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The deep voice said, “I brought a Swedish translator.”

“Oh?” said Melia.

Another man, with a raspy voice said, “We need her to at least try.”

“The only way to get answers from Ulla,” Melia demanded, “is to give her back to her mother. She misses her terribly.”

“Yes, of course she does,” said Deep Voice, “but it’s safer to keep them apart. The girl’s mom may have single-handedly brought down the entire midwest extension of the Chicago outfit. She pissed off some seriously dangerous people. This could take some time⁠—”

Melia interrupted, “How will you keep Ulla safe?”

“That’s partly why we’re here. She has to change her last name,” said Raspy Man. A pause, then a rustling of papers. “She no longer goes by the last name Johansson. It’s Bergstrom now. Her mother’s last name was changed as well.”

Deep Voice said, “We’ll keep surveillance on her for some time. She can enroll in school now, but make sure she practices her new name.”

Melia’s sigh was sharp.

Deep Voice pushed on irritably. “Let’s get this over. Sven is paid by the hour, so we don’t have much time.”

Melia’s voice was harsh, she swore in German. “What questions are you going to ask?”

“She’s a witness to the—the assault. We can get a conviction for attempted murder if she identifies them.”

Ulla covered her ears, shook her head wildly, and ran to her room, slamming the door.

Melia found her underneath the covers, holding Beskyddaren, and she stroked Ulla’s hair. “Liebchen, there are some gentlemen here to see you. I can tell them to return. But . . . ” she continued her caressing, “doing the hardest thing in the world might be less hard if you do it right away, rather than waiting for it to not be so hard.” She sifted Ulla’s gold curls between her fingers. “I can help you be brave.” She took the horse and held it. “Beskyddaren can, too.”

Ulla thought of the German prayer, the one she said every night with her mother before bed. When she discovered Melia knew the prayer, it felt a bit like Mamma was inside Melia. “Will you say the prayer with me?” Melia had tucked Ulla’s hands inside her own and they recited together, “Engel kommen sie, machen mich fromm, so das ich zu sie im himmel macht kommen.”

Ulla opened her eyes and had asked, “What does it mean?”

Melia chuckled. “Ah, it is a very old German prayer. German prayers were meant to scare children into being good little boys and girls. It asks for the angels to come and make you obedient, so they will take you to heaven to be with them.”

“What if I’m not?”

“They will still take you. I promise.”

“And Mamma, too? I don’t want to go to heaven if she’s not there.”

Melia had cupped Ulla’s chin in her hand and squeezed her cheeks, drawing her eyes low to grab them with her own. “Yes.”

Now, Ulla placed her horse into the nightstand drawer, which Baby sat atop. With Melia holding her hand, they went downstairs.

Shorty was there, and he gave her a tight nod of encouragement, but she saw the worry digging into his eyes and wrinkled forehead. With the nub of his pointer finger, he tilted her chin up and whispered a phrase he’d taught her in German, one that meant it’ll all be okay: “Es ist alles in butter.”

Ulla cast her eyes down, away from the visitors. They were shadows in the periphery when her vision landed on five photographs. Ugly photographs. Neatly arranged on the coffee table. White frowning men.

Two of the photographs shifted and came alive. The men sneered back at her. Tall-man and Neck-man. That’s what her mother had called them. Ulla pounded her fist on those two pictures, smashing the men squarely in their faces. Over and over.

Exactly the same way they’d done to her mother.

Her vision went black. Hands clawed at her wrists. Ulla screamed. She kicked and flailed.

Shorty demanded the men leave, “Geh raus!”

Stronger arms held her body. Secure arms. Safe. Familiar. Ulla collapsed at the sound of her voice. “Liebchen, shhh . . . shhh . . . ” Melia’s flowery perfume, mixed with cinnamon and onion, soothed Ulla’s senses and grounded her breathing. She buried her nose in the soft skin. She felt Shorty’s hands, smelled the motor grease. Mamma’s smell. She cried harder.

Her body was weightless now, and she was back in her bed. Melia wiped her face and pulled the quilt to her shoulders. She picked a book from a stack on the floor. Books that Melia read every night to Ulla. The Snowy Day, Where the Wild Things Are, Goodnight Moon, Green Eggs and Ham. She opened The Runaway Bunny, Ulla’s favorite because Melia always continued the story after the pages ended, inventing more lines.