Winter Garden

“Good. Madam Dufours tells me that a student from the college requests your assistance. Cleric Nevin has sent him. Help him but do not neglect your duties. ”

“Yes, ma’am,” Vera says. On the outside she is calm, but inside she is like a puppy leaping to be let outside. The cleric has found a student who will teach her! She waits for the librarian to leave and then puts away her cleaning supplies.

Moving too quickly (she tries to slow down but cannot; it has been so long since she felt this excited), she barely touches the wooden railing as she hurries down the wide marble steps. Downstairs, the main hall of the library is full of tables and people moving about. A queue snakes back from the head librarian’s desk.

“Veronika. ” She hears her name and turns slowly.

He looks exactly as she remembers: with his shock of golden hair that is too long and curly. His wide jaw has been freshly shaven; a tiny red nick on his neck attests to a hurried job. But it is his green eyes that capture her once again.

“Your Highness,” she says, trying to sound casual. “It is good to see you. How long has it been?”

“Don’t. ”

“Don’t what?”

“You know what happened on the Fontanka Bridge. ”

Her smile slips; she tries to find it again. She will not show herself to be naïve and silly. Not again. “That was just a night. Years ago. ”

“It was no ordinary night, Vera. ”

“Please. Don’t tease me, Your Highness. ” To her horror, her voice breaks just a little. “And you never came back. ”

“You were fifteen,” he says. “I was eighteen. ”

“Yes,” she says, frowning. Still she does not understand what he is trying to say.

“I have been waiting for you. ”

For the first time in her life, Vera pretends to be ill. She goes to the librarian and complains about gnawing pains in her stomach and begs to be allowed to go home early.

It is a terrible thing to do, and dangerous. If Mama knew of it, Vera would be in trouble, both for the lie and for the choices that will inevitably follow the lie. What if Vera is seen outside when supposedly she is ill?

But a girl her age cannot act out of fear when love is at hand.

Still, she is smart enough to go directly home when she is let go from work. On the trolley, she stands at the brass pole, holding tightly as the car lurches and sways. At the apartment, she opens the door slowly and peers inside.

Her grandmother stands in front of the stove, stirring something in a big black cauldron. “You are home early,” she says, using the back of her plump hand to push the damp gray hair away from her eyes.

The sweet smell of simmering strawberries fills the apartment. On the table, at least a dozen glass jars stand clustered in readiness, their metal tops spread out alongside.

“The library was not busy,” Vera says, feeling her face redden at the lie.

“Then you can—”

“I’m going out to the country,” Vera says. At her grandmother’s sharp look, she adds, “I will pick some cucumbers and cabbage. ”

“Oh. Very well, then. ”

Vera stands there a moment longer, looking at her grandmother’s stern profile. Her baggy dress is ragged at the hem and her stockings are pocked with tears and snags. A tattered blue kerchief covers her frizzy gray hair.

“Tell Mama I will be out late. I will not be home in time for supper, I am sure. ”

“Be careful,” her grandmother says. “You are young . . . and his daughter. It does not do well to be noticed. ”

Vera nods to conceal the flushing of her cheeks—again. She goes to the corner of the apartment, where their rusted old bicycle stands propped against the wall. She carries the bike to the door and leaves the apartment.

Never has she flown so on her rickety bicycle down the streets of her beloved Snow Kingdom. Tears blur her eyes and disappear into her waving hair. When people move in front of her, she pings the bell on her handlebars and darts around them. All the way through the city, along the river, and over the bridge, she can feel the rapid beating of her heart and his name repeats in her head.