"Wach auf, Lina," he whispered, leaning against the wall. Lina noticed his hand trembling as he peeled away the curtain, glancing outside. Vibrant homes of various colors seemed to shimmer in the sunlight as if coated with flecks of gold, terribly bright on Lina's eyes. She blinked rapidly, attempting to rid herself of the sleepiness that coated them. She'd been awake for at least an hour, yet the daze from earlier still haunted her.
"What did you say?" She snuck up behind him and placed the note on the window sill, causing Luka to leap back from the window. "Gosh, I've never met someone so jumpy."
Luka smiled half-heartedly. "Ah, sorry, Lina. I was just distracted, that's all," he murmured. "And I said 'wake up'."
Lina smoothed her untamed, auburn hair, thankful there was no mirror in sight. The previous day's occurrences seemed to linger in the air like a pesky fog. What does my mother have to do with Stella? she wondered, ignoring Luka's anxious pacing. She pictured the locket, pure and innocent gold, the answer to finding Stella.
For the first time, a real lead that would take them exactly where Lina needed to go.
"Sorry, German is just such an odd language to understand," Lina wrote. Luka chuckled under his breath before she continued. She pressed the pen to her lip, hesitating. "Luka, you wouldn't happen to know anything about where I could find a locket, would you? It's just... Victor wanted me to find one for him. It's very valuable to his family."
Luka sucked his breath in, once again leaning against the window. The pale sunlight highlighted his face. The discoloration of his cheeks, the scars across his face. The shimmer in his chocolate eyes, starkly different than the gleeful sparkle of Italian architecture. "My mother used to have one," he started. "I've been looking everywhere for it, even stealing from people's houses, yet it's seemingly nowhere. I'm afraid I'm not the right person to ask."
"I recall. The one you refused to tell me about. Thievery does not look good on you, Luka Fuhrmann." Lina swallowed, a hard lump in her throat suddenly forming. He, too, was looking for a locket.
"Ja, well, I did what I had to do."
"You've still never told me why that necklace mattered so much to you."
Luka hesitated. "It was important to my mother. It's as simple as that," he started. "My mother, well, she was the most carefree and beautiful person you could ever meet. She was one of those people you would always see dressed in a classy blue dress, giggling as she held a bouquet of daisies to her nose or as she explored the streets of a quaint Alp village. Always eccentric, her head always in the clouds." At this, he chuckled, his eyes sparkling. "Oh, the laughs and judgement she got when people found out she would be a mother. No one thought she could keep a son alive long enough. But she was the most gentle, understanding mother anyone could ask for. I loved her more than anything. So when she cared about something that much, I care about it too."
As Lina's eyes met his, she felt her heart and her cheeks gradually warming, as if she were sitting by a fireplace after a day spent in snow and ice. The way his eyes sparkled with fondness and gentleness warmed her entire being, wrapping her in a cozy blanket. She knew exactly what he meant. Moritz wasn't exactly carefree, but he cared deeply and passionately about his family.
And because of that, so should Lina.
"I wish I could've met her," Lina wrote, pressing the tip of the pen to her lip. "But how come she cared so much about a locket? If she was so carefree and unmaterialistic, why did she care about one little possession?"
Luka sighed, glancing at the dusty floor. "It wasn't just the necklace. It was what it contained, what it meant. It was the key to everything, to finding what she most desired."
Lina sucked in her breath, meeting those warm, chocolate eyes once again. She felt her fingers about to spill everything, all the words she'd kept inside for so long. For once, perhaps she could learn to trust. "That's why I want to find this necklace," she wrote. "Luka, could you help me find it? Please?"
The sparkle in his eyes shifted to something duller. Perhaps guilt, or sadness. Or maybe something deeper, like some sort of satisfaction. "Of course, Lina. Wherever you need to go, I'll come with you."
Lina hesitated, unsure if she should form the next few words. But it seemed too much of a coincidence to let slide unsaid. They were both looking for lockets, both because of what it contained. And as she looked at the brokenness that was nestled in his eyes, flecked with gentleness and understanding, Lina wanted nothing more than to trust him.
