The Phoenix. Тилли Бэгшоу
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shawl still hung from the back of the chair, the magnitude of what she was doing struck Ella. I’m scrubbing out my childhood. Packing away Mimi’s life, and a huge part of my own. Forever. She waited for the sadness to hit her. The grief that she’d read about and been told about and been waiting for. But instead she felt something else, something terrible. She felt a sort of joy. Angry, defiant, exuberant joy. Survivor’s joy. And it swept through Ella like a wave, lifting her up, filling her lungs with laughter and her limbs with an overwhelming urge to kick and punch and lash out with wild relief. Before she even knew what she was doing, she’d taken the bottle of cleaning fluid in her hand and hurled it with full force against the wall, splitting the plastic and splattering lavender-scented bleach over everything within a five-foot arc.
Laughing harder now, she picked up Mimi’s solid oak cane and started lashing out with it like some sort of deranged ninja, slamming it into the floor and walls and then finally jumping up on her grandmother’s bag and jabbing it hard into the ceiling. Most of the roof was made of split-log beams, impervious to Ella’s blows. But there was one small plastered section directly above the headboard that seemed to Ella to be positively begging for destruction. With a banshee yell of delight and an almighty, full-arm swing, she connected the cane to the plaster like a bat to a baseball. White dust and debris rained down everywhere, on the counterpane and all over Ella’s hair. Flinging herself back on the bed, she was still laughing when the rest of the plaster gave way and a cast-iron strong box, easily heavy enough to kill her, plunged out of the hole she’d just created, missing Ella’s skull by millimeters.
‘Jesus!’
For a full minute Ella stared at the box lying on the bed beside her. The near-death experienced had sobered her instantly. If I’d died, she wondered, how long would it be before somebody found me? Weeks? Maybe a month? Embarrassed by her earlier hysteria, her thoughts quickly shifted from herself to the box beside her. Clearly, Mimi must have hidden it. And not just hidden, but built an entire false ceiling to conceal the thing, to keep it safe. That must mean its contents were either valuable, or secret, or both. Ella couldn’t imagine her grandmother hiding anything illegal. On the other hand, she couldn’t really imagine her hiding anything at all. ‘Healthy people are honest and open. There are no secrets from the Lord.’ It was strange that it took a person dying to find out things about them that you never knew.
Tentatively, Ella ran a finger over the box’s clasp. Perhaps there were love letters inside, from Mimi’s long-dead husband Bill? Or from someone else – a secret lover! The idea made Ella smile. It would be a relief to learn that her grandmother had not always been such a prude when it came to sex, but it was hard to imagine. Whatever was inside, Ella knew that once she opened the box, Mimi’s ‘secret’ would be out. It would be too late to go back. She took a deep breath, savoring the sanctity of the moment, and lifted the lid.
Letters.
I was right!
Some were loose and folded, others slipped back inside opened envelopes, all lovingly tied together with a length of gingham ribbon. It looked as if there were cards at the bottom too, flashes of color and glitter glinting out from beneath the faded yellow parchment.
Carefully, Ella lifted the stack out of the box and placed it on top of the bed. With a gentle tug she untied the ribbon, picking up the first letter and unfolding it as delicately as she could with her long fingers.
‘Dear Mother,’ the letter began.
Ella’s heart was already in her mouth. The letter was from her father!
‘I don’t want to argue with you any more. I know you disapprove of my work, and Rachel’s. But not everybody sees the world as you do. What we’re doing is important, not just for us but for the world. You think you’re protecting Ella with this lie, but you aren’t. It’s cruel and it’s wrong. Please, Mother, for her sake if not for mine, tell her the truth. Give Ella our letters. She doesn’t understand now, but one day she will. Your loving son, William.’
Ella’s hands trembled. She read her father’s words a second and third time, trying to decipher every possible drop of meaning from the few short lines. What did he mean that Mimi ‘disapproved of his work’? Both Ella’s parents had been doctors. How could anybody disapprove of that? They were tending to the poor in India when the taxi they were traveling in was hit head-on by a truck, killing them both instantly.
And what ‘lie’ had her grandmother told her?
Most importantly of all, what were these letters her father mentioned? Had her parents really written to her? If so, surely Mimi would have kept those letters? She wouldn’t have destroyed those too, would she, like she did with the suitcase of clothes?
Frantic, Ella shuffled through the rest of the stack, opening up letters and quickly scanning each for her own name.
‘Dear Mother …’ the next one began. And the one after that, and the one after that. ‘Dear Mother’, ‘Dear Mother’, ‘Dear Mother’ … And then at last there it was.
‘My darling Ella …’
Ella ran a finger lovingly over the paper as if it were the Holy Grail, tracing each inked letter with infinite slowness.
‘I hope you are well and helping Granny as much as you can around the ranch. I know you miss us, and we miss you too, very very much. I wish I could explain more to you, but it’s not safe for you to be with Mommy and me right now. One day, I hope, it will be. But until then please know you are always, always in our hearts. Your ever-loving, Dad.’
Ella’s eyes welled with tears. Why hadn’t Mimi given this to her? Surely she would have known how much it would have meant?
There was no address at the top, but there was a date: 2 September 2000.
Ella stopped breathing. That must be wrong. That’s two years after they died.
She looked at the date again, staring at it, almost in a trance. Then reaching down to the bottom of the pile of papers, she pulled out each of the cards – there were eight in total. Four for Christmas and four for her birthday. Trembling in disbelief, Ella read them all.
‘Happy 6th Birthday!’
‘Now you are SEVEN!’
A cartoon dog in a top hat held up a balloon. ‘To the World’s Coolest Eight-Year-Old.’
All of them were signed. ‘All our love, Mommy and Dad.’
‘No,’ Ella said out loud. No. She wouldn’t have. She couldn’t!
She told me they’d died.
She told me they’d died when I was five.
Ella felt her breathing grow ragged. She felt dizzy all of a sudden, and sick. Sliding to the edge of her grandmother’s bed, she leaned forward with her head between her knees.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
She told me they were dead.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
She lied to me!
Ella stood up, then sat down, then stood up again – a cartoon display of indecision. Her head began to hurt again, pressure building up inside her skull as if some evil sprite were in there, inflating a giant balloon. It wasn’t voices this time, or static white noise – strangely she never seemed to get those symptoms at the cabin, only in the city – but it was debilitating nonetheless. She needed to read the rest of the letters but it was impossible. The whole room was spinning and images swam before her eyes.
I need a doctor, Ella thought, as the pain in her head brought her to her knees and she felt herself edging slowly towards unconsciousness. But there was no phone at the cabin and no cell reception for miles. If only she’d taken Bob up on his offer and let him come with her, he could have gone for help.
Her last thought was how ironic it would be if she died on the day