Prologue

New Germany, Nova Scotia, 2011

Lilly found the first memory when she was five, hidden between the covers of a book with blank pages she received for her birthday. When she pulled a green wax crayon from the box and touched it to the empty page, she suddenly remembered another book she used to have. When she mentioned this to her parents, her father quickly spoke up.

“There was no other book,” he said.

“Yes, there was,” insisted Lilly. “Don’t you remember? It had brown covers. There were pictures and words. I used to read from it.”

Her father laughed. “You can’t read a word. You haven’t even been to school.”

“You must be remembering a dream,” said her mother. An odd expression settled on her lips. “Now, sit up and draw me a pretty picture with your crayon.”

The first picture Lilly drew was of a large leaf. She added veins and a stem. Next, she drew a flower with pretty blue petals. “That’s a cornflower. It’s for making medicine.”

“Making medicine?” Her mother sounded amused. “How could you possibly know that? You have never even seen a cornflower.”

“I remember it from before. A woman gave me one, for a gift. But it was when I lived There, not Here,” said Lilly, and she continued to draw. Yellow, orange, red, violet, and blue—Lilly filled the page with colour. Of all the gifts she received on her birthday, the book with the empty pages was her favourite. Somehow it awoke wonderful memories inside her. She carried the book around for the entire day, never letting it out of her sight.

“You should put the book on your dresser,” her mother said when nighttime came, but Lilly insisted on keeping it with her. Her mother looked at the bound pages clutched so tightly in Lilly’s hands and smiled. But Lilly did not smile. Her mother and father were wrong. There had been another book with drawings and words. She’d opened the covers. She’d turned the pages. She’d read the words. It was a long time ago, before she ever came to New Germany.

It wasn’t a dream.

In the memory she was also called Lilly. Her hair was thin and wispy and long and the colour of yellow straw, tied up in braids. She was standing on a wide riverbank; rippling water moved across her reflection. When she waved, the reflection in the water waved back at her, but it wasn’t the same face she saw in the mirror when she brushed her teeth every night. The face in the water was hers, but it belonged to someone else too, someone she had never seen before, someone much older.

Another memory came with laughter, rich and full. The sound reminded her of the babbling brook where she and her father went to catch fish. She couldn’t remember if she was the one laughing or if it was someone else. At night she danced and pulled roots from the earth, and smiled into the moon’s soft, round face. She sang sweet songs with the birds. She was happy.

Some nights Lilly dreamt about the drawings in the leather-bound book, and the words on the pages that made no sense to her. A hand flipped through those pages, through the veins and stems, leaves and blossoms. The pictures swayed and bowed and quivered upon the page. The drawings were fine, detailed, and perfect. The book meant something precious and lasting. She’d held it many times, turned the pages with great care. It felt familiar and right. It was one of her favourite memories. There was also a mysterious cinnamon-haired woman who made her laugh. After a night of dreams, Lilly would open the book she got for her birthday and draw more plants on the empty pages.

“I know you,” said Lilly the day a strange woman came to visit. She was sitting at the kitchen table sipping tea with Lilly’s mother. Her hair was long and thick, the colour of cinnamon, and her eyes were emerald green. She was the cinnamon-haired woman from Lilly’s dreams.

“Lilly, this is our neighbour, Alice Goodwin. She moved into the Jennings house a while back. I’m afraid you’ve never met her,” said her mother. “Alice is a herbalist and she knows all about plants and herbs. She’s going to open a practise right here in New Germany. She is the one who sent you the book on your birthday.”

Lilly ran off to find the book and brought it back to show Alice.

“Look at all the lovely drawings,” said Alice, studying the pictures with great interest. “When I heard that a little girl down the road was having a birthday, I wanted to send something. Everyone loves gifts on their birthday.” Her parents had tied bright balloons onto the mailbox that day with a big sign that said Happy Birthday Lilly. “I can see you are putting the gift to good use.”

