by Rebekah Pace
Who was the tenant who had moved out of 4A? Why did they have Mr. Schloss’s book?
I cradled the book in my arm as I hurried down the hall, seeking Mrs. Simmons in the vacant apartment. “Who was this person? What was their name?”
My landlady jumped and dropped another box. “For crying out loud, Mr. Ibbetz, you just took ten years off my life. Are you telling me you don’t know your own neighbor’s name?”
“I do not, but she is having this atlas, and it is very familiar to me. I am wondering to ask where are they getting it?”
“She won’t be able to tell you. She’s dead.”
I clutched the atlas. “What was her name? How old was she? Where was she from?” Even as my voice grew hoarse with questions, I told myself there was absolutely no possibility that Mira had been living in the apartment one floor below me. None.
The landlady tossed me a magazine off the coffee table. “Here.”
The name on the address label read Mary Towers.
I carried the atlas and the magazine to the bodega. Benny looked up from his phone as I came in.
“You’re late today, Pete. Everything okay?”
I rubbed the back of my head. “Yes. I am getting in a little accident. But all is okay now.”
“Accident? What happened?”
“Was stupid. I was not looking both ways, and almost a car—”
“Seriously? When? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Was all right. I am feeling foolish. No need to cause trouble.”
“Pete, you can always call me if you need me, or if you need food, all right? I’ll make a delivery for you.”
“I am needing some food now, but also to find out more about a lady. Perhaps you are also helping me with this?” I handed the magazine across the counter. “This is her name.”
“What’s this all about?”
I laid the atlas on the counter. “This I think is the same atlas that was belonging to my friend, in Germany, before the war.” I turned to the map of the island. “When we were children, she makes the mark of the X for buried treasure here. Now, this book is out for the trash. It was my neighbor’s. She died.” I clenched my hands to stop them from trembling. “What if she was the same person? What if I never knew she was here, too?”
He stared at me. “Did you ever meet this neighbor or talk to her?”
“No.”
“Wow.” He inspected the address label. “I wonder what we can find about her online.” He pulled out his phone. “You go shop. Give me a minute, okay?”
As I walked the aisles in the same order as always, I kept looking back at Benny as, brow furrowed, he worked his thumbs over his phone.
When he called out, “Found her!” I stopped deliberating over which flavor cheesecake I wanted and hurried to the front.
“What does it say?”
“This is her obituary.” He held out the phone and I squinted at the photo.
“That is her?”
“Yeah. Does she look familiar?”
“No.” Thank God. “This is not my friend.”
“Says in the obituary she owned a second-hand store not far from here. She could’ve picked up that atlas from an antique wholesaler or an estate sale. There’s no way to know.”
“Is all right. I wondered if perhaps my friend had changed her name. Mary Towers is sound more English, but is similar to Miriam Schloss, which is meaning ‘castle’ in German. But this Mary, she is not old enough to be my Mira. May she rest in peace.” I glanced heavenward for a moment. “I am all my life never finding Mira. But still I do not believe she is dead.”
When Benny packed my groceries, he put the atlas into one bag so it would be easy for me to carry. “Do you want the magazine?”
“No. Is fine to throw it out.”
When I got home, I spent hours looking through the atlas. Mira was still out there somewhere. I could feel it. But should I be asking where in the world she was—or when?
17
When I returned to Mira, I found her in bed, examining her hand.
“How is it today? Is it bad?” I asked as I came into the room.
“No.” She flexed her fingers. “It’s healed. Just a little white scar that looks like it’s been there for years. How can that be?”
I sat down next to her, gathered her into my arms, and kissed her forehead. “Magic. And there were lights on in a house down the street last night.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
I shrugged. “You made that fantastic Eintopf—then you nearly sliced your finger off.”
She threw back the covers and went to the wardrobe. “Let’s go see if someone’s home. The storm has passed.”
“Maybe I don’t want to share you.”
She tossed me a smile over her shoulder. “You’ll still be the only man on Earth for me, Peter. Now hurry—go get dressed.”
When we were both ready, she grabbed my hand and nearly pulled me out the front door. “Which house was it?”
I pointed and we set off down the cobblestone street. The porch light was still shining like a beacon.
“That’s the one I said I liked yesterday.” She ran lightly up the steps to the porch and rapped her knuckles on the door. Then she looked at her hand in surprise. “I forgot about the cut when I knocked, and it didn’t hurt at all.” When no one answered, she pressed her nose against the window beside the door. “Look!”
“What is it?” I came up beside her and shaded my eyes to peer inside at empty rooms.
“It’s perfect.” The front door opened at her touch, and I followed her inside. She stood in the middle of the sitting room and turned in a slow circle. “Look at all the light in here. What do you think of Delft Blue and yellow upholstery, with cream lacquer on the furniture? And silk portieres?”
“I guess so. What for?”
“For us! We’ll live here together.”
She looked so delighted that it was easy to get into the spirit of the game. “Only the best for you, my dear.”
“Only the best for the both of us.”
