The Butterfly and the Violin (10 page)

Thank You.

“Do you want more?” William walked over and took a seat next to her on the log, holding a plate of fried seafood out in offering.

Sera shook her head. “No thanks. It was wonderful, but I’ve eaten far too much already.”

He sat quietly and set the plate down on the buffalo plaid blanket at their feet.

“I tried to tell my mother that she’d ordered too much. But, well, mother of the bride and all . . . you can’t tell her anything. She insisted we’d be feeding some small West Coast army and cleaned out all the seafood from here to Seattle.”

William ran his hand through his hair.

Sera picked up on the action as telltale. It was akin to vulnerability, which was surprising for the oldest, almost patriarchal Hanover. It set her to wonder why there was no father of the bride in attendance at the rehearsal dinner.

“I heard you’re stepping in to give the bride away.” Her voice was barely loud enough to be heard over the crashing waves. “That’s rather noble if you ask me.”

“Ah. That.” He seemed to find embarrassment in it, for he shook his head and laughed softly. “Macie told you, huh? She shouldn’t have done that.”

Sera smiled in spite of herself. “I think she was trying to convince me that you’re more than the figurehead of the Hanover family. And she followed up by telling me not to give in to you about the painting.”

“So she thinks I’m a tyrant.” He laughed and held up his glass of iced tea in a mock toast. “Nice to know someone’s on my side.”

“I think she was hoping I wouldn’t hold this morning against you. I really didn’t know about the will.”

“I know you didn’t,” William agreed, and moved his view from a point out over the water to cast his gaze in her direction. “And despite what my siblings say, I’m not all work. Macie’s a good girl. She means well. But she’s young,” he said, and looked over at the bride and groom sitting across from them. Sera watched them too as the firelight danced, illuminating the faces of the couple who were all smiles on the eve of their magic day. “She has no concept of the real world. For better or worse, we’ve shielded her
from that. She’s been through a lot in the past year. Eric seems to make her happy, so I’m glad someone is there for her.”

“She’s been through a lot?”

“Well, the last year has been trying. Thank goodness she’s not alone.”

“Yes,” she said, watching as Macie tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and then laughed out loud at something her fiancé had said. She was young. Sweet. And endearing in a way that only a bride could be. “Thank goodness for that.”

Eric draped his arm over Macie’s shoulders and pressed a kiss to her temple. “And she seems to make him happy too,” Sera noted, lost in the view of the happy scene.

William nodded in agreement. “She does.”

Sera turned away, suddenly overcome by the memory of being a young bride herself once. It came flooding back but she didn’t want to think about it. And though she’d sought God’s healing for it once, she no longer had the inclination to think much past the busy life she’d made for herself at the gallery.

Staying busy hid the pain. Forgetting she’d ever been in love, that she’d ever been a would-be bride herself . . . it all had been buried deep when her fiancé called off the ceremony the day of their wedding, and she hadn’t looked back since.

“My father left about a year ago.”

William’s words shocked Sera out of her memory. She looked up, blinking, as he stared deep into the dance of the firelight at their feet.

Had she heard him correctly? “He left?”

Something in William’s face hardened as he confirmed the truth, nodding. “Right before Macie’s twentieth birthday. He left our mom, the company—everything. After nearly thirty-five years of marriage. He just decided one day that he didn’t want to do it anymore. He expected he’d receive a large sum of money when Grandfather passed, but that didn’t happen. My grandfather was
a good man, there’s no doubt about that. But the relationship between him and the men of the family was often strained.”

“Why is that?”

He shook his head. “A number of reasons.”

He didn’t seem inclined to share them.

“Where is your father now?”

William shrugged and tossed a shard of driftwood he’d found at his feet into the mouth of the fire. “Not sure. Last we heard, he moved back to London. My grandfather was from Great Britain and so my father spent time there as a kid. I guess he wanted to go back to someplace where he had fond memories.”

“But he’ll come home, right? Surely with the wedding—”

“He knows all about the wedding.”

Sera was horrified that a husband and father could leave his family. And poor Macie. Her own father had abandoned her on what should have been the most important day of her life. And for what? Freedom from responsibility? She wasn’t sure why the elder Hanover had made such a decision with his life, but it felt like a waste.

She hated to see the toll it was taking on the family.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Mom tries to stay busy.” William looked up at the woman with brunette hair and a welcoming smile on the other side of the fire. “The wedding has been good for her. You know. To take her mind off things. And Paul—he’s his own animal, I suppose. I never worry about Paul. He could make a smile out of any situation. Laid-back is just his way.”

She looked at Paul, who was entertaining guests across from them, then glanced back to the bride again and felt a wave of guilt wash over her. She understood what it meant to be discarded, to be abandoned by the man she’d expected to live the rest of her life with. Sera knew the loneliness that Macie and the rest of the family must have been going through. And somehow, seeing the
Hanovers from a new perspective gave her a clarity that changed something in her mind.

“So it’s not all about the money.” She whispered the statement.

“No. It’s not,” William answered immediately, and stood. “It’s my job to keep this family together, and if we lose everything we have left, I think that would be the last straw. I can’t let that happen.”

He held out a hand for her, to help her up. Sera took it, gratefully accepting the tiny glimpse into his private life. It made him seem familiar somehow, and not as severe as she’d first thought.

“Want to take a walk?” He tilted his head up the beach. “Talk business?”

Sera nodded, appreciative to have something else to think about.

She walked by his side, saying nothing, feeling the salty air fill her lungs with each breath. It was a sweet, calming walk, unassuming for the moment and refreshing in a way she couldn’t explain. And she didn’t feel so disconnected from him anymore. William Hanover had evolved from a foe into a friend with a few careful steps through the sand.

