22. Helene
22
HELENE
Helene stopped walking abruptly. It was midnight, and pitch-black, the summer sky moonless and heavy with an approaching storm. Her flashlight cast a small light on the dirt road in front of her, but otherwise the entire world seemed to exist only in darkness.
Despite the chorus of cicadas and frogs and crickets, Helene could hear the soft footsteps behind her. It wasn’t the first time that summer those little footsteps had followed her down the porch and the driveway, but it was the first time she’d decided to acknowledge their presence.
“You don’t have to hide,” Helene said as she turned quickly, shining the flashlight on the road behind her, on her daughter.
“How did you know?” Camille asked, squinting into the bright glare.
She wore only a thin cotton nightgown, her skinny legs visible above her dirt-caked rain boots. Her long curly brown hair was matted and tangled. No matter how carefully Helene brushed it each night after her bath, Camille’s hair always found its way back to its naturally wild state. Everything about Camille was slightly wild, and Helene loved that about her daughter, loved that she fit in the hills and hollows of Virginia. She was so much like John, happiest barefoot and muddy, splashing through the creek that ran behind the orchard, or making dirt pies after it rained.
“You are not a very good spy.” Helene raised a finger to her lips. “You let the screen door slam.”
Camille flushed, her features crestfallen. “I’m sorry, Mama.”
Helene walked over to Camille. “You’re not supposed to get out of bed and leave the house at night. We have talked about this, have we not? You could have woken your baby brother up too, with the noise.”
Camille hung her head. “Yes, Mama. He didn’t wake. I stayed on the porch for a minute to make sure.”
“Then why are you here?”
Camille looked up. Her green eyes were enormous, full of apprehension. Helene knew Camille was expecting a scolding. For seven years, it had been Helene’s job to dole out the punishments and enforce the rules, because John could never bring himself to discipline his only daughter.
Sometimes, Helene caught herself staring at Camille as she played with her dolls, chattering away. She wondered if she could simply keep her there, in her sweet little world, keep away all the grief and loss and pain, barricade the doors and never let her leave. But of course, Helene knew it wouldn’t matter. She could lock every door and life would still find its way in. It wasn’t her job to keep the world from her daughter. It was her job to prepare her for it.
“I wanted to follow you, Mama,” Camille said. “I’ll go home, though, right away. I promise.”
Helene still couldn’t believe her daughter even existed, that such a miracle of a creature was truly hers. After the war, after all the pain and evil and heartache, Helene had been ready for a life of solitude.
But John had an answer for every one of Helene’s excuses from the moment he took her hand in the orchard on that warm spring day after he came to the clinic. And when Camille was born, Helene no longer had any defenses at all. Her daughter was the sunrise after an endless night, and the light Camille emitted reached every dark corner inside of Helene, until she was forced to see herself the way her daughter saw her, as someone worthy of love.
“Do you know where I’m going tonight?” Helene asked as she knelt to be at eye level.
Camille shook her head.
“I’m going to visit the home of one of your friends. Alberta.”
Camille’s eyes widened in excitement. “Can I come play with her, Mama? Please?”
Helene felt a tiny flicker of regret but pressed forward. “I’m afraid you can’t play with Alberta tonight. She’s sleeping.” Helene stopped as she struggled for the right words in English. It would be so much easier to explain in her native language. She felt a stab of longing for her own mother. She wished so desperately she could go home, just once, sit at the kitchen table in the old house in Honfleur, smell the salt air and speak her own language and witness her mother meet her granddaughter. She missed Agnes, but she hadn’t realized how much she would want her mother when she became a mother herself, that the loss would only expand with time, not lessen.
“I’m going to see Alberta’s little brother, Robert.”
Camille looked at her, confused. “Why? Is he sick?”
Helene nodded. “Yes, my love, he’s very sick.” She took Camille’s little hands in her own. “You know how he hasn’t been at school for a little while? It’s because he hasn’t been well. And they finally discovered why. He has something called cancer. Leukemia. In his blood. He is going to die, Camille. I’m helping his parents take care of him. You can come with me, if you’d like. And I’ll show you how I help him, how you…how you can help him too. But it will be very sad, and very hard to see him. I want you to be sure.”
Helene watched as her daughter struggled, a range of emotions dancing across Camille’s delicate features. She knew it was her daughter’s birthright, the same way it was hers, that healing could be a tremendous gift, ensure a life of intention and service. But after having a son, holding him in her arms and knowing that his life could be anything he wanted, she also wondered if maybe it would be okay to let the gift remain hidden.
“It’s okay. Why don’t I take you home?” Helene said. She had no specific memory of when her mother had first told her about healing, exposed her to it. It had simply been a part of her life for as long as she could remember.
But as Helene took Camille’s hand and began to lead her back to the house, Camille tugged away from her.
“No, Mama, I… I want to come.” Her lip quivered as she looked defiantly up at her, feet planted firmly. “I want to help Robert. I won’t cry. I promise.”
Helene felt a piece of her heart break at her daughter’s promise to be brave. But it had also been years since she had someone beside her while she worked, another set of hands in the darkness. More than anything, she missed her own mother. And she didn’t want to be alone anymore.
As if sensing her mother’s emotions, Camille reached out her hand again. Behind her the night sky lit up with a thousand fireflies.