The Wish Collector
Page 25
A slight breeze brushed Clara’s skin, though there were no windows open anywhere she could see, and the door was now closed.
Nerves cascaded through her, but she was too curious to turn around, her gaze snagging on one interesting object after another. She walked slowly around the shop, leaning in and looking at the assortment of crystals and geodes that glittered atop one table, and stopping to study the names on the tiny amber bottles on another. They were each labeled in handwritten print: Money, success, love. My, but there are so many ways to make wishes in this world, she thought.
“And what is it you wish for, dear girl?”
Clara spun around to see an older woman in a purple dress standing in a doorway half covered by a curtain at the back of the shop. What do you wish for, she’d asked. It was as if the woman had read her thoughts.
The woman moved closer, and Clara saw that though she was older, she was still stunning with large turquoise eyes and hair that was a mixture of white and a blonde so pale, Clara could only discern the difference between the two shades now that the woman was standing in front of her.
“It is love you wish for, no?”
“I . . . I suppose so.” Doesn’t everyone?
The woman tilted her head, studying her for a moment. “It is hard for you to wish for things for yourself? Very rare.”
The woman had phrased it as a question, but she turned away from Clara as if requiring no answer. “Come, I am closed, but I will read for you. No charge.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize—”
The woman waved her hand dismissively and held the curtain open for Clara. Clara hesitated, but the urge to hear what the woman would read for her was strong, her inquisitiveness overwhelming the unsettled feeling she’d had since she’d entered the shop.
Clara glanced back once, and as she did a shadow moved away from the doorway, leaning back as if he had peered into the shop for a moment.
She turned back to the woman, and the woman was watching the door where the shadow had been a moment before, too, a frown marring her beautiful face. But as quickly as Clara had seen it, it was gone and the woman gestured to her once more and then disappeared behind the heavy red curtain. Clara followed.
The back of the shop was dim and mostly empty, twinkle lights strung across the ceiling, a round table positioned in the middle of the floor, the woman already seated on one side. Clara took the empty chair opposite her.
“I am Madame Catoire. And your name is?”
“Clara.”
She smiled a thin smile and pulled a deck of cards from the middle of the table. “Shuffle these, please.”
Madame Catoire handed them to Clara and she did so, handing them back to the older woman who then shuffled them herself, peering intently at Clara all the while.
Madame Catoire laid the cards out one by one, each containing symbols and numbers that meant nothing to Clara. The fortune teller looked them over for a moment before sitting back in her chair.
“There is sadness in you. You have experienced a loss only . . .” The woman’s brows creased as if she was trying to find the right words. “It is not quite a loss.” She looked at Clara. “Someone you love is very ill.”
Clara nodded. “Yes,” she breathed. “My father.”
Madame Catoire nodded. “What the doctors have told you is correct.”
Clara nodded again slowly, sadly. Yes, she knew.
Madame Catoire studied the cards once more. “You seek answers to a mystery.”
Clara’s heart jumped but she took a slow breath, going for a casual response. Fortune tellers were like salespeople after all, weren’t they? Letting them see your excitement gave them an edge. “I am actually.”
The fortune teller didn’t look up at her though, as if she neither wanted nor needed her validation. She leaned forward, her eyes seeming to shimmer in the golden light cast from the strings of twinkling lights above. “Keep seeking. Do not stop. It is very important.”
“Okay—”
“Very important,” she whispered again before looking back at the cards, her full red lips tight and tilted downward.
Clara shivered, adjusting herself in her chair. Could Madame Catoire actually be talking about the riddle and how to set Angelina free? “Madame Catoire, can you tell me where to find more answers? Where to look?”
“No. The cards do not answer questions nor communicate in specifics. They speak in shadows, and I know only what peeks through the mist.”
Well, that sounds . . . vague. Disappointment overcame Clara and she wondered if this was all some trick. If Madame Catoire couldn’t speak in specifics or answer questions, couldn’t generalities apply to almost everyone? Then again . . . the two things she’d given Clara so far hadn’t been things that would be applicable to just anyone. But they’d been very applicable to her. And she’d even insisted that Clara not pay her, so there wasn’t really a reason for her to trick Clara anyhow.
Madame Catoire looked Clara in the eye as her finger moved over another card, slowly, almost caressingly. “Be wary of the man with two faces. He’ll hurt you if you let him.”
Be wary . . . the man with two faces? Could she mean . . . Jonah? He was scarred, she knew that, but what did the fortune teller mean about two faces? His old face and his new face? He’ll hurt you if you let him? Jonah?
