Liesel’s flesh prickled from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet.
“Tomas?”
“Have you been crying?” he asked.
Liesel stared at the unblemished, luminescent plane of his chest visible through the rags of his shirt. The wind pushed the door into her back.
“Please don’t cry. You’ll make my blankets all wet, and then they’ll be cold, too.”
“What are you?” Her voice was swallowed by the wind, but he still heard her.
“What...? Liesel, it’s me.” Tomas looked hurt. “Why are you being so cruel?”
“Why are you here? What do you want?”
With the next slam of the door against her back, he was standing before her. He hadn’t seemed to move except to tip slightly forward, and then he’d faded from one spot and reappeared in the next. His eyes, which had been a dull gray in life, blazed with blue fire. He smelled like the bitter bite of winter.
“I need to tell you something,” he said.
And then he was gone.
The room returned to rattling darkness. The wind thumped the door between Liesel’s shoulder blades one, two, three times. She sank to the floor in front of it, arms wrapped around her knees, and remained there until morning.
Two
Aknock roused her after sunrise. Light streamed in the windows and Liesel rubbed sleep from her eyes. She had curled so tightly around herself in front of the door, her arms and legs had gone stiff.
Please let that have been a dream,she thought as she grabbed the door handle to pull herself to her feet. The knock came again.
Heike stood outside with her red-ribboned braid and her pretty red skirts, holding a large bottle of milk. She started to speak, then stopped as she looked Liesel over.
“What is it?” Liesel snapped.
“I came to bring you this.” Heike held out the milk. “You didn’t look well yesterday.”
“Of course I didn’t. My brother is dead.”
“I’m sorry, I know that, I just...” Heike peered past Liesel, into the little house with its rotting furniture and no light. Liesel shifted to block her view. Heike continued, “I thought something comforting might help. My mother always gave me milk when Ifelt poorly, so I thought I could warm some for you.” Her fingers tapped against the bottle, and she glanced down into it as if she might find something there.
Liesel stared hard at her. She and Heike had played together as children, but they’d never been friends. She’d never liked how Heike always had the brightest skirts and that neat braid her mother did for her every morning. It was insufferable. Some of them didn’t have mothers to warm milk for them and braid their hair.
“I don’t want anything from you,” Liesel said. “Go back to the forest.”
Heike’s expression turned sour. She thrust the bottle over the threshold and held it there, arm extended. “You aren’t the only one here with no family. You aren’t the only one who knows what it’s like to lose someone. I know we haven’t gotten along before, but I thought you wouldn’t feel so alone if—”
“I’m fine.”
Liesel shut the door so fast, Heike didn’t have time to withdraw her hand. Glass shattered. A bit of milk trickled in under the door. Heike cursed, and Liesel listened to the sound of her nice shiny boots scuffing against the stones as she stomped off.
Later that morning a herd of elk stampeded out of the north forest, bypassed Ulrich’s house, and stormed through the center of the village. Any conversation about redberry bushes, Death in the forest, or the sudden onset of the previous night’s storm was snuffed out by the strangeness of the stampede. Gottfried climbed to the roof of the inn to pick the beasts off with his rifle, cackling like a madman.
Ulrich and several other villagers spent the day checking the north woods for signs of what could have made the herd act as it had, whether that be a predator or something else. The rest of the village stood around gossiping. On her way to see Hans early that afternoon, Liesel did her best to avoid the people lingering in the streets, but as she neared the butcher’s shop, she caught the eye of Ada Bosch, who had none of her children with her and looked frayed.
“Liesel, Liesel dear, you haven’t seen Oliver, have you? He’s been out of the house all morning and I’m worried he got caught in the stampede.”
Liesel had to take a moment to cycle through Ada’s children until the image of the youngest one came to her.
“No, I’m sorry.” Liesel lowered her head and shouldered her way past Ada. “You should ask Wenzel; he sees more than I do.”
