Solstice in the summer of 1932 landed on Tuesday, so the Midsummer’s Eve celebration took place on Saturday night, the eighteenth. It was a beautiful day, unusually warm for June in Astoria but not unprecedented and certainly not unwelcome.
Eleanor, who’d come across the river the day before, had spent Friday night with her friend Jenny. The two of them flitted back and forth between Jenny’s house and Aksel and Aino’s house, trying something, rejecting it, trying something else. Jenny was already fourteen and Eleanor would be fourteen on the twenty-third. They went over to Matti and Kyllikki’s house two times to consult with Pilvi, who was a year ahead of them and, in their opinion, an expert on current fashion. They also wanted to make sure that Aarni saw them. He was a senior and graduating in a week. Surely, he had friends.
Matti and Kyllikki were getting ready for the dance themselves. They heard Aarni and Pilvi slam the door behind them, as usual, and smiled at each other. Then Kyllikki’s lips began to tremble.
“What is it?” Matti asked.
“They’ve grown to be so old, but they’re so young.”
“What?”
“Ohh …” Kyllikki moaned, now very close to tears. “I was Aarni’s age when we got married.” She buried her face in his chest and he, surprised by the emotion, could only hold her and pat her on the back. She put her cheek against the wool of his suit jacket. “That’s when I left my mother.”
“Oh,” Matti said. He pulled her chin up and kissed her. “It worked out, didn’t it?”
She had to laugh through her tears.
Ilmari had gone out into the field after sunset. Eleanor had gone to Astoria for the dance at Suomi Hall. He was sure she would stay this time. She’d outgrown not only the local school but also the local boys—and even Ilmahenki. It had put him in a nostalgic mood, a longing for the good things of the past. It was like continually hearing the next to last chord in a familiar hymn, yet never hearing it resolve.
A full moon was rising in the sun’s afterglow, so only a few stars were visible. Venus, however, shone with the intensity of a lighthouse low on the western horizon, while higher in the west hung brilliant Jupiter and, preceding the moon, low to the southeast, Saturn—brightness ascending in the descending brightness.
A drowsiness had settled over the valley of Deep River. The salmonberries and thimbleberries pulled their vines to the earth. The air, too, was heavy, but like a comforting quilt—not at all oppressive, just warm and soft, pressing gently on Ilmari’s body. He heard a slight rustling. A young doe, probably born only the spring before, stepped daintily from the forest into the field. She stood there, her head raised, sampling the air. He chuckled. She had probably come for the vegetable garden. The doe looked directly at Ilmari, making him hold his breath. He felt his heart beat. She looked skyward. One of her ears twitched, as if trembling, but not with fear, with awe. She was looking at the rising moon. Ilmari joined the exquisite creature looking at the beauty—together, the two of them, in a sort of rapture. Then, the doe’s other ear twitched and she bounded into the forest.
Around ten o’clock, Aksel left the dance for a smoke. He walked around to the north side of the hall and found Arcturus, despite the moonlight, hanging red and warm in the midsummer evening. He looked at the river, planning where he’d go as soon as the tide turned. Aino had become a good crew member, but she was dropping hints that between seasickness, which she occasionally still suffered in rough weather, the fumes in the engine room, her inability to sleep on deck—and an unmentioned, but he knew strong, aversion to hanging her rear end over the side of the boat to take care of her business—she was talking about focusing a little more time on the co-op and him hiring a boat puller.
He didn’t care what she did, but he knew she had to justify her decision to quit by giving him every sound reason except the real one. Eleanor had told them just before she left for the dance that she had decided to finish high school in Astoria. Aino wanted to make up for lost time.
He stubbed out his cigarette and clumped back up the stairs, no longer embarrassed by being awkward.
Aino watched Aksel talking to the band leader while the band was on break. Just after Aksel rejoined her, the leader announced, “We’ve had a request.”
Aksel held out his hand to Aino and they moved onto the floor together. He invited her into his frame and she accepted. The band began playing “Lördagsvalsen.” Aino knew it was silly to cry, but the tears kept coming as she whirled around the room, dancing, dancing in this precious moment with the man she loved.