Chapter 1 - Morning in the Garden

The next morning brought sunshine, which beamed crisp and clear through the recently unburdened skies. The leaves were still loaded with the raindrops that had pounded them through the night and the lightest touch of wind or excited little critter turned them into ad hoc waterfalls and scattered their liquid load on the ground. 

Mornings like these made for the best memories of Claire’s childhood, those mornings when she woke up without a care in the world and nothing to do and rushed outside to greet the sunshine and the doves and the wind in the trees. During all of the time she’d spent here, in her grandparents’ house, Claire could not remember a single instance of bad weather. It’s not that she hadn’t had her share of soggy winters and hot summer winds, it’s just that she never perceived them as bad. 

Life unfolds all its magic in front of the eyes of an enchanted child, it holds nothing back, drunk with generosity and abandon, it shows itself in the ways in which it wants to be seen, ways that become impenetrable to the sight of grown up eyes. The cold winter rain carried feelings and fragrance, the scent of the wet oak trunks and soggy moss and damp earth. The strong summer winds whirled their spirit through the branches, heavy and labored like the raspy breath of a hunted creature in search of a safe place to rest. The whole world was a miracle, every leaf, every sight, every day.

To celebrate this memory she rushed outside in her nightgown and barefoot, like she used to do when she was five, and ran her hands through the tall dill that was growing along the side of the house. She scattered the water droplets from its heavy umbels and released its scent. Her long white gown unsettled the mist that was rising from the earth in the warm light of the morning. If someone were to see her walk across the grass inside this eerie scene they might have thought they’d seen a ghost; a happy dancing ghost who couldn’t hold back her giggles.

“I see you’re in great spirits,” Grandmother laughed, pleased to see her little girl happy. “The rain must have cleared away the shadows.”

Claire returned the reply that was expected of her, as she always did when her elder mentioned the shadows. It was like a secret understanding, this exchange of phrases between the two of them, whose meaning, though obscure, had acquired almost ceremonial significance with the passing of years.

“What shadows, maman? There are no shadows other than the ones we cast.”

“And those we have not yet been granted the grace to see.”

Claire had always wondered what that last phrase meant; they were real things, the shadows, and everybody around this corner of the world took them very seriously.

“You smell like dill,” Grandmother laughed. “If you keep rustling those herbs you’re going to upset the bees, they’re always besotted in the morning.”

The table was already set for breakfast and Claire wondered if she should go back to the house to get dressed, but her grandmother gestured to her to sit down. Her grandfather wasn’t there, she noticed.

“It’s just the two of us this morning, I’m afraid. Your grandfather had some business in town.” She poured coffee in the cups, without rushing, like people who have time on their side. “You know, if you don’t have any plans today, maybe you can help me sort through some of your old things, I didn’t know what you would like to keep, so I packed everything in boxes. They’re up in the attic.”

“You’re still going up into the attic?” Claire asked, slightly alarmed.

“Of course I do, why do you ask?” Grandmother seemed surprised by the question, but then she saw the veiled concern in her granddaughter’s eyes and retorted. “You’re not fast enough to keep up with me, child! I can get up into that attic before you have time to rise from your chair!”

“What kind of things?” Claire changed the subject.

“All sorts,” Grandmother didn’t specify. 

They ate their apricot preserves in silence. The confections were served in tiny glass saucers: one whole apricot, with the kernel in, soaked in a golden syrup infused with vanilla beans and boiled until it reached the thickness of molasses - their morning ritual. Claire hesitated to ask the question that was weighing on her mind, but eventually gathered the courage to speak.

“Maman, did you ever notice anything unusual about the mirrors?”

Grandmother’s demeanor betrayed no reaction to the question, but the flash in her eyes was too fast to hide.

“Unusual?” she tried to tease out more detail from her granddaughter before responding. “In what way?”

“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” Claire almost whispered, “but I think I saw…”

“Yes,” Grandmother grew a little impatient.

“Myself,” Claire continued, without realizing how foolish her answer sounded. Grandmother didn’t laugh.

“What about it?” Grandmother insisted.

“I…looked much older,” Claire gathered up the courage to explain. “Still me, but older.”

“Oh, dear!” Grandmother sighed, deep in thought, and sipped her coffee in silence. Claire didn’t dare press into a subject that had been taboo in their house for a good twenty years. She felt awkward about bringing up such silliness and tried to change the subject, but Grandmother stopped her.

“There are many things in this world we know nothing about, bebelle. That doesn’t mean they’re not real.”

Claire waited for her grandmother to continue, but the latter didn’t.

“So,” she inquired tentatively, “there is something unusual about the mirrors.”

“When you get to be my age you start realizing that just about everything you see is unusual in some way,” Grandmother evaded the question, “but we only get to carry the burden of the things we can understand. Or accept as true.”

“I don’t understand,” Claire answered her unasked question.

“That’s what I thought,” Grandmother concluded the conversation and got up to take the cups and saucers to the kitchen. “Maybe we should leave that attic cleaning for another time, it’s such a nice day, you should spend it outdoors. Being in nature is good for the soul, you know,” she smiled mysteriously.