Read Online A Faraway Island by Annika Thor - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Annika Thor
Ads: Link
Jesus so quickly. Who would have thought it?”
“They’re only girls,” Auntie Alma replies. “There’s not a drop of evil in them. They can’t be blamed for being born outside the true faith.”
“So something good has come of it,” Aunt Märta puffs. “Their souls have found a home.”
“What did you do it for, Stephie?” Nellie asks. “What made you cry?”
“The music,” Stephie answers. “It was so beautiful. And what made you cry?”
“Your
tears,” Nellie replies.
Auntie Alma turns to the girls. “How gratified you must be,” she says, “to have found Jesus and been redeemed. I’m very happy for you!”
Found Jesus? Been redeemed? Slowly Stephie begins to understand that Aunt Märta and Auntie Alma imagine it was Jesus who made her weep.
“Well,” she begins hesitantly, “the music was so beautiful …”
But Auntie Alma’s not listening. She’s still talking to Aunt Märta, the two of them discussing the thin pastor.
“He has the gift,” Aunt Märta says. “Yes, he truly has the gift.”
Stephie stays quiet.
A few weeks later she and Nellie are baptized. They don’t protest. And now that they’re members of the Pentecostal Church, they go to Sunday school every week.
Stephie has a feeling she ought to be different now that she’s been redeemed. Maybe nicer, more obedient. Surely that’s what Aunt Märta expects. But Stephie feels exactly the same as before. Sometimes she sits looking at the picture of Jesus above her dresser, trying to feel the love for him about which they speak at Sunday school, but she feels nothing in particular.
“Forgive me, Jesus,” she mumbles softly. “Forgive me if I’m not really and truly redeemed.”
Stephie doesn’t write to her mother and father about being redeemed or baptized. She doesn’t know how she could ever explain it. It might upset them. She wonders if a person can get un-redeemed later. Otherwise she’ll have to keep it secret forever, after the family is reunited.
At least Sunday school offers a break from their everyday routines. The Sunday school teacher is the girl who played the guitar. They often sing. A younger girl namedBritta gives Stephie a bookmark angel with dark hair and a pink dress. She has another one, too, a blond one in a blue dress, but she doesn’t want to give that one away. Britta and Stephie are the same age, but Britta’s shorter. She has dull, straggly brown hair. Sometimes she walks Stephie partway home after Sunday school.
Vera doesn’t attend Sunday school. Stephie sees her now and then, but she’s always with the same group of girls, including the blonde whose father is the shopkeeper, plus another who’s much bigger and heavier.
The only one who ever says hello when Stephie sees them is Vera. The others just stare. Once, the blonde shouts something after her, but Stephie doesn’t catch the words.
The schoolhouse for the older children is right in the middle of the village—a yellow, two-story wooden building with a clock over the entrance. On the other side of the street is a second building where the very youngest children’s classrooms are; it’s not much larger than a regular house.
Sometimes Stephie and Nellie pass the school buildings on their ramblings. If it’s recess and the children are out in the schoolyard the sisters walk slowly, peeking at the noisy boys and girls at play.
“When will
we
start school?” Nellie asks.
“As soon as our Swedish is good enough,” Stephie answers.
“I’m good at Swedish,” Nellie says with pride. “Auntie Alma says I’m a real chatterbox.”
It’s true that Nellie already speaks very good Swedish, better than Stephie. That’s because she can talk to both Auntie Alma and Elsa whenever she pleases. Aunt Märta isn’t exactly generous with words, and Uncle Evert is seldom home.
“We’ll be fluent enough to start school soon,” Stephie says. She gazes longingly over the fence, glimpsing a head of red hair that has to be
“They’re only girls,” Auntie Alma replies. “There’s not a drop of evil in them. They can’t be blamed for being born outside the true faith.”
“So something good has come of it,” Aunt Märta puffs. “Their souls have found a home.”
“What did you do it for, Stephie?” Nellie asks. “What made you cry?”
“The music,” Stephie answers. “It was so beautiful. And what made you cry?”
“Your
tears,” Nellie replies.
Auntie Alma turns to the girls. “How gratified you must be,” she says, “to have found Jesus and been redeemed. I’m very happy for you!”
Found Jesus? Been redeemed? Slowly Stephie begins to understand that Aunt Märta and Auntie Alma imagine it was Jesus who made her weep.
“Well,” she begins hesitantly, “the music was so beautiful …”
But Auntie Alma’s not listening. She’s still talking to Aunt Märta, the two of them discussing the thin pastor.
“He has the gift,” Aunt Märta says. “Yes, he truly has the gift.”
Stephie stays quiet.
A few weeks later she and Nellie are baptized. They don’t protest. And now that they’re members of the Pentecostal Church, they go to Sunday school every week.
Stephie has a feeling she ought to be different now that she’s been redeemed. Maybe nicer, more obedient. Surely that’s what Aunt Märta expects. But Stephie feels exactly the same as before. Sometimes she sits looking at the picture of Jesus above her dresser, trying to feel the love for him about which they speak at Sunday school, but she feels nothing in particular.
“Forgive me, Jesus,” she mumbles softly. “Forgive me if I’m not really and truly redeemed.”
Stephie doesn’t write to her mother and father about being redeemed or baptized. She doesn’t know how she could ever explain it. It might upset them. She wonders if a person can get un-redeemed later. Otherwise she’ll have to keep it secret forever, after the family is reunited.
At least Sunday school offers a break from their everyday routines. The Sunday school teacher is the girl who played the guitar. They often sing. A younger girl namedBritta gives Stephie a bookmark angel with dark hair and a pink dress. She has another one, too, a blond one in a blue dress, but she doesn’t want to give that one away. Britta and Stephie are the same age, but Britta’s shorter. She has dull, straggly brown hair. Sometimes she walks Stephie partway home after Sunday school.
Vera doesn’t attend Sunday school. Stephie sees her now and then, but she’s always with the same group of girls, including the blonde whose father is the shopkeeper, plus another who’s much bigger and heavier.
The only one who ever says hello when Stephie sees them is Vera. The others just stare. Once, the blonde shouts something after her, but Stephie doesn’t catch the words.
The schoolhouse for the older children is right in the middle of the village—a yellow, two-story wooden building with a clock over the entrance. On the other side of the street is a second building where the very youngest children’s classrooms are; it’s not much larger than a regular house.
Sometimes Stephie and Nellie pass the school buildings on their ramblings. If it’s recess and the children are out in the schoolyard the sisters walk slowly, peeking at the noisy boys and girls at play.
“When will
we
start school?” Nellie asks.
“As soon as our Swedish is good enough,” Stephie answers.
“I’m good at Swedish,” Nellie says with pride. “Auntie Alma says I’m a real chatterbox.”
It’s true that Nellie already speaks very good Swedish, better than Stephie. That’s because she can talk to both Auntie Alma and Elsa whenever she pleases. Aunt Märta isn’t exactly generous with words, and Uncle Evert is seldom home.
“We’ll be fluent enough to start school soon,” Stephie says. She gazes longingly over the fence, glimpsing a head of red hair that has to be
Similar Books