"Luka, did your mother care about that locket so much because it had something to do with Stella?" she dared to write.
For a brief moment, Luka's eyes widened, then fell again as he furrowed his eyebrows. "What do you mean?" he whispered. He cleared his throat, the next words coming out stronger. "I don't recall her ever mentioning a Stella."
Lina's heart fell. "Are you sure? She didn't mention a missing child that she was trying to protect or anything?"
Luka shrugged his shoulders, keeping his gaze glued to the floor. "No. No, I don't think so. Her locket contained something personal, something dear to her heart."
Lina sighed, nodding. So it really was just a coincidence. Two people, both searching for a locket, doing whatever it takes to obtain it. She traced a finger over the freckles on her arm before grasping the pen once again. She held her breath as she poured out the words, detailing everything she'd been afraid to tell him before. She wrote about Stella, about Byron and Birdie, and how she found the letters in the books. The only thing she left out was Madame Riviere. She couldn't tell him that, not now after he'd warned her to stay away from their former employer.
A soft smile formed on his lips as he read her words. Yet it was laced with something else other than contentedness, something more melancholy that Lina couldn't place. Finally, he spoke, his words like a gentle ocean breeze. "You are so brave, Lina. You know that, right?"
Lina smiled, his words lifting her heart. But as another thought flitted through her mind, a wave of bittersweetness struck her. A single tear pooled in her eye as she sunk to the ground, resting her head against the wall. The aroma of chamomile and wool drifted into her nose as he too knelt to the ground, his sweater brushing against her arm.
Lina's heart fluttered. "It's just... Liliane. I love her so much, more than she could ever know, but yet I feel myself drifting further and further apart from her each day. In all this effort to bring my family together, I feel like I'm sending everyone on their own separate paths. Hopefully better paths than what we're experiencing now, but still apart." Tears blurred her vision, but she blinked them away. She'd cried enough.
Luka nodded, brushing away a strand of auburn hair that was glued to her cheeks. His gentle fingers sent chills throughout Lina's body. "You're doing what you have to do. Someday, you and Liliane will be able to live together and be happy. It doesn't have to be one or the other."
"What about you? Do you have family or friends that you take care of? Are you happy?"
Luka sighed. "It's better for me to be alone these days, Lina. I fear things will only get worse, and if that's true, then I fear no one will want to become my friend, lest they get in trouble for befriending a Jew."
Lina nodded, unsure of what to say. "I wish I had a viola right now," she finally wrote. "That's how I speak. Through music." She breathed in the subtle, sweet aroma of dust and chamomile. As she inhaled, she swore she could also smell the faint scent of rosin and old sheet music.
A smile formed across his lips. "Let me show you something." She felt his arms embracing her, wrapping around her head as his hands covered her eyes. She relaxed, her heart fluttering. "Sometimes, if I close my eyes, I can hear the music. Picture your fingers flying across the fingerboard, the smell of rosin fresh on the strings, the sweet sound of Mozart."
Lina felt as if she were inhaling the music. It transported her to a quaint coffee shop in Marseilles, where little children licked their lips clean of flaky pastry crumbs and decadent frosting. A piano and viola blended together, the notes soaring into the coffee-tainted air. Together, they formed the notes of Beethoven and Mozart, and other German composers that Luka loved.
It took her away from the decaying, cramped apartment. Away from her red-faced, bitter mother. Away from the little girl who so desperately wanted to be loved.
His hands lifted. Gradually, Lina's eyes opened. "That was beautiful."
"I could tell. I think it was one of the most beautiful sounds you've ever produced on that viola." He chuckled.
Lina rolled her eyes. Yet with the exuberance she felt came another tugging feeling on her heart.
"I think we better head home now. There's something we have to do," Lina wrote.
• • •
The journey home was slightly less daunting than the one there. Lina's step had a certain determination, mixed in with a lightness that she felt when Luka and she would trek through fields of lavender and sunflowers. With each step, she felt closer to Stella. It couldn't be that difficult to find a necklace, right? She pictured the books, lying in the attic littered with wax paper and flaky croissant crumbs. Between the pages were names and letters to Birdie's friends.
