Sleeping Helena (7 page)

“Why did you leave?” she had asked him one day as he appeared at dawn.

Thekla had been standing at her bedroom window to watch the sun rise, to capture a moment of quiet before the house began to stir. She had not been sleeping well, the nightmares were growing worse by the week, and she was always worried about any number of things that could go wrong in the day.

Louis had not answered. Instead, as the sun had risen slightly higher and the patterns of shadow shifted on the floor, he had faded into light.

“I miss you,” she’d said another time, out in the gardens where she thought she saw him standing by a tree. The shade had smiled, glanced at the upper rooms of the house, and then vanished.

She had believed she’d seen a message in that glance and so she had dared, at last, to knock again on Katza’s door.

There had been a voice from beyond the thick wood, muffled and barely audible. “Who is it?”

“It is Thekla. Please let me in.”

A few moments had passed in which Thekla had fidgeted, afraid of what she would see beyond the door. It had opened slowly to reveal Katza, her once neatly wound braid hanging in unkempt tangles past her shoulders, her dress rumpled and no shoes on her feet.

Thekla had observed these things but had not said a word about them.

Katza had taken her by the shoulder and pulled her into the darkened room. The curtains had been drawn; it could have been night and no one would have known the difference. She had shut the door behind them and led Thekla to the bed, where Katza sat with her head in her hands.

“Katza? I’m worried about you. So is Louis.”

Katza had looked sharply at her sister. “What are you talking about?”

Thekla had lowered her eyes. She did not want to share this secret with her sister. It was all she had of Louis; she wanted to keep it for herself. But Katza was so miserable, Thekla had thought. Maybe it would help.

“I see him, sometimes.”

“Come here,” Katza had said as she reached out her arms.

Thekla had fallen into them with an aching relief.

“You have taken on so many of the responsibilities of this house. I have neglected you. Will you forgive me?”

Thekla had sniffled and wrapped her arms more tightly around Katza’s waist. “Yes.”

“Hush now. There is too much sadness here already. We’ve got to get out, you and I. Will you leave with me?”

At that moment, Thekla would have done anything her sister suggested, so grateful was she to have been noticed by her again. She had nodded and wiped her eyes with a sleeve.

“Good. We must act as though nothing has changed. I am making plans now. Give me a little more time, my sister, and then we will go.”

“But what of the others?” Thekla could not forget them.

“They will be fine. Mama is here, she will soon come to her senses, and there are plenty of other people to tend to them in the meantime. You’ll make yourself sick worrying so. Please?”

Thekla had nodded again, trusting in Katza’s wisdom, and had not complained when Katza ushered her out of the room with a finger to her lips.

“Don’t say a word to anyone. This is our secret.”

Thekla had done as Katza instructed. She’d left her sisters to the care of their tutors and nannies and let music command her attention as it had always done. Soon enough, Mama had turned her own attention back to her children, even smiling at Eva’s babble now and again. Thekla had known then that all would be well. She had relaxed and waited, and stifled her confusion when Katza made silent appearances at the table.

The day after their father’s funeral, Katza had not appeared for breakfast.

“Thekla, would you please go ask your sister if she is coming down this morning?” Mama had not seemed concerned.

Thekla had crept up to Katza’s room and knocked on the heavy door. She’d waited; there’d been no answer. She’d knocked again, but something had told her that Katza was not there. She’d opened the door and let the light from the hall slowly enter the room. It had been dark and empty, the bed strewn with discarded clothes. Katza was gone.

Thekla had stood as still as a mouse does in those few moments when it must decide if the thing that has caught its attention is dangerous. That Katza had left without her did not sink in right away. Thekla had walked slowly toward the windows and drawn the curtains aside. Their plush fabric had swung open to reveal an expanse of green, the very lawn on which she, Katza, and Louis had shared a picnic on Katza’s last birthday. Thekla had imagined she’d seen them, hand in hand, running away from the house.

