Slender. Sluggish.

Släkt.

Applause around the room and Nalle bowed before extending a hand toward Kennet. “Our poet, ladies and gentlemen.”

“What a masterpiece of alliteration,” Astrid said. “Have you written others?”

“No,” Kennet said. “I retired at age seven and rested on my laurel.”

During the recitation he’d been patiently turning his long stick over the embers until the marshmallow was a perfect golden brown. He slid it carefully off the point and gave it to Astrid. Her eyes widened as she took a bite, hand coming up to catch the bubbling white drops of melted sugar. “Oh my goodness,” she murmured around the decadent mouthful.

“They taste better toasted outside,” Nalle, the purist said. He still stood by the mantel, with the photo portrait of Björn Fiskare just over his shoulder.

Astrid made a frame of her sticky fingers and smiled. “Den gamla björnen och nallebjörnen.”

The Old Bear and the teddy bear.

Good naturedly, Nalle shifted his pose and expression into the same formal stance as the old man.

“Start working on some mutton chops,” Major said. “You’ll be a dead ringer for Pappa in about twenty years.”

“I was admiring the watch chain,” Astrid said to Emil. “Kennet told me some jewelers in the family made the little fish especially for your father?”

“Trudy, run upstairs,” Emil said. “The middle drawer of your mother’s jewelry case has a small black box. You know the one. Bring it down.”

It truly was amazing, Kennet thought, how easily and innocently Astrid coaxed stories and secrets from everyone in the family. She made you want to tell and show her everything.

Emil opened the box and held up one of the little gold fish from the photograph. “My brother Nyck has another of these small ones, along with the watch chain itself and the large fob at the end.”

“Because he’s eldest?” Astrid said, holding the fish up to the light.

“Well that, and because he married into the deWrenne family, who are the jewelers. His descendants will be good stewards of the heirlooms and appreciate their worth.”

“And Nyck deserves them,” Major said quietly, addressing his drink more than anyone else.

“Where’s your fish?” Astrid asked him.

“Put away safe. And my mother has the fourth fish.” Major reached to tug one of Trudy’s braids. “This rascal will inherit it someday. Our sole surviving daughter in two generations.”

“And well worth the wait,” Emil said. He tipped another little charm out of the box and showed it to Astrid. “My father left this to me. Not sure why, but it’s pretty. As far as heirlooms go.”

It was a square saint’s medal, also wrought in gold.

“It’s Saint Birgitta,” Astrid said. She turned it around and over, and read the engraving on the back. “B.K.E.F, 1865.”

“Probably a christening present,” Major said.