“G-g-go ahead,” I tell Veronique, reaching my arms out to help her up. She’s about five or six and was brought to the orphanage last week. No one knows too much about her past, but she doesn’t seem to remember much of her parents. She had been living in poverty on and off the street along with her aunt, who suddenly passed away a few weeks ago. She’s been staring up at the tree in the corner of the younger children’s play yard. I would climb it if I could too.
Veronique inspects me as if to check whether I’m sturdy enough to help her up, but the sight of my wheelchair causes hesitation, and she takes a step back. “Y-y-you won’ hur’ me,” I assure her.
Veronique’s dark hair is a mess. Some loose strands are in tight curls, others could use a comb. Her braid is lopsided and the dress she’s wearing is two sizes too large. She doesn’t seem to care about what she’s wearing, though. I reach my hands out to her and offer a small smile, hoping it will help her trust me.
With patience, I wait for her to think through her options, and she surprises me by stepping forward, close enough to allow me to lift her up onto my lap. I raise her up once more so she can balance her feet on my legs. She doesn’t weigh much, not enough to make my good leg flinch. Veronique reaches her arms out for the nearest branch and pulls herself up to the small burrow nestled between the next layer of branches. She wraps her legs around the one she’s on and leans forward to do the same with her arms, then rests her cheek on the smooth bark. A smile stretches between her two shallow dimples, and I can almost feel her moment of peace.
“Why can’t you find something better to talk about?” Elek’s voice grows in the distance from near the back door that leads out to the yard. I glance over, finding him engaged in a conversation with three of the older girls I share a room with. Agathe, Margot, and Elodie, the three of them have lived here longer than the rest of us and act as though they have seniority and a right to treat others as if we’re beneath them. They don’t understand the meaning of seniority, unfortunately for them.
“Save your poor broken girlfriend before she gets herself in trouble,” one of them says loud enough for me to hear. The statement ignites my cheeks, more for Elek’s embarrassment than the label they have assigned me.
The moment Elek reaches my side, he reaches his arm up toward the branch that barely hovers over his tall height and pulls Veronique into his chest to bring her down. She tries to hold on to the branch, fighting against him, but when she gazes down at me, I mouth the word “sorry” so she complies with Elek, who’s trying to prevent us both from getting scolded.
“Elodie is on her way inside to find a houseparent,” Elek says. “You know as well as I do: ‘Children don’t belong in trees.’” His impression of Madame Cusano, the sourest of all the houseparents, is spot-on with her high-pitched, whiny tone that could shatter a window if she was to sing too loud. Madame Cusano doesn’t believe children should be free to act as children. In her eyes, it’s enough for them to be still and quiet; all a young child needs to be adoptable. It seems she doesn’t consider what some of us have just lived through, while spending our days dreaming about a single breath of freedom, or a moment to feel like a child once again. It could be much worse, I know, but I don’t think I’m asking much for a bit more understanding either.
In my case, she wouldn’t care if I was on the top branch of this tree, hanging upside down from one leg. She’s aware no one will adopt me in the next year, and I would be much easier to deal with if I was lying in a hospital bed, I’m sure.
Elek kneels in front of Veronique to bring himself to her eye level. “Do you know, if you try the seesaw over there,” he says, pointing to the long metal rod with a yellow plastic seat attached to each end, “you’ll feel as if you’re flying through the sky each time you go up? I’m sure Daniel will go on with you. It looks like he’s waiting for someone to join him.” Veronique tilts her head to the side as she peers at the seesaw. A smile pokes at one side of her mouth before she runs off toward Daniel.
“Y-y-you made her very h-h-happy,” I tell Elek.
Elek clears his throat and straightens his shoulders. “The young kids love me. It must be my charming personality,” he says with a shrug and a smirk. “What’s more important than that, though, is I found a place I must take you to, but you have to bring your sketch pad.”
“Wh-wh-where?” I ask.
“Nowhere,” he laments, knowing I won’t argue more than asking once.
I lean forward in my seat and pull my drawing pad out from behind my back, noting the pencil is still stuck between the tight metal coils holding the papers together.
Elek pushes my chair down a path through the back woods behind the orphanage. We’ve never gone this way before, but the houseparents have only recently given the older kids permission to roam the vicinity. There was a long debate whether it was safe for the children over fourteen to be allowed to venture more than a minute or two away from the property. They agreed to us moving about within town so long as we all behave.
The dirt path is rocky, and I feel each hard bump against my bottom, but as fast as we’re moving, I relish in the refreshing breeze and ignore the clanking metal.
“Have you ever heard someone say they didn’t know they were standing in the same place that—” Elek cuts his sentence short and I’m not sure why. I look up at him, wondering if something caught his eye or if he is purposely pausing to leave me guessing.
“Wh-wh-wha’ do you mean?” I ask.
“Have you heard someone ask that question?” Elek loves a good guessing game, but he also knows how much I despise them.
I shake my head. “Wh-wh-what place?”
“A place where someone famous once stood,” he says.
I shrug. I can’t recall someone saying that to me, but I’m sure I’ve read it in a book.
“Cover your eyes.”
“Wh-wh-why?” I argue.
“Just do it, Nora.” All I see are more trees with what looks to be a never-ending dirt path.
With a huff, I do as he asks and cover my eyes. My body jerks to the right as we take a sharp turn, one I wasn’t expecting since the path seemed straight going forward. “Don’t look yet. I found this place while I was taking a walk last week. It’s—just wait…”
Elek slows the pace, the wheels taking harder bumps from the rocks before the path smooths onto a firmer surface and gravity pulls my back heavier against the seat when we come to a stop. The surrounding stillness allows me to hear the subtle movement of water, and the perfume of lily blossoms coats the air. The sun is weak but warmth seeps through the trees. Without a word or an interruption to the birds singing around us, Elek tugs one of my hands away from my eyes, then places his hand on my shoulder.
I peek out from beneath my eyelids. There isn’t a thought I could conjure that would prepare me for this sight: clusters of weeping willows dangling over marsh grass made up of every shade of green. Hundreds of lily pads sprout with vibrant pink, peach, and lavender colors float along the reflective glass-like top of the water. Lush greenery closes us in on a short wooden bridge in the center of a masterpiece I only knew existed through museum paintings. “M-M-Monet, he—”