Eight

The days on the farm pass, as if no war had ever existed.

Erik and Benjamin work endless hours in the fields; Rebecka runs the house and the farmyard.

They are indefatigable, tireless, stoic, and given the tragedy of their daughter, David decides, they are still people with life inside them.

Only once does he hear anything like a complaint.

“There’s much to do,” Rebecka tells him one afternoon, as she makes his special tea. “Always so much to do on a farm, but nothing compared to when we harvest the wheat. That’s when the work really starts.”

Even then, David detects no self-pity in what she says. It is simply their life here, on the island, on the farm.

“When do you cut the grain?” David asks. He is struck by a desire to help. If it’s not too soon, his ankle might be better enough.

“After the grain moon.”

“The grain moon? What’s that?”

“Just what it says. We still use the old names for the moons here, the full moons. They come from the land, from life on the land. Calf moon, when the animals give birth, leaf moon, when the leaves return to the trees. The flower moon. Grain moon.”

David nods, thoughtfully.

“I like those,” he says. “I like those a lot. And when is the grain moon?”

“The day after tomorrow,” Rebecka says, and David knows then he won’t be able to help.