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Far north. Not used to a town. No shops. It was a bit of a riddle. She could still be Sami? But she really didn’t look Sami. Maybe from Russia then? But she also didn’t look Russian, and she spoke Swedish well enough, even if her choice of words was at times a bit odd.

“Am I prying too much?” I asked.

She smiled. “You’re not. These are all perfectly normal questions, aren’t they?” Her shoulders rose then dropped as she sighed. “It’s only that it’s all a bit hard to explain.”

“Then I shan’t make you. Let’s speak of something else.”

I ate another bite as I grasped for something, anything, to talk about. “Are you looking forward to Christmas?” I asked because the holidays were never far from my mind this time of year.

“It’s been a long time since I celebrated,” she said with a shrug. “I hardly remember.”

“Helena and Alma decorate the tree, then we eat an entire feast at my uncle’s house before we open presents. We always have a great time.”

It wasn’t a lie. It was my favorite evening of the year with the December rush of work finally over. It was just that since my father had died, since Helena had come to live with me, every Christmas left my heart with more than a twinge of loneliness, like a cold wind let into a house by the brief opening of a door. Yes, they all loved me, but I wasn’t the most important person to any of them.

“You look sad,” Lilja said, and her eyes on me were wide and very dark.

“I was only thinking of my father. It’ll be my fourth Christmas without him.” I was lying, sort of, because his death was only half the reason for my gloom.

She reached over and placed her hand on top of mine on the table. Her fingers were surprisingly cold, considering the gloves and the warmth in the bakery. Still, her touch was like a burn. Except for brief hugs from Helena, Alma, and my uncle, no one ever touched me.

“I’m sorry,” Lilja said. “It’s… it’s hard missing someone.”

I nodded because my throat was as tight as if her pretty shawl had been tied around it. How right she was—and it didn’t make it any easier that I would never find what I truly longed for.

I pulled my hand from under hers and picked my fork back up. “Better finish. Helena might attempt an omelet for lunch if we don’t return soon, and I hate burned eggs.”

Lilja laughed, and about half of my melancholy lifted, rising from my heart like a flock of crows taking flight. The other half, though, settled itself deep in its core where it had made its nest years ago.

Chapter Nine

Helena made a decent split pea soup with bacon for dinner, and since the orders were piling up in the ledger, I decided to return to the workshop after I had helped her scrub the pot. As I walked down the corridor, something caught my eye as I passed the open door of the parlor. I stopped, took a step backward, and peered inside.

Lilja was standing in front of the bureau with her eyes fixed on the doll. I stepped inside, making sure to make the tread of my feet on the boards loud enough to rouse her because she looked deep in thought and I didn’t want to startle her.

She stepped away when she heard me, her hands flittering down her skirt. “I… I didn’t mean to… I was only admiring her.”

I joined her at the bureau. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

“She’s a masterpiece.” Lilja stepped back up to the edge of the lacquered wood. “Who… who do you think made her?”

“I honestly have no idea, but whoever it was, they were unusually skilled.”

Lilja reached over and ran a finger along the brittle lace of the doll’s bonnet. “If you were to give her a story, what would it be?”

I hadn’t thought about that, only about the mystery of her origin. “I’m not sure,” I said. “What do you think?”

Lilja tilted her head one way, then the other. “I think… I think she looks lonely. Don’t you?”

I studied the doll’s pretty face. There was a sadness to her, but I had assumed I had transposed my own feelings onto her finely carved features. Loneliness was, after all, the emotion that plagued me more than any other.

“I do,” I said.

Lilja looked up at me. “We seem to agree on a lot of things.”

Her eyes held mine and again my face heated even as my chest filled with those butterflies. There was a clank of metal from the kitchen, followed by Helena’s country curses. She had dropped the pot by the sound of it. At least it was empty now.

Lilja returned her gaze to the doll. “What did you name her?”