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

“Alice?” Robert says quietly behind me, and I turn around and stand up again.

“So this is where they lived?” he says.

I nod.

Robert steps over to the sink and opens one of the cupboards. His rectangular body blocks the contents, so I see nothing.

“Well, would you look at this,” he says softly, reaching up to the cupboard.

He pulls out a jar of honey. It’s almost full. He reaches up to the top shelf and finds a tin labelled “tea,” which is empty, then feels around the obligatory paper packaging on the middle shelf before finding three metal tins of what must be sardines in tomato sauce.

“You think they’re OK to eat?” I ask him.

“Honey doesn’t go off if it hasn’t been contaminated,” he says, his chestnut eyes glinting in the last of the evening light. “It doesn’t look like this has. And I don’t know about the sardines, but we can take them with us anyway. That’ll have to do for dinner.”

I smile at him.

“See?” I say. “I told you it would pay off.”

Thanks, Grandma, I think.

She’s still looking out for me.

I step out of the kitchen and back into the hall, let my eyes wander along the floral wallpaper running up the stairs. The damp has run in thin, sporadic rivulets down the turgid, painted leaves.

I know what must be up there. I’ve seen the other houses.

The bedrooms. Staffan and Elsa’s. And Aina’s.

I walk toward the staircase. It looks stable, not rotten like some of the others. The handrail is essentially held up by one narrow spindle on one side, but when I test it out with a little weight it doesn’t give way.

“Are you sure going up there is a good idea?” Robert asks. “Maybe we should call first. See if she replies. You don’t know if the steps are stable.”

“I don’t want to scare her,” I say quietly.

Robert has put the food in his rucksack, which he places on the wooden floor beside him. The patterned parquet is scratched, worn, and dry, but it’s clear that at some point it must have been beautiful. That someone scrubbed it and polished it to keep it shining. That someone took pride in their home.

Not someone. Her. Elsa. My great-grandmother.

“We’ll be careful,” I say. “If she’s up there she might be hiding.”

June 23, 1959

Margareta,

I don’t understand why you sounded so angry in your last letter? It hurt me to read it, but I can see that what I wrote must have been hard for you to hear, too. It isn’t always easy to open your eyes to new truths, especially when you’re so tied to the old. That’s what Pastor Mattias says. Here in Silvertjärn it hasn’t been easy to open people’s eyes to God’s light, but when it does happen—ah! I’ll leave you to experience that for yourself. I’m sure you will.

It’s like a new world, Margareta; it feels like I was blind my entire life, running around worrying about petty, unimportant things, feeling small and scared and powerless, but Pastor Mattias has shown me the true way. I know you have felt the same! When you were new to Stockholm and no one wanted to talk to you, when they laughed at your clothes and the way you spoke, didn’t you feel lonely then? You said it like a joke, but I could tell it made you sad! And though you claim to be happy and content now, that old feeling will never leave you, Margareta. It’s there because you’ve distanced yourself from God.

But it isn’t your fault! It’s Mother and Father’s fault. You say that you felt the same way at my age, and that it’ll pass, but have you ever considered that you might have disliked them because they’re bad parents? They haven’t taught us about God. They’ve never truly cared about us, Margareta! Only as pairs of helping hands, no more. That isn’t true love. True love is boundless, unconditional. It is the sharing of both body and soul, nothing withheld. When you live in love, you learn to never say no.

But how many times has Mother said no to you and me? Thousands! Because she has never seen us—not you, nor me, nor even Father. Why do you think he was driven to the bottle? Because he slumped into godless depths, and because she wasn’t there for him.

Perhaps you would understand had you seen it, Margareta. I know you remember Mother as a good person, for you are a good person yourself. But you haven’t seen her now! All she does is scold Father and try to undermine the church. She hardly wants me to go there anymore. How can you call her a pious person when she doesn’t even want me to visit the house of God?

You’ll see. When you come here.

Pastor Mattias has explained it all. He’s helped me to see why I always felt so lonely. He’s given me answers I never even knew I wanted!

You may not believe what I’m saying about Birgitta, but you will understand once you hear Pastor Mattias. He told me that pure, blessed people are more sensitive to evil than others. That’s why I’ve always felt so uncomfortable around Birgitta, for I’ve sensed the darkness within her. Pastor Mattias says that the demon inside Birgitta may be what has corrupted Mother. But he says he will try to save Birgitta nonetheless—and Mother, too.

Now do you see what a good man he is? That he lives his life for God? That’s how much he is willing to sacrifice to save the rest of us. He has shown us the way. He is our light in the darkness.

Just come home, Margareta. I would dearly love to show you our new church. Then you will see. You will understand it all.

Aina.

 NOW

The air upstairs is still. I’m in a small hallway, barely more than a landing, that leads to two doors. Both are shut.

I hear the creak of Robert’s steps behind