Chapter Thirty-Four

 

ONE EVENING IN early autumn, I came home from the bank to find the house all lit up. Arne Karlsson, Emilia’s husband, had come to measure the milk yield of our cows. A large wooden chest with a handle at each end served as his traveling laboratory. It was so heavy that it took two men to lift it down from the wagon. Karlsson expected a good dinner and no holding back on the liquor. He was never disappointed at Ramm and he showed his gratitude by raising the milk fat by a few percent in his report.

Björn played the organ in the parlor. Of late he had been leaving for Gothenburg, sputtering through the countryside on his lightweight motorcycle, his goggles strapped over his brown leather helmet. Earlier that day he had returned to Ramm, irritable and unshaven, the heels of his shoes worn out from negotiating the rough gravel roads.

Elias sat by the kitchen table, his hip flask before him. He stared at Rammen’s pocket watch, which Rammen was in the habit of leaving on a shelf by the stove. Gustafa wiped off her chair and sat.

“Engineer Moberg is here,” Disa said the moment she saw me. “They’re playing cards.”

Even her bad eye was now focused on me. Knowing that Moberg would come, she had rubbed Tekla’s rouge on to her cheeks, too freely, for it colored her face an angry red.

“We can use your help,” she said. “Ulrika had to go to Bergvik to borrow a sausage.”

Elias took a swig from his flask. “Never thought the day would come when Ulrika herself would have to go begging.”

“He should go back to the cabin,” Gustafa said as Elias burped. “Shameful to see him carry on like this.” 

“It’s been at least an hour,” Disa said, ignoring Gustafa and Elias. “Had I known she’d be so long, I’d gone myself.”

Every time Ulrika went to Bergvik, whether she needed to borrow something or not, she and Alfrida would walk each other home, arm-in-arm, back and forth between Ramm and Bergvik, until they had exhausted all the topics of the day. At some point, Alfrida would stop half way and declare that it was time to part.

Björn played one melody after another, some of which I did not recognize. When in Gothenburg, he spent most of his evenings at the opera, where he was one of the few admitted to the private dressing room of a celebrated soprano. He stayed with Hedvig, who most likely enjoyed having a young man in her apartment, even though her efforts to bar him from the maid’s quarters were bound to fail.

Sara, still our maid, despite her misdeeds with Björn, came back from the cellar to tell us that potatoes were missing. Gaining access to the cellar did not require great stealth, for the only door was on the side of the house and was hardly ever locked. Still, that someone had entered at all was disturbing.

“I saw Andrasson behind the barn,” Elias said, slurring his words. “Last I heard he was hauling timber for Otter. He’s got no business at Ramm.” Gustafa, still on her chair, pinched at her apron.

Elias took another drink and glared at me. “Thou shalt not steal. Says so in the Bible.” I knew he was not just talking about Andrasson, for like many of the villagers, he was convinced that I was the one who had lured Fredrik away from Agnes.

The door to the parlor swung open and Moberg strode into the kitchen, his hair slick with pomade, the organ music sweeping in behind him. He took hold of Sara and waltzed with her as Elias stomped off beat. Disa removed her glasses, wiped her eyes with her sleeve, and turned her face to the wall. I could not help but feel that she ought to be above it.

Moberg finally let Sara go and picked up some wood from beside the stove. Elias staggered to his feet, seized Rammen’s watch from the shelf, and followed Moberg into the parlor. I tried to grab his arm, but it was too late and all I could do was stand in the doorway and watch.

Björn stopped playing. The cigar smoke hung thick around the beams in the ceiling. Moberg took his seat and Rammen rippled the cards. Karlsson pulled at his nose. Wilhelm and I exchanged glances.

Elias stared at Rammen and snarled. “The crown has fallen from thy head.”

Rammen cut the deck and began to deal. “If you have something to say, come see me in the morning.”

“Won’t be here in the morning.”

Without looking at Elias, Rammen held out his hand, palm up. “Better give me back my watch. Wouldn’t want you to forget.”

Elias raised his fist, clutching Rammen’s watch. “And thou shalt be like dung on the earth,” he shouted, “and all thy land shall be laid to waste and thy carcass shall be meat for the fowls.”

 He raised his fist even higher, his sleeve pulling down and exposing his slack, blotchy skin. “Andrasson is stealing your potatoes and all you do is play cards!” I felt as powerless as a spectator in a theater.

