Blackthorn Winter Read Free

good look at you." She turned back to Mom. "What luscious little people. I could just eat them up!"
    Maybe a witch after all.
I tried to smile in a friendly manner at Mom's old friend, though I wasn't really feeling friendly. This was the woman responsible for finding us our cottage in this village, for persuading Mom that her painting career would flourish if she took a break from her marriage to move here.
    "So tell me," gushed Liza, "which babies did you find in the cabbage patch and which are your very own?"
    I knew how much questions like this annoyed Mom.
But she spoke calmly. "They're all my own, Liza, of course. But Juliana and Edmund were adopted, if that's what you mean."
    Edmund elbowed me in the side and rolled his eyes. I rolled mine back. We were united. The Adopted Ones. Next to me, Ivy harrumphed; she always felt left out.
    "Twins, eh?" The woman was grinning down at Ivy and Edmund, revealing uneven rows of very white teeth. "Peas in a pod, eh? You're the ones from—where was it? Poland or someplace? Romania? I know you sent me an announcement, but it was years ago. And they all three of them look alike—blonds, just like you, Hedda. They could really be your own!"
    "Edmund was born in Russia," Mom clarified briskly, "and Juliana was born in California—although we were told that her birth mother may have come from England originally. In any case, Juliana's our eldest—she's fifteen. And Edmund and Ivy are both nine. I know they look like twins, but they aren't really."
    "Sure we are," protested Edmund, grinning.
    The Goops were both very blond, and Ivy's hair was curly like Mom's. My own hair was a darker shade, and straight. I wore it long, usually tied back in a single braid.
    "We have the same exact birthday, after all," said Ivy, linking her arm through Edmund's. "And we have the same parents now and we live in the same family now, and so that makes us twins, no matter where we were born."
    Liza-the-witch blinked, looking confused. The Goops often had that effect on people. Of course, we were all used to people needing explanations about how our family was formed, but Mom always resented having to explain anything. "We're a
family,
" she always said. "Families come together in all sorts of ways. What difference does it make?"
    "People are just interested, Hedda," Dad would always reply. "It doesn't matter."
    "Well, it's none of their business, that's all," said Mom.
    "So, tell me the story of
this
one, then," said Liza Pethering now, pointing at Ivy. "Is this one the
real
daughter?"
    I gritted my teeth and looked at that red door, wondering if we'd ever get inside or if we'd have to stand out here in the cold, explaining ourselves, forever.
    Mom frowned. "All three children are as real as can be, Liza! But yes, Ivy is our birth daughter. It just so happened that we were planning to adopt from an orphanage in Russia when I found out I was pregnant. And then when we went to Russia several months later to get our baby boy, we discovered he had been born on the very same day as Ivy. A special coincidence."
    "Makes you believe in fate, eh?" chuckled Liza.
    Mom looked at her more kindly. "Exactly."
    "Sort of how it was fate that made me find your e-mail address when I was sending out announcements for my new gallery, and fate that had me contacting you at the very same time you were over there in California deciding you just had to come back to England!" Liza flashed her snaggle-toothed grin. "I wrote to you after—how many years? And there you were, needing to reconnect with old art-school chums because you wanted to get back to your own painting. 'No, don't go to London,' I told you. 'Come to Blackthorn instead. That's where the real action is in the art world these days. Not to mention we've got a fabulous drama society with yours truly as the new president, and a
brilliant historical association with yours truly as fearless leader, and so there will be tons for you to do and lots of