Red Campions

By Dag Gustav Gundersen Storla

STAVANGER, NORWAY IN THE 1880-TIES.
Major fraud and unemployment. Prohibited love and a forced marriage. Fighting to survive. Fire and an attempted murder. Sardines and Labor rights. Emigration to America. And who are the parents of little Signe? These are challenges that await the siblings Josefine and Andreas in this second novel of the trilogy (the first novel: Snowdrop Waltz). Follow them in their struggle for love and happiness. Although much is false, there is something real.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Oct 3, 2017
• ISBN: 9781387248407

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Red Campions

Red Campions

Historic Novel

Dag Gustav Gundersen Storla

Copyright © 2017 Dag Gustav Gundersen Storla.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Scripture taken from the Holy Bible, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®.

Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc. All rights reserved worldwide.

Used by permission. NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION® and NIV® are

registered trademarks of Biblica, Inc. Use of either trademark for the offering

of goods or services requires the prior written consent of Biblica US, Inc.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used factiously.

Siskin Publishing

Haugsåsen 74

1350 Lommedalen

Norway

www.siskinpublishing.com

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or

links contained in this book may have changed since publication and

may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those

of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher,

w and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

ISBN: 978-1-387-24731-8

Siskin Publishing rev. date: 22nd of September, 2017

Translated by Jean Mary Helland

To Olde, Besten, Bagge and Geta,

those who showed me the Stavanger that once was.

Desperate

She looked up and down the street. There were lights in many of the other windows, but here it was dark behind the curtains.

Where…?

Where could they be?  At the hospital? Or – the woman swallowed a lump in her throat – at the morgue?

She hesitated. Stood for a while on the steps and pondered. For a long time. Lifted her hand, several times, to knock on the door. Could not do it.

Finally, before she could reflect over what she was doing, the woman lay the baby down on the steps – and rushed away. She ran into the night, out of the town. Ran and ran, without knowing where she was or where she was going.

Tailor

1879

The rain poured down the large window. Wind and rain, week after week, almost without a pause. As long as he could remember, the heavy grey cover of cloud had hung over Stavanger from October to March.  The dampness seeped into the small buildings and ran down the cheap, flowery wallpapers.

The tailor’s workshop belonging to Isak Fiskå was situated in Kirkegaten, just down from the Valberg tower. Andreas sat with his legs crossed on the large table and sewed buttonholes in a dark blue jacket. From the window, he had a good view over the voe. In this way, he could follow the movement of all the ships in the busy harbor.

November. In days gone by, just the name of the month had been enough to make him sad, but it was not like that anymore. He loved to sit and sew in the clear daylight, which meant that he could sew accurately and quickly without straining his eyes. His skilled fingers went speedily over the expensive woolen material. He had it in him. The needle flew up and down; everything he touched was perfect down to the tiniest detail. If he was not happy with the result within the twelve hour working day, he would often sit there until late at night.

«Born to it,» whispered the sewing girls and glanced at him admiringly. If they had only known what it had cost him, throughout four long years.

This jacket had been ordered by the Principal from Kongsgård, Johannes Steen himself, one of the most sought–after customers in Stavanger – and people followed the crowd. It was the first time Andreas had been trusted to complete the decisive details. Earlier, Fiskå would have taken them himself, but his eyes were growing weaker.

«You are enjoying yourself now, Andreas!» Ragnar Fiskå’s hoarse voice grated in Andreas’s ears.

«What do you mean?»

«What I say. That you are enjoying yourself.» Ragnar did not even try to hide the scorn in his voice.

Andreas stared annoyed at the boy at the neighboring table. Isak Fiskå was on a mission, and everyone knew that Ragnar would take the chance.

Why can he never leave me in peace? thought Andreas – and chose the usual strategy. He turned away and did not say a word.

The workshop had only two apprentices, Andreas and Ragnar, Fiskå’s son, who was two years older than Andreas. In addition, there were six sewing girls; most tailors had sewing girls, as they were cheaper than apprentices. Finally, Fiskå had an errand boy, Jone, who came there after school and delivered their products around in the town. He had taken over Andreas’s old job.

«I’ll tell my father that you can’t be bothered to answer when I talk to you.  You think you’re something special. Don’t you?»

«I don’t think anything at all. I just get on with my work. And that’s what you need to do.»

«What, listen to him! Are you going to start correcting me now? What about it?»

