“Nothing much.” It was the truth, yet Elsa knew there was also much she wasn’t saying. Her parents talked about banal things on their walk to supper, but Elsa couldn’t concentrate. She kept thinking about their argument, and what her father had said. Do you know what would happen if she were brought here?
Elsa couldn’t help wondering: who was “she”?
Her bed was warm and cozy, and that incessant knocking seemed far away. Anna wiped the drool from her mouth and tried to keep dreaming, but it was hard. Someone kept interrupting.
“Anna?”
Her name sounded like a whisper on the wind. It was followed by more annoying knocking. “Anna?”
“Huh?” Anna pulled a piece of wet hair from her mouth and sat up.
“Sorry to wake you, but…”
“No, no, no, you didn’t.” Anna yawned, her eyes still closed. “I’ve been up for hours.”
Normally she would have been. She always rose before the sun to help her parents prepare bread. Their shop, Tomally’s Baked Goods, churned out dozens of loaves and bakery items a day. But the previous night she’d had trouble sleeping and her dreams were restless. She kept calling for someone, but she couldn’t remember who it was, just that she missed this person. Anna felt herself starting to drift off again.
“Anna?”
She let out a loud snore and jolted awake again. “What?”
“Time to get ready. Freya is coming this morning.”
“Of course,” Anna said, her eyes starting to close again. “Freya.”
Wait. What?
Her eyes opened wide. “Freya’s coming!”
Anna practically leapt out of bed and skidded across the floor in her bare feet. She didn’t bother looking in the mirror. Her long red hair, which she had unbraided the night before, couldn’t be that messy, could it? Hmmm…maybe she’d give it a quick glance before she pulled off her nightdress. She looked in the mirror. Not good. Her hair looked like a bird’s nest.
Did she have time to fix it?
She had to fix it.
Where was her brush?
It should have been on the desk like it always was, but it wasn’t there. Where was it?
Think, Anna. She remembered brushing her hair the morning before at the window seat, because it had the best view of Arendelle. Looking at Arendelle made her start dreaming about Arendelle and what she’d do when she someday moved there. She’d have her own bake shop, of course, and her cookies would be so popular that people would be lined up day and night to purchase them. She’d meet new people and make friends, and it all sounded so glorious she had started singing and spinning around the room with the hairbrush…Oh! Now she remembered where she had flung it. She knelt down and looked under her bed. Anna retrieved the brush and ran it through her hair as she walked around her room.
The hand-painted armoire matched the rosemaling on her desk, her bed, and her pink quilt. She and her mother had painted the pieces together. Her father had made her the rocking chair she sat in when she read, usually while she snuggled under her soft white blanket. But her favorite gift he’d made was the wooden Arendelle Castle he’d carved for her twelfth birthday. She kept it on the window seat, where she admired it day and night. Her pink room wasn’t large, but she loved it. Hanging on the front of the armoire was the new royal-blue apron with red and green embroidery that her mother had made her. She’d been saving it for Freya’s next visit, and that visit was today!
Her parents were so busy with the bakery they didn’t socialize much, but her mother always made time for visits from her best friend, Freya. They’d been friends since they were girls, and they loved spending time together. Freya usually visited them in Harmon every other month, and Anna, her mother, and Freya would spend the whole day together, baking and talking. Anna loved hearing Freya talk about Arendelle, where she worked as a seamstress, and she loved when Freya brought her presents! There was that porcelain doll, the dark chocolate that melted on her tongue like ice, and the green silk party dress from overseas that had hung in her closet for two years. She didn’t have anywhere to wear a dress that nice, since she spent her days covered in flour and butter stains. A dress like that deserved to go to a party with dancing, nice lighting, lots of talking, and no flour spills. They had parties in the village, but Anna was one of the only fifteen-year-olds in town. She assumed Arendelle had a lot more young people than Harmon did.
She pulled on her white dress shirt and green jumper, grabbed the apron, and finished brushing her hair, tugging at a particularly tough knot.
There was another knock on the door. “Anna!”
“Coming!” The sun was already starting to rise outside her window, and she had chores to do before Freya arrived. Freya was never late, while Anna tended to get distracted and show up a few minutes behind schedule no matter how punctual she tried to be.
Anna grabbed her shoes off the floor and hopped to the door, trying to move and get them on at the same time. She almost knocked over her father, Johan, who was patiently waiting outside her door.
“Papa!” Anna hugged him. “I’m sorry!”
“It’s quite all right,” he said, patting her back.
He was a round man, shorter than his daughter by at least a foot, and he always smelled like the mint leaves he chewed on constantly. (He had an upset stomach most days.) He’d been bald as long as Anna could remember, but the look suited him.
“Why didn’t you remind me Freya was coming?” Anna asked as she tried in vain to smooth out her hair.
Her father’s chuckle was deep, rising from his round belly. (He always said he taste-tested as many cookies as he sold.) “Anna, we told you twice last night and every day last week.”
“Right!” Anna agreed, although she wasn’t sure she remembered. The day before, she had delivered two cakes to Wandering Oaken’s Trading Post and Sauna for his twins’ birthday (Anna insisted they each get their own cake), taken krumkake to the village hall for the assembly meeting, and whipped up a new batch of her famous snowman cookies to keep up with demand. They were a kid favorite, even in the summer.
Freya loved them, too. She always asked for a dozen to take back with her when she left. Anna wondered if there were any snowman cookies left to give her.
“I should help Ma get ready,” she told her father, and hurried down the stairs. She ran through their cozy family room and the small kitchen, then burst through the door that led to the bakery, which was attached to their home. A short woman with brown hair was already at the wooden table, mixing flour and eggs in a bowl. She looked up at Anna and smiled.
“It’s about time you got down here.” Her mother kissed her cheek and pushed a strand of wispy hair behind Anna’s right ear, then straightened Anna’s apron. She always wanted Anna to look nice when Freya visited.
“I know, I’m sorry,” Anna said, spinning around and checking the baked goods set out for purchase on the counter. As she’d suspected, the snowman tray was empty. “And I’m out of my cookies! Freya loves them.”
“I’m already mixing up the batter for a batch.” Her mother’s brown eyes looked tired.
It was getting harder and harder for her to work such long hours in the bakery. Anna tried to compensate for the work between her studies the best she could, but her parents were insistent that she focus on her schoolwork even when school wasn’t in session. Papa kept telling her, “Riches come and go, but no one can take away your education.” She understood, but that meant her days were as long as theirs were sometimes: rise early; bake; do chores; go to school or do home study and work on reading, writing, and mathematics; work at the bakery; then collapse and do it all over again the next day. It didn’t leave much time for things like friends. That was why she looked forward to Freya’s visits: they felt like a glimpse of the world beyond Harmon.