Page 16 of The Christmas Book Flood

NINE

He was getting her a gift. That was what he’d meant on Saturday, Tatiana knew it. Which meant she’d been spending the last two days wracking her brain, trying to think of something to get him . It was Tuesday now, and she still had no ideas.

She’d never bought a gift for a man before, other than her family. What in the world was she to give him? With the rationing, there weren’t a lot of options, especially since she had only a week’s worth of notice, and no time to go shopping.

Leaning back in her wooden desk chair, she lifted her fingers from their places on the typewriter keys and faced facts—she was far too distracted to get any good writing done today.

She could still finish the book on time if she skipped this morning.

.. so long as she put in a few hours over the holiday.

“Not writing this morning?”

Tatiana jolted and spun on her chair to find Elea standing a few steps behind her, already dressed for the day.

Usually she heard her niece get up and move to the bathroom, even when she was involved in her story world.

The fact that she’d not heard her today, when all she was doing was fretting, painted far too clear a picture of her mental state.

Tatiana summoned a smile... and quickly reached to extract the half-filled page from the typewriter so she could slip it into the drawer. “I was trying, but to no avail.”

Elea watched her put the page away but then turned toward the kitchen. “Something bothering you?”

She sighed. Her niece really was far too perceptive for a child. It wasn’t fair. “Nothing serious. Just debating what I should get Anders for Christmas. I... I think he might be giving me something.”

Flashing a grin at her over her shoulder, Elea vanished from sight. Though her voice had no trouble finding her. “Oh, he is. And I know what.”

“You do not.” Tatiana bolted from the chair and hurried to the kitchen. The porridge had been soaking overnight, as usual, and Elea was straining it. “Do you? What is it?”

Elea looked at the table over her shoulder, not toward Tatiana. “Did Skyrgamar eat the skyr we left out for him?”

“I know a dodge when I hear one, young lady.” But she could laugh at herself—was she really trying to pry information about a gift from her niece? That was hardly sporting. She motioned to the bowl. “Licked clean, of course. That skyr glutton isn’t about to let even a drop go to waste.”

Seeing Elea’s grin was definitely worth the late-night snack she hadn’t really wanted.

Tatiana had conspired with several other parents and grandparents in the building to stage some door slamming early Monday morning too, to convince all the children that Hurthaskellir, known for his too-exuberant entrances and exits, had been in the building.

“I bet if we look toward the mountains, we’ll see his sledding tracks too.

” She put the bowl in the sink and then turned the water on to rinse the grains while Elea fetched the pot from its cupboard.

This had become their routine over the last few days.

They’d get the porridge on and then, while it was simmering, go check the shoes in the windowsill.

Still, she couldn’t help one more try. “I don’t expect you to tell me what he’s getting me, but... you could help me pick something out for him. Something... equal.”

Elea held the pot while Tatiana poured the wet grains into it, then covered them with water and added a pinch of salt. “I’ll give you one hint—he’s not getting you anything.”

“Emphasis on getting , I see.” The only other options she could think of were that he was taking her somewhere or making her something.

She let out a huff of breath. When it came to crafting, she had no particular skills.

She was a horror with a crochet hook or knitting needles, and she could sew only enough to get by, not enough to whip up a gift for a special someone in less than a week.

She was no artist, and though she could bake reasonably well, she didn’t think a plate of cookies and leaf bread would be all that special to him, given that his family kept him well supplied.

“You should write him a story,” Elea said as she carefully slid the pot onto the stove. “He likes stories better than anything .”

Tatiana smiled and set the kitchen timer for twenty minutes. “He’s in the right profession, then. But I don’t think—”

“Why not? I bet your stories are great. You probably have some in that drawer of yours that you could use.” Eyes lighting, she turned to face Tatiana.

“We could turn one into a real book! We did that in school a few months ago. We wrote poems and illustrated them and then sewed them into a book. Teacher gave us cardboard, and we each found fabric from our mothers’ scrap bins and pasted it over the cardboard to make the covers. Just like a real book!”

“That sounds lovely.” And given her laughable skills with scissors and glue, if she tried such a thing, it would probably look like a seven-year-old had done it too. “I’ll keep the idea in mind.”

