Guiltless

by Sten, Viveca

  Vendela wore a black dress with a high neck and a white ruff. An elegant bridal crown was fixed to her blond hair.

  Gottfrid still thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She didn’t say very much, but that didn’t matter. He could sit for hours just looking at her. When he spoke, she always listened attentively.

  After the ceremony they left the church in a long procession. The fiddler led the way, followed by the newlyweds, then all the guests. Gottfrid’s mother was wearing a lovely new dress she’d made herself, and her head was covered in her beautiful silk scarf. She had wept the whole time. Over the past week she had spent every waking hour preparing food, all of which she’d brought over with her. It was as if she wanted to show Vendela’s parents that they were getting a son-in-law who could pay his way. Gottfrid had tried to get her to relax, but she just ignored him. “Yes, yes,” she would mutter, reaching for another kitchen utensil.

  Long tables had been set out, and Gottfrid and Vendela took their place at the center. Spread before them was an abundance of food: cheesecakes, special breads, home-churned butter, and a selection of pickled herring. Tantalizing aromas wafted from bowls of meat and potatoes and dishes of sweet cheese.

  The toastmaster gave a rousing toast in honor of the bride and groom, then the musicians took over. They played Karl Johan’s march and other jolly tunes that put everyone in a good mood.

  Vendela ate very little. She wasn’t hungry, she whispered when Gottfrid tried to press her. He thought maybe she was worried about the bridal waltz, when tradition dictated that the crown must be “danced off” the bride’s head. This was the high point of the reception, and all the guests would do their best to make sure the crown came tumbling down.

  Or perhaps she was nervous about what was to follow: the bridal bed, with its freshly laundered sheets, juniper branches strewn across the floor. She hadn’t let him anywhere near her before the wedding, despite the archipelago’s relaxed attitude toward such things. Several of his friends boasted that their beloved had denied them nothing during the engagement. Occasionally a bride would walk down the aisle with a rather round belly; nobody took any notice.

  But Gottfrid hadn’t tried to force the issue. If Vendela wanted to wait, then he could wait, too; she would belong to him for the rest of their lives. He could be patient.

  He was looking forward to their new life together. He would have a real family of his own, he would have children, and he would give them everything his father couldn’t give him.

  Gottfrid glanced at his bride. Her eyes were downcast, and she was poking at her food. He took her hand and squeezed it gently.

  She gave a start, then smiled at him. A shy smile, but just as lovely as always.

  “My wife,” he said tentatively.

  It sounded good, so he said it again.

  “My wife.”

  CHAPTER 9

  The anxiety had grown into a hard lump in his stomach. Where had the others gone?

  Adam tried to ignore the unpleasant sensation, but he couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder as he plodded through the snow. He really wanted to find someone, anyone, so that he wasn’t alone anymore.

  He moved slowly west. The forest was denser here, and it was getting dark; the shadows stretching out behind the pines were barely visible. The moaning of the wind had increased.

  Adam shivered. He zipped his jacket up tighter and wished he had grabbed the scarf his mom always went on about. Hesitantly he clambered over a small pine that had grown at a funny angle. The trunk was distorted, and the stunted branches were no more than a few feet off the ground. If he didn’t find them soon, he decided, he would go home. He didn’t care what the others thought; he had no intention of staying in the forest by himself much longer.

  All at once he heard distant voices, but he couldn’t work out what direction they came from. He thought he recognized Fabian, but he wasn’t sure. Was it just his imagination?

  With one glove he wiped his dripping nose. He sped up as much as he could, but when he was confronted by the twisted pine tree, he realized he had gone in a circle. He was back where he’d started.

  Then he caught a glimpse of his brother’s red jacket behind a boulder, and relief flooded his body. Puffing and panting, he started to run through the thick snow. Suddenly one foot broke through the icy crust and stuck fast, and he fell facedown, his nose crashing into a branch. He tasted blood in his mouth, and swallowed hard to stop himself from crying.