“Lilly is quite the artist and storyteller,” said her mother, smiling. “She’s been inventing plants and making up stories to go with them.”

Lilly scowled. The plants were real. She’d told her mother many times—and so were the stories.

“I see you have drawn some chamomile, and that looks like feverfew!” said Alice, pointing to the page.

“Feverfew?” Lilly’s mother pulled the book from Alice’s hands and gave a small laugh. “Lilly doesn’t know what feverfew is…is that even a word?”

“Absolutely,” said Alice. “It’s used for treating fever and headaches, and all sorts of ailments. It’s an important healing plant that’s been used for centuries.”

“I don’t know anything about healing plants,” said Lilly’s mother as she set the book on top of the refrigerator, “and neither does Lilly.” She forced a smile.

“You had a different name,” said Lilly as she reached for a cookie on the plate.

“What do you mean a different name?” said Alice. She smiled and then sipped her tea.

“When I knew you from before.”

“How interesting,” said Alice, playing along with Lilly’s unusual talk. “I’ve always imagined being someone else. Do you remember what my name used to be?”

When Lilly shook her head, her mother’s face turned red and she laughed. “But I remember you talked to the plants,” continued Lilly.

“But did the plants talk back? That’s the important question,” said Alice in a playful voice. Lilly wanted to laugh. “I do like growing things, and talking to plants sounds like fun. Perhaps one day you can help out in my garden. We can carry on a conversation with the dahlias. Who knows, maybe they’ll answer us back.”

“Plants can’t talk,” giggled Lilly.

“‘You talked to the plants,’” said Lilly’s mother, shaking her head. “How does she make these things up?”

Reaching for another cookie, Lilly took a bite and added, “And you made people better.”

“That is enough, Lilly,” said her mother, firmly. She was no longer smiling. “I’m afraid you’ve never met Alice before. I already told you, this is the first time she’s been to the house.” As her mother reached for the teapot, Alice Goodwin smiled at Lilly. It was the smile of someone who knows a secret that they are not about to tell.

“Our Lilly has a wild imagination,” said her mother, turning back toward Alice with the teapot in her hand.

“Einstein did say that imagination is more important than knowledge,” said Alice, continuing to smile at Lilly.

“Now run along,” said her mother, pouring more tea in Alice’s cup. It was then Lilly noticed the unusual pendant Alice was wearing.

“Do you like it?” said Alice when she saw Lilly staring. Lilly quickly nodded.

“It’s very pretty. What kind of stone is it?” asked Lilly’s mother.

“It’s called a labradorite stone, but,” said Alice, her eyes lighting up as she spoke, “a much better name for labradorite is rainbow moonstone. This necklace has been in my family for centuries, and do you know what, Lilly?” Lilly shook her head, anxious to hear more. “There’s a wonderfully delicious story that goes along with it, a story that holds a mysterious secret. But,” said Alice sitting back in her chair, “it’s a family secret, and I can’t tell.” Lilly begged to hear the story behind the rainbow moonstone, until finally Alice gave in.

“Very well then, but you must promise to never ever repeat the story I am about to tell,” said Alice seriously. Lilly promised; with all her heart, she promised. More than anything, she needed to know what the mysterious secret was. She moved in closer and Alice began.

“This is the story that was told to me when I was about your age. The stone was a gift given to one of my ancestors back in the eighteenth century by a dear friend. These friends spent many days together exploring the forest near where they lived. But the day came when they had to part ways, as one was setting out on an adventure to the New World. That is what they called Nova Scotia back then. It was not known if her friend ever made it to her destination, for many people at that time did not survive the trip across the ocean.”

Didn’t survive? Lilly’s eyes grew wide with apprehension.

“It was a torturous trip, from what I’ve read. Many people on these ships became sick and died. The water was horrible and so was the food. The ships were dark and smelly. There weren’t even any bathrooms.”

“No bathrooms?” Lilly couldn’t imagine a trip being so horrible.

