Xavier POVWe honeymooned in Prague, at my wife's insistence and my mother's request.Eleanor had asked us, quietly, the night before the wedding, to go and thank Tomas Verhoeven's daughter. I had assumed it would be a brief courtesy call. It became, instead, a week of narrow cobbled streets and church bells and warm yellow light on old stone, and an afternoon I will remember for the rest of my life.Katerina Verhoeven's workshop was a tiny room above a bakery in the Mala Strana quarter, full of pale curls of wood shavings and unfinished violins hanging from hooks like sleeping bats. She was a small, sturdy woman in her fifties with her father's gentle hands. When Marissa explained who we were, Katerina stood very still, then crossed the room and took Marissa's face between her palms."The woman from the letter," she said, in careful English. "The one with the crescent moon.""Eleanor," said Marissa."My father spoke of her until the end." Katerina's eyes were wet. "He said, I carved
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