7

 

I awoke the following morning, tired from not sleeping and burdened by thoughts of Siyah, which had invaded my night. My mother had asked me to meet her at the market, and as I stood on the bow of the ferry with the Seattle skyline in my view, I found comfort in the thought of strolling through the shops and booths at Pike Place Market.

My light sweater pulled closed, I released my hair from the chignon and let the wind whip long, ringlets across my vision. It was my favorite time of year where sudden summer storms cooled the air, and the sky foretold of encroaching autumn.

Disembarking, I took in a deep breath and relished the crisp August air.

Tourists lined the wharf railing and seafood cafés offered ciders celebrating the late summer flavors.

Making my way up the back stairway, I passed flowering trees, their petals floating lazily to the sidewalk in the soft breeze. Everywhere shops and stalls and greenery melded making the whole complex a warren of sights and smells enticing me further.

I waved at the man in the newsstand, a familiar face at the end of the street, before turning into the crowd.

The balloon animal guy sat in his clown suit next to Pike Place’s famous bronze pig monument, and he smiled at me when I passed. He used to make me red and purple flowers when I came with my mother as a child. I curtsied to him like I did when I was young.

Long stalls lined the inside of the market. I walked by booth after booth that displayed every kind of fruit and vegetable, flowers in generous bundles, and seafood cradled in shaved ice. There were a few new tables. A man with jars of organic local jellies set up next to a woman with journals filled with hand-made paper. There were t-shirts and trinkets, and as I followed the stalls to the end of the food towards the dry goods, I smiled at the rich aroma of hand-dipped candles and carved pine figurines. The heady scent of fresh baked bread floated up from the restaurants on the floor below.

“Raven.” My mother’s voice drifted through the crowd. I heard the jangling of her jade bracelets as she waved from the corner. She stood behind a beautifully decorated table. Hand woven bracelets and beautifully beaded earrings dangled from polished driftwood branches.

“These are wonderful, Mama.” I felt the silky chord of the bracelets between my fingers. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

She smiled and cleared her throat, nodding to a pile of brochures in the corner. My mouth opened, surprised. They were made by an art gallery near where I lived to announce my collection. Glossy pictures of the pendants made to look like stained glass windows, clear glass rings with silhouettes of flying birds, and bangles entwined with colorful glass threads; all of it from my own hand.

“You know about my jewelry?” I looked at her, shocked. My work was picked up by a string of high-end boutiques along the East Coast after my gallery showing. I had no idea anyone this far west knew about my work. “How?”

“Somebody saw you on the computer,” she said and beamed. “You should be proud. Why do you hide this?”

“I wasn’t hiding,” I put my hand to my chest, touched by her support. “I didn’t think it would matter to anyone out here, that’s all.”

She clicked her tongue and shook her head. “My daughter, anything you do is important to me.”

My face warmed, and I smiled. “Thank you, Mama.”

“Well, come here and sit.” She patted the folding chair next to her. “It has been a while since you came with me to the market. Did you say hello to the balloon man?”

I held up the balloon flower, and she smiled. Settling next to her, I watched the flow of the wandering crowd while she recounted who changed their goods at which booth, what seller went out of business, and who got their customers.

Late morning sun angled through the rooftop windows and set off the sun catchers in the opposite booth. A kaleidoscope of colors danced on the tiles in front of me. Lost in thought, I didn’t realize until she squeezed my hand that my mother had stopped talking.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” I said and rubbed my eyes. “I’m a little tired.”

“A lot on your mind.” She nodded, fixing the folds of her long skirt with a jangle of her bracelets.

“Sonja didn’t meet me yesterday like she said. I’m worried about her. Have you seen her?”

“She and your father had an argument last night.” My mother’s brow furrowed. “She left before the dawn. I looked for her here, but…”

“Where do you think she is?” I thought about her disheveled appearance, and my heart paced up, worried. “I should go and find her.”

“Let her come back on her own. Sometimes open arms are better than open mouths.” She always said things like that and was usually right.

“Siyah said no one brought it to the council.” I caught her gaze slide from me and sighed. “Mama?”

“Your father admitted that last night. Niklos never asked your father or spoke of it to anyone on the council. Perhaps he was intended for another and could not bear to tell Sonja.”

“Intended for another? We aren’t back in the old country,” I said, frustrated. “Why didn’t Papa fight for her? Why didn’t he try—”

“Why did Niklos not fight for her, Raven?” My mother spat, her face red. “Is she not worth his voice in the matter? Is he not man enough to speak for the woman he claims he wants?”

I shut my mouth on the rest of my sentence. My mother was right. Where was Niklos in all of this?

“She doesn’t believe he left,” I said quietly, feeling a prick of guilt burrow through my concern. “Sonja said Niklos would not do that.”

“Then where is he? Where are his kin?” My mother shook her head. “She may find that she is brokenhearted now, but better for it if this is who Niklos really is.”

