“Do let me finish.” Myrtle drummed her fingers. “After Isabelle cast the curse, Lars and Agatha pleaded with her to revoke it. They begged her. Isabelle only agreed on one condition, that Lars pay her a sizable sum of money, something he didn’t have. He hadn’t disclosed to either Isabelle or Agatha that he had a secret gambling habit that had left him in great debt. One of his creditors had even broken into Lars’s home and threatened him with an axe if he didn’t repay what he owed.
“Agatha was a practical woman from a decent family who found herself caught up in the middle of these threats, curses and lies,” Myrtle continued. “She loved Lars and thought he was a good man, despite his weaknesses. Agatha had previously researched mediums and psychics because both her parents had been killed during the First World War and she’d contemplated trying to contact them on the other side. She’d found it difficult to discern who might be genuine or not and had qualms about delving into the paranormal. She’d noticed these purveyors of the mystical were far more enigmatic and charismatic than Isabelle, and she put forward an idea that could prove beneficial to herself, Lars and Isabelle.”
“What was it?” Carla shifted in her chair, immersed in the story. “How do you know all this?”
Myrtle ignored her last question. “If the news got out that Lars and Agatha had married, his creditors could possibly target them both. So, in a bid to throw them off his trail, Agatha suggested they concoct a story claiming Lars died before he had the chance to exchange his vows. This would allow them to escape to England, marry in secret and start over. People would assume Agatha had moved away after her devastating loss.”
“But how would Isabelle benefit?” Carla asked.
“A timely newspaper article or two proclaiming Isabelle’s skill at casting curses would raise her profile dramatically and bring clients flocking to her.”
“Wouldn’t they fear her?”
“There was a lot of money to be made from issuing curses and lifting them. If Isabelle loved anything more than Lars, it was money and notoriety.”
Carla frowned. “But how could Lars and Agatha just disappear? What about his death certificate? There wouldn’t have been a body.”
“The three of them were clever enough to cover all bases. Isabelle had several unscrupulous clients she could call on for favors, whether they were enamored by her or scared stiff. As a glass designer, Agatha had connections to the church and its records. If we knew exactly how they did it, others might have been able to uncover their secret and track them down.”
“Point taken.” Carla paused, still needing more clarity. “So, that means the curse existed for a short time until Isabelle retracted it, and it is just a myth that’s been passed along the generations?”
Myrtle suddenly shot out a hand, taking hold of Carla’s fingers and squeezing them tightly. “Do you really think that a curse is gossip that can be discarded so easily? I haven’t finished the story yet,” she said. “Though I should warn you it will change the way you think of our family, change the way you think of yourself, forever...”
By now, Carla was getting used to Myrtle’s stagy ways, even though the fortune teller’s fierce glare still made her shiver. “I’m listening,” she said with a gulp. “What happened next for Lars and Agatha?”
“After their marriage in England, Lars and Agatha changed their surname to Smith. Lars swore off gambling and he and Agatha started afresh. They had a son, Willem, together and lived a quiet, content life. Agatha continued with her glasswork and Lars took up accountancy.
“Meanwhile, in Amsterdam, Isabelle sent an anonymous tip to a newspaper advising of Lars’s death and her own part in it. She asked Lars and Agatha for a photograph to feature alongside the story and they agreed to send one. Anyone Lars was indebted to would think he was dead.”
So, that’s why the article didn’t appear until one month after Lars’s death, Carla thought. He died in November but the stained-glass window he and Agatha were photographed in front of wasn’t installed until December.
Myrtle continued, “Through the article and other carefully placed rumors about Isabelle’s skills, she became revered and in high demand. The majority of her income came from seances and the lifting of curses.
“Sometime later, she had a daughter, Eva, who attempted to follow in her mother’s footsteps. Disappointingly, she didn’t have her gift.”
Carla nodded. There was still something swirling inside her, telling her there was more to learn. A curse had been cast and then retracted, so why had it then influenced generations of women in her family? “I know there’s more,” she said, staring Myrtle down.
