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As I spoke of little pale blue shards and glued-together fingers, as the lights of Norstad appeared ahead among the trees, the tenseness of Lilja’s body against me eased. When I described how my uncle’s face had taken on the shade of a pickled beet when he discovered our misdeed, she even laughed.

“Thank you, Selma,” she said when I reined in at the front of Jonsson’s barn. “It was nice to get out of town for a little.”

“My pleasure,” I answered and meant every word.

Chapter Eleven

The smell of oatmeal greeted me good morning as I stumbled my way down the dark corridor, hazy from sleep still. The house wasn’t as cold as on other mornings because the fires in the ovens had been lit already. A line of golden light shone below the kitchen door.

Lilja was standing by the window when I pushed it open. She had the kerosene lamp from the living room in her hand, holding it up to the glass. Ice flowers bloomed on the other side, their swirls and lines visible in the circle of light cast by the flame.

“You’re up already?” I said.

She blinked as if waking herself from a dream before she turned to me. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“The ice flowers are lovely this morning.”

She glanced at the windowpane. “Some people say elves paint the glass at night.”

“It’s just frost.” I nodded at the pot on the stove. “You’re making oatmeal?”

“I figured I might as well since I was up anyway. It should be done.” Setting down the lamp on the table, she set to ladling oatmeal into two bowls. I got out the spoons, and we sat down across from each other. She hadn’t burned it. In fact, it was quite a bit better than my own.

“I always sort of liked eating breakfast before sunrise,” I said. “There’s something cozy about it, I think.”

“So you don’t mind the dark?”

“I don’t.”

She frowned as she ate a spoonful. “That’s only because you know it’ll be summer again. If you lived in constant darkness, you’d mind it.”

“I think that’s true. It’s the change that makes it bearable, isn’t it?”

She nodded and ran her spoon through her bowl.

“Is it very dark where you’re from?” I asked.

“It is.”

The thought of her flight reminded me of a question I had wanted to ask her. She had been with us for five weeks and she ought to have gathered enough from her pay.

“I’m sure Helena is happy to lend you her dresses,” I said, “but she and Alma could take you to the tailor? Maybe you have a certain style of clothes you prefer?”

Lilja’s dark brows flattened. “I would like to go but… but would you come with me?”

“I don’t know anything about dresses. Alma and Helena do.”

“I don’t need advice, but I like being with you.”

At least the light was low. Not once had someone preferred me over Alma. She was the talkative cousin, the one who made people at ease because from outside she looked… well, she looked what one would expect. I concentrated on scooping a piece of apple onto my spoon because that treacherous flush was invading my face.

“Tomorrow, then,” I said. “I’ll have Helena watch the shop for a couple of hours.”

“Thank you, Selma.” She reached over and put her hand on top of mine. It was as cold as the time she had touched me in the bakery.

“Maybe we ought to get you a pair of felted mittens,” I said.

She laughed, but the way her face turned suddenly grave again made me think of a cloud sliding in front of the sun on a summer day, how such a small change could alter the feel of the light and the warmth on your skin.