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“How are you?” she asked, studying me with quite a bit of concern.
“I’m all right, I think.”
“And Lilja?”
Might as well spit it out before a customer walked in since this was what I had come to say. “She kissed me last night.”
“And how did it feel?” Alma asked, one eyebrow raised.
“Like the best thing I’ve ever felt.”
She grinned. “It does feel like that, doesn’t it?”
“Do you have anything new?” I asked because my face was burning. “I still haven’t found the right thing for Lilja.”
“I’m afraid not. The train’s been spotty at best with this weather.”
I stepped closer and lowered my voice. “What are you getting Helena?”
“A mantle of blue velvet with a fox collar, a gold ring with a sapphire, a pair of new gloves, stockings, two lace collars, and a painting of a vase of irises I found in Stockholm. They’re her favorite flowers.”
“Gotta make sure there’s lots of room under this Christmas tree I’m making.”
Alma laughed and shrugged. “What can I say,” she whispered. “I love her.”
“Is that you, Selma?” my uncle yelled from the workshop.
“It’s me.”
“Come on through. I have something to show you.”
He was at his bench. In front of him lay a dismantled clock, and in his hand, he had a screwdriver about half the size of my smallest one. He stood and grabbed one of his notebooks from a shelf, taking it to the table below the window.
“Come here,” he said and waved me closer.
I took up a spot next to him. The corner of the notebook was warped from some earlier water damage, and the ink was faded in some places. It was an old one, then.
“These,” he said, “are my notes from twenty-three years ago, and in here, I found what you’re looking for.” I watched as he flipped through the pages until he found the right one. He pointed a finger at the sketch. “Your amber heart.”
As always, his drawing was excellent and easily recognizable as my pendant. Next to it, he had sketched the strange symbols in greater detail. I managed to decipher his handwriting, according to which he had bought it from a traveling trader he had met at an inn in Västerås. The trader, according to the notes, had bought it from a man in Mora desperate to pay off a card debt.
“It makes sense it should be from Dalarna,” I said, “since what’s on the doll is dalrunar and they’re a match for the symbols carved into the amber.”
“It does, although amber isn’t a traditional craft up there.”
“Have you seen anything like it before or after?”
My uncle rubbed the stubble of his chin. He had a habit of forgetting to shave. “I’ve seen other amber pendants in antique shops all around.”
“Did they have the symbols?” I asked.
“No. That’s a thing I haven’t ever seen before.”
“It must be rare then. Perhaps it’s the work of just one person and not some general practice?”
“That seems likely.”
My eyes fell on a coat tree in the corner and a sudden idea formed in my mind. I pulled at it to get a feel for its sturdiness. It was steady on its base and of wrought iron, a pretty design with the metal shaped into spirals and curlicues. Yes, it might work very well.
