repeating that story of Bjorn’s, either. No good encouraging him to hope. We’d all like to think that Kersten’s still alive, I know, but it’s best to face up to things. Drowned men and women don’t come back.”
“Leave the door open!” Gudrun called after him, as the sunshine streamed in. “Let’s have some daylight in here!”
Hilde looked at Peer, sitting at the table with his head in his hands. She reached out to touch his shoulder, but changed her mind and carried Eirik outside into the yard. She put him down to crawl about.
The sky was pale blue, with a high layer of fine-combed clouds and a lower level of clean white puffballs blowing briskly over the top of Troll Fell. Hilde filled her lungs with fresh air and gazed around at the well-loved fields and skyline. Only one thing had changed since last year: the new mound on the rising ground above the farm, where old Grandfather Eirik had been laid to rest. “Where he can keep an eye on us all,” Ralf had said gruffly. “Where he can get a good view ofeverything that’s going on!”
Why did sad things have to happen? Why should old folk die and young folk mourn? On a sunny spring morning like this, old Eirik should have been sitting on the bench beside the door, his stick between his knees, composing one of his long poems, or nodding off into one of his many naps. Hilde brushed her eyes with the back of her hand.
Gudrun came into the yard, smoothing down her apron, the dogs trotting at her heels. “Well, if any work at all is to be done this morning, I suppose we women must do it. Goodness, we’re behind! Why haven’t the twins let the chickens out?”
“Where’s Ran?” asked Hilde, going to open the shed.
“She fell asleep again. Tired out still, I expect. What a nice fresh morning! Still, I must get on.”
The hens scattered over the yard to pick snails and insects from the damp ground. With a delighted gurgle, Eirik crawled rapidly after them, but whenever he got close to one, it ran out of reach with a flirt of feathers. With amused apprehension Hildewatched his mouth turn down at the corners.
“You’ll never catch them, Eirik. But look, a dandelion! The first of the year.” She snapped it off and gave it to him. His fingers closed deliberately around the stem, and he sat inspecting it.
Sigurd and Sigrid ran out together.
“Where are you two going?” cried Gudrun.
“Just playing!” Sigurd called back.
“All right, but don’t go too far.” She watched them run off and shook her head at Hilde, who was chuckling. “I know, I know. They ought to do their chores. But they’re still little enough to have some time to play, especially after last night….”
“Ma,” said Hilde, suddenly serious.
“Yes, Hilde?”
“Do you still think Kersten was a seal-woman?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think,” said Gudrun calmly. “The poor girl’s gone, either way. But it matters what Bjorn thinks. It might be easier if he thought she was dead.”
“But, Ma. If she really was a seal-woman—and Bjorn caught her and kept her, when all the time she wanted to go back—well, howcould he do such a thing? It’s … it’s as bad as when Peer’s uncles stole the twins away from us, isn’t it?”
Gudrun snorted. “You’ve got a lot to learn, my girl,” she said cryptically.
“And if it’s not true,” Hilde went on, “if Kersten was ordinary, just like you and me, then it’s almost worse. How
could
she leave Bjorn and her own little baby, and go and drown herself?”
“You want to know which of them to blame, is that it?” asked Gudrun. “It’s none of our business, Hilde. There’ve been times in
my
life when I could cheerfully have walked out on the lot of you. Not for long, mind, and I’d draw the line at drowning myself. But having a baby upsets a woman. Sometimes it takes ’em oddly.”
Hilde leaned against the farmhouse wall, picking intensely at the fringe of her apron. “But, Ma, don’t you want to
“Leave the door open!” Gudrun called after him, as the sunshine streamed in. “Let’s have some daylight in here!”
Hilde looked at Peer, sitting at the table with his head in his hands. She reached out to touch his shoulder, but changed her mind and carried Eirik outside into the yard. She put him down to crawl about.
The sky was pale blue, with a high layer of fine-combed clouds and a lower level of clean white puffballs blowing briskly over the top of Troll Fell. Hilde filled her lungs with fresh air and gazed around at the well-loved fields and skyline. Only one thing had changed since last year: the new mound on the rising ground above the farm, where old Grandfather Eirik had been laid to rest. “Where he can keep an eye on us all,” Ralf had said gruffly. “Where he can get a good view ofeverything that’s going on!”
Why did sad things have to happen? Why should old folk die and young folk mourn? On a sunny spring morning like this, old Eirik should have been sitting on the bench beside the door, his stick between his knees, composing one of his long poems, or nodding off into one of his many naps. Hilde brushed her eyes with the back of her hand.
Gudrun came into the yard, smoothing down her apron, the dogs trotting at her heels. “Well, if any work at all is to be done this morning, I suppose we women must do it. Goodness, we’re behind! Why haven’t the twins let the chickens out?”
“Where’s Ran?” asked Hilde, going to open the shed.
“She fell asleep again. Tired out still, I expect. What a nice fresh morning! Still, I must get on.”
The hens scattered over the yard to pick snails and insects from the damp ground. With a delighted gurgle, Eirik crawled rapidly after them, but whenever he got close to one, it ran out of reach with a flirt of feathers. With amused apprehension Hildewatched his mouth turn down at the corners.
“You’ll never catch them, Eirik. But look, a dandelion! The first of the year.” She snapped it off and gave it to him. His fingers closed deliberately around the stem, and he sat inspecting it.
Sigurd and Sigrid ran out together.
“Where are you two going?” cried Gudrun.
“Just playing!” Sigurd called back.
“All right, but don’t go too far.” She watched them run off and shook her head at Hilde, who was chuckling. “I know, I know. They ought to do their chores. But they’re still little enough to have some time to play, especially after last night….”
“Ma,” said Hilde, suddenly serious.
“Yes, Hilde?”
“Do you still think Kersten was a seal-woman?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think,” said Gudrun calmly. “The poor girl’s gone, either way. But it matters what Bjorn thinks. It might be easier if he thought she was dead.”
“But, Ma. If she really was a seal-woman—and Bjorn caught her and kept her, when all the time she wanted to go back—well, howcould he do such a thing? It’s … it’s as bad as when Peer’s uncles stole the twins away from us, isn’t it?”
Gudrun snorted. “You’ve got a lot to learn, my girl,” she said cryptically.
“And if it’s not true,” Hilde went on, “if Kersten was ordinary, just like you and me, then it’s almost worse. How
could
she leave Bjorn and her own little baby, and go and drown herself?”
“You want to know which of them to blame, is that it?” asked Gudrun. “It’s none of our business, Hilde. There’ve been times in
my
life when I could cheerfully have walked out on the lot of you. Not for long, mind, and I’d draw the line at drowning myself. But having a baby upsets a woman. Sometimes it takes ’em oddly.”
Hilde leaned against the farmhouse wall, picking intensely at the fringe of her apron. “But, Ma, don’t you want to
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