And where else would the necklace be if not with one of her dear acquaintances?
The sun warmed her cheeks as Luka led her through various meadows, along bubbling creeks, and through bustling train stations. The air smelled of the wilting lavender buds nestled in Lina's pocket, stale tobacco, and bubbling laughter.
"Hey, wait, don't throw that away!" Luka said, snatching an empty croissant wrapper from Lina's hand. A smattering of flaky crumbs tumbled from the crevices onto the cobblestone road.
Lina rolled her eyes. "And why not? I'm not going to bring it on the train with me. It leaves in thirty minutes, you know." She looked at the various passersby that strolled by, absorbed in a newspaper or occupied with a crying child. The bustling, vibrant streets of northern Italy were a stark contrast to that of a seemingly dull Marseilles, at least according to Lina.
Luka licked his lips, withdrawing something from his pocket. He playfully mussed his dark hair, gazing up at the sky as if in deep thought. "You're not the only one who carries around pens, you know."
Lina watched intently as the pen bled onto the paper, the thin lines of ink precise and thick. His fingers danced expertly like on the piano, a craftsmen producing a masterpiece. Finally, he held it up to the streaming sunlight, satisfaction in his eyes.
"There. Take a look."
Lina leaned over, breathing in the aroma of fresh spring air. It was a fairly basic sketch, an outline of a rose, the thorns prominent on the stem. From the petals dripped drops of music notes, trickling onto the ground. A few petals lay shriveled next to the music notes, lifeless.
She bit her lip, sucking in her breath. "Wow, this is... interesting. I mean, it's very beautiful, Luka. Most boys just draw a simple daisy or something."
Luka chuckled, tucking the croissant wrapper back in his pocket. "So you have lots of boys sketching flowers for you on used trash, do you?"
Lina rolled her eyes. "Come, Luka, before we miss the train," she wrote.
Yet once they made it to the train station and boarded the treno, Lina noticed a sudden cloudiness shifting into Luka's eyes. He led them to the very back of the car, and they settled into a seat dusted with stale crumbs. Lina could not help but notice the murky fogginess in his eyes, worry lining his olive face.
"You look concerned." She passed him the note as a couple settled in right across from them, the woman giggling as her husband stroked a strand of blonde hair from her cheek.
Luka bit his lip. Lina noticed his hand trembling ever so slightly as he took the piece of paper. "Yes, well, it's just that I get a little motion sick from trains sometimes."
"Motion sick? Please, Luka, you've seemed fine this entire trip. There's something else." Yet as the words poured on the paper, Lina struggled to recall if Luka really did seem fine each time they had boarded a train. He had always been rather quiet, his eyes simply fluttering shut as soon as they sat down.
Luka arched his eyebrows in skepticism, confirming Lina's doubts. He leaned his forehead against the window, the sun casting a shimmer across his cheek. His eyes closed as he inhaled. "I have bad memories from trains, I suppose," he started. "I'm always running away from something whenever I board a train. But this time, I cannot help but feel I'm running toward something. Something I should be running away from."
A shiver ran down Lina's spine. "Like, you have a premonition of evil?"
Luka hesitated before continuing. "Lina, I want you to be careful with Madame Riviere."
Lina furrowed her eyebrows. His eyes looked so much duller, like a worn franc on the street. Just seeing them sent chills throughout her entire body. Something wasn't right. And yet, his eyes looked just as beautiful even like this, to the point where Lina did not want to look away. "Why? It's not like I'll ever see her again. We're not working for her anymore."
"Just... If you ever see her, run the other way. Don't speak with her, or write to her, in your case. She's an evil woman, Lina, and I don't want to see you get hurt."
A twinge of guilt echoed in her gut, yet Lina shoved it away. She was only doing what she had to do. Besides, Luka was the one with all the secrets, and she still had a strange feeling he was somehow more connected to Madame Riviere than he let on.
The rest of the train ride passed in silence, the only sound Luka's light breathing as his cheek rested against the cool window. Lina's mind was soaked in his words, a frightening shadow over her. It was as if he were a completely different person from the one that spoke of his mother so affectionately in the attic, the one that formed music from silence and nothingness.
