The Lily Pond

by Annika Thor

  Monday is the big day, when May and her family are moving from their one-room apartment in Mayhill to the new one in Sandarna. And Stephie’s moving in with them. She, May, and Britten are going to share a room. It’s a bright room with a linoleum floor and blue-and-white striped wallpaper. Stephie knows because she’s been along to inspect the new place.

  She nods. “I don’t have that much to pack. Since I sleep on the settle in Miss Björk’s kitchen, I haven’t spread out. Everything is in my suitcase.”

  “Oh, look,” says May. “Isn’t that Sven?”

  Stephie’s heart stops. Yes, it’s Sven all right. He’s standing outside the fence, with no cap in spite of the cold, and with his brown hair hanging in his eyes.

  She hasn’t seen him in five weeks.

  Her first impulse is to hide, pulling May with her into a doorway on the schoolyard and not coming out again. But he’s already spotted her. He’s looking at her now.

  “See you Monday,” she says to May.

  She walks slowly toward Sven and stops inside the fence. Somehow it feels right to keep the fence between them.

  “Stephanie,” he says. “How are you?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  Stephie knows she sounds rude, but like the fence, an unfriendly tone of voice is a way to protect herself.

  “I have a letter for you. From your parents. Here.”

  He passes her a long, thin envelope. She glances at it. Papa’s handwriting. German stamp.

  “Thank you.”

  Putting the letter in her pocket, she steps back from the fence.

  “Stephanie,” Sven says again, in a pleading tone. “Couldn’t we talk for a while?”

  “What about?”

  “Don’t be angry with me,” he says. “Come along, just for a few minutes.”

  “Where to?”

  “The lily pond?”

  They walk side by side along the path to the pond. Their shadows fall on the snow, blue and long.

  “I’ve missed you,” says Sven.

  “You have her, don’t you?”

  She can’t make herself say the name. Irja.

  “Don’t be silly,” says Sven. “You are you. No one can replace you. I want us to be friends. Couldn’t we?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Can we try?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I understand,” he says. “I hurt you, although I had no intention of doing so. Can you believe me if I tell you I had no idea about your feelings? I saw you as a little sister, a friend, but never … And I should have told you about Irja, but I was so afraid Father would find out that I didn’t dare to tell anyone. Can you forgive me?”

  He’s stopped at the edge of the pond and turned to face her so she has to look him in the eye.

  “Stephanie?”

  “All right,” she says. “Yes, I forgive you. I was in the wrong, as well. I believed what I wanted to believe. I heard what I wanted to hear you say, not what you actually said.”

  “So are we friends now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good,” Sven says with a smile. “Putte’s missed you, too.”

  There’s one more thing she needs to find out.

  “Have you told your parents about Irja?”

  Sven looks shamefaced. “Not yet. I guess I’m not as heroic as I’d like to be. And I’m certainly not as brave as you are.”

  “There’s nothing brave about me.”

  “You are the most courageous person I know,” Sven tells her. “You and Irja. She’s only two years older than me, but she’s been through such a lot. Real things, not just the kind of stuff that happens at school. She’s had a job since she was thirteen. And you know what? She’s part of a group that helps Norwegian refugees. They receive them when they arrive, and help them stay clear of the police. She’s incredible. I know you’d like her if you got to know her.”

  Before they go their separate ways, Sven asks Stephie for her new address.

  “I’ll be in touch,” he says. “And you know where to find me. I’d like to take you to another concert and to the pastry shop. Or just walk Putte together. All right?”

  “All right.”

  “Are you going in my direction?”

  “No, I’m staying with Miss Björk. She lives up that way.”

  “Bye, then.”

  She stands there and watches him walk away. His neck is slim above the collar of his coat.

  Sven, she thinks. Sven, Sven.

  But she doesn’t find the thought painful.

  Soon she’ll go to Hedvig Björk’s and pack her things. She has to walk past the big house behind the stone wall where Alice lives. But first she’s going to read Papa’s letter. She sits down on the bench by the pond and opens the envelope with her index finger.

  Dearest Stephie,

  Mamma and I received your letter about moving and are certain that if this is what you and your foster parents think is best for you, then it is. From here, it is difficult to know exactly what your life is like now. All we hope is that the people who are there for you when we are not are wise and kind, and that your own good sense leads you in the right direction.

  Mamma is still a convalescent, but she is gradually getting better. If only we had good, nutritious food, I am sure she would soon be completely healthy. At least for the moment she does not have to work. The synagogue helps us out with a little money and will continue to do so until she is well. Until recently, there was no way we could think about emigration, but now we are beginning to, and will soon try to arrange it again.

  There are rumors that the Germans plan to evacuate all the Jews from Vienna. Those who have not managed to emigrate to the free parts of the world will, they say, be deported east, to Poland. However, this is all just rumor, and we might actually be better off there than if we stay here.

  Dearest Stephie, I should not have to write this kind of a letter to a child, and indeed you are still a child, even if you have turned thirteen. A girl of your age shouldn’t have to think about anything but her homework, her friends, and having fun. However, in less than three years, our lives have taken a turn none of us could ever have predicted, and you, our children, have had to grow up early.

  Still, I know that you and Nellie are better off than the—fortunately not too many—children of your age who are still here in Vienna. To us, your letters are proof that there is still somewhere in the world where it is possible to live what you might call a decent life. We—Mamma and I—still hope to be reunited with you, but if it takes time, I am asking you to take care of Nellie and never forget who you are or where you came from.

  All my love,

  Your papa

  Stephie looks up from the stationery and across the pond. The yellowed frozen lily pads resemble spots of dirt sticking up from the ice. Still, she knows that under the surface their strong stalks are intertwined and reach down to the bottom, where they are rooted. The plants are alive, although the leaves are dead.

  She folds the letter and puts it in her coat pocket. She feels something hard there. It’s the amulet Sven gave her. The amulet for good luck. It has been in her pocket for five weeks, and she hasn’t bothered to get rid of it.

  Stephie takes the amulet out of her pocket, threads it back onto the silver chain she has around her neck, and puts it on, pushing it under her coat and her cardigan.

  She’s going to need it.

  ANNIKA THOR was born and raised in a Jewish family in Göteborg, Sweden. She has been a librarian, has written for both film and theater, and is the author of many books for children, young adults, and adults. She lives in Stockholm.

  A Faraway Island and The Lily Pond are the first two novels in a quartet featuring the Steiner sisters, which has been translated into numerous languages and has garnered awards worldwide. Swedish television also adapted the books into a hugely popular eight-part series. A Faraway Island received the Mildred L. Batchelder Award for an outstanding children’s book ori
ginally published in a foreign language.