Christmas at Glitter Peak Lodge

December 23

It was after noon when Ingrid opened her eyes. She’d slept soundly and dreamed of snow and blood again, but her mom and dad

had been there, Angelina and Marius. She rarely dreamed about them, perhaps because she’d been so young when they died and

her memories of them were hazy. In the dream, they were dressed in their wedding clothes, as in the picture of them in the

photo album. Her mother had a long, burgundy dress and wavy brown hair. Her father was in a tuxedo and had a mustache and

gentle eyes. The snow melted wherever they walked. Flowers floated around them, roses from the bridal bouquet and heather

from the heath. Everything smelled of flowers. They’d picked her up and held her close between them. She felt the warmth of

their bodies and smelled the scent of roses even after she’d woken up.

She reached for her phone on the bedside table. No texts—not even from Thor. That was strange. But she couldn’t think straight.

She was starving ! Not too surprising, though; she’d slept for eighteen hours and hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before. She was also hot and clammy. She needed a shower.

Again, she smelled the strong floral scent that filled the room. Wait a minute. This wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t roses, either.

Was it... hyacinths? Pine needles and hyacinths.

There was a large arrangement in a glass bowl on her coffee table. Someone must have snuck in while she was asleep.

A small envelope was tucked in between the pine branches. Dalen Flowers was printed on it. She picked it up and pulled out the small card inside.

Thanks for a lovely evening. T.

She inhaled the scent and smiled.

After a shower and a large glass of water, she felt that she was finally able to move downstairs.

“I’m so happy you’re still here!” she said to Vegard as they sat in the library with coffee a few minutes later. She’d thought

he and David had left the night before, but now realized they’d postponed their departure because she was unwell. They were

such good friends.

“Of course we’re here, hon!” he said, putting his hand over hers.

She felt the tears welling up again. What was going on with her?

“How are you doing, Ingrid?” he asked.

“I guess I’m okay. In a way. But... I’m pretty exhausted. And I can’t bear the thought of Nana Borghild and me celebrating

Christmas with the Wilkinses. It’s not exactly what I was imagining when we decided to stay open for the holidays.”

Vegard looked at her, and she knew he was about to give her a pep talk, but she lifted a hand to stop him.

“I’ll let them know that we have to close for Christmas. We can blame it on the damage from the water leak or something and

then find something else for them at one of the hotels in Lillehammer. Then I’ll spend Christmas thinking about the meeting

I’m having with XO in a few days. We should probably tell them we’re interested in discussing a sale.”

Vegard looked at her intently. “I don’t think you really mean that,” he said. “You’re just tired.”

She was ready to keep arguing, but he just said: “Wait a sec,” and stood up. “Let me talk to the Owl.”

“About what?” she asked.

But Vegard was already out the door.

Twenty minutes later, she’d eaten half a bag of caramels she found in a cupboard. Her teeth were aching from all the sugar

when Vegard came back and sat down next to her on the sofa.

“We’re staying,” he said.

“What?”

“We’re staying here for Christmas.”

She gaped at him. “What? But you and David were supposed to go to your sister’s!”

“We did say we’d eat at hers tomorrow, yes, on Christmas Eve. But I called her and explained the situation. It’s fine. There

are so many people in the family anyway, you know. It’s not like the dining room will be empty if David and I aren’t there.

Everyone will be happy as long as the gifts from us arrive.” He smiled wryly.

“But Vegard!”

“Ingrid... you are also my sister.” He looked at her and ran a hand through his hair. “You do have room for us, right? Just say the word if it’s inconvenient. I kind of just assumed.”

“Yes, oh my God, of course we have room! Do you really want to celebrate Christmas with us? It’s almost too good to be true!” She threw herself around

his neck.

Vegard smiled happily. “Of course. What are brothers for? But there’s one condition.”

“What?”

“That you wait until after New Year’s to decide whether to sell the hotel.”

“Okay.”

She had her own thoughts about just that, but it was still an easy promise to make. They were almost there. Almost at the

finish line. Now that Vegard was staying, she’d be able to get through Christmas—and that was what it was all about now. Getting

through it. She thought about the big Christmas dinner they’d be having tomorrow. Surely there wasn’t much more that could

go wrong before then? The hotel was still standing, if only barely. The decision to sell would have to wait for a while. She

didn’t need to bring it up with Nana Borghild until after New Year’s.

***

The smell of food had started wafting from the kitchen. Today, smoked salmon fillet with a brandy sauce and turkey breast

with Maja’s Waldorf salad were on the menu. Ingrid’s stomach was rumbling, but dinner was still a few hours away. First, coffee

and cookies would be served in the library. Nana Borghild was probably already in there.

