Chapter Eight

Thereafter, good deeds spread through the village the way the sickness once had, but with far more fortunate effect. Even though, in the days that followed, winter closed its cold fist around Gjerhold, folk no longer shut themselves away in their houses. Lissi had only to glance outside to see a neighbor setting off purposefully on some errand, or standing at another’s gate.

The very mood of the place had changed. Ole Andersen making his rounds delivering firewood became a regular event, a pied piper sort of affair, accompanied by others offering their services. Holger cleared paths, others tended stock or merely stopped in to chat with those fallen victim to the winter grippe.

One Sunday, Reverend Pedersen spoke of it. The old preacher seemed far less sunk in gloom, and his words rose through the cold air inside the church on little currents of hope.

After, Mitte invited him back to dinner, and Lissi could only wonder at the looks that passed between the two. Love in the air here, in Gjerhold?

Why not? And why not for Reverend Pedersen and Mitte, though a more unlikely pair Lissi could scarcely imagine. Mama used to say no one was too old or too young for love.

And, Lissi wanted to see Mitte happy, more than anything.

They weren’t the only ones, to Lissi’s surprise. As she made her way around the village, she saw a number of seemingly unlikely pairings. Those left alone, and lonely, bringing comfort to neighbors.

Bonding together, maybe.

It made Lissi ache inside, though in a good way. She ached also to see Ole Andersen. Just to lay eyes on him satisfied her in ways she could not describe. The fall of that light brown hair over his forehead… Ach, the man needed a haircut in the worst way, though it would be a crime against God and nature to shear such locks.

And she wanted to see the smile take hold in those grave eyes of his. Ole Andersen smiled first with his eyes, so he did. A rare and wonderful thing.

She awoke in the morning thinking of him, and his face became the last in her mind at night.

She questioned herself over it ceaselessly. She couldn’t be losing her heart to the miller. Could she?

Disastrous. For though he still came by with loads of firewood every other day or so, and though he gave her his smile, it had gone no further. He’d not spoken of seeing her again.

He still loved his wife.

Foolish as she was, Lissi made a wish about it, believing—believing hard, the way she’d told Hanne. It was all about the believing.

The next day, Thora Hensen came to see her.

Thora was the spinster who had donated the sugar meant for her wedding cake, to dust the Christmas snowdrops. Already past the accepted marrying age when she’d planned to wed—as was Lissi now—she’d lost her intended to the black death.

She came to Lissi’s door with a parcel in her arms, which she lost no time in unwrapping, once inside.

“I have been going through a few things,” Thora announced. “There’s just me alone in that house now, to feed and clothe. I don’t need much.”

Lissi looked at her sympathetically. Thora appeared older than her years, her eyes tired.

“Since Christmas,” she went on, “I have been thinking. You know I once was a fairly good seamstress. I made this.”

She unfolded a garment from the parcel, a gown of white. Embroidered all over with tiny stitches, it could be only one thing.

“That’s your wedding dress.”

A wistful look came to Thora’s face. “Ja. The hours I worked over this, waiting for Per to come home. He never did, and died in Flanders. Did you know that?”

“Ja,” Lissi said softly.

“For weeks and months I wept, wishing I might die too. But the Death did not take me.” She met Lissi’s gaze. “Do you know why it took some, and not others?”

Lissi shook her head. She’d wondered about that too, but had no answer. “Even here under this roof, it was so.”

“The will of God, perhaps. No matter. I was living and yet was not, until Christmas when you gave me that cookie, and a wish. I’ll not tell you what I wished for. But I wondered if you might have a use for this.”

“The dress? Me? Nay.”

“I thought, as I have so much in clothing I will never use again, and some yardages of cloth also, I might pass the things out in the village. This dress made me think of you. It would fit, I suppose.”

“No doubt. But why would I have need of a wedding dress?”

Thora shrugged. “Not many of us left are of an age for marrying. Take it. Put it away. It will gladden my heart.”

Perhaps, Lissi thought, Thora merely wanted rid of the garment because it brought her sorrow. She nodded. “If you wish.”

“Lissi, we must return to a time of hope. And new beginnings. We have kept ourselves, and our hearts, shut away far too long.”

“I agree. Thank you, Thora. It is a beautiful dress.”

“Ja, and meant for beautiful occasions, not to be crushed into a trunk.”

“It is a good idea you have. I too have clothing packed away here, of Mama’s and Papa’s. People can use the things, especially the warm garments during the cold.”

“Ja. Can you sew?”

“I can.”

“If you discover a particular need, let me know. As I say, I have some good woolen fabric. We could work together and make what’s needed.”

Lissi smiled. “I would like that very much.”

“And bless you, Lissi Johansen, for your snowdrop cookies. They made a difference.”

Thora turned to the door, before hesitating. “Ach, and the next time you see the miller, take a look at his coat.” She quirked an eyebrow. “Looks to me like he could use a better one.”

****

Lissi cracked the lid of the trunk and the smell of the garments inside assailed her. In an instant, she was with Mama again, watching her fold fresh lavender between the layers of cloth. With such care and love had Mama done everything.

The last hands to touch these garments had been hers.

“The moth does not like the scent of lavender, girls. And we do not like the moth.”

Ach, the sweetness of Mama’s voice in her ear again. Gone, gone just like Dagny. For an instant, grief assailed Lissi, so deep it felt insupportable. She wanted to bow her head and weep into the trunk.

But what good would that do anyone?

Instead she shook out the stored garments, one by one. Anything she or Mitte could not use should be given to those who could, and there were some fine things.

A christening shawl used for both her and Dagny. She laid that aside. A woolen dress, out of fashion. Ach, but what was fashion, when it came to the cold?

And…what was this?

Tiny bits of dried lavender fell when she shook out the garment. An embroidered shawl, red like Mama’s that Lissi had worn at Christmas. But made for a child. This had been Dagny’s. Both of them had owned small versions, but Lissi’s had gotten torn.

Mama had packed this one away. Why? Because it was made with love, and thus valuable to her.

Lissi smoothed her fingers over the bright embroidery, and a vision of Hanne Andersen swam before her eyes. This was meant for Hanne. Lissi wanted to go at once and give it to the child.

She bit her lip. She’d been doing her best to avoid the miller, mainly because of the way it felt being with him—at once wonderful and painfully bittersweet. But she could not allow herself to be selfish about it.

The next garment she drew from the trunk proved to be Papa’s coat. Sewn from stout cloth, it was thick and warm, very fine indeed.

And would no doubt fit the miller.

She smoothed both garments over her arm and got to her feet.

There was no time like the present to take these to the Andersens.