The Lost Boy

FJÄLLBACKA 1873

Life on the island had changed, though much remained the same. Karl and Julian still had that same malicious glint in their eyes whenever they looked at her, and once in a while they would let drop some hurtful remark. But Emelie didn’t care, because now she had Gustav. She devoted all her attention to her wonderful son; as long as she had him, she could stand anything. She could live on Gråskär until the day she died, if only she was allowed to keep Gustav with her. Nothing else mattered. That knowledge gave her a sense of calm, as did her belief in God. With every day that she spent on that desolate island, she heard God’s word more and more clearly. She spent all of her free time studying the Bible, and its message filled her heart so full so that she was able to shut everything else out.

To Emelie’s great sorrow Dagmar passed away only two months after she returned to the island. She had died in such a terrible way that Emelie could hardly bear to think about it. One night someone had broken into her house, no doubt to steal what little the old lady owned. The next day one of Dagmar’s friends had found her murdered. Emelie’s eyes filled with tears whenever she thought about her cruel fate. Sometimes it seemed more than she could bear. Who could be so evil and harbour such hatred that he would kill an old woman who had never done anyone any harm?

At night the dead whispered a name. They knew, and they wanted her to hear what they were saying. But Emelie didn’t want to know, she didn’t want to listen. She missed Dagmar with all her heart. It would have been comforting to know that she was over there in Fjällbacka, even though Emelie wouldn’t have had a chance to visit, since she was not allowed to accompany the two men when they took the boat over to pick up supplies. But now Dagmar was gone, and Emelie and Gustav were once more alone.

Yet that wasn’t entirely true. When she returned to Gråskär with Gustav in her arms, the dead were standing on the rocks, waiting. They had welcomed her back to the island. Nowadays she could see them without making any effort. Gustav was eighteen months old. At first she wasn’t sure whether he could see them too, but now she was convinced that he could. Sometimes he would laugh loudly and wave his hands about. Their presence made him happy, and his joy was the only thing that mattered in Emelie’s world.

Her life on the island might have seemed very monotonous, since all the days were so alike, but she had never felt more content. The pastor had come out to pay them another visit. She had the feeling that he was concerned and wanted to see how things were going. But he didn’t need to worry. The isolation, which had previously made her skin crawl, no longer bothered her. She had all the company she needed, and her life had a purpose. Who could ask for more? The pastor had gone back home with a sense of relief. He had seen the calm in her face, seen the much-read Bible that lay open on the kitchen table. He had patted Gustav on the cheek as he slipped him a cough drop. ‘What a splendid little chap,’ he said, making Emelie beam with pride.

Karl, on the other hand, ignored the boy completely. It was as if his son didn’t exist. He had also moved out of the bedroom for good. He now slept in a room downstairs, while Julian slept on the kitchen bench. Karl claimed that the boy cried too much, but Emelie suspected he just used that as an excuse so he wouldn’t have to share a bed with her. She didn’t care in the least. She slept next to Gustav, with his chubby little arm around her neck and his face pressed against her cheek. That was all she needed. And God.