An Uncommon Family (4 page)

When the girls opened the door, three pairs of shocked eyes looked at them. Anna and Maja’s aunt came rushing toward them.

“For Heaven’s sake, where have you been? What are you doing outside in the middle of the night? You scared the heck out of us. We were just getting ready to look for you,” Anna exclaimed. She was dressed in sweatpants, a flannel shirt, and a jacket. She brushed a lock of tangled hair out of her pale face. 

“We’re sorry,” Karla said. “We didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I woke up and wanted to check on you. You were gone, the window and the shutters were open. I saw Maja’s bicycle. So I called her aunt and uncle. What were you thinking, sneaking out like that and running around in the middle of the night?” Anna touched Karla’s hand. “And you’re all frozen. Take off your shoes and socks.” Anna got two large towels out of the bathroom and two pairs of dry socks. The girls stripped off their muddy shoes and wet socks. It was only now that Karla noticed how cold she was. She began to shiver. Anna helped her dry her feet and put on clean socks.

“You’re going to get it.” Maja’s uncle, a tall, skinny man with a black beard and angry, penetrating eyes, pointed his finger at Maja. “We were just about to call the police. We thought you’d run away.”

“We . . . we wanted to see our mamas. Grandma said . . .” Maja burst into tears.

Karla tried to explain. “Her grandma told Maja that during a full moon children can see into Heaven and—”

“What a bunch of crap,” the uncle shouted.

“Why don’t we listen to what they have to say?” Anna pulled Karla close. “All right, start from the beginning.” She brushed a strand of hair out of Karla’s face.

After the girls described their nightly adventure and the disappointment of not seeing their mothers after all, it was quiet in the room. Maja’s aunt, a short, stocky woman dressed in black, had tears in her eyes. She hugged Maja and talked to her quietly in a foreign language.

Maja’s uncle still paced the floor but seemed less angry. He shook his head. “Your grandmother is a superstitious old bat,” he muttered.

“Andro, please.” Maja’s aunt shook her head and hugged her niece.

“Well, it’s true; she shouldn’t fill the child’s head with such nonsense. It’s bad enough having to listen to all the crazy vampire stories she tells her. It only makes things worse. Your mother is dead, Maja. She’s with God in Heaven, but we can’t see her. Nobody can.” He sounded upset again.

Karla remembered Maja’s fear of punishment. She turned to Anna. “Are we going to get a spanking now?”

Anna gave Karla a puzzled look, then smiled. “Of course not. Promise me, though. Never do this again. Next time you want to go on a mission like this, you have to tell me. All right?”

Karla nodded and hugged Anna.

Maja’s uncle wasn’t appeased as easily. He glared at Maja. “You sure deserve a beating. Scaring us like this.”

“They didn’t mean any harm and I’m sure they learned their lesson, right?” Anna said.

The two girls nodded.

 “I think it’s time we had a hot cup of tea to calm our frazzled nerves. The girls should go to bed. Why don’t you let Maja sleep here? That way she can get warm and have a few hours of sleep. I’ll bring her home in the morning. What do you say?” Anna turned to Maja’s relatives.

“All right, I guess,” her uncle muttered. He narrowed his eyes and pointed his finger at Maja. “You better behave. And don’t think this is over with.” After a short hesitation, he bent down and gave her a quick hug.

Karla felt relieved. No spanking for Maja this time.

After the girls were tucked away in Karla’s bed—Maja wearing one of Karla’s warm flannel nightgowns—Anna brought two cups of hot milk with honey. Drinking the soothing liquid, Karla realized how tired she was. She was almost asleep by the time Anna turned off the light.

“Your aunt sure is nice,” Maja whispered as they were lying in the dark.

“Yeah, she is,” Karla murmured.

Chapter 7

Anna was exhausted after the turbulent night but too keyed up to go back to sleep. She took a hot shower and got dressed, built a fire in the woodstove, and made a pot of coffee. Soon the scent of dark French roast mixed with the fragrance of burning beech logs filled the living room.

She sat by the window, watching the milky light of dawn spreading across the fields. Normally, she loved the early morning hours, the transition from dark to light, the way trees, meadows, and houses emerged from the shadows. A new day meant hope, new chances, fresh possibilities. This morning, however, Anna was preoccupied. She was worried about Karla, about her troubles in school and her inability to accept the death of her mother. Then again, it was natural that Karla still grieved. Perhaps Anna was expecting too much too soon.

