hair shimmering behind her.
nineteen
“No,” Stephie says. “We can’t go home. There’s a war on, stupid.”
They can’t send her back to Vienna, no matter what she does. But maybe they can send her somewhere else. To a different family, or an orphanage. A new place where she won’t even have Nellie.
Nellie is quiet. When they get to Auntie Alma’s, she tries to be comforting.
“Well, if they send you home, at least you’ll get to be with Mamma and Papa.” She opens the front door and shouts, “Mother, here we are!”
Mother! Is Nellie calling Auntie Alma mother now? Stephie goes hot with rage.
“Auntie Alma’s not your mother,” she begins, but that’s all there’s time to say before Auntie Alma walks into the hall.
She ushers Stephie into the front room, closing the door behind them, and sits down at the table.
Stephie’s on the edge of her chair, holding one hand on each side of the seat, as if afraid she’s going to fall off. She can hear Nellie and the little ones in the kitchen.
“Why did you take it?” Auntie Alma begins. Her voice has a sharp tone Stephie’s never heard before.
“I’m sorry,” Stephie whispers. “I’m so terribly sorry it broke.”
“I don’t mind about the dog,” Auntie Alma explains. “What I’m upset about is that you took it without asking. Don’t you know that’s stealing?”
“I meant to put it back,” Stephie says so softly she’s almost breathing the words.
“But it’s wrong to take things that belong to others,” Auntie Alma goes on. “‘Thou shalt not steal.’ Haven’t you learned that at Sunday school?”
“I already knew it,” Stephie says in a louder, more defiant tone. Auntie Alma must think she never learned anything at home. As if the Ten Commandments had been invented by these islanders.
“I’m disappointed in you,” Auntie Alma tells her. “I’ve always stood up for you until now.” She sounds offended, as if she thinks Stephie took the dog just to make her feel bad. “Why did you do it?”
Stephie doesn’t say anything. Auntie Alma glares at her sternly.
After some time Stephie speaks up. “I just wanted to hold it,” she says.
Auntie Alma sighs.
“I regret it,” Stephie says. “I truly repent. I will never do anything like that again. Please forgive me, Auntie Alma.”
At those words Auntie Alma smiles and pats Stephie on the cheek.
“Good girl,” she says. “I forgive you. As long as you are truly repentant.”
But that’s not the end of it. That evening there is a prayer meeting at the Pentecostal Church. Stephie has to go along with Aunt Marta; it doesn’t help that she was at Sunday school just that very morning. At the meeting, Aunt Marta instructs her to kneel down.
“We must pray together,” she says.
Aunt Marta begins to pray out loud, in her powerful voice. She prays for Jesus to guide Stephie on the true path and to help her refrain from sin. Stephie’s cheeks are on fire. She peeks out of the corner of her eye to see whether others are listening.
“Pray,” Aunt Marta commands, nudging her in the side.
“Dear Jesus,” Stephie begins, but then doesn’t know how to go on. “Dear Jesus, help me not to be a bad girl. Make me good. And make Sylvia nicer, too. And let me soon be with Mamma and Papa again.”
“Pray for forgiveness,” Aunt Marta whispers.
“And forgive me for taking Mimi from Auntie Alma’s cupboard.”
“Mimi? What kind of foolish talk is that?” Aunt Marta scolds as they are leaving the meeting. “Names are a privilege reserved for the living. And boats, of course.”
Stephie keeps quiet. She’s thinking about a real little dog named Mimi. A little dog with brown patches in her white fur and a damp, black nose.
Before she goes to bed she gets her knapsack ready for school the next day. There’s a piece of paper with the text to the song for Lucia. She has to know it by heart before Wednesday, Lucia Day. It’s a difficult melody, but she plans to sing softly, and mouth the words.
It’s Sunday, and she still hasn’t spoken to Aunt Marta about the white gown she needs. Soon it will be too late. Aunt Marta probably won’t want to go all the way to Goteborg to get one. Will there be one she can borrow? Or could they make one?
Aunt Marta’s in the rocking chair, reading the newspaper.
“Excuse me,” Stephie begins. “It’s Lucia Day on Wednesday.”
Aunt Marta looks up. “Is it?” she replies.
“I’m going to be one of the handmaidens.”
Aunt Marta nods. “That’s nice.” She turns the page.
Stephie gathers her courage. “I’ll need a long white gown.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged,” Aunt Marta says in a voice that is almost gentle. “Off to bed with you, now.”
The evening before Lucia Day Stephie finds a folded, neatly ironed garment on her bed. She unfolds it. It’s a long, cotton flannel nightgown that buttons all the way up. White, but with a faded pattern of little blue flowers still slightly visible.
Stephie had imagined a Lucia gown as different, prettier, with lace and ribbons like a wedding dress. But Aunt Marta must know best. Stephie folds it back up neatly, wraps it in tissue paper, and packs it in her schoolbag.
The next morning she leaves a whole hour earlier than usual. They’re going to rehearse the Lucia performance before the rest of the class arrives. It’s snowy and windy-an easterly wind for once, so it’s against her as she walks to school.
Miss Bergstrom has already let the other children in. The girls are getting ready in the classroom, while two boys who are participating change in the map room down the hall.
Vera has on a simple white gown with a little round collar. Miss Bergstrom is tying a wide red silk sash around her waist. Sylvia is twirling around, showing off her lovely cotton gown with wide lace edging on the collar and sleeves.
Ingrid, the class monitor, is changing in the corner. She, too, is pulling a completely white cotton gown over her head. All the girls have solid white gowns.
Stephie goes over by Ingrid and starts changing. She shivers with the cold, hurrying to remove Aunt Marta’s flannel gown from her schoolbag. Ingrid, peeking out of the corner of her eye, does a double take.
Stephie pulls the gown over her head and starts buttoning all the little buttons. The sleeves are a bit too long and keep getting in her way.
“Look,” Barbro calls out. “Look at Stephie!”
Everyone looks. Sylvia bursts into loud laughter.
“She’s just got an old nightgown!”
“Flowered!” Barbro snorts.
Gunvor and Majbritt join in the laughter. Ingrid looks toward Miss Bergstrom and laughs behind her hand. Vera, pale and nervous, doesn’t seem to notice what’s going on. And she isn’t laughing.
“Quiet,” Miss Bergstrom shouts. “Stop, this very instant.”
“She can’t wear that, can she?” Sylvia asks. “It will ruin the whole Lucia procession. It’s bad enough she can’t sing.”
Miss Bergstrom sighs. “Just wait here,” the teacher says. “I’ll organize a different gown. Ingrid, you keep everyone in order, please.”
It feels as if Miss Bergstrom’s gone for a very long time, though it’s probably no longer than ten minutes.