Rammen withdrew his hand. “These are difficult times. Some men would rather steal than beg. Can’t say I blame them.”

I gasped as Elias flung the watch on the floor. Glass shattered, gears and springs flew all over Disa’s runners. 

Björn and Rammen wrestled Elias to the floor. With Björn kneeling on Elias’ shoulders, Rammen used his belt to tie Elias’ hands behind his back. By the time he pulled him up on his feet, Elias was no longer resisting.

“I’ll go with you,” Björn said.

Rammen raised his free hand. “You stay here. This is between Elias and me.”

“Be careful,” I said as Rammen pushed Elias past me. “He’s an old man.”

“Tell Disa to fill our glasses,” Rammen said. “I won’t be long.”

Even though Björn played “Where God the Lord not by us stands,” we could hear the cracks of lashes coming from the barn. Gustafa flinched at every one, her bony hands pressed to her mouth.

By the time Ulrika returned from Bergvik, the card game had begun anew. On my way to the cabin, I stopped by the barn. The pigs snuffled and grunted in their stall. Slumped in a corner of the empty stall beside them, Elias snored. He smelled of stale sweat, and his long beard spread like a bib over his chest. One of the pigs had reached in and pulled off his sock, which now lay shredded in the trough. I could not bring myself to leave, so I covered him with a horse blanket and sat with him until dawn.

 

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, when I left to go to Enebacken, Elias was still asleep in the barn. He had threatened to leave us before, but he always changed his mind, telling us we could not manage without him, which was likely true.

Björn was washing milk cans in the courtyard. Using a brush with a long wooden handle, he whirled the cold soapy water around and around inside the can, spinning the can itself in the opposite direction, the water spurting up the rim. I walked toward him, wanting to ask him about Elias. He tipped the can slightly and aimed the water my way. I had to jump to avoid getting wet. I could tell he meant it. He did not want me near him.

At Enebacken I found Emilia eating breakfast. She was already in her midwife uniform, a crisp cotton dress with white and blue stripes. Emma was putting away the ironing board.

“I’m concerned about Edit Andrasson,” I said after Emma poured me coffee. “I’ve heard she’s pregnant and they may not have enough food.”

Emilia admitted she was worried too. “I was over there the other day.” She dabbed her mouth with a napkin and raised her hand when Emma brought more porridge. “She’s worn out by six children already. Andrasson comes home and throws the mucky tackle on the floor and then he sits down and eats. When she asks him to wash, he ignores her. She’s been reading the newspapers but I explained to her that she can’t get syphilis from dirt alone. But what she has is bad enough, a nasty infection, most certainly caused by Andrasson’s lack of hygiene.”

“They need to know there are ways to avoid having more children,” I said. “We could show Andrasson how to use condoms.”

Emma stood behind Emilia and shook her head. “Aunt Emilia is supposed to assist birth, not prevent it. All she can do is answer questions. Anything else and she’ll be risking her livelihood.”

“You surprise me, Emma,” I said. “You once told me you don’t believe that knowledge can ever do harm.”

Even in the rush of the morning, Emma’s skin was luminous, her brown eyes as clear as ever. “I still believe that’s true. Women should be taught about their bodies. I certainly intend to teach my own daughters, simply and truthfully, not just vague allusions that alarm rather than help. But I don’t believe in forcing information on people who don’t want it.”

“Emma is right,” Emilia said. “We’d be breaking the law. Still, no one can fault us for answering questions. As long as that’s all we do. It’s a fine line, but I do believe it can be drawn.”

Rapid knocks came on the door.

Emilia reached for her bag. “It’s Pettersson. We have to go.”

I followed Emilia and Emma out. The young farmer barely waited for them to get up on the wagon. Emma sat very straight. Now that she was about to marry Wilhelm, she wanted no part in my campaign.

Emilia, however, nodded and said, “We’ll talk.”

A few weeks later Emilia came to the bank. She said that Edit had given birth. We sat in the back room while Susanna, my assistant, helped the customers.

“It was a difficult birth,” Emilia said. “She was anxious from the start. Don’t push too hard, I said. All in good time. I told her to scream, said it would help. But she wouldn’t utter a sound, and all along Andrasson was cussing and drinking in the kitchen. At first, when I held up the child, she was afraid to look at it. I assured her it was healthy, but she kept searching for blisters and counting fingers and toes.”

Later that day Emilia and I walked over to Andrasson’s cabin.

