A Nordic King(30)

Oh my god. Is she about to have a public meltdown?

I put my hands on Clara’s shoulders. “Listen, we’re still having a good time. We still went on the flying trunk ride and the mine ride that you like and the Viking carousel and—”

“No!” she cries out, ripping away from me and running to the front of the line, starting to yell at the ride operator. “Jeg er prinsessen, jeg skal med p? turen!”

Everyone in line is both wide-eyed and submissive, immediately stepping back and out of the way to let her go in front.

I grab Clara’s arm as gently as I can and try to pull her away. “You see the sign, you can’t go by yourself, and I can’t leave Freja behind.” I’m pleading with her now not to make a scene but I know it’s too late. She’s making one. Everyone can hear what she’s saying and, worse, I see cameras and phones out, snapping her picture, probably even recording it.

“Do you mind?” I turn around and yell at the crowd. “This little girl might be a princess but she’s still a little girl who lost her mother. If you post any of that, we will sue you!”

“Yeah, sue you,” Freja interjects, pointing her finger at them.

Finally, Clara gives in and lets me drag her away. I manage to get her around the corner from the crowd and then drop to my knees to look at her, my hands on her shoulders keeping her in place. “Clara, please, you know you can’t act like this.”

“I can do whatever I want,” she sniffs, wiping the lone tear that’s falling from her eye. “I’m a princess and I’m going to be a queen someday.”

I can’t really argue with that one.

“Then you must learn how queens behave themselves. You’re a queen-in-training, Clara.”

“And a goddess,” Freja speaks up.

I give Freja a grateful smile. “Yes, and a goddess.” I pull Clara in for a light hug. I’m a hugger but I understand people who aren’t and with Clara she’s either into it or making a fuss.

Clara pulls back and nods, looking away. She seems ashamed and suddenly aware of the scene she caused. “I just miss Mama,” she admits.

“Oh sweetheart, I know you do. Everyone does. Everyone loved her.”

“But she was only our mother, no one else’s. And now she’s gone. And we can’t even come here like we used to.”

My heart is waterlogged. I sigh and brush her hair over her shoulder. “I wish I had magic to bring your mother back and have everything the way it was. I wish life worked that way.”

“When I’m queen, I’m going to find that magic. I’ll be able to turn back time.”

“Well, let me know when you do, because I’ve got a few mistakes in my past I wouldn’t mind redoing.”

That got her attention, distracting her from her own sadness. “Really? Like what?”

I smile. “That’s a conversation for another time. For now though, all we have is the present so we better make the most of it. Isn’t that right?”

“That’s right,” Freja says, coming over and leaning against her sister in support.

“Can we go to the autumn fair now?” Clara asks quietly, staring at her shoes.

“Yes, of course,” I tell them. “Let’s go.” I take both their hands and all three of us raise our chins, heads held high, and walk out of the park.



*

The autumn fair is further outside of the city, which is a nice little drive through lanes lined with red and golden-leafed trees and misty fields of wheat. I roll down the window and take in a deep breath, slowly feeling my head start to clear. I’d spent most of the ride totally foggy-headed and drained after Clara’s breakdown in Tivoli.

I don’t blame her—at all. This is the first time I’ve seen Clara give any sign of trauma, that something is wrong. Normally quiet Freja is the sensitive one, wearing her heart on her sleeve and Clara is just so happy-go-lucky through life. In fact, she reminds me a lot of me. For her to get emotional like this, it’s healthy and long overdue.

But I fear what might get printed in the tabloids or put online. The stuff they might say about her. I don’t give a rat’s ass what they’ll say about me because I’m pretty sure me yelling at people isn’t going to paint me in the best “Mary Poppins” light and they’ll probably post unflattering pictures of me in my skirt, call me a hussy or something, and then say I was totally incompetent. But I want to protect Clara and Freja from as much of this as I can.

Thankfully the fair isn’t nearly as busy as Tivoli, and as far as I can tell, there aren’t any paparazzi around. It’s mostly apple orchards, pens of prized farm animals, and endless stalls selling harvest vegetables and crafts and food, set on a sprawling, picturesque farm.

Freja is insistent on carrying Clara’s big backpack this time around and I don’t want another fuss on my hands so I let her, even though it dwarfs her tiny frame. We visit the farm animals which the girls are all taken with, especially the sheep and tiny pigs, and then I grab a bag of apples and some root vegetables for Karla since the Danes are so crazy for them and incorporate them into every dish (along with rugbr?d, which is a tasty dark rye bread that I can never pronounce right).

We’re settled down at a picnic table and eating late lunch of open-faced sandwiches (no meat, naturally) when a couple walks past and sits down at the table across from us. They both seem to be about my age, late twenties, and unlike some of the other folk here, they don’t pay us any attention at all. In fact, they’re so completely smitten with each other, I’m not even sure they realize where they are.