Page 4

He made that comment every night when Helena and I left. He had done the same back when it had been Father and me leaving. It was a joke aimed at the short distance between our houses, but also that of silly superstitions. Dark and light elves, trolls, dwarves, nøkken—he believed in none of them. Neither did I, but it was a jest between us I cherished since it reminded me of the time before.

“I’ll run if I see one,” I said the way I always did. The way Father had once.

Helena rolled her eyes. “It’s no joking matter,” she said and tutted. “You townsfolk don’t know the dangers that lurk in the forest.”

We didn’t, however, encounter any dark elves on the way home, and back in our own house, Helena went to the kitchen to make us a cup of tea. In the parlor, I put more coal in the oven, then unwrapped the doll and studied her in the light from the kerosene lamp. What sort of wood was she? Where the paint had worn off, it was a light brown shade. Ash, perhaps? Or alder? I turned her around, pulled up her dress and searched her back. No maker’s mark. Turning her back around, I studied her front. She had a carving on the chest that reminded me of… of something I couldn’t quite pull from my memory.

Helena entered with two cups, each with a single pepparkaka on the saucer. Placing the doll on the bureau so she was propped up against the wall, I sat down in Father’s armchair while Helena took her usual seat on the couch. She fished the little present from Alma out from the apron. “Let’s see what she got me this time.”

Inside the paper lay a box and inside that a bracelet of round blue-and-white beads. Helena slipped it over her hand and twisted it around her wrist with a private sort of smile. My chest ached like it had this afternoon.

“It’s lovely,” I said.

Helena nodded at the doll. “She’s a bit uncanny, though, that one.”

“She’s beautifully carved, and the clothes are very fine.”

“Yes, but it’s like she’s watching you.”

“That’s what makes the work so good. She looks lifelike.”

After we had drunk our tea and eaten our pepparkaka, Helena bid me a goodnight and went to her room. I picked up the doll and turned off the kerosene lamp before I went to my own bed. In my room, I lit the candle on my dresser and studied the markings on the doll’s chest again. They were simple and intricate all at once. Like a… like a symbol almost, but not one I understood the meaning of, although I was sure I had seen it before. But where?

It came to me suddenly, and I pulled out the top drawer. My jewelry box lay inside, and I wiped the thin layer of dust off the lid with the edge of my hand. The necklace reclined comfortably on the red velvet lining. The pendant was a heart carved out of amber, and it was another of my uncle’s antique finds. He had given it to me for my confirmation. I never wore it because I wasn’t the jewelry-wearing kind. I had saved it, though, in the hopes that one day perhaps I could gift it to a woman who was. Someone who meant everything to me.

I took it in my hand. It had that lack of coldness of other gems. The carvings on the front were as thin as hair against my fingertip. Holding it between two fingers, I put it against the doll’s chest. Yes, the symbol was the same. But what did it mean? Was it the same maker?

I pulled the doll’s dress back down over her legs, sat her up against the wall, and slipped the silver chain around her neck. It was much too long, and the heart rested against her skirt. Still, somehow it seemed the right place for it, and so I left it there.

In the flickering light from the candle, I undressed. Blowing it out, I slipped under the blanket. The sheets were cold, and I wished I had brought a hot water bottle to warm my feet. It was getting to that time of the year. Tomorrow I would.

I closed my eyes. Footsteps passed outside the door, then a moment later more going the other way, accompanied by Alma and Helena’s low whispers. Alma had snuck away from them, and Helena had let her in like she did every night. I turned on my side, trying to ignore the burn of envy in my throat. The loneliness sat like a stone in my stomach.

Both emotions were pointless. So was hope. What I longed for was something that I wasn’t ever going to have. Someone who was mine only. Someone to whom I was that person they cherished above all others. The sort of woman I was interested in… There weren’t so many of that kind—especially not in a small town like Norstad. That Helena and Alma had found each other was an extraordinary stroke of luck, and when did lightning ever strike the same place twice?

Chapter Three

“How’s little Anna’s doll coming along?” Helena asked, peering over my shoulder.

I held up the carved head. The face was still rough, but the general shape was there—the large eyes and small mouth of a baby, a little button nose, chubby cheeks. “What do you think?”

“It’s gonna be another beauty. I’ll get started on the smock. Pink, you said?”

“Yes.” Helena might be a dunce in the kitchen, but she was clever. I never had to give her an order twice.

She grabbed the bolt of pink cotton from the fabric shelf, and by the table that stood below the window to allow for as much light as possible, she cut off a square. She had an excellent eye for measurements, and she never used a pattern.

“Perhaps I ought to knit her a little bonnet?” she said when she was in her chair.

“If you know how to.”

“Newborn heads get easily chilled, and I have three nieces and five nephews.” It was rare Helena spoke of her family, and despite knowing her for two years, I hadn’t known the exact size of her family.

I glanced over at her. “If you don’t mind.”

She bit her lip. “I don’t think I do. I mean…” She shook her head. “It wasn’t ever the little ones’ fault.”

I turned back to the doll’s face because there was a rare somberness in Helena’s eyes. She had talked enough of her past for today.