Chapter Text
It’s the summer of 1903, and Chloe is wearing a dress in the exact shade of blue that Alice Roosevelt wore for her social debut. The color brings out Chloe’s eyes, the fitted jacket makes her look powerful, and the long, sweeping skirt accentuates her perfect figure.
It’s just the right thing for a triumphant return to Sweden. She’s wearing it today for her departure from Canada, and she’ll wear it again on the day the boat lands in Gothenburg. Everyone who sees her will know that she’s an important person with important business to tend to.
Her first class room is only tolerable— definitely not as luxurious as she’d been promised, but it’ll do. As the voyage across the Atlantic begins, she has the good breeding to not get seasick as so many of the lower class passengers do. She only vomits occasionally due to the inferior quality of the food, definitely not because she can’t handle the rocking of the boat.
It’s been four years since she’s seen her homeland. Four years of hard work to raise Uncle Indra’s business out of the ashes and into the twentieth century. And now, with her portion of the profits in hand, she’s going back to claim what is rightfully hers.
It’s the eleventh night of the voyage, and she’s wearing a lovely evening dress in spring green bordered with expensive lace when something changes on the ship. There’s a distant sound of laughing, and then the most beautiful music…
Chloe is choking on salt water, and her dress is ruined. It weighs her down as she tries to stay afloat in the choppy waves, and she can’t understand where she is or how she got here.
A voice in her head tells her to be calm, but it isn’t her own so she stabs at it fiercely, teeth gritted as she tries to push it away.
The voice won’t leave. It apologizes, then forms an intention, and suddenly Chloe is under the surface and flying through the water. Her beautiful dress is ripped apart in an instant. She kicks and screams furiously, outraged by this indignity. Again, the voice tries to console her. It says it will give her new clothes, better clothes.
As if you could! she shouts back at it. Do you know how long it takes to make Brussels lace?
There’s a chuckle in her mind. The thing is laughing at her!
How dare you! Do you have any idea who I am?
Something is happening around her. The water thickens and solidifies on her waist. Her legs are tickled by tendrils of… Well, she's not quite sure what that is. It's murky under the water. For the first time, Chloe realizes that she isn't drowning.
Where are you taking me? she demands. It's clear that the voice in her head is behind all of this. What’s going on?
Soothing thoughts enter her mind, assuring her that all will be explained momentarily. The world brightens around her, and then she’s above the surface again, staring at an island that glows with green grass even in the moonlight. There are two women waiting on the shore, and they sparkle.
What fabric is that? is Chloe’s first thought. She’ll have ten dresses made in it before the year is out. Something catches her eye, and she looks down at herself to find that she’s already wearing such a gown.
“Oh,” she breathes, a long exclamation of wonder. She’s draped in shimmering swaths of crystals, edged by foamy lace that’s unlike anything she’s ever seen before. “So beautiful,” she whispers in delight.
The voice in her head is pleased by this reaction and gently urges her to walk onto the shore and meet her new sisters.
“Sisters?” Ew. Chloe has never had siblings, and she doesn’t want any. She does move from the water onto land, though, because she wants to admire her new dress in all its glory.
The two women are drab compared to her. One has fiery red hair that doesn’t suit the color of her gown at all, and the other is a dreary-looking blonde with tired eyes. The redhead steps forward and introduces herself.
“Hello, I’m Alix, and this is Aurore.”
Chloe ignores her in favor of examining the details of the voluminous skirts. It’s utterly fascinating how there seem to be no stitches or seams, just continuous fabric that isn’t really fabric at all. If she could figure out how this is made, it would take the world by storm.
“And you are…?” The redhead hasn’t given up on her intrusion.
Chloe gives her name dismissively.
“Aren’t you curious about what’s happening?”
“Obviously.” Chloe rolls her eyes. “Tell me where these dresses came from. I must know.”
“Um. The Ocean made them.”
“The Ocean?”
The redhead gestures in frustration toward the water. “Yeah. The Ocean is sentient, She eats people, and we’re Her servants. And She makes these dresses.”
Chloe blinks slowly as she processes this information. It all sounds like gibberish to her ears, but she knows one thing: she’s not anyone’s servant. She says so, crossing her arms, which makes the redhead roll her eyes.
“You’ve got two options here: you can become a siren, or you can go back in the water and die. If you choose to be a siren, you have to help the Ocean by singing to ships. That only happens a couple times a year. The rest of the time, you can do what you want so long as it doesn’t break the rules.”
