by Kenzie Hart
“Is this your room?” Eddie questions, pushing open the door Klara is standing in front of.
“It is,” she says, thinking about how much she loves her room. It is her oasis.
Eddie moves into the room, and the first thing he notices is the towering ceiling. The walls rise up to at least four meters, and an oversize chandelier hangs from the center of the room. Blue wallpaper goes to the ceiling, featuring a cream and light-yellow design of swallows that look as though they were swooping across the wall toward vines full of blossoming flowers. Centered on one wall is a four-poster bed complete with a canopy. Gold-and-purple fabric hangs over the top and flows down each corner, tied back with a thick ribbon to each post. Opposite the bed stands a stately stone fireplace, the mantel as tall as Klara and filled full of candles. Flanking the fireplace is a tufted purple chair and matching footstool.
“It’s like something out of a fairy tale,” he says, stepping farther into the room with his mouth ajar. The dark hardwood floor creaks under his weight. On the wall opposite him are two paned windows with antique clips, allowing them to fully open out with a long bench situated below them. Purple cushions with gold-threaded puffs and blue-embroidered pillows sit atop.
“This is amazing,” he says, continuing his tour, walking to the far corner where two towering bookcases stand. Books large and small spill from the shelves, and he takes in their musty scent. It normally isn’t something he’d notice, but he finds himself quite liking it. Really, he likes everything about this room. Including the girl standing in it with him.
“Thank you,” Klara says with a grin as she plops onto her bed. She sinks into the thick down comforter and drops her shoes on the floor.
A black iron cage stands against one of the walls, and Eddie walks up to it, sliding his hand across it. “It’s empty?”
“Grandmother got it for me. She knows how much I love animals and thought I would enjoy an exotic bird, but I insisted we mustn’t do such a thing. I could never take a bird from its true home for my own enjoyment.”
He can’t hold back his smile. “I can understand that.”
“The only animal that graces my room is Nana,” Klara says, rolling onto her stomach, putting her hands below her chin, and propping herself onto her elbows.
She looks like she is being swallowed by the silk bedding, and Eddie wonders what it might be like to lie on it with her.
“Where is Nana?” he questions as he makes his way over to her bedside table.
Its circular shape matches the glass vase atop it, which is filled with lavender. Jewelry and a music box sit next to it along with a few stacked books, a single wax candle, and a set of dolls in varying sizes. Eddie picks one up, examining its hand-painting.
“Anytime Nana isn’t with me, she can normally be found in the kitchen with Mrs. B. Nana gets easily distracted by the food.” She laughs. “That’s a matryoshka doll.” Klara watches Eddie examine it. “Grandmother got it when she was in Russia and passed it on to me a few years ago as a birthday gift.” She sits back up, grabbing Eddie’s wrist and pulling him closer to her. She pops the doll open, revealing another within. “See, it opens up.”
“You and your grandmother seem to get along well,” Eddie says, trying to focus on the doll. But Klara’s hand is still resting on his wrist, and the scent of roses and the soft feel of her hand continue to distract him.
Klara catches Eddie’s brown eyes, which reveal something more than usual. She isn’t sure if it is awkwardness. Or longing. But, in that moment, she doesn’t quite care. Especially when he pushes a strand of her hair back behind her ear. As a small blush spreads across his face, Klara determines that the look in his eye might just have been a little bit of both.
“We do. I love my grandmother greatly. She is the most interesting person I’ve met, to be sure.”
“I think I could say the same,” Eddie says. “There certainly isn’t anyone I know with quite as many stories as she seems to have.”
“Exactly so. Come here; I’ll show you my little treasure chest,” she says, pulling Eddie onto the ground at the end of her bed. A large trunk rests on the floor, and it is painted a dusty blue with gilded embellishments.
“So, you did literally mean a treasure chest.” Eddie laughs out loud, which causes Klara’s eyes to brighten.
“Of course!” she giggles, but then her gaze falls intensely on Eddie, and the light mood fades away. “I’ve never shared the contents with anyone.”
He nods his head, motioning for her to open it.
“It’s a mess,” is the first thing that slips out of his mouth. And he instantly regrets it. But, in all honesty, it is.
A small dress is folded, placed atop a stack of books. Klara moves it out of the way and pulls out a more recent copy of Peter Pan.
“My favorite book,” she says, looking at it with bright eyes. She moves it to the side of the trunk, picking up a bouquet of flowers that looks as though it might fall apart at any moment.
“My mother’s wedding bouquet,” she continues, but Eddie notices her bottom lip is quivering slightly.
“It’s beautiful,” Eddie says. He isn’t sure how to approach the topic, but the conversation moves on quickly.
“Oh! And my grandmother’s pearls. My mother’s butterfly hair clip. And one of my grandfather’s journals.” She smiles, bringing the necklace and leathered notebook out together.
“May I?” Eddie asks, wanting to open the bound book to discover the treasures within.
She smiles and nods, handing over the journal and rummaging back through the trunk.
“This is amazing,” he says, slowly flipping through the thin pages.
