The Secret Language of Stones Read Online Free Page A

their jewel-toned feathers fashioned from stained glass.
    Only a limited amount of Monsieur’s wares were ever on view in the shop: two or three pieces showcased in each of the two display cases in the main gallery, another in the front window, and one in the private showroom.
    It was the latter that I found Madame Alouette inspecting. It held but one magnificent piece, The Tree of Life . Sculpted from silver, the oak tree stood almost three feet tall and sat in a glass case set flush with the wall. Instead of leaves, over 150 small gleaming guilloche enamel eggs, in a myriad of rich shades of green, from lime to forest pine, hung from its many branches. Each luminous egg designed and executed by Monsieur Orloff.
    Like the more elaborate fantasies he had created with Fabergé for the royal family and upper crust of Russian elite, these simpler charms, set with fewer stones, were created with the same engine-turned process. Monsieur Orloff used a machine that engraved themetal with a perfect pattern of wavy or straight lines so when the enamel was poured it created an optical illusion and iridescence no other jeweler had yet been able to replicate.
    â€œThese are lovely,” Madame Alouette said. “Are they for sale?”
    â€œThey’re samples, but you can order them in any color you prefer. I have a color chart if you’d like to see it.”
    We’d sold hundreds of eggs throughout the war. While some clients still bought and wore extravagant jewels, others considered it bad taste to show off during wartime and were more comfortable buying modest pieces like the eggs. Fashion in general had changed rapidly since 1914. Almost all women worked now, fulfilling jobs men at the front had once held, and our clothes needed to be more efficient. Long light-colored dresses that soiled easily and dusted the floor gave way to darker, shorter, and more streamlined skirts and blouses. Since you could see our ankles, boots gave way to shoes. Bobbed hair became not only acceptable but chic and very much in style. Even our underwear became less constricting since the steel once used to construct corsets was needed for weapons. Brassieres and undergarments made of jersey had become the norm.
    â€œAre these eggs your work?” Madame Alouette asked.
    â€œNo, Monsieur Orloff’s. Enameling is not my forte.”
    â€œBut you make the lockets?”
    I nodded. “Yes, lockets of all kinds.”
    A month earlier, Monsieur Orloff had displayed a suite of mine in the window—a necklace and a pair of earrings featuring diamond crescent moons strung together with the thinnest platinum chain, interspersed with pale blue diamond stars. Each star, a locket that opened. Inside, a single teardrop ruby.
    Unlike with those creations, the demand for my talismans wasn’t determined by style or gem quality. Women like Madame Alouette sought me out because of the talismans’ unseen beauty. It was the spirit and memory of their loved ones that made them exquisite, if not to a fashion connoisseur’s eye, then to the heart.
    Many of the descendants of La Lune had unusual talents, each different. One of my great-great-aunts was able to move objects by visualizing them. Another could manipulate the weather. There were stories that the original La Lune had been able to camouflage herself to her surroundings and seemingly disappear.
    Since childhood, I’d experienced a special relationship with stones. Lights radiating from their opaque density that my brother and sisters couldn’t see. Far-off music emanating from their masses that no one else could hear. Sometimes, I could hold a stone and sense danger, or calm, or good fortune or bad. I could also perceive the emotions of whoever had been holding it before me.
    I had been afraid to tell anyone. Did these abilities prove I was a witch like my mother? The idea both excited and worried me. Like most little girls I wanted to be like her. She was