The Master Craftsman, page 32
“Look at the man in these sculptures,” he said.
She turned and took in the four bronze horsemen, focusing on the statue nearest to them. The horse reared up before her, the look in his bronze eyes wild. The man at his side clearly struggled beneath the strain, the muscles in his legs and arms tight and protruding. She had never really studied the statues before, usually keeping her head down as she passed by them and rushed home to meet her husband in their shared flat.
“Notice the way the man wrestles and pulls at the horse. The beast is not going down without a fight.”
She studied the statue quietly.
“Russia is the horse, my dear girl,” Fabergé said beside her. “She is putting up a fight now, but she will be subdued.” He’d turned to her then and grabbed her hand, squeezing it gently. “Don’t let them break you, Alma,” he said. “You were meant to be wild and free.”
Alma pushed back from the window and shook off the memory. Much had happened in the last three years. She had failed in so many ways, but perhaps the most striking was the fact that she had been broken. She had been tamed, just as he’d feared she would be.
Alma jumped as the door burst open and Nicholas came striding in. His hair, which had grayed at the temples, stood in wild tufts around his head and his eyes, wide behind his round glasses, stared at her. She stood mute beside the table. Nicholas strode over to her in three long steps, sweeping her into his arms and kissing her fiercely.
At first, Alma resisted, pushing against his chest with her fists. But she quickly melted into his embrace, the kiss communicating a thousand things that words could never capture.
“Nicholas—” she began, pushing away from him.
He held up his hand, a set of papers clutched in his fist. “I got them, my darling,” he said. “We leave tonight.”
“We . . . we leave tonight?” she repeated, her stunned words hollow in her ears.
Nicholas stepped forward and pulled her to his chest, cradling her head in his hand. “We’re going home, Alma.”
They stood still, clinging to one another for a long time before Nicholas pushed back. “Pack only what you can carry with you,” he said. He brushed the curl off her forehead with a smile. “I love you so much,” he whispered.
“Nicholas,” she answered. “I love you.” She stood on her toes and kissed him again. He stepped back and gave her a gentle smile, his eyes soft as he drank her in. She knew she was forgiven.
“I’m going back to the office to gather a few items. I left so quickly I didn’t get everything I needed. I will be back in one hour. Be ready, my love.”
Alma nodded. “Home,” she said, her eyes filling with tears.
“Home.” He cupped her cheek softly, then turned and rushed back out of the flat.
Alma wiped her eyes and walked to the bureau, pulling open the top drawer and removing the cloth carpetbag that she would pack to take home. She turned back to the bed and felt her stomach turn into a knot once more. She and Nicholas would be okay. She knew that deep down.
But she also knew that she had a secret, and that she would never be able to share it with him, no matter how much space they put between themselves and this life in Russia.
Present Day
Ava ran as fast as she could around the lake, Zak and her mom straining to keep up. Every once in a while she’d slow, the sound of Zak’s gasps giving her enough pause to make sure he was still okay. His shirt was now soaked with blood at the elbow, and his face looked pale in the fading night sky.
“Ava,” Carol heaved as she caught up. “What makes you so sure the egg is out here?”
“Something Nick said while we were talking,” Ava said. She turned and looked ahead, her eyes straining to see through the impending morning light. The birds had awoken, and they whistled a tune in the trees that surrounded the lake. The water was completely still, without a wisp of wind to move it from its slumber. As the sky lightened above the tree line, Ava took in the sight.
“I think the little hideaway house is just over there,” she motioned. She followed the path, slower this time, until the hazy image of a wooden post jutting up from the ground became evident before them.
“That’s it,” she whispered.
“What?” Zak breathed behind her.
Ava pointed at the post. “Nick said there would be a wooden post that marked where the little house stood behind the lake.” She jogged ahead of them and knelt down before the post, running her fingers over the inscription carved into the side.
Paikka, jota rakastan eniten.
