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“You know a lot about wood.”

“Been working with it my whole life.”

Lilja picked up a piece and studied the pattern of the grain. “If something was made out of ash, how long would it last?”

“Centuries, I’d say, if one’s careful with it.” Gustafsson rubbed his graying beard. “You know, there’s an old story that the first man ever was created from a piece of ash. If that’s true, I suppose it’s eternal since we’re still here.”

“That’s a very long time.”

“It sure is.”

Bending down, Lilja returned the ash wood to the pile, then waited by the wagon while I chose the pieces I wanted and Gustafsson helped me load them.

“Same rate as usual?” I asked.

“For you, Selma, yes.” He smiled so wide I could see the gaping hole where he had lost a canine.

I counted the kronor and handed them to him. The coins rattled when he slipped them into his pocket. “You don’t want a cup of coffee before you head back?”

“No, thank you,” I said. “I want to make it home before nightfall, and it comes so early this time of year.”

“All right.” He gave Lilja another bow, and I helped her up on the bench, then sat down next to her, picking up the reins. Gustafsson waved from the door, and I waved back.

Lilja wrapped her arms around herself as we set off. Her mood seemed darker now than when we had come the other way, and I let her sit with her thoughts. The wind whistled through the trees. Sunset was still a few hours away, but in the woods, twilight fell early.

When we passed the big boulder at the side of the road that I usually counted as marking the halfway point of the journey between Norstad and Gustafsson’s cottage, her body grew rigid next to mine. I craned my neck, trying to see what had frightened her. The stone looked blue in the fading light, and the lichen was almost luminous against the dark surface, but there was nothing scary about it that I could see.

Lilja moved closer to me on the bench. “Do you believe in trolls?” she asked.

“Trolls?”

“Some people call them dark elves.”

“I don’t think I believe in any elves, but I’ve heard the tales of them.”

She shivered and moved another inch closer to me.

“Have you seen them?” I asked because her terror seemed so real.

“Yes.”

“The dark elves?”

“The light and the dark. They’re… they’re both terrifying.” She had moved so close to me that her thigh rested against mine under the blanket. “Are you frightened?” I asked.

“Maybe a little.” The quaver in her voice belied the word little. She wrapped her arm around mine. “Can I hold onto you like this?”

“Of course.”

She tightened her hold on me, and I felt like the worst person ever because I liked her sitting so close, liked the feel of her body against mine even through all the layers of wool. And how pathetic was that? I was enjoying her being frightened.

“I’ll tell you a story to take your mind off the elves,” I said. “Do you want to hear about the time Alma and I broke my uncle’s opaline vase and tried to repair it with my father’s wood glue?”

She smiled up at me, and I was almost certain I saw relief light up her eyes. “Oh yes, I would.”

“We were about ten,” I said. “My uncle had just bought this French vase for a great price. He was ever so proud of his find, and of course Alma and I wanted to take a closer look. I’m sure you can guess what happened.”

Lilja’s smile grew. “I can.”