The Fortune Teller(83)

Semele’s stomach did a somersault when she heard her grandfather’s name.

“He was a music professor there. He taught the children how to play instruments reading Braille. He was blind too, and an incredibly empathetic teacher.”

Semele began to form a strong picture of Elias in her mind: tall and elegant, even in a simple suit. His hand held a cane with the long, graceful fingers of a pianist, and he carried himself with a quiet countenance.

“Nettie wrote to Liliya that, in many ways, Elias could see more than she could. After they married, they stayed in Vienna and had one child—your mother.” Theo hesitated. “Carina.”

Carina. At last her mother’s name. Semele held her breath, waiting to hear more.

“My grandmother said Nettie let her run wild. When she was a teenager Carina would stay out late or not come home at all. She had a new boyfriend every month.” Theo added, “That is, according to Nettie’s letters.”

Semele raised her eyebrows. At least she knew who to blame for her rebellious streak. If her mother were here she would say it all made sense. “So they were in Vienna all this time?”

“No.” A shadow passed over Theo’s face and he looked away. “Someone pushed Elias in front of a moving train when he was on his way home from the academy one day. They never found out who did it. But Nettie believed his death was connected to her past at Makaryev—that Evanoff had found her. She went into hiding and forced Carina to come with her. Carina was two months pregnant with you, no longer with the boyfriend, and distraught over her father’s death. Nettie told her they were going to the States to get away, to heal. So they came to New York.”

Semele’s hands gripped the armrests. She was glued to every word.

“Carina was an actress in Vienna and had ambitions of being on Broadway. She wanted to stay in New York and pursue that dream, but…” He hesitated. “She died giving birth to you.”

Semele could feel a part of her pain release, like a breath held too long and at last expelled. Her mother hadn’t abandoned her. She had died giving birth.

“I’m sorry,” Theo said softly.

Semele cleared her throat, her voice husky from the emotion swimming inside her, the anguish, the guilt, the relief of knowing the truth. “You found all this out from the letters?”

“Liliya and Nettie wrote to each other for years. The last letter my grandmother received was right after Carina died. Nettie was still in New York.”

“Do you still have them? The letters?” What she wouldn’t give to read one, to see more of her grandmother’s handwriting. She felt an ache for Carina, Elias, and Nettie—the family she would never know.

“I’ve never seen them,” he said. “But we can look.” Theo reached out and took her hand.

Semele looked down as Theo’s hands joined hers. They were a “we.” She knew that now. They had been long before they ever met.





Queen of Pentacles

Mme Helvétius’ salon had been at 24 Grande rue d’Auteuil, but it was no longer there. Though she was originally buried in her garden as she had wished, she had been moved to a nearby cemetery years later. The village of Auteuil was in the 16th arrondissement of Paris, nicknamed “le 16e,” a prestigious area filled with mansions, historic buildings, and museums.

Semele looked at the building that stood in place of the old salon and felt as if she’d time-traveled to the future.

“My mother’s not here,” she said.

“Are you sure?” Theo pressed.

Semele shook her head. She wasn’t sure about anything. She thought the harp music had been a sign to go to Auteuil, but maybe they were meant to go to Russia instead, where Aishe and Andrej had settled.

She closed her eyes and tried to focus, her body tingling as she entered a state of hyperawareness. The stories of the past that Ionna had so vividly painted for her flashed through her consciousness, filling all her senses. The blue of the salon lived in the sky, the smell of the lime trees in Mme Helvétius’ courtyard wafted down the road, and the sound of Aishe’s harp echoed in the air.

The music grew louder. It sounded like the song playing at her mother’s house.

Semele opened her eyes and did a full 360, trying to pinpoint where it was coming from. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Theo looked around, clearly not hearing anything.

“Listen.” She began walking, following the melody. Every note beckoned her like a finger pointing the way.

A soft breeze picked up and the song intensified.

Semele realized it was Simza’s song, “Find Me in the Wind.”

She took off, running down several blocks, turning corners and dodging pedestrians. She didn’t hear the angry swears or Theo’s apologies in French as he tried to keep up.

She raced to the end of a street corner and found a lively outdoor market under a canopy of century-old buildings.

What had brought her here? Had there been music? Because she couldn’t hear it anymore.

Theo caught up with her, slightly out of breath. “What is it?”

Semele shook her head, her senses still tingling. Then she looked behind her. There was a vendor with ornamental seashells for sale, including jewelry and purses made out of shells.

Semele walked over to the table, to the shell that was calling her, a spiraling conch with a blue iridescence that dazzled in the sun.