A Treacherous Paradise Read Online Free PDF

was Vera who heard the horse. She had gone out to see if the hens had laid any eggs, despite the onset of winter. As she returned empty-handed along the narrow passage that had been dug between the metre-high drifts, she heard the bells. Elin and Hanna came running out when she shouted. The worst of the cold had receded, and it had been thawing during the day: but now there was a covering of new powdery snow over the frozen crust after a snowfall during the night.
    The sound of the bells came closer, then they caught sight of the black horse looking like a troll or a bear at the edge of the forest. The driver, wrapped in furs, tightened the reins and came to a halt just outside the cottage, which was surrounded by deep snow and misery.
    By then Elin had already told Hanna what she had expected to hear.
    ‘It’s Jonathan Forsman.’
    ‘How can you be sure?’
    ‘Nobody else has a black horse like his. And nobody else wears so many furs.’
    Hanna could see that was true when the man in the sleigh had stood up and they all entered the cottage. He was wearing furs from both bears and wolves, had been sitting on a reindeer skin in his sleigh, and had a red fox fur wrapped round his neck. When he wormed his way out of all the furs, which were dripping with snow and sweat, it was like watching a man who had been sitting for too long in front of a fire. His face was red and unshaven, his sweaty hair was stuck to his forehead: but Hanna could see that Elin was right – the man who was going to take her away was neither malicious nor threatening. He was friendly, sat down on a stool beside the fire and gave Elin a present: a hymn book he had bought for her in Røros.
    ‘It’s in Norwegian,’ he said. ‘But the covers are attractive, genuine leather, and the gold embossing sparkles if you keep it clean. Besides, Elin Renström, you can hardly read in any case! Or am I wrong?’
    ‘I can puzzle out the words,’ said Elin. ‘If that amounts to reading, then I can.’
    It was only in the evening, when the younger children were in bed, that Elin broached the subject of Hanna’s journey. They were sitting round the fire. Forsman was resting his enormous hands. Before the youngsters had gone to sleep, he had sung a hymn in his deep, resonant voice. Hanna had never heard a man sing like that before. The vicar who conducted services in Ljungdalen had a soft, squeaky voice. When he sung a hymn it sounded as if somebody was pinching him. But here was a man whose singing even silenced the cold that creaked and groaned in the walls.
    Elin explained the situation. In just a few words, but nothing more was needed.
    ‘Can you take Hanna with you?’ she asked. ‘She has to go to Sundsvall, to relatives who will take care of her.’
    Forsman listened thoughtfully.
    ‘Are you sure?’ he asked.
    ‘Why shouldn’t I be sure? What is there to be doubtful about?’
    ‘That your relatives will look after her? Are they on Renström’s side?’
    ‘No, my side. The Walléns. If it had been Renströms I’d never have dreamt of sending her.’
    Forsman contemplated his hands.
    ‘How long ago was it?’ he asked eventually. ‘That you spoke about it?’
    ‘Four years come this spring.’
    ‘A lot could have happened during that time,’ said Forsman. ‘But I’ll take her with me in any case. So let’s just hope there’s somebody there who’s prepared to accept her.’
    ‘Surely they can’t all have died over the last four years,’ said Elin firmly. ‘Unless there’s been some kind of plague we haven’t heard about up here in the mountains.’
    Forsman now took a good look at Hanna for the first time.
    ‘How old are you?’ he asked.
    ‘I celebrated my eighteenth birthday the other day.’
    Forsman nodded. He asked no more questions. The fire continued burning.
    That night Forsman slept on the floor in front of the fire. He lay on his various fur coats spread out on the floorboards, covered only by the reindeer skin. His horse