twenty-eight

“Which of you will be going on to secondary school next fall?”

Miss Bergström is behind her desk on the first day of school after Easter. The children haven’t really settled back in yet. They seem to have forgotten how to sit still during their several weeks’ break.

Sylvia and Ingrid raise their hands right away. Three boys raise theirs, too.

“No one else?”

Stephie raises her hand.

“Stephanie?” Miss Bergström asks.

“Yes,” she answers. “I want to go on to grammar school, too.”

Miss Bergström nods.

“Fine,” she says. “Six, that’s more than usual. I plan to give you some extra tutoring for the rest of the semester. You’ll be staying an hour longer than the others every day from now on. Here are the titles of two books I want you to get by next week.”

She writes the names of two books on the blackboard. Stephie copies them carefully into her exercise book. One is a math book, the other is called The Tales of Ensign Stål.

When the school day is over, Miss Bergström asks Stephie to stay behind for a few minutes.

“You’re a good pupil,” she says. “I’m pleased that you are going to be able to continue your schooling. And there will be German lessons at grammar school, too. You’ll like that.”

“Yes,” says Stephie, wondering what Miss Bergström is really getting at.

“Those books I asked you to get,” she goes on, “the ones we’ll be working with this spring. Don’t worry about them. I have extras you can borrow. I’ll bring them tomorrow, and you can cover them at home.”

When Stephie leaves school, the schoolyard is empty. The piles of dirty snow even in the darkest corner are melting, and little rivulets have formed in the gravel.

Now that the snow is finally disappearing, all her classmates have got their bikes out again. After school they rush in a flock to the bicycle stands and pedal off.

There’s just one bike left. Vera’s squatting down beside it, pumping the back tire.

Stephie approaches her cautiously. This is the opportunity she’s been waiting for, a chance to talk to Vera alone.

It should be simple just to ask: “Are you heading home? Want to walk together?” But sometimes the simplest things are hardest. So Stephie decides to open the conversation by talking about something else. If she can just strike up a conversation, surely she and Vera can walk out through the gate together, Vera leading her bike, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for the two of them to be walking home side by side.

Stephie walks over to the bike stand. “Aren’t you going on to grammar school?”

Vera looks up. “No,” she answers. “My mother can’t afford it. And I’m not good enough at school, either.”

“You could be, though,” Stephie replies. “If you wanted to. You could be… an actress, for instance. You’re such a good mimic.”

“Oh, well,” Vera says. “I’ll be getting married. Maybe to a rich man, one of the summer visitors. I’ll live in the city and have a cook and a housemaid.”

She stands up and looks in the direction of the gate. Now Stephie notices Sylvia and Barbro, standing on the road with their bikes. They’re waiting for somebody. Vera.

“It’s different for you,” Vera tells her. “You’re the grammar school type.”

“Hurry up, Vera,” Sylvia shouts. “We’re leaving!”

“You don’t have a bike, do you?” Vera asks.

“No.”

Stephie would rather the other children think she isn’t allowed to bike than have them find out that she doesn’t know how.

“Too bad,” Vera says. “We could ride home together if you did. Bye.”

She mounts her bike and pedals over to Sylvia and Barbro. Stephie watches them disappear down the road.

Stephie doesn’t mention grammar school to Aunt Märta that day. The next day Miss Bergström brings her the books. The math book is much more difficult than the one they use in class. It has problems with x and y instead of numbers.

Stephie takes the books home and asks Aunt Märta for paper to cover them with.

“Isn’t it late in the semester to be getting new books?” she asks. “And who gave those to you, anyway?”

“Miss Bergström lent them to me,” Stephie replies. “They’re for the extra tutoring I’ll be taking to prepare for grammar school.”

“Really! It’s no use your thinking about going on,” Aunt Märta snaps. “There’ll be no grammar school for you.”

Stephie just stares at her.

“But I’m going to be a doctor!” she cries. “I have to go to grammar school.”

Aunt Märta barks a short little laugh that sounds more like a cough.

“It’s about time you became more realistic and dropped those fine-lady thoughts of yours,” she says. “Where do you think you are, after all? Do you think we’re made of money? We can’t afford room and board in town for you; surely you understand that. And what good would it do? We don’t even know how long you’re going to be here.”

“But what will I do, then, after the school year’s over?”

“Help me in the house,” Aunt Märta tells her. “And when autumn comes you can take the home economics course here on the island. Like most of the other girls do.”

“I don’t want to take some old home economics course!” Stephie protests. “I want to stay in school, real school!”

“That’s the last I want to hear about it. You’re too stubborn for your own good. Now you go up to your room and stay there until you’re ready to apologize.”

The following day Stephie takes the math book and Ensign Stål back to school without paper covers. She asks to speak with Miss Bergström at recess.

“I’m not allowed to go on to grammar school,” she tells her.

Miss Bergström frowns. “Hadn’t you asked permission before you raised your hand?”

“No.”

“I see,” Miss Bergström says. “Do you know what? I’m going to come and have a word with the Janssons.”

“Oh, thank you,” Stephie gasps. “Miss Bergström?”

“Yes?

“Wait until Friday. Uncle Evert’s coming home then.”

“Will he be easier to persuade?”

Stephie nods. “I think so. And Miss Bergström? Please don’t say anything in class. About me not being allowed to go on.”

Miss Bergström understands. “No, I won’t.”

On the way home Stephie stops in at the post office as usual. There is nothing but a brown envelope with a typed address, to Evert Jansson. Aunt Märta sets it on the side-board for Uncle Evert’s return.

twenty-nine

On Friday there’s fried mackerel for dinner, as usual.

“Stephie’s teacher is coming over this evening,” Aunt Märta says when they are finished eating. “She wants a word with us.”

“What kind of trouble are you in now?” Uncle Evert asks Stephie, but she can hear from his tone that he’s joking.

“None at all,” Stephie replies. She doesn’t want to talk about grammar school when Aunt Märta’s listening.

“We’ll see about that,” Aunt Märta says.

After dinner Stephie is instructed to dust the front room, although she dusted it just a couple of days before. Aunt Märta says things have to be spic and span when Miss Bergström comes.

Uncle Evert comes in while she’s straightening up.

“Uncle Evert,” Stephie begins.

“Yes?”

Just then he catches sight of the brown envelope on the sideboard. He takes out his pocketknife and cuts the seal.

“You know,” Stephie goes on, “Miss Bergström’s coming over because… well, not because of anything I’ve done wrong.”

“Now don’t you worry,” Uncle Evert tells her distractedly, pulling a typed sheet of stationery out of the envelope.

“I’m not worried,” Stephie replies. “But I… I’d really like…”

She stops talking because she can tell Uncle Evert isn’t listening. The more of the letter he reads, the deeper the crease in his forehead becomes.

Stephie lifts a potted plant to dust the windowsill.