On a Cold Dark Sea(57)

Josef listened, impassive. He never spoke solely for the purpose of filling a silence.

“Emil was behind me. If he’d been only a few feet closer, they would have pulled him in, too. I saw him in the water—he was calling out . . .”

Anna began to cry, silent tears that solemnly rolled down her cheeks. She cried for Emil, who’d come so close to being saved, and for herself, who’d failed him. Anna knew she should have told Josef everything long ago or never at all. Bringing it all up now served no purpose other than to make Josef upset. Whenever he spoke about Emil with the children, he always told happy stories, his memories of his brother softening with time. Forcing Josef to confront the reality of his brother’s death was no kindness. But hadn’t Anna always known she would disappoint him, in the end?

Josef reached out, then stopped his hand in midair, as if her tears might burn. Josef, so handy when it came to the chores of daily life, didn’t have the tools to fix her. Quietly, Anna told him what had happened in the lifeboat. The fights, the screams, the threats. How she’d tried to make herself understood; how futile her efforts had proved. Josef simply listened. When Anna saw the gleam of tears in his eyes, she knew she must be strong, for his sake. She wiped her face and managed to steady her breathing.

“Emil asked me to marry him,” she whispered. “On the ship.”

“Did he?” Josef’s lips curled into a reticent smile. “I didn’t think he’d have the nerve.”

It was clear the revelation hadn’t come as a shock. “You knew?” Anna asked.

“He was in love with you,” Josef said. “Wasn’t it obvious? Even before I left for America, he was saying you’d be married one day.”

So Josef had known, long before Anna did.

He waited for her to continue, and when she didn’t, he prodded, “What answer did you give him?”

“None. I said I wasn’t sure. But I would have said yes, in time. I wanted us all to be together. I loved you so much—for as long as I can remember. Marrying Emil was the next best thing to marrying you.” Anna knew she should end her revelations there, but she was too curious—or too weak—to resist. “That’s why I understand. How you felt about me and Sonja.”

“Sonja?” Josef’s face shifted, and the muscles in his cheeks tightened.

“She was your first choice. And I was the next best thing.”

“Do you think I’m still pining away for Sonja?”

Anna shook her head and came perilously close to crying again. She didn’t know how to speak of such matters; she and Josef had never tried. Josef sighed, and though he sat perfectly still, Anna could see the mental effort he was making to sort out his thoughts before speaking.

“It was a mistake, asking Sonja to marry me,” he said at last. “I was lonely, and I wanted a wife who’d remind me of home. In my mind, you were spoken for, by Emil . . .”

“And you thought of me as a sister. I know.”

“I did, yes. Until you came to see me. That afternoon in the barn.”

The scene was still vividly real to Anna. Josef’s arms clutching at her back, his relief flooding through her like a tonic.

“If you had drowned, and Sonja had been the one to survive, I would not have felt the same joy. I knew, right then.”

Josef reached for Anna’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. With those few words, he told Anna all she needed to know. He had never regretted their marriage or wondered what his life would have been like with Sonja. Once Josef set himself to a task, he saw it through faithfully, and the duties of a husband were no different than any other job.

Downstairs, the front door opened with a clatter; Susan was home. Anna pushed the coat off to the side of the bed. She sat up, neatening her hair, as Josef stood and adjusted his belt. Anna was already embarrassed by her outburst. She’d had a moment of uncharacteristic self-pity, but now it was time to see to Susan and get started on dinner. Had she really left the groceries sitting at the bottom of the stairs?

Josef patted Anna on the shoulder. A fatherly pat, the kind of touch that pledges enduring, unquestioning love.

“Do you feel better?” he asked.

Surprisingly, she did. For years, Anna had locked away her guilt and fear, but like mice behind the walls, they’d been scratching to get out, tormenting her with their muffled protests. Now they’d been released, and she was free. But if she truly wanted to set the past to rest, she had to tell him everything.

“There’s one more thing,” she said. “There were banknotes—British pounds—hidden inside the coat. I tried to find Charlotte to give them back, but I couldn’t. So I kept the money and pretended it came from my great-uncle.”

Of all the things Anna had told Josef that day, it was this revelation that most shocked him. “Your inheritance? You lied?”

Anna nodded, her face reddening. “I’m sorry.”

But Josef didn’t seem angry. If anything, he looked impressed.

“Well, it turned out for the best, wouldn’t you say? I might never have started the business otherwise. Any other crimes you care to confess?”

“No,” Anna mumbled, looking down at the floor. She heard Josef laugh and felt his hands wrap around her arms and pull her forward.

When Susan Andersson ran up the stairs a few seconds later, she was greeted by an astonishing sight: Mama and Papa hugging, right in the middle of their bedroom. Mama’s cheek was resting against Papa’s chest, and Susan thought she was crying, but no, she wasn’t; she was smiling, and Papa was looking down at her like he was the luckiest man in the world.