by Kirsten Boie
The narrow road stretched out in darkness beneath an overcast sky. To the right he could see the last lights of a little town. To the left, the road disappeared into a forest. That was the direction Perry pushed the moped.
The men must have finished unloading the bins by now. It was time. He straddled the moped and turned the key. It shot forward beneath him and he only just managed to keep his balance — he’d never ridden a moped before. He could feel the wind blowing through his hair, and he laughed.
Free! he thought. I’m free! You can forget about your military academy! You’ll never lock me up in there. Never!
The moped glided into the forest, and Perry slowed down. After just a few feet, he switched off the lights and pushed it off the road into the undergrowth. Then he waited.
It was almost half an hour before the laundry van passed him at breakneck speed. The men must have searched all over the square.
He listened, then pushed the moped back out of the undergrowth. The night belonged to him now — there was no one else on the road. He knew where he would go. His head and heart felt light, and he was way too happy to be tired.
Before the sun sank down behind the treetops, the first clouds began to gather, gray and heavy, but still so few and far between that, although the guests occasionally glanced up at the sky, no one was particularly worried.
“A wonderful party, as usual, General,” said an elderly lady. “Just like the old days. One might almost have thought our Scandia had never changed.”
Von Thunberg bowed. “Delighted that you enjoyed it, Baroness,” he said.
He was standing with his wife at the base of the broad steps, shaking the hands of everyone leaving the party. Circling the garden, charming Chinese lanterns glowed in the dusk, and yellowish-white splashes of the lights embedded in the foliage created an almost eerie atmosphere. The party was over — this was traditionally how it came to an end. As soon as darkness crept between the trees, the guests would climb into their town cars and limousines and drive home to their own nearby estates. Hardly any would make the long journey back to the city of Holmburg tonight.
“Good night, Countess, Count!” said von Thunberg. “We’ll meet again next summer.”
“Before that, I hope,” said the countess with a radiant smile. “Good night, General.”
Across the great lawn, the catering staff was now beginning to stack the chairs and take down the tables. Von Thunberg’s brow furrowed, and his wife’s face twisted into an angry scowl. Next year they would hire a different company. The staff should have waited until the last guest had departed before they began dismantling the place.
“I’m so sorry,” Mrs. von Thunberg said to an old lady with a walking stick, who was watching the activity with raised eyebrows. “I’ve sent someone to put a stop to it at once. Such behavior, I fear, Your Ladyship, is just one more consequence of the …” She hesitated a moment before spitting out the word. “… the democratization of our country! These days, allowing the staff to get to bed on time seems to be reason enough to end a party.”
“I can only assume it’s a company that hasn’t taught its people good manners, dear Mrs. von Thunberg!” said the bent little man accompanying the old lady. His hand was gently supporting his companion’s elbow. “Little parvenus who’ve grown up in the slums and don’t know the first thing about society’s rules. You’ll find them everywhere. All the same, it’s been a wonderful party.”
Petterson pushed his way toward the front, past the straggly queue of people still chatting as they stood at the foot of the steps. He waited impatiently until the elderly couple had taken their leave, and then he went straight up to von Thunberg.
“Thunberg, please forgive me,” he said quietly, “but I can’t find my son, and I’m beginning to get worried. May I send my people to search your house? He’s definitely not on the grounds.”
“Of course,” said von Thunberg. “Though I can’t imagine …”
“Jenna’s also disappeared!” said the princess, suddenly standing beside Petterson. “I can’t find her anywhere. I didn’t think too much of it, but now that you say Perry’s gone missing …”
“Your people are welcome to search the house for as long as you like,” said von Thunberg, smiling past them at the next guest. “Del Halberstrum! We never even had a chance to raise a toast, old chap!”
Petterson and Margareta stepped aside.
“You don’t think the two of them …?” the princess began. “But they hardly know each other!”
“It’s a strange coincidence all the same,” said Petterson. He went over to a man in a black suit, who was standing patiently at the edge of the gravel driveway. “Viktor, take three men and search the house. But be discreet. Don’t draw any attention to yourselves.”
The man in the suit nodded and disappeared.
“Goodness, might they have been abducted?” asked Margareta. Her face suddenly clouded over with concern. “Peter? How could that possibly have happened here at the party, with such tight security?”
Petterson shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe my men will find them in the house,” he said. He didn’t look too confident.
Jenna ran.
She had taken off her sandals and was carrying them by their laces as she ran and ran, faster and faster across the grounds. She ran so fast that her violent heartbeat drowned out her thoughts and, more important, her feelings — faster, faster! She could hear her own breathing, her own heartbeat, as if they belonged to a stranger, but it didn’t help.
The grounds of the estate were huge, even larger than the school campus — she hadn’t realized it before. The landscape had grown wilder now, up- and downhill, with swampy groves of alders in the dips and pine trees higher up; in between were small ponds and meadows full of summer flowers. But Jenna didn’t notice any of it.
Run, just run. Beneath her feet she felt grass and moss and pebbles and pine needles, rocks and hard, dry dirt. She didn’t even feel all the cuts she was getting on the soles of her bare feet. She felt nothing but despair.