When the train finally pulled into the Marseilles station, darkness had cloaked the sky, with only the city lights peeking out like stars. It was Lina who led Luka this time, who was half-asleep, to the decaying apartment they inhabited. Whenever he would stumble over an uneven cobblestone, Lina would rush to grasp his arm, steadying him. What's wrong, Luka Fuhrmann? she thought as they silently slipped up the staircase, like two fugitives in the night.
Lina led him all the way to his hiding place at the end of the hall, the room of croissant wrappers. She yearned to say something, to ask him if he was all right, yet it was too dark to read her words now.
Sighing, she felt her way along the walls to her own apartment, testing the door handle with trepidation. Thankfully, it was unlocked, and gingerly Lina pushed it open. She expected complete silence when she entered, with everyone asleep in bed. But it was quite the contrary.
"Lina? Is that you?" Liliane murmured. She was hunched over at the kitchen table, a bruise tainting her eye. Mama towered over her, anger spewing out from her lips and pouring onto her daughter like hot wax. It wasn't until she spun around to greet Lina that she noticed the dark circles under her eyes.
"Lina Fontaine. Where on earth have you been?" The moon reflected on her harsh wrinkle lines as she shook her head.
"I told you, Mama. I had to go away for a little while to find some information. For school," she signed. Mama scoffed, her mocking the only sound that filled the room. Any hope of asking Mama about her connection to Victor dissipated. Lina glued her gaze to the ground, unable to meet her sister's eyes. My darling Liliane, what have I done to you? I left you alone in the tiger's cage.
"'For school.' Seems like you've been doing a lot of stuff 'for school' lately," Liliane mumbled.
Lina furrowed her eyebrows. "What do you mean?" she dared to sign. She detected a slight eye roll coming from Liliane, prompting Lina's mouth to nearly fall agape. Sweet, innocent Liliane. Never had she expected her to roll her eyes at her own sister.
She shook her head. "Well, every time I ask you to go out shopping with me or go for a walk, you're always 'busy with school,'" she growled. "I go to the same school, Lina. It's not that much work."
A tear dripped down Lina's cheek, sparks of shock reverberating throughout her body. She took a few steps backward, unable to meet Liliane's gaze or watch her twirl her finger through her wispy hair.
Ignoring Liliane, Mama grunted, inhaling as if to compose herself. The frown lines along her cheeks were like stripes on a tiger. "Traipsing around with that--that German fugitive," she murmured. "I can't imagine he's in school. If he is, he shouldn't be."
Lina's heart nearly stopped. She glanced up from ground, clenching her hand into a fist to prevent it from trembling. Fugitive. The word made her sick. "Mama, he's not a fugitive. He was just helping me, that's all." Lina hesitated before signing the next few words. "Besides, how did you even find out?"
"Never mind that. I really wish you would just listen to your mother and stay away from him."
Lina bit her lip, attempting to calm the whirlwind of thoughts in her head. She finally allowed herself to look at Liliane, to study the expression on her face. Yet for once, her sister ignored Lina's gaze, lifting her chin almost haughtily. Gulping, Lina finally worked up the courage to sign something. "What were you talking about before I walked in?"
Liliane dipped her chin, shaking her head. Lina thought she saw a tear drip down her cheek. Even Mama hesitated.
"Yes, well, I suppose it's time you find out," Mama murmured, her tone softer. "We've set a date for Liliane's departure. I think she'll find America quite lovely, once she gets there."
Lina squeezed her eyes shut, blinking back the tears. Not yet, it can't be. I need more time. "When?" This time, she couldn't see Liliane's reaction even if she wanted to. The tears blurred her vision, washing over her like an ocean wave.
"Not long. In a month. September 15th."
Biting her lip, Lina gazed down at the floor. She wanted more than anything to rush into Luka's room, to escape the apartment that confined her behind iron bars more and more each day. She couldn't bear to look at the frail girl in the corner, to know that soon Lina might never see her again. To know she had failed her.