Page 251 of These Tears

‘Our family,’ Sunna continues, ‘we searched for ways to bring my sister’s boy back, but men like Arthur have ways, too…’

Several intakes of breath fall into the nothing before Inga repositions her cheek against her mother’s back.

‘Arthur allowed him one summer here when he was ten,’ Sunna says, voice roughening over his name. ‘By then, he had papers, solicitors, everything on his side. We knew if we tried keeping Jakob, Arthur would make sure we never saw him again.’

She takes a deep breath and turns her eyes towards the flames. ‘That summer… Jakob came frightened and curious. But never as a stranger. He was the boy our family had lost.’

‘And he kept coming after he was eighteen,’ Mee adds with a comforting smile, though everyone is still looking at Sunna.

A loaded kind of silence takes over the space. Several heavy heartbeats live within it.

And then Inga unfurls from her mother with a brighter smile. ‘Remember that summer when he stayed longer for the first time?’

Sunna takes a deep breath, and it feels as if it were the room taking it instead.

‘Each summer after that, he stayed a little longer.’ She takes Inga’s hand in hers as they both look at me. ‘My mother said the land recognised him. He built with Anders and the men. Learnt to listen to the lake, to obey the weather. Slept outside when the house felt too full. Frida never got to see him grow into this place, but we did.’

My insides rearrange themselves. All those things he’s been teaching me suddenly feel more than mere lessons.

They are pieces of him handed down by people he loves, by people who loved him enough to give him that.

And maybe this is all Elias knows how to give.

Inga walks over to the trinket box with the silver spilling out and picks out a picture, then brings it over to me.

A girl in her late teens sits on a large boulder, her body turned away while her face looks back towards the camera.

‘Oh.’ The rest of the tent falls out of focus. The photograph is imperfect, but the girl commands every inch of the frame. ‘Is that her?’

Sunna hums warmly in confirmation from the middle of the tent, as history breathes life into the moment.

The picture keeps me enthralled. Because her eyes… they’re the same as Elias’.

And suddenly the sadness that lives on his face has somewhere to belong.

‘Frida never got a chance to wear this,’ Sunna says and touches the gákti. ‘Now it’s something for the woman who would one day love her son enough to bring him fully home.’

The air leaves me quietly, but once it’s gone, it doesn’t return.

‘And for that,’ she whispers, ‘you have our gratitude, Leah. With this, we would like to welcome you to our family.’

I look down at the fabric in my hands. All that colour. All the grief, labour and care woven through generations of hands.

My fingers give a quick shake, but it’s so abrupt that the silver at the edges makes a faint, accusing chime.

This… this is a mother’s absence. A family’s forgiveness and invitation. A place at a fire I haven’t earned.

‘I need a moment,’ I whisper, my voice breaking.

Inga reaches for me, but I’m already handing the gákti over to Mee as carefully as if it might turn to ash in my hands.

Sunna catches her daughter by the wrist. ‘Let her breathe.’

The lávvu tilts around me as I stumble. I make it as far as the hide flap before another blanket lands around my shoulders. I accept it because I know they won’t let me leave without it. No one argues with me further.

Outside, they guide me to a folded reindeer hide beside the bonfire. My body remembers the mountain too clearly for me to welcome the cold against my face.

And I clutch the blankets tight beneath the deep-blue northern sky with my heart trying to claw its way out.