“I’m listening,” Chloe says, narrowing her eyes.
A sigh. “We each serve for a hundred years. During that time, we don’t age, we can’t be harmed or feel pain, and we have no need to breathe or eat. At the end of our sentence, the Ocean wipes our memories, and we return to being human with a human’s lifespan.”
Oh. Hmm. Well, it sounded great up until that last part. “What’s the catch?” There’s got to be something else wrong with this deal.
The redhead stares at her with a perplexed, almost judgmental expression. “The catch is that you have to sing to ships so that the Ocean can consume the people onboard. They die. Everyone else on your boat tonight is dead now.”
“I don’t see how that’s my problem,” Chloe sniffs. “I’m not the one eating them.”
More perplexed and definitely judgmental looks from both of the women now. “Okay,” the redhead says slowly. “I guess that means you’d like to join us?”
“Ew. I didn’t say that. I’ll be a siren, but I don’t want anything to do with either of you.”
“Part of the agreement is that you have to spend a one-year probationary period with one of us. To learn the rules and be trained how to fit in.”
“I asked you what the catch was! Ugh, there’s got to be another choice. How do I talk to the Ocean?”
“You can hear Her at any time, but She can only hear you when you’re touching saltwater.”
Chloe stomps across the sand—noticing even in her anger how elegantly her dress moves around her legs—and sets foot in the waves. “I refuse to waste my time mingling with my inferiors.”
The voice in her head, which is apparently the water itself, tells her that her only options are to spend the year with Alix or forfeit her life. In response, Chloe stomps one foot and tries to argue her way out of this deplorable idea. The Ocean doesn’t relent, though, and at last Chloe accepts her fate.
“Fine!” she shouts, glaring hatefully over her shoulder. “But we’re not going to be friends! I don’t associate with people like her.”
Alix doesn’t even look bothered by the insult. “What country are you from?”
“Sweden,” she says proudly, stepping out of the waves. Her beautiful, perfect homeland is everything she wants. There, she’ll achieve her lifelong dream.
Then the hateful woman drops yet another catch: “You’ll come with me to England. After a year, you can go wherever you wish. Anywhere except Sweden.”
No. What? Why? They can’t take that from her. Her father’s business…it was going to be hers. For a moment, she lets her mask slip, showing her distress at this news.
“You can go back when you’re released.” There’s obvious pity in the woman’s voice, and it reminds Chloe who she is.
She’s not a whimpering baby who cries over every setback. She’s strong and fearless and, most of all, successful. Little issues like this won’t keep her from what’s rightfully hers. “It doesn’t matter,” she announces. “Any place I go will be lucky to have me.”
Her forced companion is the most miserable person Chloe could have invented to have to spend an entire year with. She’s so boring, just sitting around in her little cottage writing letters. Letters! Who could she even be corresponding with? The only consolation is that the Ocean can apparently provide spending money for any amount of extravagances.
The dimwitted redhead might not have good taste, but she did have the decency to choose a home within a moderately busy town. Chloe practices her new state of silence in the shops there, where her very first purchase is a fine leather-bound journal. Her second is a sumptuous ball point pen. From there, she is easily able to make her demands known. She orders dresses and hats and gloves in the most decadent materials—though they all pale in comparison to what the Ocean can make—and parades her new wardrobe through the town square.
Everyone there adores her, of course. The other siren hasn’t made even the tiniest impression on these people, but Chloe is well-known within days.
It’s a trial, to suffer through a full year of only being admired by country bumpkins, but Chloe manages it with all the grace and decorum her high class requires. When it at last reaches its end, she wears a dark blue dress with the most sumptuous ruffle along the bottom that flutters around her feet as she walks out the door.
“Goodbye,” she says to the wretched woman. “I won’t miss you.”
And she doesn’t. She definitely isn’t lonely in her new life. The Ocean allows her to move to France, where fashion is at its best, and Chloe thrives there. She attends social events as a mysterious, well-dressed stranger and soaks in the admiring looks she receives. Women envy her and men want to know her, but she’s above them all. It’s delicious and satisfying in every way.
It lasts for six months.
Then, the allure wears off. The people are boring here, and while it’s fun to purchase new things anytime she wants, Chloe longs to be the one selling them again. She wants to make decisions and take charge and watch her business thrive and grow. What she wants more than anything is to go to Sweden and claim her birthright, but that’s been stolen from her.
