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“Alma and my uncle are back from Stockholm,” I told Helena when I was in the workshop again.

Her face lit up like a midsummer bonfire. I sat down at my bench and picked my gouge back up because my chest was heavy with something I knew deep down was envy, and it wasn’t right to feel that way. Helena was my best friend, Alma my cousin. They deserved their happiness. It was only that I wished there was some of that happiness for me too.

I was still deciding on the best place to start carving the doll’s head when Helena stood. The hem of her dress carried about half the wood shavings on the floor with it. That impracticality wasn’t the only reason I wore pants, although it certainly was one of them.

With her hand resting on my shoulder, she said, “I’ll go make us both a cup of tea. We need a bit of warmth. Maybe with a pepparkaka on the side?”

“Are they yours?” I knew they weren’t. She never baked.

Helena smacked my shoulder. “No. Karin gave me a tin of hers yesterday.”

I grinned up at her, that ugly feeling in my chest loosening. “I’ll take one, then.”

With another swat and a chuckle, Helena left for the kitchen, and I finally put my gouge to the wood.

Chapter Two

It was twilight when Helena and I left through the kitchen door and walked the few steps down the back alley to my uncle’s house. Where our kitchen smelled faintly of tea and mostly of emptiness, my uncle’s was filled with the aroma of Karin’s roast chicken.

We found him and Alma in the shop. It was so much like mine next door that sometimes it felt uncanny. Like stepping through a mirror into a world that was similar but not quite identical. The counter was the same solid oak, the shelves on the walls, too, although his were green while I had painted mine white. The simplicity showed the toys better, I had decided.

The three boxes stood on the floor, all of them now empty. The counter was crowded with all the antiques they had brought home from Stockholm. Porcelain vases, brass candlesticks, bowls in colorful glass. Paintings, in darkened gilt frames, stood leaning against the walls.

Alma pulled me into an embrace. We might as well have been sisters. Same coloring, hair as dark as walnut wood and eyes both gray and green, same tall build, although she preferred to cover her legs with skirts and petticoats, but in a simple style without much finery. No lace and ribbons for my cousin, no colorful calicos, just a practical serge, suitable for the work in the shop.

I stepped up to my uncle. He was studying a miniature through his magnifying glass. Behind his back, Alma and Helena stole a quick kiss. Alma slipped a small package into Helena’s hand which she slid into the pocket of her apron.

“It looks like luck was with you,” I told him.

He let the magnifying glass sink and looked at me over the rim of his glasses, a frown lingering from whatever thoughts he had about the miniature. In that moment, he looked so much like my father and my throat tightened.

“We followed a rumor of ruin to the estate of a destitute aristocrat. A count of some sorts. His debtors were quite desperate and thus willing to negotiate a favorable price.” His frown smoothed, and he smiled. “I got you something too.”

“You shouldn’t have,” I said as I followed him to one of the boxes. It wasn’t empty as I had first thought, only nearly so. In the corner lay something bundled in a piece of white muslin. My uncle picked it up and handed it to me. It was hard and light with the crinkle of fabric. Maybe taffeta? I cleared a corner of the counter, carefully pushing away a vase with dainty pink silk flowers. Laying the bundle down, I pulled aside the cloth.

Inside was a doll. Not a baby doll like the one for Anna but the sort with the likeness of a woman. A very beautiful woman. Her face was finely carved with a small nose and large, gently slanted eyes. The paint had been expertly applied, rose for the lips, black and brown for the eyes. Or what was left of the paint, anyway, because the doll was old. That much was obvious. Her dress, which did indeed appear to be sewn out of silk, was a dusty sort of blue, faded from a brighter shade from years of sunlight. Perhaps from sitting in a window? On her feet she wore white porcelain shoes and the tip of one was chipped. The lace of the bonnet was yellowed and frayed.

Still, she was the most beautiful thing I had seen—and my father had been a magnificent doll maker. I ran a finger across her forehead. Her hair appeared to be a fine wool, dyed as black as midnight in December.

“I thought you’d like her,” my uncle said. “I figured she might give you some ideas.”

“She’s very finely made. Thank you.” I held her little hand in mine, studying the carving of the fingers. It was expert work, certainly.

Karin appeared in the door. “Supper’s served,” she said. The others left for the dining room. I brushed off a piece of lint from the doll’s hem before I wrapped the muslin around her again and followed after them.

The food smelled heavenly. Besides the roast chicken, there were potatoes, minced cabbage in gravy, and lingonberry preserves. We sat where we always did, me beside Helena, my uncle next to his daughter. No doubt he thought it odd that my housekeeper came to supper at his house as opposed to actually cooking one at mine, but not once had he mentioned it. Why that was we often speculated. Alma was convinced he thought Helena was my sweetheart, which I supposed made the most sense. Either way, he asked no questions.

“So, Selma,” Alma said when we had all filled our plates. “You’re taking on help, finally. I saw your sign.”

“Just for the holidays.”

My uncle spoke with his mouth full of potatoes. “It’s a good idea. My brother had you to help him. You need an assistant too.”

When we had finished eating, I coaxed my uncle into the store to give Alma and Helena a moment alone. He showed me all his new treasures. Whoever this count had been, clearly he had fallen far. The items were of the highest quality—porcelain from China, glass from Murano, even a silver bowl from Fabergé in Saint Petersburg.

When Helena appeared in the door, I carefully stuffed the wrapped doll into the crook of my arm. “We’ll be going home,” I said.

“Don’t let the dark elves take you on the way,” my uncle said with a chuckle.