by Annika Thor
Stephie laughs.
“You can imagine how fast they pulled those heads of theirs back in,” May says, giggling.
“Where did you hear that one?”
“Papa heard it down at the shipyard. Somebody read it in the paper. He says it’s a true story.”
May’s papa always has stories to tell about his coworkers or the foremen at the shipyard, or about something he saw on the tram. The stories are often critical of the people he calls “the powers that be.” Laughing at people with authority makes life easier to bear for people who are powerless themselves.
Vera’s the same, Stephie thinks. She imitates and jokes about people so she won’t have to be scared of them.
“Let’s swim,” says May.
“I wonder if Vera’s going to turn up,” Stephie says. “She has the afternoon off today.”
“I don’t think she’ll want to be seen in a bathing suit much longer,” says May.
“Why not?”
“Didn’t you notice last night?” May asks. “Didn’t you see her tightening her belt so it wouldn’t show?”
“What are you talking about? So what wouldn’t show?”
May just stares at her.
“Stephanie,” she says. “I know you aren’t always very aware of these things, but are you trying to tell me you really don’t know?”
“What don’t I know?”
Stephie raises her voice. It annoys her that May is acting all superior, pretending to know more about Vera than she does. Vera is Stephie’s friend, not May’s, although they do get along better now than they used to.
“That she’s in the family way,” May says calmly. “Surely you’ve noticed?”
Stephie can’t believe her ears. “Of course she’s not,” she replies. “Where did you get that from?”
May doesn’t say anything, but Stephie can tell from the look in her eyes that May is certain. She wasn’t just making it up.
Vera was sick to her stomach recently. She’s getting chubbier. She mentioned herself that she looked different. And the creaking bed in the cabin that night …
Stephie feels foolish. Silly and childish. How could she not have understood? And she considers herself Vera’s best friend!
“Are you sure?”
“Just ask her,” says May. “I can’t believe she hasn’t talked to you about it. Her best friend. I would have told you right away. But of course I’d never have gotten myself into that predicament.”
She sounds so dreadfully sensible, as if she thinks she is a better person than Vera.
“It’s his fault just as much as hers,” says Stephie.
“Oh, yes,” says May. “Don’t be angry. Come on, let’s take a swim.”
23
It’s Sunday morning, and Aunt Märta is getting ready to go to church, when May has an idea. Aunt Märta is wearing her navy-blue Sunday dress, and her bun is pulled tight at the back of her head. She’s standing at the mirror, fastening her straw hat with hat pins.
Stephie usually goes with her to church. She does it to make Aunt Märta happy. When they arrive at the prayer house arm in arm, Aunt Märta always looks so proud. But Stephie is ashamed. She doesn’t really believe in the things they preach. She doesn’t even think the songs are very nice anymore.
This Sunday, Aunt Märta has to go alone. It’s May’s last day on the island. After dinner, Stephie’s going to walk her to the steamboat.
“Do they take up collection at your church?” May asks Aunt Märta.
Aunt Märta turns to look at May.
“Certainly. It usually goes to our missions in heathen countries.”
“I was wondering,” May said, “and I hope you won’t be offended. I know you and Stephie send packages to her parents, and that they need both food and clothing. I was wondering whether one week’s collection could be used for them? Everyone here knows Stephie and Nellie.”
Aunt Märta nods thoughtfully. “That’s not a bad idea. What do you say, Stephie?”
Charity. Isn’t it shameful enough that she has to live on money that comes from the goodwill of people who contribute to the relief committee? Is she going to have to beg for money for Mamma and Papa now, too?
But she swallows her pride. It is a good idea. It will soon be autumn and then winter again. Perhaps they could buy warm overcoats for her parents. And shoes, too, if they can collect enough ration coupons.
“Yes,” Stephie says. “That would be good.”
“I’ll have a word with the pastor,” says Aunt Märta, “and we’ll see what he says.”
After Aunt Märta leaves, Stephie and May go out into the garden. Miss Björk and Janice are sitting at the table in their bathrobes, having their morning tea.
“Hi, girls,” says Miss Björk. “Would you like some tea?”
May hesitates. She hasn’t quite gotten used to spending time with her teacher outside of school.
“Yes, please,” says Stephie.
She gets two cups. Janice pours and puts in the sugar for them. That’s how it’s done in England, as she has told Stephie. One of their English lessons was a little tea party at which Stephie pretended to be the lady of the house, offering her guests, Janice and Miss Björk, tea, sugar and milk, buns and scones.
May sips at her tea, wrinkling her nose.
“Don’t you care for tea, May?” Janice asks.
“I’m not sure,” says May. “I expected it to taste more like coffee.”
“We had a morning dip,” says Miss Björk. “From the jetty. A nice hot cup of tea tastes wonderful after a swim. Now we’re going for a long walk on the beach. Would you like to join us? We could collect maritime plants for your herbariums.”
Janice laughs. “Come now, Hedvig,” she says. “Let the girls have some time off. You’re going home today, May, aren’t you?”
“That’s right,” says Stephie. “I think we’ll stay here. We promised to have coffee ready for Aunt Märta when she comes back from church.”
