Easter Blessings
Tamara shivered and hugged her shoulders. She shouldnt have worn such a thin mac, but the sun had tricked herpouring through her bedroom window since dawn and waking up Charlie, her parrot. The bird began to chatter and complain, demanding that Tamara remove the black cloth from his cage. Sparrows outside joined in, chattering and squabbling, which only made Charlie more restless.
Oh, whats wrong, my love? Couldnt sleep? Good heavens, its only six, and Im already up Tamara sighed, sitting up in bed and stretching her slender arms above her head, her curls bouncing as she shook them back. Alright, alright, dont get cranky!
She slipped into her dressing gown, tied the sash around her slim waist, patted her cheeks, and pulled the cloth off Charlies cage. The parrot screeched with delight, demanding to be let out.
No, youre always trying to escape! Stay put for today. I want to go for a walk, and you can fly after lunch, she said, waggling her finger at the bars. But Charlie hopped away from her. Still not used to me, huh? Just like my ex-husband Tamara smirked. Although unlike you, he could never be cagedhe scarpered off all on his own
Her husband left her a year ago, claiming their relationship had run its course. He packed up quickly, remembering to take the floor lamp, a couple of candleholders that Marys mum had given them as a wedding present, and a photo of himself in navy uniform.
Hed marched across their garden with all his belongingseven the floor lamp, its wire dragging through the graveland Tamara had just watched him go with confusion and sorrow.
That day was Easter, too. Tamara had baked hot cross buns and even tried her hand at simnel cake. Shed brought back proper farmhouse butter especially for it, bustling about happily in the kitchen. Once everything was ready, she packed it all in a big basket and called out to Mike, who was either dozing or brooding over a crossword puzzle, to come and bless her culinary masterpieces.
Tamara! Ive told you a hundred timestheres no such thing as God. Its just a story for simpletons like you! All this fussthe rush for eggs, the onion skins you use for dye, these sticky buns, what are theyhot cross buns! Its all part of the same old racket, Tamara. Just business. Why on earth should we bother with a vicar to bless your cakes? Ive had enough.
But you used to enjoy it, Mike, Tamara frowned. You came with me before, and you liked itadmit it!
Oh, I only did it for you! Mike waved her away. You go by yourself. Im waiting for an important call.
That woman rang just as Tamara was leaving the flat, basket in hand.
Mike picked up in his room. Tamara considered answering the phone in the hall, hand hovering above the warm plastic, but changed her mind.
If she got upset right nowand she had no doubt she wouldthe whole Easter spirit, all that happiness and warmth from childhood, would evaporate. She couldnt let that happen.
Tamaras parents were firm atheists, both well-educated, convinced all things could be explained by reason, disdaining miraclesbut theyd let her believe in Father Christmas: Shes a child, after all!
It was her mums mother, Gran Ellen, who inspired in Tamara a love for church icons, the scent of incense, and the golden glow of church spires. Gran Ellen wasnt simpleshe loved elegance and kept up with fashionbut she truly believed in God. Shed even secretly had Tamara christened while her parents were on a work trip, for which she was scolded but never repented.
Why on earth are you filling the childs mind with nonsense? Tamaras mother, Julie, had cried as a young Tamara wept and removed a tiny silver cross from her neck. Shell be living in a completely different world! People have been to spacetheres nothing up there, no angels! Mum, you sound like some country bumpkin!
Ellen just pursed her lips, twisting her lace gloves anxiouslythin things she valued, even if shed already had to darn them a few times. At last, Gran sighed and replied, People need to know theres something bigger and kinder than us, something to turn to when no one else can help. Otherwise, life gets awfully heavy, and a bit hopeless. Folks need to believe in good. Whats wrong with that?
Julie just snorted and tossed Tamaras cross into the chest of drawers.
That night Tamara took it back, hid it in her jewellery box, and kept secret how Gran Ellen would take her to church on holidays, how they would light candles for departed loved ones. Tamara was good at keeping secrets.
She liked church. It was always cool and dim in the corners, with candlelight flickering closer to the centre. And it was peacefulno fuss or bother. Even as she grew up, Tamara loved gazing at the icons, noticing every detail and finding that each one seemed to have its own mood.
Gran taught Tamara to bake proper hot cross buns and help make simnel cake, letting her granddaughter carry the Easter basket to church and back. All Tamaras memories of those celebrations were glowing with happinessbeautiful people, colourful eggs in baskets, ribbons tied to the garden trees, the parish procession. All this delighted Tamara, though her mum seemed uneasy and would close the windows tightly to muffle the peal of church bells.
Tamara grew up, went to college, met Mike, and started her own family. They kept up Grans Easter traditions; her husband seemed to share her views. Her father was detached, claiming to finally live for himself, while her mum always acted hurt, insisting Tamara had forgotten her.