Anna loved Karla and couldn’t even imagine living without the child anymore. Periodically, however, she was overcome by self-doubt. How could she—a middle-aged woman with no experience of raising children—ever be a good enough guardian or mother for a troubled little girl? When she expressed her misgivings to her uncle or her friends, they reassured her that she was doing a marvelous job. “She’ll come around; don’t be so impatient.”

In her conscious mind, Karla knew her mother was gone and would never come back. Her emotions, however, had not accepted that cruel truth. Anna had told her that her mother would always be with her in spirit, but of course this was an even vaguer concept for a six-year-old than it was for an adult. What did this mean, “in spirit”?

“Can Mama hear me? Can she see me? Where is she now?”

Anna tried to be as honest as possible. She admitted she didn’t know but seeing Karla’s sad face, she couldn’t help but give her some encouragement, even if she knew she was faking.

“We don’t know for sure, Karla. But I believe the dead are in Heaven. God takes good care of them and, yes, I believe they can hear and see us. But, honey, they can’t come back.”

“Why not?”

“That’s a secret we human beings don’t know. Only God knows why that is.”

“I’m mad at God,” Karla said with tears in her eyes.

Anna swallowed and took a deep breath. Her first reaction was to tell Karla that was wrong, but she caught herself. How many times since her mother’s and sister’s deaths had she quarreled with God herself, a god she wasn’t even sure she believed in.

“I know, Karla. Sometimes I’m angry at God, too. It’s okay. But even if we can’t understand him, we have to trust him. And that’s very hard sometimes.”

Anna took another sip of coffee. By now, the first sun rays had managed to rise above the treetops. The dewdrops on the leaves of the trees and plants glimmered. The sky was cloudless; it would be another sunny day.

I have to learn to trust as well
, Anna thought.

Chapter 8

Jonas had set up a still life for Karla and explained some basic concepts, such as contour drawing and shading. On a small table, he had placed a couple of apples, a tall vase, and a shawl that he had draped over part of the vase, so Karla could practice drawing the folds. He had moved the table next to the balcony door. The light from outside fell sideways onto the objects, throwing shadows onto the table.

Karla seemed unfocused and distracted this morning. Jonas watched as the child began to sketch without her normal enthusiasm. Her lines were hesitant, she kept erasing them, and finally she put the pencil down and sighed.

“What’s the matter, Karla? You’re not feeling well?”

Karla shook her head and tears were gathering in her eyes. “I dreamt something bad,” she said.

“Oh? What was it?”

“It was all red and there were dead people. I think they were dead.” Karla’s voice quivered.

Jonas was aware of Karla’s occasional nightmares about the accident that killed her mother. “Tell you what. Why don’t we take a break? I feel like some hot chocolate. What about you?”

Karla nodded. “Okay.” She slid down from her chair and followed Jonas into the kitchen.

Jonas heated up some milk and put hot-chocolate powder into two mugs. “Why don’t you get the can with the whipped cream out of the refrigerator?” he said. “We’ll have a special treat today.”

“Whipped cream in a can?” Karla gave him a puzzled look.

“Yes, there it is.” Jonas pointed to a can in the compartment of the refrigerator door.

“Is this any good?” Karla scrunched her face as she examined the can. “Anna always makes whipped cream from scratch.”

Jonas laughed. “Well, it’ll have to do. It’s not as good as when you whip it yourself, but it’s not bad. I’m a little lazy when it comes to cooking. You know, being by myself. Eva, my wife, always made it from scratch, too.”

Jonas poured the milk into the mugs, shook the bottle of whipped cream, and squeezed a dollop out of it. “Try it.” He handed a mug to Karla.

Karla took a sip and licked some of the whipped cream off the top. “Good,” she said.

They sat on the couch in the living room, sipping hot chocolate. Karla put her mug down on the table and walked over to the wall to look at a photo of Eva. She stood in front of the picture, seemingly absorbed, then turned around. “She’s very pretty.”

Jonas nodded. “Yes, she was beautiful.”

Karla came back to the sofa and picked up her mug again. After she took another sip, she gazed at Jonas with her large dark eyes. “Do you dream about her sometimes?”

“Yes, quite often.”

“Do you have scary dreams?”

