The Stonecutter (18 page)

Without even noticing, Charlotte had walked toward Fjällbacka Campground and now stood in front of Erica’s house. It had meant a great deal that her friend had come by yesterday, but Charlotte still had doubts. She had spent her whole life trying to take up as little space as possible, never demanding anything for herself, never causing any trouble. She understood how her grief affected other people, and she wasn’t sure that she wanted to dump more of the burden on Erica. At the same time she really needed to see a friendly face. She wanted to talk to someone who wouldn’t either turn away or, like her mother, just lecture her on what she
should
have done.

Albin had begun to squirm, and she lifted him gently out of the stroller. Still half asleep, he gave a start when Charlotte knocked on the front door. A middle-aged woman she didn’t know opened the door.

‘Hello?’ said Charlotte uncertainly, before realizing that this must be Patrik’s mother. A vague memory from the distant time before Sara’s death floated up to the surface and reminded her that Erica had mentioned that her mother-in-law was coming to visit.

‘Hello, are you looking for Erica?’ said Patrik’s mother. Without waiting for a reply, she stepped aside to let Charlotte into the hall.

‘Is she awake?’ Charlotte asked.

‘Yes, she’s nursing Maja. I’ve stopped counting how many times she’s done that today. Well, I suppose I don’t really understand modern customs. In my day children were fed every four hours, and never more often, and that generation certainly has nothing to complain about.’ Patrik’s mother babbled on, and Charlotte nervously followed her. After people had been tiptoeing around her for several days, it felt odd to hear someone speaking in a normal tone of voice. Just as she was thinking that, she saw it dawn on Erica’s mother-in-law who she must be, and the ease vanished from both her voice and her movements as she turned to face her. She clapped her hand to her mouth and said, ‘Forgive me, are you …? I didn’t realize who you were.’

Charlotte didn’t know how to reply to that. Her only response was to hold Albin closer.

‘I’m very sorry …’ Erica’s mother-in-law was shifting anxiously from one foot to another, and she seemed to want to be anywhere else but in Charlotte’s presence.

Was this how it was going to be from now on? thought Charlotte. People shrinking away as if she had the plague, whispering and pointing behind her back and saying, ‘There’s the woman whose daughter was murdered,’ but without daring to look her in the eye. Maybe it was out of nervousness, because they had no idea what to say, or maybe it was from some sort of irrational fear that tragedies were contagious and might spread to their own lives if they got too close.

‘Charlotte?’ Erica called from the living room, and the older woman was obviously relieved to have an excuse to end the conversation. Slowly Charlotte stepped through the door to see Erica, sitting in her easy chair breast-feeding Maja. The scene felt both familiar and yet oddly remote. How many times in the past two months had she come in and encountered the same scene? But that thought also conjured up an image of Sara playing here on the rug. The last time Charlotte was here, Sara had come along. Rationally, she knew that it was only last Sunday, but she still had a hard time believing it. She saw before her how Sara had bounced up and down on the white sofa, with her long red hair flying about her face. She remembered admonishing her, telling her sharply to stop. It all felt so petty now. What harm would it have done if she jumped on the cushions a bit? The thought made her suddenly dizzy, and Erica had to jump up and help her sit down in the nearest arm chair. Maja shrieked when Erica’s breast was so brusquely snatched out of her mouth, but Erica ignored her daughter’s protests and put her in the bouncing cradle.

With Erica’s arms around her, Charlotte dared to voice the question that had nagged at her subconscious ever since the police arrived with the news of Sara’s death on Monday. She said, ‘Why couldn’t they get ahold of Niclas?’

13

Strömstad 1924

Anders had just finished work on the plinth of the statue when the foreman called to him from the quarry. He sighed and frowned; he didn’t like having his concentration disturbed. But of course he obeyed. Carefully he put his tools away and went to hear what the foreman wanted.

The fat man was nervously twirling his moustache.

‘What have you gone and done now, Andersson?’ he said, half in jest, half concerned.

‘Me? What is it?’ said Anders, bewildered.

‘The front office is calling for you. You have to go down there. Right now.’

