Ulla-Lena Lundberg - Ice

He can hardly wait to go out and speak to those who are still in the churchyard, but the verger reminds him that the collection must be counted in the presence of witnesses and entered in the account book. There are a great many small coins, and it takes time, but finally it’s all locked in the chest and at last they can go outside. The sun is shining the way it can in May. Many are on their way to the church dock, but many remain, in contrast with other parishes where people hurry away when the pastor appears. These people stand still and smile warmly, and when he greets them and shakes their hands, they wish him welcome. None of them give their names, and in the end he starts to ask, for he wants so very much to get to know them by name as well as by face. A little group gathers around him, people who want to say hello, and they’re all in such a good mood after all their singing that it’s a joy to be with them.

He almost forgets to look for Mona and Sanna, but then he catches sight of them at one side of the churchyard, isolated in a struggle, with Sanna twisting and screaming and Mona holding her tight and looking angry. They’re fighting bitterly, and big tears are rolling down Sanna’s cheeks. The pastor is still standing there talking and smiling but he feels a pang of depression. Must she always? Sanna has been angelically quiet and good during the service and slept a little during the sermon. It’s only natural that someone so little is now worn out and cries and squirms. But he and his wife have sworn each other a solemn oath that they will be consistent in raising their children. Whatever one of them says will be supported by the other, and no child will get a no from one parent and a yes from the other. Because where would that lead? To a tyranny of the children, Mona has declared, and he has wholeheartedly agreed—they will show firmness, unity, and cooperation.

But he feels sorry for Sanna, who ought to be getting praise, not reproach. “Excuse me a moment,” he says. “I see Mona, who would also like to say hello.” He rushes off. “Now, now, Sanna! You’ve been such a good girl. Come to Papa!”

Sanna raises her arms to him pathetically, her face streaked with tears, her mouth contorted, but Mona pulls her back. “Careful of the cassock,” she hisses. “She’s wet!” As if that were a terrible disgrace in a fourteen-month-old child. Mona is very proud of the fact that Sanna is already almost completely potty trained at home and can be plunked down as soon as she wakes up and after every meal. Now it’s been too long, and after her nap in church it happened. So Mona is angry and scandalized and Sanna is inconsolable. Petter is on edge, but he has no choice.

“I realize you want to go home, but come over anyway and say hello. I promised to come and fetch you.”

Mona bristles. “Did you have to drag me into it? Couldn’t you see what was going on?” But she follows him as she promised, for better or for worse, and manages a smile when she arrives with the wet, whimpering Sanna on her arm.

“And this is my family,” he introduces them. “Mona and Alexandra, but we call her Sanna.” The little group greet them warmly and bid Mona welcome, and they all remark on how incredibly quiet and well-behaved their little girl was in church. They all pretend not to notice that she’s wet, but Mona mentions the chilly breeze and says she needs to get home and change her before she catches cold. “And then too, we’re having the vestry and the parish council for coffee.”

She’s just leaving when a tall, angular person steps forward from the group. She doesn’t smile but stretches out her hand towards Mona and says, with an odd accent, that she would like to introduce herself. Her name is Irina Gyllen, and she is the midwife on the Örlands.

Mona almost curtseys, and Sanna is quiet. The priest collects himself and presses her hand warmly. “So nice to meet you! Thank you for coming! I’ve heard so many good things about you from my predecessor, and I’m looking forward to working with you on health care.”

“Thank you,” says this brown person. “I wish you good comfort on the island. Now I should go, there are so many who want to speak to you.” As she turns away, she glances at Sanna and Mona, who is ill at ease. “Sweet little girl,” she says. “Maybe we will see you at the surgery? Goodbye.”

She heads off for the gate and the Hindriks family follows. They very pleasantly fall in with Mona as they walk and chat, and when they reach the parsonage, Mona says goodbye and the rest of them stroll on towards the dock. Doctor Gyllen lives with the Hindrikses, they have explained to Mona, and she’s an excellent woman in every way.

The only people left in the churchyard are now the members of the vestry and the parish council. The priest shakes all their hands and learns their names and which villages they come from. Fortunately, the organist and Adele Bergman are among them, for he already views them as old friends. He looks with interest at a tall, slender woman wearing a long black velvet skirt, a tailored jacket and a hair net—Lydia Manström, teacher, married to a farmer fisherman in one of the eastern villages. She radiates … well, what is it she radiates? Great self-control and originality, perhaps? Not easy to say what she’ll be like. She has a teacher’s authority, of course, and he hopes that Mona will get along well with her and make a friend.

They begin to drift towards the parsonage, and he notices that Adele Bergman and Lydia Manström hang back. They’re trying to give Mona as much time as possible, whereas the men are thinking of coffee and sandwiches and push ahead. When they come into the passage, Mona, warm and red, meets them and welcomes them and asks them to come in. She ground the coffee, buttered the bread, and set the table before they went to church, and when she came back she quickly lit the fire in the stove before changing Sanna and putting her in her crib. Now she has also brought out her freshly baked rolls, and the coffee water is simmering on the stove. The pastor needn’t have worried. She may have a hasty temper, but she also has an admirable haste when it comes to practical activities.

Adele Bergman looks around appreciatively. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had a maid, Mrs Kummel, who prepared all this while we were in church,” she says, warmly, and Mona is happy to get praise from such a capable woman. “Please do sit down,” she repeats. “The coffee will be ready in a minute.”

She goes into the kitchen, but the vestry and the council are still on their feet and need more encouragement before they’ll sit down at the table. They inspect the furnishings, which they’ve already heard described by the people who were on the boat, and the priest looks embarrassed and says that Mona received a small inheritance from an aunt, without which they would have nothing but a kitchen table and some spindle chairs. He nods towards the table and says, “We got our china the same way. And now we’re going to use it. Please do sit down!”

But they are still standing, shifting their weight from one foot to the other when the pastor’s wife comes in with the coffeepot, and they let her fill their cups before they’ll approach the table. They only sit when she commands, “Please! If you don’t sit down your coffee will get cold!” Then at last they take their places and begin to relax and grow cheerful, pass around the sugar bowl and carefully pour big dollops of thick, yellow cream from the pitcher. The sandwiches look delicious. The pastor’s wife has baked bread like they have on the mainland, churned butter from cream she’s saved up all week, sliced cheese from the Co-op on half the sandwiches and put sausage on the rest and garnished all of them with parsley from the kitchen garden that has survived the winter. The food is good and plentiful, and the rolls she serves with the third cup of coffee do her credit. They are all appreciative, and the conversation runs freely and smoothly. The pastor has many questions to ask and they are happy to answer them. It will be some time before he realizes that there are two factions, equal in strength, and that they have seated themselves by village groups. The two blocks communicate only amongst themselves, but he doesn’t know this yet. He sees them only as incomparably friendly, easy to talk to, altogether excellent people.