The Lily's Splendor

Chapter 2

The sound of seagulls grappling for food woke me. Groaning, I rolled over onto my stomach, squinting at the bright sunlight that streamed from the open window that I had forgotten to close. The digital clock on my nightstand read 10:42.

“I am in desperate need of coffee,” I muttered. I also needed something to eat since I hadn’t eaten a thing last night. My hand patted my stomach after it released a ferocious growl.

After using the bathroom, I grabbed the plaid flannel robe off the hook and slipped into it before padding down the stairs to the big gourmet kitchen.

My grandmother keeps a personal chef who lives in one of her many guest houses. He can pretty much cook anything and just might make Chef Ramsay jealously proud. His name is Jacques and he speaks with a thick accent that we have yet to learn from where.

“Ah, Sleeping Beauty has finally woken.” Jacques said as he whisked something in a large bowl.

“Good morning.” I smiled sleepily as I pulled myself up on a stool that was in front of the huge bar that divided the kitchen from the dining area. Jacques instantly set down a steaming hot mug with the beautiful scent of coffee.

“Thank you! You are a God-send.” I praised him as my hands wrapped themselves around the mug, bringing it up so the rim brushed my lips as I inhaled deeply.

“And what will the princess be having for breakfast?” Jacques asked, his hand with the whisk pausing as he waited.

“Oh . . . um, just toast.” I didn’t want to make him work too hard. It always made me feel bad. The whisk in his hand clanged into the bowl which he set down on the counter with a loud and heavy thud. I grimaced when Jacques folded his arms across his chest, his eyes narrowed on me.

“Is there something wrong? Are we out of bread?” I meekly asked.

“We are never out of bread. There is always a freshly baked loaf of bread,” he sniffed.

“O-kay, so what is the problem?” I tried again. Jacques just looked at me with narrowed eyes.

“I guess I’ll just stick with coffee.” I made a move to get up and take my mug with me.

“That is not a nutritious breakfast. You are too thin anyway. Sit down. You will eat whatever I make.” he said in a final tone before picking up the bowl and resuming his whisking. Touchy, I thought. I picked up the morning newspaper that was lying to my right and began to read any interesting news. I did a double take when my eyes caught a bold headline claiming sightings of a mermaid.

“You have got to be kidding me.” I set down my coffee so I could hold out the pages and read more clearly. Apparently, some fisherman had caught sight of a huge silver tail connected to a human torso. My thoughts instantly went to the dolphins and the silver tail I had seen. Shaking my head, I focused on the blurry photo at the top right-hand corner. The fisherman had been taking proud pictures of his catch and it wasn’t until he got his pictures developed that he saw something strange in the water. On the left corner of the photograph you can see a fish’s tail lurking in the water. As you follow it to the right, you can almost see a human girl’s torso with long hair and feminine features. I leaned in to get a closer look when the paper was suddenly snatched away and a plate of Belgian waffles took its place along with a small bowl of fresh fruits, no doubt picked from my grandmother’s prized garden that is always shown in Better Homes and Gardens magazine.

“Eat.” Jacques commanded after he placed a clear and dainty pitcher of maple syrup next to my plate. I stared at the golden waffles before looking back up at him.

“My grandmother told you that waffles are my favorite, didn’t she?” I stabbed my fork into a piece of honey-doo melon as I watched Jacques move about the kitchen.

“She didn’t need to. I knew there must be a reason for you to always ask me to make you waffles every time you visited.” Jacques grinned as he placed a square of softened butter on each waffle. I watched the squares glide down, buttering the ridges on the waffles. Pouring a good amount of syrup, I began to fork the waffles down until my plate was all clean and snatched away by Jacques.

“Any plans for today?” he asked, rinsing my plate until clean of syrup.

“Not really. I was going to unpack but . . .” I forked the last fruit from my bowl as I made a face at the thought of unpacking.

“Not your ideal activity.” Jacques said understandingly. I nodded.

“Tell you what. Let me know when you will tackle this chore. I will have a special dessert sent up to treat yourself,” he said.

“Deal.” I shook his hand, knowing that I would be a fool to turn down such an offer.

“Are you still hungry?” he asked as he refilled my mug.