  He heard Fabian’s voice again, closer this time, but still some distance away.

  Adam tried to pull his foot out of the hole, but it was jammed under a root. He panicked for a second; he pulled and pulled, but nothing happened.

  “I give up,” he shouted, his voice trembling. “I give up.”

  Then he yelled as loud as he could: “Come here, I’m stuck! Come on guys, I give up!” Just as Fabian and Simon appeared, he managed to free his foot, almost losing his boot in the process.

  As he staggered to his feet, the other children gathered around him. He realized that they were staring at an object that had been exposed in the hole, an object that stood out against the white snow. It looked dark—black plastic?

  “What’s that?” Agnes asked.

  Adam shook his head. He felt stupid now; why had he been so scared? It was usually the little ones who gave up, not someone who was due to start sixth grade in the fall. He couldn’t understand why he had gotten so spooked for no reason.

  Agnes was still looking at him, and he didn’t want to disappoint her. She was a year young than him. She was wearing a pink wool hat, her blond braids secured with pink bands. She had a cute little upturned nose and freckles.

  He picked up a stick and crouched down by the hole. It was pretty deep, maybe three feet. It had been completely covered in snow, impossible to see unless someone fell right in it like he had. He squinted. The frozen sand was mixed with pine needles, and on one side there was a gnarled tree root; that was what had trapped his boot.

  What was down there?

  It looked like a knotted plastic bag, a pretty big one. He poked at it with the stick. There was something in there.

  With the others watching, he grew bolder; he lay down on his stomach and reached in. But when he grabbed the knot, the bottom of the bag split open and something fell back into the hole.

  Adam got to his feet and stood there holding the torn plastic, staring wordlessly at what lay before him.

  “Is it real?” Agnes whispered, looking ready burst into tears.

  “Adam,” Fabian said. “I want to go home. This isn’t fun anymore. Can we go now?”

  Elsa nodded. “Me, too. I don’t like it here.”

  Adam looked around. It was almost dark among the trees, and he couldn’t help shuddering. Against his will, his eyes were drawn back to the hole. He realized he was still holding the bag, and he dropped it as if it had burned his fingers.

  Simon tugged at his sleeve.

  “Let’s go,” he said in a thin voice. “Let’s go home.”

  Adam stared at the others, then quickly started scraping snow into the hole with one foot.

  “Don’t tell anyone about this,” he said. “No one. It’s our secret.”

  CHAPTER 10

  “Hi, it’s me.”

  Thomas recognized the voice right away. The gentle tone reminded him of the old days, when he and Pernilla were still married.

  He could picture her in his mind’s eye, that summer when she was pregnant with Emily. The child who had kept them waiting for so long would soon be born. A miracle after all the doctors, all the attempts.

  “Hi.”

  He couldn’t help sounding wary. The period after Emily’s death and their separation, which gradually became inevitable, had left its mark.

  Their inability to deal with the catastrophe wasn’t easy to erase, nor was the desperate need to lay blame to which they had both fallen prey. The distance between them had grown ever wider, until in
the end there was no possibility of building a bridge. They had parted a couple of years earlier.

  There was a brief silence.

  “How are you doing?” Pernilla wondered hesitantly. “How are things these days?” She laughed. “Sorry, I sound like a Tomas Ledin song!”

  Thomas smiled, but he didn’t really know how to answer. He leaned back on the sofa and thought for a moment. It was almost seven o’clock in the evening, and the sun had set long ago. Soft snowflakes were drifting down past the window.

  The previous summer he had ended a relationship with Carina Persson; it had lasted just over a year. Carina was an administrator at the police station, and she was also the boss’s daughter. Since then Thomas hadn’t done much apart from work. He spent most evenings at the station, including Sundays. His normal approach to handling a crisis, he thought wearily.

