Farewell to Freedom Read Free Page B

through her veins, triggered by Markus’s distress. She pictured his cheerful face, his short, spiky hair that he styled every morning with gel and hairspray. He was quite grown-up for an eleven-year-old, but still enough of a child to call his mother when something upset him.
    She had her wallet in her lap as they reached the white Lutheran church with a red tile roof.
    â€œYou should have told me that you were going to pay with a credit card before we started,” the cab driver said. He flashed her a look of irritation in the rearview mirror as she passed him her card.
    â€œLook, do you want to get paid or not?” she asked, gathering her handbag from the floor.
    A moment later she was out of the cab, making her way down the side of the church. A police car drove past and turned into the parking lot next to the cemetery. Camilla followed the path to the back of the church and the courtyard in front of the parsonage. The pastor, Henrik Holm, greeted her in the doorway, holding a little bundle in his arms. Markus ran over to Camilla from the kitchen chair where he had been sitting, with his friend Jonas close on his heels, who greeted her with that slightly hoarse voice of his that Markus thought was so cool.
    The pastor tried to hush them as they both started talking at once, telling Camilla that they had been on their way out that morning when they heard a baby crying. But their eager explanation was interrupted by the piercing chime of the doorbell. The boys raced excitedly out of the kitchen and through the rooms to the front door to let the police in.
    â€œWhat exactly is going on?” Camilla asked hurriedly once she was alone with the pastor.
    He had sat down, rocking the bundle calmly back and forth.
    â€œI sent the boys off just before 9:30 and was standing in the doorway watching them cross the courtyard. Suddenly they stopped and stood still for a moment, and then they started running toward the church. I went out to tell them they needed to get going or they’d be late for the field trip. And that’s when they came rushing back, yelling something about a baby crying.”
    Camilla leaned in over the infant in the pastor’s arms. The tiny face was sleeping calmly, the thick, dark hair plastered to its head.
    â€œIs it a boy or a girl?” she asked.
    â€œIt’s a baby girl,” he replied, turning to look toward the living room as they heard footsteps crossing the parquet floor.
    â€œLet me put some water on for coffee while you talk to the police,” Camilla suggested, and then she greeted the two officers who came into the kitchen.
    â€œHello,” the pastor said in a voice close to a whisper. “She just fell asleep, but otherwise she’s been crying nonstop ever since the boys found her.”
    The officers nodded sympathetically, which signaled to Camilla they must have children of their own and knew first-hand how important it was to avoid waking her.
    â€œWhere did you find her?” one of the officers asked as he turned to look at Jonas and Markus, who suddenly seemed nervous and shy.
    â€œBy the front entrance of the church,” they said, but when they didn’t say anything else, the pastor took over.
    â€œThe boys were on their way to school when they heard her,” he explained and then nodded to Camilla who was gesturing at a kitchen cupboard as she searched for the coffee.
    â€œShe was lying on the stone floor just inside the door, wrapped in this.” The pastor fingered the dark blue terrycloth towel that was wrapped around the infant’s body.
    The baby girl stirred uneasily as the officer moved the blue towel from her face, but she didn’t wake up.
    â€œI think she’s exhausted from all the crying,” the pastor said. Then he explained that he’d finally gotten her to calm down when he remembered that, many years ago, he used to soothe Jonas by stroking his face in little circular motions.
    â€œI