Page 71 of Give the Dark My Love

In the spring, people from villages miles away would come here to celebrate the solstice, and carmellina flowers would pop up in the trees, huge and red and fragrant. In the winter, my sister and I would slide across the icy pond until fishermen cracked it open, droppingtheir lines below the surface. People knew our village because it was home to the flowers, and to the fish, and to my father, the only bookseller in the area.

The main road gave way to the heart of the village. Stone houses and stores with thatched roofs, shared walls, and a covered walkway lined each side of the street. I peered into the dark windows, my heart singing. I spotted the dry goods store where we bought feed for the mule, the bakery where Mama sent Nessie and me to fetch bread when she was too busy to bake it, the church hall creating a dark outline against the stars.

Home.

I broke into a smile as I left the main road and veered toward my parents’ house. Every window was dark, but not theirs.

I ran the last few steps, and the front door swung open. My sister stood in the light from the door, and even though I couldn’t see her face, I heard her laugh. “You’re home!” she called, running down to greet me. “What are you doing home?” She wrapped her arms around me, laughing, saying that Mother was already asleep, and I closed my eyes.

I wanted to be nowhere else in the entire world other than here.

THIRTY-EIGHT

Nedra

Ernesta and Icrept through the house, careful not to wake my mother. Papa was still out on his latest book run. My bed was all made up, as if I’d never left, my sheets crisp with sprigs of dried lavender tucked inside. “This is heaven,” I said, throwing off my clothes, slipping into a camisole, and falling into bed.

“Those fancy beds in the city no good?” Nessie said, grinning at me.

“Nothingis as good as this bed,” I said, sighing heavily as I rubbed my face against the sheets.

“Not even that boy you wrote me about?” Nessie’s eyes twinkled mischievously. I considered throwing my pillow at her, but decided it wasn’t worth the loss.

We talked late into the night, just like when we were little kids. Our beds were so close that we could reach across the distance and touch each other’s fingertips. When I woke the next morning, I was curled up to the very edge, one hand slung across the valley between our beds, resting on the corner of her pillow.

Ernesta was gone. But at the foot of my bed was a simple brown dress, the hem embroidered with red flowers. I threw back the covers and tossed the dress over my shoulders as quickly as possible, then snuck out of my room. I crept down the hallway, toward the sound of voices—my sister and my mother, eating breakfast in the kitchen.Bookshelves lined both walls of the hallway, and I breathed deeply. Nothing was as intoxicating as the smell of old books.

I caught Nessie’s eye through the doorway, and she winked. She was wearing the exact same brown dress with red flowers on the hem. Her black hair was braided in a crown, just like mine.

“Excuse me, Mama,” Ernesta said politely. “I forgot something in my room.” She got up and left the table, heading down the hall to me. She paused, grinning, and I couldn’t help but mirror her smile. That’s what we were—mirror twins, identical in almost every way.

Ernesta stayed in the hall while I walked to the kitchen, sitting down at the table.

“I’m going to have to tell the boy to bring more milk next time,” Mama said, her back to me.

I bit back a grin. Ernesta and I hadn’t tried this trick in years.

“I want to make a cake for when your father gets back,” Mama continued. “But for tonight, I’d like to make that stew Papa likes, the one with lamb. Can you go to the butcher for me?”

“Of course, Mama,” I said, careful to keep my voice light like Ernesta’s.

Mama whipped around, squinting at me.

“Is something wrong?” I asked innocently.

Her eyes narrowed a fraction more.

Just then, Father’s cart rumbled outside the kitchen window. Mama rushed to the door, slinging it open as Papa unhitched Jojo. I followed Mama outside.

“Bardon!” Mama called. “You’re home early!”

Papa beamed at her. “I missed my girls!” he said. And then his eyes fell on me. “Nedra! What are you doing here?”

“Nedra?” Mama glared as I burst into laughter. Ernesta ran from the kitchen, cackling. “Nedra!” Mama screeched. “Iknewit was you,but you—oh!” She growled in frustration, but Papa whirled her around, spinning her in the air and kissing the anger out of her.

Ernesta punched my shoulder. “She fell for it!” she said, laughing. That was no small accomplishment; Mama almost never mistook us.

“Honestly, Mother, how can you not tell the difference between your only two children?” I asked in a superior tone. Ernesta wove her arm through mine, and we pressed our cheeks together, smiling up at our parents innocently.

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