  The breakup had been difficult. Carina had wanted a long-term relationship; instead she had gotten a secret boyfriend. Thomas had let things go much too far before he admitted to both himself and Carina that he wasn’t interested in anything serious. He still felt guilty, and had kept a low profile for the past six months.

  “Are you there?” Pernilla’s voice brought him back to the present.

  “Sorry. I’m fine—how about you?”

  Pernilla laughed again. She knew him so well.

  “I’m fine, too.”

  Silence; Thomas could hear her breathing.

  “I’m moving back to Stockholm,” she said suddenly. “I got a job with an advertising agency on Kungsgatan.”

  “Oh . . .”

  A feeble response, but she had taken him by surprise. After the divorce, Pernilla had taken a position as project manager with a company in Gothenburg. She had rented out their apartment and left the capital. They had had very little contact since then, apart from the odd note.

  And now she was coming back.

  “I thought maybe we could meet up. I’m already in town; I start work next week.”

  Thomas was filled with contradictory emotions. Did he really want to see her? All at once he remembered an evening at their place on the island of Harö. They were sitting on the jetty just as the sun began to go down. The beautiful glow of twilight lit up her face and made her hair shimmer. She had been so happy, so carefree. He had been head over heels in love with her that summer.

  Yes, he did want to see her again.

  “Sounds good.”

  “How about Tuesday?”

  Thomas had no plans for the coming week.

  “Tuesday’s fine.”

  “Seven thirty at Mama Rosa?”

  One of their favorite places, an Italian restaurant in the Söder district, not far from Medborgarplatsen.

  Thomas smiled. “Perfect.”

  After they hung up, he sat there with the phone in his hand. It must be over two years since they’d spoken. It was almost three since Emily’s death.

  CHAPTER 11

  “Good night, honey.” Nora tucked Simon in and kissed his cheek. She had read him a story, and it was long past time for little boys to go to sleep.

  “Mom?”

  Simon’s tentative voice made Nora feel guilty. Was he going to ask about Henrik again? He had already mentioned his father several times during the day, and every single time it cut right through her.

  “What is it?” she said gently.

  Simon’s blue eyes regarded her uncertainly. Even though it was the middle of winter, he wasn’t pale. While Adam was fair-skinned and always needed to be slathered in sunblock, Simon turned brown at the slightest hint of sunshine. Nora often joked that all she had to do was switch on the light for him to get a tan.

  “Something happened today,” he whispered, “when we were playing in the forest.”

  “OK . . .” Nora smoothed the covers as she waited for him to continue. It was past nine already; Adam was sleeping over at a neighbor’s, so only the two of them were home. As soon as Simon was sleep, Nora had every intention of pouring herself a large glass of red wine. She deserved some consolation.

  “Adam said I couldn’t tell you. He said it was a secret.”

  Simon was clutching his teddy bear, and his pajama top was unbuttoned at the neck. Nora tenderly stroked his cheek and fastened the button. He smelled of soap and toothpaste.

  “So what do you want to do?”

  “I think I want to tell you.” He paused for a few seconds. “But I don’t want Adam to get mad. Or you. Promise.”

  Nora hesitated. Simon adored his big brother and followed him everywhere. If he was prepared to break a promise to Adam, he had something important on his mind.

  “Maybe you could whisper it to me?” she said. “Then it will almost be as if I haven’t heard anything. I promise I won’t be mad at you.”

  Simon seemed pleased with her suggestion. He sat up in bed, and Nora leaned closer.

  “When we were in the forest today, I saw something in a hole in the ground,” he breathed in her ear.

  “What did you see, sweetie?” Nora whispered back.

  He paused for a long moment, then told her.

  Nora jerked back.

  “Is this true?” she said seriously. “You’re not joking?”

  Simon’s expression darkened. “You promised you wouldn’t get mad!”

  “I’m not mad, but I have to be clear about what you’re telling me. Are you sure you’re not making it up?”

  “See? You’re mad at me. I shouldn’t have said anything. Adam was right!”

