Part 20

The girl, who can't be more than five years old, reaches upward, doll in hand, trying to sit the doll among the spindly branches – which seem a little shorter, a little less tired, than they did a moment ago. Still, it's not by any means a sturdy tree.
      “Now, Clara, wouldn't you like to sit among all these pretty flowers? Just... sit... right here... for just a few minutes, won't you?” Trembling on the tips of her toes, she manages to just set the doll in the crook where a branch meets the main trunk. Grinning, she laughs and dances off down the path toward the bench. I can see that the slightest breeze will knock the doll down... I wonder if I can better secure it?
      I cross the clearing, and reach for the doll, whose supposed high vantage point isn't even up to my shoulders. But just as my fingers are about to brush the pale blue of her dress, I hear a desperate cry behind me. A black blur bounds into the clearing – and then stops stock still upon seeing me. It's a somewhat large dog... it actually looks an awful lot like the dog I saw a few weeks ago. I wonder if--- But the dog whines and whimpers, backing up warily, then turns tail and bolts out of the clearing, leaving by the second path I hadn't been able to find – an unpaved track between some rose bushes, just opposite the clearing from the stone path. The girl stumbles into the clearing then, wailing miserably.
      “Roooolliiiiiie! Come baaack! I wanted you to play with me!” A long blue ribbon dangles from one of her hands, and I bite back a giggle as I imagine her having tried to use it as a leash for a dog bigger than she is.
      She looks around the clearing forlornly, seeing no trace of the dog. I hear a surprisingly decisive “hrmph!” from her, and then she skips over to the tree to retrieve the doll. “Now, Clara, he's really not like that, he's a very gentlemint of a doggie.” She takes off the doll's hat, and smooths down the surprisingly lifelike golden curls – it occurs to me that it may very well be real hair, I seem to have some vague memory of a doll with human hair that I saw in a museum when I was little. “But I guess we can go look for Pussy, she'll be more soshub... sociable.”
      A man's voice calls out sharply, and a dog barks – and I feel even more sure that it's the same black dog I saw, or maybe a decedent? The bark sounds so, so similar...
      “Oh! Clara, we're in trouble if Daddy sees we let Rollie out without asking...” Looking over, I see that the girl is physically trembling, her eyes incredibly wide. She's a very pretty little thing, with red-gold curls and ivory skin... and for a moment, I think I see some similarity in her facial structure to Cora. Is this her daughter? But her expression is one of pure fear, and I call out softly to her, I don't know what to say but I have to say something, as I take a step toward her, reaching out a hand...
      “Hey... it'll be alright, I'll go with you, and keep you safe. I won't let him hurt you... He might yell, but he won't hurt you...”
      She looks over at me, seeing me for the first time. “Who are you? Your clothes are funny.”
      I grin wryly. The abstract never lasts long for a kid when there's something concrete to fixate on. “I just came to see the gardens... but if you want, I'll try to come with you for awhile.”
      She looks dubious. “I dunno... Daddy gets really, really mad, when we don't obey him.” She claps a hand over her mouth, her eyes impossibly getting wider. “...but I'm not a-s'posed to call him that, please don't tell? I just call him that sometimes when I'm alone, it's such a nice-sounding name for someone, and if I talk about having a daddy, sometimes I can imagine I have a nicer one.”
      It would sound absolutely saccharine in a book, but hearing the matter-of-fact words from this darling little girl's mouth, I can see the sincerity in her expression, and my heart breaks for her. Children live in such small little social worlds, so any one cruelty is proportionally overwhelming... especially when it's someone who should be that close to you.
      “Well, if I'm there, he won't be too bad, will he? He'll have to be polite to company, won't he?”
      She considers this, then grins and takes my hand. “You're right. He'll have to be respeckable – Mommy tells him that all the time, and it makes him grumpy, but then he acts nicer at least.”
      The man calls out again, louder this time. “Evelyn! Avery! Come here this instant!”
      The girl quakes and presses herself against my side, clinging to my hand. Her hand feels perfectly solid in mine, her body warm and alive. It's not just ghosts that I'm seeing... no vague spirit hanging over my shoulder...
