Page 25

I have just come from my first visit to Lavender House.

I admit I was quite nervous when the time came, even though I had seen Marko leave that morning by ship. Nikola requested I come to the back door, so I jumped the stone fence once more, careful that no one was on the road at the time. To be honest, I felt like one of my customers, creeping along with my own secret intention.

My heart skittered as I approached the house, waiting for that wretched dog to appear. But there was no other soul around, only the house and its overbearing presence. I got the sense it was judging me again, my right to be there, as if it knew I was the same woman who stole lavender only a few days before. You don’t belong here, it seemed to say. But I pushed this thought away and knocked.

Thankfully, the door opened a few moments later. Only, it wasn’t Nikola. It was a short, stout woman I didn’t recognize with hair the color of mushrooms and thin lips hardened into a grim line. Nikola came up behind and introduced her as their housemaid, Antula. A housemaid! Of course they would have one, and yet it was so odd to have her open the door. I could tell by her scowl, the way she stared at my bag of herbs, that she wasn’t pleased with me being there.

As for Nikola, he was kind enough, thanking me for coming. I was a bit surprised to see him dressed more casually, in a simple linen shirt and trousers. His hair was all mussed, as if he had been raking his hand through it. Strangely, it suited him.

And now, Majko, before I get to Ana, I must tell you about the house.

When Nikola led me inside, I felt as though I had stepped into a palace rather than someone’s home. The space was bathed in a soft, golden glow from the numerous oil lamps hanging on the walls. Polished marble tiles gleamed beneath my feet, and a beautiful chandelier hung above, dripping with diamonds. Landscape paintings adorned the walls, adding an air of elegance. Everything around me was gorgeous and grand, making me feel small, like a mouse that had snuck in where it didn’t belong.

I could sense Marko’s spirit too, like it was fused within the walls. The house was unsettled, haughty. It seemed to whisper, How dare you enter without his knowledge. All this beauty is not for you to enjoy. I did my best to pay it no heed. Nikola was his blood, and he had brought me inside.

Once I stopped marveling at the grandeur, the scent hit me. Lavender clung to the air, thick and overbearing, almost sickly. I wondered if the housemaid drenched every surface in lavender oil while cleaning.

Then there was the cold. An unnatural chill, as if the house were perched right on the shore, the sea breeze blowing in. I pulled your shawl tighter around me, but it did little to stop the goose bumps rippling across my skin.

Nikola led me upstairs. As silly as it may sound, even the stairs impressed me. Can you imagine a home so large? I knew Marko’s lavender oil business was thriving, but it must be doing exceptionally well. A tinge of jealousy pinched my heart. Here they were with gilded paintings and enough oil lamps to make night into day, while my roof leaked straight onto the kitchen floor whenever it rained. Soon, I hoped, I would have a small share of their wealth. Better yet, the respect of the whole village.

But that’s where my wonder ended. As soon as we arrived on the second floor, the smell of the home changed. There was still lavender, but it was fainter, overpowered by something else. Something . . . rotting, like an overripe fig left out in the hot sun. I resisted the urge to cover my nose, remembering my manners. I peeked at Nikola, wondering if he noticed the putrid air, but he gave no indication. Perhaps he had gotten used to it.

As we moved down the hall, my nerves intensified. A frail and tortured Isus stared at me from a wooden crucifix above the door. There were religious images all over the home, mixed among the other decor—portraits of Marija, saints, angels with majestic wings. It was to be expected, but it unsettled me all the same. It felt like a sin to be there in secret, unbeknownst to Marko.

The room where Ana lay was massive—bigger than our kitchen and living room combined, and just as grand as the rest of the house, if not more. There was a polished vanity, a detailed floral rug, and a four-poster bed, with a fine lace canopy draped around. All the furniture looked heavy and finely crafted, made of rich oak.

I almost missed Ana lying in the center of the bed. Her figure looked so frail atop the plush bedding I feared she would be swallowed at any moment.

Perhaps it was the dark, the glow of the oil lamps casting shadows down her face, but she looked even worse than the day before. Like a corpse. As I drew closer, I realized with horror that she was the source of the rotting smell. A wave of nausea rolled through me, and I had to fight the urge to dash from the room and throw up my dinner.

Nikola prodded her gently. Sleeping or dead, I couldn’t tell. But a moment later, she stirred. Nikola introduced me by my full name, the daughter of Vera and Frane. A proud feeling washed over me when he said this, as if I were someone important, an awaited guest. And then he told her I was there to help with her sickness.

My pride shriveled into fear. It seemed like the first time Ana was learning of the arrangement. Even though I’d never had any negative interactions with her directly, I feared she would grow upset. Cast me out. How could Nikola risk such a thing? And yet he remained calm. Perhaps he knew his mother well enough.

I waited as she peered at me. Her eyes were light like Nikola’s, but sadder and grayer, like a rain cloud on a winter’s day. She stared at me for what felt like ages, then finally said, “Vera?”

“No, this is her daughter, Magdalena,” Nikola corrected.

“Oh . . . you look so much like her,” Ana replied.

I couldn’t believe my ears. No one had ever told me that I looked like you besides Otac, and even then, I thought he was just being the kind father he always was. I know I’m not as beautiful as you were, Majko, but it still filled me with warmth, like a fire stoked in the hearth of my chest.

Ana pushed herself up a little then and said, “I still remember the first day she arrived here. My husband had heard about the shipwreck that befell your father, and he thought him dead. Everyone did. So when he returned to Tolba, alive and well, with this beautiful woman at his side who had saved him, we were all shocked. She seemed like some sort of . . . vila to me.”

The way she said vila though, it was not like a conniving fairy, as in the tales you used to tell me, but an enchanting one.

Then her expression grew softer. “I’m sorry for the way Marko treated her, especially when your father fell ill. He can be so judgmental, especially about things he doesn’t understand. She didn’t deserve his harshness. Anyone could see how much she loved your father.”

This surprised me even more. I always assumed Ana carried the same judgment as Marko, though perhaps not as strongly. But hearing her words of support, I knew then I would do whatever I could to heal her. With or without payment. Maybe that is foolish of me to say, but it’s been so long since I felt like I had any sort of ally in this world.

“Do you think you can help me?” she asked, hope filling her voice.

“I can try,” I told her.

At this, she sank back down into the covers, her eyelids fluttering closed, as if the conversation had drained her. According to Nikola, this was normal. Her energy came and went, waning quickly.

I asked him several more questions about her sickness and the treatments she had received. As I stood there listening to Nikola, studying Ana’s figure, a peculiar sensation came over me. Like a tug at the corner of my mind, from a distant memory. I thought maybe you had treated someone with similar symptoms before, though I couldn’t properly grasp the memory then or even now.