I blink my eyes open and follow her inside the house where I find my mom at the sink washing a few dishes and my dad sitting at the table devouring his lunch in silence. I sit opposite of him, staring out the back door into the yard blinking back the odd dream I just had… at least from what I can tell it was a dream. But it was so real . I could still feel his kiss and his lips upon my open palm. The sound of the plate clanking against the table pulls me from my memories. "Mama Val, what do you know of the orchard owner?"
"Oh, the Girys! Yes, lovely family. Tragic history though, I'm afraid," she responds rather forlornly.
"Tragic?" I ask, suddenly feeling like I'm intruding into personal territory beyond my comfort zone. I eye my father who, as always, tunes me out. My questions bother him.
"Oh heavens, yes. Brother and sister, Erik and Meg Giry. Erik was a brilliant violinist. Beautiful and creative, he was."
"Was?"
"I suppose he still is, he hasn't played since the fire a decade ago. Sad family story."
"What happened, Mama Val?" I can feel something pulling at my heartstrings. Erik .
"About a decade ago, we were in the midst of a terrible drought. It hadn't rained for a month and the Giry farm and orchard were not producing. One summer evening, a dry storm rolled through bringing with it terrible winds, thunder and lightning but sadly no rain. I still remember the frantic pounding on the porch door of Meg Giry's trembling fists, yelling for help. Lightning had struck a wheat field and the fire spread so fast and consumed the Giry barn. Erik and Meg's parents went to rescue the cattle and horses, but the structure had given out. Erik ran in to find poor Jack and Antoinette and sustained significant burns. Unfortunately Jack and Nettie perished."
"What happened to Erik?"
"He survived but was terribly burned, disfigured his face and sadly his hands. He could never play the violin like he used to, poor lad. He was destined for greatness in the arts."
Suddenly my stomach feels sick and I place my sandwich back onto my plate. Burned. Disfigured. Could it possibly be he wears a mask upon his face to cover his disfigured, burned face? The man from my dream… it couldn't possibly be him.
"I'll take you all over there this evening after dinner. I'm long overdue for a visit and check on those two kids anyway. I promise them my blueberry pie at least twice during the summer. They would love to meet you all."
I swallow hard the lump in my throat. Erik .
"Sounds lovely, Mom. I'll help you with the pie," my mother responds half-heartedly. "Gustav, dear? Doesn't that sound like something nice?" she asks, eyeing my father.
He grunts in a nonchalant agreement.
"Christine, you haven't touched your lunch!" Mama Val chides me while shewing me out the back door with a basket in hand. "Go and make yourself useful. The blueberries bushes are beyond the creek and butting against the Giry orchard. Go, child!"
The blazing summer sun warms my skin as I greet the backyard again, but this time, I feel uneasy about this journey to the Giry orchard. Erik . His name glides over my tongue and my lips. "Erik," I say aloud to myself, feeling like somehow it would will away this presence I can't escape.
Christine … I hear my name whispering through the apple trees as I approach the hedge of blueberry bushes near the orchard. Christine . Again I hear my name and drop the basket and yell, "What do you want? Who's there?"
"Perhaps it is you who can tell me who you are and why you are trespassing onto my land?" It's his voice. The voice from my dream, or my memories, or… "It's you," he exclaims almost breathlessly and stops dead in his footsteps. "My God, it's you…"