  He buried his face in the gray fur of his teddy bear, a beloved companion ever since he was a baby.

  “I just want to understand, Simon. It’s important that you explain this really clearly; tell me exactly what happened today.”

  Simon didn’t answer; he just hugged his teddy even more tightly and turned over onto his side. Nora thought for a moment. He couldn’t possibly mean what he had said. Surely he must be making it up? Or was he?

  She contemplated the nape of her angry son’s neck. He was only seven, and had always had a strong imagination—and those computer games the boys played involved all kinds of terrible things. More than enough to give a little boy macabre ideas.

  She would talk to Adam when he got home tomorrow. She gave Simon one last kiss and went downstairs. Time to pick out a bottle of really good red wine and settle down in front of the TV. One of Henrik’s favorite wines, from the cellar. Preferably one he’d been saving for a special occasion.

  Excellent.

  Sandhamn 1914

  When he brought his bride home to Sandhamn, Gottfrid was bubbling over with happiness. He eagerly looked forward to filling his family’s house with life and laughter once more.

  His mother passed away less than a year after the wedding, just around the time that Vendela got pregnant. It was as if, now that Gottfrid was married, she had done her duty and could leave this earthly life with a clear conscience.

  She had moved into the little back cottage where the family used to live when they rented out the main house to summer visitors, and one morning he’d found her there, dead in her bed. Gottfrid didn’t blame her for letting go after such a hard life. His father’s tuberculosis had exhausted her, and she’d had to constantly struggle to survive, bringing up her son alone. He had sensed for a long time that her strength was failing.

  She deserved to be at peace.

  As the pregnancy progressed, Vendela’s body grew huge, and she was always tired and out of breath. Then her feet swelled up, and it got difficult to walk. She spent the last few weeks indoors, curled up on the sofa. She would lie on her side with her hands on her belly while Gottfrid sat beside her on a chair and told her about his day. Those lovely blue eyes followed every movement of his lips.

  Gottfrid did his best to make her life easier. He helped her with the household chores and fetched water every morning. She smiled gratefully, and her smile warmed his heart.

  Full of anticipation, he would look at his wife’s belly where his fi
rst child rested. In the evenings he secretly watched Vendela, amazed at the thought that he would soon be the father of a tiny baby. His and Vendela’s baby.

  He dreamed of a son he could take fishing and hunting; he would teach the boy all he knew about the archipelago and the sea. Together they would row out among the skerries to lay their nets; his son would gaze at him with trust and confidence, not the fear that had characterized his own childhood.

  When Vendela’s due date drew near, her mother came over from Möja to help out. She set to work with a will, scrubbing floors and cleaning windows, and in the evenings she tore up rags and stitched them to make diapers. New rugs were laid on the spotless wooden floors, and the scent of soap pervaded the house.

  Gottfrid had no female relatives of his own living close by, so he was grateful for his mother-in-law’s contribution. Now the child could arrive whenever it liked.

  He longed to meet the baby, but at the same time he was terrified.

  Vendela’s labor was a protracted torment that went on for thirty-six hours. A midwife came across from Runmarö and stayed until it was over.

  When he could no longer bear his wife’s screams, Gottfrid sought refuge at the inn. He didn’t venture back until one of the neighbor’s boys came running in, cap in hand, and shouted that he was the father of a fine baby boy.

  His mother-in-law smiled wearily at him when he walked into the house.

  “Vendela is sleeping,” she whispered happily. “You have a perfect son.”

  The following day, Vendela started crying.

  She cried constantly. She cried when she woke up and when she went to bed. The tears poured down her cheeks in silent misery, which frightened Gottfrid more than if she had complained out loud.

  Her milk refused to come in properly, and the child screamed at night. Vendela’s mother postponed her departure several times, but in the end she had to go; she was needed at home. Before she left, she tried one more time to talk some sense into her daughter, but eventually she had to give up. She looked at Gottfrid and shrugged helplessly.