But she didn't. Instead, Kirsti pointed at her feet.↵
"I'm going to visit my Uncle Henrik," she chirped,↵
"and I'm wearing my brand-new shiny black shoes!"↵
The soldier chuckled and moved on.↵
Annemarie gazed through the window again. The trees, the Baltic Sea, and the cloudy October sky passed in a blur as they continued north along the coast.↵
"Smell the air," Mama said when they stepped off the train and made their way to the narrow street.↵
"Isn't it lovely and fresh? It always brings back memories for me."↵
The air was breezy and cool, and carried the sharp, not unpleasant smell of salt and fish. High against the pale clouds, seagulls soared and cried out as if they were mourning.↵
Mama looked at her watch. "I wonder if Henrik will be back yet. But it doesn't matter. The house is always unlocked. Come on, girls, we'll walk. It isn't far, just a little under two miles. And it's a nice day.↵
We'll take the path through the woods instead of the road. It's a little longer, but it's so pretty."↵
"Didn't you love the castle when we went through Helsinger, Ellen?" Kirsti asked. She had been talking about Kronborg Castle ever since they had seen it, sprawling massive and ancient, beside the sea, from the train. "I wish we could have stopped to visit the castle. "Kings live there. And queens." Annemarie sighed in exasperation with her little sister. "They do not," she said. "They did in the old days. But there aren't any kings there now. Denmark only has one king, anyway. And he lives in Copen-hagen."↵
But Kirsti had pranced away, skipping along the sidewalk. "Kings and queens," she sang happily. "Kings and queens."↵
Mama shrugged and smiled. "Let her dream, Annemarie. I did the same when I was her age." She turned, leading the way along a tiny, twisting street, heading toward the outskirts of the village.↵
"Things have hardly changed here since I was a girl," she said. "My Aunt Gitte lived there, in that house" — she pointed — "and she's been dead for years. But the house is the same. She always had wonderful flowers in her garden." She peered over the low stone wall and looked at the few flowering bushes as they passed the house. "Maybe they still do, but it's the wrong time of year — there are just those few chrysanthemums left.↵
"And see, over there?" She pointed again. "My best friend — her name was Helena — lived in that house. Sometimes I used to spend the night with her. But more often she came to my house, on weekends. It was more fun to be in the country.↵
"My brother Henrik always teased us, though," she continued wits half to dea "He told us ghos stories and scared us half to death."↵
The sidewalk ended and Mama turned onto a dirt path bordered by trees. "When I walked each morn. ing into town for school," she said, "my dog followed me this far. At the end of the path he turned and went back home. I guess he was a country dog and didn't like town.↵
"And do you know what?" she went on, smiling.↵
"I had named him Trofast — Faithful. And it was just the right name for him, because what a faithful dog he was! Every afternoon he was always right here, waiting for me to return. He knew the right time, somehow. Sometimes, as I come around this bend, even today, I feel as if I might come upon Trofast, waiting still, with his tail wagging."↵
But the path was empty today. No people. No faithful dogs. Mama shifted the bag she was carrying from one hand to the other, and they walked on through the woods until the path opened to a meadow dotted with cows. Here the path skirted the edge of the field, along a fence, and beyond it they could see high grass.↵
the gray sea, ruffled by wind. The breeze moved the At the end of the pasture, they entered the woods again and Annemarie knew they would soon be there. Uncle Henrik's house was in a clearing beyond these woods.