Instead, she goes to the one place she swore to never return to. Back to her aunt and uncle. Back to their business in Canada.
Back to Madlaina.
The best year Sweden ever knew was 1883, for that was the year Chloe was born. Her existence was a gift, though no one appreciated it as much as they should have. Her father was busy with his factory, and her mother was distant and cold. Neither of them recognized Chloe’s brilliance or potential, though she frequently tried to explain it to them.
“Just listen to me,” she begged her father when he caught her sneaking into his office again. “If we switch from mass production to higher quality textiles, we could change our clientele entirely! It would lift us up in society. We could work together.”
His only response was to growl at her. “Get out.” Finger pointed toward the door, he told her, “The factory is no place for a young woman. You can help us by marrying well. Find a husband who can work beside me in the business, then you’ll be of use to me.”
He’s ridiculous, Chloe thought, to wait for some idiot boy when he could have me by his side.
But, unable to convince him, she made a different plan instead: she would obey. She’d find just the right partner to suit her needs. Rich, skilled, and most of all, easily manipulated. If she couldn’t rule outright, she would rule from the shadows.
Emil Forsberg fit all of her requirements. He was the son of a merchant far more successful than her father, and the fact that he was quite handsome as well was just a bonus. Despite the surplus of admirers after his looks and his fortune, Chloe had no doubt that she would be the victor in the end. She was sixteen years old, in her prime, and widely regarded as the most beautiful girl in Gothenburg. Emil would be lucky to have her.
She didn’t have time for a long courtship and an even longer engagement, though. Who knew how her father might ruin the business in the meantime? She took matters into her own hands—as always—and backed Emil into a corner he couldn’t escape from.
The Ocean doesn’t ask questions when Chloe demands to be taken to New Brunswick. Chloe is too good at keeping her thoughts a secret for the stupid Ocean to have any suspicions. She wonders if other sirens have been as skilled as herself.
She did some snooping while she was living with the redhead, curious about what kind of letters could hold such fascination, but they were just as boring as Chloe had thought they would be. They were all inflammatory missives to that group of women who march through the streets with signs and throw rocks into windows. It’s all useless behavior—Chloe could get voting rights in a week if she put her mind to it—but it probably won’t get the other siren in trouble with the Ocean.
Too bad. Chloe could use some blackmail material, in case of emergency. She’ll keep looking.
The city of Saint John looks just the same as when she left it a year and a half ago: mostly flat, covered in trees, and utterly tedious. The only difference is that she left in the bright green of summer, and now the land is covered in the perfect white of snow. Chloe loves snow. It’s the perfect backdrop for her beauty.
She isn’t really sure why she’s come back here now, when she’d been so eager to leave before. Perhaps it’s curiosity. Yes, that must be it. Just idle curiosity about how her aunt and uncle have taken the news of her death. If they have any sense, they’ll be completely devastated—they were lost before she came, after all, and they owe all their success to her—but Chloe doesn’t have much faith in their ability to see that.
She just hopes Uncle Indra hasn’t allowed the boutique to crumble in her absence.
Her outfit today is born of necessity, something plain and easy to walk in, for she’ll be doing a lot of that. Indra and Marta live outside of town, and it’s not as if Chloe can just hitch a ride in a wagon. The people in town would know her at once, of course. She’d been famous in Saint John, a local celebrity, beloved by all. She’ll have to stay hidden to avoid detection.
It’s evening by the time she manages to trudge her way through the snow up the long drive to the house. She doesn’t worry about leaving a trail; they’ll just assume it was a deer or a bear or something, right? Both of the chimneys in the house are puffing away, sending trails of smoke into the sky.
Chloe is baffled to find that there are tears in her eyes. It must be the smoke. Nevermind that it’s blowing away from her. Maybe the breeze just changed.
That’s right, it’s the smoke.
There’s nothing to hear from this far away, so she moves a little closer. Someone moves in front of a window—Aunt Marta, by the shape of the silhouette. The familiar sight of her checking her hair pins makes Chloe curse that damn smoke again. Then, Marta bends down and picks up a smaller figure, a child. She holds the child close to her chest and kisses the top of the little head.
Chloe turns away.
She isn’t sure why she came.
Allowing Emil under her skirts was supposed to get her what she wanted. Once a man ruined a woman, he was honor-bound to marry her. That was the way it worked. Sure, her father would be disappointed at first, but he’d be pleased once he had Emil’s fortune at his disposal. And Chloe would rule from the background, the power behind the throne.
