A Bone to Pick (11 page)

“Stop!” she yelled. “Never throw water on a grease fire.” She turned the stove off and slapped a lid on the pot of oil, then grabbed the box of baking soda and poured it over the flames. A few moments later the flames had shrivelled and finally gone out. The danger was over.

I let out a big sigh. “That was close.” When Bertha didn't acknowledge what I'd said, I turned and saw that she was wincing with pain. “Are you burned? Is it your hands?” Without saying anything she staggered to the sink and held her hands under the cold water. Already the skin was bright red, and there were blisters. “Bertha, should I call the ambulance? Do you need a doctor?”

“No,” she groaned. “Just get me the medical kit.” She continued to wince from the pain, and I was afraid she needed more than a few bandages. “Peggy, you'll have to cleanse the skin and then apply bandages to my hands.” I guess I must have looked doubtful that I could do all of that. “Don't worry. I'll tell ya what to do.”

After all the DVDs of
ER
Mom had made me watch with her, I should have been used to icky stuff, but I wasn't. Old bones — fine. Blood and icky stuff — not so much. While I disinfected Bertha's burns, I breathed deeply to keep from upchucking.

When her hands were bandaged, we both sat silently. I looked at the clock. Dinner was supposed to be served in less than two hours. But the potatoes weren't peeled or cooked, the mushy peas and cheesecake were covered in baking soda, and the entire place was filled with the awful smell of smoke. And Bertha, with her injured hands, wasn't going to be much help.

I was used to Bertha always being tough and scary, so I was surprised when I noticed tears trickling down her face. “This is all my fault,” she said. “What have I told ya over and over about kitchen fires? If I hadn't been so worried about my hubby, this never would've happened.”

“Your husband? What happened to him?”

She sniffled and wiped her nose. “He's gone up to the Yukon, drillin' fer oil. But he's not a spring chicken anymore and that's hard work. He'll be far from home fer months. I don't want him to do it, but we have no choice. We're strapped fer money, and the girls … they need our help.”

I knew what it was like to be on a tight budget. After Dad died, my mom was always trying to make ends meet. It was one of the reasons we'd moved in with Aunt Margaret.

“And now I've gone and made a real mess of the dinner. What am I goin' to do? Professor Brant's goin' to be mad as a hornet, and I've nothin' to serve.”

“Well, look on the bright side, at least you don't have to be afraid of getting fired,” I kidded. “You know … since field school is finished after tomorrow, anyhow.” She wasn't seeing the humour. I looked around the room for something to salvage. “This hamburger looks good. And you mixed in fried onions, too. There must be something we can make with this.” Suddenly, a light bulb went on in my brain and I remembered the cookbook Aunt Margaret had stuck in my bag as I was leaving home. “I'll be back in a minute,” I told Bertha.

Dashing to my tent, I rummaged under a pile of dirty clothes and found my backpack. When I pulled out the cookbook, my Great-Aunt B's Best Chili in the World recipe fell out almost like magic. I never imagined it was something I'd ever use — not in a million years.

“I know what we're having for dinner,” I announced when I ran back into the kitchen. “And we'll use the barbecue and make it a cookout picnic.” Surprisingly, Bertha didn't have a thing to say.

I read off the ingredients, and she directed me to the shelves where I could find everything. As fast as I could, into the biggest pot I could find, I poured diced tomatoes, tomato sauce, kidney beans, and chili powder, then threw in the chopped celery and green peppers meant for the salad. Finally, I added the cooked hamburger meat.

Outside, the gas barbecue was ready, and I lugged the pot of chili out and put it on the grill. “Bertha, are you able to stir?”

“Yah, I'll manage. Get out the frozen buns and we'll thaw them with the heat of the barbecue.”

“Right. Then after that I'm going to drag chairs and tables out onto the grass.” Man, I'd never worked so hard or so fast, but the clock was ticking even faster.

“Bertha, what are we going to have for dessert? There's no time to make anything. How about we serve ice cream?”

“That'll do. And we can throw on some sweetened bakeapples, too. There's a bowl of them in the fridge.”

Good. We had a main course and a dessert. We were going to get through this thing. As I raced off to get the cutlery and serving utensils, Bertha called me back.

