I don't know much about the remainder of Josephine's childhood, but one of her granddaughters would later write, "She was mistreated by the foster parents who raised her." Because it's implicitly written in multiple historical records that corporal punishment was legal to inflict on wives, children, and employees; meaning it was an acceptable practice for men in positions of power within any given household to hit, beat, and batter any and all of his subordinates; the fact that Josephine was "mistreated" does not surprise me. I would imagine natural born children of most Swedish parents at the time received similar treatment. Any instances of alcoholism, which itself was rampant, would only complicate and elevate instances of domestic violence even more. I'm hopeful any abuse Josephine suffered at the hands both of her foster parents was not unbearable, though. My reasons for questioning this will become apparent later.
I would also like to think that country life would have been especially good for her. It certainly would have done much to promote good health. In the 1860s Stockholm was still in the infant stages of becoming cleaned up and modernized. I have no doubt she missed her family - desperately. I also wonder if she missed some of the friendships she nurtured during her 7 months at the children's home. But, I would like to believe that being able to breathe clean air, wash in clean water, and feel tied to the living world around her must have nourished her body and soul.
One of my favorite days was driving down the narrow back roads of southern Sweden as we explored some of the ancestral birthplaces of other members of my Swedish family. The forests were green and lush. The lakes, some small and unassuming and others much larger and grander, were clear and sparkling blue. Even today it's said that many Swedish city dwellers often escape their crowded, concrete existence to find retreat, rejuvenation, and much needed solitude in small, red rural cottages.
I especially remember stopping at a small roadside lake for a bathroom break and late morning fika. It was almost impossible to pull myself away to continue on our journey.
Josephine would have arrived in Skaberjö a few weeks before midsummer when the earth was every shade of green, the meadows were dotted with wildflowers, and there seemed to be an endless supply of sunshine. Did she don a wildflower wreath atop her glistening blonde hair, ribbons cascading down her back, while she joined in the singing and dancing around the midsommar maypole? Did she sit outside amidst a plethora of friendly, loving faces from her village and new-found community for a traditional mid-day feast, gorging on boiled potatoes, pickled herring, crispbreads, and salads? Did she run and play in the nearby meadow with other happy, carefree children, picking flowers and savoring the sweetness of plump, ripe wild berries? And while she was completely enmeshed in the celebration of the rebirth and newness of life, did she forget, even for a moment, that she had once lost everyone whom she held dear?
There are few things that I have ever hoped for more than this.
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