      “Come on, I'll go with you, it'll be alright... your name is Evelyn? Mine's Kimberly. I'll be right here with you, okay?” Honestly, I'm pretty scared myself, but I'll play the big sister and try to be strong for her. Fleetingly, I remember Anna's warning, and realize that if I can hold Evelyn's hand, there's no reason anyone else I see can't physically touch me too...
      “All right, Kimberly,” she says in a small, timid voice. She clutches her doll to her chest, and speaks softly to it as well. “Clara, Kimberly is coming with us, and Daddy will have to be respeckable, so don't worry, all right?”
      We head off in the direction of the voice, following the little path I saw the dog take a few minutes before. The roses are still only in bud, but I can recognize the leaves of that plant, at least. Everything else I walk by, I have no idea, but there are more fragrant things around, lots of things just beginning to bloom, as well as some daffodils and hyacinths here and there. I wonder if they're still here..? It's only a minute's walk before the unpaved path runs into a tiled one, though it's a different pattern of tile than the ones I've already seen. Same general style though, so likely the same origin, which I still need to sort out. The tiled path leads into a formal rose garden, where the low bushes are arranged in neat and orderly lines, with carefully pruned hedges and artfully trained shrubbery in large green geometric shapes. There's a fountain in the middle, though it's much less elaborate than the one I've visited. This one looks to be marble, in a more generic – though still lovely – design of fluted columns and petal-like shapes.
      Off to the right, by a white metal trellis covered in what I presume are climbing roses, stands a man, holding the black dog firmly by the scruff of his neck. The dog is perfectly silent and motionless, sitting still as a statue at the man's side. His ears are down, and his eyes look nervous to say the least. He whimpers softly as he sees Evelyn approach, and the man shakes him – not much, but enough to make his dominance clear.
      The man narrows his eyes suspiciously when he sees me. “And who are you? We had no expected visitors today.” He eyes my jeans with disgust. He himself is dressed in a finely-cut suit of a deep navy blue, with what I suspect is a silk scarf at his throat. His face is very, very beautiful, his hair long and dark, his eyes deep and penetrating... and though I think these eyes are darker than the man I saw at the fountain, there is something similar in their gaze, something in the directness, the power of it.
      Power... the man's spirit near me is both powerful and often angry...
      “I asked, who are you? You are on my private grounds, and I do not believe you have been invited.” His voice is stern and commanding – though something in the fluidity of it is very refined, and would be beautiful if the words were kinder.
      “This is Kimberly. She's my friend, and I want her to be here.” I look down at Evelyn, startled by the firmness of her young voice. She's far more self-possessed than I am right now, her expression is set in remarkably mature determination.
      “You had no permission from me to invite callers.” His voice is almost a growl – far more menacing than any sound the dog has made.
      The girl hesitates at this, and I wonder that she does not try to pretend permission from her mother. But maybe she learned young not to pit one parent against the other, I know I learned that one around the age of six myself.
      “And were you the one to let the dog run loose?”
      At this, she nods sullenly. “I tried to keep him from running, but---”
      “But you are not strong enough to hold him, as I have told you a hundred times. You are not to let any of the animals loose without permission, as you well know.”
      She nods, not looking up. “Yes, sir.”
      It's clear the man wants to say more – I'm not a good judge of reading violence in someone's body language, not having had much experience with it myself, but I have a strong, worried hunch that, were I not here, this sweet little girl would have received blows from this powerful man's hands.
      “Well. If you see your brother, tell him I need not speak to him. I will return the dog to his kennel, as you would be unable to.” With this, he strides off, hand still gripping the dog.
      When he's out of sight, Evelyn sighs heavily and hugs my legs tight. I can't help but smile, and hug her back. “Thank you,” she breathes, looking up at me with shining eyes. “You saved me!”
      I'd love to be able to say I didn't do anything... but I know I did. I wish I could tell her that he would never really hurt her... but I think he does. This poor sweet little girl...
      I kneel down to her level, and straighten out her hat a bit for her. “Evelyn, is your mother kind to you?”