“What does it say?” Carol asked, kneeling down beside Ava.
“It says ‘the place I love most,’” she answered. Using her hands, she reached down and began digging at the ground. It was hard and cold and her fingers immediately began to ache, but she pushed them into the dirt, pulling and moving it aside.
“Ava?”
“Nick told me that this was the place his grandmother loved to escape to when his mother was young. He said it was the place she loved more than any place in the world.” Ava grunted as she continued to dig around the base of the post, her fingers finally breaking through the hard earth. The soil was softer farther down.
“In her journal, Lida wrote that she overheard Isla and Alma talking about how they buried Alma’s secret in the meadow with the black rock. But she goes on to say that she followed them there, and she now has a secret of her own.”
Ava paused, sitting back on her heels and looking from her mother to Zak, who had slumped down beside them and leaned heavily against the post.
“She wrote that the way to keep a secret was layered beneath the place most loved.”
“You think Lida reburied the egg here?” Zak asked.
Ava leaned forward and began digging again, her hands moving quickly now as the hole at the base of the post grew deeper. Ava shoved her hands into the ground and yelped as her finger jammed against something hard and cold. She looked down and caught the glint of metal, then looked up at her mom and Zak.
“I think she did,” she said, her breath coming out in frozen puffs.
Quickly, they dug more dirt out of the way, Zak using his good arm to push the mounds of dirt to the side so they wouldn’t fall back into the hole. Minutes later, Ava dragged out a square metal box, dented and cold. She turned it to the side and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw no lock. Drawing in a deep breath, she pulled open the lid and looked inside. She fell back against the post, the air shooting from her lungs as though she’d been punched.
“Ava?”
Ava looked up at her mom, then at Zak, the blood from her face having drained slowly. She reached inside the box and pulled out a single sheet of paper, opening it up slowly.
It was the most detailed picture of the egg they’d seen so far, minutely drawn by someone who had clearly studied the object closely. Beneath the egg was the drawing of a fist thrust upward in defiance. A crown had been drawn over the fist, colored red, though the markings were now faded. It looked like a bloody hand raised in revolution.
Ava looked back into the box. At the bottom, on a worn piece of red velvet, lay a pair of diamond earrings shaped like frozen icicles against glass.
“The egg isn’t here,” Ava gasped.
They stared at one another, stunned, the juxtaposition of the rising sun and singing birds stark against their ashen faces.
“What do you mean, it’s not there?” Carol asked. She peered inside the box and gingerly pulled out the earrings, laying them in her palm and holding them up.
“Are those the earrings that Alma designed?” Zak asked.
Ava sat heavily into the cold, wet grass, fatigue crashing down on her as the adrenaline siphoned out of her body. She opened her mouth to answer, when the phone in Zak’s pocket began to buzz.
Carol placed the earrings back in the box and reached into Zak’s pocket for the phone. “Nick?” she said. “Nick, you’re not going to believe this.”
“Carol, it’s Sylvie.” The voice on the other line tremored.
“Sylvie?”
“Do you have Ava? Is she alright?”
“Yes, Sylvie.” Carol looked at her daughter. “We got her, and you’re not going to believe this. We need to talk to Nick.”
A long pause swelled before them.
“Carol,” Sylvie finally said, “you all need to get back now. Nicky doesn’t have much time.”
Finland, 1925
Lida dug her hands into the soft earth, glancing over her shoulder as the air in her lungs pushed in and out in short bursts. She’d done it, and there was no going back now.
She dug until the skin beneath her fingernails grew raw and tight. A worm wriggled its way out of the clump of dirt in her palm and plopped on the ground at her knees, where her skirt splayed out around her, muddy and soiled. Isla would surely give her grief for that.
Lida paused, thinking about her older sister. Isla was ten years her senior, and it made her act more like a mother. Still, Lida loved her and looked up to her, if perhaps she resented her at the same time.