She shook her head, denying her own unspoken thought. She couldn’t believe Jonah would harm her. She trusted him. At least . . . well, at least as far as her safety went. Then again, maybe she was being naïve. She felt like she knew him, but could you really know a person from behind a wall? Yes, her heart insisted. Yes. But doubt continued to linger . . . he hadn’t come to meet her. Nor did he wait by the wall.
Madame Catoire said the cards didn’t answer questions so Clara didn’t ask her to clarify. “Is there anything else, Madame Catoire? Anything about . . . love?”
Madame Catoire sat back in her chair, looking exhausted somehow, which was surprising given they’d only been sitting at a table for ten minutes or so. “Your true love dances between moonbeams.”
What in the world? Dances? She was a dancer, obviously, but other than that, Clara had no earthly idea what the words meant and opened her mouth to say so when Madame Catoire stood suddenly. “The reading is done.”
She gathered her cards with a flourish, and left through another door in the back of the small room. Clara heard her ascending stairs and stood, confused by the abrupt departure. Wasn’t she going to walk her to the door and lock up? She’d said she was closed . . .
Clara took a twenty and a five from her purse and placed the bills on the table so Madame Catoire would see the money when she came downstairs. There was no sign that indicated how much readings were, but she didn’t feel right allowing the fortune teller to work for free, and hoped the money she’d placed on the table was in the arena of what she generally charged.
The bell tinkled above the front door again as Clara opened it, closing it tightly behind her as she stepped out into the muggy night air. The street was emptier than it’d been before she entered the shop.
Clara pulled her phone out and glanced at the time, surprised to find that an hour had gone by. How did that happen? she wondered with a confused frown.
She turned right, hurrying down the street. She had ten minutes to rush to the costume shop. Ten minutes to find something to wear to the masquerade ball. And then another night alone. She knew she’d continue pondering the fortune teller’s words: Keep seeking. Do not stop. It is very important.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
January, 1861
“Mr. Whitfield, you look dashing this evening.”
John smiled, though it felt forced. If Mrs. Chamberlain noticed, she didn’t react. “Thank you, Mrs. Chamberlain. You look lovely as always.”
He turned to Astrid who was right next to her mother. “As do you, Astrid.”
Astrid blushed to her hairline and John felt a small, sinking feeling in his chest. He hated that he was using the girl as a means to spend time at Windisle—to spend time with Angelina—but at the moment, there was simply no other way.
“Is that Mrs. Holdsworth? I do believe it is. Why don’t you young people have a glass of punch, and I’ll be right back.”
Nerves cascaded through her, but she was too curious to turn around, her gaze snagging on one interesting object after another. She walked slowly around the shop, leaning in and looking at the assortment of crystals and geodes that glittered atop one table, and stopping to study the names on the tiny amber bottles on another. They were each labeled in handwritten print: Money, success, love. My, but there are so many ways to make wishes in this world, she thought.
“And what is it you wish for, dear girl?”
Clara spun around to see an older woman in a purple dress standing in a doorway half covered by a curtain at the back of the shop. What do you wish for, she’d asked. It was as if the woman had read her thoughts.
The woman moved closer, and Clara saw that though she was older, she was still stunning with large turquoise eyes and hair that was a mixture of white and a blonde so pale, Clara could only discern the difference between the two shades now that the woman was standing in front of her.
“It is love you wish for, no?”
“I . . . I suppose so.” Doesn’t everyone?
The woman tilted her head, studying her for a moment. “It is hard for you to wish for things for yourself? Very rare.”
The woman had phrased it as a question, but she turned away from Clara as if requiring no answer. “Come, I am closed, but I will read for you. No charge.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize—”
The woman waved her hand dismissively and held the curtain open for Clara. Clara hesitated, but the urge to hear what the woman would read for her was strong, her inquisitiveness overwhelming the unsettled feeling she’d had since she’d entered the shop.
Clara glanced back once, and as she did a shadow moved away from the doorway, leaning back as if he had peered into the shop for a moment.
She turned back to the woman, and the woman was watching the door where the shadow had been a moment before, too, a frown marring her beautiful face. But as quickly as Clara had seen it, it was gone and the woman gestured to her once more and then disappeared behind the heavy red curtain. Clara followed.
The back of the shop was dim and mostly empty, twinkle lights strung across the ceiling, a round table positioned in the middle of the floor, the woman already seated on one side. Clara took the empty chair opposite her.
“I am Madame Catoire. And your name is?”
“Clara.”
She smiled a thin smile and pulled a deck of cards from the middle of the table. “Shuffle these, please.”
Madame Catoire handed them to Clara and she did so, handing them back to the older woman who then shuffled them herself, peering intently at Clara all the while.
Madame Catoire laid the cards out one by one, each containing symbols and numbers that meant nothing to Clara. The fortune teller looked them over for a moment before sitting back in her chair.
