Searching for Sofia, page 1
Searching for Sofia
Portraits in Blue, Volume 3
Penny Fields-Schneider
Published by Penny Fields-Schneider, 2021.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
SEARCHING FOR SOFIA
First edition. January 31, 2021.
Copyright © 2021 Penny Fields-Schneider.
ISBN: 978-0648480587
Written by Penny Fields-Schneider.
Also by Penny Fields-Schneider
Portraits in Blue
The Sun Rose In Paris
Shattered Dreams
Searching for Sofia
Sofia's Story
Standalone
The Woman Who Painted The Seasons
Watch for more at Penny Fields-Schneider’s site.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Also By Penny Fields-Schneider
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
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Further Reading: Sofia's Story
Also By Penny Fields-Schneider
About the Author
Chapter 1
PART ONE - MELBOURNE, AUSTRALIA
‘Are you awake, love? I have a cup of tea here for you.’
Jack stirred. He lifted the blanket to see his mother’s face peering down at him, a frown crossing her brow. He looked at the clock on the dresser—eleven.
His head thumped with the same dull ache that he had been living with for days, and he winced at the light streaming into the room. His parents’ house? Pulling himself up, he watched his mother settle the saucer on his bedside table before sitting next to him and reaching for his hand.
The sadness in her eyes was fathomless, and unable to bear it, Jack closed his own. He sank back into the pillows, hoping sleep might shield him against the visions relentlessly assaulting him.
The roaring fire; Scotty gone. A steady pounding filled his chest and a lump formed within it, growing and solidifying into an enormous stone so large that it was hard to breathe. Gasping for air, Jack tried to control his sobbing breaths. They were part of his life now. Every morning, on waking and remembering. At unexpected moments through the day, when the magnitude of their loss caused him to double over, as though someone had hit him in the solar plexus. Haunting him in the cruel night hours when darkness obliterated distractions. Then, he would succumb to the depths of his pain. Strangled wrenching sobs that released a torrent of tears, until his aching head lay against a soggy pillow.
His baby with the raggedy mop of black hair and laughing, mischievous eyes–gone. And in her pain, Sofia too had withdrawn from him, and now she was missing.
In barely a month, Jack’s life had been totally shattered. His little family destroyed. The two people he loved most now lost to him. He berated himself for letting his grief engulf him so severely that he’d allowed Sofia to slip away.
The preceding week at Montsalvat was a blur, Jack’s memories veiled in guilt, the pain fuelled by Sofia’s heartbreak and, even worse, by the accusations that lurked in the dark eyes which refused to meet his.
Images of the fateful day were like a cinema newsreel that constantly replayed in his mind; Matcham racing up the stairs yelling “Fire!”; he and Justus rushing outside to help douse the flames; the realisation it was his and Sofia’s own cabin alight, yet relief that most of their possessions were safely packed, ready to be loaded on Mervyn’s truck and transported to their new home.
If only he’d been in the cabin with Scotty rather than spending that last hour with Justus, appeasing the Master, reassuring him that there were no hard feelings, that he and Sofia would to return to Montsalvat for visits, often.
Jack’s breath caught as he recalled how he and Justus had looked over the balcony where Sofia had been leaning against her bicycle calling up to him. She’d been about to pedal into town to buy cleaning products–determined to leave their cabin spotless. Nobody would ever accuse her of being a dirty Spanish peasant, she’d told him that morning, and Jack had known that she was still piqued by her memory of the cruel comment Justus had made years earlier.
Sofia had waved to them, and they’d waved back, but her words, ‘I’ve just put Scotty to bed. He’s asleep,’ had been lost to the breeze. The message that, had he heard it, may have averted the tragedy.
But Jack hadn’t heard it. It had never occurred to him that Sofia was uttering more than a simple farewell–letting him know she was leaving for town. He’d assumed Scotty was with Sonia, having a final walk around the grounds of Montsalvat, looking at the bird’s nest by the dam and chasing lizards in the undergrowth. A walk he would have loved, no doubt picking a bunch of wildflowers for Sofia, and on receiving them, she would have clasped them to her face, inhaled their perfume, and thanked him for being the sweetest, most wonderful boy in the world. Scotty would have beamed his broad, toothy grin in pleasure.
Again, sobs rose in Jack’s throat, and with a groan he pushed the unbearable images aside. However, more thoughts of Sofia filled the space, offering no release from the torment.
Sofia riding towards them as they’d attempted to douse the fire, calling out even as she pedalled furiously. Her tormented words becoming clearer as she’d approached and finally abandoned the bike to stumble the last few yards towards the cabin, where the fire was almost under control. ‘Scotty’s in the bedroom!’
Jack would never forget her crazed expression as she’d glanced at the boxes of clothing and pots and kitchen items set on the gravel alongside her tea chest from Spain, her eyes searching the gathered crowd for her baby. And never would Jack forget that moment when he had realised the enormity of the tragedy that had befallen them.
