White Hunger (Chance Encounter Series) Read Online Free PDF Page A

her head. No, Father is strong, he fetches big trees from the forest with the Lehtos’ horse, even though there is so much snow that Mataleena would sink up to her neck in the drift. But she does not sink; Father lifts her from the sledge and carries her in his arms to the cabin. Winter won’t come in here. There is a baby asleep in a basket hanging on a rope from a roof beam, and Mataleena rocks the baby and sings To-to-tobacco-Ulla . The lullaby makes her think of Ulla, the former mistress of Lehto, who used to sit on the steps in summer smoking a pipe like an old man. When Mataleena would arrive at the Lehtos’ with Father, the old woman would always express surprise that it was time to get to work again. Father would sit next to her and together they would watch the clouds roaming across the sky. They’re heavenly sheep, she would say, and give Mataleena permission to fetch sugar from the kitchen.
    But Mother says the word in the song is rulla , not Ulla .
    The horse is called Voima. When the old woman’s coffin was driven to the church, it drew the cart. Mataleena and Mother were watching as they left the house. Juho was in Mother’s arms. Father drove the cart; Lehto sat next to him, crying. But Mataleena thought of the heavenly sheep and of the old mistress, who would be sitting on a rock the size of a mountain, shepherding them and smoking her pipe.
    Mataleena is looking at the pallid grey sky now – nosign of sheep. Voima stops at a crossroads. The road forms a hollow in the expanse of snow. Fence posts stick out like small, sharp teeth.
    Lehto glances over his shoulder at Marja.
    She shakes her head. ‘Not to the church.’
    Lehto tugs at the reins and Voima begins to pull the sledge towards the neighbouring village. Mataleena realizes that they will not return home. Tears leave warm trails on her cheeks, but they freeze before they reach the corners of her mouth.
    Father is no more.
    Voima snorts, with a swing of the muzzle. The horse’s head looks bigger than before; the rest of its body has shrunk. Then they hear only the grim crunch of the snow under the runners.
    The neighbouring parish is bigger than their own, the church taller. The road descends gently to the river bank, then crosses to the other side via a wooden bridge. There are lots of people near the church: beggars, clearly. Mataleena sees many children her own age. Viewed from the bridge, they blend in with the gravestones; closer up, hats and scarves concealing white faces come into view. Lehto turns the sledge into the road that runs along the river bank, away from the church.
    ‘I’ll take you to the rectory. They’ll know what’s to become of you. I don’t.’
    ‘We’re going to St Petersburg,’ Marja whispers, more to herself than to Lehto.
    ‘Best forget all that. Who knows if it’s possible to get away from here at all…’
    On the river bank stands a great white house. Mataleena guesses it is the rectory, though she has never been here before. Lehto waves at a man with a goatee. The man has eyebrows like an owl’s, covered with frost. Mataleena feels like laughing and hooting at the old fellow, who responds to Lehto’s greeting. Suddenly, the man seizes the reins and restrains the horse.
    ‘You’re not carting your beggars here, surely. Oh, no, you don’t.’
    The old man stares with his owl’s eyes; Mataleena’s laughter freezes.
    ‘You look after your own. We’ve got enough here as it is, no need to ferry in more from neighbouring parishes. And there’s more coming all the time, from the north, the east, the west. We’ll send them on if we don’t know where to return them – a lot of them come from far away. A woman with a small child froze to death yesterday, by the road to the rectory. Don’t bring them here. Oh, no, you don’t.’
    ‘I’m here on my own business, I’m not dumping anyone on you, damn it,’ Lehto growls. He smacks his lips angrily.
    Voima moves forward and the owl lets go of the reins.