She had not cried. Instead, she had turned back toward the empty room, noticed the way motes of dust sparkled in the sun and the gleam of burnished wood on the four-poster bed. The room had already assumed the qualities of a museum; all had been quiet except for the sound of Thekla breathing as she looked over the relics of her sister’s life, left behind. As was she. It had been her own fault for believing in Katza. Thekla had promised herself she would never weaken again.

Her sisters were unaware of Thekla’s heartbreak. Thekla had never mentioned that she’d known of Katza’s intentions, or that she had agreed to leave with her. That was Thekla’s cross to bear. She stiffened her shoulders accordingly. She came from a strong line of women, and it was their strength she drew upon now. First, the mirrors.
And then
, she thought,
the rest of it
. She would hear no argument from any.

Helena stood in a pretty white frock with her fingers in her mouth, a habit she kept though her aunts disapproved. “Hope,” she said, her words garbled. “Make them stop.”

Hope took Helena by the hand and pulled her into the hall. The workmen had already been and gone there and on the wall a large, clean square stood out like a lost bit of patchwork.

“Why are they taking away all of our mirrors?” Helena stamped her foot on the floor.

Hope fingered the keys at her belt. There was now a sturdy lock on the kitchen door, as though Helena was in some kind of danger from the cutlery. Mirrors, some hundreds of years old, were being removed from the walls of each room and hall in the house. Even Elfrieda’s precious silver-handled mirror had been collected and thrown into a bag with some others. The sisters were in shock, but Hope wasn’t allowed time to react. She had to keep Helena out of the way and Helena was having none of it.

Hope wanted to tell Helena the truth. She wanted to say,
she only means to protect you
, but that would unleash too many more questions and Hope could not answer them all. Kitty’s spell rustled in the corner. It was not Hope’s place to speak with Helena about her unusual gifts. Let her live on in the comfort of ignorance for as long as she was able.

It would be better for her, Hope surmised, to discover the truth on her own.

“I don’t know. We’ll have to ask Aunt Thekla after they’ve gone. She is busy now.”

“Aunt Thekla probably did this.”

Helena tried to lure Hope into speaking the truth with her eyes, but Hope was on to her little tricks and manipulations. Helena might work her own brand of magic on her aunts, but Hope was completely immune.

“Then you’ll just have to ask her yourself,” Hope said. She led Helena unwillingly into the kitchen, where there weren’t any mirrors to miss.

“Would you like a glass of milk?” Hope thought to appease Helena before she began to howl.

“Yes,” Helena said and held out her hand.

Hope guessed that Helena had mentioned the bird to Thekla and that this was the result. It was madness—Thekla feared the glass in the mirrors, but they were surely not the only things that might cause Helena harm. There were splinters in the old wood, thorns in the garden, and glass lamps all over the house. Would they vanish next? There was certainly more to come.

Hope had to admit that Thekla was right about one thing. They had grown too complacent, their attention focused on Helena’s evident gifts while the other had been all but forgotten. Hope was just as much to blame as any of them, but none knew exactly what they should watch for. Kitty had done nothing since their return, had not once shown her face, but that meant nothing. The deed had been done and Kitty was no doubt waiting, like the rest of them, for her gift to be opened. Hope glanced at Helena and heard again the sound of her foot coming down on the flagstones. Perhaps it already had.

She wondered what Helena was thinking as she sat so calmly and sipped at her milk. The house was full of strange faces; Helena lived a secluded life and saw no one but those approved by Thekla to enter. Tutors, the doctor, her aunts: all deferred to Helena. These men hardly saw her as they passed by in the hall.

Hope wasn’t blind; she could see how Helena ruled everyone who entered her circle. Helena should be screaming at this intrusion and the upheaval it was causing. Instead, she sat with her head down and said nothing.

They listened for a while to the bustle in the house until Helena finally asked, “What will we do without the mirrors, Hope?”

The sound of her voice, delicate and soft in this rare moment of confusion, drew Hope’s sympathy.

“We will learn to live without them, Helena. Would you like an apple?” she asked as she reached for one from the table. “I will peel it for you.”

She turned and Hope thought her heart would break at the sight of Helena’s face. Her eyes begged for a truth Hope could not give her. Instead, Hope took her into her arms. To Hope’s surprise, Helena did not pull away.