Half an hour later, Miss Björk and Janice head off, dressed in shorts and sneakers. Miss Björk is carrying a collecting box and a small net. Janice has a book in her shoulder bag.
Stephie and May sit in the sun on the steps, watching them walk off.
“I saw them this morning,” May says, once they are out of earshot. “They were swimming in the nude.”
“I know,” says Stephie. “They skinny-dip in the mornings. Aunt Märta doesn’t approve, but she doesn’t want to reprimand them. At least when Uncle Evert’s at home, they wear their suits.”
“They seem to be such good friends,” says May. “Just like girlfriends, except grown up. I hope we’ll be like that! We could share an apartment. You’d study medicine and I’d study social work. When we’re done, maybe we could both work in child health care.”
She takes off her glasses and rubs her nose, as she always does when she gets excited about something.
“I might not stay here,” says Stephie. “Once the war is over.”
“Even if your parents could join you?”
“I don’t know,” says Stephie. “I’m not sure if I belong here or in Vienna. Or anywhere.”
May sits quietly. “If you leave,” she says finally, “I will never have another friend like you.”
She puts her glasses back on. Behind them, her eyes are brimming.
“Me too,” says Stephie. “No other friend could be like you. Still, I might have to go.”
May reaches out. Carefully, her fingertips brush Stephie’s cheek. Stephie puts her own hand on top of May’s, holding it on her cheek.
“It’s funny,” says May. “Until I met you, I always felt lonely. Of course I have my folks, and all my brothers and sisters, and the kids in the building, and my classmates at elementary school. But I always felt different. Then we met, and though you’re completely different than I am, it’s like we’ve known each other all our lives. It’s odd, isn’t it?”
Stephie nods. “Soul mates,” she says, “that’s wh
at we are.”
May looks at her. “Could I put my head on your lap?”
Stephie nods. May moves down a couple of steps and leans back toward Stephie. Her head feels heavy. Gently, Stephie strokes her hair. They sit there for a long time and forget to get the coffee ready. When they hear Aunt Märta’s bicycle tires coming down the gravelly hill, they jump up and rush into the kitchen.
After dinner, Stephie rides May on her bike down to the harbor. May sits on the clamp, and her suitcase hangs from the handlebars. It’s heavy-going on the hills, and on the steepest one they have to get off. May pushes the bike.
Close to the shop, they meet Sylvia, the shopkeeper’s daughter who was so cruel to Stephie her first year on the island. She hardly acknowledges them, just raises her eyebrows and nods almost imperceptibly.
“Didn’t she go to our school?” May asks when Sylvia has passed.
“Yes,” says Stephie. “She started when we did. But grammar school was too much for her. She switched to secretarial school instead.”
Stephie feels a rush of triumph when she says that. She’s never forgiven Sylvia.
“What does she have to look so stuck-up about, then?” asks May.
“Her father’s the shopkeeper,” Stephie tells her. “Most of the men on the island are fishermen. The few who don’t walk around in dirty blue overalls think they’re better. And Sylvia certainly thinks she’s better than people like us.”
People like us.
After four years in Sweden, Stephie has nearly forgotten that she once lived in a big, beautiful apartment with soft carpets and antique furniture. That she and Nellie had a large, bright nursery, and Papa had a study full of books. If they had still been living there, she would never have known anyone like May. Or anyone like Vera.
They coast down the last slope to the harbor area. There are already people waiting by the steamboat landing. Stephie and May carry the suitcase together, each holding one of the handles, as they walk out onto the dock.
Now the steamboat whistles as it sets course for the jetty. Stephie and May hug.
“See you in three weeks,” says Stephie.
Three weeks from today, May’s whole family is coming to spend Sunday on the island. The little ones will get to swim, and May’s parents and Aunt Märta are finally going to meet.
Stephie stays on the dock, waving until May becomes a small dot next to the railing.
24
“Why haven’t you said anything?”
Stephie’s upset. Until the very last, she went on hoping that May was wrong. But Vera doesn’t deny it. It’s true, she is expecting. In January.
“I don’t know,” Vera replies. “I guess I figured you’d find out in due time.”
“But what will you do?”
“Rikard and I are engaged,” Vera tells her. “Look, here’s my ring.”
Stephie hasn’t noticed the thin gold band on Vera’s left ring finger until now.
“So we’ll be getting married, come fall.”
“Getting married? You’re only sixteen.”
“We’ll need a special permit, of course,” Vera continues. “But I understand that’s not a problem if you’re pregnant.”
“But what about all the things you were planning to do? Be a movie star? Get famous?”
“A child’s dreams,” says Vera. “Anyway, it’s too late now.”
She looks tired. Her face is a little puffy and her pretty red hair is dull and uncombed.
Stephie is outraged. Although she never believed in Vera’s movie-star dreams, she feels as if Vera is giving up now. As if she feels her life is over. Unless …
She has to ask.
“Do you love him?”
“Love,” says Vera. “That’s the kind of thing you hear in the movies, too. He’s kind. He wants to take care of me and the kid. And once he gets his engineering degree, he’ll be making good money.”
“How can you?” Stephie cries. “Are you going to marry him because he’s kind?”
