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Again, we ate our supper at my house. Helena burned the sausage in the pan, but the potatoes and gravy were decent. Afterward, we went next door, walking the few yards down Storgatan to my uncle’s storefront. I had the doll tucked into the crook of my arm so I could show him the strange markings on her chest.

Alma was dusting when we entered. She was a tireless worker, only ever resting when she was with Helena. Unlike my shelves next door, my uncle’s were practically sagging. The early evening darkness of October had fallen outside, and the store was lit by two lamps standing at each end of the counter. In their golden light, the place looked like the mountain lair of a greedy dwarf. The brass and silver shone dully, the glassware glowed like a muted rainbow. The painting of an idyllic mountain lake that stood leaning against the wall looked more like a sinister midnight scene.

Lilja’s eyes grew wide as she looked around. “It’s like a treasure chamber,” she said.

Alma put down her duster and waved her over. “Let me show you all of it.”

Lilja joined her by a shelf, and Helena picked up a silver frame with an old daguerreotype behind the glass. I set the doll on the counter. A wind-up Prussian soldier playing a drum caught my eye, and I studied the mechanism of the arms.

My uncle entered, and he blinked at there being four of us, as if he thought he was seeing double for a moment.

“This is Lilja Norling,” I said. “I’ve hired her to tend to my store.”

My uncle covered her hand with both of his and gave it a hearty shake. “You’re not from Norstad, miss?”

“She’s a cousin of mine,” Helena said. That was the story her and I had agreed on. As a newcomer to town, Helena’s relations weren’t well known the way mine and Alma’s were.

Above the rim of his glasses, he peered at Helena, then back to Lilja, and I couldn’t really blame him for wondering. They looked nothing alike.

“I have a question for you,” I said, holding the doll up to the light of one lamp. The silk of her dress crinkled softly when I pulled it up, baring the markings on her chest. “Have you seen anything like these before?”

My uncle frowned, then stepped behind the counter, fetched his magnifying glass from the drawer, then returned to my side. He bent in close, peering at the markings through the lens. “They’re etched into the ash with a very thin tool. It’s fine work.”

“But do you know what it means? Could it be the mark of the maker?”

He shook his head. “Not any maker I’ve ever encountered. Could be foreign. Russian maybe?”

“It’s not Russian,” Alma said at my side. “We’ve seen Russian writing many times. It doesn’t look like that.”

“Maybe Arabic then?” Helena suggested. “Or Chinese?”

“But the doll isn’t from the east,” I said. “Her clothes are European.”

My uncle stroked his chin. “I think I have seen something like it before, although never on a doll.”

“On what then?”

“I can’t recall, but I’ll look through my ledgers. I might have some record of it.”

“Thank you.”

I glanced at Lilja. She was the only one who hadn’t joined our discussion. Instead, she was staring out of the store’s window with one hand resting against her throat, the other hanging limp along her skirt. The sun had long ago set, and the glass didn’t show the street but rather her reflection. In it, her eyes were wide. Was she afraid of the dark, despite what she had said? Or was it the people who had hurt her she was thinking about?

“Perhaps you’ve got a few more of Karin’s pepparkakor?” I asked. “Maybe even a cup of coffee?”

Alma followed my gaze that still clung to Lilja’s back. “Sure. Let’s go through to the parlor.”

I went to Lilja and put my hand gently on her shoulder. Even though I was visible in the window’s reflection, she jumped.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

When she shook her head, the terror on her face faded, like haze scattered by the sun on a June morning. “I was just in my own thoughts,” she said with a careful smile.

We followed the others through the door to the private quarters. The two houses were identical twins in their layout, built a few years before Alma and I were born. My father had decided he needed a more prominent address for his store. My uncle had chosen antiques as his business, and with their inheritance, they had built these houses, which both combined a store and living quarters.

The biggest difference between the two was that where mine was just adequately filled with my uncle’s knickknacks, mementos of birthdays passed, his didn’t have a single inch of empty horizontal space. There was old stuff everywhere—candlesticks, vases, figurines, and so much more.

The parlor wasn’t large, and with five of us in it, three of us had to fit on the sofa. Lilja hesitated, but I gestured for her to sit. She did, and I took a seat next to her. Which I regretted almost immediately. The space was very tight, and my leg rested against her skirt. Despite the warmth in the room, she was still wearing the mantle.