The Lost Village by Sten, Camilla (reading women TXT) 📕

After that comes the timeline. I have no idea whether these are simply educated guesses, or if Grandma based it on information that has since disappeared somewhere in her files.

09/12 1928: Born to parents Nils and Edda Åkerman in Forshälla, Blekinge.

1928–?: Early childhood spent with parents. Unclear when he moves, or why. Possible causes: Death of mother. Financial problems. Early violent tendencies.

1939–1940: Hospitalized at least three times for fractures and possible internal bleeding. No further investigations made.

1940?–1944: Leaves parental home and moves in with his uncle, Gustaf Larsson. Unclear when the move happens: mother’s death notice suggests before her death in June 1942, but there is no concrete evidence of Mattias living with the Larssons before 1944.

June 1942: Mother, Edda Åkerman, passes away in early June. Mattias would have been thirteen. Unclear if still living with parents, or with uncle at the time. Cause of death unclear.

10/21 1944: First evidence that Mattias is officially living with his uncle Gustaf and his family. See national registration records. The same record states that Gustaf’s wife, Berit, and daughters Linnea (b.1934) and Sofia (b.1936) both live at the same address. See also marriage license and birth certificates.

May 1946: Linnea admitted to hospital. Her mother, Berit Larsson, is the guardian present. The records state that she has previously complained of abdominal pains. She has bruises on her left arm and on both thighs, but does not want to state where these came from. The nurse deems no treatment to be necessary, and sends her home with a warning to be more careful in her play.

November 1946: Linnea admitted to hospital for the second time. Berit Larsson once again listed as the guardian present. Linnea is brought in after losing consciousness due to particularly heavy menstrual bleeding. When examined, the bleeding turns out to be an early miscarriage. Linnea refuses to give the father’s name. She is kept in hospital for three days for observation.

July 1947: National registration records reveal Mattias is no longer registered at the Larsson family address, nor with his father, Nils Åkerman. No trace of him elsewhere.

02/16 1951: Mattias Åkerman is arrested in Stockholm for vagrancy, and fined. Fines don’t appear to have been paid.

07/09 1953: A young man described as “of average height, with blond hair and gray eyes, wearing a ripped shirt and patched-up trousers” is arrested on suspicion of the sexual assault of a young girl in Falun. Gives his name as Mattias Larsson, but is unable to provide any formal identification. He is released the next day, after the victim claims to be unable to identify the perpetrator with any certainty. Exact nature of the assault not stated. Dubious as to whether this is Mattias Åkerman, but the physical descriptions match, and the name Mattias Larsson could be a nod to his uncle’s surname.

June 1955: a Mattias Åkerman applies to study for the clergy. Application rejected.

June 1956: a Mattias Åkerman applies to study for the clergy. Application rejected.

Grandma’s timeline ends here.

A few more documents follow after that—birth certificates for Sofia and Linnea, and hospital records for Linnea. The first of these features pictures of her bruises—no more than blurry, dark patches on thin white limbs.

I have scoured these documents many times, read the articles and national registration records, and studied the hospital records and the concise police reports. I don’t know how Grandma came to be so convinced that Mattias Åkerman was the man who would later become Pastor Mattias. Perhaps she came across his name through his rejected applications to join the clergy, or perhaps she simply felt that he matched that profile. However hard I searched, I couldn’t find any clear link to him in her papers.

Much remains unclear, but it would be easy to weave a story from the few reliable facts she did find: a violent childhood that appears to have culminated in him moving in with his uncle; a mother who died before her time; an unstable youth growing up with two younger cousins. Those girls must have idolized him—a beautiful older cousin, a sort-of older brother and secret crush in one.

One who took advantage of his status. And of them. Until it all came to light and he was cast out onto the street.

A few years as a drifter, small misdemeanors. The suspicion of another, albeit unspecified, sexual assault on a young girl in Falun. Unsuccessful attempts to join the clergy.

And then, one fine day, he turns up in Silvertjärn, with his exotic, lilting Blekinge dialect and mysterious past, to become the village’s savior and prophet.

It’s impossible to know if this is all true. But it feels as though there may be a grain of truth in there. And it’s hard not to wonder what that might mean. What Aina’s adoring, almost obsessive love might have led to.

I picture Silvertjärn on that August afternoon: the sweltering heat; that inexplicable emptiness; that lone baby in an empty room on the second floor of a deserted school.

I’ve scoured Tone’s face for similarities to my grandma’s, wondered if her narrow eyes could contain something of my grandma’s steady gaze.

Could the baby have been Aina’s daughter?

I’ve never quite allowed myself to ask that question.

The rain is still pitter-pattering against the windshield. How long can it go on for?

The sky above flashes again, and I see Max walking past the other van toward me, his figure doubly blurred through the windshield and the Plexiglas behind the driver’s seat. He’s wearing a thick jacket and walking fast, hardly more than a silhouette in the darkened storm light.

He’s probably bored out of his mind and after some company, I think, and feel a twinge of irritation deep in my gut. We’re here to work, this isn’t a camping trip. I can’t entertain him whenever he feels understimulated.

I hear footsteps approach and then stop by my back door. I realize I’m being harsh. For all I know, he might want to discuss the project or something.

I wait for him to knock, but none comes.

A few seconds