Page 25 of A Thousand Painted Hours

He stood, slapping his hands against his thighs. “I’ll leave you, ladies. Do take care.” He limped with his cane toward the staircase.

Nina said, “He is terribly good to me.”

“You’re very good to him as well,” I said. “He’s been able to live as himself always.”

“Thank you, my dear friend. I think I shall keep him company in the bath if you don’t mind. I’ll ring you when I’ve spoken with father.”

“Wonderful.” I kissed her cheek as I stood. “We’ve weathered everything before this, my darling. We’ll get through this, too.”

Her smile was thin. “You’re my inspiration, Elsie. Always so brave. You and your prince.”

I nodded and let myself out. Brave was not the word I would have used, I thought, fixing my hat to my head. It was more that I’d been swept along. Both of us had.

A Palace in the Desert

1911

India

—14—

The spring of the year I was fifteen, our family traveled to the desert to visit the maharaja. My father had even been invited to participate in some gathering of influential Indian princes, military notables, and various forward-thinking Englishmen. I didn’t pay much attention to the reason—I was beside myself that I would finally see the actual palace Gurdaya and Tanveer had so often told me about. Their summer dwelling was Victorian, like most of the Nainital residences, but the Talwarpur Palace had been built in the Mughal tradition, with towers and courtyards, and I longed to see it for myself.

Magically, we were met by a gathering of elephants at the dusty train station, which was thrilling in itself. They had painted legs and trunks, and their backs were draped with embroidered silks in bright colors, and they even had bells on their ankles that chimed as they bowed down to allow us to climb aboard their backs. My mother and I rode together, high up in the air, with a view over the grassy fields and the river running along the road. I spied a village, where women in bright saris came out to watch us pass. I waved at a pair of girls close to my age, and they burst into grins and waved back happily.

It was hot, much hotter than it had been in Nainital, which, of course, was what had drawn both the maharani and my mother to the cool slopes of the lakeside town. A ripple of worry crossed my heart—would my mother be all right here?

The palace appeared suddenly when we climbed the slope of the hill. It rose imposingly in archways and towers, the color of the desert itself, pale rosy yellow. A shiver ran through me. “It’s beautiful!” I cried.

My mother squeezed my arm.

A gathering of servants helped us off the elephants in a courtyard shaded by neem trees. A large fountain cooled the air with both sound and water, tree branches casting fingers and angles of shadow across the space. Flowers climbed the walls in dazzling hues of pink and peach, and pots of fragrant blossoms filled the air with fragrance.

The maharaja, fully adorned in ceremonial dress and draped in jewels of enormous size, rubies and emeralds and diamonds on his turban and around his neck and on his fingers, met my father and his group with a cheerful welcome, observing ceremony I cared nothing for. Instead, I patted the sketchbook in my deep pocket, imagining how I’d capture this splendor, and the dazzlement of the courtyard, the splashes of color, the winding shape of the vines, the alluring arches and tiles. I loved the repetition of pattern and shape, the elegant complements of color, blue to green to yellow, with a splash of red here and there, a tiny line of black. What a time I would have sketching here! I was quite glad I’d brought my watercolors.

Nowthiswas a true palace.

I was so absorbed that I did not see Gurdaya and Tanveer approach until they were right in front of me. And when I saw them, I halted, stunned to silence for a moment.

The Tanveer I’d seen at Christmas looked nothing like this boy, who had sprouted five inches. His face had shifted, too, in some subtle way, his cheekbones and chin catching up to his always aggressive nose, his brows thickening over the same large deep eyes.

He was not exactly handsome, but the changes wrought in his face made him compelling. Magnetic to look at. I stared, trying to define what it was.

“I know,” he said, acknowledging my stare. “I cannot get used to it, either. I bump my head a hundred times a day.”

He sounded just the same, my own Tanveer, and it eased something in my chest. “You look so different!” I said, and found I could after all look him in the eye. The sparkle was there, the place I could rest.

“It was my turn, I suppose.”

The previous year, the changes had been in my person—not height but shape, a girl out of a tomboy, with more hips than I wanted, and the promise of my mother’s figure, which caused more attention than I wished. I’d learned in the intervening months to drape my body to make it appear straight, boyish.

“Welcome,” Gurdaya said, coming forward to greet me. She was dressed more formally than I’d seen before, with jewels around her neck and hanging from her ears. Heavy bracelets ringed her wrists, and her hair was covered in fine gauze, embroidered with flowers along the edges. All of it showcased her beauty, the turquoise of her scarf bringing out the rosy richness of her complexion, her fingers long and graceful, the shimmer of hair at her face a deep black. “I’ve missed you!”

“Me, too!” I said, embracing her lightly. “How beautiful you are!”

She glanced toward the officials and princes milling around one another. “Like a lamb ready for the oven.”

I squeezed her arm. “Not yet.”