The Lost Village(14)
THEN
When Elsa nears the church doors, she is surprised to find them wide open. It’s a cold day even for late November, less than thirty degrees, and over the course of the day only the odd isolated snowflake has sailed down from the bright sky. From midday onward the sun had started to break through the clouds, and as she walked to Agneta’s house Elsa could even start to see signs of life on the streets. Elisabet Nyman had been out on an afternoon walk with her little girl, looking healthier than she had in a long time. After the birth, Elisabet had been bedbound for so long that Elsa had raised the matter with Elisabet’s mother and the school nurse, Ingrid. Together they had agreed to help her out with the little one.
When Elsa had seen Elisabet earlier today she had looked genuinely happy, with rosy cheeks and a lovely winter hat. The baby was wearing a homemade crocheted hat, cooing through a toothless grin. Elisabet had said that they still didn’t have a name for her, but they ought to get on with it: the girl is almost three months old, and children can’t go on without a name forever. Elsa had offered to talk to Pastor Einar about a christening for the little one, since she would be passing by the church anyway.
It’s never easy, the first child, especially when you’re as young as Elisabet. Only eighteen years old, and four months along when she and Albert got married. Barely older than Elsa’s Aina, and already a mother herself. It’s no wonder she became a little melancholic when the child was born, especially with Albert being unable to find any work. As they have no ties to Silvertj?rn they really ought to move, much as the thought pains Elsa. What will happen to Silvertj?rn when all the young people just up and leave?
It has already started to happen. Just weeks ago the Engelssons moved up north to Kiruna in search of work. They didn’t even wait to sell the house, so desperate were they to leave. It’s just standing there in the middle of the village, its windows dark and its doors shut, like a bad omen.
Elsa briskly climbs the church steps, adjusting her hat with her free hand as she goes. If his drinking is so bad that Einar can’t remember to close the church doors, then it’s high time they took action. It’s true he’s always enjoyed a tipple—including one memorable evening when they were young, when he got it into his head to strip off and run into the lake—but he has always kept it somewhat under control. He’s never had a wife nor children, so all he has is the church to tend to, but if he can’t do that anymore …
“Einar?” Elsa calls through the open doors. “It’s me, Elsa.”
It’s dark inside. The pews are cast in long shadows, and the carved Jesus above the altar looks unusually severe on his cross. Despite the gloom, she can make out movements up near the altar. She tries to discreetly kick the dirt off her shoes before stepping inside.
“Einar?” she calls again, but it doesn’t look like Einar. He lacks Einar’s shuffling gait and bulky figure.
The man now walking down the aisle toward her is neatly dressed in a casual shirt and well-ironed trousers. He’s considerably younger than Einar—can scarce be more than thirty—with short blond hair that curls slightly over his forehead. A shy smile plays on his face.
“Fru Kullman?” he asks, taking Elsa’s hand. His grip is steady, cool, and slightly dry, and as she shakes his hand Elsa tries to place him, but she has never seen his face before.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” she says.
“Oh, I do beg your pardon,” he replies, shaking his head. “But you are Elsa, are you not? Elsa Kullman?”
Elsa nods, extricating her hand from his.
“How…?”
“Einar has told me so much about you,” he says with another smile, wider this time.
“I’m pleased to hear that,” says Elsa, a certain sharpness to her voice. “But you still haven’t introduced yourself.”
He blushes slightly, seemingly embarrassed; this says something good about his upbringing, at least.
“Oh, I do beg your pardon,” he says. “Sometimes in my excitement I quite forget my manners. Mattias is my name. I’m the new pastor.”
Elsa frowns.
“The new pastor?”
He nods.
“I shall be helping Einar. Times are tough, and Einar—well, when Einar…”
He stammers slightly and trails off, and Elsa shakes her head.
“I know about Einar,” she says, to put him at ease. He seems to relax slightly.
“How long have you been in our village, Pastor?” she asks. He makes as though to reply but then cuts himself off, gesticulating at the doors.
“Won’t you come in?” he asks. “I wouldn’t want you to catch pneumonia for me having kept you here in this draught.”
Elsa follows him inside the church. It looks as though he’s been cleaning the altar, a task which, she admits, has been long overdue.
“Would you care for something to drink, Fru Kullman?” he asks. She starts to shake her head but then stops; she is actually rather cold.
“I was just about to put on a fresh pot of coffee,” he says, as though reading her mind. She smiles.
“A cup of coffee would go down well,” she admits.
Elsa has been inside Einar’s study in the chapel many times, but as she steps inside now it looks different. It’s clean and tidy, with everything in its rightful place, and the subtle yet unmistakable scent of schnapps that usually hangs in the air is gone.