Damn it all, Anders swore silently. Was there something else that had to be changed on the statue now, at the eleventh hour? Those architects, or ‘artists,’ or whatever they chose to call themselves, had no idea what they were doing when they sat in their studios and redrew their sketches. Then they expected the stonecutter to be able to make the changes just as easily in stone. They didn’t understand that from the beginning he had to plan the directions of the cleavages and mark the cuts based on the original drawing. A change in the sketch would change his entire starting point, and in the worst case the stone might crack, rendering all their work useless.

But Anders also knew that it was no use to protest. It was the client who made the decisions. He was merely a faceless slave who was expected to perform all the hard work that the designer could not or would not do himself.

‘Well, I suppose I’ll have to go down there and hear what they want,’ said Anders with a sigh.

‘Maybe it won’t be anything major,’ offered the foreman, who knew precisely what Anders feared and was showing some sympathy for a change.

‘Well, no use putting it off,’ replied Anders as he slouched off toward the road.

A few minutes later he knocked on the door of the office and stepped inside. He wiped off his shoes as best he could, but it didn’t make much difference, since his clothes were full of granite dust and chips, and his hands and face were dirty. But they’d asked him to come down here on short notice, so they would have to take him as he was. He plucked up his courage and followed the man from the front office into the director’s private rooms.

As soon as he entered, he understood instantly that this summons had nothing to do with the statue. It was much more serious.

There were only three people in the room. The director sat behind his desk, radiating rage. In one corner sat Agnes, staring hard at the floor. And in front of the desk sat a man Anders did not know, looking at him with poorly concealed curiosity.

Unsure of how to act, Anders stepped about a meter into the room and took up an almost military stance. No matter what was to come, he would take it like a man. He
had
planned, sooner or later, to face her father; he just wished he could have chosen the circumstances.

He sought Agnes’s eyes, but she stubbornly refused to look up and kept staring at her shoes. His heart ached for her. She must find all this incredibly difficult. But they still had each other, and after the worst of the storm subsided they could begin building their life together.

Anders turned his gaze from Agnes and calmly regarded the man behind the desk. He waited for Agnes’s father to speak. It took a very long time before that happened, and the hands of the clock seemed to move unbearably slowly. When August Stjernkvist finally spoke, his voice was cool, metallic.

‘I understand that you and my daughter have been meeting in secret.’

‘Circumstances have forced us to it, yes,’ replied Anders calmly. ‘But I have never had anything but honorable intentions with respect to Agnes,’ he went on, looking Stjernkvist in the eye. For a second he thought he saw surprise in the director’s face. This was apparently not the reply he had anticipated.

‘I see, well.’ Stjernkvist cleared his throat, stalling a moment before his anger returned.

‘And how had you intended to do that? My daughter and a poor stonecutter. Are you so stupid that you believed that was even possible?’

Anders reeled at the scorn in the man’s voice. Had he acted stupidly? All his decisiveness started to give way before the contempt bombarding him, and he realized at once how absurd the idea sounded when said aloud. Obviously that could never be possible. He felt his heart slowly breaking into bits and desperately sought out Agnes’s glance. Was this going to be the end? Would he never see her again? She still didn’t look up.

‘Agnes and I love each other,’ he said quietly, hearing how he sounded like a condemned man offering his last words of defense.

‘I know my daughter considerably better than you do, boy. And I know her considerably better than she thinks I do. Of course, I did spoil her and allowed her greater freedom than she probably should have had, but I also know that she’s a girl with ambitions. She never would have sacrificed everything for a future with a laborer.’

The words stung like fire, and Anders wanted to scream that he was wrong. Her father was not describing the Agnes he knew, not at all. She was good and kind, and above all she loved him just as passionately as he loved her. She was certainly prepared to make the sacrifices necessary for them to be able to live together. With sheer force of will he tried to make her look up and tell her father how things really stood, but she remained silent. Gradually the ground began to give way beneath him. Not only was he about to lose Agnes, he understood quite well that given these conditions he wouldn’t be allowed to keep his job either.

