We have now arrived at the place where we will be staying. It’s an island in the sea. We came out by boat, which was very exciting. I have a second-floor room with a view of the sea. Everyone is very kind. We’ve already learned a little Swedish. It’s not very hard.

I hope you will soon be getting your entry visas for America. Then all four of us will be together again. But until that day, you needn’t worry about Nellie and me. We are fine here, and there is even a dog. It’s brown and white, and we are allowed to play with it all the time. I will write again soon and tell you more.

Your daughter,

Stephie

She writes the address on the envelope, folds the letter, and slips it in. She licks the flap and presses the envelope closed. Now all she needs is a stamp.

Aunt Märta is sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. Stephie shows her the letter.

“A stamp,” she tries to say. “I need a stamp.”

She points to the top right-hand corner of the envelope. Aunt Märta nods and says something. Stephie thinks she recognizes the word “post.” Maybe they will have to go to the post office for stamps. Probably.

“Coffee?” Aunt Märta asks, pointing to her own cup. Stephie shakes her head. Coffee is for grown-ups. Aunt Märta goes to the larder and brings out the pitcher of milk. She holds it in one hand and pretends to lift a glass to her lips with the other. Stephie nods and smiles. Aunt Märta looks kind of funny when she tries to talk to her.

We’re like two deaf-mutes, Stephie thinks. Deaf-mutes who can’t communicate in any language.

Aunt Märta gives Stephie a glass of milk, and Stephie drinks it to the last drop. Then Aunt Märta puts the palms of her hands together, leans her cheek on her hands, and shuts her eyes. Stephie nods again. She’s very tired now.

“Good night,” she says, going upstairs.

She changes into her long flannel nightgown, washes, and brushes her teeth. She folds the bedspread very carefully, then hangs it over the foot of the bed. Her clothes are neatly folded on the chair.