smell of time and infirmity. A woman, who seemed to be asleep, lying on the bed, moaned. A cough followed by a sound of despair ‘Joan… is that you? You have finally come to take me…haven’t you?’ the delusional woman said; ‘Rita, it’s me. Do you remember Nicholas little sister, Joyce? Well, she’s here with me; I thought you’d like to see her’ Lourdes told her sister, letting Joyce grasp a tone of uncertainty in her voice. She turned her head back ‘come Joyce, dear, sit here’ pulling the girl gently in the direction of the modest chair standing next to bed ‘you know Rita, she’s all grown up – what a pretty girl – I’m sure she’ll turn out a fine lady! Well, I’m going to leave you two here, you have so much to talk about. Off I go now, call me if you need me’ said Lourdes while exiting the room, leaving the door behind her slightly opened.
Joyce was starring at the pictures, recognising the girl in most of them as being Joan; she had the same curled hair and mysterious smile as the girl from the photograph she had found on her brother’s box. The sick woman interrupted Joyce’s thoughts ‘Joan…I know you’re here’ – grabbing her hand strongly – ‘please, take me with you! The pain is unbearable…I can’t even look at his eyes…the same as his father’s’.
Joyce couldn’t understand what she said, so she tried to ask her something ‘What do you mean? Look at whose eyes?’; ‘Your baby, I never meant to hurt you. I never thought you’d go mad. I’m sorry. B-but, you know I just wanted what I wished… what I believed it was best for you. Joan… I didn’t want you to have to go through the same as I did when I had you, after your father rejecting you’ the woman said painfully ‘it wasn’t your fault’.
Lourdes entered cautiously and whispered ‘Rita, Joyce has to go, I bagged the cookies already for her to take and it’s time for you to rest before eating your meal. I made you that chicken soup you love so much. Joyce’s eager to hear more of the woman’s testimony was strong, but so were the nerves of having been told so much information.
As she waited downstairs for Lourdes, she took notice of a picture of a baby boy with blonde curly hair sitting on the lap of a jolly boy ‘That’s Christian, my godson, and he’s holding Andrew’ she made a brief pause, took a deep breath and then continued ‘my grandson’ explained the lady, confirming some of Joyce’s suspicions.
‘Lourdes, that may be your godson, but Andrew isn’t your grandson’ Joyce stated.
‘Oh, Joy…no, I’m afraid not. I kind of hoped you’d figure that out by yourself…I must tell you all about it, mustn’t I?’ Joyce nodded, ‘Well…here it goes. When I was taking care of your sweet brother Nick…he met my niece, Joan, and they fell deeply in love at first sight. Too bad she was special in many ways… and I am sad to admit that even though she was sweet and bright, when she got pregnant with your brother’s son… she was delusional, saying she’d ran away with her love and the baby against’ their parents will. Rita forbidden her from running away saying his family was too wealthy to approve such relationship, they would ruin her life; but since she kept escaping to meet him, my sister made a pact with your parents. Rita would simulate the baby’s death during the birth and put Joan in a clinic to recover from the loss, while they would say to him that the baby had died and that Joan had lost her mind after the sad miscarriage. What they never imagined was that he would try to keep his promise as much alive as his love for her…he would marry her still. But… - oh this is too much… not even Shakespeare would think of it…’ Joyce was numb, cold as glass ready to break, she never suspected that the hate she had always felt for her parents would have so horrible reasons to make it strengthen and prevail. ‘Continue Lourdes, I must know, I have to’. Lourdes took another deep breath, ‘Joyce, one thing you must know is that Rita told your parents that the baby had in fact died, although he didn’t, she was not willing to lose him forever to the Fosters’, yet the girl wasn’t relieved with acknowledging the detail, ‘well…the sad and unpredictable end took place when Rita made her daughter believe she had lost her lover’s baby… and when your brother finally found out in which clinic she was hidden in…it was too late – Joan had already hanged herself… your brother couldn’t bear the suffer, the loss of the two miracles in his life…so’, Joyce interrupted the woman’s sting by finishing the sentence herself ‘so he hanged himself in the same way she did’.