Elea glared at her a moment, then spun for the kitchen’s exit. “I know what that means. It means you don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Tatiana said, scurrying after her. “I just doubt my own ability to make it into a worthwhile gift.”

Elea turned to her shoe—and let out a gasp as she pulled out the handle with the rolling slicer. “A leaf bread iron! Yay, we can make it after all!”

Tatiana had been making do with a knife to cut the intricate pattern since she moved to the city, but as they’d plotted out their baking on Sunday, Elea had been appalled at the idea of freehanding it.

And given Tatiana’s admittedly lacking artistic skills, it was a fair point.

She’d sent some money with one of the secretaries who left for lunch yesterday and had her pick one up for her.

Now she grinned. “Amazing how those Yule Lads know just what we need, isn’t it?” She reached into her own shoe and feigned surprise. “And cookie cutters too! We will be all set for our baking.”

Elea gave her a quick hug and then dashed toward the phone. “I’m going to call Mamma and tell her.”

The calls had gotten easier on the girl as the days went by, and Tatiana was glad of it.

Glad to see her looking forward to the moments with her parents on the phone instead of crying at the sound of the voices that were too far away.

“All right. I’m going to go down and collect yesterday’s post. I forgot last night. ”

“Because Anders was with us,” her niece taunted with a laugh. She picked up the receiver and dialed the exchange, an old hand at it by now.

Tatiana grabbed a discarded piece of paper from the end table, balled it up, and lobbed it at Elea’s head, earning her more laughter.

Though she wasn’t wrong. It was indeed Anders’s presence that had made her completely forget her usual stop at the letter boxes in the lobby.

And as she pulled out the parcel wrapped in brown paper with Anders’s own handwriting on the front, she thanked the Lord above that she hadn’t paused here last night with him beside her.

.. and wondered if she’d been a fool to have Tandri Ebbisson’s mail forwarded to her here from the postbox.

When she’d put in the order two months ago, it had seemed a time-saving step with no possible repercussions.

But now? Idiot! It wasn’t just that Anders could get a glimpse of her pseudonym, but that Elea very easily could, and then what? She could explain to her niece and swear her to secrecy... but that was hardly fair to the girl. How could she ask her to keep a secret from her parents?

Thankfully, Elea was still chatting happily on the phone when Tatiana regained her flat. They set a ten-minute limit each day, since it was long-distance, and Elea had no doubt checked the clock as they were connected. By Tatiana’s guess, there were probably six or seven minutes left, at least.

Plenty of time. She slipped into the bedroom and closed the door, then quickly unwrapped the parcel and stashed the incriminating paper in the bottom of her wastebasket.

But then she frowned. It was... copies of her book.

But that made no sense. He’d already sent her her author copies, all but one of which she’d hidden away. Why would he send her three more?

A note was tucked into the topmost one, its edge just barely visible. She tugged it out, exhaling slowly as she read.

Tandri,

I do hope this isn’t too presumptuous—but as I’ve been debating what gifts to give some of my favorite people, I’ve decided that your book is sure to bring them the smiles that I love to see on their faces.

Could I trouble you for your signature on these?

I’ve included return postage, tucked into the final book.

If you’re willing, please make one out to Gilla (my mother), Ada (my sister), and Tatiana (a very special someone) with whatever message you think is best. They’ll be delighted, I know.

To prove myself of pure motivations here and not just trying to leverage our acquaintance, you’ll note that I restrained myself and didn’t include my own copy to be made out to me.

If, however, this is overstepping, you can of course just return the books unsigned.

May your Christmas be filled with joy.

Your friend,

Anders

Tatiana sank onto the edge of her bed, thoughts too muddled to make sense of them at first. There was the pleasure, to be sure—he thought so highly of her book that he wanted to give it as gifts to his mother and sister!

Then... her . He’d called her “a very special someone.” And wanted to give her a signed copy of her own book.

Gracious, but this was ridiculous, wasn’t it? She couldn’t... she couldn’t just sign a book to herself, that would be absurd.

She had to tell him.

She couldn’t just tell him.

She should... do... something. But what?