“A year. Things changed when they started helping a group of nuns who ran an orphanage in Vienna. Working at the orphanage was a kind of self-imposed penance. My grandmother told me she and Nettie suffered terrible guilt from leaving the other children behind at Makaryev. It’s something that stayed with them the rest of their lives.”
Theo grew quiet a moment, remembering. “My grandmother never spoke of her time in Russia. I never even knew about our heritage until I translated the manuscript and my grandmother told me her story. That was days before she died.”
Semele hung on to every word. Part of her was jealous that Theo had gotten to hear the story firsthand.
“When the orphanage started planning to open another location in Switzerland, Nettie urged Liliya to go and start a new life there. She moved to Lake Geneva and met my grandfather a year later.”
“And what about my grandmother?” Semele asked, her voice barely audible.
“Nettie stayed in Vienna. The orphanage was right next door to an academy for the blind, where she met your grandfather, Elias.”
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.
