SOFI
“Sofi, hold still.”
Arina’s voice was shrill as she yanked my head into position. My eyes watered as she tied another ribbon into place around a lock of my pale blonde hair, careful not to displace the bright blue cornflowers that had been tucked through the plaited strands. My mother made a sound of dissatisfaction from behind Arina, and in the mirror, I could see her reach over my oldest sister’s shoulder to adjust a stray tendril of hair that had snaked free from one of my elaborate braids.
My mother’s reflection disappeared as I caught a flash of flaxen hair out of the corner of my vision.
“Marten, no!”
A crash sounded from the kitchen, and my mother sprinted out of my bedroom after my two-year-old nephew. My middle sister, Hanna, was hot on her heels. The house was filled near to bursting, with my mother, grandmother, two aunts, three cousins, two sisters, and five children between them. It was bedlam.
It was always like this on Spring Day, when all the men of the house disappeared and left the women to prepare for the Ceremony. I capitalized it in my mind, the importance of the event clear even though I knew barely anything about what the night held in store.
A cry came from the kitchen, and my head turned at the sound, but Arina gave my hair a vicious tug and I quickly straightened, stifling a groan.
“Don’t pull all my hair out.” My voice came out in a whine. My nerves were showing.
I had endless childhood memories of Spring Day preparations—watching my sisters and cousins get ready for their Ceremonies. I’d peeked around doors, watching my mother braid their hair, watching them don their elegant dresses, their faces all calm and composed under flawless makeup. I’d wondered endlessly about the secret ceremony—what did they do? And then when they returned the following morning, they always seemed so grown up, so knowing. Each time, I’d dreamed about what it would be like on my day, when I was finally eighteen and getting ready for my own Ceremony.
I’d never expected to be so nervous. My stomach was in knots, my mind spinning. Where would we be going? What was going to happen there? What if I made a fool of myself in front of the whole community? I clenched my hands into fists to keep them from trembling, hoping my sister wouldn’t notice. It was a miracle I’d been able to keep from throwing up.
“There.” With a final eye-watering twist, Arina fastened the last ribbon into place and turned me to face my reflection in the mirror. “Look, I put great-grandma Lisandra’s clip here on the side.”
I turned my head, admiring the sparkling blue clip, fashioned in the shape of a tiny cluster of flowers. I had to admit, my sister had done an amazing job. The front part of my hair was caught back in a series of elaborate braids, all twined with satiny white ribbons. The rest was left to fall free in soft white-blonde waves. Cascades of cornflowers, the very first of the season, were also woven through, held in place by tiny clips. Against the dark brown of my eyes and my pale skin, the effect made me feel pretty. I hardly recognized the face in the mirror.
A second shrill cry echoed down the hallway, and Arina glanced up sharply at the sound of her own child, five-year-old Mia. She flashed a quick smile at me in the mirror. “You look beautiful. Don’t worry, you’ll do fine.”
Uh-oh, I must not have hidden my nerves that well after all. Bending forward, she gave me a quick hug from behind. “I wish I could be there with you,” she said. Her voice was wistful, but the look in her eyes was unreadable. Worried, maybe? The knot in my stomach twisted tighter, but before I could puzzle it out, she left the room to deal with the escalating cries coming down the hall from the kitchen. Since only women over eighteen were allowed to attend the Ceremony that night, Arina had volunteered to stay at home with the children. Looking at the stranger in the mirror, I half-wished I could take her place.
I was never good at being the center of attention. But despite that, I had to admit I was curious. So much of the Ceremony was shrouded in secrecy, I had only been able to glean the basics over the years.
Spring Day itself was a widely cherished event that our town had been celebrating ever since my great-grandfather and the small contingent of other immigrants had left our small, Eastern European homeland in the late 1800s, fleeing foreign occupation and establishing our little community of Vaikesti here in the midwestern U.S. Nearly everyone in town was descended from the immigrant population, and we kept to the old traditions, which included Spring Day. The bulk of the festivities would take place the following morning, on the first of May, including singing, dancing, and plenty of food. And while every child in town looked forward to the carnival-like atmosphere of Spring Day, it was the events of the night before that made my stomach twist with nerves.
I knew the Ceremony took place at midnight. I knew only women were permitted to attend. I knew it would honor every girl who had turned eighteen since last Spring Day. And I knew I had to participate in a secret ritual. But that was all I knew. The women of the community were notoriously tight-lipped, and even my sisters had been unwilling to share more.