I followed her from room to room as she decorated to the limits of her imagination. There would be a walnut-paneled billiard room for me and a music room in the solarium at the rear of the house for her.
Upstairs, she peered in each room as she walked down the hall. “Yes, this must be the master—”
I followed her into another light-filled room.
“—it has an en suite bath. Look at the size of this tub!”
“And a sitting room of its own?” I stepped through an archway into a large alcove at the far end of the room.
She glanced my way. “That’s big enough to be a nursery.”
Her offhand comment left me thunderstruck. She didn’t seem to notice and was long gone by the time I repeated, “Nursery?” Nurseries were for babies.
I’d long since written off the possibility of becoming a father, but suddenly the desire to have a child with Mira became an ache that surpassed the pain of missing her I’d known for so many years.
It was ridiculous. We couldn’t have a child in a dream.
But what if we could? a voice in my head answered. What if we could have everything here?
“Peter!” she called to me from somewhere on the lower floor.
“Coming.”
“Hurry! You’ve got to see this.”
I ran down the stairs and met her in the kitchen. “What is it?”
“Out here.” She grabbed my hand, pulled me out the back door and led me across the garden to the carriage house. She took the bolt off the double doors and opened them with a flourish. “Look!”
Inside was a gleaming Mercedes roadster—two-tone green with green leather seats. I’d never owned a car—I’d never even been behind the wheel before. This one sure was
a honey.
She stepped up on the running board and inspected the instrument panel while I walked around the car. “It looks like it’s just off a showroom floor. And it’s sure to run, because everything works for us here.” As the words left my lips, I swallowed hard. Everything did work for us here. The image of a glowing, pregnant Mira rose in my mind.
“Peter? What are you thinking about? Wake up!” She snapped her fingers to interrupt my reverie and handed me the keys. “Let’s go exploring outside of town.”
I opened the driver’s side door, and just as when I tried to dance and to play the piano, I already knew what to do. I pressed in the clutch, inserted the key into the ignition, and pushed the starter button.
A belch of black exhaust came out of the tailpipe as the engine gasped and choked. Once the oil and gasoline began to flow into the chambers, it purred. A smile spread over my face.
Mira opened the passenger door and climbed in beside me. “Take me for a ride.”
I eased the brake off, and the car stalled. Embarrassed, I struggled to shift back into neutral.
She leaned over, trying to be helpful. “Balance the pressure on the gas and the clutch when you ease it into gear.” She held her hands out in front of her, palms flat, and pushed down with her right hand while lifting the left. “See? Just do that with your feet.”
I tried to shift too fast and the car stalled again. “Why don’t you take over?”
“This is your new experience. Not mine.” She slid over on the seat and straddled my lap, her back against the steering wheel, and draped her arms around my neck. “Just remember—an automobile is like a woman. You have to finesse it a little. Treat it like a lady.”
When she kissed me, I nearly forgot about the car. “We don’t have to go anywhere if you’d rather stay home.”
“No. We’re off on a picnic this afternoon. I know just the place. I’ll be ready in an hour and a half.” She gave me one more exuberant kiss, opened the door, and let herself out. “Use the time to practice.”
Alone in the garage, I clutched the wheel. We had the freedom to go anywhere. What would we find outside Leipzig?
18
I pushed the starter again and the engine roared to life. The gears ground as I searched for first, but this time, I pulled out of the carriage house without stalling, rolled down the drive, and turned onto the cobblestone street.
Over the next hour, I learned the rhythms of the car—how to tell when it was time to shift, how much pressure to apply to the gas and the brake. It was easy to get comfortable behind the wheel when I didn’t have to worry about other traffic. The car glided as smoothly as if it was on ice, yet I felt in complete control.
When I pulled up in front of Mira’s house at the appointed time, I was grinning from ear to ear. She came out carrying a wicker basket and folded blankets. I hurried to take them from her and tipped an imaginary cap. “Where to, miss?”
“It’s a surprise.”
I put the blankets in the backseat and set the basket on top of them, then opened her door with a flourish. “Point me in the right direction, then.”
We left the city and traveled southeast. As soon as the outer suburbs and villages were behind us, my stomach rumbled. “How long before we get there?”
“Two or three hours, I think.”
“That long before we eat?”
She laughed. “I packed plenty. I thought you might need sustenance on the way.” She reached into the back seat to open the basket and brought out cheese and crackers, apple slices, and grapes. The rolling countryside was dotted with farms and villages that looked as pristine as our surroundings in Leipzig. Mira took off her scarf and turned her face to the sun, letting the wind ruffle her hair.
When she pointed out the turnoff, I followed a tree-lined, gravel road for another mile or so until I spied a castle through the trees. We parked and gathered up the blankets and picnic basket, then Mira took my arm and led me in another direction down a forest path until we emerged in a clearing.
“I can’t wait to show you! Come see!” She gave a little skip of delight as she started down a grassy slope bathed in the afternoon sunlight. Stone steps led to a pond, and when I beheld the scene, I caught my breath. “What is that?”