But where were the Wilkinses? They’d left a while ago and hadn’t said anything about when they were planning on coming back. She didn’t like that they were out in this weather, even though Freya kept claiming that John was an exceptionally good driver.

Ingrid walked through the foyer and opened the front door. As she looked out across the parking lot, an old white pickup came

into view through the snow. It swung in front of the hotel going far too fast and parked in front of a couple other cars.

Her heart skipped a beat. Had Thor come back? No. The car wasn’t all that unlike the ones that Thor and half the other men

in the village drove, but this one had Muskox Machinery written on the side.

The door on the driver’s side opened, and an ox of a man climbed out. From a distance, it almost looked as if his shoulders

were as broad as he was tall. He slammed the car door shut and started walking toward the hotel. Ingrid stood in the doorway

and watched him approach. He walked heavily, not seeming to notice the snow whipping against his face. Now he was so close

that she could see the outdoor lights reflecting off the top of his balding head. He looked at Ingrid when he reached the

top of the stairs, narrowing his eyes. They were sharp beneath his heavy brow.

“Is Borghild here?” he asked without looking away. “You can tell her Hallgrim Dalen has come to visit.”

At that very moment, Freya and John Wilkins’s Range Rover pulled into the parking lot. The couple were quick to hop out of

the car and leap up the stairs while Ingrid still stood in the doorway, staring at Hallgrim “Muskox” Dalen in amazement.

Then another car came, another pickup. And this time, it really was Thor Seter.

***

“What is going on?” Ingrid asked.

She looked at the small crowd that had entered the foyer, from Hallgrim Dalen to Freya and John Wilkins, over to Thor Seter,

and back to Hallgrim.

“What do you want to talk to Nana Borghild about?” she asked.

Hallgrim Dalen gestured toward Freya, John, and Thor and said, “Ask them.”

Ingrid looked questioningly at Freya, who calmly met her gaze. “We had to go down and get him,” she said. “But when we arrived

at his house, this young man was already there.”

Ingrid looked at her and Thor in disbelief. “You went down to get him? Why? And what on earth were you doing there, Thor?”

Had everyone lost their minds? No, Thor met her eyes calmly and Freya didn’t seem particularly crazy, standing there in her

green woolen coat while the snowflakes thawed in her hair. On the contrary, she seemed more collected than she had since her

arrival.

“There are things we need to talk about,” Freya said. “Together.”

“Let’s go up to my apartment,” Ingrid said. “There are guests in the library, and if you really need to talk to Nana Borghild,

wouldn’t it be better to do it somewhere where the guests or staff aren’t present?”

Thor seemed to be thinking the same thing. He put a hand on Hallgrim’s shoulder without saying anything. But Hallgrim shook

him off.

“No, we’ll go in and get this over with, whatever it is. Doesn’t matter where,” he said, stomping toward the library.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Ingrid asked Thor as they hurried after him.

“I thought that enough is enough,” Thor said. “I’m tired of sneaking around and trying to pick up hints and rumors, so I went

over to Hallgrim’s to hear what he himself had to say about XO and the whole situation. But I’d barely gotten inside the door

when these two showed up. There was a bit of shouting before Hallgrim went out to his car and the others drove after him in

the Range Rover. So I followed too. And just like that, everyone was up here at Glitter Peak...”

He paused when Hallgrim threw open the library door with a bang. Borghild had been chatting with Vegard, David, and Pia on

the sofas at the other end of the room while Sunny served them coffee. But everyone fell silent when the door slammed open.

Borghild stood up and stared at Hallgrim. Between them stood Barry in his regular place by the fireplace, like an impartial

and immovable linesman. The snow was melting off Hallgrim’s dark gray jacket and heavy lace-up boots and pooling around him

on the parquet.

“ I shot that beast!” Hallgrim proclaimed, pointing at the bear.

The room was completely silent.

Hallgrim went on, “He ended up here because of a bet! You won that time, Borghild! But you won’t be winning again.”

He took a step into the library. Ingrid and Thor stayed close to him in case something happened. (What would they do, though? Call the sheriff? What would she even say? That they’d gotten an unexpected visitor—who’d actually been brought up here by some of their guests? Hardly a reason for the sheriff to drive all the way up here. And he wouldn’t get here for another half an hour anyway—maybe even forty-five minutes. By then, anything could have happened.)

Freya and John Wilkins had entered the room. They moved past Ingrid and Thor and stood with their eyes fixed on the enormous

old man, who dominated the room with his presence alone. His body was so massive and his head so deep between his shoulders

that it almost looked as though he had no neck at all.

