A Fortune Teller Revealed My Future…

Author Harlan CovingtonReading 13 minViews 1

The fortuneteller curses me

What now, you scoundrel? the lady of the cosy cottage hurls at me a sharp glance, never stopping the spread of cards on the wooden table.

I cling to the chair in fear, nod, and stare cautiously into the old womans nightblack eyes.

You look just like Miss Nelly! Heavens own! she sighs and crosses herself. A faint nostalgic smile flickers on her lips. Your grandmother was something elsetall, regal, her neck and shoulders as graceful as a swans. She was clever, too, though she only finished primary school before the war stole her future.

Remembering something, Gran Evelyn falls silent, then straightens and continues: That girl was quicktongued! The women feared her, worrying about their husbands. Its obviousNell was married, but a glance from her could ruin any man, and shed laugh in his face. Yet your grandfather loved her fiercely and stayed faithful. Her looks at boys were just harmless teasing, she says with a kindly chuckle.

Gran June, were you friends with my grandmother? I press, curiosity bubbling.

Oh, dear, we were as close as a needle and thread, she winks, her eyes flashing like tiny gold embers. Do you know who taught me to read the cards? she asks, narrowing her eyes.

My eyebrows lift. Could it be Miss Nelly? I exhale, thrilled.

Shes the best, the old woman affirms.

What do you see in those painted cards at first glance? she sweeps a hand over the fan. Nell only needs a quick look to know everythingwhats happened, what will happen. She could tell a mans fate in a heartbeat. Ive been learning that craft from her, slowly.

Gran June, is any of this true? I laugh, pointing at the grey strands poking out from under her kerchief like tiny horns.

Dont laugh, child, the seer lowers her voice, fixing me with a steely stare.

A chill runs down my spine. Gran June, forgive meI was only joking! I plead, eyes wide.

Ah, foolish Thomas! she grumbles, less severe now. Fine, Ill let you off. Youre still young; what could I take from you? Just remember my words: you cant outrun your destined partner, even on horseback!

Gran June, do I have a destined one? I ask, eyes fixed on the fortuneteller.

Ah, you want a glimpse of the future, love? she smiles, every wrinkle deepening with amusement. We old women can see anything. She pulls a fresh deck from her lap. Maybe one day youll recall me and stop making such foolish jokes, she murmurs, laying out kings, regal queens, bearded gentlemen in berets, and waltzing couples on the cloth.

Poppy, look, the road ahead is long and winding. Will you go off somewhere with your suitor? Im sure youll have a fiancé, no doubt! the old woman mutters to herself. Your eyes are like two saucers, your face smoothyet its all empty. Those gallants wont touch your heart. But this redkinglove him, though hes a reckless fool. Better stay away, or youll weep bitterly, she warns, shaking her head. Can you stop lovers like that? she sighs, waving her hand hopelessly.

She flips a couple more cards and brightens. This second one, the crosscard, will be a decent fellow! Trust me, dear, everything will turn sweet with him, she says, rubbing my chestnut curls. We both burst into laughter.

I visit Gran June often. I never met my own grandmothershe passed long agobut Evelyn lives alone and loves me, her granddaughter of a dear friend, like a second child. Sometimes my heart trembles when shes in a sour mood.

Gran June is renowned as a fortuneteller. Folk travel from all over the county to see her. She never asks for money, but she gladly accepts tea and biscuitsshes everso hospitable.

Now we sit together, sipping tea and tucking away a steaming slice of hot cross bun with butter and chives.

Gran June, could I learn to predict fate? I ask cautiously, shoving another bite into my mouth.

The question catches her off guard. She stops chewing, fixes me with eyes as dark as soot. I hold her gaze, feeling the weight of it. She seems to soften. Yes you might just manage that, she muses. Come tomorrow, if you still want it, she adds sternly. Ill teach you.

Time flies like a swift swan. Yesterday I was splashing in puddles with friends, skipping rope, flying paper kites. Today weve just finished Year 7, completed our workexperience placement, and the summer wraps us in its warm embrace. Oh, summer! We swim, we sunbathe.

