Sisters in Delft

By Nika Teran

"Antonia felt a pull, and that tingling in her bones she'd experienced before. She approached to read the letters on the golden-colored plate: Johannes Vermeer: The View of Delft."

While on a visit to The Cloisters museum in New York City, Antonia and her li

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brown Cat Press
• Release date: Nov 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9782958497415

Book preview

Sisters in Delft

Nika Teran

Brown Cat Press

Sisters in Delft by Nika Teran

Copyright © 2022 by Nika Teran

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website or distribute it by any other means without permission.

Nika Teran asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

First edition

ISBN 978-2-9584974-0-8

Cover design by GetCovers

This book was professionally typset on Atticus

Brown Cat Press

Contents

1. Chapter 1

2. Chapter 2

3. Chapter 3

4. Chapter 4

5. Chapter 5

6. Chapter 6

7. Chapter 7

8. Chapter 8

9. Chapter 9

10. Chapter 10

11. Chapter 11

12. Chapter 12

13. Chapter 13

14. Chapter 14

15. Chapter 15

16. Chapter 16

17. Chapter 17

18. Chapter 18

19. Chapter 19

20. Chapter 20

21. Chapter 21

22. Chapter 22

23. Chapter 23

24. Chapter 24

25. Chapter 25

26. Chapter 26

27. Chapter 27

28. Chapter 28

29. Chapter 29

Author’s Note

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Of Spirits and Humans

There was a museum, and in the museum, there was a chapel. It had a tall ceiling, colored stained-glass windows, and it was filled with stone coffins.

Behind one of the coffins, two human children were hiding. The bigger one wore a high ponytail and a ruby-red hoodie. She was scared to death. The smaller one had wild curly hair and a hand-knitted striped scarf tied around her shoulders. She wasn’t scared a bit.

Through one of the many doorways, two creatures entered the chapel. They were dressed like humans: the woman wore a long skirt and a shawl of an impressive violet color, the man, a shirt and trousers. They walked like humans, too; if you listened, you could hear their footsteps on the stone-tiled floor. Tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap, went the woman lightly; tap-tap-clank, tap-tap-clank, went the man, his pace heavier, his cane clattering against the floor. But if you looked into their eyes, you knew they’d been to places no human had ever been to, and they knew things no human knew.

Behind the sarcophagus, the man said, aiming for the coffin that was the farthest away from the door, the one where the human girls were hiding. I grab the small one. I take the object-scarf. The man’s eyes shone.

With her arm, the woman barred his way.

They whispered for a while, as only spirits do. Some words could be made out, others were silent like dying wind.

Behind the coffin, the bigger human girl felt her blood freeze. She grabbed her sister’s hand, to protect her, and also to feel stronger. The smaller one held onto her scarf; she wasn’t giving it up, no matter what.

But this comes later, much later. One must go back to the beginning, or at least, to one of the beginnings. Because there are many beginnings, depending on how far back one wants to go.

This one starts with a hike.

Chapter one

It was a clear, sparkling day in March. The blue sky was without a cloud, and the sun was warm; she shouldn’t have brought her big down jacket, Antonia thought. They had hiked up the hill at Bear Mountain, New York, and now Antonia and her younger sisters—Erika was nine and Ruby five—sat on the blanket they’d spread on the rocky ground, overlooking the magnificent twists and turns of the Hudson River far below, while Mom and Dad got snacks out from their backpacks.

Snack time was everyone’s favorite, but only when Dad was in charge of the food, or at least, when he added something to the package Mom had prepared. This time, Mom went with boiled eggs, which were the worst, and both Erika and Ruby scrunched up their faces.

But a boiled egg couldn’t spoil Antonia’s mood. She planned on enjoying the day to its fullest. It had been a while since Mom had gone with them on a trip. Mom, who was a pianist, was becoming quite famous and was lately often on tour. And whenever she was home, she busied herself with her piano practice.

Today, however, Mom was relaxed. She chatted happily with everyone on the way up, without ever mentioning anything related to her music. And as she peeled the egg for Ruby, she looked beautiful in her green shirt, her red curls shining in the sun. She noticed Antonia was watching her and smiled, and Antonia got this crazy feeling that perhaps, Mom was planning to tell them something today; something important, something great. Antonia hardly dared to imagine what that could be, but she suspected it would have something to do with Mom’s music. Like, that she was giving it up. Or at least, that she was taking a break. An extended break. A break that perhaps could last forever. Or at least a couple of years.

So Antonia took her boiled egg with a smile.

Antonia then took an apple and used Dad’s antique Swiss Army knife to cut it up. When she was done, she put the knife beside her on a rock to reach for a napkin. But when she looked at the spot where she’d put it, the knife was gone.

Where did the knife go? Did anyone take it? Antonia was puzzled.