Stjernkvist spoke again, and now Anders thought he could sense pain behind the anger. ‘But things have suddenly taken on a new light. Under normal circumstances I would have done everything I could to stop my daughter from ending up with a stonecutter. But the two of you have already seen to that by presenting me with an accomplished fact.’

In bewilderment Anders wondered what he was talking about.

Stjernkvist saw his surprise and continued. ‘She’s expecting a child. Are you two such complete idiots that you hadn’t thought of that eventuality?’

Anders gasped for breath. He was inclined to agree with Agnes’s father. They had indeed been idiots. He had been just as convinced as Agnes was that the precautions they had taken were fully sufficient. This changed everything. His feelings were swirling about, making him even more confused. On the one hand, he was overjoyed to think of his beloved Agnes bearing his child; on the other hand he was ashamed before her father and understood his rage. He too would have been furious if anyone had done such a thing to his daughter. Anders waited tensely for the director to go on.

Mournfully, August Stjernkvist said, still refusing to look at his daughter, ‘Naturally there is only one solution. You are getting married. To that end I have called in Judge Flemming today. He will marry you at once, and we will deal with the formalities afterwards.’

Over in her corner, Agnes now looked up for the first time. To Anders’s astonishment, he saw no joy in her eyes, only desperation. She spoke entreatingly to her father. ‘Dear Father, please don’t force me into this. There are other ways to solve the problem, and you can’t force me to marry him. After all, he’s only … a simple worker.’

The words felt like the lash of a whip against Anders’s face. She had metamorphosed into someone else before his eyes.

‘Agnes?’ he said, as if begging her to remain the girl he loved, even though he already sensed that all his dreams were now crashing down around him.

She ignored him and continued her desperate appeal to her father. But August wouldn’t condescend to give her even a glance. He looked only at the judge and said, ‘Do what you need to do.’

‘Please, Father!’ Agnes shrieked, throwing herself to her knees in a dramatic plea.

‘Silence!’ said her father turning his cold eyes on her at last. ‘Don’t make yourself ridiculous. I don’t intend to tolerate any hysterical ploys from you. You’ve made your bed, and now you have to lie in it!’ he shouted. His daughter stared at him in silence.

With a pained look, Agnes slowly got to her feet and let the judge carry out his task. It was an odd wedding, with the bride sullenly standing a few meters from the bridegroom. But the reply to the judge’s question was ‘yes’ from each of them, although with much reluctance from one side and much confusion from the other.

‘So, now that’s done,’ August asserted after the businesslike ceremony was completed. ‘Of course I can’t have you working here any longer,’ he said. Anders merely bowed his head to confirm that he had expected this. His new father-in-law went on, ‘But no matter how badly you have behaved, I can’t leave my daughter penniless; I owe her mother that much.’

Agnes looked at him tensely, still with a small hope that she wouldn’t have to lose everything.

‘I have arranged a position for you at the quarry in Fjällbacka. One of the other cutters can finish the statue. I’ve also paid the first month’s rent for a room with a kitchen in one of the barracks. After that month you’ll have to manage on your own.’

Agnes let out a whimper. She put her hand to her throat as if she were about to choke, and Anders felt as though he were aboard a ship that was slowly sinking. If he still harbored any hopes of building a future with Agnes, they were crushed for good when he saw the contempt with which she regarded her new husband.

‘Dear, beloved Father, please,’ she again entreated. ‘You can’t do this to me. I would rather take my own life than move into a stinking hovel with that man.’

Anders grimaced at her words. Had it not been for the child, he would have turned on his heel and left, but a real man took care of his obligations no matter how difficult the circumstances. That had been imprinted on him since he was a boy. So he remained standing in the room that now felt suffocatingly small and tried to imagine his future with a woman who obviously suddenly found him repulsive. She was now his companion for life.

‘What’s done is done,’ said August to his daughter. ‘You have the afternoon to gather up whatever possessions you can carry, then the carriage leaves for Fjällbacka. Choose your belongings wisely. You probably won’t have much use for your party dresses,’ he added spitefully, showing how deeply his daughter had wounded him. His soul would never recover from this.