Chapter 2
‘Okay, Jack. Up you get. We have work to do.’
Margaret’s voice broke through the fog of Jack’s half sleep. He rolled over and saw the tray his mother had left by his bed hours earlier, and his eyes landed on the clock: two thirty pm. Was it the same day? Jack did not know, nor did he care.
‘Jack! Up! At least sit out of bed so we can talk.’
He felt the bedspread being pulled back and rolled over, looking at her. Like his mother’s, Margaret’s eyes were shadowed with grief, but her expression was resolute; she wasn’t going to let sorrow get in the way of action.
‘Come on. Here is a chair. You don’t have to get dressed. Just sit up so we can talk... make a plan.’
Resigned to her demands, Jack climbed out of bed. He felt so tired, he could barely hold his head up. Illness combined with the emotional toll of the past few weeks had taxed his body. He’d barely eaten since Scotty’s death and Sofia’s rejection, and living in the cold, derelict caravan those first few days, he’d succumbed to the clutches of a nasty chest infection. At that time, not caring if he lived or died, Jack had neither the energy nor will to fight it.
He knew that it had been Margaret’s determination to get him away from Montsalvat that had saved him. However, while his fever and hacking cough had settled, the total exhaustion seemed impossible to shake.
Always pragmatic, today Margaret forged beyond her usual words of sympathy.
‘We need to find Sofia, Jack. I thought she’d be home by now... I’ve asked around, to no avail. And I am pretty sure that she hasn’t returned to Eltham. Do you know where she could be?’
Jack shook his head. He had no idea. When he and Sofia had first arrived in Australia, they had lived here in his parent’s home, and Sofia had spent her days with his mother while he’d gone to work. And then, when they’d met Justus and the Meldrumites, together they had joined the artists and lived at Montsalvat; the retreat had been their whole world for the past five years. Jack couldn’t imagine anyone outside of that world to whom Sofia might have turned.
‘Maybe Sonia knows something,’ he suggested.
‘Sonia? The Skipper girl?’
Margaret had never been overly involved with the Montsalvat artists. Indeed, when she returned to Australia shortly before the birth of Scott, she’d been horrified to find Jack and Sofia living out at Eltham.
‘Justus is just using you, Jack,’ she’d complained. ‘He is holding you back. You are barely painting, anymore! Montsalvat may be an artist’s retreat, but from what I can see, Justus is simply indoctrinating you all with his philosophical mumb
At that time, Margaret’s criticisms had fallen on deaf ears, for Jack and Sofia had loved their life at Montsalvat. They’d immersed themselves in its building projects and were filled with excitement as finally the baby they’d both longed for was coming. The retreat’s lifestyle, full of healthy physical activity and rich with the company of patrons and students devoted to art, held a magic for them that not even Margaret could deflate.
‘Yes, Sonia Skipper and Sofia were always close. Really close–like sisters. And Helen might know something, too. She and Sofia worked in the garden most days. Perhaps she’ll remember something that Sofia said.’
‘Okay. I’m going to take a few days off work. See if we can find her. How about we head out to Montsalvat tomorrow? We need some leads. You make sure you are up early. I’ll pick you up at nine.’
* * *
The next morning, whilst washing and dressing, Jack pondered Sofia’s whereabouts. Like Margaret, he’d thought that she would have returned to Montsalvat, or arrived on his parent’s doorstep when she was ready. However, Sofia had done neither. Where could she be?
Had she, like himself, fallen ill? Certainly, Jack understood the savage toll grief took on one’s health. Not only physically, but on one’s mind and spirit. The wild desperation. The refusal to accept reality. The heart-wrenching pain caused by memories of a little boy’s voice calling out for his mummy and daddy.
How he wished that he had kept Sofia close to him in the days following Scotty’s funeral, rather than accepting her decision to stay with the Skipper girls. At the time he’d given her the space she seemed to need, expecting it would only be for a few days. He’d never doubted that eventually they would move beyond the heartbreak of losing Scotty together.
What Jack had not anticipated was that he would be overcome with illness. That he’d lose perspective and track of time and be oblivious to Sofia’s absence.
As they walked to Margaret’s car—a ‘New Beauty’, the model similar to his own father’s T Ford, if not somewhat worse for wear—Jack felt Margaret’s eyes upon him. He knew that with his recent weight loss, his usual lean figure now looked haggard in the baggy trousers and checkered shirt he’d put on that morning.
Climbing into the front seat, he gave her the barest shadow of a smile. ‘Okay, detective, let’s go. I also thought... perhaps Sofia might have gone to the house... you know, the one that we were about to move into.’
The thought had just come to him, and he wondered why he hadn’t considered it before.
‘Maybe she has, Jack. Good thinking. We’ll check there first.’
Arriving at Eltham, they found the cottage, but even as they parked out the front, it looked bereft of life, and Jack’s sharp knock was greeted with a hollow echo. Nobody was here. Next, they travelled to Country Realty, who’d handled their rental application. The agent, Mr Johnson, greeted Jack soberly.