Jonas.
She had never known that sadness could be so huge it could fill the whole world right to the furthest corner, leaving no room for anything else.
Tears flooded her face. Her makeup was a mess of smudges, her mascara streaming in charcoal rivulets down her cheeks. She could not stop crying.
Jonas and Ylva.
She didn’t want to stop. She didn’t care. Whatever happened, happened. She didn’t want to do anything except sink into this sadness and never emerge again into the endless sequence of days, weeks, months that would go on as normal, as though her life had not just been shattered.
I’m just lovesick, thought Jenna, astonished that she was beginning to think again after all as her feet raced along the narrow paths and her heart hammered. Lovesick. What a silly word for such a terrible, overwhelming pain.
Hadn’t she heard about it, read about it in magazines, a million times before? Lovesick, heartsick, heartbroken. The sickness passes — her feet raced — everyone goes through it. After a few days, you’ll wonder what on earth you ever got so upset about.
But no, Jenna knew it was different for her. She’d never get over this despair that blotted out everything else, till life itself seemed meaningless.
The sun disappeared behind the clouds. Her feet slowed down. The last year had been so difficult, and the only thing that got her through had been her longing for Jonas — though she had never thought he’d feel the same.
And then she had seen Malena and Perry in the summerhouse, and suddenly the hopelessness had fallen away like a chain that could be broken through a single weak link. And then Jonas had said, “Malena’s not the only girl in the world,” and her heart had grown wings.
How could she have been so stupid?
Jenna bent over and rested her hands on her knees. To her surprise, she realized that the tears had stopped running down her cheeks. She was breathing hard and fast.
Not just lo
vesickness, she thought, as gradually her breathing slowed down. A gentle twilight began to envelop the grounds — the long, late dusk of summer. It must be later than she realized. She’d been running for a long time.
Not just lovesickness, but shame. Stupid her! How could she have thought even for a second that Jonas meant her — Jenna, small and dark and chubby — when there were so many other girls who were more beautiful, more self-assured, taller and slimmer and fairer? Jenna, who never did anything right, who was mocked in the newspapers on a daily basis. Jonas would never want her. Not when there were girls like Ylva to choose from.
But not Ylva! thought Jenna, her stomach in knots. Why Ylva? She straightened up and walked on, very slowly now. Since the clouds had gathered, she could feel the coolness of the evening, and the little hairs on her arms stood on end.
Had Jonas realized what she was feeling? Maybe that was why he ran away to look for Perry. It hadn’t been shyness at all, as she’d so pathetically imagined. No, he’d realized the truth and raced off before the situation could become too embarrassing!
Jonas knew she was in love with him, and he found it so repulsive that he had to literally run in the opposite direction.
Oh God!
She would never be able to talk to him again. Was he still sitting with Ylva in the summerhouse at this very moment, laughing about her?
“How could that little fattie possibly think I’d ever be into her?” More laughter, more making out. How could she ever look Jonas in the eye again? And how could she possibly stand to be in the same room with Ylva now — it would be unbearable!
She could hear voices. She must have circled the whole estate. She’d left the wild meadows and was back at the vast, manicured lawns. There was the main house, and the stables, the parking lot, the outbuildings. The gate with its bell tower: the way out.
She couldn’t go back to school. She had to leave. There must be an escape route, even though the security guards were patroling everywhere in sight. The catering staff was rushing around, carrying trays of dirty dishes, collecting glasses from wherever they’d been left. There were still a few guests clustered in little groups near the base of the broad flight of steps, having one last conversation, promising to meet again soon, then wandering off together to the parking lot, where their chauffeurs were waiting for them.
Jenna left the shadows of the trees and wiped her tearstained face. Her hair had come loose from its ribbons, and strands now hung down over her shoulders. As she slipped her sandals back on, she felt the pain in the soles of her feet, but there was no time to worry about that now. A few steps in front of her, two champagne glasses sat in the grass; she leaned over and picked them up, then glanced warily around. It might work. After all, her mother had said she looked like a waitress. The dusk was thickening now, but she could still see various discarded objects lying on the grass: scrunched-up napkins, half-empty plates, an ornate fork. Jenna bent down, picked them up, and bent down again. When she had collected so much she could scarcely hold it all, she hurried toward the catering van.
A man in a black suit, his tie neatly knotted and his short, gelled hair as immaculate as if the party had just begun, looked irritably at her.
“Why didn’t you use a tray?” he snapped. “And do you realize how you look?”
Jenna lowered her eyes and didn’t answer. She put the glasses and plates in their separate racks, then grabbed a tray. Mom was right about the blue dress. And for such a big reception, the caterers would have had to take on extra staff — especially northerners, who were cheap to hire and hardworking. There was no way the man could remember every face.
But she mustn’t go too close to the remaining guests, in case one of them recognized her. There was still some light in the sky, even though the clouds were gathering. She crossed the lawn and bent down to pick up one last glass. That was it. Cautiously she made her way back, but she could see at a glance that nearly all the guests had gone and the parking lot was practically empty.
