Page 4 of The Christmas Book Flood

Anders would be touched to know she’d wanted to. Tatiana gave a solemn nod. “Of course! We have all of Anders Johannsson’s books on display—and he said he needs a little girl to read his next book and look at his drawings... if you’re willing.”

Finally, finally a hint of the true Elea. Her eyes went wide, a mix of delight and incredulity swirling in their blue-gray depths. “Me? Read one that isn’t published yet?”

“Mm-hmm. He usually has his nieces and nephews read them first, but they haven’t had the chance yet.

He said your thoughts would be invaluable.

” Unable to stop herself, she reached up and smoothed back the pale golden locks sticking to the tear tracks on her niece’s cheeks, tucking them behind her ears.

When Elea’s stomach rumbled, Tatiana smiled.

“Sounds like someone is hungry. I have kjotsupa ready, and some rye bread.” She knew Elea loved their family’s recipe for lamb soup.

First, though, a visit to the bathroom to wash the tears from her cheeks and see to her needs.

While Elea took a few minutes to gather herself, Tatiana busied herself in her tiny kitchen, setting two bowls and plates on the table and pouring glasses of milk to drink.

By the time her guest reappeared, everything was ready, and a Christmas song had found its way to her lips.

Just as a prayer had found its way to her heart. Help me be what she needs, Lord God. Help me give her a good Christmas.

Elea climbed onto the chair she always used whenever she visited, her gaze darting to the darkened bedroom. “Did you make me my bed on the floor again?”

Tatiana smiled. “Of course. And I used six blankets for your mattress.”

At long last, a small smile peeked out from the storm clouds. “Last time it was only five.”

“Ah, but I got a new one for my birthday. It’s the top layer. Still, if it’s too cold on the floor—”

“I can sleep on the sofa. I know. But I’ll be fine.” Elea rested her hand on the table, palm up.

Another cause to smile. Not every family held hands while they prayed a blessing for the food, but theirs did. Tatiana settled her hand over Elea’s and said a short prayer, thanking God not only for the food but for Elea’s safe arrival and for the time to spend together.

Elea took a few spoonfuls of her soup before she said, “My friends are all jealous that I get to miss school. And come here. Rafney thinks you’re so glamorous.”

Tatiana laughed around her soup. “I would have thought so too, when I was your age. But sadly, there is little glamour. Still, I love living here and working for the Story Society. Perhaps you can take a book home for Rafney.”

They talked about school and Elea’s friends while they ate, which seemed a safer subject than all the plans Tatiana had made for the visit.

There would be time enough to decide on those once Elea had better adjusted to being here.

Once they were finished, she suggested Elea call her mother while Tatiana cleaned up.

She helped her dial and waited to make sure Ari picked up before moving to store the leftovers and do the dishes.

Still, she couldn’t help but keep an ear attuned to the conversation.

Not that Elea said much more than yes and no. The call was short, but when Elea hung up, she was sniffling again and running for the bathroom.

Tatiana sighed and scrubbed her soup pot with renewed vigor. She’d thought talking to her mother would help, but perhaps it would be better if they limited the telephone calls home.

She’d finished up the dishes by the time Elea emerged again, once more silent and drooping as she shuffled toward the sofa. Tatiana dried her hands, hung the towel, and decided to try for cheer again. “Don’t forget to put a shoe in the window tonight. Stekkjastaur is coming.”

Elea sent her a positively withering glare. “Aunt Tatta. I am far too old to believe in the Yule Lads.”

Tatiana planted her hands on her hips. “What nonsense is this? I still believe in the Yule Lads!”

Her niece rolled her eyes, though she thought she detected a hint of a smile trying to worm its way to the corners of her mouth. “You do not.”

“Of course I do. They’re as much a part of Christmas as leaf bread and ginger cookies.

They help us remember why we celebrate, the miracle of Jesus leaving his home in heaven for us.

” To prove it, she bustled over to the entryway where their winter gear waited and plucked two shoes—one of Elea’s and one of her own—from the floor.

She carried both into the living room and set them on the floor in front of Elea.

“We’ll both put one in the windowsill. So when Stekkjastaur comes, he has a place to leave his presents.

Don’t let me forget to put milk out for him.