“Oh no.” I placed my hand over my stomach and patted it contentedly.“How can one be hungry after polishing off your huge and fluffy waffles?”

“Then leave my kitchen.” Jacques shooed me away. I grabbed my mug and curtsied before going back up to my room, completely forgetting about the newspaper article.

~*~~*~*~~*~*~~*~

Setting my coffee mug on my nightstand, I sat criss-cross on my bed and looked up at the colorful portrait.

I knew what I was going to do today. My eyes skimmed over the painted ocean, to the small group of women. I stared at the one that looked familiar. My hand involuntarily rose to skim over the woman’s dress. My brows creased when I recognized the white dress she was wearing. I nearly fell off the bed as I scrambled to my closet and to one of my luggages. I rummaged through it until I got to the bottom and felt that chiffon material. Pulling out my mother’s favorite white gown, I lifted it up, letting it flow down and ripple like water.

Going back to the painting, I held out the dress as my eyes studied the one on the woman. They looked to be exact matches.

“Snap out of it, girl. It’s just a coincidence. The model obviously had no choice but to wear the white dress that the artist provided.” I shook my head as I got up and went back to my closet where an oval-shaped mirror hung. Holding out my mother’s gown over my body, I hoped with all my might that it would fit. There was nothing else that I wanted to wear for this day.

~*~~*~*~~*~*~~*~

A minute later, I was standing in front of my mirror as my eyes stayed glued to my reflection. The dress fit like a glove and flowed to swim around my ankles like tiny whispers as the bodice hugged and caressed every curve.

“I wish you were here to see me in your dress, mom,” I whispered. Walking to the shelves filled with Derketo shoes, I picked out a pair of white beaded slippers to go with the dress.

Going to my vanity, I opened the center drawer and just stared at the silver brush that had once belonged to my mother. Picking it up, I watched my reflection as I ran the brush through my long hair the color of dark caramel. I always wondered why both my grandmother and my mother had hair the color of the sun, while I came out with a darker shade that had dark highlights woven into locks of my hair. I certainly didn’t get the hair color from my father since his matched my mother’s.

I set the brush down and gave myself a once-over before skipping out of my room and down the stairs, through the double French doors that led to the flourishing gardens.

I went to the white-rose bushes that surround the estate and began to pick a bouquet of my mother’s favorite flower. I was careful to grab the part of the stem that didn’t have as many thorns.

“Ouch!” I yelped and brought my finger to my mouth where a thorn had pricked it.

“Here, miss.” A gardener appeared from behind me with clippers and a wet paper towel in his hands.

“Thank you.” I said as I took the items, using the damp paper towel to hold the bouquet. The gardener tipped his cap before walking away. Honestly, my grandmother employs odd people who obviously live in the eighteenth century.

Clipping the rest of the roses to finish the bouquet, I added them to the rest of the bunch before setting the clippers on the grass since I couldn’t find the gardener anywhere.

Walking deeper into my grandmother’s back yard, I was soon stepping into the warm sand that leads to the beach. When I spotted the shed, my eyes went to the small row-boat that sat propped against the shed’s outer walls; the very same boat that my mother had used on the last day of her life.

Carefully setting the bouquet on one of the wooden seats, I began to haul the boat over to the shoreline. When someone cleared their throat, I dropped the boat in surprise and turned around to find Jacques standing there with his eyes sternly on me.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I am taking the boat out.” I said, feeling my necklace grow warm again just as I got defensive. Jacques blinked, shaking his head as if to clear it. “You shouldn’t go by yourself,” he managed to say.

“I’ll be fine. Jacques, you know what today is. I . . . I need to do this.” I said with ferocity. Jacques seemed to study me before sighing.

“Be careful,” he said sternly. I nodded and was about to bend down to pick the boat back up when Jacques stepped in and finished hauling the boat for me until it was in the shallow waters.

“Get in. I will push you until you are on your way.” he said. Picking up my dress, I climbed into the boat and sat down next to the bouquet. With ease, Jacques pushed the boat into the swells. I grabbed hold of the oars and began to maneuver the boat away from the shore and into the deep waters of the unpredictable sea.