Cursive handwriting fills them from top to bottom, and along the margins are drawings and sketches of various flowers and trees.
“It is. Grandfather was an outdoorsman at heart. He always believed in getting fresh air. You know, he used to make my grandmother open all the windows throughout the house on nice days. She told me she would put up a small fit, but she truly enjoyed it.”
Eddie starts to laugh, but he falls short as his breath is taken away by how beautiful Klara looks with her legs tucked under her, sitting on the floor with her treasures surrounding her. He watches as she takes care in putting everything back in its proper place.
“Thanks for letting me look at everything,” he says, handing back her grandfather’s journal.
“If you’d like, I can take you to his study next,” she replies, her eyes bright.
As they make their way down the hallway, Eddie watches as Klara slides her hand along one of the doors they pass. The frame is tattered, and it doesn’t look as though it’s been repainted in quite some time.
“What’s in that room?” he asks.
They have passed dozens of doors in the hallways of the house, but this one seems different.
“It was my mother and father’s room.”
“Was? Why not anymore? You said your father still visits, right?” Eddie questions.
“He does. But he can’t bear to be in the room they once shared. He sleeps in another, on the opposite side of the house. But he prefers their old room to be kept the same, as though she were still here,” she explains as they continue down the hallway.
“Oh, wow.” Eddie lets out a heavy breath, the weight of Klara’s past coming to realization.
Maybe her mother’s death doesn’t get to her because it happened when she was so young, but it certainly seems to have affected her father—and rightly so.
“It is unfortunate. I’m not allowed in the room, of course. Only he is. And Mrs. B, which is strange, but I suppose it’s for the flowers. My father’s only request is that, each week, flowers be placed in the room on the bedside table. My mother always loved flowers.”
Eddie furrows his brows, feeling bad. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. It was a long time ago. Father just hasn’t recovered quite yet, but I’m sure he will in his own time.”
Klara
moves a little more swiftly down the hall, as though she is trying to outwalk the past. The conversation. She doesn’t mind sharing these things, but she prefers to see Eddie smile. Not frown at her.
“Now,” she says, pausing in front of a set of ornately carved French doors, “this is Grandfather’s study.” She’s smiling as she pushes them open.
Eddie slowly walks in, his eyes taking in the walls full of shelves. He moves closer, running his fingers across the titles. Naturalism. There are books by Aldo Leopold. He stops to pull out a tattered copy of Walden. There are rows of shelves filled with books on the various species of trees, vines, and woodland creatures that grace their part of the countryside.
“This is an incredible collection,” he says in awe.
“It is. I’m glad to share it with you. You’re welcome to anything. All of his journals and sketches line the bottom shelves there,” Klara says, pointing across the room.
In the center is a large wooden table with papers still spread across it. Pens and watercolor palettes lay, unused. In between the windows are framed botanical prints.
“Thank you, but I couldn’t,” he says, still feeling slightly breathless. He would never have guessed that all of this research and wonder remained, tucked away in a back room of the Kentwood Estate.
Klara smiles, taking a seat at the table, so he sits down alongside her.
“This should all be donated to a university. At the very least, the books alone could go on display.”
“It’s surprising that it was just a hobby of my grandfather’s. Though passion might be a better-suited term for all of this,” she says, glancing around the room. She wishes every day that she’d gotten the chance to meet her grandfather. “He wasn’t even a trained naturalist.”
“He seems to have learned it all on his own though,” he replies, flipping through one of the journals lying open on the table.
“I didn’t realize this was your passion either,” Klara says, looking intently at him.
His eyes flicker slightly as he raises them up to meet her gaze.
“What? Oh no, it isn’t.” He clears his throat. “I mean to say that I do enjoy the outdoors, but the science part, not so much.” He lets out an awkward, strained laugh.
“I think it’s wonderful that you appreciate it so much, regardless,” Klara states, not pushing the subject. She’s seen her grandmother act that way whenever Klara poked upon something she didn’t want to discuss. Maybe, in his own time, it will be something Eddie will come to discuss with her.
Eddie’s eyes go back to the journal as he moves his finger against the rough edges of the pages.
“Look at this one. He made notes daily about the weather. He even pressed leaves from each day between the pages.” Klara moves from her chair over to the row of journals, pulling out a weathered green one.
Eddie stands, striding toward her. He peeks over her shoulder at the journal opened in Klara’s hands, excitement buzzing through him.
Klara leads Eddie toward a pond in the middle of the meadow.
“That’s Foxglove!” she says excitedly, pointing at the beautiful swan floating atop the water.
“Ah.” Eddie smiles as they wander toward what seems to be Klara’s favorite animal.
“Isn’t she just beautiful? I tell her so daily,” Klara says, sitting down on the grass and looking out at the swan moving gracefully through the water.
“She is,” he replies, sitting down next to Klara.
“So, tell me, what else do you like to do? I feel as though I’ve told you so much about my life. Tell me more about yours.” Klara wonders what other things Eddie likes to fill his time with.