      She nods and smiles brightly. “Mommy is the kindest lady in all the world.”
      I smile back. “I'm glad to hear it. You stay as close to your mommy as you can, and stay away from... from him, whenever you can.”
      She nods solemnly. “I do, Kimberly. Avery does too, though sometimes he tries to argue with him instead of just staying away. I get really scared when he does that, it's so bad when he's angry...”
      I frown, getting back to my feet and casting my eyes over the garden. Such a beautiful, beautiful place... how could someone bear to spoil it by such angry and discord? “I'm sorry he's not nicer to you, Evelyn. I wish I could help...”
      She looks up at me solemnly. “But you can't stay, can you.” It's not a question – somehow, she senses that I'm a transient part of her world.
      “I can't, no... I'll come back if I can, but I don't know if I can or not.”
      “Well, you always have my permission. Someday I'll be big enough that I can give permissions, and when I am, I'll give you them.”
      I grin down at the bright, round face beneath the hat and curls. “Thank you...”
      And suddenly, my eyes go out of focus, and I realize the garden is aging in places, around the periphery of my vision. “Evelyn! I have to go now...”
      “Oh! Kimberly!”
      “I'm sorry...”
      “Kimberly, do you like flowers?”
      I have no idea why this is such an imperative thing to ask at such a desperate moment, but... “Very much!”
      “I'll plant some for you! Promise!”

      ...and then she's gone, and I'm alone in an aging rose garden. The top of the fountain has broken off, and lays in pieces in the mucky basin. The once-neat rows of rose plants have sprawled out, and in places been overrun by field grass and weeds. The carefully sculpted shrubs are all overgrown, their shapes long-lost to overgrowth and unkind weather.
      I suddenly feel very, very lonely. There should be a chilly breeze and cloudy skies, but there's not, it's still sunny and warm, but the golden light is an odd contrast to the wilderness that was once such an elegant formal garden. The light which played so happily off the pale blue satin and red-gold curls falls tiredly on the debris-covered ground where she stood...
      I'm vaguely comforted, knowing that she survived this place. The children escaped the fire, and the father perished in it. I wonder how far from now--- from then? From the time I saw her, until the time she was free of his grasp.
      ...and I wonder, did she plant flowers for me? Which ones, and where did she plant them? I wish I had some chance of knowing... but these visions have been so sporadic, so scattered in time and place. I've never seen the same person twice, at least so far... but I hope I'll see Evelyn again, and I can only hope she'll somehow grow up without being completely ruined by the psychological – and probably physical – domination of her father.
      I did see the dog twice – I feel sure it's the same dog – so maybe that's a bit of hope at least of seeing the girl again.
      I look around, trying to adjust my mental image of the garden, matching up my present with the garden's past. I can see where the tile path leads into an overgrown section of bushes... and while some of the tiles are gone, some still remain. I spend a few minutes taking pictures around the decaying rose garden, but not as long as I might have before – more important to me is my memory of the vision, of the garden Evelyn stood in. I'm itching to get home and draw the girl... but I'll have to decide how. Maybe by the dogwood?
      I follow the tile path, and am soon stuck in midst of overgrown things. The path I followed with her such a short time ago is utterly lost now. It's purely by guesswork that I make my way back to the clearing with the pond and the dogwood tree, and it takes me a good deal longer to get there, battling my way through leaves and branches. I continue on, back to Cora's bench, and when I reach it, the pillar I weeded around catches my eye. I wonder what those blue flowers are? I never did find out...
      Crouching down by the pillar, I pull out my field guide, and flip slowly through the pages.
      Canterbury Bells, I think, some kind of Campanula anyway. I touch the flowers gently, struck by how sweet and innocent the shade of blue is... and then I realize why I have that impression. It's the same shade of blue as Evelyn's dress. I wonder... oh it's such a stretch, there's no way this is what she planted for me... but maybe, maybe it is. I think I'm going to let myself believe that it is – it makes me happy to think so, and it looks a suitable flower to remember her by.
      I make a few quick sketches of the way the flowers fall against the white pillar, wondering if I can work them into my drawing of her when I get home today...