Ulla-Lena Lundberg - Ice

Now that the Portmans are here, there’s a service every Sunday again, and they sit there all three, farther back than before. Mona and Sanna greet everyone, Mrs Portman, for the time being, no one. The congregation’s reservations are clearly visible. Portman can’t sing the Mass, so the organist sings the responses a little against his will, and the congregation joins in half-heartedly. The sermon is well prepared but dry. Kummel’s sermons were always full of life and spirit even when he wasn’t all that well prepared. But even then it was a pleasure to follow along and wonder how he was going to bring it ashore with the rather slender thread he was using as a lifeline. And the way he could sing! Everyone talks about it very openly so the Portmans will hear.

After the very first service, the organist is criticized for his slow tempos. That the congregation like them slow is no excuse. It is obviously the cantor’s job to teach them to adopt modern hymn-singing styles! And the verger … Well, the verger should be more obedient and not constantly plead local custom. Young, uncertain priests lean on customs, but experienced people prune and select and introduce new practices where they’re called for.

Now neither the organist nor the verger stop in at the parsonage after the conclusion of High Mass, and only occasionally can they talk openly with Mona. How will this all turn out? They both wonder, the verger more openly offended than the organist, who is struggling to achieve a more friction-free collaboration with his superior. He fears for the next meeting of the vestry. It’s difficult to prepare an agenda for a priest who doesn’t care in the least how things have always been done on the Örlands. He just invokes the excellent practices of his home parish in northern Ostrobothnia.

“It was hard enough”, the organist says, “when we had to become Protestants in the fifteen hundreds. The church needs to be a rock, steadfast. We don’t like all these changes. There’s enough of that in society as a whole.”

And the verger can only agree, especially since every normal person can see that the traditions on the Örlands are beautiful as well as functional.

Within the congregation, the customary division into two camps has asserted itself quickly. In this instance, the east villages are first with their attacks, the organist notes a little maliciously. But in addition, the formidable Adele Bergman tries to take the Portmans under her wing. For the first time, a slight coolness has found its way into the relationship between the Co-op’s manager and the chairman of its board.

“It’s not easy for him in the beginning,” Adele explains. “So we have to keep open minds and welcome him without reservation. We must respect his calling and give him our confidence. We haven’t yet seen how he means to work among us.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” the organist says. “We’ve seen some ominous examples. He certainly hasn’t kept an open mind towards us.”

“So much the more reason to be encouraging and understanding. If the core of the message is sound, the outward forms don’t matter so much.”

“How do you get to the core of the message if the outward forms drive us away?”

“Now you’re being too quick to judge him. ‘Judge not, that ye be not judged.’”

“Dear Adele, I’m talking about our collaboration, which is going to be hard.”

“It takes two to make a quarrel.”

“If you say so.”

“Now I’ve offended you.”

“It doesn’t seem that the confidence you talk about extends to me.”

“Of course it does. I have complete confidence in you, and I’m trying to gain confidence in him. I’m defending him because it isn’t easy to do. I don’t want the priest we’ve been given to be disliked and persecuted. People are merciless, you know that yourself. But what if the ways of our Lord are such that he chooses a less popular and less radiant person to complete the revival that Kummel didn’t have time to accomplish. What if even Kummel’s death is a part of God’s plan for us?”

“Then I have a bone to pick with Our Lord.”

“This is not a joke. I’m saying we should be open to the possibility that Portman is God’s instrument, sent to us for our salvation.”

“Forgive me, Adele, but you’re the only one of us who thinks that. The priest is also a public official, and what’s happening here is a hopeless clash. And now I have to go. Thank you for the coffee.”

A brief handshake is all, his dark, imposing features a little too dark at the moment. Out of the house, he walks straight down to the dock, doesn’t look up even once as he cranks his Wickström into life and heads out. Sitting motionless in the boat, he turns away, as he must to be able to drive south. There is no light around the cup he drank from, the minutes he signed are lifeless. A wedge driven invisibly between her, who works to come closer to God, and him, who follows the ways of the world. Between her, who loves, and him, who doesn’t return that love.

It was Mona who saw to it that Adele and the Portmans got acquainted. She invited Adele and Elis to coffee one Saturday afternoon when the shop closed at one, and she invited the Portmans as well. “The church has a real friend in Adele,” she told them. “She’s on the vestry, and it would be nice if you got to know each other.”

It is as pleasant as always at Mona’s table, and the food is good. The Portmans are dignified and austere, with courteous smiles. Adele is in her element. Goes straight to the need for revival and a deeper faith among the Örlands’ lukewarm Christians, says how pleased she is that the venerable bishop has sent them a steady, experienced priest, hopes and believes that he will be a blessing for the parish. Unctuous and teary-eyed when she speaks of the work their former priest did not have the time to complete. Puts her faith now in the hope that he, Portman, has been guided by God to this isolated island parish.

“A demanding task,” Portman agrees, and Mrs Portman nods. “A shot in the arm is undoubtedly called for. What’s needed out here is a firm hand. The people are like big children.”

Mona laughs happily, to everyone’s astonishment. “You can’t imagine!” she says, a remark worthy of Mrs Hellén, her mother. She passes the cake plate and then rushes out to say something to her little girls, whom she’s been watching through the window. They’re playing a game Lillus has invented. She yells, “Potman’s coming!” and then they both scream and run and hide. When Sanna yells “He’s gone!” they come back and start the game over again. “Stop screaming like that, good heavens!” Mama says. She hurries back in and interrupts the conversation once again. Small talk, a little of this and a little of that, until it’s time to say their thank-yous and go.

Adele’s heart breaks when she sees Mona active and brisk, at full speed, but without the dash and ardour that were characteristic of her as Petter Kummel’s wife. Now she’s the mother of these little girls, and it will take many years of work until they can stand on their own two feet. How will she manage? It’s the question everyone asks, and Mona gives always the same answer. “I’ll have to manage. That’s all there is to it.”

Mrs Portman has no children, and therefore Lydia Manström is counting on her to be an asset for the Marthas as well as for the work on public health. New energies and talents are always a good thing, so she bids Mrs Portman a hearty welcome. Now, in the beginning, she is a little aloof and makes no promises. It’s understandable that she doesn’t want to play a visible role until Mona Kummel has gone, but it can’t hurt to pave the way and welcome her into the community of women in the east villages.