Behind every great man is a woman. She’d heard that once.
But Emil refused to marry her. He had no honor, no sense of duty, a worthless rake who could fall into a well and die for all Chloe cared. All he gave her was grief and an unwanted intruder into her life. When she missed her courses, she cornered him in the barn they’d been using for their secret meetings and demanded that he marry her.
“This is your fault,” she hissed, pointing at her stomach. He’d already tried to weasel his way out of his obligations, but they didn’t have a choice now.
“I didn’t hear you protesting,” he drawled back, utterly unconcerned. “I think this is your problem.”
“I’ll tell everyone it was you. You’ll be shamed.”
“My reputation will recover. Yours never will.”
And he was right, damn him. The world forgave men their follies, but a woman was held to a higher standard. When her parents discovered her predicament, they disowned her entirely.
“I’ve booked you a ticket to Canada,” her father said, not even looking up from the ledger he was working on. “You’ll give the babe to your Aunt Marta. I don’t care what you do after that, for you’re no longer my daughter. Do not let anyone here know why you are leaving, or you’ll find a much worse fate than relocation.”
So she went. She didn’t want anything more to do with that stupid, backwards town anyway. Everyone there was stuck in the past, resisting innovation, holding to archaic traditions. But not Chloe. She’d do much better on her own.
The passage to Canada was difficult, but she withstood it with regal forbearance, even through the constant nausea that come with her condition. She wore a bright yellow dress upon arrival, a message to all who saw her that she was to be noticed and admired. Indra and Marta were waiting on the docks, beaming smiles on their faces, as if Chloe’s very presence was a gift to be appreciated.
At least they recognized that, unlike her family back in Sweden—except, those people weren’t her family anymore.
“You’ve anticipated my arrival,” Chloe stated when she disembarked.
“Oh, yes.” Marta’s hands were clasped at her stomach, gray wisps of hair blowing into her eyes from the breeze. “We’re very pleased to have you, dear. Come, you must be tired.”
Uncle Indra, not a man of many words, gave her a nod and loaded her trunks into the carriage. That first evening in their home, Chloe preened and glittered under their attention.
“I’m quite skilled with business affairs,” she boasted. “I could help you in your boutique, Uncle.”
Indra nodded and smiled a little. Chloe thought he should be a little more enthusiastic about her generosity, but she supposed that was just his personality. He was probably ecstatic on the inside.
Marta, busy serving the food, chattered to fill the silence. “Oh, you’ll love it here. The people in town are quite nice, and there are plenty of gatherings for a young woman such as yourself to enjoy. You are so very blessed to have received your mother’s looks, I’m sure you’ll have no trouble at all making connections. Do you like sewing, dear?”
It was difficult to keep up with the woman’s train of thought, but Chloe was exceptional at it—as she was at everything she did. “Oh, yes. Mamma made sure I knew every womanly art.”
“That’s lovely. Perhaps you’d enjoy helping me make clothes for the baby, then. I’ve already pieced together a few things, though of course a child will need many more.”
And it was in that moment that Chloe had an awful revelation: her aunt and uncle didn’t care about her or her many accomplishments or the things she could offer to their business. They were buttering her up because they wanted the baby.
Marta was barren. They’d never had a child, and now they were desperate enough to manipulate Chloe to get one. It was utterly infuriating, for who wouldn’t be able to recognize Chloe’s magnificence? She was special! The baby was just an accident. They shouldn’t want it more than her.
Her happiness soured in her stomach, sending her running to a slop bucket to lose her dinner. Marta came to pat her head and wipe her face, but Chloe understood the trickery for what it was. She pushed her aunt’s hands away and stormed off to her room, determined to never fall for their deceit again.
Marta and Indra were surprised by Chloe’s intuition, of course. They probably thought she was as witless as everyone else in this place, but she wasn’t. She could see right through them. They deserved every harsh word she sent their way, every cutting remark and insult. Their sorrowful expressions were a farce—and a good one at that. There were times when Chloe very nearly fell for it. Very nearly felt a little bit of guilt creep in.
But then Aunt Marta would give her an extra serving of food for the baby, or Uncle Indra would bring in a cradle he’d made, and Chloe would remember all over again that she was unwanted here, just a means to an end. And what would happen to her once they’d taken the little parasite? Would they kick her out to fend for herself? Her father had implied as much. She’d need to make herself irreplaceable, then.
That wouldn’t be hard.