Sunny was still standing by the coffee table, wide-eyed. Ingrid could hear the coffee cups clinking on the serving tray Sunny

was still holding.

Ingrid could have sworn that the Muskox was actually stomping his feet now. He took another step closer to Borghild. John

Wilkins followed. He was obviously thinking about intervening, but then again, he was involved in all this, too. Why on earth

had he and Freya dragged Hallgrim up here? Ingrid simply couldn’t understand. Dr. Wilkins generally seemed to be a sensible

and level-headed man. Now, he had one hand on a backrest and was watching the situation closely, ready to make a move. Hallgrim

snorted and turned toward the Wilkinses.

“Now you can explain what it is that you want,” he said in surprisingly good English. “Why did you drag me up here to talk

to this monster—this... freak ?”

That’s a strange choice of words , Ingrid thought.

“I just think the two of you have to talk,” Freya said.

It was as if the room were frozen, but Nana Borghild wouldn’t let herself be intimidated. She straightened up to her full

height—which admittedly wasn’t all that impressive—and tilted her head back so she could look the old Muskox straight in the

eye.

“ Monster. As if you can go around calling people that, Hallgrim,” Borghild said. Her voice was as cold as the ice in Styggfossen. “If there’s anyone who’s monstrous here, it’s you.”

He glared at her. “These people are going around the village digging around and asking questions,” he said. “And then they

show up at my house and say we need to talk to you about things that concern my family. Like you haven’t already destroyed my family!”

“I have no desire to harm your family,” Borghild said. “You’re capable of doing that all on your own.”

He didn’t answer. She held his gaze.

“You have to stop all this,” she continued. “It’s already gone too far.”

She looked at Freya, then back at Hallgrim. “All these years, I thought the best thing was to leave the past behind. But I

was sadly mistaken about that. Because the past is here among us.”

Hallgrim took a step toward her, but Borghild stood her ground. “While you , on the other hand, Hallgrim,” she said. “ You have been trying to harm my family. So tell me now: Why are you conspiring against us and allying with XO Hotels? Why are you spreading rumors to get

people to cancel bookings? Why have you tried to sabotage things for Ingrid and the hotel?”

“I thought you’d come to your senses,” Hallgrim said. “Sell the hotel. Let competent people take over here.”

“So that you could pocket a few extra kroner in bribes, Hallgrim? Or is there something else behind it?”

Alfred came in through the side door just then and stopped abruptly when he saw who was there. Ingrid almost thought she even

saw fear flash through his eyes. The Muskox fixed his intense stare on Alfred for a moment. Then Hallgrim turned back to Borghild.

“I have helpers, you know, Borghild. People in Dalen are on my side. I don’t think I need to remind you who’s in charge in

the village.”

Borghild’s laughter seemed to surprise everyone in the room. “You were in charge of the village,” she said. “But you won’t be after this.”

Ingrid saw the muscles tensing in Thor’s jaw; his fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white. She put a hand

over his to signal that he needed to stay calm. First and foremost, they just had to find out what was going on here; they

would deal with the consequences afterward. She’d thought they were done with the series of strange events happening here

at Glitter Peak this Christmas, but now, it seemed as if they were only getting started.

Her grandmother walked over to the large bookshelf at the back of the room. She opened one of the lower cabinets and took

out a stack of papers. Then she walked toward Hallgrim so that she was standing right in front of the fireplace. Her glossy

white hair had a reddish tint from the light of the fire. Her face was pale, but her hand was steady as she pointed her right

index finger at the pile of papers she held in her left hand. Then she raised her hand and pointed at Freya Wilkins.

“Here, Hallgrim,” she said. “And here. Here, you can see what’s going to take away your power.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Hallgrim growled.

“I mean it, Hallgrim—now you have to give up half your empire. The one you snatched up when Charlotte left.”

***

It was as if all the air went out of the man. The Muskox seemed to shrink before their eyes. He was left standing there like a shaggy, old farm bull wondering why no one was afraid of him anymore, staring at Borghild with his mouth hanging open.

For a moment, it looked as if the huge body was about to collapse, but Dr. Wilkins took a few quick steps forward and steered

Hallgrim toward a seat on the sofa closest to the fireplace. He sat there for a few seconds, breathing heavily, before asking,

in a voice that was noticeably less authoritative than before, “When Charlotte left ?”

Borghild stood in the center of the room, her arms crossed. She answered loud and clear: “Yes. When Charlotte left because

she couldn’t live with what had happened. And because she couldn’t live with the new injustice you wanted to force her into.”

“But Charlotte didn’t leave!” Hallgrim’s face was bright red again. “Charlotte didn’t leave! She died! She jumped into Styggfossen

because of you !”

