Chapter 21: The Happiest Day

Britta's POV

It snowed on the first Saturday of November, the real kind, big and slow.

By ten the lane was white and the lake had vanished into it.

Anders came up the steps with snow on his shoulders and the oak crib in pieces on his back.

"Don't say it," he said.

"I wasn't going to say anything."

"You're making the face."

"I'm making my regular face."

He carried the rails up to the room at the end of the hall, under the slanted ceiling.

Gran used to sew in it.

I had pictured a baby in that room for four years, and then I had stopped.

He set the pieces against the wall and turned.

"I can put it in the workshop," he said. "You don't have to look at it."

"Nils made that crib for me."

"Yes."

"With his own hands. For a baby we were going to have. It's well made."

"It's very well made."

I went and ran my palm along the top rail.

It was oak, sanded until it felt like skin.

It had never held anyone else's baby.

Kristin had only borrowed it.

"I want it," I said. "It was mine first."

His shoulders came down.

"Then I'll put it together," he said.

"I'll hand you things."

"You'll supervise."

"I'll supervise from the chair."

Pia arrived at noon with a stockpot and a bad mood, which meant she was happy.

She stood in the nursery doorway.

Anders was on his knees with a wrench, and I was in Gran's rocking chair with a cup of tea.

"It's a Hallmark card in here," she said.

"It's a crib."

"It's a nest."

Someone knocked on the front door.

We looked at each other, and I went downstairs with Pia behind me.

Birgit stood on the porch with snow in her silver hair.

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