91. Brown hair
The miracle of Buford.
Erna decided to name the past few days that way.
These were perfect days, beyond description. Home, with Bjorn, who had grown affectionate, and her beloved family. Each day passed by amidst the scenery of her longed-for hometown. Her heart was filled with such happiness, it felt like living in a dream. Until she encountered it.
The pile of newspapers happened to catch Erna's eye.
After exploring the garden, they went to her grandmother's room and chatted. Baroness Baden was diligently piecing together a patchwork quilt, and Erna sat beside her, discussing her plans for the day. Had the thread not run out at that moment, the day would have been just as peaceful.
“Erna, could you please bring me the red thread from the bottom drawer?”
At Baroness Baden's request, who had paused for a moment, Erna quickly went to the chest of drawers standing next to the window.
It was piled high in the bottom drawer, next to the small box where the Baroness of Baden kept her thread. Erna immediately recognized the stack because of the newspaper on top. The sensational article, which reported that the Grand Duchess of Schwerin, hated throughout Letzen, had been attacked by a schizophrenic, including, as always, a picture of Erna. It was a wedding photo, taken to commemorate her wedding, but it was usually used alongside such humiliating articles.
“Isn’t there a red thread there, too?”
Baroness Baden, who had been watching the back of her granddaughter, who was crouching motionless, tilted her head slightly. Her small magnifying glasses had already slipped down to the bridge of her nose.
“Erna.”
Erna didn't respond when her grandmother called her name. Only the rustling of paper permeated the heavy silence.
“Hey, what the heck...”
“Why on earth are you collecting these?”
A sense of foreboding crossed Erna's mind, and she abruptly sprang to her feet. She was clutching a stack of newspapers she'd pulled from a drawer. Only then did Baroness Baden realize her mistake, and a look of disappointment crossed her face.
"You're not the kind of person who would look for things like this, Grandma. But why are you doing these ridiculous things? Why are you doing them like this?"
“No, Erna. That’s not it.”
Baroness Baden, her expression softening, quickly shook her head.
“I brought these to do crossword puzzles when I’m lonely. That’s all there is to it.”
“...Don’t do this.”
Erna's hand holding the newspaper began to tremble slightly.
"Please, don't do this to Grandma. It'll break your heart if you see it. It'll upset you. Why are you making me into a bad granddaughter?"
This is unjustified anger.
In that moment of half-loss of reason and anger, Erna already knew. Her grandmother must have simply been curious about how the world perceived the Grand Duchess of Schwerin. She must have noticed that, while she sent letters periodically, there was always a hint of falsehood in them.
She knew, she knew full well that this shouldn't be happening, but Erna couldn't control her emotions. She felt like she was being forced to confront, defenseless, the shame she's been trying so hard to ignore.
At least while she was here, she wanted to forget everything. But even that wasn't allowed, and the world relentlessly tormented her. Her anger exploded at her Grandma. She also felt a sense of self-loathing, knowing that she had promised herself she would be happy and do well, only to be caught in this pathetic state, unable to escape.
"Really, Erna. You know I love crossword puzzles."
“...”
“If you don’t like it, I promise I won’t do it again. Yes?”
“...”
"Baby."
“I’ll throw this away.”
Erna looked down at the pile of newspapers in her arms and muttered softly.
“Are you really angry?”
"No."
When she heard my grandmother's voice full of worry, Baroness Baden's eyes welled up with tears.
“It’s not like that. It’s just...”
Erna hesitated, not knowing what to say, then lowered her head even further and let out a long sigh.
“I’m going for a walk.”
Leaving behind only the excuse that sounded far-fetched even to herself, Erna hurriedly left her grandmother's room. Her legs were trembling, and she was out of breath. "It's okay," she reassured herself, as if reciting a spell, but it had no effect.
“Miss! Where are you going in such a hurry?”
Leaving behind the startled cries of Mrs. Greve, Erna hurried out into the backyard. The peaceful ducks and chickens squawked in alarm, shattering the morning silence.
Erna ran straight down the path beyond the fence, anxiously, as if being chased by something. Far away. Far from the Baden mansion.