“So that’s what you thought, Hallgrim. That she killed herself. Because of me.” Borghild took a deep breath, now looking at

Hallgrim with a completely different expression. It almost looked like compassion. “That’s why you’ve hated me so much all

these years.”

“Charlotte couldn’t bear the shame any longer,” Hallgrim said. “And you...” He pointed at Borghild with a trembling finger.

“ You pitted her against marriage. The marriage that could have saved her. But no, it was better for you if she went into the waterfall.”

Hallgrim looked as though he was sinking into the sofa, and Borghild sat with her back straight on one of the chairs opposite him, at the very edge of the seat. The Wilkinses had settled down at the table with Vegard, Pia, and David. Ingrid and Thor were standing behind Nana Borghild while Alfred stood next to Barry, his back to the fireplace. No one touched the coffee and cookies on the tray that Sunny had finally managed to set down. Sunny herself had retreated to a chair against the wall. She was watching the drama unfold with wide eyes.

“It’s true that she couldn’t stand the shame,” Borghild said. Her voice was strained, but she continued. “The shame and pain

that you helped inflict on her. You and your buddies. You wanted to marry her off to that drunkard Jarand Smedplass. So that you wouldn’t be embarrassed by your sister having a child out of wedlock, she had to marry a man she didn’t love, Hallgrim! Not

only that, she had to marry a man she was terrified of—a man who was violent and dangerous.”

“She messed up. Got into trouble. I was only trying to help her,” Hallgrim protested.

“Messed up! Help her! Jesus Christ. Sure, she got a lot of help in this village. Did she ever tell you who got her pregnant,

Hallgrim? Or maybe she didn’t dare?”

“She wouldn’t tell me. She was probably embarrassed for having been so stupid. But I always thought it was that traveling

painter.”

“Then you thought wrong.” Borghild sighed heavily. “Did you really not understand, Hallgrim? Then I’ll tell you now. It was

someone who was also trying to ‘help’ her. It was R?hmer.”

Hallgrim flinched. “R?hmer? The parish priest?”

“Yes!” Borghild’s voice was now quivering with rage. “Yes, her own parish priest and adviser whom she went to when she was in need. And who repaid her trust by assaulting her! And he was married, too! His wife probably had no idea what he was really like. Or maybe she just looked the other way. It certainly suited R?hmer that you decided to force Charlotte into a false, unhappy marriage with Jarand Smedplass. Then he could keep up his appearance as the guardian of religion and family values, and at the same time cover up his own crime.”

Borghild leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. She was no longer as tense. On the contrary, Ingrid thought she saw

a glimmer of relief in her grandmother’s posture. Not all that strange considering she’d been carrying this around for sixty

years.

Borghild continued, her voice softer now. “Charlotte didn’t kill herself, Hallgrim. She didn’t jump into the waterfall. How

could you have thought that? Surely her body would have been found?”

“But... the coat...”

“Hah! The coat. She threw it days before in a fit of rage and fear. Yes, for a while, I was also afraid she might hurt herself

because of the situation she’d been forced into. But she didn’t .”

Borghild straightened up again and fixed her eyes on Hallgrim. It was so quiet in the library you could have heard a newspaper

clipping fall. “No, Charlie wasn’t the type to kill herself, Hallgrim. Charlie was stronger than that. She left. For America.”

“What?!”

Ingrid realized only afterward that this outburst came from her own mouth. She looked at the Wilkinses, then back at Borghild.

What was her grandmother saying?

“She had to leave because she couldn’t go on living here after everything that happened. You should have understood that, Hallgrim,”

Borghild said. “Charlie couldn’t live like that.”

“She couldn’t live the way you were living!” Hallgrim spat. “I thought that was part of why she jumped into the waterfall.”

“What’s that, then, Hallgrim?”

“What you and she were getting up to. Ugh! It was sick! Unnatural! You fooled everyone. I came up here and tried to curry favor with you, and you were doing that , with my sister ...”

He looked away abruptly and lowered his head. Was he crying? Was he going to be sick?

Ingrid’s mind was racing. She exchanged glances with Thor, who also looked completely stunned, but who had the presence of

mind to put his arm around her and guide her to a chair. She sat there with Thor standing next to her, his hand still on her

shoulder.

That? The way you were? Unnatural? Did Hallgrim mean that this Charlotte... had been Borghild’s secret lover? Ingrid took a deep breath and felt the initial

dismay melting into a trembling excitement. Now, some pieces were finally starting to fall into place...

Hallgrim lifted his head suddenly and looked at Borghild again, fury blazing in his eyes. “You’re telling me she went to America?

