36: HM2V: Lady in the Technicolor Garden
9 am, Two Weeks Later, Vera Manor Garden
Five more weeks. Macy was, per usual, sitting on a lounge chair in the expansive garden patio overlooking the lush azalea, begonia, and gardenia bushes that were in full bloom. Watching Maya and Abigael. Her anxiety had somewhat dissipated after the first week of lessons, given how attentive Abigael was to Maya.
Maya had learned her ABC's of introductory riding: "Attention, Balance, and Confidence." Mounting and dismounting had been a bit of a struggle, though the pony's height was adjustable, which certainly helped considerably. Leaning forward to touch the horse's ears and leaning backward had been the next couple of lessons afterward, to assess Maya's sense of overall balance. Maya had been scared at first, and given that she was only three years old, Abigael made sure to give her simple instruction, allowing for Maya to gradually grow more confident in her own equestrian abilities. Maya was given directions on how to take a sturdy seated position on the creature. Maggie had offered easy yoga lessons to Maya during the afternoon to reinforce the morning lessons on balance and posture.
Now, Abigael took to leading Maya and her pony around the perimeter of Vera Manor Garden, which consisted of lawn turf (the picnic table and chairs had been pushed back to the porch door), which led to an edge of Vera Manor, and around a hidden hedgerow path (the begonia bushes and azaleas had grown rather taller lately), and back around to the lawn turf once more—a miniature oval shape, much like a child-friendly version of the Kentucky Derby, thought Abigael.
9:30 am, Vera Manor Garden, Azalea Bushes
A figure lay hidden in waiting, observing the small curly-haired child interact with her beautiful and obviously pregnant mother. Rearranging her pristine pale gloves, she surveyed the scene: the tall, expansive Victorian house, the countless overhead tealights, and the dark-colored pony that nibbled on a piece of peeled carrot, much to the child's delight.
9:40 am, Vera Manor Garden, Azalea Bushes
Maya resumed her position atop the pony, and Abigael slowly led the pair around the dewy lawn and around; they were now in the hidden part of the garden, and Macy's view of them was partially obscured by the high gardenia plants, the flourishing azaleas, and burgeoning begonias. From where Macy sat, she could barely make out the outline of Maya's pink sneakers and her distinct walnut-colored riding helmet. She knew that if this lesson had been given just two weeks before (and pre-Invisi-Shield), she would have been biting her nails and doing all matter of anxiety-related activities. As it stood, Abigael had not yet given Macy any reason to distrust her. Macy hoped that it remained that way.
Several towering trees had sprouted practically overnight, creating a peaceful forest-like ambiance. Was that the result of Vera Manor's magic, or Maya's? Abigael wasn't entirely sure, but it didn't seem to be harming anyone or anything, so far as she was concerned. Bluebirds and sparrows chirped in the distance, and the oak leaves rustled overhead. If Abigael hadn't known any better, she would have thought she was in a corner of the Tree Sister's forest park back in her hometown of Sussex.
9:41 am, Vera Manor Garden, Azalea Bushes
"Miss Caine," Maya suddenly called out. "There's a pretty lady who wants to talk to you." They continued to round the bend, the scent of summer blooms wafting through the early morning air.
Abigael gave a wan smile. "Your mum, you mean?"
Maya shook her head. "No," she replied. "There," as she pointed to the platinum-haired figure who had just stepped out of the azalea bushes and was now squarely in the middle of their path. Rani.
Attempting to remain calm for the sake of the child, Abigael nevertheless drew in her breath sharply. Sooner, rather than later. And far earlier than expected. Time stood still for that ineffable moment, in which gold-colored leaves danced across their visages and magenta azalea petals swirled lazily as if in an entrancing, dream-like duet. Somehow, it reminded Abigael of that one time she ventured out to Kyoto to ride a pink-colored train during the cherry blossom season, an altogether mesmerizing, floral dreamscape in and of itself.
She remembered stepping onto the vintage, impeccably clean vehicle, and walking to the very back, finding a window seat.
It was almost as if it were yesterday. The morning breeze wafted through the train as it slowly but surely took off at a steady pace, leaving the urbanized platform and making its way through the close-shaven peridot green suburban lawns, which were soon replaced by rich emerald-green forestry that seemingly towered multiple stories above her. The coolness of the fresh air kissed her forehead in a refreshing manner and was a welcome break from the nightmarish activities she had done the evening before.
It was then she noticed the low, damask-like, billowing pink clouds elegantly strewn across the approaching tree branches—or were they? Her sleep deprivation must have been playing tricks on her. She took a double-take, realizing that the pink clouds were, in fact, millions upon millions of cherry blossom petals. As the train chugged nearer and nearer, the resultant wind caused the petals to flee their branches before her into a veritable silken snowstorm, much like the holiday globes she recalled seeing in storefronts each winter. She placed her outstretched hand outside the train window and caught a fistful, which she drew to her nose, inhaling the intoxicatingly exquisite scent. A few seconds later, she stuck her fist back out of the train window and released the petals to the wind. It felt oddly appropriate for the circumstances—and cathartic too.
Just then, her stomach began growling, so she reached into her satchel and pulled out a cellophane-wrapped anpan, a Japanese sweet red bean pastry fresh from the oven, taking a bite to fortify herself for the hours to follow. Chewing slowly, she closed her eyes and sighed with bliss. Even though she claimed to detest anything smacking of happiness or light, she imagined that this was, for her at least, in this very moment—paradise. Pure, blissful paradise.
9:42 am, Vera Manor Garden, Azalea Bushes
Rani was the first to speak. "I got your letter. I get it," she spoke softly, wisps of her snow-white hair fluttering in the invisible breeze. To avoid revealing too much detail to the child, she chose her words carefully. "She hadn't been herself for ages. It's not your fault. They're your family—you were protecting them."
Abigael gave a curt nod, but their eyes locked for awhile as if she wanted to transmit by osmosis the memories of what had happened between receiving Rani's red-tinged rose and the coconut milk-hued peony, and the rest of the adventures that had led her to Vera Manor with Mel. "I'm in the middle of teaching—can we talk another time?" Abigael finally said.
"How about dinner? Couple's night in? I'd love for our partners to finally meet," responded Rani, with a toss of her crystalline bangs.
"S-sure," said Abigael. Was this really happening? She steadied her voice. "My place? I make a mean Beef Wellington, you know."
"Wouldn't miss it for the world." With that, Rani gave a quick wave to Abigael and Maya, and vanished.
And just like that, Abigael thought to herself, she had been given a new lease on life.