Chapter Two

The mill wheel needed repair—again. Ole Andersen lay on his back in the chilly bed, his arm bent across his eyes, and tried to find the strength to rise.

Another morning of another day. His daughter, Hanne, only seven years old, lay in her cot in the next room—still asleep, or so he hoped. She’d finally stopped crying every night for her mama and younger sister. But the child rarely smiled.

Perhaps because he, Ole, rarely did.

He uncovered his eyes and stared at the rough ceiling. How many days left before the holiday? He’d lost count, and it left him feeling helpless. He supposed he should make an effort for Hanne’s sake, try to make her a little gift as he used to do other years. But few resources remained.

He needed to rise from the bed, repair the mill wheel in case someone came with grain for their Christmas bread.

But his emotions weighed upon him. Grief, ja. But even worse did he find the loneliness. A young man still, he did not thrive on a dearth of company.

He sat up abruptly when a knock sounded at the outer door. His hair, which hadn’t been cut since Dorrit died, flopped over his forehead, and he clawed it out of the way hastily. Who could that be? And how late had he lain abed? Far too late, for now muddy sunlight crept over the windowsill.

The knock came again.

“Papa?” Hanne called from the next room.

“I am coming!”

Clad in his britches and undershirt, in which he’d slept, he hurried to the door and hauled it open.

A woman stood there, a small woman, only about as high as his ear. When the door flew open she looked up at him—grave blue eyes in a fine oval of a face.

Mistress Lissi it was, from the alderman’s house.

“Goodness,” he grunted. What could have brought her here on such a chilly morning? Cold it was, and the stinging air swept in at him. Snow had fallen during the night and covered the ground.

“Forgive me,” she said. “I went first to the mill.” She indicated the structure next door. “But nobody was there.”

“Ah, ja. Will you step in?” Whatever might have happened to change their world, the alderman’s daughter still warranted courtesy.

Viggo Johansen’s daughter stepped in. The house felt chilly, and shame touched Ole.

“Papa?” Hanne questioned again. She’d tiptoed out from her room, her feet bare.

“Go get dressed, angel, ja? It is but a customer, I think.”

As the child ran off, Ole turned back to his visitor and eyed her. “Ja?”

“I come, Master Andersen, not to bring you business, but to beg your generosity.”

“Eh?” Hastily, Ole tucked his nightshirt into his trousers. “Pardon?”

She glanced around the room, and Ole’s shame deepened. How long since he’d emptied the ashes from the fire, or swept the floor? How long since he’d even given those things a thought?

Mistress Lissi’s gaze returned to him. “It is nearly Christmas. You will remember the gifts my father used to distribute at this time of year.”

“Ja, of course.” Dorrit and the girls had looked forward to it. All the village had.

Mistress Lissi pushed the hood of her cloak back onto her shoulders, revealing dull golden hair, well-braided. “I would like to do something like that this year.”

“Ach. But—”

“I know, it cannot possibly be so grand. There aren’t very many of us left. But I thought if I baked one batch of cookies, just one…”

“Ah, mistress, it is a worthy idea, yet…” He spread his hands. “No one has the heart.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “That is the root of the problem, as I see it. To thrive, the heart needs joy. And I wish to provide some.”

“Joy.” He repeated the word as if he’d never before heard it. “And you think a—a cookie can do this?”

“It cannot hurt. I have assembled some supplies at home. I have a measure of spices, honey—I do not have flour, at least not enough to spare from our bread.” She looked at him meaningfully.

“And you come to me?”

“You are the miller. I thought—hoped—”

“Ah.” Ole’s thoughts raced. He had a small store of flour, very little. It consisted of supplies belonging to those who never picked up their orders after the sickness struck the village. Old and stale, it might not do for what she wanted.

“I will need some sugar, also,” she went on as if in defiance of his doubt. “I thought to make Snowdrop Cookies. As I say, I have the proper spices, and they were always the most popular of what we baked.” She gave him a tentative smile. “Besides, they are such a symbol of—hope. Are they not?”

Hope. She kept repeating that word. And for what should he, Ole, hope? An end to his loneliness? A life lived, after losing nearly everything?

Hanne, having dressed and donned her shoes, ran back into the room and pressed close to Ole’s side.

Gazing into Mistress Lissi’s wide, blue eyes, he said, “I have not much flour.”

“I do not need much. I will not be able to bake enough for everyone. But I thought if I baked good wishes inside, and gave them to those among us who have been hit the hardest—I could make sure you get one. For—” She nodded at Hanne.

Ole’s throat closed. For weeks it had haunted him, the knowledge that he would be able to give his daughter almost nothing, this Christmas. Dorrit used to bake, ja, and he, Ole, would make each of their girls a toy. The house would be filled with greenery and handmade decorations.

He cupped Hanne’s head tenderly in his hand and drew her closer. For a terrible instant, he thought he might shed tears, here before the alderman’s daughter.

His voice softened when he said, “You are a kind woman, Mistress Johansen.”

Her expression brightened. “You think it a good idea, then?”

“I think it a very good idea, indeed.”

“Mitte—she’s my nurse—says it’s a waste of the few ingredients I have left.”

Ole stared past her at the snow dusting the ground, just like sugar on the legendary Snowdrop Cookies. He said, “I think—I think there are times when to splurge is everything.”

“Ja.” Her face lit in a sweet smile. “And Christmas is one of those times.”

“I agree.”

“Thank you, Master Andersen. It is fine to know someone agrees with me.”

“I will search the mill and see what I can find. If I come up with a measure, I will bring it to you.”

“Do not take too long, eh? Christmas is in two days.”

“I will do it this very afternoon.”

Impulsively, she reached out and touched his hand. “Tak. Tak!”

Before Ole could react, she turned and ran off, her cloak flaring out behind her in the clear morning air.

He watched her down the trail and out of sight before he picked Hanne up in his arms.

“Papa?” Hanne craned to look back after Lissi. “Was that lady magical?”

At the verge of denying it, Ole caught himself. “Well, I don’t know, poppet. I guess we will have to wait and see.”

What child didn’t deserve to believe in magic at Christmastime?