Winter Garden by Kristin Hannah

Author:Kristin Hannah [Hannah, Kristin]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Tags: Fiction, General, Psychological fiction, Contemporary Women, Russian Americans, Family Life, Psychological, Mothers and daughters, Domestic fiction
ISBN: 9780312364120
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2010-02-02T05:00:00+00:00

are decorations only, golden oases positioned along streets burnished beneath them, and on the rare days when rain falls, everything is mirrored in the light.

On such a day is Vera cleaning the glass cases in the elves’ great lost-manuscript chamber. She has asked for this work. The rumor is that sometimes the elves appear to those who believe in them, and Vera wants to believe again.

Alone in the manuscript room (in these dangerous new times, few scholars dare to ask about the past anymore), she hums a song that her father taught her.

“The library is to be quiet.”

Vera is so startled by the voice that she drops her rag. The woman facing her is storklike: tall and rail-thin, with a beak of a nose. “I am sorry, ma’am. No one ever comes in here. I thought—”

“Do not. You never know who is listening.”

Vera cannot tell if the words are a warning or a rebuke. It is difficult to recognize such nuances these days. “Again, I apologize, ma’am.”

“Good. Madam Dufours tells me that a student from the college requests your assistance. Cleric Nevin has sent him. Help him but do not neglect your duties.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Vera says. On the outside she is calm, but inside she is like a puppy leaping to be let outside. The cleric has found a student who will teach her! She waits for the librarian to leave and then puts away her cleaning supplies.

Moving too quickly (she tries to slow down but cannot; it has been so long since she felt this excited), she barely touches the wooden railing as she hurries down the wide marble steps. Downstairs, the main hall of the library is full of tables and people moving about. A queue snakes back from the head librarian’s desk.

“Veronika.” She hears her name and turns slowly.

He looks exactly as she remembers: with his shock of golden hair that is too long and curly. His wide jaw has been freshly shaven; a tiny red nick on his neck attests to a hurried job. But it is his green eyes that capture her once again.

“Your Highness,” she says, trying to sound casual. “It is good to see you. How long has it been?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“You know what happened on the Fontanka Bridge.”

Her smile slips; she tries to find it again. She will not show herself to be naïve and silly. Not again. “That was just a night. Years ago.”

“It was no ordinary night, Vera.”

“Please. Don’t tease me, Your Highness.” To her horror, her voice breaks just a little. “And you never came back.”

“You were fifteen,” he says. “I was eighteen.”

“Yes,” she says, frowning. Still she does not understand what he is trying to say.

“I have been waiting for you.”

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