Neither of them spoke again until they turned off the road and parked next to the chapel.
23
The service went poorly. Everyone was on the same page about that, in hindsight. What no one could agree on was the exact point at which it began to go south. Some said they could sense it in the air the moment they stepped into the chapel. Others claimed it was when Sander and, especially, Killian arrived, given Killian’s appearance.
Some people claimed it all started with the police. They walked in in their uniforms, both Gerd and Siri, and took seats in the back.
According to Isidor himself, it was when the Söderström family, or what was left of it, arrived. People had already been talking about them in the pews, of course, wondering if they would attend, but no one had actually expected them to. Yet there they were: Karl-Henrik, Lillemor, and Filip, with the ghost of Mikael a cold, dark absence trailing after them.
This Sunday, attendance at the chapel was better than it had been in years, probably on account of Friday night’s tragic incident. A small choir, among them Sander’s and Killian’s mothers, would stand outside in the chilly air to sing after the service, and mulled wine and gingerbread cookies would be served. Isidor waited up in the chancel, surrounded by Christmas decorations. Two Christmas trees with warm lights and deep-red ornaments glowed alongside candles in a variety of holders.
It looked peaceful, but Isidor felt doubt and the itch of gamblinggrow within his hands. It was where he always felt the expectations of the motley congregation as they waited to hear him speak.
Everyone was thinking of Mikael. Where was he now? Was he listening? Who knows what really happens to the dead? Several times over the weekend, folks had experienced a shimmer in the air, a sudden will-o’-the-wisp. Could have been an illusion, light reflecting off a closing door somewhere nearby or a truck passing on the road.
Maybe not. It almost felt like he was still around.
The world of Skavböke was no longer solid. It had begun to shift like melting ice.
Killian’s father, Sten, arrived late and last of all. He stepped in like a larger, more haggard version of his son and glanced at Linda, who turned to stare stubbornly at the windows. Sten strode up to Isidor and shook his hand.
“It’s been a while since I was last here,” he said to the pastor. “But I felt like…I thought I ought to…you know.”
Isidor smiled and nodded kindly.
Madeleine sat on the other side of the center aisle, her crutches leaning against the pew, busy trying to keep her injured leg straight. When she and Sten noticed each other, their gazes lingered.
This was the first time many of the young folks had seen each other since the party. That was why some were only now noticing Killian’s nose. People tried to keep from staring.
“Do you know what happened?” Jakob whispered to Sander, who was sitting closest to him.
As Sander briefly recounted the accident, Jakob looked perplexed.
“He fell on his nose?”
“That’s what he said. I don’t know, I wasn’t there.”
The service began and Isidor spoke about them, about the village and the terrible thing that had happened. Gathering here, all together, was one way to find strength in one another. So far so good, but suddenly he seemed clueless about what to say next, if only that they should start to search for that strength, without detailed instructions of how to begin.
“On the fourth Sunday of Advent, the angel Gabriel appeared to Mary and told her she would give birth to the son of God,” he said tentatively.
Then he spoke about the Lord, who was tender, slow to wrath, and full of love. Gracious to all, benevolent toward his creation. In response to the tribulations of earthly life he offers a single comfort: mercy.
Isidor tried to choose his words carefully, and this was certainly obvious, but it still seemed as though he kept slipping up. Afraid of missing the important words, he said far too many.
He reached for a hymnal and openedit.
During the hymn, which was sung without accompaniment, Sander leaned toward Jakob and whispered, “Did you talk to them?”
Jakob shook his head.
He had come home after the party to find the house unusually chilly. Someone had broken a pane of the glass door in the back, facing the yard, and had stuck in their hand to turn the lock.
“You should tell them,” Sander whispered, nodding discreetly back at the rear of the chapel, where the cops sat. “Since they’re here.”
Jakob shrank back as though Sander had demanded he confess his sins, and shook his head. The hymn faded and a sense of emptiness trickled into the pews. Someone coughed.
“Why not?” Killian said, and when Jakob looked confused, he added, “Your parents are going to figure it out when they see the hole in the glass. They’re going to ask questions.”