And that you knew about it? So you’ve let us go around thinking she was dead all these years?”

“I’d sworn to keep her secret, Hallgrim. She wanted it to be unresolved. She thought people had no right to know what had

happened. But she said would write to you when she’d made a life for herself somewhere else. She promised me that.”

“She didn’t,” Hallgrim said, his voice rough as sandpaper. “I never heard from her again. Did you? Is she still alive?”

Borghild turned to Freya Wilkins, and now her voice was no longer as steady. “I don’t actually know. So I have to ask you,

Freya: Is Charlie Dalen still alive?”

“No, she’s not.” Freya Wilkins’s voice carried through the room, loud and clear. “My mother died many years ago.”

All faces were turned toward Freya, who was now standing opposite the sofa from Hallgrim.

“Your... mother?” Hallgrim asked, his face pale now. “You’re saying that Charlotte was your mother? That you... are

the child who...”

“That’s right. The child who was conceived in that unfortunate way—is me.”

Ingrid could hardly believe her ears. She looked around at her friends. They were all staring at Freya now. Talk about a drama!

There was plenty of material for the podcast Vegard wanted to make, she thought—but not much Pia and Sunny could post about on Instagram.

“My mother came to America with two empty hands and a growing belly,” Freya continued. “But she created a whole new life for

herself. Shortly after arriving in New York, she met a Norwegian man, a friend of her landlord in Brooklyn. That’s where most

of the Norwegians in New York were at the time. They got married soon after they met, on May 17, 1962. My father knew she

was pregnant when they got married. That goes without saying. She was six months along, after all. He told me everything when

I was an adult. He was childless, a widower, wealthy, much older than her. He thought she was the most beautiful thing he’d

ever seen. When she wanted to be his wife, taking on a child that wasn’t his was a price he was more than willing to pay.”

“But you said her name was Lottie Hansen,” Pia said. “Wasn’t her name Charlotte Dalen?”

“Yes, but she married Peter Hansen, whom I came to know as my father,” Freya said. “They were wonderful parents and stayed

together until my mother passed in 2004.”

Ingrid thought, Charlotte Dalen became Lottie Hansen ...

“So Charlie . . . Lottie . . . has been dead for almost twenty years,” Borghild said almost inaudibly.

“Yes, she was only sixty. Cancer. It was difficult, but I was a grown woman myself and had married John more than ten years

earlier.” Freya turned and looked at her husband lovingly. “Both we and my parents were living in California at the time,”

she said. “They moved out there when my dad retired, and my dad stayed there until he died in 2010. He was well into his eighties.

But he told me he’d never loved anyone but my mother.”

“But... did Charlie... Lottie... ever tell you about her background?” Ingrid asked. “Did you know where you came

from?”

Freya turned to her. “My mother taught me a lot about Norwegian culture. She loved Norway and spoke a little about where she

came from, but she was more guarded when it came to personal details. It was as if it was a door she’d closed. But on her

deathbed, she said something I didn’t understand at first. She spoke Norwegian, and I thought she was saying something about

climbing a glittering mountain. I assumed it was some kind of metaphor, that maybe she meant heaven. It was only much later that I realized the connection. She wrote letters, you see. Letters to a person she just called B . . . which she obviously never sent. I didn’t know about them until my father had also passed and I found them in the attic. When I read the letters, I started getting an idea of why my mother had left Norway, why she could no longer live in this place she loved so much. The letters were cryptic, almost written in code. They were in Norwegian. And they had no address. But they piqued my curiosity. The letters were the reason I got interested in genealogy and led me to getting involved in Norwegian associations. And because of the place names she kept referring to in the letters, I also realized what it was she’d actually said before she died. She said she always wanted to go to Glitter Peak again.”

Ingrid looked at her grandmother. Tears were rolling down Nana Borghild’s cheeks.

“So...” Ingrid looked between her grandmother, Hallgrim, and Freya before settling her gaze on the American. “Hallgrim’s

sister Charlotte, who disappeared in 1962, was your mother?”

“Yes.”

“So Hallgrim is your uncle?”

Freya looked at Hallgrim, at first without saying anything. “I wasn’t sure when I came here,” she said hesitantly. “But now

it’s quite obvious.”

Borghild nodded and wiped away her tears. She cleared her throat and said: “And Freya is heir to half the properties Hallgrim

and Charlotte inherited from their parents. And which Hallgrim has taken ownership of since Charlotte disappeared. Freya therefore

owns half of the Muskox properties.”

Hallgrim looked at her in dismay. “Owns...? Taken...? But I thought Charlie was dead!”

