Chapter Eleven

Elisa and the other girls went upstairs to change out of their wet clothes as soon as they got in the house. Mama went straight to the kitchen to stoke up the fire and put on some coffee.

Even though there wouldn’t be the kind of celebration the French-Swiss had found so objectionable amongst those who attended the National Protestant Church in Switzerland, there would be a quiet gathering of the community at the house. Some of the women were already beginning to arrive with more pies and breads.

Looking out their upstairs windows, Elisa and Cecile could see the wagon with the coffin going on down the road. They could even see the pallbearers getting the coffin off the wagon. Water poured off the brims of their black stovepipe hats each time they looked down. Then they carried the coffin over a hill to the gravesite, and the girls knew that was the last they would see of their father on this earth.

“I’m going downstairs to see if I can help Mama with anything,” Cecile said as she buttoned up her old, but dry pair of high button shoes. “Are you coming?”

“I’ll be down in a minute,” Elisa said. “I want to go up in the attic and look for Mama’s veil again first. I think it would really cheer her up to see it, don’t you?”

“I do,” Cecile said. “But having us close by is good for her too, so don’t be too long.” Cecile went to the door, then stopped and turned to look at Elisa again. “By the way,” she said. “I loved your poem. It helped me a lot, and I’m proud of you for having the courage to stand up and read it today.”

“Thanks, Cile.”

Elisa finished changing clothes quickly. She could hear the door opening and closing in the foyer and more voices talking all at once. The smell of wet wool wafted up the stairwell as everyone shed their wet coats and hats and tried to dry off in front of the fire in the parlor.

Really, there were two reasons Elisa felt compelled to go up to the attic. She really did want to find the veil, but she also thought she might have a better view of the cemetery from the tiny attic windows.

Down came the attic ladder and up went Edouard Bolli’s second daughter, hoping for just one more look at the coffin that held his dear body. Going up on tiptoes to peer out of the small opening, however, Elisa realized all she could see that she hadn’t seen from her window below were more leafless trees wrestling with the wind.

Elisa sat down on the trunk that Cecile, Mama, and she had all thoroughly searched and looked around the attic for any other likely place the veil could be packed. She spotted another trunk across the room and moved toward it with determination.

Pushing open the lid, Elisa saw that the trunk was full of the personal belongings from Papa’s office in Pernambuco. There was the wooden nut bowl that had been the focus of her attention while she waited for Papa that last Saturday morning. Wrapped in the banner of the Swiss Embassy that had hung on Papa’s wall was the mantel clock. It lay deathly silent in its simple shroud.

Elisa took out Papa’s goose quill pen and inkwell, both now dry. She held the pen in her hands and breathed in the familiar aroma of the ink. That one scent seemed to stimulate more. Soon she also smelled Brazilwood, and nuts, and ocean breezes all rolled together. She smelled Papa. Then she knew there was also a third reason to come to the attic alone. It was time for her to have a really good cry.

*  *  *

Elisa entered the crowded kitchen a half-hour later and tried to blend in with everyone else. Cecile caught her eye across the room and looked at her with upraised eyebrows. “Did you find it?” she mouthed silently. Elisa shook her head and Cecile made her way through the crowd to her sister.

“You didn’t find it?” she asked again.

“No. I found all the things from Papa’s office in Pernambuco though.”

“So that’s why your eyes are so puffy,” Cecile said. She gave her sister a hug and encouraged her to take some cheese, bread, and sausage to eat.

Elisa took a plate of food she knew she wouldn’t be able to swallow and walked through the foyer. She noticed the basket Mama had put out on a side table to hold the postcards and telegrams the family received. It was much fuller than it had been that morning.

Most of the messages were written in French or Portuguese, and Elisa realized with some surprise that the languages that had once seemed so familiar were beginning to look strange to her now. They can’t bring Papa back no matter what language they are written in, she thought.

“Bertie won’t play dolls with me,” Adele sobbed when she saw Elisa come into the dining room. Elisa went over to her little sister, who was sitting all alone in the corner of the room. She knew the real reason for the tears, so she just held Adele close and let her cry.

When the sobbing subsided, Elisa said, “There’s someone else who does want your company right now.”

“Who is it?” Adele asked, wiping her face with Elisa’s linen napkin.

“Come on, I’ll show you.”

Elisa took Adele by the hand and led her down the hall toward Mama and Papa’s bedroom. Just as she suspected, Turk was lying on Papa’s side of the bed, his head on his front paws, just as he had been since Papa died. He looks the way I feel inside, Elisa thought.

“Ohhh, Turk is so sad,” Adele said as she crawled up on the bed and peered into the half-closed eyes of the beloved pet. “I’ll stay here with him. He’ll be all right again, Lizzie. You’ll see.”