Mum, dont say that! Were just busy, but we promise well come on the weekend, Tamara would insist.
But Julie would call and say she and Dad were going out, so Tamara shouldnt bother making the trip.
Mike would be happy not to go; Tamara, on the other hand, would be upset, then call Gran and visit her instead. Julie grew envious, and it became an endless cycle.
They got by, though Tamara and Mike had no childrensomething Mike wanted, especially a son.
See, Tamara, its all Grans fault! Julie would crow, half-joking but half-pleased to have someone to blame. She dragged you off to be christened, and you caught coldnow wheres your God, eh? Wheres your miracle?
Tamara always turned away, biting her lip. There was nothing wrong except some hormonal thing the doctors said could be sorted with time. And since shed found good doctors, surely that was God helping her!
Mike left on Easter. Tamara sat on the bed, knees hugged to her chest, as if trying to hold fast the invisible threads that still bound her to him.
But there was nothing left.
Are you off to someone, or just leaving? she asked quietly. Maybe just a last stroll together? Its Easter, after all and such lovely weather
She looked at her husband pleadingly, but he shrugged her off.
No time, Tamara. Oh, dont start. Ive had enough, alright? It doesnt matter where Im goingwere grown-ups, lets just be civil and sort this!
So they did. Mike civilly transferred some money to Tamaras bank; she didnt fight for the carwhy would she, she couldnt even drive.
Aside from the lamp, Mike took a couple of chairs, the rose-patterned teapot, a set of tall champagne flutes, and his drill. He nearly took the coffee machine, but left it with a wave, a gift from him.
They parted quietly, without a fuss. Neighbours watched from the windows as Mike departed, then went back to their breakfasts.
A year has passed since. And its Easter againnot the date, exactly, but the memories.
On the day Mike left, Tamara sat alone in her kitchen, brewed a strong, almost bitter tea, and nibbled a slice of simnel cake. She didnt even go to church, though she missed the joyful bells and the scent of sweet vanilla and buttercream that filled their small chapel. Tamara told her friends she had a cold, so there was no need to visit. She spent the day alone.
That tea kept her upshe stood out on the balcony for ages, tried to smoke one of Mikes forgotten cigarettes, but only ended up coughing.
Last Easter had been bright, ringing with sunshine. Today was gloomy; rain and cold were promised.
Charlie the parrot watched as Tamara dressed slowly, did her make-up in the mirror, arranging her hair into a neat style.
She was determined to get out. There was no point moping at home just because Mike had left her a year ago on this very day. Pulling on her mac and a headscarf, she nodded to the neighbours and headed into the garden.
Happy Easter, Tamara! smiled Mrs. Watkins from next door. Going to church? Ill be along soonmy grandchildren are coming, well all go together!
Tamara nodded. Grandchildren. How lovely that they were coming to visit, and that even on a dreary day, the house would be full of laughter. Outside, she could smell last years wet leaves, a whiff of petrol, and a soapy hinta road sweeper was hosing down the pavement and cobbles.
Tamara tiptoed over a puddle in her suede shoes, but slipped and paddled her foot all the same.
The road-sweeper tooted his horn and waved cheerily. Tamara nodded absently and wandered out through the gates.
There werent many people about yet. Across the street, couples sat in the café, holding hands. A man walked his dachshund, the dog keen to sniff everything but held close by the lead.
She wont bite! Dont worrycome on through! he assured passers-by.
Tamara, wary around dogs, crossed to the other side. The dachshund gave a disappointed sigh and trotted beside her owner.
She rounded a corner, strolled past the tall wrought-iron fence to the churchs open gates, straightened her scarf, and crossed herself.
Gran had taught her to do that.
Do it slowly, love, with feelingnot just your fingers, but with meaning. Perhaps God doesnt need it, but I reckon we doit lets us pause, and think.
Tamara stopped and looked up. Today the domes werent gleaming gold but seemed quietly solemn. Then the bells rang, sun broke through the clouds and scattered golden sparks like a sparkler over the church. Tamara had to close her eyes for a momentit was so beautiful.
But a cold wind chased the clouds on, the sun vanished, and the rain began to patter again.
Tamara climbed the church steps and slipped quietly inside. Shadows lay across the walls, candles flickering in pools of golden wax, and pale shafts of light crossed beneath the arches.
Tamara didnt feel festive. Shed only come out of habit. The faces on the icons seemed stern, almost frowning.
Ill stay a little, then go home. I cant get into the spirit she scolded herself.
Someone brushed her shoulder. She turned.
Sorry! a mans deep voice said. He was in a sober suit. Pardon me. Happy Easter
He seemed a bit flustered, frowning at himself.
And you. Hot cross buns arent blessed now, Tamara nodded toward the package in his hand. But never mind, my gran always said they could be brought any time on Easter.
You think so? I know nothing about all this. I grew up in a garrison town, my parents well, church wasnt their thing. Im George, he blurted out.