“Don’t forget,” Emilia said. “All we can do is answer questions. Anything else, and we’ll be breaking the law.”

A boy saw us coming and ran into the cabin.

“He’s warning his parents. One little girl actually thought I brought the new child in my bag. Another closed the damper because she thought the child came with the stork. It’s a sad situation when you have to rely on fairytales to hide the truth.”

Andrasson was in his undershirt when he cracked the door open.

The children were lined up on the kitchen bench, all six of them, the eldest around twelve or so, the youngest not much older than a year. Emilia built a fire in the stove to heat water for me to do the washing. Meanwhile, she had brought her own clean sheets and towels. As the children watched, I found some turnips in a bucket and placed them in a pan to boil. One of the boys was crying, and the eldest girl tried to make him hush. Andrasson said he had to go outside to tend to his horse.

The children watched my every move, one girl chewing on a strand of her hair, another crossing her thin arms above her bloated stomach. When I tried to talk to them they did not answer. As soon as I put out the cooked turnips, they grabbed them as if they might disappear.

Next I went to work at the washtub beside the stove. I was hanging towels on the line outside when Andrasson came by on his way back to the house.

“Bring in the laundry before nightfall,” I said.

He grunted and kept walking, his eyes avoiding mine.

“And hang it up again in the morning,” I called out after him. I had checked the barometer. The good weather was supposed to last.

Later I sat with Emilia and Edit in the bedroom. The new child, a boy, was nursing.

“You asked about Kristina’s rubbers,” Emilia said as she closed her bag.

Edit bit her lip and did not answer.

“It would be up to Andrasson himself to learn to use them,” Emilia said.

Edit grimaced as she shifted in her bed. “Can’t rely on him. He would get drunk and forget. Please go talk to him. Scare him. Scare him good. Tell him he can’t come near me.”

A while later Emilia and I joined Andrasson in the kitchen. Emilia sent the children outside.

“Edit is going to need her rest,” Emilia began.

Andrasson scratched the side of his neck. “Damned if I know how I ended up with a woman who’s with child every time I look at her.”

“It’s amazing she lets you close at all,” I said. “Haven’t you heard about bathing?”

“Quiet, Anna,” Emilia said.

Andrasson glared in my direction but said nothing.

Emilia faced Andrasson. “You must control yourself. If you don’t, you’ll have more children than you have the means to provide for.”

“Money is no problem.”

Emilia looked around. The cabin walls showed signs of mold, caused by moisture that crept up from the ground, turning to frost in the winter.

“I see no signs of abundance,” she said. “But the one I really worry about is Edit. She never has a chance to build back her strength. Unless you leave her alone, I fear she won’t be long for this world.”

Edit called and Emilia went back to the bedroom. Finally alone with Andrasson, I was not about to waste more time.

“Abstinence may not be the only solution,” I said.

He sat by the table, staring out the window. He did not ask what I meant.

“Have you heard about condoms?” I said.

He took out his pipe and began to stuff it.

“I brought some,” I said.

The tobacco glowed as he lit the pipe. When he spoke, I could barely hear him.

“You’d better leave or I’ll fetch the constable. Or would you rather I talk to Wikander? Either way is fine with me. You may be Rammen’s daughter but that don’t give you the right to come here and tell me what to do.”

I placed the envelope in front of him. “Here. Just in case you change your mind.”

He slammed his fist down on the table. “Take your wares and get out of here!” he said, wagging a black-nailed finger so close to my eyes I feared he might poke them.

Emilia stopped short when she returned from the bedroom.

Andrasson rose and pointed at me. “Everyone knows she’s Otter’s whore.  I don’t want her near my children.”

We walked back in silence. I had spoken out of turn, but Emilia did not reproach me. When we said goodbye outside Enebacken, I saw Wilhelm twirling his mustache in the parlor.

The following day I sent Sara with cheese and eggs to Andrasson’s cabin. She said no one opened when she knocked, so she left the basket by the door. Fredrik said he would send Marit too.

As it turned out, Andrasson told both the constable and Wikander. Rammen dealt with the constable. He said it would be Andrasson’s word against mine, and the constable did not take action.

“Can’t help you with Wikander,” Rammen said. “Best go see him yourself.”

That evening I heard the faint ticking of beetles inside the parlor wall—the clock of death, Gustafa called it, for it meant that someone in the house was about to die.

 

WIKANDER’S HOUSEKEEPER LOOKED tired, her hairnet torn and her stockings crumpled at her ankles. Wikander had been called to the poorhouse but would soon be back.