Borghild’s voice was authoritative once again. “Yes, but it was never declared legally, was it? Anyway, you’re obligated to

share. Otherwise you’ll have me and the legal system to deal with. Because I’ve put in the work, Hallgrim. I’ve been doing some investigating and found a number

of cases that show you’ve been making illegal and fraudulent real estate decisions for years, not to mention tricking people

into debt and financial hardship.”

She looked at Thor. “Your family knows all about that, don’t they, Thor?”

Thor nodded silently.

Borghild went on, “You think of yourself as this tycoon, Hallgrim. Like the king of the village and protector of the family

name. But you’ve built your estate on shady business and threats. You’ve taken more than what’s yours. I also understand that

in addition to the old grudge against me, you now have a financial interest in pushing us out of the hotel business. Because

you want us to sell to your partner, XO Hotels! But that’s never going to happen.”

“Was that why you came down to my place the other night?” Hallgrim asked.

“I came down there to warn you and ask you to leave Glitter Peak alone,” Borghild said. “Also for your own sake. But it wasn’t

just that... When Freya showed up, I knew there would be some big changes here. The snowball had started rolling. We had to talk. But you wouldn’t listen. And my courage failed me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I promised Charlie I wouldn’t tell you that she left. And I’ve kept that promise for sixty years. But now I had to do it. And you ... you have the chance to make things right.”

The snow was still falling outside the window.

The silence was palpable.

“Excuse me,” Sunny said, picking up cups and saucers and loading them onto the serving tray. “I’ll just go get some fresh

coffee.”

No one had touched the now cold cups.

Alfred stood up and tossed a couple of logs on the dwindling fire. He straightened up and looked around the room. “Hallgrim said it would be safest for our jobs if the Berg family was convinced to sell the hotel. As a part of the XO chain, we would get to keep our jobs, and it would be a better situation for everyone.”

Sunny and Maja came in from the kitchen with more coffee but were struck by the silence in the room and set the tray down

without a word. They stood there, staring at the caretaker along with everyone else.

A thousand thoughts were running through Ingrid’s head.

“Have you been sabotaging us?” she asked. “The flooding? Did you clog the drain and cause tens of thousands of kroner worth of damage?”

Alfred shook his head so vigorously that his gray tufts of hair fluttered in the glow from the fireplace. He looked genuinely

shaken.

“No, no! I didn’t want to actually harm anything or anyone.” Alfred looked at Hallgrim, who was sitting silently with a dogged

look on his face. “Even though he said we had to stand together, the locals from Dalen. And that the people at Glitter Peak

would ruin the hotel if they didn’t sell. And... that he would make sure I lost my job if I didn’t do as he said. He even

suggested that I try to arrange for some food poisoning. But I’d never do that to Maja!”

Everyone turned and looked at the chef, whose face had turned bright red. Alfred’s tone when he said her name had been so

affectionate—maybe even... loving?

I can’t believe I haven’t seen it before! Ingrid thought. He’s in love with her!

Suddenly, she saw things in a new light—all the morning hours when the aging caretaker sat with a cup of coffee in the kitchen while the chef chattered away. Alfred had applied for a job at the hotel years ago, just after Maja was widowed. He him self had never been married. Ingrid had never thought about it before, but she’d been blind—once again, love was right under her nose.

There was a kind of rumbling, and it took a while before they realized that Hallgrim was laughing. “We worked pretty hard

to persuade people not to come here,” he said. “We thought it would make you throw in the towel. But we haven’t managed that

yet.”

After a few hiccups of laughter, he was guffawing so hard that he had to wipe away tears with the back of his hand. Ingrid

almost had to laugh, too.

The friendship that had once existed between the young Borghild Berg and a young Hallgrim Dalen was hard to imagine when she

looked at them now. To think that Borghild, Hallgrim, and their friends—most of whom were now deceased—were the same boys

and girls who had worked and danced and spent time together here at Glitter Peak sixty years ago! They had been so young—much

younger than Ingrid was now.

Dr. Wilkins hadn’t said a word during the confrontation, but he now had a supportive hand on his wife’s arm. Ingrid didn’t

know how much he had caught of the conversation, which had mostly been in Norwegian, but he seemed to understand everything

that was going on.

“I knew it when I saw the painting!” Freya explained. “When I recognized my mother in the picture in Borghild’s room, I understood how it was all connected. I’d started piecing things together, and I suppose I was sleeping poorly and was maybe even a little manic. John was so worried about me.” She stroked her husband’s hand tenderly. “We went to the National Archives and searched online, but it wasn’t until we got here that I really felt I was getting close to something. I wandered around the corridors, thinking and listening and trying to find out as much as possible. I didn’t even have the energy to eat. It was so overwhelming to be here, at this Glitter Peak my mother had longed for. And then I fainted and woke up to the picture of her and Borghild!”