Only after passing through a beautiful field of blooming primroses and bluebells and reaching a swamp did Erna finally stop. The pile of newspapers she had thrown with all her might fell into the swamp with a loud crash.
As it completely sank and disappeared, Erna collapsed to the ground. Only then could she sense the metallic stench emanating from her gasping breath, rising to the tip of her chin.
It's really weird.
Erna looked back down the path she had run, her eyes blank and blank. Goosebumps ran down her spine, the sight of herself so unfamiliar and unlike herself.
Erna, who was looking back and forth between the swamp that had swallowed up the scandal and the Baden family mansion standing across the field, let out a long sigh of confusion and relief.
Erna was nowhere to be seen.
Bjorn's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the quiet room; his wife, who had always hovered around him, was now gone. She had been so insistent on taking him for a morning walk through the flowery fields. Where on earth had she gone, alone? Not a single hair was visible.
Bjorn put down the book he was reading and casually left the room. He descended into the garden, filled with carefully tended plants, and saw the Baroness of Baden sitting in the shade of a large ash tree.
Bjorn naturally approached her seat. The old woman, who had been peering over the fence, finally turned her gaze to him.
“Erna will be back soon.”
Baroness Baden spoke naturally, as if she had read his mind.
“It looks like she went out for a morning walk. She’s a kid who can find her way around here with her eyes closed, so don’t worry.”
“Are you using mind-reading or something?”
“That might be the case.”
She responded with a faint smile to the words he threw out with a snicker.
“Please feel free to speak.”
The miracle of Buford.
Erna decided to name the past few days that way.
These were perfect days, beyond description. Home, with Bjorn, who had grown affectionate, and her beloved family. Each day passed by amidst the scenery of her longed-for hometown. Her heart was filled with such happiness, it felt like living in a dream. Until she encountered it.
The pile of newspapers happened to catch Erna's eye.
After exploring the garden, they went to her grandmother's room and chatted. Baroness Baden was diligently piecing together a patchwork quilt, and Erna sat beside her, discussing her plans for the day. Had the thread not run out at that moment, the day would have been just as peaceful.
“Erna, could you please bring me the red thread from the bottom drawer?”
At Baroness Baden's request, who had paused for a moment, Erna quickly went to the chest of drawers standing next to the window.
It was piled high in the bottom drawer, next to the small box where the Baroness of Baden kept her thread. Erna immediately recognized the stack because of the newspaper on top. The sensational article, which reported that the Grand Duchess of Schwerin, hated throughout Letzen, had been attacked by a schizophrenic, including, as always, a picture of Erna. It was a wedding photo, taken to commemorate her wedding, but it was usually used alongside such humiliating articles.
“Isn’t there a red thread there, too?”
Baroness Baden, who had been watching the back of her granddaughter, who was crouching motionless, tilted her head slightly. Her small magnifying glasses had already slipped down to the bridge of her nose.
“Erna.”
Erna didn't respond when her grandmother called her name. Only the rustling of paper permeated the heavy silence.
“Hey, what the heck...”
“Why on earth are you collecting these?”
A sense of foreboding crossed Erna's mind, and she abruptly sprang to her feet. She was clutching a stack of newspapers she'd pulled from a drawer. Only then did Baroness Baden realize her mistake, and a look of disappointment crossed her face.
"You're not the kind of person who would look for things like this, Grandma. But why are you doing these ridiculous things? Why are you doing them like this?"
“No, Erna. That’s not it.”
Baroness Baden, her expression softening, quickly shook her head.
“I brought these to do crossword puzzles when I’m lonely. That’s all there is to it.”
“...Don’t do this.”
Erna's hand holding the newspaper began to tremble slightly.
"Please, don't do this to Grandma. It'll break your heart if you see it. It'll upset you. Why are you making me into a bad granddaughter?"
This is unjustified anger.
In that moment of half-loss of reason and anger, Erna already knew. Her grandmother must have simply been curious about how the world perceived the Grand Duchess of Schwerin. She must have noticed that, while she sent letters periodically, there was always a hint of falsehood in them.