Silence. The sewing girls looked at each other, horrified. They no longer chatted as they had been doing, and Jone stopped his eternal whistling and looked out of the window.

Andreas sighed heavily and tried once more to concentrate on the buttonholes on the lapels of the jacket. It usually worked, to shut the world out. Sometimes there was nothing else that existed but the fine blue thread and the thinnest needle.

However, this time it did not work. Soon the thread came out of the needle eye, and he was shaking so much with anger that he could not re–thread it. Furious, he climbed down from the table and made his way towards the door. He had to go to the toilet.

«Look at that,» said Ragnar. «See how he skulks out with his tail between his legs! Just what I thought! He’s a real coward!»

Andreas turned slowly around and looked straight at Ragnar. His look was so cold that Ragnar said no more.

Andreas shut the door behind him with a bang, hurried over the wet yard and into the toilet. He sat down heavily on the wooden bench and remained sitting, staring straight ahead.

Only once had Andreas lost control – and paid dearly for it. He then closed his eyes, and straightaway he was back there. He could see in his mind’s eye how his classmates held him down while Sivert beat him up. Finally, when everything was about to explode into a cloud of pain, the warm, stinking liquid had sprayed over him.

Nevertheless, that was not the worst. Really, it had not been. The beating afterwards from Headmaster Lie, every single unfair blow of the cane was the most humiliating thing he had ever experienced.

Andreas had sworn revenge. At the same time, he had promised himself that he would never, ever lose control again. Now, here on the toilet, he knew that a direct confrontation with Ragnar would mean the end of everything that he had achieved. Master Fiskå would be forced to choose sides, and the result was obvious.

Sivert and Ragnar. Why must there always be someone after him? What wrong had he done them? Could they not just leave him alone?

Once more he went over yesterday’s conversation with Eskil. His friend’s freckly face had had that teasing frown above his nose that Andreas could not stand.

«What is it with you?» Eskil had said, «why must you always be best?»

«What do you mean? Be best?» Andreas did not like it when Eskil barged on like a steamroller. «I don’t always have to be best. But I try and do my best. Especially when it’s something that means a lot to me.»

«Then you don’t know yourself very well, Andreas. Goodness, I like to compete, but you are obsessed with it!»

«Rubbish!»

«No, it isn’t! You are the best friend I have ever had, but sometimes you can be a bit hopeless. Can’t you just relax a bit? Sometimes, anyway? Like us other normal people?»

Andreas had been so angry that he had got up to leave.

However, his friend had got hold of his shoulder, and turned him around to face him. «Are you angry now? I can see it in you, Andreas. Come on, I didn’t mean it badly. But sometimes I need to talk to you properly. Otherwise, you sort of disappear from me. Everyone else only knows the kind and good looking Andreas, but I want to know how you feel on the inside as well.»

«What if I don’t want to show how I feel inside? Not to anyone?»

«Then you will be lonely, Andreas. Really lonely. Nobody wants to be with someone who never gives anything away.»

Andreas had glared at Eskil, furious. But he saw only goodness in his friend’s eyes, an open friendliness that he liked so much, and that enabled their friendship to hold for year after year, despite the fact that they were so different. Andreas was like a hermit crab, while Eskil time and again trampled all over his friend’s feelings. Eskil insisted on being the only person, apart from Andreas’s mother and big sister, Josephine, who managed to pull him out of his shell by force.

«You are crazy Eskil. You don’t know what you are doing. But, you mean well. So, I will answer you, completely honestly. Yes, you’re right. I must be the best. I must when I have first decided to be.»

«But why?»

«I hate anything else. Everything mediocre. It’s just as if I have a voice inside my head that talks to me the whole time, that’s never satisfied. Not even when I am the best!»

«That is quite incredible. You, Mr. Perfect. It must be quite exhausting!»

«It is exhausting, but I don’t know how to get rid of it. That voice.»

He did not know now either and was dreading going into the tailor’s workshop again.

It was not difficult to understand why they did not like him, those he was competing with. They had no chance of beating him. He knew it, and was proud of it. Nevertheless, at the same time, it bothered him. He saw that it was pride.

Only two more years, and then he could take his final apprentice’s exam. He could really have done it already, he knew that, but nobody was allowed to go on until they had completed the six years. Fiskå would probably try to keep him as long as possible.

Of course, Ragnar should have had the task of the smoking jacket. He had been an apprentice two years longer than Andreas. Nevertheless, Fiskå had given it to Andreas. Now he tried to understand how that must feel for Ragnar. The worst of it was that Andreas knew the reason why.

