A Faraway Island Read Online Free Page B

Stephie nods and smiles. Aunt Märta looks kind of funny when she tries to talk to her.
    We’re like two deaf-mutes
, Stephie thinks.
Deaf-mutes who can’t communicate in any language
.
    Aunt Märta gives Stephie a glass of milk, and Stephie drinks it to the last drop. Then Aunt Märta puts the palms of her hands together, leans her cheek on her hands, and shuts her eyes. Stephie nods again. She’s very tired now.
    “Good night,” she says, going upstairs.
    She changes into her long flannel nightgown, washes, and brushes her teeth. She folds the bedspread very carefully, thenhangs it over the foot of the bed. Her clothes are neatly folded on the chair.
    It feels wonderful to slide under the covers, in spite of their unfamiliar smell. She buries her nose in her old teddy bear, feeling safe in the familiar scent of his fur. It smells like home.
    Although she is exhausted, Stephie cannot fall asleep. She lies awake for ages, listening to the patter of the rain on the roof. She’s never heard the rain so clearly from indoors before. A while later she tiptoes from the bed to look out the window. It’s pitch black outside. Not so much as a streetlight.
    “When you’re twelve you’ll have a bedroom of your own,” her parents used to tell her when they were still living in their apartment. In those days she looked forward to not having to share the nursery with Nellie. Now she is twelve and has a room of her own. But in the wrong house. In the wrong country.
    Finally her body begins to feel heavy. Stephie climbs back into bed and begins drifting off. She’s nearly asleep when the door opens just a crack. Eyes closed, she hears footsteps approaching her bed. Lightly, as if in a dream, a hand brushes her cheek. A moment later, the door shuts again.

Stephie senses something is wrong even before her brain is awake enough to remember what. She presses her eyes tight shut, trying to stay asleep. But she can’t.
    Sunlight trickles through the crack between the curtains. She can hear footsteps and clatter from the kitchen. It’s morning, her first morning on the island. The first of how many?
    “Six months at the very most,” her father had said on the platform at the Vienna railway station. “In just a few months, no more than six, we’ll have our entry visas. Then we’ll meet up in Amsterdam and travel to America together.”
    Stephie turns her head to look at the photos on the dresser. Her mother is smiling, her father is looking gravelyat her from behind his glasses. She sits up in bed, pulling her knees to her chest.
    “No need to worry, Mamma and Papa,” she says aloud. “I’m a big girl now. I’m taking good care of Nellie.”
    Stephie gets dressed, washes her face and hands, and combs her hair in front of the mirror over the little washbasin. Her hair is very tangled and takes time to comb through; she hasn’t combed it properly since the morning they left for the station in Vienna two full days ago.
    When Stephie or Nellie complained about the difficulty of having long hair, their mother always used to tell them it was worth the trouble.
    “When a person has such lovely, thick hair, it’s a shame to cut it short.”
    Stephanie stares at her reflection, and the girl in the mirror stares back. The face she sees is thin, with brown eyes and wide lips. Her dark hair hangs almost all the way to her waist. She parts it down the middle and plaits it into neat braids.

    “Good morning,” she greets Aunt Märta in German as she enters the kitchen. Aunt Märta’s Swedish reply sounds almost the same.
    For breakfast there’s oatmeal and milk. The oatmeal is thick and gluey, but Stephie’s hungry enough to gobble it all down. Aunt Märta, looking pleased, dishes up a second helping.
    While Stephie is eating, the telephone rings. Aunt Märta answers and has quite a long conversation. After she hangs up, she turns to Stephie.
    “Nellie,” she says, pointing out the kitchen window. “You …