Page 28 of In Just a Year
“So, it could be a question of mistaken identity in the gemstone world?”
“Not exactly.”
“Not to you, you mean. You wouldn’t be fooled but a layman like me might be.”
Ben dropped his head, unwilling to call Greg a layman. He didn’t have an answer that wouldn’t hurt Greg’s feelings. He knew rubies. His bar-mitzvah stone, a family heirloom worth enough for a family to thrive on was the pomegranate ruby his father gave him. Rubies had always fascinated Ben. “The quality of a gem is often in the eye of the beholder. For some people, the dark blues of a spinel or the shades of pinks and oranges can look like the shades in the sky and have special luminescence.”
“And yet, they’re not rubies, so they’re worth less?”
Ben raised his shoulders. What else could he say besides the… “Wait a minute. How did you arrange the stones by size?”
Greg reclined in the chair and crossed his arms, the subtle shift a testament to his pensiveness. “Who says I wanted to sort them by size?”
Ben pinched his eyes as he considered it. “Are you challenging the order of the layers in the medallion because of a mistaken identity?”
Greg shrugged. “Think as Izaac Pearler would have. He wanted to hide something so only you and your family could find his treasures.”
“You mean I’m looking at it all wrong?”
“Perhaps you need to change your perspective.”
“How?”
“I don’t know, Ben, I wasn’t raised like you. It’s not your degree or education, not your British background that will provide the answer. I am afraid I was able to bring you here and I can try to keep you safe, but I can’t help you to find your treasure.”
Greg stood and walked to the door. “I hope you find it, Ben. We leave soon and sail back to England.” And with these words, he left.
Ben sat still in his room, but his pulse raced. He wanted to go home already. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t yet cut the gems Greg had brought, he’d have eight weeks or so for that on the ship. He’d been gone for so long and wished nothing more than to go back to Esther and hold her in his arms. He wanted to say what he couldn’t put in writing. He ached to do what a wrinkled piece of paper never could.
Yet, he wasn’t ready to leave. Not without the treasure.
Night after night, he dreamed of Esther. By day, he wandered around the palace, unable to leave. Not many people knew he wasn’t in university. As crown jeweler, Ben’s obligations were to the pieces he had to deliver to Prinny. Whenever he could gear his studies to the improvement of those creations, he did. And whenever his studies allowed, he worked on the pieces for Prinny. Yet, he was too far away to know whether his absence had remained undetected.
He shut the ledger and took a piece of paper. Carefully, he copied the sketches he’d shown Greg and penned a letter for Aaron and another for Raphi. Perhaps they could help decipher the medallion.
He didn’t sign the letter, they’d know who it was from, and it was best not to let anyone intercept it. He numbered the layers using Hebrew letters in the order he thought they should be and put a question mark next to the third. His brothers would understand his question.
But could they find an answer?
Sitting alone in his room on the other side of the world, Ben stared at the window, open to the lavish garden that surrounded the palace. What an intricate pattern the frame had … and why was it so familiar?
CHAPTER13
October 14th, 1817.
Esther took a deep breath of the crisp autumn air that blew in through the Klonimus’ living room window that sat slightly ajar. The oaks were fiery red and elms had turned orange and yellow. As the days grew shorter, Esther’s wait for Ben’s return grew unbearably long. Just like the wind bent the stems of the weary leaves until they broke off and blew away, Esther’s patience waned. She couldn’t sit on her hands and wait any longer. Nothing she did would bring Ben back, nor was she passing her time in any way that was remotely productive. For her, being productive was to bring Ben closer, to set up their new life together, to be his bride. But how?
Esther waited in the Klonimus’ living room for her weekly piano lesson with Raphi, Ben’s older brother who’d studied music in Italy. He was a jeweler like the others and had a degree in mathematics from the University of Edinburgh, like the others. But—also like the others—each Klonimus had a special talent. Raphi’s was harmony, or the quest thereof. When he played a tune, regardless of how well-known or how often Esther had heard it, the sound resonated from Raphi’s touch of the keys that stood out like the pink rays of a rising sun on a dreary sky of grey clouds.
Everything was grey for Esther these days, not only her music. No matter how diligent her studies, her fingers executed the melodies in her mind as little as her heart obeyed her thoughts. No matter how much she tried to distract herself from wondering where Ben was, how he fared, when he’d send the next letter, her heart ached to have him home. Tate was right, the journey was dangerous, and Pavel hadn’t even wanted Ben to go. Now the question was if and when he’d be back.
Esther tried to distract herself from missing Ben by practicing the piano, yet she came as little prepared as the weeks before when she saw Raphi. He was slightly taller than Ben and his hair was darker, but he looked so thoroughly Klonimus that Esther couldn’t not think of Ben when any of his brothers were near.
“You’re getting better every week,” Raphi said after she’d played with great ease the études he’d assigned for technique. “Muso Clementi’sGradus ad Parnassumwill serve you well in dexterity and finger speed. How much time have you spent practicing this week?” Aww, he was nice and was trying to encourage her, but she knew her skill level had plateaued, even if Raphi was too kind to point it out. She suspected that was why he’d given her exercises rather than new songs to practice.
“A few hours every day. It doesn’t show much, I’m afraid.” Esther leafed through the sheet music Raphi shared with her.
His large well-loved binder held several creased pages of sheet music. She recognized his handwriting, for he drew the notes cleanly and clearly on or between the lines of the staff. Even when he sketched in pencil and tried a new accompaniment with the left hand, he wrote out the full chords. It was a testament to his skill, for he knew the chords to complement the melody and sometimes altered sheet music he purchased with his own variations.
