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“You don’t have to come inside”, Clara said from the passenger seat of her Range Rover
“Okay”, Clarence said even though neither Clara, nor her fiancé or even Rose had bothered to tell him where they were going. It was Sunday morning and he’d somehow found himself shoved in the backseat with Rose and a ton of wooden crates. He thought maybe one had thought the other had handled explaining to him where they were going.
He hoped it wasn’t another morning at the museum, He didn’t think he could handle another museum. After everyone confronted Rose yesterday she’d gone to sit in the unfinished garden with her sketchbook, where her father joined her once it got dark. Mr. Fierro had spent the entire day in Clara’s studio reading huge reference books at her piano, since apparently the house hadn’t been structurally sound enough to support a full library.
Clarence had joined his sister in the drawing room where she was aimlessly watching movies, Clarence guessed she was still sulking over the broken teapot. She’d thawed out a frozen pizza for dinner and made Rose a fruit salad she never ate. Even Clarence had to admit he couldn’t see Rose wanting to throw party. It was so odd but no one seemed to care to question it.
By Sunday morning Rose seemed oddly upbeat, she actually had her phone out and kept looking from her phone to the window. The car finally pulled up to a campus of flat brick buildings. Clarence peered out the window for a sign to tell him where he was. Church? If so he was very much under-dressed.
Clara and Mr. Fierro silently began unloading the crates they’d stacked in the car that morning. Clara left the windows and trunk open, but securely kept her keys in her purse. Rose sat on the edge of the trunk, her thin legs swinging outside.
A smiling woman in scrubs came out the largest brick buildings with a rolling cart. Clarence felt bad watching his sister pick up the crates in her sundress and wedge sandals, so he jumped out the car to help. Out of curiosity he followed Mr. Fierro and Clara into the building and immediately wished he hadn’t.
The harsh smell of disinfectant burned his nose. The sterile white floors and florescent lights reminded him of the room where they’d had to go to in order to visit mother. It was strange to him how much that place and this . . . hospital seemed so similar.
Clarence’s sister put and arm around him while she continued a lively conversation with a nurse in French. Clara had pulled on a visitors ‘badge with her photo on it and a lanyard that was studded with gold and crystals. Mr. Fierro’s was simply clipped to his shirt pocket. When they entered a ward Clarence was taken aback.
He hadn’t expected the room to be full of people, all sitting in oversized worn gray recliners. They were in various states of conversation and rest. They were all looking at him and smiling. Some of the older ones gesturing for him, but he couldn’t make out the French.
His sister pried open of the wooden crates and began sorting through a collection of glass vases. She set down a thin leather portfolio with the words Le Marché Fleur Foundation on it. Clara’s fiancé opened the second crate and Clarence was hit with the strong scent of Roses. He’d originally thought his sister had a curiously strong car fresheners. Clarence stood there and tried not to stare.
“You should introduce yourself”, Mr. Fierro said to him as he filled some vases with water.
“I don’t. . . I don’t speak French, sir.”
Sir? Where had that come from?
“I think a polite bonjour should be simple enough to manage.”
“I don’t . . . erm.”
“There is very little to be frightened of.” He said
“Very little?”
I’d be lying if I didn’t say I found the disease a bit frightening myself”, He said and Clarence instantly realized these were the most words he’d ever had a chance to exchange with the man.
“Disease?”
“I thought Rose told you. This is a cancer treatment facility. We donate the left over flowers from the warehouses, plus a bit of time and quite a sum of money. Your sister is in charge of foundation. Putting a bit of your family’s money to good use. She didn’t tell you?”
“Uh . . . no”. He said honestly and he guilty wondered what that meant as far as his trust fund went.
“It is a lot to take in. We were very fortunate with Rose financially speaking. Others not so much.”
“Oh.”, He said and he suddenly realized why Rose opted to stay in the car.
Mr. Fierro handed him a crate full of white, pink and red roses. Upon closer inspection Clarence noticed some of them were missing petals and the stems. They weren’t perfect but they were still pretty.
Clarence followed Mr. Fierro to the bedside of a balding elderly women who didn’t look to intimating. Clarence awkwardly stuck out his hand.
“Uh, Bonjour?” Clarence said.
The woman smiled and began speaking to him in rapid French, Clarence was only able to catch a few words.