She began to make jabs at Uncle Indra’s business. He was in the same field as her father, but instead of a factory, he owned a boutique that allowed well-to-do ladies to choose their textiles and dress patterns, which were then handsewn into custom gowns. He was only mildly successful, catering to the middle class and those with new money. Chloe mocked him and threw it in his face that she could have turned the boutique into a thriving enterprise by now.
After a week or so of this ridicule, Indra looked at her with pitying eyes and said, “Would you like to come work with me, Chloe? Your advice would be welcome.”
Though this was what she’d been aiming for, the way he offered it got under her skin. It was if he saw into her heart, saw how desperately she wanted the chance to take control of something.
She scoffed at him. “I’ll help you, and you should be grateful for it.”
And he was. Chloe was right, after all. She was always right. She had a knack for these things, making selections and suggestions that elevated Indra’s boutique from mediocre to luxurious within the span of a few months. It only took a few of the right clients wearing just the right gowns to parties for word of Chloe’s special intuition to spread. Ladies flocked to her, begging for her advice, not even minding when she insulted their current wardrobes. It was worth it for the chance to be dressed by her.
At last, Chloe had come into her own.
Then the time came when she had to face her dishonor. Through artful draping, she’d managed to hide her pregnancy thus far, but at six months in, it became impossible. A woman in the family way couldn’t work in a public-facing job. An unmarried pregnant woman couldn’t be accepted into polite society.
Marta and Indra reluctantly agreed to help her disguise the truth. Indra told his clients that Chloe had gone traveling to visit a distant relative, and Marta stayed away from any social events for several months, stuffing her dresses with rolls of fabric and claiming a miracle to any neighbors who happened to stop by. Chloe was kept inside like a dirty secret, and she resented every second of it.
She wasn’t entirely bored, though. Uncle Indra brought her his account books and allowed her to continue making business decisions from the background. He told his clients that he would mail their requests to her, then took them home and listened closely to her excellent advice. Thus, all her progress wasn’t ruined. She slept easily at night knowing that she was invaluable to her aunt and uncle; they wouldn’t get rid of her once the baby came.
Chloe leaves Canada again.
She should never have gone there in the first place. It was a foolish idea. She isn’t sure where else to go now, though, so she wanders down the coast into New York City. Here is a place thriving with activity. There’s plenty to keep her mind occupied and her thoughts far away from a little house in the woods.
In all the rules Alix gave her, Chloe hadn’t heard a single one that forbade starting her own fashion dynasty. So long as no one discovers that she’s something far better than a human, there should be no problem, right? Not that she cares much for rules anyway, but it’s best to toe the line and be smart about breaking them.
It would probably also be best to keep her plans from the Ocean. So, rather than asking for a large sum of money that would have to be explained away, Chloe makes regular visits to the shore and saves up the allowance she’s given. It doesn’t take long, seeing as she has no paltry need for food or other living expenses. She’s above such things now. Before long, she’s able to use her resources to hire a liaison—someone to be the public face of her new venture.
She needs a man, obviously, because the world has trouble seeing a woman’s brilliance. Finding the right man is difficult, though. He needs to be savvy but respectful, able to be manipulated by her but not by anyone else. She places an ad in the paper and holds interviews while dressed in such a way to draw a man’s eye. Any man who dismisses her when he walks in the room is told to leave immediately. Any who look at her with lust are also brushed aside.
The ones she considers are those who seem to be in awe of her but still keep their heads and answer her written questions intelligently. Of those, a singular gentleman rises above the rest: an Irishman named Declan Murphy. Chloe is somewhat hesitant to choose him. If women are discriminated against, the Irish are just as much pariahs of society.
But he’s too perfect for the role in every other way. She gives him her fabricated story and makes a probationary offer, assigning him various tasks to test his abilities. He performs exceptionally well. He’s a cutthroat businessman in every other area, but Chloe sees his weakness for her and exploits it to the fullest extent.
In this way, she begins to build the foundations of her empire.
Chloe gave birth to her daughter—or rather, Marta’s daughter—in the winter of 1899. There was a snowstorm building outside that would prevent any midwife or doctor from coming to her aid if something went wrong, but nothing did. Marta guided Chloe through the event, staying calm even when Chloe hurled venomous words. As waves of pain wracked her body, Chloe cursed Emil Forsberg and all his ancestors.
“Worthless, chicken-hearted fool!” she screamed when the baby started to crown. Then, between contractions, “This is all his fault, and he wouldn’t even take responsibility!”