For Ragnar was and would always be clumsy.  His great, heavy fists were not made for tailoring. He could not manage the important, visible details, however much he tried. Day after day, they sat on their tables, each with a window in front of them and scowled at each other. Andreas felt a dark joy every time Fiskå’s face took on that tired, helpless expression when he looked at Ragnar’s work.

Otherwise it was Ragnar this and Ragnar that. It was Ragnar who was the favorite, the masters own son. It was he that was always admired while Andreas often did not get the recognition that he knew he deserved. Therefore, it was his sweet revenge to do everything quicker and better than Ragnar.

When Andreas finally came in again, he was relieved to see that Fiskå was back. Had Ragnar said anything? No, it did not look like it. Fiskå stood bending over the smoking jacket.

«This is not bad, Andreas,» said the master. «I couldn’t have done it better myself.»

Andreas felt himself blushing. It was not often he received such praise. Andreas glanced over at Ragnar, who pulled a face at him.

«Thank you, Fiskå,» answered Andreas. «You can see of course that I am not finished with the last buttonhole.»

«Yes, I can see that. You must finish it before you leave today. I promised Principal Steen that the jacket would be ready for him to wear to an anniversary at the club this evening.»

«I can manage that.»

«When you have finished the buttonhole, you can go home a little early today. You deserve it.»

«Thank you.»

«Can you steam it, Rikke? And Jone, can you deliver it before six o’clock?»

Rikke curtseyed, and Jone nodded respectfully. Fiskå had authority. Not many things got by without him noticing. But there was also a good feeling of security. If the master got to direct the troops as he wanted, then he was reasonable. Those who managed to adapt and understood how he wanted things to be, were often kept longer at his workshop. The others were sent on.

Andreas bent eagerly over the buttonhole again, and in the course of twenty minutes, it was finished. He went over and gave the jacket to Rikke.

«You must be particular. Get away all the chalk marks and tacking stitches,» said Andreas. «But then again, you are always particular.»

Rikke smiled, embarrassed, and blushed. Andreas saw something in her eyes, something that told him that she liked him. Yes, admired him.

«Of course, Andreas. You can depend on me.»

Gently, she took the jacket from him and looked over every millimeter of it. With a damp cloth, she first removed all the chalk marks. She then cut the last tacking stitches in the red silk lining. Finally, she fetched the glowing coals out of the oven, put them in the iron, and with a damp cloth between the iron and the jacket, she steamed away any trace of a crease. At intervals, she would glance secretly at Andreas. She was hoping that he would not notice those looks.

However, he did. In the large mirror by the door, he was watching her just as secretively. As he tidied up, he enjoyed the sight of her light, precise movements. There was something touching in the way she tenderly treated the jacket.

So pretty you are, he had to admit to himself. Her fragile frame. Her clear blue, thoughtful eyes. The blond hair. So different from Maren.

He caught himself comparing them, Maren and Rikke. Maren was the typical farmer’s daughter, the girl with chestnut brown hair, the world’s most appealing, sunburnt, freckled face and brown, laughing eyes.

Maren –!

When it came to it, Andreas could not imagine dreaming of anyone else. So, he must not give Rikke the wrong idea. Not so much as a smile or one look too many.

Andreas shook his head – and felt glad. This was the life! Finally, something he had begun to succeed at. Nearly four years of hard work. But it had been worth it. One day he would become a tailor for himself. He could hardly wait. He had no future here; there was not room for both him and Ragnar at this workshop. But he could not have received a better training. Fiskå probably understood that the day Andreas stood with his certificate in his hand, he would be on his way.

Andreas finished up before saying a cheery goodbye to the others. Not even another scornful grimace from Ragnar could spoil his sparkling joy. This evening he was meeting Maren.

Friends

1880

«Good evening Lisa,» said Andreas, smiling back at the girl who had opened the solid oak door.

«Good evening, Andreas,» Lisa replied and took the coat he gave her. «Eskil and Maren are here already.»

Maren. Andreas felt a warmth come over him when she said that name.

«I’ll go up then,» he said.

«Could you please say to Harald that I will come up with some sandwiches and coffee?»

Andreas smiled and nodded.

As he went up the steps, he felt that he was doing something illegal, as if he should not be there. This was another world, a world of maids with stiff aprons, of rustling in silk dresses, of chandeliers of carved crystal.

I do not belong here.