Behind the stables, tables and chairs were being loaded onto trucks, and the cartons of cookware were being sealed for the return journey. There were women and girls sitting in a minivan, packed together on the seats, with crates and boxes between their feet. Jenna went to the rear door, and a friendly hand gripped her arm and helped her up.
“Come in, child,” said the deep, smoky voice of an old woman. “There’s still room for you.”
All of them looked tired.
“Oh dear, what’s the matter? You’ve been crying! Has one of those spoiled —”
Jenna shook her head. The tears began to flow again. But maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing; maybe it would mean they’d leave her alone.
The woman shuffled along the seat. There wasn’t much room to spare. She put her arm around Jenna’s shoulders and drew her close. A strand of hair fell over Jenna’s eyes.
“Go on, honey, you have a good cry!” said the woman.
Jenna sobbed, and someone handed her a handkerchief that had been washed thin. The back door was slammed shut, and the minivan began to move.
“Let it all out, girl,” said the woman, and to her surprise Jenna found her kindness comforting. Perhaps the future wasn’t entirely bleak after all. As the van drove off the grounds and out onto the road, the women talked about the buffet and how amazing it was to see so much fine food and drink in a country hit by shortages.
But Jenna didn’t really listen. She leaned against the soft, motherly shoulder of the woman, and cried till she could cry no more.
Toward midnight the weather changed.
Lightning cut across the sky, thunder rumbled continuously, and rain fell from the dark clouds that had gathered earlier in the evening, so heavily that in less than a minute Jenna’s thin dress was soaked through.
She saw a bus shelter by the side of the road. Its Plexiglas walls were covered in ancient, ugly ads for a “new” brand of ice cream, and had graffiti scrawled all over them. The acrylic was scratched and chipped in places, but the roof was still intact, and it shielded her from the cloudburst.
In her wet dress, with her arms all goose-pimply, Jenna tried to huddle up on the narrow bench. She needed to rest, at least for a few minutes. Her head was swimming from tiredness, but she was too cold to sleep. Her teeth were chattering so loudly it was almost frightening.
She sat up again.
The van had dropped her and the rest of the waitstaff outside a modern building on the outskirts of a little town. The women had all hurried through the door to form a line at one of the counters inside.
Jenna had wanted to run off right there and then, but the woman who had been so kind to her throughout the journey had held her tightly by the shoulder.
“Hey, now,” she’d said. “How can anyone be so tired they forget to collect their pay?”
Jenna had not objected. She had joined the line, and each of the women had been given an envelope for which they’d had to sign. The man at the counter did not even check their names off a list — he must have been tired, too.
Can it really be this easy? thought Jenna. Then she had the envelope in her hand, and the kind woman waved her goodbye and climbed onto a rickety old bicycle. “Are you OK now? Can you get home all right from here?” she’d called.
Jenna had nodded and waved back, then started to walk. She had soon reached the end of the buildings, where a road sign indicated that this was the border of the town. The town’s name meant nothing to Jenna — it was only a tiny place, and they had driven for so long that she realized she must be very far north. There were no stars in the sky, and the moon must have been hidden behind the clouds. She had walked, just to get away, far from the sight of any houses or passersby — wandering aimlessly through the night.
And then the thunderstorm had broken. It was lucky for her that she’d come across the bus shelter.
Jenna listened to her teeth chattering. But it isn’t all bad, is it? she reasoned with herself. I got away, and now I even have some mo
ney.
The rattling on the roof gave way to a gentle patter. I mustn’t catch cold. I’ve got to find somewhere to hide, where it’ll be dry and sheltered, and where I can stay for a while.
And then? Jenna twined her arms around her body, trying to get warm. Que será, será. But I’ll never go back. I can’t take any more.
The rain had stopped. The moon came out from behind a cloud and bathed the wet road in a cold, mysterious light.
I’m not afraid, thought Jenna, getting up. And I’ve got to keep moving, or I really will catch my death of cold in this wet dress. I’ll sleep later, as soon as it’s light and the sun has dried me out.
She felt more awake than before the downpour, and her teeth had stopped chattering. The farther she walked, the warmer she felt. She’d find out where she was heading eventually.
When the short night gave way to a yellowish dawn that promised yet another scorching day, Jenna finally saw a crossroads in the distance. And a signpost — at last!
She walked faster. The signpost had faded from years of sun and rain, and a hunter must have hit it with a stray bullet at some point, because there was a hole where there should have been paint. Even so, the name was clearly legible:
SAARSTAD
What an amazing coincidence! Was this fate? thought Jenna, full of disbelief. Though perhaps it was not quite that amazing. After all, the von Thunberg estate was located in the north of South Island, almost on the sound that separated the two islands of Scandia. Now she knew exactly where she could go to hide.
She clutched the envelope with the money in it, and walked even faster.
They had not left the von Thunberg estate.
“How can I go back to Osterlin while Jenna’s still missing?” asked Margareta. There was an undertone in her voice that made it clear to everyone in the room she was on the verge of hysteria. “She’s got to be around here somewhere! She can’t just have disappeared! This place was so well guarded!”
