On a Cold Dark Sea(52)
It hurt, more than it should have, to hear how anxious Josef had been for Sonja to arrive. How much he had been looking forward to their shared future.
Mrs. Norling’s voice trailed off, and she looked down at her hands, which finally lay at rest in her lap. The silence lingered in recognition of Josef’s grief. Finally, Anna had to ask the question that had been in her mind since she walked in the door.
“Is Josef still here?”
“No, he went home a few days ago. I don’t think he expected you to come all this way—we both thought you’d go back to your parents in Sweden. He’ll be so pleased to see you. Shall I telephone him?”
Anna had traveled more than a thousand miles to see Josef. But now that the reunion was imminent, she felt more nervous than ever. She didn’t want their first contact to be over the phone, exchanging sympathy in stilted voices. She didn’t even know if she’d be able to speak.
Anna was shaking her head, trying to think how she’d explain, but Mrs. Norling was already standing. “He doesn’t have a telephone at his new house, of course, but I’ll talk to Agneta. She’ll know where to find him.”
Anna waited in the parlor while Mrs. Norling made her call in the front hall. All Anna could hear were occasional murmured phrases: Can you believe it? and Poor dear. Anna tried to distract herself by looking at the framed embroidery scenes on the wall, but they kept reminding her of Sonja’s trousseau. All those beautifully sewn linens, lying at the bottom of the ocean.
Mrs. Norling marched back in, looking pleased. She launched into a complicated story about car trouble and train schedules, almost none of which Anna paid attention to, because all she wanted to know was the story’s resolution: when she would see Josef.
Not for some time, apparently, because he couldn’t get to town until later that evening.
“However, if you’re willing,” Mrs. Norling offered, “Agneta says the milk truck from Gollman’s Dairy comes by every day at five o’clock. It’s not far from here—I’m sure they’d give you a ride, and Agneta would be happy to have you stay the night.”
Reuniting with Josef in the country—his natural element—seemed more fitting than inside Mrs. Norling’s formal parlor. So Anna made the hour-long drive in a milk truck, and she would always associate her first sight of her new home with the clanking of metal jugs and the driver’s cheerful whistles. Sounds that testified to the resilience of daily routines.
The dairyman left Anna at the end of a rutted dirt drive, which led to a modest barn. A plow and cart, unhitched from the horses that brought them to life, lay forlornly in the distance. To her left, marked by a narrow gravel path, was a small house, perched on the top of a rise not quite high enough to be a hill. It was simple and neat, like a Swedish country cottage, and Anna could already picture the inside: a cupboard bed and a ceramic-tiled stove—all the furnishings that would remind her of home. Not allowing herself the indulgence of hesitation, Anna walked to the front door and knocked.
There was no answer.
Of course not, Anna chided herself. Josef would be outside, working. Farmers didn’t have time to sit and mope, and from what Anna remembered of Josef, a death in the family was no excuse. He would scrub down stalls and move bales of hay until his muscles screamed for relief, for Josef never allowed himself rest until a job was done.
Anna turned to the barn. She could hear horses stamping and whinnying inside, and when she grew closer, she could also hear a man’s voice, talking in a low, soothing tone. The barn doors were open, and Anna saw Josef inside, rubbing down a horse with a brush. She allowed herself the pleasure of watching him before he knew she was there.
“Good girl,” he was saying. “There you go, my lovely. Good girl.” Words whose meaning didn’t matter as much as their sound.
After years of recalling Josef’s image, Anna couldn’t help but notice the details that jarred with her memories. His hair was darker, for one, and cut shorter; his chin and jaw had hardened, losing any trace of boyish roundness. But his movements were startlingly familiar: the way his arm reached wide with each stroke, the way he carried his weight on one leg so the opposite foot could tap against the floor. She would have known it was Josef even if she hadn’t seen his face.
Anna could have stood there, watching him, forever. But the only thing worse than breaking the spell of this moment would be if he turned around and saw her gawking.
“Josef.”
She said his name forcefully, with a confidence she did not feel. Josef jerked around and dropped the brush, leaving it to clatter against the floorboards. He rushed toward Anna, and she saw he was smiling, a smile that encompassed both joy and relief. And Josef, who had only held Anna once—a brief hug at the train station when he left for America—was wrapping his arms around her, and pulling her against him, into him, as if her body could meld into his and in doing so, heal him.
In that moment, Anna realized she hadn’t left home. She had found it.
Anna wanted to stay, but her future beyond the next few days wasn’t up to her. She would do whatever Josef wanted. They spent that first evening at Tomas and Agneta’s house, silently agreeing that this supper would be treated as a social visit, unmarred by tragedy. Josef’s three school-age cousins were well mannered enough not to ask questions—though they snuck curious glances at Anna—and Tomas asked after old acquaintances back home. Small-town gossip, no matter how mundane, can always be stretched to create a meal’s worth of conversation.