A Faraway Island

by Annika Thor

  Nellie thrusts the present back in her pocket. She sticks out her bottom lip and doesn’t say another word the rest of the way to the house.

  Auntie Alma has set the table and prepared raspberry juice, saffron buns, and ginger cookies. She asks to see their report cards and praises them for having worked so hard.

  “Before you know it you’ll both be best in your class,” she tells them. “As soon as you’ve really mastered Swedish.”

  “I think we’ll get our next report cards in American English,” Stephie tells her. “If our English is good enough by then.”

  Auntie Alma’s forehead creases. “Oh, my dear,” she tells Stephie, “I don’t think you ought to count on being able to travel to America this spring.”

  “But,” Stephie begins, “Father wrote …”

  Elsa and John are tired of sitting still. They leave the table and start chasing each other around the kitchen, shouting loudly. Nellie slides off her chair, too, catching John in her arms. She tickles him and he laughs so hard he’s near tears.

  “I don’t doubt that your father is doing his very best,” Auntie Alma continues. “But travel is not easy when there’s a war on.”

  What is Auntie Alma trying to tell her? Will they be staying on the island all the way to the end of the war? How long is that going to be?

  “But America …,” Stephie begins. “America’s not involved in the war.”

  Auntie Alma is busy with the children and has stopped listening.

  “Don’t forget you’ve got your good clothes on,” she scolds them. “We’re going to have our pictures taken today, you know.”

  That, too. Stephie had nearly forgotten.

  “Do we have to get new pictures?” Stephie asks. “Can’t we send the ones you took last summer, Auntie Alma?”

  “No, Nellie’s told me your mamma asked for more recent pictures. And since you’re dressed up today, it’s the perfect opportunity.”

  Auntie Alma takes their picture on the steps in front of the house. First Stephie and Nellie alone, then all four children.

  “Now you take one with me in it, too,” Auntie Alma tells Stephie.

  “I don’t know how.”

  “It’s easy,” Auntie Alma replies. “I’ll set the focus and distance, and all you have to do is click the shutter.”

  Auntie Alma shows Stephie where to stand and which button to press. She goes over to the steps, holding John in her arms. The little girls stand one on either side of her. Stephie holds the camera as steady as she can. There’s a little metallic click when she presses the shutter release.

  “I’ll leave the film in Göteborg to be developed,” Auntie Alma says. “Sigurd can pick it up after Christmas.”

  Nellie looks disappointed. “I thought it would be my Christmas present to Mamma,” she whines.

  “No, dummy,” Stephie says to her. “Not even a regular letter would get to Vienna before Christmas if you mailed it now.”

  Nellie sticks her tongue out at her sister. “Know-it-all,” she says.

  Stephie helps Auntie Alma clean up in the kitchen, hoping the whole time that Auntie Alma will invite her to join them on their outing to Göteborg. But Auntie Alma just chatters on, and Stephie can’t get herself to ask if she may come along.

  Nellie walks Stephie to the gate when it’s time for her to go.

  “Stephie?” she begins.

  “What?”

  “I’d like to buy Sonja a Christmas present, since she gave me one.”

  “Do,” Stephie replies. “Buy her something in Göteborg.”

  Nellie shakes her head. “Auntie Alma promised me enough money to buy the frame for Mamma and something for you. There won’t be enough for Sonja, too. Do you have any money?”

  Stephie has the coin the sailor tossed her that day so long ago, and another Uncle Evert gave her. But she doesn’t want to give all her money to Nellie to spend on a present for Sonja, who she thinks is a pesky little girl.

  “I need the money I have for my own Christmas shopping,” she says.

  “What should I do, then?”

  Stephie shrugs. “How should I know? Ask Auntie Alma for more money.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “So don’t buy anything for Sonja.”

  “But Sonja’s my best friend. She’s the nicest girl in my class. And I’m sure she got me a really special present.”

  “Give her something of yours,” Stephie suggests. “One of the things you brought from home.”

  “Like what?”

  Stephie answers without thinking. The words just pop out: “Your coral necklace.”

  Nellie blanches. “Oh, I could never give that away. It’s Mamma’s.”