Nevertheless, since Andreas and his friends had saved the lawyer’s son Harald from Sivert’s revenge that time at school, Andreas and Harald had become great friends. Andreas had tried several times to withdraw, just to see if Harald really did want to be his friend, but Harald had stood firm, not given up before he had convinced Andreas that the friendship was mutual, not just a payment of gratitude.

Eskil was also an obvious member of this group. Then there was Harald’s sister Ingeborg, who was one year younger than her brother, and Maren.

At Haugen, Maren’s home, they could not understand how she had got to know Ingeborg, as it was such an unusual friendship. Maren had said something about meeting by chance out in the woods. Her parents had apparently believed it, and in fact, it was not completely untrue. Maren and Ingeborg spent a lot of time outdoors, but then of course together with the other friends in the group. Hetland Woods, where the Haugen farm was, was out of bounds. Instead they roamed about, often right out by Mosvannet and Egenes, often near the old exercise area for the Home Guard.

Maren’s father, Lars, still remembered the episode with that «shabby lout» Andreas, the pauper who was and remained a highly unsuitable match for Haugen’s daughter. Even though it was many years since the death of Andreas’s father, the whole town remembered him as a spineless drunkard, and there was not a respectable citizen in the town who would have allowed their daughter to be with the son of such a man. After that episode, Lars had given Maren clear restrictions for when she could go out, and whom she could be together with. Now that her parents knew that she was together with Ingeborg, she was allowed to go out more or less when she wanted.

Maren always brightened up when she was going to Ingeborg. Her gloominess was as if blown away, and her parents were clearly relieved that she seemed to have something else to think about. At the Haugen’s home, Ingeborg was well received. Otherwise the two friends were often out walking with «food and drink», which Maren’s mother provided them with. What they did not know at Haugen, was that that «shabby lout» also ate and drank from the provisions. Every time he would help himself greedily, unusually heartily, to them. Then he would laugh and could not resist thanking ceremoniously for the food and asking Maren to take his greetings to her mother Martha. Everyone thought this was very funny and liked the excitement of the game the two of them were playing. The five of them had developed some unusual strategies in order to meet at deserted places without anyone seeing them.

However, Andreas often could hear that Maren’s laughter was nervous, and he could see the fear in her eyes. It was she who would have to pay the price if they were seen together. It was unlikely that Lars would be wandering around Egenes was very small, but nevertheless there were many others who knew them, and the town was a small. One day someone would talk, and then it would be over.

Nevertheless, they had decided to live with this situation, nothing could part them. The fearless five they called themselves, and if anyone had observed them in their youthful laughter and fun, nobody could have guessed the shadow that hung over them. Harald played guitar, and their gatherings were often pure song evenings, with everything from lighthearted ballads to excerpts from the operettas of the time.

On one such occasion, Harald had tried to serve his friends a glass of wine. The cork had rapidly found its way back into the bottle. They had never seen Andreas so dark in the eyes as then. There was no need for words. From that day, alcohol was completely excluded. For Andreas, it represented everything that was painful and dark.

Full of all these thoughts he now stood in front of the narrow loft door. He knocked and went in.

«Well, there you are.» Harald held out his hand. «How are things?»

«Very good, if it hadn’t been for this awful weather.» Andreas took the offered hand. His handshake was firm. For a split second, he looked for something in his friend’s eyes; what do you really think of me? – before he came with one of his crooked smiles. «What are you doing?»

However, he did not expect an answer. Andreas’s gaze was already in the corner behind the flickering paraffin lamp. There Maren got up swiftly and took a step forward from the red, worn plush sofa. The next minute Andreas had his arms around her. He felt the wonderful scent that was her, a strife of lilac, and her heart beating against his chest. The warmth that radiated from her filled Andreas.

«Yes, yes, turtledoves.» Harald cleared his throat. «I thought you said it was bad weather, Andreas, but in here the sun is shining.»

Maren and Andreas let go of each other and laughed. Andreas greeted Ingeborg with a friendly «hallo»; he was not otherwise inclined to give hugs to everyone.

Someone knocked on the door. Eskil came in, closely followed by the maid. Lisa was carrying coffee, sandwiches and cakes.

«Everyone is in a good mood here, I see.» Eskil looked like a drowned rat. «Stavanger weather!»

«What do you think? I just had the pleasure of a real cloudburst.» He smiled broadly, went over to the large oven that stood glowing in the corner, and stretched out his hands towards the warmth. «Oh, this here is not bad.»