My thoughts were interrupted as my mother reentered the room.
Her dark eyes, normally tired, were sparkling in her lined face, and she held in her arms a beautiful white dress I’d never seen before.
“Are you ready?” She laid the dress out on the foot of my bed. I raised an eyebrow as I took in the yards of white fabric woven through with white ribbons and seed pearls, lace netting around the hem and scooped neck. I didn’t remember either of my sisters’ dresses being this fancy.
“Is it Spring Day or am I getting married?” I asked, half-joking, but my mother didn’t smile.
“This is the dress I wore on my Spring Day,” she answered, her expression wistful. “It should be just your size. Besides, it’s tradition.”
I knew better than to argue with that. ‘It’s tradition,’ was the answer to pretty much any question I‘d asked since I was old enough to ask questions. Besides, the dress was beautiful. Shrugging, I got to my feet and pulled off my t-shirt, then wriggled out of my jeans. My mother helped me step into the dress and maneuver it into place, doing up the hidden zipper in the back. She fluffed my hair out around my shoulders and turned me to face the mirror.
I really did look like I was going to a wedding. My own. I sucked in a breath. My mother was getting teary-eyed behind me. My discomfort grew. What exactly was going to happen at the Ceremony?
Hanna stuck her head around the door frame. She gave me an approving smile before addressing my mother. “Arina’s getting the kids ready for bed. Then it should be about time to go. Are you two ready?”
I had no idea if I was ready, so I didn’t answer, but my mother gave a nod and crossed the room to speak with my sister. I looked toward the mirror again, meeting my own wide-eyed gaze. A lock of hair had come loose near the crown of my head, and I reached up to fasten it down. A stab of pain made me stifle a gasp as my finger caught on my great-grandmother’s clip, the edge of the metal digging in deep. I jerked my hand back and stuck the finger in my mouth, but not before a bright drop of blood landed on the shoulder of my dress. The red was vivid against the pristine white fabric, and my stomach sank. Surely that wasn’t a good omen.
My mother turned from the doorway, and I quickly pulled some of my hair over my shoulder to hide the spot and pasted on a smile as she joined me by the mirror.
“Make sure your Vanaemake is awake and ready,” she told my sister. “We’ll be there in a minute.”
Hanna nodded and left to find my grandmother. My mother turned me to face her.
“Do you remember all your words?”
“I think so,” I said nervously. Each of the girls participating in the Ceremony had a series of lines to recite as part of the ritual. I’d been practicing my phrases, and while every kid raised in Vaikesti had more than a passing familiarity with the traditional language of our ancestors, the phrases were meant to be sung, and I’d have been lying if I said I wasn’t afraid I’d mess up and make a fool of myself in front of my friends and family.
My mother sat on the edge of my bed and patted the quilt next to her. I joined her, perching awkwardly in my dress. Her face was serious as she looked me over, and my heart sped up. Was I finally going to find out what the night had in store for me?
“Sofi,” she began. “Tonight is a very special night, you know that.”
I didn’t know anything, so I kept still and didn’t interrupt.
“I don’t know what your sisters may have told you, but I don’t want you to worry.”
What was that supposed to mean? They hadn’t told me anything. Naturally, I immediately began to worry.
“The rituals are old,” she went on, “but the binding is symbolic. Maybe a long time ago the magic really worked, I don’t know, but—”
Hanna poked her head around the door again, cutting off my mother’s words. I could have strangled my sister. Binding? Magic?
“We’re ready when you are,” my sister announced.
My mother made no effort to finish what she’d been saying; she just leaned in and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’m proud of you, kallike,” she whispered, then rose and left the room. I didn’t miss the meaningful glance she shared with my sister on her way out.
Hanna must have seen the panicked expression on my face, because she gave me an understanding smile. “Don’t worry,” she said quietly as she ushered me out of the room, fussing over the trailing ribbons on my dress. Her lips were close to my ear. “The binding isn’t real. I think they always hope it will be, but the words never work.”
Before I had a chance to react, my aunts and older cousins joined the procession, my grandmother bringing up the rear, and I was herded out the door and into the cool night air. Whatever questions I might have had, it was too late. The Spring Day Ceremony was here.