She knew, she knew full well that this shouldn't be happening, but Erna couldn't control her emotions. She felt like she was being forced to confront, defenseless, the shame she's been trying so hard to ignore.
At least while she was here, she wanted to forget everything. But even that wasn't allowed, and the world relentlessly tormented her. Her anger exploded at her Grandma. She also felt a sense of self-loathing, knowing that she had promised herself she would be happy and do well, only to be caught in this pathetic state, unable to escape.
"Really, Erna. You know I love crossword puzzles."
“...”
“If you don’t like it, I promise I won’t do it again. Yes?”
“...”
"Baby."
“I’ll throw this away.”
Erna looked down at the pile of newspapers in her arms and muttered softly.
“Are you really angry?”
"No."
When she heard my grandmother's voice full of worry, Baroness Baden's eyes welled up with tears.
“It’s not like that. It’s just...”
Erna hesitated, not knowing what to say, then lowered her head even further and let out a long sigh.
“I’m going for a walk.”
Leaving behind only the excuse that sounded far-fetched even to herself, Erna hurriedly left her grandmother's room. Her legs were trembling, and she was out of breath. "It's okay," she reassured herself, as if reciting a spell, but it had no effect.
“Miss! Where are you going in such a hurry?”
Leaving behind the startled cries of Mrs. Greve, Erna hurried out into the backyard. The peaceful ducks and chickens squawked in alarm, shattering the morning silence.
Erna ran straight down the path beyond the fence, anxiously, as if being chased by something. Far away. Far from the Baden mansion.
Only after passing through a beautiful field of blooming primroses and bluebells and reaching a swamp did Erna finally stop. The pile of newspapers she had thrown with all her might fell into the swamp with a loud crash.
As it completely sank and disappeared, Erna collapsed to the ground. Only then could she sense the metallic stench emanating from her gasping breath, rising to the tip of her chin.
It's really weird.
Erna looked back down the path she had run, her eyes blank and blank. Goosebumps ran down her spine, the sight of herself so unfamiliar and unlike herself.
Erna, who was looking back and forth between the swamp that had swallowed up the scandal and the Baden family mansion standing across the field, let out a long sigh of confusion and relief.
***
Erna was nowhere to be seen.
Bjorn's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the quiet room; his wife, who had always hovered around him, was now gone. She had been so insistent on taking him for a morning walk through the flowery fields. Where on earth had she gone, alone? Not a single hair was visible.
Bjorn put down the book he was reading and casually left the room. He descended into the garden, filled with carefully tended plants, and saw the Baroness of Baden sitting in the shade of a large ash tree.
Bjorn naturally approached her seat. The old woman, who had been peering over the fence, finally turned her gaze to him.
“Erna will be back soon.”
Baroness Baden spoke naturally, as if she had read his mind.
“It looks like she went out for a morning walk. She’s a kid who can find her way around here with her eyes closed, so don’t worry.”
“Are you using mind-reading or something?”
“That might be the case.”
She responded with a faint smile to the words he threw out with a snicker.
“Please feel free to speak.”
“The Grand Duke was the Prince of Letzen before he became my granddaughter’s husband, and that is not right.”
Although her tone was gentle, the Baroness's eyes were filled with stubbornness.
“Although I am an old man living in a remote countryside, I am still a lady of manners, Your Highness.”
Bjorn, who had been staring blankly at the old woman whose thoughts and speech were exactly like Erna's, nodded with a smile as if surrendering.
Bjorn sat beside Baroness Baden and waited for her. He sipped the lemonade the maid had brought him, gazing out at the morning countryside, and also watching the old woman diligently working her needle.
Baroness Baden looked at him again only after piecing together four successive pieces. Her gaze, now deeper than before, radiated a warmth like the morning sunlight.
“My husband, like the Grand Duke, had beautiful platinum-blond hair. Annette, too, had the same color as her father.”
Annette Baden. The Baroness's voice, calling her daughter's name after a short life, was calm and left a deep impression. Bjorn set down his glass of water and faced the old woman with a straight face.