A perfect circle of stone, like a great wheel, seemed to sit in the water, half above the surface, half below, as though some ethereal force had brought it up from the center of the earth. It was a single-span bridge, with abutments surrounded by jagged spires like a stone stockade fence. Its reflection in the still water made it look as though it was half-submerged.
“It’s a devil’s bridge.” She clutched my arm, and the determined, hungry look on her face made me shiver. She dropped the blankets. “Legend says only someone who’s made a deal with the devil would know how to build such a thing. Isn’t it amazing? Come on, let’s go across!” A smaller arched bridge bordered with the jagged, sharp stones led to the larger span.
I set the picnic basket beside the blankets and followed her to the water’s edge. Surprisingly narrow, the bridge rose at a breakneck angle with no handhold or railing, until we stood some twenty meters above the water. I almost lost my balance twice on the climb, but Mira moved with confidence, as if she’d done it a thousand times before.
The sun, already sinking toward the horizon, cast long shadows over the water as we looked out to the surrounding forest. Mira spread her arms, embracing the vista before us.
I put a hand on her shoulder, feeling I should keep hold of her lest she take flight. “That climb was enough to scare the devil out of me. The view is worth it, though. How long has it been here?”
“A prince ordered it built on his castle grounds more than a hundred years ago.”
I had never heard of this place when I was a boy, but I assumed asking how she knew of it fell outside the limitations imposed by the dream.
She glanced back over her shoulder as if she knew what I was thinking as she continued across the bridge. “Just imagine the stories this place has inspired!”
“Tell me.” I placed each foot carefully on the downward slope.
She reached the bottom of the main span and held out a hand to me. “First we explore. We’ll have story time while we eat.” On the opposite shore, she led the way through a wooded path until we emerged at the castle’s formal garden, with clipped hedges and rose bushes that looked as though they received daily care. There wasn’t a fallen twig or a spent bloom out of place.
She sighed as we walked along the gravel path. “I wonder why the prince who lived here wanted the devil’s bridge.”
“Maybe so he’d have a yard ornament that would make the neighbors envious.”
“I’m being serious. Curses and blessings are real. He must have wanted something so badly that he was willing to risk calling on the devil to attain it.”
“There are always witches and devils in fairy tales, but witches aren’t necessarily evil. You do realize,” I lowered my voice to a whisper, “that you’ve utterly bewitched me?”
She burst out laughing. “Peter, will you ever be serious?”
I had been serious, and even though I laughed with her, I could understand why people would seek out this mysterious place, in the hopes of making a bargain with otherworldly forces.
We skirted the pond and returned to the grassy slope just as shadows began to envelop the clearing. As Mira shook out the picnic blanket, I watched her lithe body bend and stretch and appreciated the gentle swell of her curves through the fabric of her clothes. Tiny flames of sunlight glinted orange in her dark hair. I moved the basket aside and knelt beside her, fingers trembling as I traced the curve of her cheek, down to her neck, and then fingered the heart-shaped locket dangling at her throat.
She covered my hand with hers. “You like it here, don’t you?”
“It’s perfect.” The word faded to nothing as
our lips met. As my hands closed over her shoulders, I breathed in her perfume and the scent of her skin. Her hands set my nerves firing as they trailed down my chest and over my stomach. She took hold of my belt and my hands roamed over her body like she already belonged to me. My brain ceded control as my body took over. I wanted her more than I’d ever wanted anything.
Then, out of nowhere, sadness slammed up against my excitement, driving me outside myself. My analytical side protested that this dream would only serve to torture me, for I would never have the life with Mira I truly desired. The part of me that believed in fairy tales and magic sensed Old Peter somewhere in the shadows, like a voyeur intruding on a young couple’s passion. I drew back, afraid to look her in the eyes, lest she think the war within me was about whether or not I wanted her.
“Peter,” She unbuttoned her blouse, whispering encouragement between kisses. “It’s all right. This is what we should have had all along.”
Old Peter had waited a lifetime for this. But this moment was mine. Once I claimed it, the energy flooded back into my body and every sensation proved that yes, this was happening. Her breath came faster, and her sweet smile ripened into one that was sultry and fetching
She was the Eve to my Adam, leading me where I’d never been before. Face just inches away, her gaze held me mesmerized. My chest rose and fell against her hands as she undid each button on my shirt. Then she pulled the tail out of my waistband, and in that simple act, she freed me. I don’t remember how we got out of the rest of our clothes, but when we became one it was like a missing piece fell into place in the universe’s puzzle. Somewhere, far away, I heard Old Peter whisper, “I’ve been waiting my whole life for you.”
I repeated the words to Mira to make them mine, not his, even as I made her mine. I hadn’t truly known her until now. I hadn’t known myself, either. When I could speak again, I whispered, “Thank you.”
As we lay in each other’s arms, the last of my shyness left me. What could be more natural than running my fingers over the curve of her hip or cupping her breast? I would never tire of the wonders of her.