The houses were closer together than in Hellnar, butotherwise this neighborhood wasn’t so different from the place she’d always called home. And when they entered the house—all of their arms full of the packages Anders had prepared for his family—it felt familiar as well as new.
A house she’d never seen, but the comforting scents of home. Voices she’d never heard, but raised in shouts and laughter that could have come from her own family. Anders led her into the living room, Elea made a dash for Heidi, and three giants rose as one and made to devour them alive.
Anders, brave soul that he was, simply pointed to each in turn. “Dalmar, Ulric, Ram. I’d say they’re nicer than they look, but...”
One of them tipped his head back in laughter, one lunged for Anders and rubbed his knuckles into his skull, and one bowed before her like some knight of old, saying, “We promised Mother we’d be on our best behavior for Anders’s girl.”
Gilla came in from another door, the smells of dinner accompanying her, and swatted the bowing son with the dishtowel in her hands. “Always with the nonsense, Ram. Ulric, you’re messing up your brother’s hair. And Tatiana.” Grinning wide, she flipped the towel onto hershoulder and reached out with both hands. Tatiana put hers into them. “Welcome. Our home is your home.”
She gave those hands a squeeze, feeling the truth of the greeting. “Thank you, Gilla. What can I do to help?”
“Sit and be entertained.” She pointed to a chair in the corner. “Kristin won’t let anyone else in the kitchen, but Garri’s going to do a reading of his award-winning Christmas story.”
“Is he?” Anders, having deposited all the presents somewhere or another, was smoothing his hair back into place. “Good. I’ve been dying to read it.”
He’d told her about the story, about Dalmar burning fish and admitting his feelings, about the conversation they’d had. Last she’d heard, he’d gotten no update on how things had turned out, but this seemed like a good sign.
Especially when one of the brothers—Dalmar, she had to assume, given the gleam of pride in his eyes—nodded. “Prepare to be impressed, Anders. My boy’s going to give you a run for your money when it comes to being the best writer in the family.”
Yes, she could see herself with this boisterous group. She squeezed into the chair with Anders, exchangedhellos with the three women who soon skittered in from the kitchen and took up places beside their husbands, two snatching babies from the blankets where they’d been playing. The children who’d been racing in and out and around all elbowed their way into positions on the floor. And the eldest-looking boy took his place beside the real pine Christmas tree, wiped his hands on his trousers, took in a deep breath, and sent a quick look their way.
To Anders, she realized with a warm squeeze in her chest. Anders, who smiled at him and nodded, the arm he’d settled around Tatiana’s shoulders giving a squeeze of its own.
Garri nodded back, looked all around at the gathered family, and let his gaze rest on his father, who grinned at him from the back wall. “The old witch, Gryla, hated Christmas,” he began. “She refused to let it be celebrated in her home. But her twelve sons always heard the songs drifting up from the villages, dancing into their cold gray caves, and they wondered. What was this day the people sang about? Who was this Jesus the people were celebrating? And so one year, they decided to find out...”
It was after nine by the time Tatiana unlocked the door to her flat and ushered Elea and Anders inside. Their arms were full again—this time with gifts she certainly hadn’t expected to receive from the family who’d never even met her before today, aside from two of them.
But Ada had given her a novel that had been her favorite of the year; Kristin had presented her with a loaf of bread so beautiful Tatiana didn’t know how she’d bring herself to cut it; Ram’s wife had cheekily offered a small photograph of Anders in a frame that she could set on her desk at work, and Ulric’s had kept the theme going with a photo album and a wink, saying she had a feeling there’d be many pictures to put in it soon.
Then Gilla had outdone them all. She’d given her a brooch. It was a simple wreath in brass, polished but clearly old. And said it had been her mother’s. She’d given Tatiana, on their second meeting, when she and Anders hadn’t even had an official date without a seven-year-old chaperone present, one of her family heirlooms.
Her feet hadn’t touched the ground since, she was sure.
Elea dashed inside, deposited the handmade toys and books she’d gotten beside the table with the tree, and held up the box of matches. “Light it, Anders! Light the tree!”
“Let him get his coat off first,” Tatiana chided on a laugh. He helped her from hers, too, and hung them both on the hooks. She rubbed a thumb over the brooch she’d already put on her lapel. When she looked up, she saw he was watching the motion, a soft smile on his lips. “You don’t mind, do you? That she gave this to me?”
His smile went somehow gentler. “How could I?”
“Well... it’s awfully official-seeming. And two weeks ago you could barely speak to me without clearing your throat three times.”
He cleared it now, and then winked. “A lot can change in two weeks.”
Praise God for that.She nodded toward the tree. “You’d better help with the candles before she decides to do it herself. I’ll put some coffee on.”
A few minutes later they were all settled in, and though she’d enjoyed her hours with his family, this was nice too—the quiet, the glow of candles, her little handmade tree. She sat beside Anders on her secondhandsofa and leaned into his side while Elea settled on the floor.
“All right,” Tatiana said. “Go ahead and open them. But read the tags first—they’re not all from me.”
Elea’s parents had sent one for her to open on Christmas Eve, as had both sets of grandparents. There would be a few more when she got home, Tatiana knew, but it was nice to have things to give her now too.
Elea tore into these without any of the care she’d shown Anders’s wrapping paper, exclaiming with delight over the doll whose craftsmanship Tatiana recognized as her own mother’s, the dress Ari had remade from another of her old ones, the notebook and pen from Gunnar’s parents. Then she opened the newest volume ofSagas for Children, turned the page to see the signature, and leapt on the couch to give them both a hug.
Tatiana laughed and held her tight. “Glethileg jol, Elea. You’ve made this Christmas so happy for me.”
“Glethileg jol, Aunt Tatta.” She pressed a kiss to Tatiana’s cheek. Then one to Anders. “Glethileg jol, Anders.” Then she pulled away with a grin. “Next Christmas, I want to call youUncleAnders.”
Tatiana gave her a playful swat. “Enough of your bright ideas. It’s time to read.”
