He was all but certain no one else would venture such a thing though. Which meant that the copies he sent could well be the only signed copies to be seen. And there had been plenty of talk around the office about how their newest author was such a mystery in some ways. Tatiana wouldknowthat he went to some trouble to procure the signature. That would make it special, wouldn’t it?
A mug of tea appeared before him, and he looked up to see that Tatiana had moved back to the table while he was lost in his schemes. She smiled. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
He found himself returning the smile and, more, feltit go a little mischievous. “Oh no. You’re not allowed to ask that question so close to Christmas, Tatiana.”
She laughed and opened her mouth, but he never got to hear what clever response she’d offer. Their nieces chose that moment to swoop into the room, and the rest of their shared afternoon was dedicated to their giggles.
NINE
19 DECEMBER 1944
He was getting her a gift. That was what he’d meant on Saturday, Tatiana knew it. Which meant she’d been spending the last two days wracking her brain, trying to think of something to gethim. It was Tuesday now, and she still had no ideas.
She’d never bought a gift for a man before, other than her family. What in the world was she to give him? With the rationing, there weren’t a lot of options, especially since she had only a week’s worth of notice, and no time to go shopping.
Leaning back in her wooden desk chair, she lifted her fingers from their places on the typewriter keys and faced facts—she was far too distracted to get any good writing done today. She could still finish the book on time if she skipped this morning... so long as she put in a few hours over the holiday.
“Not writing this morning?”
Tatiana jolted and spun on her chair to find Elea standing a few steps behind her, already dressed for the day. Usually she heard her niece get up and move to the bathroom, even when she was involved in her story world. The fact that she’d not heard her today, when all she was doing was fretting, painted far too clear a picture of her mental state. Tatiana summoned a smile... and quickly reached to extract the half-filled page from the typewriter so she could slip it into the drawer. “I was trying, but to no avail.”
Elea watched her put the page away but then turned toward the kitchen. “Something bothering you?”
She sighed. Her niece really was far too perceptive for a child. It wasn’t fair. “Nothing serious. Just debating what I should get Anders for Christmas. I... I think he might be giving me something.”
Flashing a grin at her over her shoulder, Eleavanished from sight. Though her voice had no trouble finding her. “Oh, he is. And I know what.”
“You do not.” Tatiana bolted from the chair and hurried to the kitchen. The porridge had been soaking overnight, as usual, and Elea was straining it. “Do you? What is it?”
Elea looked at the table over her shoulder, not toward Tatiana. “Did Skyrgamar eat theskyrwe left out for him?”
“I know a dodge when I hear one, young lady.” But she could laugh at herself—was she really trying to pry information about a gift from her niece? That was hardly sporting. She motioned to the bowl. “Licked clean, of course. Thatskyrglutton isn’t about to let even a drop go to waste.”
Seeing Elea’s grin was definitely worth the late-night snack she hadn’t really wanted. Tatiana had conspired with several other parents and grandparents in the building to stage some door slamming early Monday morning too, to convince all the children that Hurthaskellir, known for his too-exuberant entrances and exits, had been in the building.
“I bet if we look toward the mountains, we’ll see his sledding tracks too.” She put the bowl in the sink andthen turned the water on to rinse the grains while Elea fetched the pot from its cupboard. This had become their routine over the last few days. They’d get the porridge on and then, while it was simmering, go check the shoes in the windowsill.
Still, she couldn’t help one more try. “I don’t expect you to tell me what he’s getting me, but... you could help me pick something out for him. Something... equal.”
Elea held the pot while Tatiana poured the wet grains into it, then covered them with water and added a pinch of salt. “I’ll give youonehint—he’s notgettingyou anything.”
“Emphasis ongetting, I see.” The only other options she could think of were that he was taking her somewhere or making her something.
She let out a huff of breath. When it came to crafting, she had no particular skills. She was a horror with a crochet hook or knitting needles, and she could sew only enough to get by, not enough to whip up a gift for a special someone in less than a week. She was no artist, and though she could bake reasonably well, she didn’t think a plate of cookies and leaf bread would beall that special to him, given that his family kept him well supplied.
“You should write him a story,” Elea said as she carefully slid the pot onto the stove. “He likes stories better thananything.”
Tatiana smiled and set the kitchen timer for twenty minutes. “He’s in the right profession, then. But I don’t think—”
“Why not? I bet your stories are great. You probably have some in that drawer of yours that you could use.” Eyes lighting, she turned to face Tatiana. “We could turn one into a real book! We did that in school a few months ago. We wrote poems and illustrated them and then sewed them into a book. Teacher gave us cardboard, and we each found fabric from our mothers’ scrap bins and pasted it over the cardboard to make the covers. Just like a real book!”
“That sounds lovely.” And given her laughable skills with scissors and glue, if she tried such a thing, it would probably look like a seven-year-old had done it too. “I’ll keep the idea in mind.”
Elea glared at her a moment, then spun for the kitchen’s exit. “I know what that means. It means you don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“I think it’s a great idea,” Tatiana said, scurrying after her. “I just doubt my own ability to make it into a worthwhile gift.”
Elea turned to her shoe—and let out a gasp as she pulled out the handle with the rolling slicer. “A leaf bread iron! Yay, we can make it after all!”