“Your mother and Borghild?”

Ingrid stopped herself and looked toward her grandmother, who was sitting on the sofa across from them. How could Ingrid possibly

be so slow? Of course they were the ones depicted in the painting that had hung there all these years—the girls in bunads. How could she not have seen it? She hadn’t even recognized her grandmother; she’d just seen a couple of random models

in bunads in the Norwegian countryside, young girls with long braids—one dark and one light. It was Borghild and Charlotte

in the painting, her grandmother and the love of her life, Charlotte, who had been nineteen when she disappeared, whom Nana

Borghild had never seen again, and whom she may have never stopped loving.

“Hidden in plain sight,” Freya Wilkins said.

She took her wallet out of her purse and pulled something out. Then she stood up and walked over to Borghild, holding out

an old photograph. Borghild stood up, too; she took the picture and studied it carefully before embracing Freya. They stood

there for a long time with their arms around each other. Ingrid was certain they were both crying.

***

It ended up being a long afternoon in the library. After a while, Sunny went out for more fresh coffee and some waffles, which seemed to be just the thing to lighten the mood a bit. The conversation continued. There were still so many questions.

“What happened to the groom, then?” Thor asked.

It turned out that the jilted Jarand Smedplass had left Dalen the year after the wedding that never took place. He died sometime

in the 1970s. Hallgrim heard he drank himself to death. “Things in the village weren’t the same for him after he was left

at the altar,” Hallgrim said.

“That makes sense,” Thor said, taking a waffle.

“Good riddance,” Nana Borghild said sharply. “Jarand Smedplass was a bad man. Reverend R?hmer, too. He died in 1963.”

Ingrid shuddered. If she’d understood things correctly, R?hmer was the priest who’d assaulted Charlie, and who was supposed

to have officiated Charlie and Jarand’s wedding! It was truly sick. So Freya’s biological father was a rapist. What was it

like for her to take this all in?

As if she’d read Ingrid’s mind, Freya said: “I had a good father. Peter Hansen raised me as his own and loved me dearly, and

I’ve never needed anyone else.” She squeezed her husband’s hand. “John and I were never blessed with children, but John has

two grown daughters and three wonderful grandchildren. And now we’ve also found all of you.”

***

Hallgrim studied Freya carefully. “I can’t believe I have a niece. Wait until the boys find out—a cousin from America! You

look just like her, you know. Like Charlie.”

Ingrid wasn’t sure that the “boys” would be all that excited about a surprise cousin with whom they had to share their inheritance. But one thing she was sure of was that Hallgrim Dalen now had tears in his eyes.

And he was absolutely right about the resemblance. Even with only the bunad painting and the old photograph for comparison,

Ingrid could see that Freya Wilkins looked a lot like her mother. The blond hair, the soft facial features, the big gray eyes...

What had it been like for Nana Borghild to see Freya when she came bursting through the doors a few weeks ago? Was that why

Borghild had become so withdrawn and avoided the American? Had she figured out the connection right away? Had she been happy?

Scared? Overwhelmed by this visit from the past?

There was going to be a lot to talk about moving forward; Ingrid and Borghild had wasted so much time keeping secrets from

each other. But that was going to end now.

Suddenly, Vegard stood up. He leaned toward Ingrid and whispered, “Why don’t you and Thor come up and join us afterward? There’s

something else we need to take care of here if we want the Christmas celebrations to be just right.”

He winked at David and Pia and headed for the door.

Ingrid was curious. When she stood up a little while later and walked toward the foyer, Thor came with her.

“What a drama,” he said quietly.

She met his gaze and whispered: “Yeah, we sure got more mystery than we were expecting!”

His blue eyes sparkled.

***

Thorbj?rn Seter scratched his head as he put down the phone and walked over to his wife.

“This is strange, Thoril. It was someone from the hotel,” he said.

“From the hotel?”

“Yes, someone named Vegard Vang. He spoke in that fancy Oslo accent, you know. ‘I’m calling from Glitter Peak Lodge—on behalf

of hotel manager Ingrid Berg.’”

“On behalf of Ingrid? But what did he want, then?”

“I’m getting to that. He said he knew it was short notice, but he wondered if we wanted to go up there tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? On Christmas Eve?”

“Yes, I guess they want us to celebrate Christmas with Thor and Ingrid and the guests at the hotel.”

“What in the world... we can’t do that!”

“But why not, Thoril? Really? Maja will be there and everything. I said yes.”