“No”, Mr. Fierro said then thought on the language. “Frere. Mademoiselle DeLune”
The woman smiled back and motioned for Clarence to bring the crate of flowers closer. He sat with her while she sorted through the flowers. She occasionally patted his hair and was saying something in French about said hair . . . he was sure.
He followed them to the next room, where he had to endure the awkward ritual again. His sister seemed to move quickly, she spoke French like a native and had a bit of a back and forth with some of the patients. She’d sit on an arm chair to chat with them like it was nothing.
Clarence had gotten used to it by the third room, but on the fourth ward he hadn’t expected all the patients to be so . . . young. They were mostly girls, they looked so normal except they were hooked up to IVs and lounging with iPads or phones. His sister nudged him when one of the girls smiled at him and she was like . . . sixteen. Clara started showing the girls how to make flower crowns and they got a laugh when Clarence put one on. He had no idea how easy it was with girls he literally couldn’t understand.
He then followed Clara to a recreation type room where some patients and family members were sitting and having coffee. Clara slid behind the piano sitting in the middle of the room that looked identical to the one in Clara’s studio. Some of the younger ones had followed and wanted to hold her hand. She effortlessly got them to all sit in quiet rows while she started playing a happy pop melody. He’d heard his sister used to teach grade school and he couldn’t really see it until now.
“This way.” Mr. Fierro said breaking Clarence’s gaze.
He handed Clarence a stack of empty crates.
“How are you and Rose getting along?” Fierro asked as they walked in step back to the car. The man seemed to be taking his time.
“She’s . . . cool”, he said. If anything she was always a surprise.
“I understand you two are just now being reacquainted, but if for any reason I needed you to watch over Rose . . . I hope I can count on you, Clarence.”
“Sir?”
“I apologize if it’s too much to ask you. It’s just Rose is an only child and I suppose I’d hope you’d watch over one another.”
Clarence remembered how Rose had stuffed dirt in that boy’s face. She didn’t seem like she needed a lot of protection.
“Yeah.”, he said, “I can.”
“Do you have any questions for me? I should have made an effort to speak to you before your sister and I were engaged but… as it were, she asked me. I can’t promise I’ll answer them but I’ll do my best.”
He hadn’t really known what was appropriate to ask. He vaguely knew from overhearing his sisters that he hadn’t even known about Rose for a few years, that he knew he lived overseas and that Rose traveled between them.
Clara had called last year to say they had decided to get married and by the time the information got to Clarence (via Audrey screaming in delight) he hadn’t felt anything.
“Um, do you have like . . . siblings?” It was a silly question to ask an adult, but he answered it earnestly.
“I don’t know. I was raised in . . . an orphanage for the first decade of my life.”
Well, he hadn’t expected that.
When they reached the car, Rose was still sitting cross legged in carefully shading in a drawing of big poufy old fashion dress. And of course The Cake Lady was wearing it. Rose quickly shut the book when she noticed her father
“Are you alright?” Mr. Fierro asked.
“Yeah”, Clarence said, “I just don’t . . . go to hospitals a lot.”
“It’s not a hospital. It’s a treatment center.”
“Right.”, he said.
“It’s a place where people get help. Not a place where they die.”
He said as if spelling out the difference made Clarence feel any better.
Mr. Fierro sat next to his daughter, he unfolded a tool case with a hammer and plier and began to take apart the crates. He set a par of similar tools in front of Clarence
“The sooner you start the sooner you’ll be finished-“
“But—“, Clarence stared but one gaze from that man and he could be set right.
The tools felt strange in his hands. Whenever something needing fixing in his sister’s houses they usually called someone. Even Clarice whose husband, Colin, always claimed to be too busy to fix anything.
He fumbled before pulling a nail out and dropping it into the box. He got the next one and felt a strange swell of accomplishment when he finished taking apart the box.
“How do you like it here, Clarence”, Fierro asked starting on another crate
“Uh . . . it’s different I guess”, Clarence hadn’t been expecting such a direct question. Rose seemed suddenly interested in her father’s interest in him.
“After school you can help me finish landscaping the garden. It’s quite and endeavor and I think it might be good for you.”
“Uh. Yes, sir”, He said even though he’d never done yard work in his life.
The man reached for another crate but Rose stopped him.
“I can help”, Rose said setting aside her sketchbook and picking up the tools upside down with the tips of her fingers, “You can listen to mother play.”