Marta tutted her disapproval of such language but gave Chloe’s leg a consoling pat anyway. “Almost there, dear. Just a few more pushes.”
Madlaina arrived amidst a loud, grunting roar from Chloe, and the babe seemed instantly determined to outshine her mother by letting loose a piercing squall. Marta contrasted them both by laughing in delight while tying and cutting the cord.
“Oh, isn’t she beautiful! What a precious little thing. She looks healthy as a horse, Chloe. You did wonderfully.”
But Chloe felt only a dark sense of dread. She turned her head away when Marta tried to hand her the wailing bundle. “I don’t want that dreadful thing. She’s your problem now.”
The little gasp of horror Marta gave was unforgettable, as was the way she pulled the babe to her chest and covered its ears as if it could hear and understand what was being said.
“You’re just tired,” Marta whispered, but she sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than Chloe. “I’ll let you rest, then you can feed your daughter later.”
“She’s your daughter! Isn’t that what you wanted? Go on, take her. And get some goat’s milk for her, because you won’t be getting any from me. I’m not a cow.”
The days that followed found the house weighed down with sadness. Chloe stayed in her room, covering her head with a pillow whenever Madlaina cried. Marta brought food and cold compresses to ease Chloe’s painfully engorged breasts.
“You’d feel better if you fed her, dear.”
But Chloe refused. She didn’t feel anything at all for the child that came from her body. Madlaina was a nuisance and someone else’s issue to deal with. Chloe had more important things to focus on, such as her triumphant return to the boutique once she was recovered from her ordeal. To that end, once the bleeding stopped she forced herself out of bed for daily walks.
I’ll get my strength back, she thought, and then I’ll be unstoppable.
Her prediction came true. Upon returning to her in-person dealings at the boutique, she was even more sought after than before. She worked long hours, far past what Indra could handle at his advancing age. With the increased profits, he bought Chloe her very own horse and cart so that she could travel freely. She timed her work so that she rarely ever had to see the child, leaving early in the morning and coming home after dark once the babe was put to bed.
One year and then another passed like that, so quickly it made Chloe’s head spin to think about. The rare times she did see Madlaina, she was surprised at how much the girl looked like a younger version of herself.
How lucky for her that she takes after me rather than her useless father, Chloe would think, and then she’d push all thoughts of the child out of her mind.
The same year that Chloe purchases a storefront and begins selecting luxurious textiles to be sold within it, the Ocean chooses a new siren. Her name is Olena, and she can’t be a day over sixteen. She trembles when the redhead speaks to her.
Probably not Your best selection, Chloe thinks from her spot in the waves.
The Ocean doesn’t respond.
Chloe is always right, though. At the next feeding, the new girl isn’t there. Chloe raises an eyebrow at the others, who only gaze back with defeat written all over their faces.
She wasn’t strong enough for this life. That won’t be my fate, though.
Chloe returns to her work in New York but finds herself thinking more and more of the home she once had in Canada. On a whim, she has Declan send advertisements to merchants all up and down the Atlantic coast. Her business is under a male pseudonym, of course—it amuses her to think of how she’s fooling the whole world—and there’s no way for Uncle Indra to know she’s the one behind the flyer in his mailbox.
Orders pour in, almost more than she knows what to do with, but none from Indra’s boutique. It makes her itch with curiosity. What if he’s ruining all the hard work she did for him?
She needs to know.
Declan is left in charge of her affairs—a high honor, and one she doesn’t give lightly. He pales a little at the list of rules she gives him, each one accompanied by a threat if he doesn’t comply. Her sweetest smile alleviates his anxiety, though, and she’s on her way.
Chloe wears an emerald green walking dress for her train ride across the border, then changes into a rich brown dress made of durable linen once she’s ready to trek through the woods again. It’s summer now, and she’s more grateful than ever that she can no longer be disturbed by variations in temperature. It truly makes life more enjoyable to never sweat.
The house looks even more cozy and welcoming than before, all snuggled up against the tree line and bursting with wildflowers in the yard. Marta’s little garden is full of color, and Chloe honestly considers sneaking over to grab one of those ripe tomatoes. They taste different here for some reason, and she misses their succulence.
It’s just as well she resisted the urge, though. A golden-haired head pops up between the stalks of beans, followed by a peal of laughter.
“Queenie! You didn’t find me!”
