Wintersong(25)

Her intense outpouring of affection discomfited me. Mother and I had never been particularly close; we were each too preoccupied with holding our lives together—Mother the business, me the family. I found it hard to express my love for my mother; we shared an understanding, but we did not share hugs.

Seeing my discomfort, Mother wiped at her eyes and nodded. “It’s good to see you safe, Liesl.” She was once again practical, no-nonsense Frau Vogler, innkeeper’s wife. All hints and signs of her previous breakdown had vanished, save for her reddened eyes.

“Mother was worried you had run away from home,” Josef whispered.

I was incredulous. “Why would I run away from home?”

Josef gave a sidelong glance to Papa, who was hunched in the corner. He looked years older, suddenly haggard and worn and sad. He had always been blithe and gay, a shambling semblance of the bright, vivacious, promising young man he had been. His cheeks, reddened by years of drink, lent him a childish air, and his convivial nature disguised his graver shortcomings to all but those who knew him best.

“Because … because you had nothing left to live for,” Josef said.

“What?” I struggled to sit up, but the myriad of blankets draped around me trapped me in a cocoon of knitted wool. “Don’t be ridiculous, Sepperl.”

Hans’s hand stayed me in my seat. “Liesl.” His voice was kind. “We know how hard you worked to keep this family together. We know what you did for Josef, how you worked your entire life to further his career. We know you neglected your own hopes and dreams for his future. We know your own parents often passed you over in favor of him.”

A prickling sensation overcame me. Hans was echoing all my selfish and unkind thoughts, validating my every frustration. Yet I felt no relief, no triumph, only a vague sense of dread.

“That still doesn’t explain why you all thought I would run away,” I said crossly.

Hans and Josef exchanged looks. I distrusted this new sympathy between them.

“You haven’t been well lately, Liesl,” Hans said. “You’ve taken to spending long periods of time alone and in the woods.”

“That’s not so unusual,” I said.

“Of course not,” Josef said. “Only … you keep telling us you’re searching for someone, someone who needs your help desperately.”

I stiffened. “Käthe.”

The boys exchanged another look. “Yes, Liesl,” Hans said carefully.

The thought of my sister sharpened all my senses and mental faculties. “Käthe!” I said again, and this time I managed to disentangle myself from my nest of cloaks and blankets. “I must find her.”

“Hush,” Hans soothed. “There is no danger. Everything is all right.”

I shook my head. “If I’ve been gone for three days, then Käthe must be in even greater trouble. Have you sent any search parties after her? Have you had any luck in finding her?”

Josef worried his lower lip. His blue eyes shone with tears as he took my hand. “Oh, Liesl.”

The cold hand of fear gripped my heart. I misliked what I saw in my brother’s face. “What is it?” I asked. “What have you to tell me?”

Over my brother’s shoulder, Constanze hovered over us like a bird of prey. Her face was dark, her expression both smug and grave.

“Oh, Liesl,” Josef said again. “I’m so very glad you’re safe. But I must ask you: who have you been searching for? None of us understand what you’ve been talking about. Who, my dear, is Käthe?”





Intermezzo





THE IDEAL IMAGINARY

No promises, the Goblin King had said. Your eyes will remain open, but you cannot deny me the power to cloud the minds of others as it suits my purposes.

As Josef prepared for his departure with Master Antonius and François, Mother insisted I keep to my rooms and “recuperate.”

“You deserve a rest, my dear,” she said. “You’ve worked so long to take care of us; let us now look after you.”

I’m not ill! I tried to say, but it was no use. The harder I searched for everyone’s missing memories of my sister, the more convinced they were that reason had abandoned me.

It was not my mind that had broken.

Or was it?

Käthe was gone, but she was more than gone; she had never existed. All traces of her were wiped completely from our lives and nothing remained, not even a strand of her golden hair. No dried wildflowers from the meadow. No ribbons. No lace. Nothing. She had simply never been.

Your eyes will remain open.

My eyes were open, but they could no longer trust what they saw, for it was not what they remembered.