Which seemed to Kennet both an exciting and horrifying prospect. Astrid living in this family space for the next month, doing intimate bedroom-y and bathroom-y things right alongside him. A sudden vision of her in the bathtub, wet head rising above a souffle of bubbles. He swallowed hard and ducked back into his bedroom to hide the blush in his face, before remembering Minor was in there and Minor never missed a thing. He went back into the hall, standing stiff and awkward like a coat rack, ridiculously resentful of the immediate claim his youngest siblings had staked on Astrid’s attention. They were leading her toward the attic stairs, up toward Marta’s room.

I need to talk to you, he thought, eyeing the seams of Astrid’s stockings as she began to climb the stairs. She looked back at him a moment.

I know, her gaze said. No joke in her eyes now. Just a promise.

“Come on, Astrid,” Trudy called. “You have to see.”

Watching the high-heeled shoes disappear up the stairwell, Kennet wondered if Astrid would see Marta’s bedroom and somehow know it was the place where it all began.

But of course she would know.

She had to know.

“Marta’s going to live with us?” Kennet said.

“Yes, at a reduced salary in return for room and board. Now take these towels up to her, please.”

Ingrid had a way of saying please that indicated all discussion was over. Kennet took the stack of towels and climbed the stairs to the house’s third floor. Half of it was a dusty clutter of stored junk, but the other half was a large, airy bedroom with gable windows overlooking the river. It had a small adjoining bathroom that all the Fiskares made use of. It was a cozy place to iron your shoelaces, as Major would say. If you were laid low with a stomach ailment of some kind, you could upchuck in peace and privacy. (Upchuck was another of Major’s expressions, and Kennet appreciated its terse accuracy.)

Now this attic space, which Kennet associated with storage, solitude or sickness, would be occupied by Marta Toivonen. What would she make of it? He paused in the open bedroom doorway and softly knocked on the jamb.

“These are for you,” he said, holding out the towels.

“Oh, clever boy,” Marta said. “Thank you. Just put them down anywhere.”