“That is true,” said Alice as she continued. “Now, the friend who was leaving didn’t want to say goodbye, but before she left, she gave her friend this lovely pendant.” Alice reached for the labradorite stone, squeezing it between her fingers. “The story goes that when the time is right, the pendant will somehow unite these two friends again.”

“That’s quite a story,” said Lilly’s mother.

“Is it true?” Lilly seemed unable to take her eyes off the stone now that she knew its mysterious secret.

“It’s true if you believe it’s true,” said Alice. “Anything is true if you believe.”

Chapter One

Württemberg, 1743–1748

The day after Lilli’s fifth birthday, a breeze, quite warm for September, rustled the leaves on the sycamore trees, causing them to sway and bow in a most peculiar manner. The circular motion of the trees caught Mutter’s attention. She looked down at Lilli playing with some pink and brown pebbles in the dooryard. When a white dove landed on a post near the place where Lilli was playing and cooed three times before flying off, Mutter knew the time had come. She did not imagine that Vater would be at all pleased.

“Stand up straight and remember to smile,” said Mutter moments before she knocked at Alisz’s door. Lilli was mesmerized by the flowers growing nearby: bright hues of violet, yellow, orange, sapphire, and pink. Never before had she seen such lovely colours, certainly not in their own dooryard. Mutter and Vater grew things to eat and fields of flax, not plants with beauty and colour.

Friedrich reached out and grabbed a handful of his sister’s hair. Mutter quickly pulled him back. “Pay attention,” she said, quickly smoothing Lilli’s hair into place and touching the tip of her nose.

“Who is this woman?” Lilli asked, seeking Mutter’s reassurance once more before the door opened.

“I have told you already. Alisz is family. A distant cousin on my mother’s side. Now smile.” Mutter stood straight and tall, clearing her throat as they waited to be welcomed inside the small cottage. But the moment the door opened and Alisz’s voice rang out, Lilli’s smile disappeared.

“Marta, my dear! Come in, come in,” Alisz chorused, her voice lashing out like a whip. “I thought perhaps you might come today,” she said, her face beaming with delight. Lilli knew that was impossible. Mutter had only made up her mind to come that very morning.

“It is about time I brought Lilli,” said Mutter, her one arm wrapped around Friedrich, the other now encompassing Alisz in an embrace. “As you know, Lilli has just turned five, and five years is a very long time. I did not want you to think that we had gone back on our word to you.”

“I have always had faith you would keep your word, Marta. Believe it or not, I have been counting the days. Please, do come in.”

Lilli felt her legs turn to wood. Suddenly this did not feel like such a good idea. Even Vater had put up a fuss moments before they were about to leave. But Mutter had looked at him and quietly said, “I will not go back on my word.”

“For goodness’ sake, go inside. Alisz will not harm you.” Mutter pushed on the back of Lilli’s head, sending her stumbling through the doorway.

“Now, Marta, do not blame the poor child for being frightened. It is not every day that you meet a witch—is it, Lilli?” Alisz tossed her cinnamon-coloured hair as she spoke, her eyes sparkled with mischief.

Lilli’s mouth dropped wide open. She had never met anyone like Alisz before. Mutter sometimes visited with Frau Weber, who often scolded Lilli for not sitting still. Frau Weber would never laugh and call herself a witch, and yet here was this woman, someone she had never met before, doing just that. Vater had warned Lilli about witches in the past. “There were those who came before us, Lilli, good Christian people, left to wither and die at the hand of witches,” he would say. They can even slide down the chimney in the middle of the night and bewitch you while you sleep. Vater had stories, so many of them, about people who had been bewitched. Sometimes the stories frightened Lilli and she would run to Mutter, crying.

“There, there,” Mutter would say. “You must not listen to what Vater tells you. There is no such thing as a witch. No one is capable of performing the things he has described. It is only his belief because of the things he was told when he was young, but you must remember that not all beliefs are true. This is one that is not. Vater means well, but he is frightened by the things he does not understand.”