  “No, she gave it to you.”

  “Do you really think I should?” Nellie’s voice trembles slightly. “Give it away?”

  “Yes,” Stephie tells her. “Unless you’ve got something else.”

  Nellie shakes her head.

  “Do whatever you think best,” Stephie concludes. “Goodbye.”

  After walking a short distance, she turns around. Nellie’s still at the gate. She looks so little. Stephie wants to go back and tell her she didn’t mean it about the necklace. But somehow she just keeps walking.

  Nellie would never really do it, she thinks. Never.

  The week before Christmas, Aunt Märta and Stephie clean the house from top to bottom. They hang handwoven Christmas motifs on the kitchen walls and put an embroidered tablecloth with elves and evergreen boughs on the table in the front room. Aunt Märta bakes bread and prepares a ham.

  When it’s time to marinate the herring, Aunt Märta discovers she’s out of vinegar.

  “You can go to the shop for me,” she tells Stephie. “Don’t dawdle, I need it right away.”

  Stephie leaves, a big canvas bag over her arm, a shopping list and Aunt Märta’s coin purse in the right-hand pocket of her coat. She has her own money, her two coins, in the left-hand pocket. She plans on buying her Christmas presents for Nellie and Uncle Evert.

  She’s giving Aunt Märta a pot holder she crocheted in sewing class. It’s a little uneven and has some holes, but after Stephie had undone and redone her work three times, the crafts teacher said it would have to do.

  Every time anyone opens or closes the shop door a little bell rings. The shopkeeper is behind the counter, measuring coffee into brown paper bags. The shelves behind him are full of cans, bottles, and boxes. On the floor there’s a wooden barrel of herring, along with huge sacks of flour, sugar, and coffee beans. On the counter stand tempting glass jars full of soft and hard candy.

  Stephie’s the only customer.

  “Good day,” she greets the shopkeeper politely. He nods curtly and goes on weighing the bags of coffee.

  Stephie waits. The shopkeeper pays her no attention until he has filled and closed all the bags in front of him.

  “All right. What do you need?”

  Stephie pulls out her shopping list and begins to read: “A bottle of vinegar, a pound of coffee, two pounds of oat …”

  The shopkeeper takes a bottle of vinegar down from the shelf behind him and sets it on the counter. Next to it he places one of the bags of coffee.

  The door opens.

  “What can I do for you, ma’am?” the shopkeeper says, turning to the woman who comes in.

  “… meal,” Stephie continues. Then she falls silent.

  The woman has a long shopping list. She samples several cheeses before deciding, then pinches and pokes at least twenty oranges before choosing four. Stephie shifts from one foot to the other impatiently. She knows Aunt Märta is waiting for the vinegar.

  Sylvia comes strolling down the stairs. She leans for-ward, arms on the counter, chin in her hands.

  “My Christmas dress is blue,” she says. “What color is yours?”

  Stephie doesn’t answer.

  “Aren’t you getting a new dress to wear on Christmas?”

  “Sure,” Stephie lies. “But i
t’s going to be a surprise.”

  Sylvia smiles her superior smile. “I don’t believe you.”

  Finally the lady’s got everything on her list and is paying. Sylvia settles in on a stool in the corner behind the counter, leafing through a magazine.

  “Thank you,” the shopkeeper says. “Thanks very much. All the best to you and yours.”

  When the woman has left he turns back to Stephie.

  “What else?”

  Stephie starts reading again: “Two pounds of oatmeal …”

  “Let me see,” the shopkeeper says, taking the list out of her hands. “Oats, yeast, peas …”

  He takes things down from the shelves and weighs them for her order. There are no more canned peas on the shelf.

  “Sylvia, get me some peas from the storeroom.”

  Sylvia looks up over the edge of the magazine. “They’re on the top shelf. I can’t reach.”

  The shopkeeper sighs. “Well, keep an eye on the candy, then, while I go.”

  “Sure.” Sylvia smiles.

  Stephie feels a blush rise. As if she might try to steal their candy!

  The shopkeeper returns with the peas. Stephie pays and receives her change.