Joyce wanted to walk out of there so to sob freely, and she did.
‘Dear, you shouldn’t go alone!’ screamed Lourdes, having received no sign of approval by the girl that turned away, speechless.
‘Joyce, Joyce!!! Come here’, screamed Chris after seeing her going numbly up the road. She didn’t turn her head; he ran so to reach her and when he did ‘What happened?’ he asked while holding her face with both his hands. His fingers touched the watery cheeks of the girl. ‘He-he-killed-h-him-self. They lied! He killed himself. No, they killed him’, Joyce sobbed and the boy did not know what to do in order to calm her down. He sat her down in a wall of stones. ‘Here, here’ he held her head close to his chest as he gently crossed his fingers through her silky-smooth hair.
Chapter V
Later in the afternoon, after his successful attempt to convince Joyce to eat something, Christian suggested that they should leave the coffee shop and visit his home.
‘Come on, time to get up. I’ve got a plan that will for sure cheer you up for good’ he said.
‘I doubt that, but I guess it’s time to leave’ Joyce said, trying hard to smile at him, still feeling incredibly confused with the shocking news.
‘Don’t doubt. You’ll see I’m right. I promise’ he said, sure of himself, as usual, except the new glow in his eyes.
Joyce put on her jacket, the scarf Chris had lent her and the rag bag, and so they left the coffee.
Once outside the boy couldn’t stop starring at the girl’s face, wet, with pinkish eyes and nose because of all the tears. He wiped her eyes with one hand and he held the girl’s hand with the other. Out of the blue, Joyce fell at peace for the very first time in a rather long time. They kept holding hands while walking slowly; only Chris knew where they were heading to; the idea satisfied Joyce, who took the chance to breathe calmly and enjoy the sights. It must have been round 5 pm because of all the different kind of excitement amongst both the salesmen, making their last effort on selling the remaining products for the Christmas’ eve, and shoppers, who would buy the gifts and food they had left over to the last minute. The decorations were lit, candles and lights hanging in the pine trees and window-shops: Santa Claus in red furry suits and reindeers, golden bells, cribs and angels, gifts wrapped in various colours with big ribbons – everything reminded Joyce of the happy Christmas she had spent in the company of her beloved brother.
‘This is it, we’ve arrived’ Chris said. The house was small and white, with a dark wooden roof and smoke coming out of the chimney, everything, including the flowers hanging above the entrance’s door, was welcoming to Joyce. She could hear the cheery voices inside – a living family. The girl felt so strange but blissful for all the hospitable display of Chris’s home.
He opened the door and entered without releasing her hand; she immediately came in after him. They were standing close, still in the entry, when his grandmother saw them and smiled. She greeted them both with a big warm hug.
‘Maddie, Maddie, smells yummy. Isn’t it ready yet?’ said a little boy that came running from what seemed like a fairytale kitchen.
‘Andrew, calm down child, I put it in the oven just 5 minutes ago, it’ll take a while’ she answered smiling at Chris and Joyce ‘this boy is crazy about chocolate – thank God you came, now you can help me distracting him a little’ she said sounding quite relieved.
Joyce glanced with great expectation at Chris without saying a word, and he nodded. ‘Hey little fellow, come and give a kiss to my friend. This is Joyce. Joyce this is a miniature disaster, Andrew, the amazing brat’ Christian said laughing.
‘Hi Joyce, are you Chris’s girlfriend?’ said the boy with golden curls like his father’s and almond brown eyes like his mother’s. The girl was still astonished – the boy from the photo, her brother and Joan’s son, her nephew. She instantly picked him up and kissed him all over.
The three went on playing games like hide-and-seek, riddles and tickling, laughing and screaming, having a blast when Joyce felt at ease she caught Christian distracted and kissed him. Chris could only say ‘I told you I am a man that honours his promises’ with a charming smile.
