The Girl in the Woods. Camilla Lackberg
punishment for her ungodliness. She squeezed Märta’s hand and made herself listen, trying to understand the words issuing from the pulpit. Preben was talking about the great turmoil spreading across their kingdom and their parish, and about their countrymen who were carrying on a brave fight against the devil by seeking out his envoys and bringing them to trial. The congregation listened as if mesmerized. The devil was as much a part of their daily lives as God was. Satan was omnipresent – danger lurked in the eyes of cats, in the ocean deep, in the raven perched in the tree. Satan was as real as a father or a brother, or the neighbour living next door. The fact that the evil one could not be seen by the naked eye made him even more dangerous, and constant vigilance was required.
‘So far we have been spared,’ said Preben, his voice resounding so beautifully between the stone walls. ‘But it is only a matter of time before Satan sinks his claws into children and women in our little corner of the world as well. So I beseech you to be watchful. The signs will be evident. Keep God’s watchful eye on your wife, your daughter, your maids, your neighbour, your mother-in-law, and your sister. The sooner we find these brides of the devil who dwell among us, the sooner we can strike back and prevent Satan from claiming a foothold here.’
Everyone nodded, an agitated rosy flush appearing on their cheeks. Any of the children who sniggered received a sharp poke in the side, a tug on their hair, or a box on the ear.
The rest of the church service was over much too soon. It was a break from the daily routine, a time for everyone to rest and turn their attention to the needs of their soul.
Elin stood up and took a firm grip on Märta’s hand so she would not get lost in the crowd of people all trying to leave at once. When they stepped outside, she shivered in the cold.
‘Pox upon you!’ a voice cried behind her.
Elin turned in surprise, but when she saw who had cursed her she lowered her eyes. It was Ebba of Mörhult, the widow of Claes who had perished along with Per and the others on the fishing boat. Ebba was one of the reasons she had not been able to stay in Fjällbacka but had been forced instead to accept Britta’s offer. Ebba’s hatred towards her knew no bounds, since she blamed Elin for what happened. And Elin knew why the woman felt that way, even though the words she had called to Per on that fateful morning had not caused the boat to sink. Elin’s words had not drowned Per and his men; it was the fault of the storm that had suddenly overtaken them.
Yet things had not gone well for Ebba after Claes died, and she blamed her misfortune on Elin.
‘Ebba, not on the church grounds, not on sacred soil,’ Helga Klippare admonished her younger sister, drawing her away.
Elin gave Helga a grateful look and quickly moved off with Märta before the confrontation turned into an even bigger spectacle. People had turned to stare at her, and she knew that many thought Ebba’s accusations were justified. But Helga had always been a kind and fair woman. She was the one, after all, who had helped bring Märta into the world on that spring morning eight years ago. The birth of every child in the area had been overseen by Helga, who was skilled at midwifery. It was also rumoured that she secretly helped poor girls who had landed in trouble, but that was not something Elin fully believed.
With heavy steps she headed back towards the vicarage. The bliss she had felt after the church service was gone, and the memories of that unhappy day made her drag her feet on the short walk home. Usually she tried not to dwell on the past. Even God could not undo what was done. And to some extent Per had only himself to blame. His pride had caused him to fall. It was something she had warned him against ever since she agreed to marry him, but he had refused to listen. And now he and the others lay at the bottom of the sea as prey for the fish, while she and her daughter trudged along as lowly servants, heading for her sister’s home. She would spend the rest of her life knowing that she had sent off her husband with harsh words the last time she saw him. Words that Ebba, and God knew how many others from Fjällbacka, now held against her.
It all began with a cask of salt. Word had come that henceforth all trade with foreign lands must be conducted via Gothenburg, and Bohuslän had been forbidden to carry on trade with Norway or any of the other countries with which they had successfully conducted business in the past. This had further increased the poverty of the region, and a great animosity arose against the powers that had so blithely arrived at this decision. Not everyone abided by the rules, and coastal patrols were kept busy confiscating goods that had not been properly cleared by customs. Elin had many times urged Per to obey the regulations; not doing so would only bring misfortune upon their heads. And Per had nodded, assuring her that he agreed.
So when the customs official Henrik Meyer knocked on the door one afternoon in early September, she was not concerned as she let him enter their home. But one look at Per sitting at the kitchen table made her realize she had made a grave mistake. It took Meyer only a few minutes to find the illegal cask of salt in the back of the tool cupboard. Elin understood at once what this meant, causing her to clench her fists in the pockets of her tunic. She had warned Per so many times not to do anything foolish. Yet he could not resist.
She knew him so well. He had that unabashed look of pride in his eyes that shone through the poverty and lent him a tenacious strength. The mere fact that he had courted her testified to the courage he possessed, which most others certainly lacked. He had not known that her father cared little about her fate. In Per’s eyes, she was the daughter of a wealthy man and should have been beyond his reach. But that same audacity, that same pride and strength, had now brought them to ruin.
When the customs official entered their small home, he announced that in three days he would return to confiscate the boat Per had spent so many years toiling to make his own, even though the fishing was meagre and starvation was a constant threat. The boat was his, yet he had risked everything for the sake of a cask of salt, which he had illegally purchased in Norway.
Elin was furious. Angrier than she had ever been before. She wanted to hit him, scratch out his green eyes and tear out his blond hair. His cursed pride was about to rob them of everything. How would they support themselves now? She always took whatever work she could find, but she was unable to bring in many riksdaler, and it would not be easy for Per to get hired as crew on someone else’s boat now they were forbidden from trading with foreign goods. And the fishing was no longer profitable.
Per had reached out to put his hand on her shoulder, but she had shrugged it off and turned her back to him. Then she had wept bitter tears. From anger and from fear. Outside their small home the wind was blowing harder, and when Per got out of bed at dawn, she sat up and asked where he was going.
‘We are going out in the boat,’ he replied, pulling on his trousers and shirt.
Elin had merely glared at him as Märta slept soundly on the bench in the kitchen.
‘In this weather? Are you out of your mind?’
‘If they are going to take away my boat in three days’ time, we need to do all we can before then,’ he said, putting on his coat.
Elin hurriedly dressed and followed him out of the house. He did not stop long enough to eat anything. He seemed in such a hurry to go out into the stormy weather, it was as if the devil were on his heels.
‘You must not go out today!’ she shouted, trying to be heard over the roar of the wind. As she pursued him down the street, curious neighbours emerged to watch. Ebba of Mörhult’s husband Claes came out too, with an equally furious wife running after him.
‘You will bring death upon yourselves if you go out in this weather!’ screamed Ebba shrilly as she tugged at Claes’s jacket.
He pulled free and snarled at her: ‘We have no choice if you want the children to have food to eat.’
Per nodded to Claes, and the two of them headed for the spot where the boat was moored. Elin watched his broad back retreating, and fear sunk its claws into her so fiercely that she could hardly breathe. At the top of her lungs she yelled:
‘Have it your way then, Per Bryngelsson. Let the sea take you and your cursed boat, because I do not want you any more.’
She