Lilli quickly looked back toward Mutter, trying to sort out her confusion about this strange woman now standing before them, but Mutter did not look at all confused. She was beaming a bright smile that quickly burst into laughter. There was something pleasing about the vibration that rose then from Mutter’s throat. Lilli had never seen Mutter’s eyes dance with such glee before. This Alisz made Mutter very happy.

“You must stop teasing Lilli. You will have her believing in witches too, and we simply cannot have that,” said Mutter.

Alisz’s house smelled strange inside. Spice and perfume—it was a mixture of both wrapped into one. Yet, there was something more, some strange fragrance, something that Lilli could not name.

“Let me take a good look at you,” said Alisz, gazing down at Lilli as if she were a prized goose in the butcher’s shop. She touched a lock of Lilli’s hair. “It is fine—like a baby’s. The colour of flax,” she said, “and your eyes are as blue as an indigo sky. You are a very pretty girl.” Something hot pinched Lilli’s cheeks. She pulled at Mutter and hid her face in the fabric of her dress. No one had ever told Lilli she was pretty before.

“Alisz is not going to bite you. Do not be so silly,” said Mutter, untwining her garb from Lilli’s fingers.

“You just never know, Lilli. I might bite.” Lilli’s eyes grew wide once again. “But only if you were to bite me first. You would not do that, would you?” Alisz’s musical laugh startled Friedrich, and he let out a sharp cry. Mutter made a few shushing noises, and he soon quieted.

“So tell me, Lilli Eickle, what have you done in the five years since I last saw you? I hope you have been keeping a record of sorts.”

“Alisz was there the night you were born,” explained Mutter quietly.

Lilli had been told the story of her birth many times, about the beautiful midwife who held her up to the night sky right after she was born.

“The breeze carried the sweet scent of lily-of-the-valley,” Mutter would say.

“Is that how I got my name?” Lilli would ask each time.

“And a more fitting name has never been found. I knew it to be true the moment Alisz spoke your name into the night. And then a moonbeam touched you on the forehead, declaring that good fortune would follow you always,” Mutter would say.

“I most certainly was there when you were born,” said Alisz now, smiling down at Lilli. “And if I must say, you were the sweetest babe I had ever laid eyes on. Of course you had more important things on your mind than being admired for your beauty. You came out hungry as a bear and you made sure everyone knew it.” Alisz’s words rained down like a thousand silky feathers tickling her all at once. Lilli could not stop a giggle from slipping out.

“Come, I have made tea,” said Alisz, motioning for Mutter to sit at the table. Setting Friedrich on the floor, Mutter told Lilli to keep watch over him. As the women quickly engaged in conversation, Lilli became spellbound by the words and laughter filling the corners and crevices of Alisz’s small house. Strange that Mutter had not taken her to visit with Alisz before now.

When the tea grew cold and the words finally slowed, Mutter picked Friedrich up off the floor. “It is time to go,” she said. “Alisz would like for you to stay, Lilli. So that you may get acquainted.”

“Acquainted?” Lilli said in a small voice. She had only met Alisz a short while ago, and now Mutter wanted her to stay. Alisz looked down at Lilli. Her smile formed a warm place in Lilli’s heart.

“Would you stay and keep me company today, Lilli? We can walk in the garden and talk to the plants. I have so much planned.”

“Talk to the plants?” laughed Lilli, suddenly forgetting her shyness.

“Why certainly, plants like to be talked to as well as you and I. Lonely plants do not grow very well.” Another ripple of laughter filled Lilli’s throat. No one she knew talked to plants. It sounded silly.

“So, what do you say, Lilli Eickle, will you visit with me for the day?”

Lilli looked toward Mutter with uncertainty.

“Vater does not approve of my friendship with Alisz, but it is too late for him to complain now,” Mutter had said as they walked toward Alisz’s cottage that morning. “I told Vater it is high time you met Alisz. It is important that you get to know her.”

When Lilli asked why it was important, Mutter did not answer.