  “May I please see the bookmarks?” she asks.

  “Are you buying?”

  “Yes.”

  “They’re not on your list. Are you allowed?”

  Stephie would really like to take her canvas bag and walk out. But this is the only shop on the island, and she needs presents for Nellie and Uncle Evert.

  “I’ve got money of my own,” she answers brusquely.

  “Let me see.”

  Stephie takes her two coins out of her left-hand coat pocket. Sylvia stares in curiosity from behind her magazine.

  “And where’s the change I just gave you?”

  Not until Stephie holds out the coin purse with Aunt Märta’s small change does the shopkeeper agree to take down the box of bookmarks. Stephie chooses two sheets: one with angels resting on puffy clouds, the other with girls carrying baskets of flowers. She buys a pack of razor blades for Uncle Evert.

  She still has a little money. She’s tempted to spend it on candy, but decides to save it instead.

  When she leaves the shop she notices it has started to snow. It’s getting dark out, too. Aunt Märta’s probably annoyed with her for taking so long.

  The heavy bag bangs against her leg with every step, and the handle cuts into her palm. She moves the bag from hand to hand and back again on the way home. She even has to stop and rest.

  “Is that you, Stephie?” she hears a man’s voice shout.

  It’s Uncle Evert, coming up behind her on the road. He’s soon alongside her, and she realizes he’s on his way home from the fishing boat.

  “That’s a big bag for a little girl like you,” he says. “I’ll take it from here.”

  Uncle Evert carries the bag as if it were light as a feather.

  “Look,” he says. “The snow’s sticking. I think we’re going to have a white Christmas.” He extends a large, warm hand, taking hers. “Don’t worry,” he tells her. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

  On Christmas Eve Stephie eyes Aunt Märta uneasily as she opens the package with the pot holder in it. Will she find it ugly and uneven? No, Aunt Märta seems pleased. She thanks Stephie and hangs it right up on a hook by the stove.

  Uncle Evert gives Stephie a paint box and brushes and a pad of watercolor paper. Aunt Märta gives her a cap and mittens she’s knitted in a matching pattern. Stephie can’t figure out how Aunt Märta managed to knit them without her noticing. The wool smells of mothballs.

  Lying in bed later, she hears the voices of Uncle Evert and Aunt Märta from their bedroom.

  “You ought to have bought her a few more things,” says Uncle Evert. “The kind of trinkets girls like.”

  “Trinkets,” Aunt Märta snorts. “What she needs are warm clothes.”

  “True enough,” says Uncle Evert. “But children need different things for different reasons.”

  “Are you telling me I don’t know what’s best for the girl?”

  “Not at all.”

  “So what are we arguing about?”

  The conversation ends. A little while later, Stephie hears Uncle Evert’s voice again.

  “She’s a fine girl. I’m glad we took her in.”

  The wind begins to whine outside Stephie’s window and she doesn’t hear Aunt Märta’s reply.

  They’ve been invited to spend Christmas Day at Auntie Alma and Uncle Sigurd’s. There are lots of others there, too. Everyone’s related, and for the first time Stephie realizes that Aunt Märta and Auntie Alma are related, too—they’re cousins.

  Nellie gives Stephie a Christmas present, a tin of candies, hard on the outside but with soft chocolate centers. The tin is pretty, with a blue-and-gold pattern.

  “You can keep things in it afterward,” Nellie points out.

  Nellie isn’t wearing her coral necklace, as she usually does when she’s dressed up. Her soft, pale neck looks very bare without it.

  “What was in Sonja’s package?” Stephie asks her, trying to sound nonchalant.

  “A rubber frog,” Nellie says. “It hops when you squeeze a ball.”

  “Did you give her a present?”

  Nellie nods.

  “What was it?”

  Nellie doesn’t answer, just looks away, her bottom lip quivering slightly.

  “You didn’t give her your coral necklace, did you?”

  Nellie nods again.

  “Idiot,” Stephie says. “What do you think Mamma will say when she finds out?”

  “You were the one who told me to!”

  “Well, you should have known I didn’t mean it.”

  “What did you say it for, then?”

