Gösta studied his shoes. After clearing his throat a couple of times, he looked up at Patrik with a distraught expression on his face.

‘I think I’ve done something really stupid.’

FJÄLLBACKA 1871

That turned out to be the most marvellous time of her life. It was only when the boat carrying Karl and Julian had left Fjällbacka and headed for Gråskär that Emelie realized what life on the island had done to her. Now she felt as if she could breathe for the first time in ages.

And Dagmar insisted on pampering her. Emelie was sometimes embarrassed by how much fuss the old woman made of her, and how little she was expected to do. She tried to help with the cleaning, dishwashing, and cooking, because she wanted to be useful and not a burden. But Dagmar merely chased her away, saying that she ought to rest. Finally Emelie had to surrender to a will stronger than her own. And she had to admit that it was wonderful just to rest. Her back and joints ached, and the child was constantly kicking inside of her. Above all, she felt so tired. At night she could sleep for twelve hours straight and then take a nap after the midday meal, and still not feel fully awake during the daytime.

It was lovely to have someone taking care of her. Dagmar made her tea and strange brews that were supposed to increase her strength. She also persuaded Emelie to eat the oddest things in order to fortify her body. None of them seemed to help much, because she still felt so tired, but she realized that it made Dagmar happy to feel needed. So Emelie cheerfully ate and drank everything that was placed in front of her.

What she enjoyed most was the evenings they spent together. Then they would sit in the parlour and converse as they knitted, crocheted, and sewed garments for the baby. Emelie had never devoted much time to such things until she came to stay with Dagmar. As a maid on a farm, she’d had other chores to tend to. But Dagmar was skilled with needle and thread, and she taught Emelie everything she knew. The piles of baby clothes and blankets grew to include little caps, gowns, socks, and everything else a newborn might need. Loveliest of all was the patchwork quilt that they both worked on for a while each evening. On one square after another they embroidered whatever pattern occurred to them. Emelie’s favourite were the squares with hollyhocks. The sight of them always tugged at her heartstrings. Because no matter how strange it seemed, she sometimes missed Gråskär. Not Karl or Julian – she didn’t miss them for an instant. But the island had become part of her.

One evening she’d tried to tell Dagmar about Gråskär and those who inhabited it and why she had never felt alone. But that was the one topic that she and Dagmar couldn’t discuss. Dagmar’s expression had grown stern, and she averted her eyes so that Emelie realized that the elderly woman didn’t want to hear what she was saying. Maybe that wasn’t really so strange. Even she thought it sounded odd when she tried to describe what she’d experienced, although it all seemed so natural when she was on the island. When she was among them.

There was one other topic that they never discussed. Emelie had tried to ask questions about Karl, about his father and his childhood. But then the same stern expression appeared on Dagmar’s face. The only thing she would say was that Karl’s father had always demanded a great deal from his sons, and that Karl had disappointed him. Dagmar said that she didn’t know all the details, and for that reason she didn’t want to talk about it. So Emelie had stopped asking. Instead she allowed herself to sink into the calm embrace of Dagmar’s home, and in the evenings she knitted little socks for the child whose arrival was rapidly approaching. Gråskär and Karl would have to wait. They belonged to another world, another time. Right now the only things that existed were the sound of her knitting needles and the yarn that shone so white in the glow from the paraffin lamps. She would return to life on the island soon enough. This was all just part of a brief and happy dream.

18

‘Where did you find it?’ Paula shook hands with Peter and stepped on board the Coast Guard vessel.

‘We had a call about a stranded boat in a cove.’

‘How come you didn’t find it before? Haven’t you been out looking for it?’ asked Martin. He was enthusiastically surveying the Coast Guard vessel. He knew that she was capable of doing almost thirty knots. Maybe he could persuade Peter to increase their speed after they got further out.

‘There are so many coves out here in the archipelago,’ said Peter, steering the boat away from the dock with a sure hand. ‘It’s pure luck that anyone found it at all.’

‘And you’re positive it’s the right boat?’

‘Not yet, but when I see it I’ll recognize Gunnar’s boat.’

‘How do we get it back home?’ Paula was peering through the window. She’d spent far too little time on the water. It was astonishingly beautiful. She turned around and looked at Fjällbacka, which was now behind them and quickly receding into the distance.

‘We’ll tow it back. I thought we should first go out there and make sure it’s the right boat. Then I realized that you might want to examine the place where it was found.’

‘There’s probably not much to see,’ replied Martin. ‘But it’s nice to be out on the water for a while.’ He cast a glance at the throttle but didn’t dare ask. More boats were appearing, and it might be foolish to go any faster, even though he wished they could.

‘You should come out with me again sometime, and I can show you what kind of horsepower she’s got,’ said Peter with an amused smile, as if he could read Martin’s mind.

‘That’d be great!’ Martin’s pale face lit up, and Paula shook her head. Boys and their toys.

‘Over there,’ said Peter, turning the boat starboard. And there it was. A wooden motorboat, wedged into a small crevice. It didn’t look damaged, but it seemed to be stuck.

‘That’s Gunnar’s boat all right. I’m sure of it,’ said Peter. ‘Who wants to be the first ashore?’

Martin looked at Paula, who pretended not to have heard the question. She was a city girl from Stockholm. Wading ashore on sharp rocks was something she would leave to Martin. He climbed up on the bow, grabbed the mooring line, and waited for the right moment. Peter turned off the engine and then helped Paula out of the boat. She almost fell in after slipping on some algae, but she managed to keep her balance. Martin would never stop teasing her if she fell in the water.

Moving cautiously, they made their way over to the motorboat. On closer inspection they could see that it was undamaged.

‘How the hell did it end up here?’ Martin scratched his head.

‘It looks like it just drifted,’ said Peter.

‘Could it have drifted here all the way from the harbour?’ asked Paula, but from the look on Peter’s face she could tell that she’d asked a silly question.

‘No,’ he said.

‘She’s from Stockholm,’ Martin explained, and Paula glared at him.

‘Stockholm has an archipelago too.’

Martin and Peter both looked sceptical.

‘A flooded forest,’ they said in unison.

Paula walked around the boat. Sometimes people who lived on the west coast were so narrow-minded. If she heard anybody say one more time: ‘Ohhhh, you’re from the backside of Sweden,’ she was going to slug the individual in question.

Peter climbed back on board MinLouis, and Martin tied a towline to Gunnar’s motorboat. Then he motioned for Paula to come closer.

‘Come and help me push,’ he said, as he started shoving the boat out of the crevice.

Paula carefully made her way over the sharp rocks to lend a hand. After a good deal of effort, they managed to get the boat loose, and it slipped smoothly away from the shore.