“Do not look so worried, Lilli. Alisz will take good care of you,” said Mutter as she waved goodbye. “You will be safe with her. We will be back before you know it.”

Chapter Two

Lilli watched Mutter disappear from sight as the papery wings of a moth fluttered inside her. “Come see what I have to show you,” Alisz said as she reached out to take Lilli’s hand. Lilli turned back toward Alisz. Her throat began to ache. Would Mutter really come back for her? How long would she be gone? Alisz’s smile did little to reassure her that all was well. She blinked away the tears from her eyes, hoping that Mutter would not stay away too long.

A small gathering of song sparrows was perched in the trees outside Alisz’s home, releasing a sweet melody into the gentle breeze. Leaves whispered, blades of grass softly murmured when Lilli and Alisz walked past. Reaching the garden behind the house, Alisz searched through the foliage, moving the leaves and flower stems all about. She called out in a curious manner, “Mandrake, where are you, dear mandrake? I saw you just a few days ago. I want to introduce you to my friend, Lilli. She has come to spend the day with us. You must not be shy or she will not visit us again.” Alisz’s voice blended in with the song sparrow’s melody. Spreading the leafy foliage apart, she revealed a plant hidden closer to the earth. Her voice leapt with excitement.

“Why, there you are, you little rascal! I knew you could not hide from me for long! Come Lilli, and see this shy devil.” Lilli stepped closer. “Do you think she should be punished for hiding on us?” Lilli looked at Alisz and quickly shook her head.

“People used to think the mandrake roots resembled a human body and it would even shriek when pulled from the ground, and if someone heard its cry they would die.”

“Plants cannot shriek!” Lilli laughed. What a preposterous notion. They giggled until it no longer seemed funny, and then the lines in Alisz’s face grew serious.

“You will hear many strange things in life, but remember this, Lilli Eickle—lies are borne out of ignorance and fear. Nothing more.”

Lilli had never met anyone like Alisz before, with the ability to make the most ordinary thing, like a plant, sound so interesting. And never before had she heard a voice filled with such spiciness. Together they explored all there was to see, from the tallest plant to the smallest bit of greenery. They chased after bugs, sang with the birds, and whispered secrets to the wind. As they walked about the garden searching for plants, Lilli soon forgot about Mutter and Friedrich.

There were so many wonderful things to see. Alisz said that every plant had a special name, a special purpose. “One day you will know all there is to know about plants, dear Lilli. But today we will simply enjoy their beauty.” With so many plants in the garden, Lilli wondered how that would be possible. How would she ever know everything about them?

The sun arced across the sky as the day dwindled away. When it began to touch the treeline, Alisz said it would soon be time for her to go. Lilli was not sure she wanted Mutter and Friedrich to come back for her just yet. She wanted to stay with Alisz a while longer.

“Now, before you go on your way, you may choose a flower to take with you. It will be my gift to you,” said Alisz.

“I like these,” said Lilli, racing toward the outer edge of the garden, where some tall plants were growing. She reached out to one of the bright blue flowers, touching its delicate petals. Would Alisz really let her take some of them home?

“You have chosen wisely. That is a cornflower, a symbol of hope, and one of my favourites, although I must admit I have many, many favourites. So many that perhaps they are all my favourite. But that is impossible. Every flower cannot be your favourite. Can it?”

Lilli shook her head. She couldn’t help but giggle. Alisz’s silly talk made her heart sing. Why had Mutter not taken her to meet Alisz before now? “Hurry,” said Lilli, anxiously waiting beside the cornflowers for Alisz. Bees were buzzing as they moved among the flowers. Alisz seemed to be taking her time. Mutter and Friedrich would soon be here.

“I want to take a big handful home to Mutter,” said Lilli when Alisz finally reached her. There were so many of the pretty blue flowers in the garden, surely Alisz would not mind. It would make Mutter happy. Sometimes they picked wildflowers for on the table.