«Right,» said Harald, «let’s eat before the coffee gets cold.»

Harald lifted his arm to indicate the little round wooden table in the middle of the room, with the coffee pot, cakes, and sandwiches. There was no scrimping here. It was hard times in Stavanger, but not this evening. The reputation of Harald’s father, lawyer Hermansen, was very solid, and in these difficult times there were many who needed a good business lawyer.

After the usual Stavanger culture of politeness had been observed, and they had been persuaded a few times, the young people started to eat eagerly.

«This is not bad, not by a long shot,» said Andreas, as happy as a bee in clover. What did he need with heaven «one day» when he could enjoy himself like this here and now?  Maren sat close to him; he could feel her warmth as he let his eyes wander from one happy face to another. They shone in the flickering light from the paraffin lamp.

«Hipp hurray for Lisa!» cried Ingeborg. «Nobody makes as good of sandwiches as she does. Cheers for Lisa!»

They lifted their coffee cups ceremoniously.

«Cheers for Lisa!» joined in Eskil, as if it was the finest red wine that glowed in crystal glasses.

The young people raised their cups, laughing and drinking up the coffee.

«Now we are going to sing before we eat the Jewish cakes,» said Harald. «I’ll fetch my guitar.»

A minute later, he stood at the door with an instrument in his hand.

«I am so glad to be together with you,» he said. «That I just wanted to sing this old song by Jens – Zetlitzen, you know the one. Stavanger can be proud of a poet like him!»

Immediately they all began to sing:

How little it does take

To be happy;

A cheerful mind, a girl’s smile,

A friend, who does you well,

A hut that can shelter you,

Good bread and clear stream water,

As much wisdom as you want,

and remember these words.

«What fine voices!» boasted Eskil. «We’ll be able to perform soon»

«And now – the Jewish cakes! Help yourself, my friends! Help yourself!» continued Harald.

«Why are they are actually called «Jewish cakes?» Andreas was as usual the interrogator in the group. «There can’t have been many Jews around when they were first invented – don’t you remember Wergeland?»

«Jews and Jesuits do not have right of entry to the Kingdom» quoted Ingeborg, «it’s not many years since it was taken away from the Law.»

«I don’t think it was the Jews that invented Jewish cakes any-way,» said Harald and laughed resignedly. «Shall we eat them before I send them down to the kitchen again?»

This time they did not need to be asked twice. Maren, unusually quiet this evening, took the last cake and dipped it in her coffee, as they usually did. She seemed deep in thoughts.

«What are you thinking about?» asked Andreas.

«I don’t know how long we can carry on like this. One day father will find out about us – and then we are finished. Yes, I think more and more about it. I feel as if a catastrophe is about to come over us. This is going to go wrong, really wrong.»

«Oh, I have never heard such gloom!» Eskil cried out. «If that thickheaded pair think they can run your life, they are mistaken.»

«It’s all very well for you, Eskil,» answered Maren. «But they are not thickheaded. They are in fact my parents. And I really love them. That’s what makes it all so difficult.»

«My apologies!» Eskil held up his hands. «I did not mean to offend you. But if they are as fond of you as you are of them, then they would have given you the freedom to choose who you want to be together with.»

«This is not going anywhere, Eskil,» interrupted Andreas. «Yes, I know you mean well, but I see no reason to change anything. We will continue as before, hold together, all five of us, waiting to see what happens. It could be that they change their minds after a while.»

«I stopped believing in Father Christmas years ago,» said Eskil, «but if that’s how you want it, then it’s fine by me. I just think it might be better to play with open cards. Yes, if we all went to Maren’s house and told them everything.»

«You are completely mad, Eskil,» exclaimed Maren. « You don’t know my parents. They wouldn’t say anything straightaway, but afterwards – afterwards they would shut me away! For the rest of my life!»

«I agree with Maren,» said Ingeborg. «We are no longer living in the Middle ages, but at Haugen they seem to be. So let’s continue as we are!»

It was as if a cold north wind blew through the narrow loft, and not much more was said. A short time after, everyone went home.

¤

«Do you really feel like that?» said Andreas.

As usual, he and Maren had walked for a way up into Hetland Woods and sat down between some bushes at Andreas’s old hiding place, which had become theirs a long time ago.

Maren drew close to him, like a frightened child. The moon lit up her tearstained face. Andreas put his arm around her and pulled his coat more tightly around them both. They were freezing.