“There is sadness in you. You have experienced a loss only . . .” The woman’s brows creased as if she was trying to find the right words. “It is not quite a loss.” She looked at Clara. “Someone you love is very ill.”
Clara nodded. “Yes,” she breathed. “My father.”
Madame Catoire nodded. “What the doctors have told you is correct.”
Clara nodded again slowly, sadly. Yes, she knew.
Madame Catoire studied the cards once more. “You seek answers to a mystery.”
Clara’s heart jumped but she took a slow breath, going for a casual response. Fortune tellers were like salespeople after all, weren’t they? Letting them see your excitement gave them an edge. “I am actually.”
The fortune teller didn’t look up at her though, as if she neither wanted nor needed her validation. She leaned forward, her eyes seeming to shimmer in the golden light cast from the strings of twinkling lights above. “Keep seeking. Do not stop. It is very important.”
“Okay—”
“Very important,” she whispered again before looking back at the cards, her full red lips tight and tilted downward.
Clara shivered, adjusting herself in her chair. Could Madame Catoire actually be talking about the riddle and how to set Angelina free? “Madame Catoire, can you tell me where to find more answers? Where to look?”
“No. The cards do not answer questions nor communicate in specifics. They speak in shadows, and I know only what peeks through the mist.”
Well, that sounds . . . vague. Disappointment overcame Clara and she wondered if this was all some trick. If Madame Catoire couldn’t speak in specifics or answer questions, couldn’t generalities apply to almost everyone? Then again . . . the two things she’d given Clara so far hadn’t been things that would be applicable to just anyone. But they’d been very applicable to her. And she’d even insisted that Clara not pay her, so there wasn’t really a reason for her to trick Clara anyhow.
Madame Catoire looked Clara in the eye as her finger moved over another card, slowly, almost caressingly. “Be wary of the man with two faces. He’ll hurt you if you let him.”
Be wary . . . the man with two faces? Could she mean . . . Jonah? He was scarred, she knew that, but what did the fortune teller mean about two faces? His old face and his new face? He’ll hurt you if you let him? Jonah?
She shook her head, denying her own unspoken thought. She couldn’t believe Jonah would harm her. She trusted him. At least . . . well, at least as far as her safety went. Then again, maybe she was being naïve. She felt like she knew him, but could you really know a person from behind a wall? Yes, her heart insisted. Yes. But doubt continued to linger . . . he hadn’t come to meet her. Nor did he wait by the wall.
Madame Catoire said the cards didn’t answer questions so Clara didn’t ask her to clarify. “Is there anything else, Madame Catoire? Anything about . . . love?”
Madame Catoire sat back in her chair, looking exhausted somehow, which was surprising given they’d only been sitting at a table for ten minutes or so. “Your true love dances between moonbeams.”
What in the world? Dances? She was a dancer, obviously, but other than that, Clara had no earthly idea what the words meant and opened her mouth to say so when Madame Catoire stood suddenly. “The reading is done.”
She gathered her cards with a flourish, and left through another door in the back of the small room. Clara heard her ascending stairs and stood, confused by the abrupt departure. Wasn’t she going to walk her to the door and lock up? She’d said she was closed . . .
Clara took a twenty and a five from her purse and placed the bills on the table so Madame Catoire would see the money when she came downstairs. There was no sign that indicated how much readings were, but she didn’t feel right allowing the fortune teller to work for free, and hoped the money she’d placed on the table was in the arena of what she generally charged.
The bell tinkled above the front door again as Clara opened it, closing it tightly behind her as she stepped out into the muggy night air. The street was emptier than it’d been before she entered the shop.
Clara pulled her phone out and glanced at the time, surprised to find that an hour had gone by. How did that happen? she wondered with a confused frown.
She turned right, hurrying down the street. She had ten minutes to rush to the costume shop. Ten minutes to find something to wear to the masquerade ball. And then another night alone. She knew she’d continue pondering the fortune teller’s words: Keep seeking. Do not stop. It is very important.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
January, 1861
“Mr. Whitfield, you look dashing this evening.”
John smiled, though it felt forced. If Mrs. Chamberlain noticed, she didn’t react. “Thank you, Mrs. Chamberlain. You look lovely as always.”
He turned to Astrid who was right next to her mother. “As do you, Astrid.”
Astrid blushed to her hairline and John felt a small, sinking feeling in his chest. He hated that he was using the girl as a means to spend time at Windisle—to spend time with Angelina—but at the moment, there was simply no other way.
“Is that Mrs. Holdsworth? I do believe it is. Why don’t you young people have a glass of punch, and I’ll be right back.”