A scruffy dog comes bolting around the corner of the house, tail wagging, and falls to the ground in front of the child, presenting its belly for scratching.
“You’re not very good at this game,” the girl says, even as she enthusiastically rubs the dog’s stomach.
Just like the last time, Chloe turns back into the forest and moves away, scolding herself for coming here again.
“I wish you’d spend more time with Madlaina.” The request came from Marta’s lips like water rushing from a burst dam. Her hands were fidgeting within the pockets she had plunged them into, nerves written on every inch of her face.
As well she should be nervous. Madlaina was her child, not Chloe’s.
“I don’t see why,” Chloe said coolly. She took off her fur-lined cape and hung it beside the door.
“She’s interested in you. She should get to know her moth–”
“I’m not her mother!” Chloe hissed before pushing past Marta and locking herself into her room for the night.
I’m not her mother, Chloe thinks as she trudges slowly through the summer-green brush of the forest. The sun is setting now, and without consciously doing so, she’s made a wide circle around Marta and Indra’s house. At first, she convinced herself she was walking away, but then her feet turned back and brought her here once more.
I just want to check on Uncle Indra, she tells herself. She hasn’t seen him during her brief periods of spying, and he hadn’t been one of the business owners who’d responded to her advertisements. She needs to know if he’s healthy and well—only because she’ll buy the boutique out from under anyone who dares to replace him. That’s all. His store should stay within the family.
Finally, when the sun is no longer visible and the sky is a deep, velvet blue, Indra’s cart comes rolling over a hill. He looks tired. And sad.
Probably because he doesn’t have my help anymore.
But as he moves closer, she spots something odd: a black band pinned around his left sleeve. A mourning band. Who has died? As he nears the house, the front door is thrown open and Madlaina comes bursting out, running across the drive in stockinged feet as Marta stands in the doorway chastising her.
“Pappa!” Her hair is loose, flying behind her as she races to greet Indra.
Chloe notices for the first time that Madlaina is wearing gray, and her stockings are dark—black or perhaps navy blue. Those are mourning colors as well. Marta, watching from the top of the drive, is in a deep purple gown. She’s smiling tenderly at her husband and her child, but Chloe can see the sadness on Marta’s face.
Could they– Could they be mourning Chloe?
She’s been “dead” to them for nearly two years, long past the time any reasonable person would leave the dark colors of grief behind. It doesn’t make sense. Her eyes are wet again, and she doesn’t have the excuse of smoke or dust or allergies to lean back on. This is her family. They feel her absence, even now. It’s only right, of course, but she never thought they’d actually do it.
Hours later, when no light comes through the windows and no noise escapes from under the doors, Chloe visits them. She knows just how to get in without being caught, and once inside, she takes stock of the changes. It’s much the same, other than the new toys scattered about and a newly-framed photograph over the fireplace. She leans in to inspect it in the darkness, and finds herself face to face with her own image.
She remembers this. A studio had opened up in town for a brief time, and nearly everyone who could afford it had gone to have their picture taken. It had been tucked away safely when she left, though. Now it’s in a prominent position with a small bouquet of wilted wildflowers lying next to it.
Small hands must have picked those flowers.
Quietly, Chloe tip-toes to Madlaina’s room and peeks through the cracked door. There she is, sprawled out with limbs reaching for every corner of her little bed, her braided hair curled on her pillow like a rope of gold. Is she breathing? Chloe can’t tell. It would break Marta’s heart if the girl was to die in her sleep, so the only thing Chloe can do is pad softly over to the bed and stare at the sleeping form.
Yes, she’s breathing. That’s good. Chloe should leave now, except what if Madlaina stops breathing right after she leaves? That’s the only reason Chloe perches on the edge of the bed and stares in wonder at the soft chubby cheeks and the fluttering eyelids. She’s simply being responsible.
When Madlaina shifts and starts to awaken, Chloe really should leave or hide or– or– do something other than sit there in shock as wide blue eyes catch onto hers.
“You!” the girl breathes, then surges forward to wrap her arms around Chloe’s waist. “I missed you so much!”
And it’s a good thing Chloe doesn’t need to breathe anymore, because she doesn’t think she would be able to. Madlaina begins to cry, head pressed into Chloe’s stomach, and there’s nothing for Chloe to do except hug the child back. She strokes tangled hair that is the exact shade and texture as her own until the weeping stops.
“Where did you go?” Madlaina sniffles, pulling back a little to look up with a tear-streaked face that would break a harder person than Chloe. “Mamma said you were gone forever.”
