The Last Boat Home Read Online Free Page B

been wrecked in a typhoon in the North Pacific. Else had been a baby when it happened. Sometimes, when she had the farmhouse to herself, she would sneak into the Best Room and flip the lock of the cupboard to rescue a cup from the top shelf, cradling it in her hands. She would trace a fingertip around the outline of a gold leaf on a black sea and try to imagine where it had come from.
    ‘I’ve been having some bad luck,’ her father said.
    ‘There is no such thing,’ said Pastor Seip. He fixed him with a meaningful glare. ‘“Be sober, be vigilant, for your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about seeking whom he may devour.”’
    ‘More coffee?’ Dagny said.
    ‘Keeping vigilant,’ said Pastor Seip. ‘That’s the point.’
    Johann shifted in his chair and a creak filled the room. The minister looked at Else for the first time all evening.
    ‘Amazing what we see,’ he said, ‘if only we open our eyes.’ His gaze fell like an anchor and she stopped herself from trying to squirm out of its way. She thought of Lars’s eyes, of how he had shut them tight when he kissed her. She watched as Pastor Seip deposited a cube of cake in his mouth.
    ‘Another slice?’ Dagny said.
    ‘No, no.’ The minister mashed the crumbs on his plate with his finger before slipping it between his lips. Then he stood and brushed his palms on his trousers. ‘I have other obligations this evening, I’m afraid. Thank you for the fish. It was just as my mother used to make it, which is the best way I know.’
    At the front door, he took his hat and turned again to Else. ‘I trust you have been putting the lessons from last Sunday’s sermon to good use?’ he said.
    Else nodded at her feet.
    ‘Oh, yes,’ said her mother. ‘She certainly has.’
    Pastor Seip pulled his hat down on his head. ‘The years after one’s confirmation are a delicate time in every young adult’s life.’ He bent forward at the hips, bringing his eyes level with Else’s. His breath smelled of coffee. ‘Remember,’ he said, ‘you must pray, and you must work. It is always possible, I believe, to work harder.’
    The minister straightened up and strode into the sun. He crossed the yard to the milking barn and disappeared up the hill that would bring him to the road. From the doorway of thefarmhouse, Johann stared after him, his jaw clenched and his lips thin. Without a word, he retreated into the Best Room and slammed the door shut behind him.
    Else and her mother washed the dishes in silence. For a long while after Pastor Seip had left, her father sat alone, until the creak of floorboards and the groan of the back door announced his escape. Else knew he would be headed for the boathouse, just as she knew they would not see him again that evening.
    ‘I’ll have to dig up some more onions,’ said her mother and added a chopped bulb to the fish bones in her pot.
    O N A S UNDAY in early September, Else stepped from the ferry at the Longpier and made her way up the harbour towards the church. They were not long into autumn and the leaves of the trees in front of the town hall had just started to turn. The days were contracting in preparation for winter, gathering up their dusks and dawns and giving way to chilly nights – but today, in the late morning, it still felt like summer. Sunlight dripped onto the dock in golden puddles that warmed her ankles as she plodded through.
    ‘Hurry up,’ called her father, who had already reached Dronning Mauds gate. Else’s good shoes chafed her heels as she ran to catch him up. She followed her parents and other stragglers up the hill, climbing towards the outburst of bells which called to them and the town of gravitas and observance.
    In the churchyard, the steeple’s weather vane spun in the breeze, throwing a cartwheeling shadow over the grass. Else shuffled after it to the church’s open door and into the cool air of the nave. They were among the last to arrive and the pews were bustling with