***

Dinner was served later that evening. It took more than some family drama to put Maja Seter out of action. Ingrid walked Thor

out to his car afterward, again. It was apparently becoming a habit. In the future, she would also make a habit of wishing

him a proper welcome.

The snow had subsided a bit, and Thor was sure it was okay to drive even though the roads hadn’t been plowed yet. Hallgrim

Dalen had left a couple of hours ago with a new niece to tell people about and an old feud more or less put to rest.

Ingrid put her hand on Thor’s arm. “So that nut Vegard has invited your parents here for Christmas Eve! You can of course

say no.”

Thor looked at her. “Would you rather we not come?” he asked, seeming a bit concerned.

“Yes, yes, of course you can come!” she exclaimed. “I mean, you’re most welcome! I just meant that . . . you probably had your own plans already, and are used to being at home, and . . .”

He took her hand. “Never mind that, Ingrid. Never mind what we’re used to! I can celebrate Christmas anywhere, as long as

it’s with you.”

She saw a deep seriousness in his usually jovial eyes. They were standing close now, so close she could feel his warm breath

on her face. With Thor, it felt okay to be so close to another person. More than okay, actually. It felt... right. She

wanted to be close to Thor. Her body was soft and warm. It was as if a barrier had disappeared. She leaned forward and kissed

him.

***

From Borghild Berg’s diary:

I’m sitting here, looking at the painting of the two of us.

When Mother and Father were so happy with the painting of Styggfossen and Heaven’s Horn, they decided to commission another

painting from the painter, Antonsen. They’d originally intended for me to pose alone. Their only child, the heir to the hotel.

But I didn’t want that. I wanted Charlie in the painting. And so she was. I guess I was pretty stubborn and spoiled. It turned

out just the way I wanted it to.

It was so exciting, being a model! But we didn’t get to look while it was being painted. It was only when Mother and Father asked us to come into the living room one afternoon that we got to see what the finished painting looked like. There we were in our bunads. We could see for ourselves that we were beautiful. That everything around us was beautiful. That we belonged together. We felt so grown up then. Now I can see how young we were.

I remember grabbing her hand. “I’ll love you forever,” I said quietly, so that Mother and Father couldn’t hear it. I was so

certain. So sure that we would find a way to be together.

It was only afterward that I realized that Charlie had been more insecure than I was. That was why she went to the priest.

She was so young, torn between emotions and what was expected of her. She knew that what we were doing wasn’t something people

would accept. She’d had a good relationship with the priest ever since her confirmation. She trusted him.

I can’t believe that Hallgrim didn’t know the priest was the father of the child Charlie was expecting. But she had never

told him what happened. She blamed herself for trusting the priest. The man she went to so she could have someone to talk

to about what was troubling her—and who assaulted her. Like the wolf he was. Like the lamb she was. He was supposed to be

the shepherd.

Jarand probably didn’t know who the child’s father was, either. Hallgrim had only told him that Charlotte had ended up “in

a delicate condition” and promised him a lucrative deal if he took on the paternity and showed up in the church. And she was

good wife material, Charlie. Young and beautiful and the heir to half of the Dalen family estate. Jarand must have thought

he’d hit the jackpot.

I knew I had to stop it. And I did, even though it was painful. At least I managed to prevent the one bastard who had assaulted her from officiating her marriage to the bastard who would then ruin the rest of her life.

But, and this is hard to believe, it was R?hmer who married me and Christian only a few months later. We had no other priests

to choose from, and in the midst of my grief over Charlie, I did what I had to do: I came to my senses and married the kind,

faithful Christian.

I’d always known I couldn’t marry the person I really loved. So I might as well marry a friend. He was a good man. Our wedding

was a discreet affair. Anything else would have seemed strange in light of what had just happened. We mourned Charlie, all

of us, in our own ways. R?hmer didn’t grow old, by the way, but that’s another matter. We got better priests after him.

Hallgrim was still disappointed—no, shocked!—when I chose Christian; after all, he’d always hoped that he and I would end

up together. Whether it was me or the hotel that was most appealing, I don’t know. But Hallgrim Dalen wasn’t used to being

denied something he wanted. And it didn’t help that he’d realized there was something between me and Charlie. It made his

rage grow, and he thought that it—the “perversity”!—had also contributed to her taking her life. How he could think that he

and I should marry is beyond me. It was as if he couldn’t quite come to terms with reality. He simply couldn’t understand

that two women could actually love each other.

But I should have let him know that she wasn’t dead.

“I didn’t hate you,” Hallgrim said when we sat in the library tonight. “I loved you.”

“I know,” I told him. “And I was very fond of you, too. Once.”

“I thought you were,” he said then. “But not in that way. Because it wasn’t me you loved—it was my sister.”