The chocolate cake was finally ready and all the four of them sat eating it as if they had starved for too long, enjoying the warmth inside the house and laughing out loud – those hot milk moustaches seemed always amusing to the boy but also to Joyce, Chris and Granny. The night was still a child and even though the Christmas hadn’t arrived yet, it felt like it did to Joyce – she was soulful like the Christmas tree beside her, fully decorated. Never minding the complications ahead to come concerning the recent facts, Joyce was happy – she had gained a new family, and once more she had to thank her brother for it – together they were released from that cold bare winter garden.
Later in the afternoon, after his successful attempt to convince Joyce to eat something, Christian suggested that they should leave the coffee shop and visit his home.
‘Come on, time to get up. I’ve got a plan that will for sure cheer you up for good’ he said.
‘I doubt that, but I guess it’s time to leave’ Joyce said, trying hard to smile at him, still feeling incredibly confused with the shocking news.
‘Don’t doubt. You’ll see I’m right. I promise’ he said, sure of himself, as usual, except the new glow in his eyes.
Joyce put on her jacket, the scarf Chris had lent her and the rag bag, and so they left the coffee.
Once outside the boy couldn’t stop starring at the girl’s face, wet, with pinkish eyes and nose because of all the tears. He wiped her eyes with one hand and he held the girl’s hand with the other. Out of the blue, Joyce fell at peace for the very first time in a rather long time. They kept holding hands while walking slowly; only Chris knew where they were heading to; the idea satisfied Joyce, who took the chance to breathe calmly and enjoy the sights. It must have been round 5 pm because of all the different kind of excitement amongst both the salesmen, making their last effort on selling the remaining products for the Christmas’ eve, and shoppers, who would buy the gifts and food they had left over to the last minute. The decorations were lit, candles and lights hanging in the pine trees and window-shops: Santa Claus in red furry suits and reindeers, golden bells, cribs and angels, gifts wrapped in various colours with big ribbons – everything reminded Joyce of the happy Christmas she had spent in the company of her beloved brother.
‘This is it, we’ve arrived’ Chris said. The house was small and white, with a dark wooden roof and smoke coming out of the chimney, everything, including the flowers hanging above the entrance’s door, was welcoming to Joyce. She could hear the cheery voices inside – a living family. The girl felt so strange but blissful for all the hospitable display of Chris’s home.
He opened the door and entered without releasing her hand; she immediately came in after him. They were standing close, still in the entry, when his grandmother saw them and smiled. She greeted them both with a big warm hug.
‘Maddie, Maddie, smells yummy. Isn’t it ready yet?’ said a little boy that came running from what seemed like a fairytale kitchen.
‘Andrew, calm down child, I put it in the oven just 5 minutes ago, it’ll take a while’ she answered smiling at Chris and Joyce ‘this boy is crazy about chocolate – thank God you came, now you can help me distracting him a little’ she said sounding quite relieved.
Joyce glanced with great expectation at Chris without saying a word, and he nodded. ‘Hey little fellow, come and give a kiss to my friend. This is Joyce. Joyce this is a miniature disaster, Andrew, the amazing brat’ Christian said laughing.
‘Hi Joyce, are you Chris’s girlfriend?’ said the boy with golden curls like his father’s and almond brown eyes like his mother’s. The girl was still astonished – the boy from the photo, her brother and Joan’s son, her nephew. She instantly picked him up and kissed him all over.
The three went on playing games like hide-and-seek, riddles and tickling, laughing and screaming, having a blast when Joyce felt at ease she caught Christian distracted and kissed him. Chris could only say ‘I told you I am a man that honours his promises’ with a charming smile.
The chocolate cake was finally ready and all the four of them sat eating it as if they had starved for too long, enjoying the warmth inside the house and laughing out loud – those hot milk moustaches seemed always amusing to the boy but also to Joyce, Chris and Granny. The night was still a child and even though the Christmas hadn’t arrived yet, it felt like it did to Joyce – she was soulful like the Christmas tree beside her, fully decorated. Never minding the complications ahead to come concerning the recent facts, Joyce was happy – she had gained a new family, and once more she had to thank her brother for it – together they were released from that cold bare winter garden.
