“Why don’t you take a piece of cake up to your room?” she says to Stephie.
So she’s not to be allowed to hear the discussion! Stephie looks at Miss Bergstrom, who just sits silently, stirring her coffee.
Stephie cuts a piece of cake and carries it out on a saucer.
“Please shut the door behind you.”
Stephie stands out in the hall for a while, listening to the mumble of voices through the closed door, unable to make out the words. Just as well to go upstairs, then.
She sits on her bed, eating her cake nervously. She gets crumbs on her bed, but doesn’t care.
Half an hour later she hears the front room door open.
“But Miss Bergstrom, you know I’d be very happy to walk you home,” she hears Uncle Evert say.
“There’s no need at all,” Miss Bergstrom replies. “Do promise me you’ll consider the matter.”
“We’ll think it over,” Aunt Marta answers.
“Thank you for the coffee and the delicious cake,” Miss Bergstrom concludes.
“It was nothing. Thank you for coming.”
They’re out in the hall now.
“Good night, Stephanie,” calls Miss Bergstrom up the stairs.
“Good night.”
“See you on Monday.”
The front door opens and closes. Miss Bergstrom’s visit is over.
thirty
Stephie draws her fingernail across the oilcloth on the table, saying nothing. There’s nothing to say. They’ve made up their minds. She’s not going to grammar school come fall.
“Don’t sit there moping,” says Aunt Marta. “You’ve nothing to be dissatisfied about. We care for you as if you were our own. You should be grateful.”
“I am,” says Stephie, her voice breaking.
“Chin up, now,” Uncle Evert says. “Everything will be all right, you’ll see. If you end up staying here for a long time, we will make sure you learn a useful trade in the end.”
“May I please be excused?”
Aunt Marta nods. “All right.”
“Thank you for a nice dinner.”
Stephie puts on her coat and walks down to the beach.
The spring sun has melted the ice during the last few days, and the snow is melting, too, dripping from the boat-house roof. A black-backed gull is crying overhead. “Caw, caw, caw!” He sounds as if he’s laughing at her.
She sits down on the upturned dinghy, gazing out across the water. There are still a few sheets of ice in the inlet. The water glistens, clear blue. Far away, on the other side of the ocean, is America. Will she ever get there?
For the second time, Stephie carries the books back to Miss Bergstrom, who accepts only the math book.
“Please keep this one, anyway,” she says, passing
Stephie reads a few of the verses in the book, about a long-ago war. It’s not the kind of poetry she likes.
Every day after school when Stephie sees Sylvia, Ingrid, and the three boys who are staying on for extra tutoring, her heart aches. If she had been one of them, wild horses wouldn’t have been able to keep her away from school. As things are, she feels some satisfaction when a spring cold forces her to stay home for a few days.
Because Stephie’s sick, Aunt Marta lets her sleep as late as she likes in the morning. One day Aunt Marta has already left for the village when Stephie gets up. Barefoot, she tiptoes downstairs in her long nightgown.
The morning sun slants in through the window of the front room. Stephie turns on the radio, raising the volume so she can hear it in the kitchen. She slices some bread, and then gets the butter cooler and the milk pitcher from the pantry.
Right in the middle of a piece of music, there is an interruption. First silence, then static, then a solemn voice comes on:
“This is a special broadcast from the Swedish news agency. German troops have invaded Norway and Denmark. Norwegian radio reports that the Germans took control of the Norwegian ports at three in the morning. German battle ships are now in the Oslo fjord…”
Stephie stands still as a statue in the middle of the kitchen floor, pitcher in one hand, butter cooler in the other.
Oslo ’s not far away at all. If the Germans have gone to war against Denmark and Norway, Sweden will probably be next.
When Aunt Marta gets back, she finds Stephie sitting on a chair with her feet tucked in under her, still in her nightgown. Her breakfast is on the kitchen table, untouched. The news broadcast has ended but she hasn’t turned the radio off. Ordinarily Aunt Marta would have been annoyed and scolded Stephie for listening to music.
“You’ve heard?” is all she says now.
“Yes.”
“I found out at the post office,” Aunt Marta says. “It’s awful. Just terrible.”
They keep the radio on all day. Stephie stays in the front room, wrapped in a blanket. Every time there is a news broadcast, they hear how more and more towns in Norway have fallen to the Germans.
“Owing to the danger of deep-sea mines, Swedish fishermen are warned against going into the straits of the Skagerrak, and possibly also the Kattegatt,” a crackling voice announces at noon.
The
“Uncle Evert…,” says Stephie.
“Don’t worry,” Aunt Marta says brusquely, but Stephie sees that her hands are tense, pale fists.
Just as the reporter is describing the ongoing battle between German and British warships in the North Sea, the telephone rings.
“… severe storm, seas extremely choppy…,” the voice on the radio says.
Stephie and Aunt Marta look at each other. Stephie is sure she and Aunt Marta are having the same thought: What if something has happened to Uncle Evert? Aunt Marta gets up and answers the phone.
“Hello?” She listens for a moment, then passes the receiver to Stephie. “It’s for you.”
Stephie exhales. “Hello?” she repeats into the black receiver.
At first all she can hear is sniffling. Then Nellie’s voice:
“Stephie?”
“Yes?”
“I’m so scared. Do you think they’ll come here?”
“I don’t know. I’m frightened, too.”
“Can I come be with you?”
“Just a minute, let me ask.”
Aunt Marta doesn’t mind if Nellie comes over.
Auntie Alma and the little ones come, too. Auntie Alma seems very upset. She and Aunt Marta speak in hushed tones.