“No, Lilli,” said Alisz, “that is not the way it is done. One flower—you may have but one. Flowers are a gift from nature. If we take too many, there will be none left for others to enjoy.”

Mutter would say she should be grateful for one, but one flower did not seem like enough when there were so many in the garden. Seeing Lilli’s disappointment, Alisz added, “It is our duty to honour nature. One day you will understand.” Lilli was not sure that was true. She did not know what it meant to honour nature.

A large bumblebee landed on a flower in front of them and immediately began collecting nectar and pollen. “Hello, dear bumblebee,” said Alisz, reaching out to the buzzing creature. “What message do you have for us today?”

“It will sting!” said Lilli, jumping back. Mutter had warned her not to anger a bee, to keep her distance.

“Shhh,” said Alisz, holding a finger to her lips. “We must listen carefully to what the bee has to say, for bees are filled with a wisdom all of their own.” She held one hand to her ear and bent down toward the buzzing insect. Lilli watched in silent fascination as the bee hovered close to Alisz.

“I see…that is quite interesting,” she said as if the bee were actually speaking to her. “I will pass your message along to my friend Lilli. Now, away you go.” Flying to a nearby cornflower, the bee disappeared momentarily from sight before flying away, its legs swollen with bright yellow pollen.

“What did it say?” Lilli was desperate to know.

“Our messenger today was reminding me to ask for the flower’s permission before we pick it.” Alisz bent down close to one of the cornflowers. Lilli waited to see what she would do next.

Alisz closed her eyes. “May I have permission, lovely cornflower, to pick your beautiful bloom for my friend Lilli?” Several seconds passed before Alisz opened her eyes. She breathed in the flower’s delicate fragrance before carefully plucking it from the stem. “Thank you for your sacrifice, dear cornflower,” she said, giving it to Lilli.

“But flowers do not know,” said Lilli as she waited for the sound of Alisz’s musical laughter to fill the air. This was just more of Alisz’s silly talk.

“Flowers most certainly do know!” said Alisz, sounding surprised by Lilli’s statement. “That is why we ask for permission whenever we take something from Mother Earth. And always remember to say thank you. Do you understand? Ask first, and then give thanks.” Lilli could see how important this was. She nodded her head, and Alisz smiled. Lilli held the flower gently between her fingers. She would remember.

When the sun dropped down into the trees, Mutter returned, carrying Friedrich in her arms. “I hope you behaved yourself,” she said as they walked the path homeward. Lilli held the cornflower proudly in her hand—her gift from Alisz. When they reached home, Lilli put the flower in a jar of water and set it on the table. She presented it to Vater that evening when he came in from working in the field.

“What is this you have?” he said, taking the jar from Lilli. Smelling the flower, he smiled and said, “Only one?”

“It is a cornflower and it is important only to take one,” said Lilli, repeating what Alisz had taught her that day.

“I see,” said Vater as he continued to admire the indigo bloom. “And what else do you know about this cornflower?” He set the jar in the middle of the table.

“That you must ask permission before you pick it,” she said, climbing onto Vater’s lap. Mutter hesitated while setting the table for the evening meal.

“Permission? Who do you ask permission from?” said Vater. He looked up at Mutter, smiling. Lilli could see he did not understand.

“Why, the flower,” said Lilli. “And after you pick it you must say thank you.”

“Who told you this—Mutter?” said Vater, still sounding amused by Lilli’s whimsical talk.

“It was the bee.”

“The bee? You were talking to a bee?”

Lilli sighed. Why could Vater not understand? “No, Vater. The bee told Alisz and then she told me what it said.”

Cutlery rattled. “Come, Lilli,” Mutter said. “Help me set the table.”

Anger flashed across Vater’s face. He jumped to his feet, facing Mutter.

“Tell me, Marta, this is not so.”

Mutter laid a hand on Lilli’s head and gently smiled. She pulled back her shoulders and looked directly at Vater. There was resolve in her voice as she quietly said, “You knew this day would come, Karl. You have always known this day would come.”