It lasted for only a moment. Helena stiffened and turned back into stone and Hope left her to sulking. There was laundry to fold and hems to mend and supper to think about and the day had been thrown into chaos.

Hope scoffed at the lock on the pantry door and then realized it might be the only good thing to come of Thekla’s decision. There were objects she kept inside that were not meant for others to find. She sorted through her keys until she found the right one. This will take some getting used to, she thought as it turned in the lock. The pantry was her pride; it was a long room stocked with goods and linens and one wall was lined with drawers. She stepped inside and pulled one open and took out a small leather pouch. It was warm in her palm; she kissed it and tucked it into her pocket.

“Hope?”

Helena’s voice called her out of the pantry—Hope carefully locked the door as it closed behind her. “What is it, Helena?”

“Take me into the garden.”

Death had raised its famished head.

Everyone was humbled by the removal of the mirrors, even Thekla, who’d ordered it done. The twins were unusually quiet. Zilli and Elfrieda stayed in their rooms. Ingeburg stalked through the naked halls and decried a life without reflection. Eva sat in the kitchen, day after day, the heavy key on a loop at her belt a constant reminder of Kitty’s gift. Gone were the days when the sisters could gather at mealtimes, or to share the bounty of the gardens with Hope, without thought of locking and unlocking doors. Even Hope’s good nature had been affected by Thekla’s decision. She could often be found behind the sealed doors staring into her pots and pans, as though scrying in their copper depths for a brighter future.

Eva was at a loss. The empty walls of the house towered around her no matter where she went. Their flat and barren surfaces seemed to beg for decoration, but the sisters were forbidden to hang anything else upon them. It was awful, but what the lack represented for Eva was worse. She could not come to terms with her sister’s drastic measures and felt like a traitor for it.

She owed her good life to Thekla
—
they all did. Her sister had kept the family together and raised them when Mama had died, on her own and with no help from anyone. Thekla had never once led them astray. She knew best and they all believed it, but what if they were wrong? It was difficult to imagine going against Thekla in any matter, yet Eva did imagine it.

They knew nothing of Kitty, not really. The more Eva questioned it, the more she realized that they had each formed an opinion of Kitty by way of Thekla. Whoever Thekla loved, they loved. Whoever Thekla despised, they despised. A surge of guilt flooded Eva as these ideas took shape, as though she was already defying her sister just by considering them. She fussed with a button on her sweater. The pearl slipped through her fingers, too small to grasp.

Eva decided, after a great deal of sighing and mumbling, to visit Kitty herself. She would form her own opinion, once and for all.

It was treachery. Eva left through the kitchen while Thekla was busy elsewhere. She felt like a thief as she crept through the gardens, hoping to avoid detection. Eva did not remember much of Kitty beyond her appearance at Helena’s christening. She recalled a young face, long hair kept in a neat braid, and heard laughter, but when she tried to get a sense of the person, there was only an empty space. When Kitty left it was as though a piece of the family puzzle went missing beneath the rug. Eva got used to the missing piece, as people will, and filled in the hole with her own ideas about whoever once fit there. Thekla’s ideas, she reminded herself.

As the years had passed, the legend of Kitty had grown. Demented, cursed, wild: these were the words used to describe their sister, spoken so often their true meanings had become dulled. Was Kitty demented? She had not seemed so at the christening. Indecipherable, yes, but not mad
—
at least no more so than Thekla, who had brought the mirrors down.

When Eva reached the door to the coach house, she found it already open. She cursed under her breath. She did not need a reminder of Kitty’s extra gift, not when she was trying to see her sister in a different light. Without warning, Kitty appeared in the doorway. Eva felt a blush darken her cheeks. She put her hand to her face before she realized what she was doing.

“You were expecting me.”

“Of course I was.” Kitty smiled and held the door open, ushering Eva inside.

It was no way to begin the encounter. Eva was flustered, her stomach rumbled and Kitty, her blue eyes as clear as still water, seemed more like a cat intent on a mouse than an old woman in a floral housedress.