‘I’m sorry, Jack. Really, really sorry. The missus cried for a week. A terrible thing for you and your wife–dreadful!’
Jack nodded, struggling for a response, and Margaret intervened.
‘We are looking for Sofia,’ she said. ‘Jack’s wife. We haven’t seen... she has gone away for a few days. You know. Just wanted some time alone. We want to make sure she is okay.’
‘You don’t know where she is?’ Mr Johnson asked, clearly surprised.
‘No, not really,’ Jack replied, feeling irresponsible. Negligent, even. What sort of man loses his wife? A voice within him echoed, What sort of a man loses his child?
‘I am sorry, mate. I haven’t seen or heard from her. Perhaps the missus has. I’ll ask, but I don’t think so. She would have mentioned it if she had, I’m sure. I am glad you called in because... well, I didn’t know if you’d still be wanting the house. You don’t have to decide now. Take your time. Next week will be fine.’
While Mr Johnson’s news was disappointing, it wasn’t surprising. The notion of Sofia living at the cottage had been a long shot. There was nothing for it but to drive to Montsalvat. As they motored by the familiar eucalyptus trees that he’d passed a hundred times before, Jack gazed at them as if they might hide the key to the mystery of Sofia’s whereabouts. Turning into Mount Pleasant Road toward Montsalvat, his chest tightened and his heartbeat raced as a sense of dread washed over him. How could it be that this place, constructed with so much joy and optimism, was now so steeped in tragedy?
The first person they encountered was Matcham, who was stacking up a pile of logs near the carpark. Preparing for a fire, Jack supposed, and his hands trembled uncontrollably.
Seeing them, Matcham walked over, and wordlessly he reached out and embraced Jack. It wasn’t entirely clear who was comforting whom. They patted each others’ backs before separating, tears in their eyes.
‘How are you going, mate?’ Matcham asked. ‘Sorry. It was a silly question, I know. I just don’t really know what to say.’
‘It’s okay Match. There is nothing to say. But thanks.’
Steering away from the usual path to avoid the cabins, where a faint smell of charred wood lingered in the breeze, they walked towards the Great Hall. Justus and Lil were sitting outdoors, Max next to them. Jack’s heart wrenched at the lonely sight Max’s little figure presented, as he hummed to himself while he pushed his small wooden tractor along the gravel.
‘Jack,’ Lil cried, attempting to stand. However, today was one where her legs were refusing to move. Significantly, it had been this condition of Lil’s—when one night, unable to walk, she’d collapsed to the floor of the dining room and crawled to the table—that had been the impetus for his and Sofia’s decision to leave Montsalvat. On that occasion Sofia had risen to assist, as Lil clambered to her seat, but Justus had ordered her to sit down, insisting that they should not submit to the demand for attention that was clearly springing from Lil’s subconscious. That night, Sofia had sobbed in Jack’s arms, insisting that they leave Montsalvat and find their own place to live; she refused to bring up Scotty in such a heartless environment.
‘Jack! Good to see you. How are you doing, son?’ Justus shook hands with him and greeted Margaret wearily. Over a decade earlier, she, Justus and Lil had been fellow students at Max Meldrum’s art school. However, where Justus had been the prize pupil, Margaret had found their teacher insufferably patronizing to his female students, and Justus, a bore. Her scorn for the Meldrumite’s methods had never been shielded well.
Today, Justus looked a little stooped. The Master was a stubborn man, a man who hated anything that he could not control. For him, problems were addressed, ignored or disdained. Rarely did they play on his emotions. Furthermore, everyone knew that Justus hated illness and death—he usually avoided funerals—but he did attend Scotty’s. As the master of Montsalvat, Jack knew Justus would have felt the tragedy on the grounds of Montsalvat was deeply personal.
Jack stepped forwards to hug Lil and was surprised at how fragile she felt in his arms. ‘Good to see you, Jack. I’m glad you’ve come back.’
‘It’s good to see you, Lil. Are you well?’
‘Yes, I’m fine. Just the usual nonsense. But you... you look awful, which I know is to be expected, after all that’s happened. Are you sleeping? I can prescribe you something if you like.’
‘I’m okay, Lil. It’s not easy, but I’d rather just work through it.’
‘Sure, Jack. But remember, sorrow can do terrible things to a person’s mind and body. You and Sofia might like to meet with me... talk through your grief. You might even find it helpful to come back here ...’
Lil’s transformation, seamlessly slipping into her professional mode, felt strange. Her training as a doctor, anaesthetist and counsellor may well have funded much of Montsalvat’s building program over the years, but this was the first time that Jack had ever been a recipient of her professional skills.
‘We are actually looking for Sofia,’ Margaret interjected, her words barely disguising her impatience with the Jorgensens and their attempts to draw Jack back into their world.
A frown creased Lil’s forehead. ‘Sofia? She’s not with you–not at your parents’ home?’
