With the voices of my ancestors in my ears, and their blessing in my heart, I took Isabelle in my arms and—leaving the others to their delirious dance—held my daughter close and slipped away, gone before anyone knew we had left the village of the Icemen.
Thirty-Six
Vita had been so ill when I left that I half expected to find the northeast tower empty upon my return. But when I arrived, a fire smoldered in the fireplace, and Greta stood by Vita’s bedside, pouring one of Bernadette’s herbal remedies into a spoon.
“Madame!” Greta said, looking from me to Isabelle wrapped in a blanket in my arms.
“Is that Alberta?” Vita said. Her voice was weak, and she didn’t have the strength to lift herself up in bed, but it wasn’t too late: she was alive. “Alberta? Is that you?”
“There’s someone I would like you to meet,” I said. Walking close to the bed, I held Isabelle before Vita. “This is Isabelle. Aki’s daughter. She is a descendant of Leopold.”
“What a beauty,” Vita said, her eyes alight with pride.
Greta looked at the baby, startled, and turned to go, but I stopped her. “Wait a minute, Greta,” I said, feeling all the sadness of what I was about to tell her. “There is something you need to know.”
“What is it, madame?”
I pulled out the green Kindertheaterfestival T-shirt I had found in the village and gave it to her. She gasped with recognition. “He wore this the day he went missing,” she said. “Where did you find it, madame?”
“In the mountains,” I said softly.
“The mountains,” Greta echoed, scrunching the T-shirt into a ball in her hands. “Where in the mountains?”
“Far from here,” I said, tears coming to my eyes as I watched her take in the meaning of this, her expression changing from hope to despair.
“Joseph is not coming back,” she said, “is he?”
Isabelle shifted in my arms, opened her eyes long enough to see that I was there, and fell back to sleep. “No, he’s not,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”
Greta sat on the bench near the fire and sobbed, and I found myself crying, too, crying for Joseph and Anna, crying for my own sweet Isabelle, who would never know her mother and father, crying for Luca, who would never meet my child. Greta was overcome by sorrow, but she wasn’t alone in her sadness. It was all of ours to bear.
“I’m going to be leaving the castle with Isabelle,” I said at last. “I’ll need help. Can you come with me?”
Greta looked to Vita. “But what about my work here?”
“Your work here is done,” Vita said. “Bernadette will tend to me.”
“Then I will go,” Greta said, her voice unsteady and her eyes red from crying. “Gladly.”
“I plan to leave as soon as possible,” I said, giving Vita a challenging look, daring her to stop me. “If you could pack our things, I will ask Sal to drive us down the mountain today.”
“Yes, madame,” Greta said, turning to the door.
As she passed the fireplace, Vita said, “Bring me that box on the mantel before you leave.” Greta lifted a wooden box with copper trim and carried it to Vita. “Thank you, Greta,” she said, raising her eyes. “For everything.”
“Pleasure, madame,” Greta whispered, and hurried from the room.
I had intended to confront Vita after Greta left. My anger about Joseph’s death and the lies she told about the children the Icemen had taken had enraged me. But when we were alone, I found that all my anger and indignation had drained away, leaving nothing but sadness.
“You are upset with me,” Vita said, watching me with narrowed eyes.
“I’m devastated,” I said. “All those children, Vita. They were not strong enough to survive the cold. It was all for nothing.”
“I didn’t know they took Joseph,” she said, lowering her eyes. “They had access to the castle, and they must have taken him. But I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have allowed it.”
“I won’t let anything happen to Isabelle,” I said. “That is for sure.”
“Ah, then you have become a kryschia after all,” she said, smiling weakly. “There is something you must see before you leave.”
Vita opened the wooden box. Inside, there were notes of currency, bundles and bundles of francs and liras held together with string, outdated currency that she would never be able to spend. Digging below a stack of franc notes, she removed an envelope and gave it to me. The letter was addressed to Vittoria Montebianco and had