I race home with my report card, eager to brag about my mostly Agrades. As I step through the door, I see Mums teary face clutching a printed envelope. Ah, a letter from Aunt Nelly, I think. Shes trying to coax me again. Dad had always been adamant.

Anna, isnt life here wonderful? Our house, the chickens, the geese, the cow the river beside us! he says, a hint of bitterness in his voice.

Our girls never saw blossoming apple trees, never tasted cherries, never got their noses stuck in watermelons! Mum whispers. Tom, I want to return to the homeland! her goldenbrown eyes plead at Dad.

Yes, a womans tears are a mighty force, he sighs. Perhaps he loved her too much, his Anna I wonder how we suddenly left everything behind and fled to faroff, flowerfilled Ukraine.

On the first day of September the whole school watches us with interest. At the assembly we stand in elegant dresses, lace aprons, huge bows, standing out among the modestly clothed peers. I care less about the outfits and more about how the classmates will receive us. As soon as I sit, a girl approaches.

Im Molly, she says, smiling genuinely. Anna, dont worry, the boys here are good! She asks, Do you want to share a desk? I nod gratefully. Thats how I become friends with Molly, a friendship that lasts.

During a big break, Vicky grabs a guitar and a song spills out. A fairhaired, slightly plump lad sings with such longing that my heart flutters like the sea. He seems to sing only for the one who makes his guitar weep.

Has our little Vasili fallen in love? Molly whispers, eyeing his transformed face. Hes singing for you, she adds sadly.

Are you joking? I blurt, confused.

Molly shakes her head, her lips barely moving: Poor VasiliVasili! I wonder why life gives us one dream while we look for another. The second boy is shy, halfgrown, eager for a drink, with Cupids arrows always flying in his head.

He talks sweetly, If I could taste honey with your lips My soul, without asking, reaches for him like a bird to the sky. Im terrified and resolve, Ill avoid him at all costs! Im not planning to become another pretty boys victim.

A new boy, Tom, watches the slender, braidhaired girl with interest. His gaze hypnotises her, leaving her breathless.

The teachers board becomes a torment; Toms teasing glance slides up my legs. I hold my composure, but his coldness unsettles the heartbreaker. Then, at PE, Tommy dashes the 100metre sprint faster than the wind, launches the discus so far the PE teacher whistles in amazement. On the football field, he scores without rival, and every girl cheers, though one girls eyes remain unreadable. Tommy looks down, even losing a few pounds, clearly drawn to that unattainable girl, yet every attempt to talk fails miserably.

Autumn slips in, a mischievous redhaired rogue, followed by a snowwhite winter. School buzzes with excitementChristmas is near! We rehearse poems, songs, craft strange costumes.

Tammy and I pick characters from The Lari Sisters. Tom loves carefree, cheerful Olivia; I prefer thoughtful, gentle Eleanor. Aunt Nelly sews us flowing gowns that sweep the floor. Our hair becomes waterfalls of goldenbrown curls.

When we open the school halls doors, we step into a fairytale world. Gentry, bandits, princesses, sprites, monkeys and dwarfs whirl around. Even the fearsome Koschei and a hilariously wild Baba Yaga parade about.

Cinderellaour Mollyslides through the crowd: Girls, you look stunning! she beams, crowning us with smiles.

When the dancing begins, the first hand to reach for me belongs to Tommy. His unusually serious eyes plead. Anna, will you dance with me? he stammers.

I cannot resist. Every cell in my body leans toward him, my hands find his strong shoulder, and we spin in a waltz, soaring higher and higher on the music. That feeling of otherworldly bliss stays with me forever.

Our meetings are unforgettable, pure. I can never forget that first honeysweet kiss, the way his eyes held me, the way his words sang: I love you, Anna! I love you ever so much!

That evening I turn to the cards again. What does tomorrow hold for me? I ask, hopeful.

