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Marianne is one of the most exuberant people I have ever met.

She comes early, with Karl trailing dolefully behind her. She gives me a flat piece of wood carved into a little girl wearing a flowered wreath—"A house-warming gift."—and a jar of sweets. She has never been in here before, and she instantly proclaims that this is the nicest cottage she has ever seen in Sweden. She talks about the quality of all the furniture, and mentions that the previous owner was a doctor.

Within fifteen minutes of her arrival, Marianne has been in every room… and she asks, "Where is your husband?"

"He's had to travel." I say apologetically. "He is into architecture, and works in many places. He received a letter asking for his presence in Russia. He will most likely be gone several weeks."

Even during my rehearsed speech, I am amazed at how comfortable the lie is. For a moment, it makes perfect sense that Erik would be away, and I am left to explain his absence. Marianne looks at me sadly. "Poor dear! That is far away. And right after you get your new home, too!" She sighs.

Luckily, she does not ask again.

I learn quickly that Marianne regards any moment that she is not talking as a moment wasted. It doesn't bother me; On the contrary, I like when she fills the silence. The only voice I have heard in forever is Erik's, and he doesn't talk much at all.

It feels nice to be normal again. I like having company over that I can entertain, that I can smile and laugh with. The only thing missing… I would dearly love it if Erik were next to me, greeting and meeting as well… but I know that is not possible. My husband belongs in a different world, a world that he has created. I am more than happy to go into his… but he cannot come into mine.

Marianne talks all through dinner, while her husband sits quietly and smiles. He is a dear fellow, but nearly the opposite of his young wife. He seemed a little shy at first, but now he listens intently and often chats through Marianne.

"Karl used to be in woodwork." Marianne tells me. "But he wasn't very good. And then he tried cooking, too. He's a good cook, you know, but not enough for the business. But now we get along alright."

I suppose I learned much about Marianne that first night. I muse over this after she leaves, wondering if I contributed enough, wondering if I was a nice host, wondering if she'll want to come over again…

Erik is sitting in the main room when I come back in after closing the door, sitting in the chair so naturally that if seems as though he's been there the whole time. "She seems very friendly for you." he comments, his fingertips together.

I smile. It is so nice to see him again, even though it has only been a few hours. You see, perhaps it is because I have been constantly around him for almost a year, but it is like we've grown too attached. I know we are two very different people, but in our hearts we are one, and even having him parted from me for a short time makes me nervous and hoping to see him soon. Perhaps it is not such a good thing… but it is true. And I am happy when I am with him. Because we are one, and I never want to leave him… We belong together, forever… Fate put us together for a reason, and see how everything has worked out…

But I am getting carried away. I am thinking of love and Fate, and I was supposed to be telling Erik about Marianne!

"She's very welcoming." I agree. "I do like her a lot."

His forehead crinkles. "So, you will be having her over again?"

Reading his expression, I slowly nod.

His forehead clears. "That's fine, dear. I do not mind." His face is blank. "I will be… gone again."

I should have known then what sort of hole Erik was digging himself into. I should have been able to see that all he really needed was a little push, a little support in the right direction. But I let it go, because I thought that there was no use arguing with him at the moment.

Despite the snow and the chill, Marianne and I went on a picnic on the other side of the hill. She had food in a little brown basket, which she admitted she had made herself when she was a girl. That's how we started talking about clothing and sewing, so that then we were talking about the price of yarn and ridiculous shop-keepers, and then mean people and why they were bitter.

She was very easy to talk to.

"My mother was bitter." Marianne says. "Seven children to feed, with a husband that left her right after the youngest was born—I was number five—for a pretty woman. I had to help take care of the baby, wash the clothes, and keep the milk jug when I was only eight!"

I laugh with her. I couldn't imagine what it would be like to grow up in a house with seven children. "Did you like having so many siblings?"

She wrinkled her nose a little, and then winked. "I suppose. Laurent died when he was only 12, and he was one year older than me. And Germain moved out and married right after my father left, because he was already nineteen. But I loved them all. I liked the two younger ones, especially. I always took care of them. I do love children." She gave a very great sigh.

I feel awkward, as if she had suddenly dwelt on something very sad, and she must see the emotion on my face.

"I've had two miscarriages." she says gently, her eyes wide and sincere. Indeed, it is the first time I have not seen her with a bright smile on her face. "They were very close together. It was very—sad, I suppose. But it was all for the best. I have two stones by a tree to remember them by. They were both boys, I know they were."

And she shows them to me the next day, perhaps half a mile from her cottage. It's a tall tree, currently covered with snow, and two little bricks at the bottom.

I tell Erik about it later, and he doesn't like it at all.

"Holding onto the past achieves nothing, Christine." he says, oddly serious.

I curl my fingers. "I know. But it was a nice thought."

He shakes his head. "Why make it harder to move on by tethering reminders for yourself every day?" He looks at his hands. "Not a wise move, I say."

"But our baby—" I begin.

"Is gone. Never was. Oh, Christine," he sighs, catching the look on my face. "How can it mean so much to you, even now? It was not your fault. Do you really crave a child that much?"

"No." I say, and I meet his eye. "I just felt bad… as if I hadn't done enough for my own baby…"

Erik soothes me, and I know he is right. But later, I find a tiny tree far back from our own home, and put a pure white stone against the rock. Erik will not find it, and if he does, he will not understand… I still have no name for my unborn child, no dreams that I had wanted to live with him. Him…? Was my baby a boy? Yes, he had been my son for the breifest of seconds, before the midwife had taken him away...

I didn't have a stone for him.

Marianne did not know of my own brush with losing a child, and I did not tell her. I did not want to make her sad, and I felt it was a very personal sorrow, something only for Erik and I.

Marianne and I went on walks in the woods, shopped together in the little town below us, and tossed snow back and forth whenever we passed a large pile. A heavy snowstorm prevented us from seeing each other for nearly a week, until I found Marianne soaking wet at my door, having trudged up the hill for nearly a half hour, determined to give me something she had made.

It was very nice to have a friend.

Now, if I could only get Erik to have one as well…

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