“Not scary; sometimes they’re sad. I dream of her when she was ill and that makes me sad. Sometimes I dream of her when she was still healthy and young. These are beautiful dreams, but when I wake up and realize that she’s gone, I get sad.”

Karla nodded. She wrinkled her forehead and when she looked at him again, her face was sad. “I don’t want to have scary dreams about my mama. I only want happy dreams.”

“Do you have happy dreams about her sometimes?”

“Yes, sometimes I dream we’re still together and we live in the Ticino and we’re with Lena.”

“Lena?”

“She’s my mama’s friend and she watched me when Mama was working.”

“What about the scary dreams?”

Karla hesitated. “It’s just gobs of red and my mama calls for help . . . and I can’t help her because I’m stuck somewhere.” Karla’s voice broke.

Jonas pulled her close and hugged her. “Karla, Anna told me about the accident. You were strapped in your booster. You couldn’t have helped your mother. Both your mother and grandmother died instantly. They didn’t have to suffer and they couldn’t have called you. You had a shock and that’s why you have these dreams.”

Jonas hesitated. “Dreams have their own language. It’s a language of pictures and sometimes these pictures are confusing for us. Some dreams, such as your nightmare, keep coming back. Perhaps they want to tell us something, but they don’t tell us in words. Let’s take your dream about your mother calling you for help. Now, we know your mother didn’t call you for help, because she was dead. So why do you dream that she’s calling you?”

“I don’t know,” Karla said.

“Perhaps the dream isn’t about what really happened. It’s about you feeling guilty. The voice you hear in your dream isn’t your mother’s voice. It is your ‘feeling guilty’ voice. It’s that little being in you that tells you that it’s your fault that your mother died.” Jonas gently squeezed Karla’s arm. “But it’s not true. It’s not your fault. The voice is lying.”

Karla looked at him shocked. “Then what can I do when it calls?”

“You have to tell it to shut up.”

Karla gave a hesitant smile. “I can’t talk in my dream.”

“Well, if you can’t say it while dreaming, you can say it after you wake up. You can tell the voice to go away. Your mama is at peace now. She doesn’t need your help. She wouldn’t be calling you for help now. And you know what else?”

Karla shook her head.

“Your mother wants you to be happy. So, perhaps, we can do something to chase the dreams away.”

“What?” Karla asked.

“When you have a bad or scary dream, then the next morning you can draw or paint it. Paint what the dream feels like to you. The painting doesn’t have to have real things. Perhaps just colors. Perhaps when you see the dream on paper, then it may not be that scary anymore.”

Karla gave a hesitant nod.

“Let’s try it. Think about the dream you had last night and make a drawing or a painting. Paint what it feels like.” Jonas got up and pulled a large drawing pad out of his desk. He put it in front of Karla and handed her a box of oil pastels.

Karla loved oil pastels. She hesitated at first, then began to draw and paint. After a while, the picture took on the form of a brown-red monster with large fiery eyes and a wide-open mouth. She drew a speech bubble in front of its mouth and wrote in her childlike handwriting “Help Help” on it, and underneath the picture “Go away.”

“There,” she said and put the crayon down. She took a deep breath and smiled. Her face was flushed from excitement.

“Great, I like it,” Jonas said.

There was a knock at the door. It was Anna to pick up Karla from her lesson. Jonas looked at her surprised. She looked different—younger, better. He wanted to make her a compliment but couldn’t figure out what it was that had changed her. A new outfit? She was wearing black slacks and a black-and-blue patterned blouse, which flattered her facial color and emphasized her blue-gray eyes, but that’s not what it was . . . he finally saw it. “Your hair?”

Anna blushed. “Yeah. My hairdresser talked me into adding highlights.”

“It looks great,” Jonas said.

“Thank you.” Anna gave an embarrassed smile, then walked over to Karla and looked at the painting of the monster. “Whoa, that’s one scary picture.”

Jonas shrugged. “We had a little therapy session.”

Anna hugged Karla, then smiled at Jonas. “Thanks.”

Chapter 9

Anna had just finished reading stories from Dr. Seuss’s
Sleep Book
, one of Karla’s favorites. Although Karla was able to read herself, she enjoyed listening to Anna reading before going to sleep. Anna had a soothing voice and it made Karla feel good. She was even better at reading and telling stories than her mama had been. She remembered the times Aunt Anna had come to visit her when she still lived at home. Her mother had always let Anna read stories to Karla. She would sit next to Karla and they would both listen.