“I’m sorry. I had no idea what your family was dealing with.”

“How could you?” He tossed a rock she didn’t know he held. It sailed out into the black night and dropped down into the stirring darkness of the sea.

Focus, Sera. You’re leaving tomorrow. Do not allow yourself to become too personal with this man.

“So your grandfather—how long did he have the painting you sent me?”

“As long as I can remember. It’s always been hanging in his office. But I never knew it was a copy of an original painting. That’s new information.”

“Did he tell you anything about how he acquired it?”

“He had it all these years. I just assumed he liked the painting,” he said, shaking his head. “I never even thought to ask him.” The last words were whispered, almost as if they were uttered in regret.

Sera watched as he stared out at the water.

“Well then. Is there anything you want to know about the painting? You brought me all this way. You might as well get some information out of the deal.”

He paused, then asked, “The girl. Do you know who she is?”

Sera wrapped her arms around her middle as the sea breeze whipped in around them. She turned her face to it, allowing her hair to blow back over her shoulders. “Yes. Her name is Adele Von Bron. She was Austrian, a concert violinist prior to the war.”

“Prior to the war? Then what happened after it?”

“You mean her shaved head and the tattoo?”

“No. I could guess that much,” he replied, and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I wondered if you have any information about what happened to her inside the concentration camp. I may never have asked my grandfather about the painting,” he said, exhaling. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t really see it.”

“I think that’s what we’re trying to find out.”

He turned to look at her then with an almost boyish enthusiasm that had taken over his face. “Okay. Let’s start there. Can we find her? She might still be alive, right? That’s not out of the question. So we should be able to contact her, find out if she knew my grandfather somehow.”

Sera shook her head. “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

On a sigh, she said, “Because we believe she died at Auschwitz in 1944.”

CHAPTER TEN

A
dele sat in her father’s study, her hands bandaged in her lap.

The room was quiet. And eerily dark. Much darker than she’d have anticipated, even given the situation she now faced.

She glanced over at the immense marble and carved-wood fireplace on the wall. The dancing flames against the opulence of the room had once seemed so warm, so inviting when she curled up on the settee to read books as a young girl. But now? She imagined the fireplace with an intricate web of carved gargoyle-like creatures, all with menacing superiority as they mocked her, and a blazing fire that licked up to consume the entire wall. Suddenly, she felt evil all around her. It was as if the loving home she’d always known had morphed into something that threatened her with imminent danger.

The door creaked open. She heard heavy, clipped footsteps and the door slammed. She jumped at the sound.

The hard-nosed Fredrich Von Bron walked by her and slammed his uniform hat and gloves on the desk. He addressed her without looking up from the desktop.

“I am going to ask you this once, Adele, and you will answer me.”

Adele sat there, terrified out of her mind.

From the moment her hands had begun to bleed down
her dress, the spotlight of guilt was cast in her direction. She hadn’t known it before the concert, but the German authorities had learned that someone—whoever had been helping the Haurbechs—had fallen in their haste to run away from the docks. The blood evidence on the broken glass at the scene told them they’d be looking for someone with injuries similar to hers. But they’d been just as shocked as everyone else in the concert hall. No one would have thought to turn their attention to the general’s daughter as the guilty party.

Of course, they didn’t want a scene onstage, before all of Austria.

Adele had been whisked away to a dressing room where she was ordered to change into a simple navy frock that had been retrieved from the room’s closet. With blood darkening her front, the lovely satin gown was no longer wearable; it was tossed in the nearest trash bin. She’d stood in the dimly lit room, hands shaking as she stripped out of the soiled gown and pulled the day dress over her head. She was surprised that the pain wasn’t worse. No, her hands shook with fear now. Adele knew it, could feel it quickening her pulse and sending her fingers to fumble with the buttons that lined the front of the garment.

She recalled breathing out nervously as she affixed the last button at her collar.

Oh God . . . what have I done?

Getting dressed was all she could do other than wait.

Guards had been posted at the door, so there was no chance of fleeing that way. She checked both of the windows in the dressing room and was once again denied any chance for escape—they were tightly latched.

All she could do was sit. And pace. And wonder what would become of her. Would the Germans come and take her away? Oh heavens, would they come with guns drawn like she’d seen the night before?

Adele had paced the room, wondering what they would do with her, feeling like a trapped animal that awaited the return of the hunter.

It was a surprise then that her father came to fetch her at all, which he did more than an hour later. He’d not said a word, just walked stone-faced as he led her through the back hallways of the concert hall and tugged her into their waiting car. They drove through the snow that had once seemed so sweet in the garden with Vladimir; it had turned to a miserable ice-tinged rain that pelted the car windows on all sides. Then she arrived back to her prison of a home, was tossed into her father’s study, and had seen no one but their family physician in the hours after. The doctor had attended to her wounds but said nothing. He held on to an awkward silence, no doubt because he was ordered to do so, and then left the room.

All of this she recalled as her father was now there, cold as ever, demanding she answer whatever it was he would say.

“What is the nature of your association with Vladimir Nicolai?”

Adele swallowed hard.

Her father hadn’t asked about whether she was out on the streets with a Jewish family the night before. He didn’t demand to know whether she’d stopped at the house of the doctor they both knew. He didn’t even seem to hold any concern for what had happened to injure her hands. No—it all went back to Vladimir, and that was a dangerous thing. If she admitted having involvement that was any deeper than the platonic association with the orchestra’s events, then she’d be admitting to everything. And if she admitted everything, it would implicate the man she loved.