Beautiful Isla who still lived at home. For a long time, she had been the most eligible bachelorette in town, with scores of young men coming by to squire her away. But Isla was a wild spirit, longing for freedom and afraid of commitment. She’d never been one to take on the role of housewife, so she remained at home, now the subject of much gossip as the elder ladies in the town clucked their tongues when she walked past without a single care, her long blond hair braided and swinging side to side.
“Such a waste. A beautiful girl like that, now doomed to be a spinster. I suppose the family’s only hope is in the younger one, a homely little thing, but perhaps better suited for a family.” Lida could hear their whispers, and she knew they spoke of her.
When Alma returned, she and Isla had taken up where they’d left off as children, whispering and giggling together like schoolgirls. Alma, already married, was different from Isla in many ways. She was more genteel and shy. Somehow, their differences worked, though, and Lida envied their friendship.
Alma had hired her to come clean her house periodically, as she had gone back to work as an art teacher at the local school. In that way, Alma and Isla were identical—neither much cared for the traditional womanly roles that defined most of their peers. They far preferred their independence and autonomy. Lida wished she could be like that but knew what was expected of her. Father would be sending her to Helsinki next week. When she had complained to her mother about being sent away, the truth of her situation had been revealed.
“Getting an education is only a means to an end, my dear,” her mother had explained. “The hope is you will find a nice man who will love you and make you a wife.”
She stopped digging and looked up across the lake at her parents’ house. She wished she loved that home as much as they did. She supposed she would have to learn to love it, as the expectation was that someday she and Isla would maintain it and “fill it with children,” her mother would say periodically.
Behind her, down the little path and tucked away in the woods, was the real treasure. It was the little house her father had built for her and Isla when they were children. It was there that Lida followed Isla like a puppy dog, giggling at her big sister’s stories of adventure and treasure hunts. Isla used to hide knickknacks and objects all over the woods surrounding the little house, then give Lida treasure maps and tell her to go find them.
“Someday, the people who come behind us will discover these treasures of ours. A historical treasure trove,” Isla would say, eyes dancing.
Of course, that had been when they were younger. Somewhere along the way, they’d grown up enough to stop playing silly games.
Lida turned and picked up the metal box that she’d taken from the meadow where the black rock lay. She’d followed Alma and Isla that day and watched them quietly and methodically bury it beneath the dirt. After they left, she dug it up.
She didn’t know why she’d done it. Perhaps she’d been jealous of the way they seemed so intent on keeping that secret from her, as though she didn’t deserve to know about it. Whatever the case, she’d impulsively gone back out, by light of the moon, and unearthed the box. And now, it sat in her lap.
She laid it gently back in the dirt, then grabbed a clump of earth and dropped it on top of the metal box with a thud. She’d looked inside the box. She knew the secret. It frustrated her, however, that she didn’t understand why it was so important—why Alma was so frightened and intent on hiding it. Even Isla, who treated just about everything in life as though it were a grand joke, seemed somber and nervous when they buried the box together.
Lida knew there had to be more to the secret, but she didn’t dare ask Isla or Alma. Whatever it was, Alma was afraid for anyone to know she had it. She was so frightened she would bury it. And now, Lida had her own secret, and she would guard it better than anyone else.
Lida quickly finished burying the box, pushing the dirt around until it no longer rolled into a mound but lay flush with the earth surrounding it. Then she grabbed the post that she’d carved out earlier with the knife she took from Father’s shed. Soon, she would be sent to Helsinki to begin a new life, but she would mark this day and this place before she left.
She dug another hole in front of the first, then stood up, pushing and shimmying the post into the ground, sweat gathering on her upper lip as her mud-caked hands twisted it into place. She filled in the places around the post until it stood upright, then she stepped back admiring her work.
“The place I love most,” the post read, and it was true. She really did love this little spot of lake that led to the treasure trove in the trees more than any other place in all the world. She turned and walked away with her eyes trained forward, knowing somehow that her treasures were there, preserving what little freedom she’d ever possessed.