Vera looks her in the eye. There’s a bit of her old obstinacy in her gaze.
“Any other suggestions? You always know best, don’t you?”
Stephie bites her lip.
“I’m not going to get some phony doctor to get rid of it,” Vera goes on, “and maybe ruin me for life in the bargain. And I don’t want my kid growing up without a papa, like I did. Do you think it’s been easy being the only illegitimate child on this island? Someone people always look down on?”
“What if you had the baby,” Stephie says slowly, “and then …”
“Gave it up?” Vera fills in. “I never expected to have to hear that from you, of all people! You ought to know better. You’ve been given up, haven’t you?”
Stephie is quiet. Everything Vera is saying is true. And yet it all feels wrong. There’s no way out.
“Oh, Vera,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”
“No need to be,” Vera says curtly. “He’s a good person. We’ll be fine. I’m glad he wants to take care of us.”
“Of course he does!” Stephie exclaims. “It’s his child, too, not just yours.”
“Right,” says Vera. “That’s how it is.”
Uncle Evert is pale and solemn. He’s at the table in the basement kitchen, spreading margarine on a piece of crispbread. Stephie sees that the hand holding the knife is trembling.
It’s happened again. A fishing boat from the island has been blown up by a mine. This time, though, the whole crew survived. They were taken on board by other nearby fishing vessels.
“A hairsbreadth from death,” says Uncle Evert. “No one can live like this for very long. They were in Swedish territorial waters, too. Just like the Wolf.”
Stephie has goose bumps. The Wolf lies on the seabed not far from the island, her crew still down there, too, for the moment. She’s going to be towed ashore. Divers are currently working out how to proceed. They’ll bring her to port before the summer ends.
“Sometimes I wonder,” Uncle Evert goes on, “whether I ought to sell the Diana. Take a job on shore.”
“Sell the Diana?” Aunt Märta’s voice nearly cracks. “You can’t be serious!”
“Well,” says Uncle Evert, “I have always known that the sea giveth and the sea taketh away. I can live with that. But those awful metal mines lying there, just under the water, waiting to get us, well … knowing that people put them there to kill us is what I can’t bear. What if I were to die? What would become of you? And our girl?”
“We’ll have no talk of such things here,” says Aunt Märta. “Particularly not with our girl in the room.”
Our girl, our girl. Speaking of her as if she were a child. Talking over her head.
“Please don’t sell the Diana!” Stephie pleads. “Please, please, Uncle Evert. The war’s almost over. It just has to end soon.”
Uncle Evert’s sea blue eyes look at her mournfully.
“We must hope so, dear child,” he says. “We must hope so.”
“This is Judith.”
The voice at the other end of the line sounds distant but excited.
“It’s Judith Liebermann. You haven’t forgotten me?”
“Of course not. But how did you find this phone number?”
“The operator helped me,” says Judith. “You mentioned that your foster parents were named Jansson. Who was that who answered, anyway? She sounded so young.”
“That was my homeroom teacher,” Stephie explains. “She and a friend of hers are our summer tenants this year.”
Stephie is standing in the hall, by the stairs up to the bedrooms. Miss Björk goes out and closes the door to the sitting room so Stephie can talk in private. It’s a hot day. The receiver in her hand grows sticky with sweat.
“How are things? Are you working this summer?” Stephie asks.
The chocolate factory must be even worse than usual in this heat. Stephie tries to imagine Judith, pale and nauseated in the stuffy, sooty, chocolate-scented air.
�
�I’m on vacation now,” Judith tells her, “this week and next. Yesterday Susie and I took the tram to the end of the line and swam out at Saltholmen. But they charge so much for the bathhouse. And now Susie is being sent to some family in the country for three weeks. Almost all the Children’s Home girls are away somewhere. There are only four of us left.”
“Why don’t you come here?” Stephie asks. “At least for a couple of days.”
“Do you think that would be all right? With your foster parents, I mean.”
“I’m sure it will. I’ll ask Aunt Märta.”
Stephie promises to call Judith back after she’s talked to Aunt Märta.
She has mixed feelings. Of course it would be nice to have company, now that May’s back at her laundry job and Vera is becoming quieter and more withdrawn as her stomach bulges. Soon she’ll have to wear corsets and special gathered skirts to conceal her bump. And just as May predicted, Vera doesn’t put on her bathing suit anymore.
On the other hand, Stephie needs time on her own, to study. May was very understanding about her school-work, but it would be different with Judith.
And there’s something else bothering her. She’s afraid that Aunt Märta and Judith won’t get along.
Stephie decides she mustn’t worry. She remembers having the same thoughts the first time May was coming to the island. But May and Aunt Märta got along just fine, in spite of their very different opinions. It might be the same with Judith.
“What kind of a girl is she?” Aunt Märta asks.
“She’s from Vienna,” Stephie tells her. “We were in the same class there.”
“Why is she at the Children’s Home? Wasn’t there a family to take her in?”
“She lived with a family in the country to begin with. Then she moved into town for a job. At the chocolate factory.”
That’s not really the full story of Judith’s time in Sweden. But if Aunt Märta knew how many times Judith had to change foster families, she would think there was something wrong with her.