At first the kings and queens assure me that everything with Tommy will be fine. I picture a lavish wedding carriage. Then the queen of spades drops onto the table, her stare like poison. My heart aches.

By morning, Tommys loving eyes melt my worries like spring snow.

Six months later, a new trainee arrives at schoolblack curls, large eyes, a slender waist, a generous figure. Shes brilliant, and we, the older students, adore Miss Maya Vaughan. On Saturday, Tommy promises a datehe never shows. Hes a noshow again on Sunday.

Finally, I see him at school, smiling, rushing toward his sweetheart, a girl named Nia. Their eyes lock, and its clear theyll be together forever. My heart flutters like a trapped bird, but Veras steady hand saves me from falling.

Anna, forget that fool! says my friend Tom. Youre the best, hes not worth a penny! We both burst into tears, hugging each other tightly.

Veras birthday arrives on a Saturday. She invites us over; her mother bakes a Napoleon cake, fills the house with guests. After everyone leaves, Vera whispers, Anna, can you read for us? You can! I stare, surprisedhow did she know?

I saw you doing it once, she admits. Its fascinating! they both stare at me like hungry mice eyeing cheese.

I shuffle the cards. Tamara draws a flood of suitorstwo husbands! Why two? I protest, halfjoking. Your kings lie! she retorts, frowning. Then I tell Vera, Youll have a child! My fingers tremble; I recognise this combination, yet fear it.

No, that cant be! I gasp, and Veras mothers voice booms, Anna, thats the death card! I try to joke, Im just a fortuneteller, not a poet from a childrens book, but my hands grow cold.

Exactly, Tom declares, and we thank her for the wonderful evening before parting.

Later, Tamara tells my mother, Anna told us so many stories! Her lips curve in a teasing smile. Remembering my visits to Gran June, I ask, Mum, could you have a reading?

My dear, why would you? she replies, then sees the sadness in my eyes and understands. I nod and begin laying out the mysterious queens, waltzers, and kings, explaining their messages to her.

Dad is staying with my uncle Michael. The cards suggest Mum will soon face a long journey and a serious blow of fate. They also hint Dad is not actually at Michaels, but in a government house.

Mum, dont be upset, Im not going anywhere, I say cheerfully. The next morning a telegram arrives: Anna, come at once, Neil has suffered a stroke in hospital. Mum looks at me, wary. Your cards werent lying

An hour later she boards a plane.

Years pass.

Tonight, halfasleep in my own locked bedroom, I hear footsteps in the hallwayslow, heavy. Something huge seems to be stalking the corridor. Moonlight streams through the window, and the front door rattles, then shuddersas if someone is trying to force their way in. The houses doors are locked from the inside; no one could have entered from outside.

What on earth is breaking into my room, breathing like a locomotive? I think, panic rising. What if the door gives way? I shout to the heavens, Lord, if You exist, protect me!

At once the door stops moving, and silence fills the hallway.

In the morning, Mum sees my pale, creamcoloured face and gasps. Girl, what happened? She learns of the night visitor and shakes her head. Anna, stop with the fortunetelling! That gift isnt from God perhaps the Unclean came to you! I burn the cards immediately; life feels lighter without them.

Yet many of Gran Junes and my predictions come true. Vera marries for great love; she and her husband have a beautiful blueeyed daughter. Tragically, Vera and her child die in a car crash. My friend turns twentyone; my goddaughter is only a year and a half. My sister Tamara finds a wonderful second husband after the first one fell apart. Miss Maya Vaughan finishes her training brilliantly and leavesshe never returns. At home, a suitor waits for her; a grand wedding follows, the bride radiant.

Tommy begs on his knees for forgiveness; I cant grant it, though I still love him deeply. Later he marries the kindest, most reliable man from our class, Master Basil. We have three sons and now grandchildren. I am over sixty and can honestly say life is rich and varied. You just have to live it and cherish its beautiful moments.