Present Day
Carol reached over and grabbed Nick’s hand, pulling it to her chest. He turned his face to hers, his labored breathing coming out in small gasps. Anatoly had managed to get them a flight out of Helsinki the same day that Sylvie called, flying them home to Tampa, where they jumped in their car and drove to Lakeland, all while the sun remained high in the sky. It was as though they had been chasing time itself, trying to catch it before it slipped away. Ava sat on the other side of Nick, her hands clasped under her chin as she leaned against the bed.
Sylvie stood at the foot of the bed, silent tears coursing down her cheeks as she gently rubbed the feet of her brother. Zak had come in briefly, then gone to the other room with Dr. Tom to have his wound cleaned and better treated.
“Carol.” Nick’s voice came out like a ragged gasp.
“I’m here, Nick,” she said.
He turned toward her, his eyes sunk into his head, hollow and gray. It took a moment before they focused. “Ava?”
Carol nodded. “Yes, she’s here too.”
Ava reached down and grabbed Nick’s hand. He turned to look at her, the corner of his mouth turning up in the faintest smile.
“Hey, kiddo,” he breathed. “Good to see you.”
“We didn’t find the egg,” Ava said, her voice breaking. “It wasn’t in the box.”
Nick turned his head and stared up at the ceiling. “It doesn’t matter,” he whispered. Turning, he looked back at Carol.
“I was . . . such a fool. I’m so sorry.”
Tears filled her eyes. She kissed his hand and shook her head. He drew in a slow breath.
“I spent . . . so much time . . . trying to find the perfect . . . treasure.” He shifted his gaze from her face to Ava’s. “It was . . . right there in front . . . of me. The . . . whole time.”
Ava squeezed his hand tighter and leaned forward, resting her head on the top of his hand, hating how cold and lifeless it felt. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. Nick moved his hand slightly, pushing her chin up so she would face him.
“You,” he whispered. “You were . . . the treasure. You are my . . .” He gasped and grimaced as a wave of pain washed over him. “You’re my treasure,” he wheezed.
“Dad,” Ava cried. She squeezed his hand. “Daddy, no. Please. Stay here, okay? Don’t leave yet. Please.” She leaned forward, pressing her lips against his sallow cheek.
“Oh, kiddo,” he breathed. “I wish I could stay. I wish . . . I would have stayed.” He gasped again.
Ava pushed up and studied him. “I’ll keep searching,” she said. “I’ll find it, I promise.”
Nick let go of Carol’s hand and slowly reached over, running his hand down Ava’s cheek.
“You have . . . the gift,” he gasped. “But don’t . . . let it . . . steal your life.”
Ava nodded. Nick pushed the corners of his mouth up in a smile as tears dripped onto the pillow behind him.
“I . . . love you, kiddo,” he said. He shifted his eyes to Carol. “And you . . . ,” he breathed. “It was always you.”
She dropped her head and covered her face with her hands. Nick drew in a breath, then let it out.
“It was . . .”
His hand went limp in Ava’s, and the room grew still. Sylvie leaned forward and shook Nick’s foot.
“Nicky?” she asked, her voice shaky. “Nicky? Nicky?”
She rushed to the side of the bed and placed her hands on his cheeks, turning his face to hers. His eyes were half closed, his body still. Sylvie fell on the bed in a heap of sobs, as Ava slowly stood up and backed away, her throat burning. She tripped over the dresser and turned, running from the room.
“Ava?” Carol called, but Ava didn’t stop. She pushed open the back door and stumbled down the porch steps, through the immaculately kept grass, and into the grapefruit trees at the back of Sylvie’s property. It was dusk, the setting sun giving way to a spectacular sky. From the horizon and across the dome above, the air was painted a vibrant pink. Ava stared at it, her chest heaving up and down. She dropped to her knees and let out a long, guttural cry. Leaning forward, she put her face in her hands, folding into herself.
