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Once settled after a few weeks, they drove two miles to a junkyard. Behind the cinder block walls was everything Ulla needed to build her own city of cars. Rows upon rows of them! Her mother walked to a mobile home on the property and rapped on the door. A dog barked from inside.

Ulla sat on a picnic bench with brick-colored paint and picked at the flecks. A woman opened the door, and a white dog resembling a wolf barreled out to Ulla, sniffing her legs. Ulla lifted them onto the bench.

“Sugar,” came a woman’s voice, gruff and low, “Git down.” Ulla smelled cigarette smoke and looked at the woman. She wore a housecoat and had pink sponge rollers in her hair. The dog obeyed and retreated.

“Ulla,” said her mother, “this is Mrs. Lagerquist. She owns this place.”

Curler-woman—Curlers. Ulla thought that name was easier to remember than Mrs. Lagerquist. Curlers offered her hand and smiled. Her teeth were slightly yellowed, but she appeared friendly. Ulla accepted the handshake.

“Ulla is very good with cars,” said her mother.

“Just like your momma, eh?” said Curlers. “Shall we hire both of you?”

That night before bed, her mother sat Ulla down, her face painted in a serious expression, and Ulla went stiff with worry. She asked Ulla to show her Beskyddaren, and when Ulla presented the Dalahäst from her dresser drawer, her mother marveled at the sight, tears pooling, and she said, “Älskling, next to you, the only other thing on this earth I love is Beskyddaren, but he’s no longer mine. You must protect him with all your heart—even from me—all right, hmm, okej? Don’t tell me, or anyone, where you hide him, lova mig det.” At demanding this promise, her mother restrained a sob and mouthed an apology.

“Mamma?” she whispered, not understanding, and touched her mother’s wet cheek.

But Ulla promised nonetheless.

Chapter Seventeen

September – November 1977

One Month Later

Ulla

Ulla stepped into the third-grade classroom of Mora Elementary alone that autumn, wearing Kmart canvas shoes, jean shorts, a t-shirt, and a zippered sweatshirt. Her backpack had no pictures or cartoon characters on it. Two alligator barrettes kept her blonde hair off her face. Her mother insisted on accompanying her the first day.

“Nej,” Ulla said. Being new was bad enough. But having your mother drop you off? The teacher came to Ulla and leaned over, suspending a string of large, clacking blue beads around her neck. With bright red lipstick and white skin, she looked like an American flag.

Mrs. America coaxed Ulla further inside, showing her to an individual desk with her name on it. “You can put your supplies in your desk and your backpack on the hooks outside in the hall.”

Ulla stood beside her desk. She looked at the other children who squeaked up their desktops, threw in supplies, and then slammed them shut. They whispered and giggled. They all knew one another. A boy looked at Ulla’s name tag with distaste. “Uh . . . La . . . Your name is Ugh-la?”

At her grade school in Minneapolis, Ulla’s name didn’t stand out amongst her diverse classmates. She called the boy vulgar names in Swedish. He stared at her, alarmed, as if she were from outer space.

From behind, Ulla heard a faint, “Ulla,” so soft that Ulla knew it was only meant for her ears. She turned and felt a gush of excitement. It was the fairy elf from the gas station! Ulla looked at the still-skinny girl. Her shiny, too-long bangs partially hid her cerulean eyes like a shaggy dog. Maybe the girl preferred it that way, preferred an excuse not to look someone in the eye. Ulla brushed them away. The girl jerked back and tucked herself into the desk, burying her face in her arms. Ulla read her name: Linnea.

“Figures you two would sit next to each other,” the mean boy sniggered.

Mrs. America tried the first week to get Linnea Larsson to talk.

“She doesn’t have a tongue!” called out one boy. “If she opens her mouth, a bunch of flies will come out—bloughh!” He belched, and the children burst into rounds of laughter.

At recess, Ulla sat against the brick of the school building, and with a lime rock drew pictures of carburetors and cylinders on the concrete. She would lift her eyes once in a while and search for Linnea. She could never find her, but when the bell rang, Linnea would suddenly appear in the line.

But as the season changed, and the lilac bush by the recess doors lost its leaves, Linnea was exposed. She switched to the evergreens in front of the building that kept their needles all winter. Ulla worried about Linnea being cold. She’d yet to see anything warmer than her yellow hooded sweatshirt with ripped elbows, broken zipper, and frayed cuffs halfway up her forearms.

Ulla took an extra sweatshirt to school and shoved it into Linnea’s desk when Linnea had gotten up to sharpen a pencil, along with a note that said, Keep it.

Hiding spots outside were a challenge, but inside it could be any number of janitor closets, bathrooms, and cupboards. It aggravated Ulla how quickly Linnea could disappear, and, whenever Ulla discovered one hiding spot, Linnea would change it.

It was nearing winter break, and Ulla had come no closer to talking to her fairy-friend. Ulla once received an invitation to a birthday party, but she only wanted Linnea’s invitation of friendship.

“You should go,” her mother would say, “It’s good to have friends.”

“You don’t have any.”