I sat on the bench in the narrow hall. Through the window I could see the birches that had already turned. Past them lay Prästgården’s barn, dark red behind that burst of yellow. Fredrik was away looking at farms.

The hall looked much like the one at Ramm. The door to the right opened into Wikander’s office. The stairs ahead led to the bedrooms, where the window shades were hardly ever pulled and the villagers could see Wikander pacing long into the nights. Fredrik had told me he still wrestled with the angel although you would never know it when you heard him preach.

Horses’ hooves struck the gravel. From where I sat I could see one of Fredrik’s farmhands lead away Wikander’s mare, her left eye socket empty. Wikander had always been unclear on how she came to lose her eye. He had been on his way home after a card game, and he cracked his whip to make her trot faster. The eye was still there when they reached the vicarage, but it was too mangled to be of use. The doctor, who tended to animals and people both, had been forced to remove it.

Wikander told me to join him in his office, where I sat on a ladder-back chair, waiting as he wrote in his register. The stubble shadowed his chin, his sideburns were untrimmed, and gray hair sprouted out of his ears.

At long last he put away his pen and peered at me behind his black-rimmed glasses. “I’ve talked to Fredrik. You must set a date for your wedding.”

“As soon as he finds his farm.”

“There can be no more stalling. Think what harm might come to your children if your marriage begins in sin.”

At this he turned his attention back to his register, apparently copying something from one page to the next.

After what seemed like an hour, Wikander cleared his throat.  “Andrasson came to see me. Said you had harassed him in the sanctity of his home.”

I held my tongue.

“Well, Anna, I’m interested in hearing what you have to say.”

The steadiness in my voice surprised me. “We have to let the villagers know how to limit the number of children.”

Wikander rose, walked over to the bookcase, took down a copy of the Bible, and placed it before me. “Find Matthew 6:33,” he said and sat back in his chair.

I found the page.

“Read it aloud.”

My voice kept steady as I read: “But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be added unto you.”

“These things,” he said. “What are they?”

“They are everything we think we need,” I said, repeating words I had known since I prepared for the house examinations. “They are food, drink, shelter, and clothing.”

“Go on.”

“We must thank God with full hearts when we receive them, but we must be equally grateful when we do not. For it is then that we shall know if we truly love him, it is then that we must learn to chastise and discipline our sinful selves.”

Perhaps it pleased him that I remembered the answer for he spoke more gently now. “I was once young myself. Just like you, I thought I was invincible. At the seminary there was so much wit and laughter. But when I came here, I saw my limitations. So if I preach with harshness, it’s because too much is at stake. I can’t afford to be lenient. The Word of God is not open to interpretation.”

“It seems to me we’re guilty of sin if we see suffering and don’t attempt to relieve it.”

He stood, blocking the light from the window. “You tell them there are ways to circumvent God’s will. And because the truth of God is contrary to their sinful hearts, they listen. What will you say on the Day of Judgment, when the trumpet sounds and you shall have to answer for your deeds?”

“I shall have to say that I followed my conscience. If God saw fit to give me a brain, he must also expect me to use it.”

“Conscience! Your conscience may serve you in matters of the world, but it has absolutely nothing to do with religion.” He blew noisily into a large handkerchief and stuffed it back into his pocket. “Can your conscience tell you that Jesus rose from the dead? Can your conscience tell you that he died for your sins? Can your conscience tell you that he will return again to judge you? No, Anna, a thousand times no. If we couldn’t read it in the Bible, none of us would ever know.”

Before I left, he made me kneel and recite the Lord’s Prayer.

“Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”

There was dust on the floor. The housekeeper was too old. The vicarage was too large for her to manage. Perhaps some of the other women in the village could come and help her. Take turns. Write their names on a list and assign the days. I promised myself I would mention it to Alfrida. Dismissing the housekeeper would of course be out of the question, at least not unless Wikander chose to do so himself. Yes, the whole village would be outraged at such a suggestion, for the housekeeper had waited on Wikander since he first arrived in Hult. And yes, there was her loyalty too. That certainly ought to be factored into the calculation. Every Sunday, when he returned from his sermons, she was waiting with his supper, putting aside her knitting as she heard him walk up the front steps.

That was when I noticed that Wikander was kneeling beside me. His voice was steady and calm.

“And forgive our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen.”

I heard the strength of his conviction, and bowed my head.