I sat next to her, silent.

A woman wandered by, and my mother stood, her face lighting up as she chatted about the beadwork and helped to place the bracelet on the customer’s wrist. They talked some more, and the customer bought a few bracelets for her granddaughters before she wandered off with her packages. My mother patted my leg.

“You stuffed a brochure of mine in her bag, didn’t you?”

“A mother can be proud of her daughter,” she said and then her face changed, her eyes misting up. “Your father is proud of you too, Raven.”

With a lump in my throat, I stood, the metal folding chair scraping as I did. “I should go.”

“Stop.” My mother pulled my arm and I sat back down. “You are always running away. Be still. Be still and listen for once.”

“He said if I left then I should not come back.” I sank back down. “How can he be proud?”

“Those things he said in anger are not what he really feels,” my mother pleaded and she took a breath. “He is a proud man. A man who loves the families and our ways. When you…when you did what you did, and then left, he was shamed, but he loves you.”

“Then why did you have me leave yesterday morning?” I fiddled with the earrings on the driftwood.

“You know your Papa,” she said. “To spring your visit on him…”

“You knew I was here,” I countered.

“Well, I listen to things.” She stilled my hand. “His heart has softened after all this time, but he needs to be…” she thought for a moment, “how do you say, şlefuitǎ?”

“Finessed,” I translated for her. “He was very angry, Mama.” Still, a whisper of hope breathed through my heart. We had been so close, Papa and I. I would give anything to change how I left and what it did to him.

“Angry? What is angry when your daughter is back?”

“I’m not back, not really,” I warned her. “I only returned for Sonja, but I’m not even spending time with her. I don’t know how long—”

“The bonfire. Come to the bonfire tomorrow and sit with your family.”

“Mama…” I sighed. Two weeks until a major order was due. Several designs were still only images in my sketchbook. I hadn’t cut the glass, I hadn’t secured the silver. “I don’t know.”

“It is one night, Raven,” my mother insisted. “I will make sure Sonja is there. Come. Be with us.” She favored me with a flutter of lashes over her deep espresso eyes.

A nervous tremor jangled through me. All the families, everyone would be there. But under my mother’s gaze, how could I refuse her efforts to fix what I’d so recklessly shattered?

“The bonfire.” I said. “Yes, Mama. I will try.”

A man lingered at the edge of the table, his brows furrowed. She winked at me and rose. “Anniversary, or birthday?”

He looked at her surprised. “Birthday. It’s my wife’s birthday. Today, actually.”

“Then you must get her both,” my mother said lifting a beaded pair of earrings and matching bracelet and placing them in his palm. She tapped her temple. “It shows forethought, you know this? Planning?”

He grinned sheepishly. “She’s always complaining I think of her last minute.”

My mother clicked her tongue, a smile on her beautiful face. “Better to get the necklace as well, then, huh?”

I stood to leave and she called after me.

“The bonfire, daughter.”

I left her wrapping a gift box for the man and wandered down the stairs to the first floor of the market. A man with a violin played Vivaldi in the hallway, and I tossed a few dollars in his open violin case. He bowed to me as I passed.

Back outside, I thought about my mother’s words. That I should leave Sonja alone. Brokenhearted, the last thing I’d wanted was placating words from others, but ultimately, being alone had been too miserable. I took a tentative step. Overhead, the gray clouds muted the sun, and cold drizzle decided for me.

The aquarium on the waterfront was her favorite place to go as child, and I found her there. She stood with her face to the glass of the two story aquarium room, looking up at the surface of the water through the fish and plants. Blue ripples reflected off her face in the darkened room.

“Still pretend you’re a mermaid?” I asked.

She nodded, her eyes never leaving the swimming silverfish. “I just wanted a place to remember what it was like to be happy.”

The tone of her voice sent alarm rippling through me. I stood next to her watching the gentle sway of the pink and orange anemones and stroked her hair. She sniffled and leaned her head on my shoulder.

“I’ve been trying, my love,” I whispered. “But Niklos…it all looks as if he’s gone on his own. Was there a fight? Did you have words?”

Her head shook in the crook of my neck. “No. We are in love, Raven. He would not leave me. He just needed to—” She stopped herself, body tensing in my arms.

“What?” I turned her to face me. “What did he need to do?”

She shrugged, not answering. I waited her out.

“I do not understand why his family is gone, but I do know that Niklos intends to have a future with me. I need…” Her breath hitched. “I need for one person, for you, to believe me, Raven. I need that, or I will turn to ash and blow away.” She wiped at her face, lip trembling, and my heart broke for her.

“I believe you, my little sister,” I whispered. “I will stand with you on this. I promise.”

Pulling her to me again, I felt her crumble in my arms; her sobs shook us both.

I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do, Lord. How do I help her when I fight to believe her myself? With so much pain, so much doubt… I don’t have the strength for two.

My mother’s words from earlier echoed in my mind.

Be still.