Silence, but Mrs Hellén, who is experienced at filling awkward pauses, smiles pleasantly. “No, there is really no rush about making decisions. I’ve already told Mona that of course she’s welcome to come live with us while a decision crystallizes as to what she’s going to do. She can take her time looking at the teaching positions that are advertised, and then we’ll see how it goes.”
Naturally, Martha Kummel will take the first opportunity to waylay Karin Hellén and ask her whether Mona is pregnant, and naturally Mrs Hellén will look at her blankly, express astonishment, and say, “At least she hasn’t said anything to me.” Mrs Hellén is content to say no more, whereas her old friend Mrs Kummel has already expressed her suspicions, bordering on certainty, to a number of the funeral guests who discreetly asked her the burning question.
This wall of resistance that meets every effort at a more intimate relationship with the disobliging widow creates despair among the in-laws—near panic when they realize that they leave tomorrow without a breakthrough having taken place. It comes from the heart when they say, “You can always turn to us!” And “Don’t forget that the girls have a Grandma and Grandpa Kummel!” but their words bounce back at them like platitudes and empty phrases. Ringing hollow to a heart that is closed, frozen to the core.
The verger comes into the hallway, not wanting to come all the way in, just to report that he and Signe are going to do the milking. “Thank you. I really don’t have the strength this evening. It’s been such a day.” Mona stands there isolated from everyone, from the girls who must be put to bed, from the funeral guests who must be fed, from tomorrow’s breakfast that must be prepared. The sandwiches that must be made for their journeys. How could you leave me so? Thinks, very quickly, of the frozen dead body in the wood coffin beneath a layer of cold soil, in the storm that blows and blows. How cold it is, although they feed the fires steadily.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
WHEN SANNA WAKES UP, it is only to be sent to bed. But first she gets hot soup and the warm juice and bun she didn’t have time to eat before she fell asleep. Then she falls asleep again, and when she wakes up in the morning, everyone is still there. She knows that Papa is dead and that there’s been a funeral, which is why everyone has come, but she remembers nothing of the funeral except that she wondered how Papa, who is so big, could fit into the little chest on the floor. She can’t remember Papa either, except as a flash when she looks at Frej.
Much more than about Papa, they’re all talking about Valvoja, the pilot boat that will take the funeral guests to Mellom. From there they’ll travel on towards Åbo or the main island of Åland. First they need to eat, and Mama warms up the fish soup. The stove warms the whole kitchen if the door is kept shut, and Sanna sits on a stool in the warmth while Lillus is carried from window to window by Uncle Frej, who deplores this unending wind that makes poor Ingrid so seasick. If Sanna says nothing, people stop talking to her, and if she sits still, the cat comes for company.
There is then no end to their departure. They say goodbye and goodbye and goodbye, and instead of going they start talking about something else and then they say goodbye and goodbye all over again. Mama dresses Lillus and Sanna and herself and goes down to the church dock with them to get them to go, but the whole time, those in front come running back because they have something else on their hearts. Only Mrs Hellén stays steadily on course, and Sanna walks beside her. Lillus has deserted and gone over to the Kummels, who repeat delightedly that she and they are birds of a feather. This makes Sanna angry. Lillus isn’t a feather, although she’s certainly a bird, a chirpy little bird! The Coast Guard is at the dock to take everyone the short distance to the steamboat pier, where the Valvoja lies waiting.
Now they have to hurry, but oh, it’s awful to see poor Mona and her fatherless girls standing alone and abandoned on the dock. How will they manage? What will become of them? If only the distance wasn’t so great! If only there was something they could do! But the widow has made it clear that it’s unnecessary for her in-laws to stay longer, and when Martha Kummel asks Karin Hellén if she ought to stay anyway, Mrs Hellén, with her impenetrable smile, says no, if she understands Mona correctly, she needs time to collect herself and regain her balance.
“But isn’t she afraid of being alone here?” Charlotte wonders. She herself has not dared go out after dark, what with the churchyard so close and the howling wind that sounds like she doesn’t know what. “I wouldn’t want to,” she says, and no, they can all see that, but Mona isn’t like Charlotte. She would be happy to see the dead rise and walk again. To set him down at the table, brush the soil from his clothes, serve him tea and buttered bread, wonder how everything got so crazy—how would that be frightening?
There is something about farewells, boats putting out, that makes you want to cry with regret even though it’s a relief when the group is finally on board and no longer has to be provided with meals. There they stand, three small, dark figures in the fading February light. Mona and Sanna wave, Lillus, in Mona’s arms, cries loudly and stretches out her arms towards Frej, wouldn’t hesitate to leave everything behind and go with him. Everyone on the boat is crying, except Mrs Hellén and the Coast Guardsmen. Brage waves energetically and calls out cheerily, “Just let us know if you need anything, and we’ll be here in a jiffy!”
Goodbye and goodbye and whew. If she herself turns to go, the guests can go into the cabin and get out of the wind. On Valvoja they’ll be comfortable and can lie down flat so they don’t get seasick, Mona explains to Sanna as they walk. Up on the steps they forget to look towards the churchyard, and Mona opens the weather-beaten door. Inside it’s like an abandoned gypsy camp, the air thick with Frej’s and grandfather Hellén’s tobacco smoke, but at least it’s peaceful. “Oh, how nice,” says Mona, perfectly serious. “I have to start cleaning up, but first let’s sit down and have some coffee. And some bread and butter would taste wonderful! And the buns were good, weren’t they?”
“Yes,” Sanna says, feeling a little happier. Everything is more like usual. Mona has retained the Hellén custom of really enjoying the refreshments only when the guests have gone.
Mona spends two days getting everything in order. The verger comes the first evening and offers his help, but now that the guests are out of the house, Mona can handle the milking perfectly well by herself. She puts Lillus in her playpen where she can toddle about without hurting herself, and Sanna is so sensible that she needn’t worry about her. It’s fortunate that the girls can keep each other company. It would be harder with only one.
It’s especially lucky that Lillus has Sanna. As long as the house was full of people, no one noticed that she could no longer talk. In the midst of all the people, no one paid attention to the fact that she just waved her arms and squealed and babbled and shrieked. There is nothing left of all her many words and complete sentences, and Sanna has to start from beginning and teach her what everything is called. There is a lot that Lillus has lost. One day Sanna notices that she has also lost her good baby smell. That’s why Mama doesn’t like her as much any more, for she’s stopped calling Lillus her rosebud but just says she’s a filthy little piglet. And it’s true, because nowadays Lillus just smells like a grubby child and nothing else.