“Truthfully, I just like to be outside,” he says, trying to think of what he normally likes to do. When he is with Klara, he seems to forget about everything else. “My best mate, Mattie’s, parents have a shop in town that sells animal feed and seeds. I’m there often because Mattie has to help out. And I go to school, play football, and work with my father.”
“That’s wonderful that you have a best friend.”
“I guess so,” Eddie says with a laugh. “He is actually a little sour with me at the moment.”
“Why is that?” she questions.
“He and some of our football mates were playing a pick-up match this morning, and he wasn’t happy that I wouldn’t be coming.”
“I’m sorry,” she replies, feeling concerned. She hopes it didn’t cause an issue.
“It isn’t a problem at all. But, to Mattie, well, he just doesn’t like to be told no. He doesn’t normally hear it often, and I think it’s part of the reason we’re best mates.”
Klara turns her head, amused. “What do you mean?”
“I put up with his self-absorption because he has a good heart. Somewhere way deep, deep down,” he says with a genuine laugh, “Mattie knows that, even though I’m laid-back, I can be slightly lazy at times. We mostly just put up with one another.”
“You two sound like quite the pair.” Klara giggles.
The breeze picks up, and it ruffles the bottom of Klara’s skirt. For something so conservative, Eddie can’t take his eyes off it as he watches it dance in the wind.
“Tell me something else about you,” he says, bringing his gaze back to Klara’s face, her rosy lips pursed in contemplation.
“You know, Grandfather was the one who taught me to find English fairies.”
“What?” Eddie replies, furrowing his brows. A small smile comes to his face. Their conversations today are becoming more and more peculiar. “I thought he was a man of science.”
“Oh, he was. But scientific discoveries and magic are all one in the same.”
“I’m not following,” Eddie says.
“You see, my grandfather told me that, when microscopes were invented, it proved that small things we could not see actually did exist. It proved that just because we couldn’t see it didn’t mean it wasn’t real. Or that, just because we discovered new things, we shouldn’t lose faith in magic.”
“I suppose that does make sense,” Eddie agrees. “So, you actually believe in fairies?”
“Of course! They’re quite interesting creatures. I hope to one day meet one. Though, I’d rather meet a kind one. I’ve read that some of them can be quite testy.”
Eddie chuckles to himself. He isn’t sure why Klara would believe in such a thing, but who is he to tell her differently? “Then, I hope you one day come across one.”
“Thank you.” She gives him a radiant smile. “You know, you’re a really lovely person.” She takes Eddie’s hand in hers and watches as his eyes light up, causing butterflies to form in her tummy.
“I’m glad you think so.” Eddie grins back at her. Her hand in his feels nice, and he feels incredibly happy.
“I’ve been meaning to ask, your full name is Edward, correct?”
Eddie nods back at her, trying to keep up with their ever-changing conversation.
“May I call you Edward?” she questions, her eyes moving to his.
“If you wish,” he replies, a little taken aback by her request.
“Oh, I do. I think it is just a splendid name. Does anyone else call you it?” she wonders.
“No,” he replies with a laugh. “Even my parents only call me Eddie.”
“So, it will be just me then.” Klara is still holding his hand. It feels nice to have her fingers interlaced with his again. Especially because she was the one to do it.
“Yes.” His breath catches as he gazes into her blue eyes.
“I like that,” she says, squeezing his hand.
Eddie has to bite his lip, so his already wide smile won’t turn into a full-blown grin. “I would like that, too.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“Shall we continue with our chapter on India today?” Klara asks, getting comfortable at the desk, the old-fashioned typewriter placed in front of her.
Grandmother is lying on a chaise, and today, she’s chosen to wear a cream lace gown that flows al
l the way to the floor with coordinating gloves rising to just below her elbows. She has incense burning that smells of amber, and the curtains are pulled closed.
“I think not, dear,” Cordelia replies. “I would like to start on my time in St. Petersburg.” Cordelia wafts the incense closer to her nose and takes a sip of her drink, clinking the ice back and forth in the crystal glass.
“Start when you are ready, Grandmother,” Klara says.
She finds it odd that they are talking about Russia today. Grandmother made it clear before that it was her biggest heartbreak, and Klara could tell that it was something she had been putting off remembering when writing her memoirs. She didn’t seem to have trouble discussing her first husband—or Klara’s grandfather, for that matter. But Russia, or so the Russian man, seems different.
A smile lifts the corners of Cordelia’s mouth while she thinks back to her time with Alexander. “It was the winter of 1947. I found myself in St. Petersburg, staying with Katherine and Richard Edwards, whom I had met during my time in Paris. It was my first time in Russia, and I was terrified.”
“Really?” Klara asks, surprised by her response.
Of all the things her grandmother did, she never seemed hesitant to do them.
“Quite so. I was receiving increasing pressure from my family to return home. I wasn’t a young girl anymore. I had my inheritance, but I started to want a family of my own. To put down roots. I decided that Russia was the place to figure out what exactly I wanted. And then I met Alexander Petrov.” Cordelia closes her eyes, thinking back to the day they met. “Katherine’s husband worked with the government and was hosting a dinner for his closest colleagues. At that dinner, I was seated next to a handsome Russian officer named Alexander.”