  “I was kidding,” Stephie says. “I never thought you’d be dumb enough to give away Mamma’s coral necklace.”

  “I’m going to write and tell her,” Nellie says. “I’ll tell her you tricked me into it.” She looks as if she might burst into tears.

  “Oh, it’s done now,” Stephie hurries to say. “Come on, let’s go see what Elsa and John are up to.”

  After Christmas the weather turns colder. The air is raw and damp, full of salty humidity from the ocean. It prickles their cheeks and stings their nostrils. The steep islets Stephie can see from the bay window are capped with snow. They remind her of mountaintops. It’s as if the mountains had sunk under the water and left only their tops protruding.

  Along the shore and in the inlets, the ocean is frozen over. The ice is a dull gray-green, ribboned with white snow. Farther out, the open water gleams, steel blue. Stephie walks on the beach and feels the thin ice shatter, crunching under her feet. Sometimes she goes right through the layer of ice and snow and down into the stiff, frozen seaweed.

  Stephie likes the snow; it transforms the island from gray to white. She makes snowballs and finds targets to aim at, like the rocks out in the water. She slides down the slope behind the house over and over, until Aunt Märta scolds her, saying she’ll wear out her boot soles.

  By the school there’s a real sledding hill. Nellie got a sled for Christmas, and she spends hours and hours at the hill every day with her friends. She’d probably lend it to Stephie if she asked, but Stephie doesn’t feel like asking. She hasn’t got anyone to go sledding with anyway.

  Uncle Evert is out on the fishing boat again. He comes home the morning of New Year’s Eve. It’s a beautiful day, with a blue sky. The air is clear. Stephie’s sitting at the table in her room, using her new paints.

  “You ought to be outside on a day like this,” Uncle Evert says. “Youngsters need fresh air.”

  “I was out this morning,” Stephie replies.

  “The sledding hill over by the school was jammed with kids.”

  Stephie nods, not looking up from her painting. Uncle Evert sits quietly for a while, just watching her.

  After coffee Uncle Evert asks
Stephie to come outside with him. She buttons her coat and puts on her new cap and mittens. Uncle Evert holds the door open as if for a fine young lady, and she accompanies him out onto the front steps.

  At the bottom of the steps is a sled. It was red once, but the paint is worn and peeling. It’s a fine sled, though, made of narrow slats and soft, curved runners.

  “Do you like it?” Uncle Evert asks.

  “Is it for me?”

  Uncle Evert nods. “It’s been standing in the shed for years. We’ll give it a coat of paint, but I thought maybe you’d like to try it first.”

  “Whose was it before?” Stephie asks, but Uncle Evert’s already ahead of her, pulling the sled toward the slope behind the house.

  Stephie sleds for a while. Uncle Evert asks if she’d like to go to the big sledding hill right away, but Stephie wants to paint her sled before she takes it there. They carry the sled down to the basement, and Uncle Evert teaches her how to sand off the old paint. When the surface is smooth he finds a can of paint and a little brush.

  It takes a long time to get the brush in between the slats and to do all the edges. When they’re finished painting, though, it’s as shiny and red as new.

  “It’ll be dry by morning,” Uncle Evert tells her, “and you’ll be able to take it out.”

  In the blue dusk of early evening they roll firm snowballs and put them in a ring to make a snow lantern at the bottom of the front steps. Aunt Märta gives Stephie a little candle to set in the middle. On top of the first ring they make a second, slightly smaller one. Carefully they go on constructing a pyramid of snowballs, until they reach the very top, where there’s room for only a single snowball.

  Uncle Evert takes out some matches and lights the candle. It shines from inside the lantern, giving off a lovely glow, a soft, reddish sheen that brightens the whole area.

  Stephie sighs. “It’s gorgeous.”

  Aunt Märta comes out onto the steps to admire their handiwork.

  “Very pretty indeed,” she says.

  Coming from Aunt Märta, that’s quite a compliment.

  To celebrate the coming of the new year, they have their dinner in the front room, saved for special occasions. Aunt Märta’s made a roast with potatoes, gravy, and peas. It feels like a real celebration, in spite of the fact that it’s just the three of them.