I’m afraid I haven’t any cookies yet, but I think he’ll forgive it, given the rationing. ”

Elea let out a blustery sigh far too old for her age. “Aunt Tatta, I know you’re trying to be nice, but... but I know they’re not real . You don’t have to pretend.”

“Not real?” It wasn’t the calling out of myths as such that made her pause.

That made her dig in. It was the utter dejection underscoring her niece’s words.

The despair in her tone. Tatiana sat beside her on the sofa.

“What makes a story real, anyway? It isn’t about whether there’s really a witch named Gryla who gobbles up naughty children.

” She made claws of her hands and used them to tickle Elea until she shrieked with laughter.

Tatiana grinned. “It isn’t about whether Gryla truly has thirteen trolls for sons who hike down from their mountain caves to visit children before Christmas.

You know that, don’t you? The stories are about what they mean to us.

What they teach us. Just like the sagas you love. ”

Elea fidgeted with one of the buttons on her dress.

“The sagas are ancient. No one tries to pretend they really happened that way, with magic and everything. No one tries to tell us we have to believe them. But the Yule Lads?” She looked up, something dark and glinting in her eyes.

“If they’re real, then they’re awfully forgetful.

Last year only three of them remembered me.

” The glint turned to tears, but she blinked them furiously away.

Tatiana had to as well. She’d known Ari had been in bad shape emotionally last Christmas.

But had she really only remembered to put a gift in her daughter’s shoe three times, instead of the traditional thirteen?

It made her heart break, not just for Elea, but for Ari too.

How deep must her sister’s despair have reached, to eclipse what had once been the greatest joy of their own childhoods?

Ari had loved the Yule Lads. The utter ridiculousness of them, how they combined the silly with the scary. Presents and pranks. How often had they jested with each other about the danger of receiving rotten potatoes instead of sweets or gifts if they got caught being naughty?

She reached out and brushed her fingertips over the satin-soft skin of Elea’s cheek.

“Of course they’re forgetful sometimes. They live hard lives in the mountains, with nothing but rocks and snow for company.

And they’re old, you know. It takes some of them days to make their way down.

They get tired now and then and don’t make it all the way to each home. ”

Elea looked away, lips quivering a bit again. “I know she tries,” she said in a whisper so quiet Tatiana scarcely heard it. “I know how it hurt her to lose the babies. But she still has me . Why... why am I not enough? Why can’t she remember that I’m here ?”

“Oh, precious.” Tatiana slid an arm around her and pulled her to her side. “She loves you more than life itself. She knows you’re here.”

“But I’m not !” The words ended on a cry that was more shout than tears, and she pulled free of Tatiana’s arms. “She sent me away—for Christmas .”

How to make a seven-year-old understand, when Tatiana wasn’t sure she did herself?

She couldn’t know what Ari felt, not really.

She’d never lived through those losses in the same way.

She didn’t have to battle that black cloud every day.

All she knew was that her sister loved this little girl wholly, and that everything she did was for her good.

“Because she knows how the Yule Lads failed you last year, Elea.” She spoke softly to counteract her niece’s shout.

“She knows that a little girl as wonderful as you should have gotten treat upon treat in her shoes. And she wanted to make sure that this year, things were different.”

Elea was a clever girl. Yes, she knew that it was her parents who gave the gifts—but that didn’t mean she didn’t still want them. The stories, the treats, the laughter—the assurance that she was loved. Her fingers curled into the fabric of her dress, her nostrils flaring.

Tatiana leaned closer, until their arms were touching.

“You know that Stekkjastaur is the eldest of the thirteen brothers, don’t you?

He’s been traveling for days already, to get here in time.

If you listen, you can hear the creaking of his old knees.

” She paused, making a show of listening.

When a creak sounded from above, even Elea grinned.

Of course they both knew it was the neighbor in the flat above them.

But that wasn’t the point. “When your mother and I were growing up on the farm, we would make certain the sheep were all safe in the barn on the eleventh of December. Because that sneaky Stekkjastaur would steal the very milk from the mother ewes if we let him. That’s why we always set out a glass of milk for him—so he wouldn’t bother the sheep. ”

Elea shook her head, but a bit of light had reentered her eyes. “You don’t have any sheep in Reykjavik.”