“What are up to Rose?” Mr. Fierro asks her.
“Nothing.”, she says innocently, “It makes her happy when you listen to her play. Don’t you know that? She hasn’t been very happy lately.”
“Rose, what makes you say that.”
“I can just tell”, she says wiping her hands after touching the Allen wrench.
“Watch her.”, Mr. Fierro said to Clarence before standing up and heading outside.
The minute the doors closed behind him Rose stood up and grabbed her messenger bag.
“Let’s go”, she said
“Go?”
“The archival library is only a few blocks from here. Mother usually plays for an hour and they meet with the administrators afterward. If we drive we can make it.”
“Drive?” Clarence wasn’t one to flout his misgivings but Rose was way too short to drive Clara’s monstrous Range Rover
“A golf cart”, she clarified, “They use them the help patients to their cars. We’re just going to borrow it.”
She took Clarence’s hand and led him across the lot, to where a series of golf carts were sitting. She sat herself neatly in the passenger’s seat.
“I have to drive?” Clarence asked.
“I have to look at the map on my phone.”
“First you have to tell me why we are doing this.”
“I don’t have time to explain.”
“Then drive yourself.”
Rose clutched her sketchbook and flipped it open to a picture of her house and held it out to him.
“I think something terrible happened in the house and I want to find out what it was. It has to do with The Cake Lady. You promised you’d help.”
“But--?”
“It’s like a mystery is all. Don’t you like mysteries?”
Rose big eyes went soft with something close to fear? Clarence checked the time.
“Fine”, he could use a little adventure.
Rose propped her phone on the dashboard. It marked out a route to the small archival library that was just a few blocks away near the local college. He veered off the treatment center property and stayed on the mostly empty bike lanes.
The Versailles archives was a small forgotten little library hidden between two buildings that belonged to the nearby college. It had a sign that proclaimed it open to the public and the door was left ajar with a rock.
Clarence did his best to park the cart before hoping out. Rose straightened her light blue capris and white button down, with each determined step her beige mary janes clicked all the way up the stairs. Inside was a large desk that blocked the entrance to the musty old books. The librarian on staff peered down at the pair of them.
Rose set her student ID on the counter along with a picture of her house and a drawing of The Cake Lady.
“Can I help you?”, she said in accented English
“Yes”, Rose said, “My cousin and I are working on a project. We go to Parkington Dell. We need to know if you have any records on
Château Mercier and this woman”
“Hmmm”, the woman huffed and typed on her computer.
“I have some property records for Mercier, blue prints and tax information from 1901 when the house was built as—“
“1901?” Rose said, “The house couldn’t have been built in 1901.”
“Excuse me?” The woman said.
“The woman in this picture is wearing clothes from the 1780’s.” Rose explained like it should mean something.
Clarence raised an eyebrow, “How can you tell?”
“I like old dresses”, Rose said simply.
“I’m sorry dear”, the librarian said, “Why do you think the house and this woman are connected?”
Because maybe Rose had seen her in the house too, just like Clarence could have sworn he did.
“I just . . . do. This woman and the house are irrevocably connected. Trust me. Can’t you check again? Perhaps there used to be something else on the property?”
“What are they teaching you in those schools”, the woman said, “What’s this project for again?”
Rose imperceptibly stamped her foot.
“I’ll check the records myself.” Rose insisted, “You must be mistaken. This woman has a history with the house. I know it.”
“I can set you up in a reading room but I’ll need your parents to sign a --
“I . . . we can’t stay long. Please, can’t you e-mail them to me?”
“We haven’t digitized yet.”
Rose looked at the time on her phone and then to Clarence as if he’d somehow have the answer.
“Well I don’t . . . that is I ... are you sure the house was built in 1901?”
“Yes, it’s one of the oldest in the county. Do you have a project to work on or not young lady?”
Rose carefully put the drawings back in her bag and turned to leave. Clarence quickly hurried out to follow her.
“That was not at all illuminating”, she said climbing into the cart.
They reached the treatment center in record time and they worked together to disassemble the crates before Rose’s parents came back. Rose had somehow managed to disassemble them twice as fast as Clarence even though he couldn’t remember her picking up a tool.
“So . . . do you think you will find out what happened in the house?” Clarence asked.
“Of course we will. I have other means of getting information”, Rose said, "You're still going to help, aren't you ?"
“Just as long as there aren't any more golf carts”
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