Myrtle briefly glanced upward again and nodded. “You’re right, there is. When Willem reached adulthood, he became interested in his family origins in Holland. He uncovered a newspaper article that Lars had kept, about the curse and his supposed death.
“Intrigued by this, Willem traced Isabelle, who refused all contact with him. He persevered and eventually reached out to Eva instead. They met and fell in love, trying to keep their relationship a secret from their parents, until Eva discovered she was pregnant...”
Again, Carla wondered how Myrtle could possibly know so much about the past, and in such great detail, too. Rumors and whispers had abounded throughout her family for decades, yet the fortune teller had been the custodian of many secrets, never mentioning her deep knowledge about the curse until now.
Carla’s eyes were drawn to the photos of other fortune tellers on Myrtle’s wall and to the tiny, colored glass windows that appeared dark without light to shine through them, immediately reminding her of Agatha and her stained glasswork. And she thought about all the elements of the story and felt something shift inside her, like when the rays of the sun emerge from behind a cloud.
It was then she knew.
“Lars and Agatha were your grandparents on one side of the family, and Isabelle was your grandmother on the other side,” she said, finally piecing things together. “Willem and Eva were your parents.”
Myrtle paused, her violet eyes growing even more vivid. She nodded enigmatically, as if about to reveal something for the first time ever. “There was a lot of hatred between my grandparents, and they refused to acknowledge the other even existed. As a young girl who loved all three of them, it was difficult for me to understand and deal with. I grew up with goodness and love on one side of my family, and superstitions and mysticism on the other. Willem’s side of the family feared my gift, while Eva’s side nurtured and encouraged it.”
Carla thought about this for a while. “If Isabelle issued the curse and then lifted it, why has the story endured?”
“My parents befell a series of mishaps in their lives—a car accident, illness and bad luck—and my father became suspicious that Isabelle hadn’t lifted the curse after all. Each time something went wrong, he became more obsessed, and it curdled his relationship with my mother. I overheard you once saying that a real curse is people’s belief in it, and that was the case for Willem and Eva.” Myrtle clawed a hand down her neck. “It tore my parents apart.”
Carla could empathize with Myrtle’s parents, recalling how wretched she’d felt after her split with Aaron. “So, you’ve known the real story all along, and didn’t try to stop it from spreading?”
“Lars, Agatha and Isabelle had siblings. The story became like a tree growing and getting stronger. I’m only one branch of that tree.”
“And you also had a steady stream of superstitious family members paying you to tell their fortunes,” Carla accused. “You make money from keeping the curse going...”
Myrtle’s lips twisted into a small smile. “I need to make a living, and my hut needs renovations. You charge clients for services that aren’t essential, and so do I. We both like to intervene and encourage.”
“Don’t compare us. We’re nothing alike,” Carla scoffed, while finding it difficult to argue with Myrtle’s logic. The fortune teller had answered her questions about their family history, but not her one about Tom. Was he the right person for her or not? Could she even trust anything this woman said?
Myrtle looked at her watch and took the money from under her crystal ball. “I have to go home to cook dinner. I assume you’ll want to talk to your fiancé...”
“If he still is my fiancé,” Carla corrected.
“That’s for you to decide. I am only the messenger.” Myrtle stood up and picked up her keys, hesitating before her next words. “I’m in my sixties now, not a young woman any longer. One day, I’d like to pass my business on to someone else who has the gift. I think it still runs in our family...”
Carla barked a small laugh. “Not me,” she said.
“I told Jess I could see her working near water soon. Maybe she’s been looking into the wrong job.” Myrtle raised an eyebrow and put on her jacket.
Carla thought about her little sister and how her sixth sense appeared from time to time. Hmm, perhaps, she thought to herself. But she didn’t say anything to Myrtle.
Carla left the hut first and stepped onto the pier. The sky was now black, and she pulled up her collar against the rain. As she started to walk away, she thought she overheard Myrtle talking to someone else inside her hut. “Oh, be quiet, grandmother,” she swore she heard the fortune teller say. “I’ve told Carla what she needed to know. You’re always meddling in something or other...”
