wants to paint her sled before she takes it there. They carry the sled down to the basement, and Uncle Evert teaches her how to sand off the old paint. When the surface is smooth he finds a can of paint and a little brush.
It takes a long time to get the brush in between the slats and to do all the edges. When they’re finished painting, though, it’s as shiny and red as new.
“It’ll be dry by morning,” Uncle Evert tells her, “and you’ll be able to take it out.”
In the blue dusk of early evening they roll firm snowballs and put them in a ring to make a snow lantern at the bottom of the front steps. Aunt Marta gives Stephie a little candle to set in the middle. On top of the first ring they make a second, slightly smaller one. Carefully they go on constructing a pyramid of snowballs, until they reach the very top, where there’s room for only a single snowball.
Uncle Evert takes out some matches and lights the candle. It shines from inside the lantern, giving off a lovely glow, a soft, reddish sheen that brightens the whole area.
Stephie sighs. “It’s gorgeous.”
Aunt Marta comes out onto the steps to admire their handiwork.
“Very pretty indeed,” she says.
Coming from Aunt Marta, that’s quite a compliment.
To celebrate the coming of the new year, they have their dinner in the front room, saved for special occasions. Aunt Marta’s made a roast with potatoes, gravy, and peas. It feels like a real celebration, in spite of the fact that it’s just the three of them.
Back in Vienna, the Steiners would have company for dinner on New Year’s Eve, another family with two children Stephie and Nellie’s ages. They’d set the table for a party, with a white cloth and folded napkins, gold- edged china and silver cutlery. Candles made the wine in the grown-ups’ glasses gleam like enchanted gems. The housemaid, in her black dress and white apron, carried in the platters and served each person, while the cook perspired over the pots and pans in the kitchen.
After the meal all four children were sent to rest in the nursery. They would lie there whispering and giggling, much too excited to sleep. Mother came and got them at a quarter to twelve, and they would all go out onto the balcony and listen to the many church bells in Vienna ringing in the new year.
“May I stay up until midnight?” Stephie asks.
“Absolutely not,” Aunt Marta replies.
“Oh, why not?” says Uncle Evert. “It’s New Year’s Eve only once a year. And a new decade, like tonight, only once every ten years.”
Aunt Marta changes her mind. “Well, all right, then,” she says. “Put on your nightgown and be all ready for bed. It’s just this once, though.”
At a few minutes to twelve Aunt Marta turns on the radio. A deep male voice recites a poem:
“Ring out, wild bells…”
Uncle Evert opens the window. The ringing of the bells on the radio mixes with the ringing of the island’s church bells and with the delicate chiming of Aunt Marta’s wall clock.
The year 1939 is over. The new year of 1940 has begun.
“Let this be a better year,” Stephie whispers to herself. “Please, please, let it be a better one. I’ll try my very best to be good, I promise.”
twenty-four
Stephie is waiting her turn. She always tries to pass by the post office on her way home from school to see if there’s any mail, hoping for letters from Mamma and Papa.
“That’s right,” says the woman in the line, taking a bill out of her handbag. “Not even my elderly mother, who’s over eighty, remembers a winter as cold as this.”
“And with the ocean frozen so far out.”
“I’ve heard you can walk on the ice all the way to Hjuvik now.”
Stephie listens alertly. Hjuvik’s on the mainland, north of Goteborg. Imagine being able to walk all the way there!
Down at the little harbor, all the boats are frozen in port. The fishermen have to chop runnels in the ice covering the bay and pull the boats through the ice out into the open water. When Uncle Evert comes back from a fishing trip, his overalls are frozen stiff, like armor.
“Do you think it has something to do with the war, Mrs. Pettersson?” the post office cashier asks.
“Goodness only knows,” the lady answers, shaking her head. “These are evil times.”
“Evil indeed,” the cashier agrees, counting the lady’s change onto the counter.
Mrs. Pettersson takes her package, says goodbye, and leaves. At last it’s Stephie’s turn.
“Hello. Is there any mail for the Janssons?”
“Hello, young lady,” the cashier says. “Let me have a look.” She sorts through the drawers, then shakes her head.
“Not today.”
Stephie bites her lip in disappointment. No letters from home since before Christmas. None to her and none to Nellie.
“Wait a moment,” the cashier says. “I’ll just check to make sure there’s been no mistake.” She looks again, but to no avail. “I’m sure you’ll hear soon,” she says comfortingly. “Come back tomorrow, maybe there’ll be a letter then.”
“Thank you,” says Stephie.
The snow scrunches under her boot soles on the steps outside. Last year’s winter boots pinch her toes, but she doesn’t dare tell Aunt Marta she needs new ones.
Sylvia and Barbro come toward her, walking in the direction of the shop. Sylvia is wearing a furry white rabbit hat. Barbro has a similar one, but gray. Those hats are in style this winter. Stephie just has her knitted cap with a tassel.
“What are you staring at?” Sylvia asks.
“Nothing.”
“No-thing” Sylvia imitates. “Can’t you say ‘nothing’? You’d better learn Swedish if you’re going to live here.”
Stephie doesn’t answer. She takes a few steps to go by them, but the two girls block her way.
“Let me pass,” Stephie says.
“What are you in such a hurry about?” Sylvia asks. “We thought we’d give you a Swedish lesson. Say ‘nothing.’”
“Nothing.” Stephie does her very best.
“What do you think?” Sylvia asks Barbro. “Does that sound like Swedish to you?”
“Nope,” says Barbro.
“You’ll have to be punished,” Sylvia tells her, gathering up a wad of snow. Stephie backs away, but Barbro’s already behind her. Sylvia pushes the snow right into Stephie’s face, as if she were washing it.
“Look!” She grins. “What a crybaby!”
Stephie starts wiping the snow from her face. While her hands are over her eyes Barbro drops a handful of snow between her coat collar and her neck. Sylvia is gathering more snow to wash Stephie’s face again.
The girls are both bigger and stronger than Stephie. There’s no use trying to run away.
At that very moment a snowball comes flying through the air and hits Sylvia smack in the middle of her forehead. Sylvia totters and steps back. Barbro lets go of Stephie from behind, turning around to see who threw it.
Svante is on the road, making another snowball.
“Two against one, that’s cowardly!” he shouts.
