Heart Knot Mine by Lily Velden

Author:Lily Velden [Velden, Lily]
Language: eng
Format: epub

THE OTHER, even more memorable occasion, for a very different reason, was when he took me to Parc de Bagatelle. The park was located in the Bois de Boulogne, a huge forested area, which, Robert told me, the local Parisians referred to as the “lungs” of Paris. The Bois was, apparently, twice the size of Central Park.

The gardens weren’t well-serviced by the public transport system of the city, but one look through the front entrance informed me the spectacular display of blooms was well worth having risked life and limb with another ride in a Parisian cab.

When we sauntered through the wildflower meadow, I spied a peacock posing among the flowers, his tail in full display, a veritable palette of blues and turquoise. I quickly clicked off a photo to send to the twins.

Robert filled me in on the history of the gardens, and as I listened to him, it was like stepping back in time, to the era of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette. I could picture the women with their elaborately coiffed hair and bouffant skirts, strolling with lacy parasols in hand along the manicured paths of the gardens. Accompanying them, fops clad in satins and silks, with shiny buckled shoes and powdered wigs.

As we neared the famous rose garden, Robert’s conversation dwindled away to nothing. One glance at his face told me to respect his need for silence. I followed his soft gaze to the rows upon rows of roses. They were in full bloom, their sweet fragrance floating on the light breeze. I watched as Robert paused by one blossom, reaching out to delicately stroke its daintily shaded pink petals. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. He looked sad.

“Robert? Are you okay?”

He opened his eyes, turning his head to look at me and nodded. “Yes. I’m just missing Gran. This was her favorite place in the whole world. She brought me here every time we visited Paris.” He laughed softly. “And we visited a lot.”

“Is that why you know so much about French history?”

Robert reached for my hand, taking me with him as he began wandering once more along the narrow gravel avenues separating the rose beds.

“Yes. Gran’s mother, my great-grandmother, was French. She instilled in Gran a love of all things French, and I guess in a way that love was passed on to me.” He smiled fondly. “I can’t tell you the number of times I’d get home from school on Friday to find her packed, her first words to me to hurry and get my gear together, or we’d miss our train. She’d tell me she needed some Paris time.”

“She sounds like a wonderful person,” I offered encouragingly.

“She was. I don’t know where or what I’d be today without her.” Robert cleared his throat. “When I turned up on her doorstep, I was angry and defiant and a hairbreadth away from shattering into a million pieces.”

My eyes smarted with unshed tears for fourteen-year-old Robert. I squeezed his hand. He returned the pressure, continuing softly, “She kept me together and gave me a home.

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