What can she say?
Then she remembers: nothing at all. Not unless she wants to kill her own child.
No. Marta’s child.
This isn’t good. It’s definitely against the rules for someone from her old life to see her, but no one will believe a child, right? Chloe makes an attempt at a comforting smile—only because she doesn’t want Madlaina to start screaming and bring the adults rushing in. That’s all. She’ll need to get the girl back to sleep before she can make her escape.
Chloe puts a finger to her lips to signal the need to be quiet, and Madlaina nods eagerly, solemn-eyed.
“Don’t leave again,” she stage whispers, then snuggles down to rest her head on Chloe’s lap.
It’s not something that’s ever happened before. Chloe went to great pains to avoid any contact with her daughter— Marta’s daughter—during the years she lived with them in Canada. She was too busy for that, she’d told herself. There was no reason to waste time mollycoddling an infant.
And that’s still true. How long can Declan maintain the quality of her business without her there? She should go back.
But only once Madlaina is asleep.
For the purpose of bringing that event forward at a more expedient pace, Chloe pats the girl’s back in an uncertain rhythm. She’s never tried to comfort someone before, but it seems to be working. Madlaina sighs deeply, and all her muscles relax with the exhale. Chloe listens to the soft, steady sounds of her breathing until they reach an even tempo.
With utmost care, Chloe lifts the girl’s head off of her lap and escapes from the room. She feels cold. It’s probably just her imagination. She’s desperate to return to New York and the distractions of her work, but now she has to make sure Madlaina isn’t believed if she tries to talk about the visitor in her bedroom.
It’s pure luck that she’s able to overhear the conversation that happens the next morning. Indra is up early, working in the barn on some broken piece of something. Madlaina doesn’t run up to him or leap into his arms the way she did the previous day. She trudges sadly across the yard and stands quietly beside Indra until he notices her.
When he does, he lifts one arm for her to cuddle in next to him. In his usual way, he doesn’t speak a word, just stares down at her with a questioning look until she admits what’s on her mind.
“I saw Aunt Chloe last night, Pappa.”
Chloe bites her lip. Aunt.
Indra’s brow is furrowed, then he kisses her forehead and says, “It was a dream, guldklimp.”
“No!” Madlaina insists, squirming out of his grip. “She really came! I hugged her, and she patted my back, and she stayed with me until I fell asleep.”
“I’m sorry,” Indra says with a deep sigh. “She’s gone, Madlaina. We won’t ever see her again.”
“But maybe she didn’t like Sweden. Maybe she missed us.”
Indra patiently explains the concept of death again, until Madlaina ceases with her protestations and heads back inside. To Chloe’s surprise, Indra wipes away a few surreptitious tears once he’s alone.
It’s all very confusing, and Chloe doesn’t like being confused. Even though she’d hoped Madlaina wouldn’t be believed, suddenly that doesn’t seem fair. Madlaina is right. Her daughter shouldn’t feel like a liar when she’s telling the truth.
That night, before Chloe leaves, she sneaks back into the house and pulls her hair free. The pin that was holding it up is simple, just two tines with a silver bee affixed to the end. Then, unable to resist, she brushes her fingers over the sleeping child’s forehead. Madlaina blinks slowly, coming awake only enough to give Chloe a drowsy smile.
“You’re pretty,” she murmurs through a yawn.
Well, that isn’t news to Chloe, but it’s nice that the child acknowledges it. Holding up a finger over her mouth again, Chloe shows Madlaina the hairpin.
“For me?” Blue eyes sparkling even in the darkness, she takes the pin in one chubby hand and strokes the bee with her thumb. “Will you tell Mamma and Pappa you’re home? They’re very sad since you left.”
No doubt Indra is mourning the loss of Chloe’s help with his boutique. She decides in that moment that she’ll find some way to assist him. And– and she’ll watch over Madlaina too. If anyone were to hurt her daughter… Chloe has the power to deal with that sort of thing now.
Shaking her head in answer to the girl’s question, Chloe presses her fingers gently to Madlaina’s eyelids. The message is clear: go back to sleep. With a whimper, Madlaina settles back into her pillow, fingers wrapped tightly around her gift.
Chloe can’t risk this kind of thing ever again; the results could be disastrous. Swallowing, she says a mental goodbye to her daughter and leaves the house.
Just as she once planned to rule from the shadows, she now makes up her mind to guide her family from afar.