«I am so frightened, Andreas. Frightened of father. Frightened for us. For the future. Something is going to happen. I had such an awful dream last night. It was like an ominous warning.»

«Stop talking like that!  I don’t believe in such things! Nobody is going to hurt you!»

«I wish you were right, Andreas.  We must pray to God – that it won’t happen.»

«That what won’t happen? What was it you dreamt?»

Maren hesitated. «I don’t want to tell you. I share everything with you, but not this. Nothing has happened yet, so I don’t want it to come between us.»

Andreas understood that there was no point in asking any more. Then she would just begin to cry again, he knew that.

They got up and brushed earth and dried leaves off their coats.  From here, Maren had to walk alone, as it was too risky for Andreas to accompany her any further. Once more, he pulled her soft body close to him. He searched for her mouth and found it. For a long time. As if it was a last farewell kiss.

Magda

1880

Josephine opened her eyes and stretched comfortably in bed. Sunday. She looked out of the roof window. It was spring, the sky was blue, and the sun shone through the small roof window. What was the time? It must be past ten o’clock, but no tempting coffee smell filled the house. Something was wrong!

Josephine jumped out of bed and ran into the living room. No Magda! She tore open the door to Magda’s room and ran in. The curtains were drawn. When her eyes had got used to the dark, she saw that the old woman lay motionless in the bed. Was she – ?

Josephine tiptoed nearer to the bed. Squinting, she could hardly keep her eyes open. Would not, could not see.

However, finally she bent over the bed. Now she just had to look properly.

Was Magda breathing?

Josephine bent over the silent, pale face. Finally, she could sense that Magda was breathing weakly.

«Magda! Magda! What’s the matter with you? » Josephine shook the old woman, without quite knowing why she did it.

Suddenly Magda opened her eyes. She looked up at Josephine, clearly confused. Her mouth tried to form the words, but there was only gurgling.

«Jo – Jo – Joseph– »

«You’re alive!» Josephine felt the tears coming into her eyes. «Magda? Are you sick? Do you have any pain?»

Magda shook her head. Then she clearly tried to smile, but only half of her face seemed to obey her. The right side of her mouth remained limp.

«I’ll go and fetch the doctor!»

Magda shook her head. «Do– don’t do it. H – he can’t – »

«What can’t he do?»

«I – am leaving now.»

Josephine pulled up a chair and sat close to the bed. She took the wrinkled hand that there was still life in and held it firmly in hers.

«You can’t!» said Josephine. «What will become of all the people that need you? What about me?»

Immediately she regretted the last words.

How egoistic I am!

Could she think about anyone else than herself at all? The tears began to fall from Josephine and dripped down on to the old ones hand.

Magda slowly turned her head. She looked at Josephine. Her eyes were filled with such tenderness that Josephine could hardly look at her. Now Magda wept also.

Then it was as if she gathered together all her strength, and when she opened her mouth, the words came easier: «I – I have loved you so much. Just like my own daughter. More than anyone on this earth – Josephine. But now my time has come. I am going home.»

Josephine wept in grief. She laid her cheek against Magda’s pale face. «Not yet, Magda. Not yet! I need you. I can’t manage without you.»

«Of course – you will manage, Josephine. You have it in you – everything – everything.»

Josephine could see that each one of Magda’s words cost her great effort. The sweat stood out on her forehead. Josephine took the sleeve of her nightdress and gently dried the sweat away.

«My dear child,» gasped Magda. «I – leave you in Jesus’s hands. Never go away from Him. Whatever happens.»

«I promise, I promise! But, Magda, I –»

For one last time, the old hand squeezed Josephine’s. She squeezed hard. The warmth went through Josephine. Magda’s face lit up in a radiant smile, her eyes grew distant, they sparkled – and then everything was silent.

Josephine woke with a start.  How long had she been lying here bent over Magda’s bed, with her arms around the old woman? Josephine did not know. She had wept and wept, until she had no more tears. She must have fallen asleep in the end.

Now she noticed that Magda was beginning to grow cold. Josephine got up slowly.

This is not Magda. Not anymore.

All the same, Josephine stood and looked at her face.  One last time. She was so fond of each furrow and wrinkle in that face. But the once strong, intense eyes were closed.

Josephine started walking restlessly around the room. It was as if she herself had died. As if everything in her life was over before it had begun. Before Magda had come into her life, there had just been drunkenness and rows, distress and misery there. And now these memories came forward again, they crept out of the dark corners and