“Dear Petter, dear Mona,” he says, now in a normal voice. “Young and lively and irresistible, you stepped straight into our hearts. In the beginning, we didn’t dare to believe you’d stay. Today, we dare to express the hope that we won’t have to change priests for a long time to come. We’ve been given a spiritual guide who understands us, a man who is not only educated but who also possesses great practical competence. In this poor little parish, he can make a real contribution, God willing, a life’s work. For example, we’re working to build a bridge to Church Isle. The foundation has been laid, thanks to the help of a generous Swede, and our vicar himself heads the volunteer effort that began last winter. But more money is needed. Perhaps there is someone at this table who can help us move ahead. This kind of work is one of the chief activities of a priest out here, while at the same time he must preach the word and administer the sacraments. Two tasks of great importance, and we hope that you, Petter, will remain our vicar for years to come, and you, Mona, his tireless helpmate.”
He sits down, and the former verger, retired but in service again on a day like this, rises, beaming as only an old man can, and insists that in the course of his long life he has seen the local priest change so many times that he’s lost count. “Now our only wish, Petter, is that you remain with us.”
It is now so late that the little girls must go to bed. Sanna is very, very tired after her intense participation in the drawn-out events of the day. Lillus, who has taken several naps in the course of the afternoon, is wider awake but still willing. While the speeches continue outdoors, they come down the attic stairs. There are people working in the kitchen, and Cecilia takes the potty into the bedroom along with a bucket of water so they can wash their hands and faces at the washstand. Then they sit in their beds while Cecilia says their evening prayers with them, adding on her own initiative a thank-you for the beautiful weather, which made the day so lovely. Sanna falls asleep almost at once, while Lillus sings and speaks. Cecilia wonders how much she’s understood of what has happened and what she thinks about it. She herself feels a bit superfluous. In the kitchen, they’re preparing coffee and cakes that the pastor’s … the vicar’s wife has made in baking pans. Wild strawberries mashed with sugar with a layer of whipped cream between the layers, topped off with sweetened whipped cream. When the cakes are carried out, there may be some left on the baking sheets, and anyway they’ll need help with the dishes, so she leaves the door ajar and heads for the kitchen.
She stops for a moment in the hall and listens—such a merry babble, and such happy, loud voices. The whole crowd draws its breath when the cakes are put on the table. Delighted cries. Is there no end to his hospitality? Is there no limit to what can be stuffed into a dean’s belly? The bishop helps himself first. With all his authority, he urges the others to be cautious—the cakes are so tall that no matter how thin a piece you cut, your plate will overflow.
Cecilia can see the vicar’s wife in her mind’s eye, smiling and saying, Oh, it’s nothing. They have eaten and eaten all evening long, and now they’re still eating, as if they were trying to make up for the shortage of food all through the long war. Adele sits lost in thought, trying to figure out how much food she would have to order if this whole bunch lived on the Örlands.
The temporal side of the event has also been a great success, and out in the kitchen by the dishpans, the Marthas are in high spirits. When the vicar’s wife comes scurrying in to ask if they don’t need to take a break, sit down, have a cup of coffee and taste the cake, they say yes indeed but they’ll soon be done and then the coffee will taste extra good. “It went really well,” says Lydia Manström, who is working in the kitchen as a Martha even though she has every right to sit at the table like a Mary, that is to say, as a member of the vestry. Quietly she wonders if they’re never going to leave, and the vicar’s wife laughs and says she thinks they’ve started to discuss it. The long-distance guests have their transportation all arranged—the Coast Guard cutter is waiting patiently. Mona is exhilarated and happy even though she’s so tired she’s reeling. But now she must go back out again, because she can hear that people are starting to stand up, singing their thanks before they leave the table, and Petter is already on the steps asking for her. And so they stand arm and arm and say farewell to their guests, although they’ll be going down to the dock to say farewell again, so hard it is for all of them to part.
The vestry and the council also head off in the wake of the surging Coast Guard cutters, but for them a quick reunion awaits. The very next day, all the Örlanders who helped or contributed to the celebration are invited back for coffee, which will give them a chance to relive the events of the day in relative peace and quiet and allow the priest and his wife to thank everyone properly, as they deserve, with great warmth, communal song, and the love and respect of their new vicar.
But now, finally, they stand there stupefied—Petter and Mona, Grandma and Grandpa. Thanks to the Coast Guard, the house is not full of overnight guests. Grandma and Grandpa are to sleep in the guest room, Cecilia in the attic. It is utterly quiet, a slight chill in the air, and they shiver as they stand on the steps. Petter, who has been standing as if bewitched, shakes himself loose. “Now let’s go in. Wouldn’t it be nice if we all caught cold on the warmest day of the year? We’ll have a cup of tea, and then everyone to bed.”
Mona looks out across the desolate party site. A couple of her finely woven tablecloths overlapping on the long table are covered with ugly sauce and coffee stains, but it’s a small price to pay. Before they went home, the Marthas did a huge job— all the serving dishes, platters, and bowls have been cleared, washed, and sorted according to where they came from. There is warm water on the stove, and before long it’s boiling and everyone gets a cup of tea. Not even father Leonard has more to say. The lively conversations, speeches, and babble of the day echo in everyone’s head, along with the music from the organ and the breasts of the Örlanders. Cecilia has said goodnight and gone up, the others say goodnight and pour wash water into pitchers and go to bed. The vicar and his wife long to lie flat on their backs and say a few words, entire sentences if they have the strength, before they sleep.
But Mona has a hard time relaxing. It’s midnight, but she worries that there aren’t enough pastries left over for the locals. She set aside a considerable quantity of sweet rolls in the cellar, but at some point during the day she grew nervous and pinched some of the reserve and put them on the table. In the middle of the night, she stands in the cellar with a flashlight in her hand and counts sweet rolls and counts Örlanders and counts the people who may wander in uninvited. If no one takes two, there may be enough.
It is not true that you can lay your troubles before the Lord and lay your head calmly to rest, trusting in Him, because the church of Christ is heavily dependent on its ground crew. Ask and you shall receive—well, yes you shall, if someone has done the baking and set the table. Everyone has thanked God for this fine day, and Mona can go so far as to thank Him for her health and strength, which, thanks to Doctor Gyllen, allows her once again to work like a dog. But if the dog didn’t work, they’d all sit there twiddling their thumbs while their stomachs rumbled. Miracles are thin on the ground; work is everywhere waiting to be done!