They pulled out the ribbons holding her usual two braids, loosened the strands, and then Tatiana got to work on the crown. Once finished, she shooed her niece out and set about pinning up her own hair, humming a carol as she worked.
She went ahead and applied her makeup too, pursing her red lips at the mirror and then smiling in satisfaction. Her dress was just this shade. Careful to keep herface pointed away from the main room as she emerged, she hurried into her bedroom and latched the door.
The dress had been waiting all year in a garment bag, which she unzipped now with a smile. It had long sleeves, slim and tapered at the wrist, but with gathers at the shoulder to give it just a bit of a puff. A neckline that went straight across from shoulder to shoulder, rouching along the left side from bust to waist, the lines it created running diagonally through the slender skirt. Simple, but elegant. And, she thought as she zipped herself into it and surveyed herself in the mirror, it fit like a glove.
Valdi threw this party every year, but she’d always gone home for Christmas... and sophisticated parties weren’t exactly common in Hellnar. She’d never had cause to get so dressed up, but as she turned to try to see how the back was laying, she couldn’t help but think she could get used to this tradition. It felt so festive. So fun.
And when she saw Anders’s jaw drop the moment she stepped back out into the main room, she had to admitthatwas part of the allure too.
Idly, she wondered if he would have reacted like that had his first glimpse of her been at her uncle’s, if this last week hadn’t progressed as it had. Would he have turnedfrom whoever he’d have been talking to like he now did from Elea and just stare at her as he was doing?
She hoped so. But didn’t at all mind that there was no crowd of people between them. She pirouetted much like Elea had done earlier and struck a pose like one of the movie stars in the magazines. “Well? Better than my flour-dusted wool?”
For a moment, he just gaped, moving his mouth without saying anything. Then he smiled in that lopsided, uncertain way she loved. “Are you certain you want to go to this party withme? I can’t fathom that I’m so lucky.”
She grinned and moved closer. He held out a hand, and she put hers in it.
His eyes sparkled down at her. “You’re gorgeous, Tatiana. I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman.”
Not objectively true, but she could see he meant it. And if he really meant it, then surely it was because his feelings for her clouded his eyes. Oh, she hoped so.
He held out his arm. “Shall we?”
She tucked her hand into its new favorite place. “We definitely shall.”
Elea ran ahead toward the door. “Let’s hurry! I want to see the banana trees!”
TWELVE
24 DECEMBER 1944
Anders bent the last tack into place over the cardboard backing and spun the framed painting around, setting it back on the easel. He took a few steps backward, surveying his work critically.
Beside him, his mother tilted her head to the side. “Is it a bit skewed?”
“No. I measured four times.” But was it? No. No, math didn’t lie, but eyesight could, especially when affected by nerves. Case in point—though he’d been pleased with how the painting had turned out yesterdaywhen he finished it before going out on the juniper hunt, just now he thought it the worst thing he’d ever done. “Do you think she’ll like it?”
“If she doesn’t, she’s too much a fool for you to waste your time on.” But Mother grinned and looped her arm around his. “It’s beautiful, Anders.”
His chest went warm and tight. He couldn’t remember her ever saying such a thing about one of his paintings. Though, to be fair, he hadn’t shown any to her, hadn’t asked her opinion on them, in more than a decade. “Thank you for coming. Giving me your opinion on the frame.”
He’d second- and third-guessed his decision to put it in one to match her other painting, not certain the stark black of that one would best set off the colors here. He’d needed someone else to weigh in.
His family hadn’t been his immediate thought. Which was exactly why he’d called his mother. If he wanted things to change, he had to take the steps to make it so. Had to set aside all the years of hurt feelings and misunderstandings and try to grapple with the fact that he’d been wrong.
His family wasn’t ashamed of him. His mother didn’t hate the life he’d chosen. She didn’t dismiss all his work.
She treasured it. Treasured it so highly she tucked it away where it couldn’t be damaged. Where only she could see it, but see it every day.
Mother patted his arm. “Frankly, I was happy to escape the kitchen for a while. Kristin has it all in hand, anyway.”
For the first time, he paused to wonder what it was like for his mother, living with Dalmar and Kristin and their boys. He’d always assumed she loved it, given that Dalmar was living the very life their family had always lived. The one she knew, was comfortable in.
But now he wondered if it was that simple. If perhaps after Father died, the house they’d raised their family in had begun to feel less hers and more Dalmar’s. If she ever clashed with her daughter-in-law. If perhaps all the food she brought to Anders wasn’t because she thought he couldn’t take care of himself, but because she needed to feel useful. Needed to take care ofsomeone... and Kristindidhave a strong personality. She liked to be in charge. Perhaps Kristin, for her part, hated that the family still referred to it as Ommu’s house, when it was hers and Dalmar’s too.
Families were such complicated things. And he was going to do better being a part of his.
He leaned down and planted a kiss on his mother’s cheek. “Glethileg jol,Mother.”