"Erna is remarkably like her mother. Except for one thing: her hair color. We didn't mind, but she didn't. She felt incredibly guilty, thinking it was a mark of her father. She was afraid that her hair might remind Annette and us of the wounds Walter Hardy inflicted on us."
Baroness Baden put down her sewing and folded her hands neatly on her lap. The path beyond the fence was still empty.
"I shouldn't have instilled such guilt in that child. At the time, we were so busy caring for our wounded and sick daughter that we didn't have the time to even pay close attention to our granddaughter. As a result, there were many days when the gossip of those who loved to gossip flowed into that child's ears without any reservations."
Baroness Baden looked at the distant sky with regretful eyes.
"That little girl, who'd been languishing in silence, clutching those thorny words, finally decided to change her hair color. So she chased after the servants, asking them how to do it. One of the maids, finding it tiresome, lied, saying that if you expose your hair to sunlight for too long, it will dye your hair the same color. Erna believed that to be true."
She faced Bjorn again with a sad smile on her face.
"That day, Erna basked in the sun all day, from sunrise until sunset. It was a scorching early July day, but the little girl held on so tenaciously. Startled by the news of her disappearance, we searched the entire house, only to find her in the field just as the sun was setting. She said her hair hadn't turned the same shade as the sunlight. She wept bitterly, asking if it was because she'd been too hot and tired to rest in the shade. Because of the commotion, her face was burned, and she suffered for quite some time."
As Erna's memory of that day, embedded like a thorn deep within her heart, came to mind, Baroness Baden unconsciously clasped her hands together. Bjorn gazed at her with a silent gaze, waiting for her to continue.
"Even now, when the sun shines brightly, I think of that day often, Grand Duke. Even though she's grown into a respectable lady and Grand Duchess, there are still many days when, in this old man's eyes, she looks like that pitiful, lovable child, sniffling with her red, peeling nose."
A lady in a floral dress was walking from across the path. Seeing her, Baroness Baden smiled, her expression now more relaxed, and looked at Bjorn.
"Her brown hair is so beautiful. She doesn't need to be anything else. She's perfect just as she is, and we love her for that. The fact that I didn't tell her sooner still lingers like a lump deep in my heart. Annette and her husband probably felt the same way."
Baroness Baden, who had confirmed that Erna had entered the garden of the mansion, picked up the sewing thread she had placed on the table again.
"I say, Grand Duke. I wish Erna could live with her brown hair. That is this old man's earnest wish."
Erna, who noticed the two people sitting across from each other, stopped in surprise. Bjorn, who had his back to the child, seemed oblivious to the situation.
“Isn’t her brown hair really pretty?”
Baroness Baden glanced at her granddaughter, then quickly turned her gaze back to Bjorn.
“Yes, Grandma.”
With a smiling lip, Bjorn answered without hesitation.
“It’s pretty. Very, very pretty.”
The Prince's affectionate words eased Baroness Baden's worries.
“You’re going out to the village today, right?”
“Yes. I have a telegram to send to Schwerin, so I’ll be back shortly.”
"It's a good thing the May Festival is in full swing in this village. You don't have to worry about this old man, so let's just walk there and have some quality time. It won't compare to the splendid festivities of the big city, but it'll be far more fun than this boring country mansion."
Before Bjorn could answer, she quickly concluded. Meanwhile, Erna, who had slowly approached, stopped beside the table where they were sitting.
“Did you have a good walk?”
Baroness Baden raised her magnifying glasses, which had fallen off, and asked a friendly question. As if nothing had happened. Or as if nothing had happened.
“...Yes, Grandma.”
Erna, who had hesitated for a moment, answered with a smile.
"Thank goodness it's not too late. The Grand Duke has been waiting for you for a long time."
“Is it Bjorn?”
Erna looked at her husband with surprised eyes. His expression wasn't much different from Erna's.
Baroness Baden, who had been observing the two men closely, came to a clear conclusion while piecing together a new patchwork.
"The Grand Duke is curious about the village festival, so you'll show him around. Shouldn't a good wife do that?"
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