Natalie, You’ve Been Gone Five Years—You Never Cared How I Was or What Became of Me Natalie and Ben had lived together for over five years. Ben never earned a fortune; his wages were modest, as he worked a regular labourer’s job. Natalie always dreamed of a life of luxury—preferably wealth—so she was thrilled whenever she met men more prosperous than her husband. One day, Natalie’s luck seemed to change: she caught the eye of a wealthy businessman who promised her the world. Swayed by his offers, she left her poor husband behind, eager to begin a glamorous new chapter. Ben was shattered by his wife’s betrayal. He pleaded with her desperately, promising to change—he’d earn more money, quit his job, work day and night, do anything to make her happy. But Natalie was unmoved. She dreamed of sailing on white yachts and shopping in London’s most exclusive boutiques—things her poor husband could never provide. No promises or declarations of eternal love could change her mind. Five years later, as Natalie turned thirty-two, her rich suitor lost interest—there were always younger, more enticing women at his side. He told her she was too demanding and argumentative and finally abandoned her. Penniless in the capital, unaccustomed to working or fending for herself, Natalie decided to go back to her ex-husband. She believed that, since he’d sworn eternal love, he must still be waiting for her. Approaching their old flat, Natalie saw the door open to a stranger—a woman holding a small girl. “Sweetheart, we’ve talked about not answering the door alone,” the woman said to the child. “Who are you looking for?” she asked Natalie. Stunned, Natalie hesitated. “I’m looking for Ben. Is he in?” she managed. “Ben, there’s a woman here asking for you! What’s your name?” the stranger called out, then looked at the guest. “Natalie!” Ben exclaimed, surprised, before turning to his wife. “Love, go inside, I need to talk.” “Who was that?” Natalie asked, watching the woman and child go. “That’s my wife, Olivia, and the little one is my daughter, Maisie,” Ben replied. “You remarried? And have a daughter? You promised me everlasting love, said you’d never love anyone like you loved me!” “It’s been years! I was heartbroken at first, but I realised life didn’t end when you left. Then I met Olivia and fell for her completely. She made me happy. She gave me a daughter.” “And what about me?” “Natalie, you’ve been gone for five years and never cared how I was or what became of me. You left for a wealthier man and a lavish life. Maybe we were never rich, but that doesn’t excuse what you did. Now you’re back—did you expect me to just wait here for you all this time? “I was foolish! I love you!” “Natalie, stop this charade. Please go—I don’t want you here. Your rich boyfriend ditched you so now you’re running back to me? It makes me sick. Please just go.” Natalie broke down in tears, hurt that no one wanted her, while Ben felt satisfied that he had finally moved on and found his own happiness at last.

