workmanship.”
The display included several mangles—those betrothal gifts
Mom had described with such glee. Chloe touched his arm. “It’s
gorgeous. We need to keep an eye on the time, though.”
As they retraced their steps, he paused in front of a flat piece of wood—roughly thirty-five inches by four inches, and carved with
a variety of symbols. “What is that?”
“It’s a primstav —a calendar stick.” Chloe regarded the piece with professional appreciation and personal distaste. “Centuries
ago, people used them to keep track of time.”
“So … those tiny notches are for days?”
“Right. Each stick has a winter side and a summer side.” She
indicated a carved mitten. “This marked the beginning of winter.
The symbols represent seasonal activities. Some of the traditions
came from pagan times, like …” Her voice trailed away. The first
story that popped to mind had to do with women who wished to
marry running around a cuckoo tree three times. Good God, she
thought. Shades of my mother’s encyclopedic knowledge of mar-
riage folklore.
Roelke squinted at the stick. “Do you know what all these sym-
bols stand for?”
“Not off the top of my head. I think there’s a flail for threshing grain in there somewhere. And … See that bonfire? That probably
stands for the winter solstice. Right next to it is a drinking horn.
Merry Christmas, have some beer.”
“Well, hunh,” Roelke said.
47
“But lots of those symbols represent saints’ days. There was a
time when the church punished people if they didn’t honor the
saints. These primstavs helped peasants keep track.” Chloe frowned at the calendar stick. “When I was about eight, I sat through a slide show at my dad’s Sons of Norway lodge where the speaker
described all the martyrs’ deaths in great, gory detail. I was trau-matized.”
Roelke put an arm around her shoulders. “No fun.”
Chloe let her head rest against him for a moment. Maybe they
could play hooky that afternoon …
“Chloe?” Roelke asked. “I need you to do me a favor.”
That didn’t sound good. Her sense of refuge disappeared.
“What is it?” she asked, way too savvy to agree up front.
He told her about the conversation he’d had with Lavinia that
morning. “So there’s some kind of old conflict between her and
Petra, and …”
“And you want me to find out what happened.”
“Right. I mean, I could question your mom—”
Chloe had seen Roelke in full cop mode. It was not fun to be
on the receiving end. Right now Mom really liked Roelke, and
Chloe didn’t want anything to jeopardize that. She sighed, deeply
and dramatically. “No, I’ll talk to her.”
“Thanks.”
The reference to Mom reminded her of something else. “You
go on ahead. I should stop by Howard’s office and pick up the
folklore project notes.”
Roelke made a big show of glancing at his watch.
48
“It won’t hurt if I’m a little late for the afternoon session,”
Chloe said. “Besides, since my mother volunteered me for this lit-
tle gig, she can hardly complain.” She hoped.
Roelke started to frown. Then his expression changed in a way
Chloe couldn’t quite identify. “It’s just a file or two, right?” he said.
“I’ll get them for you.”
Chloe’s eyes narrowed. She couldn’t tell if he was intervening
for personal or professional reasons. Did the cop want a moment
along with Howard Hoff, or did her companion want to facilitate
peace between her and mom?
She decided that the question was not worth deep analysis. “Be
my guest,” she said. “I’ll meet you after the afternoon session.”
It didn’t take long for Roelke to find Hoff ’s office. The door
stood half-open, and the director’s voice drifted into the hall.
“… no, I don’t think you should come.” Pause. “It’s a sweet offer, Judy, but I’m really fine.”
The man was obviously in the middle of a personal call. Roelke
stepped
The display included several mangles—those betrothal gifts
Mom had described with such glee. Chloe touched his arm. “It’s
gorgeous. We need to keep an eye on the time, though.”
As they retraced their steps, he paused in front of a flat piece of wood—roughly thirty-five inches by four inches, and carved with
a variety of symbols. “What is that?”
“It’s a primstav —a calendar stick.” Chloe regarded the piece with professional appreciation and personal distaste. “Centuries
ago, people used them to keep track of time.”
“So … those tiny notches are for days?”
“Right. Each stick has a winter side and a summer side.” She
indicated a carved mitten. “This marked the beginning of winter.
The symbols represent seasonal activities. Some of the traditions
came from pagan times, like …” Her voice trailed away. The first
story that popped to mind had to do with women who wished to
marry running around a cuckoo tree three times. Good God, she
thought. Shades of my mother’s encyclopedic knowledge of mar-
riage folklore.
Roelke squinted at the stick. “Do you know what all these sym-
bols stand for?”
“Not off the top of my head. I think there’s a flail for threshing grain in there somewhere. And … See that bonfire? That probably
stands for the winter solstice. Right next to it is a drinking horn.
Merry Christmas, have some beer.”
“Well, hunh,” Roelke said.
47
“But lots of those symbols represent saints’ days. There was a
time when the church punished people if they didn’t honor the
saints. These primstavs helped peasants keep track.” Chloe frowned at the calendar stick. “When I was about eight, I sat through a slide show at my dad’s Sons of Norway lodge where the speaker
described all the martyrs’ deaths in great, gory detail. I was trau-matized.”
Roelke put an arm around her shoulders. “No fun.”
Chloe let her head rest against him for a moment. Maybe they
could play hooky that afternoon …
“Chloe?” Roelke asked. “I need you to do me a favor.”
That didn’t sound good. Her sense of refuge disappeared.
“What is it?” she asked, way too savvy to agree up front.
He told her about the conversation he’d had with Lavinia that
morning. “So there’s some kind of old conflict between her and
Petra, and …”
“And you want me to find out what happened.”
“Right. I mean, I could question your mom—”
Chloe had seen Roelke in full cop mode. It was not fun to be
on the receiving end. Right now Mom really liked Roelke, and
Chloe didn’t want anything to jeopardize that. She sighed, deeply
and dramatically. “No, I’ll talk to her.”
“Thanks.”
The reference to Mom reminded her of something else. “You
go on ahead. I should stop by Howard’s office and pick up the
folklore project notes.”
Roelke made a big show of glancing at his watch.
48
“It won’t hurt if I’m a little late for the afternoon session,”
Chloe said. “Besides, since my mother volunteered me for this lit-
tle gig, she can hardly complain.” She hoped.
Roelke started to frown. Then his expression changed in a way
Chloe couldn’t quite identify. “It’s just a file or two, right?” he said.
“I’ll get them for you.”
Chloe’s eyes narrowed. She couldn’t tell if he was intervening
for personal or professional reasons. Did the cop want a moment
along with Howard Hoff, or did her companion want to facilitate
peace between her and mom?
She decided that the question was not worth deep analysis. “Be
my guest,” she said. “I’ll meet you after the afternoon session.”
It didn’t take long for Roelke to find Hoff ’s office. The door
stood half-open, and the director’s voice drifted into the hall.
“… no, I don’t think you should come.” Pause. “It’s a sweet offer, Judy, but I’m really fine.”
The man was obviously in the middle of a personal call. Roelke
stepped
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