The Lost Boy

FJÄLLBACKA 1871

That turned out to be the most marvellous time of her life. It was only when the boat carrying Karl and Julian had left Fjällbacka and headed for Gråskär that Emelie realized what life on the island had done to her. Now she felt as if she could breathe for the first time in ages.

And Dagmar insisted on pampering her. Emelie was sometimes embarrassed by how much fuss the old woman made of her, and how little she was expected to do. She tried to help with the cleaning, dishwashing, and cooking, because she wanted to be useful and not a burden. But Dagmar merely chased her away, saying that she ought to rest. Finally Emelie had to surrender to a will stronger than her own. And she had to admit that it was wonderful just to rest. Her back and joints ached, and the child was constantly kicking inside of her. Above all, she felt so tired. At night she could sleep for twelve hours straight and then take a nap after the midday meal, and still not feel fully awake during the daytime.

It was lovely to have someone taking care of her. Dagmar made her tea and strange brews that were supposed to increase her strength. She also persuaded Emelie to eat the oddest things in order to fortify her body. None of them seemed to help much, because she still felt so tired, but she realized that it made Dagmar happy to feel needed. So Emelie cheerfully ate and drank everything that was placed in front of her.

What she enjoyed most was the evenings they spent together. Then they would sit in the parlour and converse as they knitted, crocheted, and sewed garments for the baby. Emelie had never devoted much time to such things until she came to stay with Dagmar. As a maid on a farm, she’d had other chores to tend to. But Dagmar was skilled with needle and thread, and she taught Emelie everything she knew. The piles of baby clothes and blankets grew to include little caps, gowns, socks, and everything else a newborn might need. Loveliest of all was the patchwork quilt that they both worked on for a while each evening. On one square after another they embroidered whatever pattern occurred to them. Emelie’s favourite were the squares with hollyhocks. The sight of them always tugged at her heartstrings. Because no matter how strange it seemed, she sometimes missed Gråskär. Not Karl or Julian – she didn’t miss them for an instant. But the island had become part of her.

One evening she’d tried to tell Dagmar about Gråskär and those who inhabited it and why she had never felt alone. But that was the one topic that she and Dagmar couldn’t discuss. Dagmar’s expression had grown stern, and she averted her eyes so that Emelie realized that the elderly woman didn’t want to hear what she was saying. Maybe that wasn’t really so strange. Even she thought it sounded odd when she tried to describe what she’d experienced, although it all seemed so natural when she was on the island. When she was among them.

There was one other topic that they never discussed. Emelie had tried to ask questions about Karl, about his father and his childhood. But then the same stern expression appeared on Dagmar’s face. The only thing she would say was that Karl’s father had always demanded a great deal from his sons, and that Karl had disappointed him. Dagmar said that she didn’t know all the details, and for that reason she didn’t want to talk about it. So Emelie had stopped asking. Instead she allowed herself to sink into the calm embrace of Dagmar’s home, and in the evenings she knitted little socks for the child whose arrival was rapidly approaching. Gråskär and Karl would have to wait. They belonged to another world, another time. Right now the only things that existed were the sound of her knitting needles and the yarn that shone so white in the glow from the paraffin lamps. She would return to life on the island soon enough. This was all just part of a brief and happy dream.