Go Away and Never Come Back — Go, Do You Hear Me? Go and Never Return! Never. With trembling hands, Michael unclipped the heavy metal chain, dragged Berta to the garden gate and, flinging it wide open, tried to push her out onto the road. But she didn’t understand what was happening. Was she really being thrown out? But why? She hadn’t done anything wrong… “Go, please, I’m begging you,” Michael repeated as he hugged the dog tight. “You can’t stay here. He’ll be back any minute and…” Just then, the front door slammed open, and a drunken Victor staggered out onto the porch with an axe in his hand. ***** If people could imagine, even for a moment, how harsh life is for the dogs abandoned to the streets through no fault of their own, perhaps they would look at them with sympathy and compassion, not resentment or disdain, as so often happens. But how can we know what our four-legged friends go through, what trials they must face? How can we possibly understand? Dogs cannot tell us their stories. They cannot complain about their fate. All their pain, they carry in silence. But I will tell you one story—one of love, betrayal and loyalty… And my story begins with Berta, who was unwanted from her very first days. No one really knows what it was about her that displeased her first owner. Maybe just for being born. And he could think of nothing better than to take the then two-month-old puppy to the nearest village and… just leave her by the roadside. Yes, just abandon her—not even in the village where someone might have taken her in, but right on the edge of the road. He drove away with a clear conscience, leaving her in harm’s way, where cars, buses, lorries sped past at terrifying speeds—a single misstep and that was it. Perhaps that’s what he hoped would happen. If not, what chance did she have to survive alone, hungry and thirsty? She was only a baby. But that day luck was on her side. That day, the nameless little pup met Michael. And thanks to him, she lived. It happened on the very day Michael was given a brand new bike for his fourteenth birthday. He couldn’t wait to take it for a spin. “Don’t ride out of the village!” called out his mother, Annie, as Michael cycled off, excitement in his legs. “Alright, Mum! Everything will be fine!” chirped Michael as he whisked away. But of course, he left the village. The roads in the village were full of potholes—awful to ride on, and hard to walk, especially at night. Just a month ago, the city road had been freshly paved, and Michael wanted to feel the wind in his hair. There weren’t many cars out on a weekend morning. So, as he neared the road and prepared to turn back, he noticed a tiny pup running frantically at the roadside—darting toward passing cars, then jumping back just in time. Horrified, Michael pulled over, gently placed his bike in the grass, and approached the trembling puppy. ***** “Mum, Dad, look who I found!” beamed Michael as he entered the house. “Someone dumped her by the road. Can we keep her? Please?” “Michael, did you leave the village? I told you not to!” Annie exclaimed. “Sorry, Mum… I just wanted to ride to the road and back. And look—I didn’t go for nothing. If I hadn’t picked up this pup, she might have died!” “What about you?” sighed Annie. “You could’ve been hit, too. Roads are no place for children.” “I won’t do it again, I promise. But what about the puppy? Can we keep her? Please? It’s my birthday, after all.” “It is your birthday, isn’t it?” Annie shook her head. Michael clutched the puppy tightly, afraid she’d be taken back out to the roadside. “Annie, stop scolding the boy,” Michael’s dad, Victor, interrupted, his mood bright from a few celebratory drinks. “He’s fourteen now. And look, he picked up a fine pup—not a scraggy mutt but a proper one. She’ll look after the yard. Let him keep her. I’ve no problem.” “Well, if Dad says yes, then I do, too,” Annie smiled at her son. “Thank you! You’re the best parents in the world!” Michael was overjoyed. That very day he named the puppy—Berta. At first, he thought she was a boy, but he quickly realised she was a girl—a good girl: kind, gentle, and instantly attached to Michael. The bike was forgotten. From then on, Michael spent every hour with his fluffy four-legged friend. Life at last seemed perfect—Berta safe from death, Michael finally with the dog he’d always dreamed of. His parents were happy to see their son so happy, too. Fairy tale ending? If only. Trouble came—six months later. It started when Victor lost his job and began drinking heavily, spending all the family savings. No pleas or tears from Annie could sway him; they only made him angrier, more cruel, especially with vodka in his blood. He even began hitting Annie, for any or no reason at all. And Annie strictly forbade Michael from interfering. “You could get hurt too,” she would say. “Better not try your luck.” During arguments, Michael escaped to Berta, stroking her, watching the house as his parents fought. Berta would gently lick Michael’s salty cheeks. Once Victor caught Michael playing with Berta and, without provocation, gave him a series of rough cuffs round the head. Michael tried to hold back the tears, tried to break free, but Victor’s grip was fierce. Suddenly, mild, gentle