Chapter 39

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We've been given the day to rest and reflect, and so Mademoiselle LeFarge is surprised to

see me at her classroom door. She's positively flummoxed when I hand her five neat,

orderly pages of French translation.

"This is all quite good," she announces after careful inspection of my work. There's a

smart new vase of flowers on her desk where the tintype of Reginald used to sit. She

stacks the papers and offers them to me with her corrections noted in ink.

"Good work, Mademoiselle Doyle. I believe there's hope for you yet. Dans chaque fin, il

y a un debut."

My translation skills aren't quite up to this one. "In the end, also, is a debutante?"

Mademoiselle LeFarge shakes her head. "In every end, there is also a beginning."

The rain has stopped but it has ushered in a bracing autumn wind that pinkens my cheeks

till they look freshly slapped.

October blooms in bursts of red and gold. Soon the trees will lose their cover and the

world will be laid bare.

Miles from here, Pippa lies in her coffin, fading into memory, a bit of Spence legend to

be whispered late at night. Did you hear about the girl who died in that very room down

the hall? I do not know if she regrets her choice. I like to think of her as I saw her last,

walking confidently toward something I shan't see, I hope, for a very long time.

In a world beyond this one, that river goes on singing sweetly, enchanting us with what

we want to hear, shaping what we need to see in order to keep going. In those waters, all

disappointments are forgotten, our mistakes forgiven. Gazing into them, we see a strong

father. A loving mother. Warm rooms where we are sheltered, adored, wanted. And the

uncertainty of our futures is nothing more than the fog of breath on a windowpane.

The ground is still wet. The heels of my boots sink in, making it a rough walk, but I see

the wagons of the Gypsy camp just through the trees ahead. I'm on my way to deliver a

gift. Or a bribe. I'm not entirely certain of my motives just yet. The point is that I am on

my way.

The package is wrapped in today's newspaper. I leave it outside Kartik's tent and slip

back into the trees to wait. He comes soon enough, carrying some squab on a string. He

notices the package and spins around to see who might have left it. Seeing no one, he

opens it and finds my fathers gleaming cricket bat. I don't know if he'll accept it or find it

insulting.

His hands run along the wood in a caress. A hint of a smile tugs at the corners of what I

have come to realize is a most beautiful mouth. He picks a crab apple from the ground

and tosses it into the air. The bat makes a gratifying crack as it sends the apple soaring,

flying high on a lucky combination of direction and possibility. Kartik lets out a small

yelp of satisfaction, and swats at the sky. I sit and watch him hit the apples, again and

again, until I'm left with two thoughts: Cricket is a wonderfully forgiving game, and Next

time, I must get him a ball.

Forgiveness. The frail beauty of the word takes root in me as I make my way back

through the woods, past the caves and the ravine, where the earth has accepted the flesh

of the deer, leaving nothing but a bone or two, peeking above Kartik's makeshift grave, to

prove that any of this ever happened. Soon, they'll be gone too.

But forgiveness… I'll hold on to that fragile slice of hope and keep it close, remembering

that in each of us lie good and bad, light and dark, art and pain, choice and regret, cruelty

and sacrifice. We're each of us our own chiaroscuro, our own bit of illusion fighting to

emerge into something solid, something real. We've got to forgive ourselves that. I must

remember to forgive myself. Because there's an awful lot of gray to work with. No one

can live in the light all the time.

The wind shifts, bringing with it the smell of roses, strong and sweet. Across the ravine, I

see her in the dry crackle of leaves. A deer. She spies me and bolts through the trees. I run

after her, not really giving chase. I'm running because I can, because I must.

Because I want to see how far I can go before I have to stop.