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“I can’t recall, but I had it for years. Alma found it and insisted we give it to you.”

Alma nodded. “I did. It was in a box with other jewelry.”

“Will you look through your books and try and find out?” I asked.

“Certainly.” He rubbed his hands together, looking delighted. “This is quite the mystery, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Alma said. “Hopefully we’ll get our answers to this riddle.” Her eyes met mine, and I suspected she wasn’t thinking of the doll only, but about Lilja too. I was as well. The mystery poked at me like a needle. Whenever I thought of whoever it was that had hurt her, I felt an anger that burned my chest in a way I hadn’t ever known before.

Chapter Twelve

Lilja and I set off for Mrs. Andersson’s tailor shop after lunch. Snow was falling, but not the pretty, airy kind that drifted peacefully through the air. There was a wind today, and the flakes it whipped into my face were more like needle pricks than the usual brief sting of cold of a milder snowfall. Even for December first, it was unusually cold. Colder, in fact, than it usually got in this part of Sweden, although no doubt this sort of deep chill was just another winter day to the Samis far north.

“Is it ever this cold where you’re from?” I asked Lilja who struggled through the storm at my side with the shawl wrapped all the way up to her ears. I hadn’t had much luck with figuring out more about her, but that was mostly because I hadn’t worked up the courage to ask her anything.

“Yes,” she said. “I was always cold.”

“Even in summer?”

“Yes.”

Well, Sweden wasn’t exactly the warmest place on earth, and she did seem to get easily chilled.

Mrs. Andersson greeted us with her usual lofty inclination of her head. “Good afternoon, Miss Selander.” I had come here with Alma sometimes, and Mrs. Andersson had a certain haughty air about her. She didn’t like me, and I supposed I couldn’t blame her—I wasn’t ever going to buy her creations.

“This is Lilja Norling,” I said, pushing Lilja gently forward with a hand on her back. “She’s new to town, and she needs a dress.”

Mrs. Andersson’s eyes on Lilja narrowed, as if she was already taking her measurements with just her gaze. Her gray hair was scraped back from her face, giving her a severe sort of look. She came around the counter, her eyes sweeping Lilja from hem to the top of her head. “What were you thinking, Miss Norling?”

“Something practical and warm. Something with a high neck.”

“So wool then?”

“Yes. Certainly wool.”

Mrs. Andersson’s lips tightened. Apparently wool wasn’t fashionable enough. Lilja’s shoulders fell an inch, and for once, I wished I lived in Stockholm or Gothenburg. Then I could have taken her somewhere else, but Norstad only had the one tailor.

“Your finest wool,” I said.

Mrs. Andersson’s sour expression only eased a little. “What color?”

Lilja bit her lip, and I spoke instead. “Perhaps you could show us what you have?”

Mrs. Andersson turned on her heel, and we followed her to the other end of the store where bolts lay arranged by color on shelves. Lilja studied each one, running her fingers over the fabric. “I like red,” she said. “It’s such a warm color.”

Mrs. Andersson, at her side, shook her head. “It doesn’t go with your…” She waved a bony hand at Lilja’s face. “Well, your strange coloring.”

“Strange?”

“Yes. You’re very dark.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” I said to Lilja. “You should choose the color you like.”

“I like red.”

Mrs. Andersson tutted. “Blue would suit you better.”

“I don’t want blue.”