Berta barked fiercely at Victor—so fiercely he froze. Michael seized his chance and pulled away. But Victor stormed into the house, slurring threats of violence. Michael knew he would be back—with something heavy. What could he do? “Go, do you hear me?” Michael whispered, tears flowing. “Go, and don’t come back! Never.” His hands trembled as he undid Berta’s chain, tugged her to the gate, and tried to push her out. She didn’t understand—was this really goodbye? “Please, you must go,” Michael repeated, hugging her close. “It’s not safe here. Dad will be back and…” At that moment, the door crashed open and Victor, axe in hand, staggered onto the porch. “Michael!” came his father’s enraged roar. “Why did you let the dog go?” “Dad, please, don’t—” Michael stammered, backing away. He wanted to run, but couldn’t leave his mother inside with the madman. “Don’t touch the dog, Dad. Just go sleep it off. You’re not yourself—” “Oh, I’ll show you, you insolent whelp! I’ll deal with that mangy mutt and then teach you some respect!” Victor lurched forward, losing his footing but clinging to the rail, lumbering down the steps. “Hurry!” Michael turned to Berta, looked her in the eyes, kissed her black nose, and with a desperate shove, sent her out into the road. “Run! Run and forgive us… forgive us, Berta. I never wanted this.” Fury twisted Victor’s face as he realised Michael was letting the dog go. Berta looked at Michael one last time before bolting towards the woods—her only chance of survival. “Don’t come back, Berta, or he’ll kill you!” Michael yelled after her. What happened next, Berta never saw. She could only hope her beloved friend and his mother would be safe. ***** Seven years passed—a lifetime for a dog. Seven years Berta waited for a miracle, hoping to see Michael again, but each year hope faded as she never found Michael or Annie. Returning to her old home after six months, she found only a charred ruin of a house. No Michael, no Annie, certainly no Victor. She came back a few times, but always alone. Eventually, Berta wandered from village to village, until an old man found her, outside the very forest she once ran into. “Lost, are you?” the grey-haired, bearded man chuckled. “Want to live with me?” And Berta did. She had no other choice. The old man, though partial to drink, was kind. He fed her well and took her to work with him—as a night caretaker at a cemetery. At first, Berta hated the graves, but in time, she grew used to them—and to Nicholas, her lonely companion. When he drank, he didn’t turn cruel, but wept and confided his heartbreak—about the wife who left, the daughter who wanted nothing to do with him. Berta would snuggle by his feet and listen in silence. And when Nicholas fell silent, Berta remembered the happy days with Michael and Annie—and tried to forget Victor for good. One day, Berta came across Victor’s grave. She sniffed it, not believing it—yet the hateful, bitter scent was unmistakable. “You’re stuck there, are you?” Nicholas said, noticing her halted by the grave. “Victor, it says… Must be the one who drank himself to death in his own house after the family left for the city.” Five years Berta stayed at the cemetery, until Nicholas, too, died, leaving her alone once more. She stayed on. Where else could she go? No one would take in an old dog now. She decided she’d wait for the end among the stones. But then, when the first snow fell, the impossible happened. While searching for food, Berta heard voices—by Victor’s grave. A man and a woman. She crept closer—curious who would visit him. “Told you, Ox,” the man said, “it’s pointless coming here. Why should I care about the grave of a father who made life hell for my mum and me? Forgive him? For what?” “You have to, Michael,” said the woman. “Forgive and let go. Otherwise, you’ll never have peace. Your nightmares will go on forever.” “Maybe you’re right…” Michael sighed, looked at the grave and said, “I forgive you, Dad— for Mum, for myself, for Berta… I just wish I hadn’t had to send my best friend away. I hope she’s alright.” All the while, Berta stood behind Michael, scarcely believing it was him—her beloved person. He was grown, a man now, but she knew him instantly. Would Michael know her? He turned, feeling eyes on his back. “Mike, what is it?” Oksana asked. “It’s a dog,” Michael replied. “Silly—there are lots of dogs at the cemetery.” But Michael stared, stepped closer, hesitated—then stepped closer again. Berta wagged her tail and crept forward. Then they both ran—flinging themselves into each other’s embrace. Oksana barely had time to react before Michael was kneeling, hugging the dog he hadn’t seen in seven years, while Berta licked his cheeks, nose and chin in a joyful frenzy. Her greatest dream had come true at last. ***** Of course, Michael brought Berta home. She and Oksana became fast friends, and soon their little family grew. First three of them, then four—when Berta found a tiny kitten and no one could resist taking him in. Then five, when a baby boy named Nick arrived. Later, Michael rebuilt the house in the village, and every year they spent summers there together. Despite all the pain and trials that life brought, both Michael and Berta found happiness.