Semele’s voice grew smaller. “What was she like?”
“Frail … very intense. She was ill.” Helen’s eyes grew distant, trying to remember. “She had an accent, Eastern European I think … and beautiful eyes. Your eyes.” Helen brushed a strand of hair from Semele’s cheek. “She said your name was Semele and made us promise we wouldn’t change it.” Helen seemed to remember something else and frowned.
“What?” Semele asked.
“She gave us a package and asked that we give it to you when you were older. Your father took it and promised her we would.” Helen’s eyes watered and she shook her head, more to herself with shame, confessing, “I don’t even know what it was—maybe I didn’t want to know, to acknowledge you had a past that didn’t include me.” Semele was about to interject, but Helen kept on. “Please understand, we meant to tell you one day, but after we had you, it was as if our lives had started over. We couldn’t remember ever not having you. You became a part of us.” Helen choked back her tears.
Semele reached out and took her hand, letting her continue.
“As the years went by, we wondered if maybe it was better not to tell you. No one knew you were adopted except my sister. We came to New Haven with a clean slate, a new job, new house, new friends … and a newborn everyone thought I had given birth to. I wanted so much for that to be true. So it became our truth.”
“You should have told me.”
Helen wiped her cheeks. “We were planning to. You know your father. He thought he had all the time in the world.”
Semele could feel tears slipping down her face. “I don’t want to be mad at him anymore.” She broke down and her mother gathered her in her arms. “I’ve been so mad at him. At both of you.”
“I know, baby, I know.” Helen cried with her. “I’m so sorry. But you’re my daughter. You’ve always been my daughter.”
Semele pulled back to look at her. “But who are my real parents?” She saw the pain the question inflicted, but she had to ask. “What happened to them? I feel like there’s this big hole inside me.”
Helen didn’t say anything. She only nodded and reached for the box of Kleenex. “We can try to find the answers.”
“And the package?”
“Tomorrow, we’ll look. I promise.”
Semele nodded, though her heart didn’t feel any lighter. Her mother kissed her forehead as if she were five again and left the room. Semele waited until she heard her mother’s bedroom door shut. Then she turned on the light and opened her computer to read the last of the manuscript.
Fortune telling had become the rage all over Europe, and Russia followed suit. At Sytny Market in St. Petersburg, a fortune teller had a stall. Kezia would always beg her parents to go, but they would only laugh. Then Kezia would look over and catch her grandmother’s smile as she sat knitting in her rocking chair.
Kezia remembered all the lessons her grandmother Marina had shared with her, how symbols and patterns existed everywhere in nature—in rocks, leaves, and crystals—waiting to be seen. These mystical ideas had always fascinated her.
Her grandmother would tease that this was her gypsy blood shining through.
Kezia’s great-grandmother Aishe had been a Rom. She had run away from her band to Paris with nothing but her musical skills, which led her to a grand salon where she played the harp, and met her future husband, Andrej Cernik.
Andrej came from one of Russia’s wealthiest families and had been sent to Paris as a diplomat. When his post ended, the couple left for Russia, relieved to escape the growing dangers in Paris. France’s great revolution, the one so hotly debated in Mme Helvétius’ salon, had finally erupted.
In St. Petersburg Andrej hired the best tutor to help Aishe learn Russian and fitted her in gowns suitable for Catherine’s court. The Cernik family was a favorite of the empress and often dined at the Winter Palace, where the elaborate banquets exceeded even those of Versailles. The people saw Aishe as exotic at a time when Russia could not get enough of the West.
Kezia loved to hear stories about her great-grandmother’s arrival in St. Petersburg. Marina described the beautiful harp Andrej bought her as a wedding gift, and recounted the time Aishe played for Catherine the Great.
Marina was Aishe and Andrej’s only child. As an adult, she became fascinated with genealogy and preserving the family’s history. She went to great lengths to chart both sides of her parents’ lineage. She loved the stories about Aishe’s childhood as a wandering gypsy, and how her grandmother, Simza, had helped her escape. Marina wrote down the stories behind every object in Aishe’s keepsake chest—Dinka’s chest—in a diary. She became the memory keeper.
Once Kezia learned to read, Marina’s diary was her favorite book. She would steal away under her favorite tree for hours and read the incredible tales about Simza finding missing children and foretelling the future with seashells. Kezia yearned to do the same. She often tried to read her palm or stare into the bottom of a teacup. She was like a student without a teacher. The urge ran deep inside her to grasp the future’s unknown.
So one day, without permission, she snuck off to see the fortune teller at Sytny Market. She had saved all her kopeks to pay for the adventure, but it became one of the major disappointments of her young life.
“Madame Zazouska” was a charlatan, a pretender who spouted vague musings, fortunes that could apply to anyone. The woman took Kezia’s money and lavished her with praise and promises of prosperity.
“You will find love, a husband, and have three children.”
Kezia had heard her give the same fortune to another girl while she was standing outside the stall.
Although Kezia was disappointed by Madame Zazouska, she was entranced by the woman’s mysterious cards. The madame had used tarot cards, and Kezia had felt a rush of excitement as she watched her study them. But too quickly the Madame’s hands swished the deck back into a neat pile and the reading was over.
When Kezia returned home, her grandmother called her over to her rocking chair.
“You do not need anyone else to tell you what you already know,” Marina said. Then she opened up the family’s keepsake chest and took out an intricately carved Italian box. “I always wondered why we kept these. Now I know they were meant for you.”
Kezia opened the box and found the most exquisite tarot deck she had ever seen. She moved her fingertips over the cards in awe. With each stroke she could feel the spirit of her ancestor like a living force. Kezia met her grandmother’s eyes, and understanding passed between them.
“She must have been a great seer,” Kezia whispered.
“Yes, she must have,” Marina said and returned to knitting.