Antonia glanced around. Erika sat on a boulder, wrapped in the striped scarf Grandma Ginette had knitted for her; she claimed it was magical and hardly ever left the house without it. She was stuffing herself with cookies which made Antonia slightly mad; they were supposed to be for dessert. Ruby had a cookie in her hand, too, and looked so happy Antonia decided not to say anything; she never could tell on her littlest sister. Mom had closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sun, saying, It’s spring already, when did that happen? while Dad continued to set up their picnic, with vegan nuggets and ketchup and pickles and boxes of grape juice. None of them had the knife.

The knife was a special item in their family. It had been passed down to Dad from his father, Jean-Pierre Froidevaux, who had come by it somewhere in the Jura mountains of France, near the Swiss town of Delémont, where the knives were made. Grandpa Peter, as they called him, had left his native Jura in the late 1950s, at the age of fifteen, with nothing but the knife in his pocket. He’d boarded a transatlantic liner as a deckhand and departed from the Dutch city of Rotterdam for New York.

Antonia couldn’t believe it. She was holding the knife a moment ago and put it down only for a second. Where could it have gone?

Now everyone dropped what they were doing. They removed everything from the blanket and shook it. They searched the rocks, where they had the picnic, and the surrounding grassy area. They even looked into the cracks that ran across the rocks. But they couldn’t find the knife.

***

The rain started almost the moment the knife was lost.

First, it was a drizzle; an intermittent, annoying drizzle that hardly sprinkled their faces. But before they could finish their snacks, the drizzle turned into a shower. The good mood was gone; they packed up their things and left. By the time they reached the car, they were drenched. By the time they were on the road, a storm was raging, with thunder and strange, violet lightning that broke across the sky every few seconds. Not quite spring yet, Mom said. And it looked so good. Do you think it’s climate change, Mike?

But Dad didn’t respond. He steered the car through the rain, a deep frown on his forehead, while desperately pushing the heating button that wouldn’t work. The girl Dad met in Delft, I bet she had something to do with this, he mumbled to himself as rain poured down the windshield and cold air blew from the heating vents. Should have gone with him while there was still time. And Antonia remembered how Grandpa Peter talked about going back to the rolling hills of his native Jura, the knife in his pocket; the same way he’d left.

Next to Antonia, her sisters were fast asleep. Listening to Dad’s mumblings, Antonia had started to fall asleep herself, when Mom spoke.

So, can you take Ruby to my mother’s next week? Mom asked.

To Ottawa? Dad sounded surprised.

Well, yes, Mom said. I think it will be the easiest. For you, that is. While I’m away.

Antonia felt cold sweat on her back.

Dad sighed. I’ll take Ruby to Ginette, if you think that’s best.

It’s only for three weeks this time, Mom said. Actually, it was my mother’s idea that Ruby should come up, she added. Dad grunted something.

Antonia looked out the window, into all that discouraging, sad rain.

How could she have been so wrong? How could she have thought Mom was taking a break from music to stay with them? Or even quit music? The mere thought of it was laughable. Because Mom was pretending. Pretending to be happy with them, pretending not to be missing her music, while the whole time, she knew she was leaving again.

For three weeks.

And on top of it, she was going to send Ruby away.

As Dad gave up on the heating and cold seeped into the car, Antonia pulled her knees to her chest and closed her eyes.

And then, the strangest thing happened.

She was falling asleep, and yet, she could swear she was awake; it was the most extraordinary feeling ever. She stood atop a little hill, in her hoodie and her brand-new sneakers, and Erika stood at her side, her scarf around her shoulders.

Below them, a small harbor sparkled. A few old wooden boats were moored to the shore, and a group of people waited to board one of them. Blue sky spanned above, the sun was warm on Antonia’s skin, and the smell of earth and jasmine was in the air, like in early spring.

On the other side of the harbor lay a city. Half-hidden by a protective wall, the city spread before their eyes, its red roofs dappled with sunlight, its church towers touching the sky, its green, lush trees reaching over the wall. The large arched doorways in the city gates were closed, and a clock sparkled golden in the tower. Across the connecting bridge, another gate, also closed, was guarded by two round, identical towers.

As Antonia looked at the city, she got a strange, tingling sensation in her bones. There was something about this city, something more than its fairy tale beauty. Something had to be done there. More precisely, there was something Antonia had to do there.

We’re home! Dad called, and Antonia realized the car had stopped. She was frozen stiff, and her knees hurt when she stretched her legs.

As Dad carried Ruby into the house and Mom helped Erika up, Antonia walked inside, a funny, fizzy feeling in her head. The heating had been off the whole day, but the cold house didn’t bother her; the soft sun from her dream still warmed her shoulders and her face. And as she reached to pet Mr. Mickey, the cat, who appeared from the dark stairway to greet them, and headed upstairs to her room, her mind kept trying to call back the mysterious city—the city that looked so real she could not believe it existed only in her dreams.

Chapter two

The rain that started the day of the hike continued for two weeks straight. The first few days were the worst. The downpour was strong, and thunder shook the house every few seconds, preceded by lightning of that strange violet color. With alarm, they watched on TV how the water flooded the Sparrowleg harbor, basements and ground floor apartments, stores and restaurants, even the New York City subway, and schools closed one by one. And then, the