The Lost Boy

FJÄLLBACKA 1875

Days became weeks, and months became years. Emelie had settled in, adapting to the calm rhythms of Gråskär. She felt as if she were living in harmony with the island. She knew exactly when the hollyhocks would bloom, when the heat of summer would change to the chill of autumn, when the ice would form, and when it would break up. The island was her world, and in that world Gustav was king. He was a happy child, and every day she was amazed at how much joy he found in the restricted setting that framed his life.

Karl and Julian hardly spoke to her any more. They lived separate lives, even though they all shared such a confined space. The harsh words had also diminished. It was as if she was no longer a person, and subsequently there was no use harbouring any rancour towards her. Instead, they seemed to regard her as an invisible being. She took care of everything that needed tending, but otherwise she required none of their attention. Even Gustav accepted this strange arrangement. He never tried to approach Karl or Julian. They were less real to him than the dead. And Karl never called his son by name. On those few occasions when he mentioned him, he always referred to him as ‘the boy’.

Emelie knew precisely when the hatred in their eyes had become indifference. It was just after Gustav turned two. Karl had come back from a trip to Fjällbacka with an expression on his face that she had a hard time deciphering. He was completely sober. For once he and Julian hadn’t gone to Abela’s – and that in itself was unusual. Several hours passed with not a word out of Karl, and Emelie had tried to guess what was going on. Finally he placed a letter on the kitchen table.

‘My father died,’ he said. And it was as if in that moment Karl was finally free. Emelie wished that Dagmar had told her more about Karl and his father, but now it was too late. There was nothing to be done about it, and she was grateful that Karl at least left her and Gustav in peace.

As each year passed, it became clearer to her that God was present in everything on Gråskär. She was filled with gratitude that she and Gustav were allowed to live in this place where they could feel God’s spirit in the movement of the water and hear His voice in the rushing of the wind. Each day on the island was a gift, and Gustav was such a lively boy. She knew that it bordered on sinful pride to hold such a high opinion of her son, who was made in her own image. But according to the Bible, he was also made in God’s image, so she hoped that she might be forgiven this sin. Gustav was so lovely, with his fair, curly hair, his blue eyes, and those long lashes that rested on his cheeks when he slept beside her at night. He talked all the time, both with her and with the dead. Sometimes she would eavesdrop on him, a smile on her face. He said so many wise things, and they were so patient with him.

‘Can I go outside, Mamma?’

He tugged at her dress and peered up at her.

‘Yes, all right. You go ahead.’ She leaned down and kissed his cheek. ‘But be careful not to fall into the water.’

Emelie watched as he raced out the door. She wasn’t really worried. She knew that he wasn’t alone. Both the dead and God were keeping watch over him.