Im Tamara, she replied. My parents were the same really But my gran believed. She taught me.
I only stayed with my gran once, years ago. She took me to church at Easter too, but I was about fiveI dont remember much. Never thought Id need it. But shes gone, only a month ago Her flats round the corner, I bought these buns, not sure why and just wandered in.
Tamara listened as she gazed at the icons. George, meanwhile, watched her profile framed in a pale blue scarf, her downcast eyes and soft lips.
She blushed.
Its lovely here. They restored the frescoes about four years back. The icons are beautiful tooalmost alive, Tamara smiled. Sorry, I suppose you think me silly.
No, not at all. I know nothing about artespecially church stuffbut George shook his head.
Old ladies ahead turned to tut at Georges deep voice.
Sorry! He tried to speak softly, but failed again. Sorry, I cant help it, my voice is so loud. Even got told off for it in school.
Tamara grinned.
Come on, Ill show you around, she offered.
They wandered through the church, Tamara pointing out iconssometimes asking George to look from the side, sometimes up close, sometimes from a distance.
Their faces always change. Today they look serious, a bit sad, even though its Easter, she shrugged.
Not sad, just dignified. But you did something happen? George rumbled, and once more the old ladies shushed him, rolling their eyes.
No, nothing. You must be imagining things. Tamara blushed deeper. The last thing she wanted was to confide her heartbreak with Mike to a stranger.
Alright, well say I imagined it. Even if youre fibbing. But perhaps, if youre not in a rush, we could step outside for a coffee? Sorry if thats cheeky, but I reckon those worthy parishioners might throw me out themselves otherwise, George nodded towards the old ladies.
They all suddenly smiled, with one even giving George a conspiratorial wink.
No, I dont want coffee. But we could have a walktheres a little garden behind the church. Nothings in flower yet, and its chilly, but still
They stepped outside; George offered his hand as Tamara navigated the steps.
She rested her hand in hisstrong, yet gentle. Suddenly, there was a knock behind them. Tamara knew that knock wellher gran would always stumble on that step, her stick tapping as she left the church. For a moment, Tamara turned to peer into the dark porch, but of course, no one was there. Just a memory
In the garden, the cherry blossom was starting. The grass scattered with yellow, blue and purple primroses, and the bravest tulip held its wine-red chalice high.
Now Tamara told George about her gran, how she loved this little garden, and always rested on that bench after a walk.
Want a bun? If youre not keen on coffee George rustled in his bag, handing her a hot cross bun wrapped in pretty paper. Ill fetch us some teatheyre selling it out front, arent they?
While Tamara puzzled over the bun, George returned with two cups of raspberry tea, spread out napkins. The rain eased and the grey spell brokesun smiling suddenly, clouds drifting back, and for a moment the world seemed to laugh with them.
They broke the bun together, fingers sticky with icing and chocolate sprinkles, but Tamara didnt care. The raspberry tea was sweet and summery.
Mike would never sit like this with her. Hed take her to formal restaurants, frown over the menu, complain at the bill, and grumble theyd have been better off at home.
With George, everything felt easy. He spoke of how his Gran Nanny had taught him to milk a cow in the country once; how a cockerel called Percy would chase him round the yard, and a huge, shaggy dog, Tanner, liked to rest his wet paws on Georges shoulders and lick his face.
Im scared of dogs, Tamara confessed.
You wouldnt have been scared of Tanner, he was a gentle soul. Hang onlet me get you a bit of water to wash up with, George bustled away.
Tamara was left, and for a second felt as if someone sat beside her on the bench.
Happy Easter, Gran, she whispered, closing her eyes. No reply came, but she felt suddenly hugged, warm and content.
George returned, fussed about cleaning her sticky fingers as though she were a child, making Tamara laugha childish, pure joy shed almost forgotten.
Later, Tamara would learn that Georges Gran and her own Gran were old friends, once girls whod gone wild swimming together in Pinewood. Tamara had met George before, as a childher Gran and his had queued outside the bakery for fresh bread, and young George had peeked at Tamara and pulled a face. She had stuck her tongue out right back and forgotten about himuntil now
Well, how can you not believe in miracles? George grinned later, telling their friends how hed stumbled upon Tamara at church and fallen in love then and there.
And Tamara never felt sad on Easter againthere was simply no time. She and George had two sons and a big dog called Tanner. What room was there for misery then?
Charlie the parrot still had no idea where this tall, hearty man came from, nor why there were children everywhere now. He would gaze out the window, wondering about the world outsidethe one that brought happiness, as the sparrows jeered and fluttered by. Charlie tried not to notice. After all, he was a respectable bird, living well with a proper familyquite dignified!
Dear friends, wishing you all a joyful Easter! May we be kept from harm, be granted the strength we need, and always find happiness in the everyday momentsespecially when we least expect it.