Elisa left the two youngest members of the family alone to comfort one another. When she checked on them a few minutes later, Adele’s head was on top of Turk’s, and they were both sound asleep. She covered them with one of Mama’s quilts and closed the bedroom door.

As Elisa came back down the hallway she heard Emmanuel offering to hang up Reverend Chavannes’ hat. The men were back from the cemetery.

“The Lord is surely washing us clean with his rain,” Reverend Chavannes said. “We haven’t seen rain like this in the four years we’ve been here.”

Uncle Esperandieu and Emmanuel also tried to get out of some of their wet clothes, but it was impossible for them to get dry. Elisa heard Emmanuel tell her mother that the men had to dip water out of Papa’s grave before they could lower the coffin into it. She decided the abundance of water was just God’s way of letting them know that He understood how deep their grief truly was. He was a compassionate God. He had emptied heaven of all its tears.

*  *  *

The next day the rain turned to freezing pellets that peppered the window panes. Elisa couldn’t imagine a weather condition more suited to the family’s mood. It was miserable, and so were they.

Mama busied herself in the kitchen, putting away the leftover food and then getting it out again. Every so often she would sit at the kitchen table and read some of the condolences. When she got to one that made her cry, she went back to stacking spoons or stirring soup.

“It was a nice service, wasn’t it?” Mama said to anyone who passed through the kitchen. “Papa would be pleased, don’t you think?”

Elisa, Cecile, Emmanuel, Albertine, Adele, and Turk just tried to remember what it was they did before Papa died. Nothing was the same. No one wanted to play checkers, because Papa had taught them. No one wanted to read a book for fear they might read about some privileged child who still had a father. The days seemed endless.

After three days, two things happened. The rain stopped, and Mama decided it was time for the children to go back to school. Aunt Cecile arranged to come spend a few days with Mama and Adele so they wouldn’t feel too alone.

Elisa knew going back to school would be hard. The first day, it did seem as if everyone was looking at the four Bolli children and pitying them. At recess, when she saw someone walking toward her she wanted to run before they could mention Papa. She managed to keep from crying unless someone said, “I’m so sorry your father died.” Then all she could do was nod and walk away.

After being back at school for a week or so, however, Elisa found she was actually beginning to think about her studies again. The teacher talked about the North Pole and the South Pole and asked the children to imagine what it would be like to be on an expedition to one of those exotic points. It was just the distraction the Bolli children needed. Still, Elisa felt guilty when she let even a few minutes pass without thinking about Papa.

Elisa only occasionally took her Bible to school to read aloud from the New Testament before Papa died, but after Papa died she kept her Bible and her journal with her always. The Bible gave her words of comfort to remind her that she would be with Papa again someday. The journal became a place to record all the fears and doubts in her heart so that she could pray about them.

Walking back and forth to school in the cold was the only exercise the children got in the winter. “Remember how it felt to walk in the deep sand on the beach in Pernambuco?” Elisa asked Cecile one day as they struggled to make it up the last part of the road to the farm. “That’s how it feels to walk since Papa died. Like I can’t move my feet at all.”

“That’s just how it feels, Lizzie,” Cecile said. “You always put into words what I’m feeling too. I would feel so alone without you.”

*  *  *

February eventually turned to March. Turk began to leave the bedroom more often and was even curling up in the kitchen after going outside instead of returning to his spot on the bed. The first warm day, Elisa decided it was time for the first hike of spring. She took Turk and her Bible with her.

It was both unsettling and comforting to be back in the familiar woods. Turk was out of shape after his long winter of grieving, and he began to pant. So Elisa stopped to rest on a rock by the creek. Getting her Bible out of her pack, she turned to Psalm 147 and began to read to Turk, who looked up at her with his head cocked to one side.

“The Lord has been good to us these last few weeks, Turk,” Elisa said. She believed the dog’s grief was every bit as real as her own. “ ‘He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds,’ it says in verse 3. That’s what He’s doing for us all, isn’t it, Turk? It takes time, but I know we are being healed.”

The community of cousins and friends had been a big part of the healing process for the Bolli family. Mama never had to go more than a couple of days without someone stopping by with food and time for a good chat. The relatives in France and Switzerland, as well as old friends in Brazil, continued to send postcards and letters.

One day when the children came in from school, Mama was more excited than they had seen her in months. “Guess what, children?” Mama said. “My brother, Charlie Porta, is sending his son Albert to live with us for a while. It’s an answer to prayer. I’ve been praying for someone to help us get the spring crops in,” Mama said. “It’s too much for Emmanuel to do alone, and I’m afraid the rest of us won’t be enough help.”

The children had never met their cousin, Albert Porta. They knew he was only sixteen and no substitute for Papa. Still, they caught some of Mama’s excitement when she began scurrying around getting everything ready for him.