Based on a painting by Carl Larsson, 1905
As the world prepared for its first global war, people in the countryside became well aware that they were not safe from attack, as they would be in the big cities. Peter, too, saw this as an unfortunate fact. Wanting only to be alone, he had avoided the large cities in favor of the villages dotting the countries of Western Europe. But the circumstances had dictated that he steer towards the nearest large city, Stockholm.
In the rolling foothills of Southern Sweden roamed a lonely vagabond named Peter Salo. Peter was a tall and brittle man of 45 years. A red wool stocking covered his balding head from the elements of winter while a full beard protected his face. Early signs of wrinkles circled his sad eyes. A lower front tooth was missing, having been knocked out in the carriage accident that took his wife from him and almost took him as well just a year prior. Besides a scar on his left cheek that was covered by the beard, that was the only physical injury he sustained. The emotional scars were life changing though. Guilt and grief had driven him to abandon his comfortable life as a shoemaker in Oslo in exchange for a life of aimlessly wandering from town to town doing odd jobs to afford food and an occasional warm bed.
About two days outside of Stockholm, Peter entered the town of Nordville, population 392. The town was very new, and as such was clean and proper. Trees lined the narrow, paved main street. A few of the houses even had motor carriages parked in front. Peter had seen some before while passing through larger towns but had not been very interested. Since the accident, not even a horse drawn carriage could tempt him to speed his journey. Towards the center of town, set back from the main road, was a small yet impressive white church with a tall dome at one end. Being raised as a Protestant, he could deep down only imagine the evils that went on inside this Catholic church in front of him. In the shadow of his wife�s unfair death, though, he had serious doubt about his or any other religion. Just across the street from the church was the town�s general store. Burlap sacks filled with rice or chicken feed laid stacked up just outside the entry. Further to the right was a bench where two townsfolk sat sipping on steaming beverages. They watched, unblinking, as Peter walked from the street through the store�s front door.
Inside the store there were a few customers and one salesman. Each of them turned and watched as Peter entered and walked to the counter.
�Can I help you with something?� asked the young store clerk with short blonde hair and a stained white apron. It was apparent to Peter the kid was having to put out an effort to appear polite in front of his customers. His English was very good though, much better than his own, as most school children were required to learn the language.
Peter walked up to him and pulled out a couple of bills he had earned working in a farm in Germany. By this time most of the customers had gone back to their business. �Yes,� he said in a low tone with his Norwegian accent coming through heavily, �I would like some bread and some sliced ham please.�
The sadness of the traveler�s voice seemed to soften the clerk a bit. �I�m sorry stranger, we don�t accept German currency here. You�ll have to go into Stockholm and get it traded.�
Not wanting to put up a fight amongst strangers, Peter simply nodded. He turned to walk out of the store but was stopped by a girl�s voice coming from behind him.
�Wait,� she announced, �I�ll get that for you.�
Surprised by the unexpected generosity, Peter slowly turned to see who was talking. Standing before him at the counter was a girl who couldn�t have been much more than 20. She wore a straw sun hat over her long blonde hair that was tied up out of sight. Her dress of solid blue looked to be rather formal for a visit to the store, so he assumed she had either just gotten out of the church across the street or was perhaps the daughter of the town�s leader. He could see that the store clerks� eyes filled with surprise or even jealously, so if for nothing more than a subtle revenge for denying the sale, he answered, �Thank you, I would appreciate that.� He gave her a grateful smile and she returned it with an even bigger one.
As they walked toward the door with their groceries in hand, she happily introduced herself as Laura Sundin.
�Pleased to meet you,� Peter replied, �my name is Peter Salo.� Peter was prepared to thank her again for her kind act and resume his journey when she continued.
�So Peter, you�ve been to Germany?�
�Yes,� he replied, �I�ve passed through.�
�I�ve always wanted to go there. But with this war starting, I don�t know if I�ll ever make it. Your accent isn�t German and you�re definitely not Swedish. Where are you from?�
These questions began to make Peter uncomfortable. He was not used to talking to people anymore, but felt obligated to be polite because of the food she had purchased for him. �I�m from Oslo, Norway.�
�Wow,� she replied to that, �I�ve never met anybody from that far North. What are you doing here, are you on business?�
�Not really.�
�Vacation then? Will you be staying in town?�
�I may stay the night here then I�ll continue to Stockholm tomorrow.�
�Well I�m sure you need a place to stay since the lodge probably won�t accept German bills either,� she said as she grabbed his elbow as to lead him somewhere.
Peter wanted to say that no, he didn�t need a place to stay. But the truth was that being in a town he couldn�t just camp out like he would normally do. It was already beginning to get dark outside and it would be difficult to get across town and find a site to camp at once nighttime had fully arrived. Outside of the store now, they proceeded straight across the street toward the church.
�My father is the Priest here,� she told him, �and he�ll be more than happy to put you up for a night or two. He can even give you a job if you want one. I know the church is looking for a maintenance man and you look like you know how to use your hands.�
Even in the fading light he could see that she blushed as she finished her sentence. Her hand also gripped his arm a little bit tighter but then she seemed to realize it and let go completely. It reminded him of the way his wife would sometimes get shy around him, even after 20 years of marriage. Her blushing reminded him of the way the setting sun shone on his wife�s face as he steered the carriage along the edge of the ravine that evening a year ago. The look on her face as she realized she had squeezed his arm reminded him of the look on his wife�s face as the first wheel slid off the edge of the road.
�I would be grateful for the chance to work for the church,� he said soberly, still thinking about his wife. She could see that he was not very interested in a local Preacher�s daughter but wasn�t about to let that stop her.
The first Sunday mass rolled around just three days later. Peter�s duty was to remain at the rear of the church behind a pillar until the congregation left. He was instructed not to speak to any of the members because they did not like drifters. He was used to that feeling and did not object. But as Laura stood in the aisle with her sun hat on, her hair tucked up out of sight, and her orange dress flowing to the ground, looking at him rather than focusing on her father�s sermon, he realized something: there were still some people out there who could see him as the man he once was. He glanced at Laura and gave her a quick smile. And that felt really good.