“I just want to say one thing, Princess. Tanks. Things would've been much worse if ya hadn't been here.” Bertha got teary again. “You're a good girl, Peggy. A little odd and wayward at times, but all the same, a good girl.”

“Sorry about your hands, Bertha.”

“Ach, I'm a tough cookie. Okay, enough of this sweet talk. Get goin', Princess.”

I stood guard at the door to the dining tent as people started to arrive and directed them to the picnic tables instead. Bertha covered her hands with oven mitts so no one could tell she'd burned them. What a relief — our cookout was a big success and seemed to lend itself to celebrating the end of a successful field school. With the air of festivity, no one even knew about the kitchen fire. Especially Professor Brant, who was in a particularly good mood. I was sure my news had something to do with it.

“Great chili, and I love the cookout idea. Please pay my compliments to the chef,” Eddy said after supper.

“Actually, if you like the chili,” I boasted shamelessly, “you can thank me for it. It's my great-aunt's recipe. Though Bertha helped some.”

“You made the chili? The girl who said she never wanted to learn to cook properly?”

“Yah, I know. But I could hardly help it — given I've been a prisoner in this kitchen for most of the time I've been here.”

“I'm sorry about that, Peggy. I thought things would be different. For starters, I never imagined the job of cook's help was so demanding.”

“I'm just glad I got through it, and I did learn lots about the Vikings. And even though I did get into some trouble over the cave, I think it's great how things all turned out in the end.”

“Turned out in the end?” asked Eddy.

“Well, you know, like how I discovered that the cave paintings are telling the story of Sigrid the Brave's battle with the bear and how the burial of the skull was like some ritualistic burial. Didn't Professor Brant tell you about it?”

“Yes, he did tell me. But, Peggy, I find it odd that you say we have you to thank for putting all the pieces together about the cave when, in fact, Professor Brant was the one to put it all together.”

I was stunned. Eddy didn't believe me. “No. I went to see him earlier today. I took him my sketchbook and showed him how the details on the cave walls matched Sigrid the Brave's story. I'm the one who figured it out, Eddy. You can ask Niko, the storyteller.”

“We'll have to talk about this more later, Peggy. I've got to go now. There's to be some speeches and acknowledgements.”

As she walked away, I felt as if all the life had been sucked out of me. I knew Professor Brant was a jerk, but Eddy was my friend. How could she not believe me?

During all the speeches, Bertha called me over. “Tanks, Princess. No one has a clue about what happened. Ya sure saved my bacon.”

“No problem.” I noticed Bertha's face was red and that she had beads of perspiration all over her forehead. “Bertha, you don't look so good. Maybe you should have your hands looked at.”

“Maybe I will, but we need to get this place cleaned up first.”

“I can handle the cleanup. You go and lie down.” It took a lot of insisting, but Bertha finally agreed to have a rest.

After hauling bins of dirty dishes into the kitchen, I loaded the dishwasher, then made several trips back and forth to get more dishes. As I did, I watched various students and professors get up and thank this person and that person for being helpful, for being an inspiration, and for teaching them the skills of excavation. Eddy's name came up several times, along with Professor Brant's. I got angry watching him gloat as adoring students praised him over and over. They all thought he'd solved the mystery about the cave. Even Eddy thought it was him.

Eventually, everyone cleared off and headed for the visitor centre for the last evening lecture. It took a long time to finish cleaning up, and when I was done, I took out Bertha's menu plan to see what she had in mind for breakfast.

“You need any help?” asked a voice from behind. I turned to see Robbie standing at the kitchen door. “I noticed that Bertha left you on your own. That's a lot of dishes and pots and things.”

“Bertha wasn't feeling well. She went to rest for a while. But I'm finished now.” I was hoping that would be it, but she didn't move.

“Exciting news about the cave, eh?”

I wasn't sure what to say. Every time Robbie started a conversation with me, it usually ended with sarcastic remarks. I didn't want to walk into her trap. “What news?”

“Oh, just how Professor Brant won a bid that will give him additional funds toward the excavation here at L' Anse aux Meadows. It'll probably continue through the fall. And now he knows the pictographs and the saga of Sigrid the Brave are connected. It's really exciting, don't you think?”

I didn't know what to make of the conversation we were having. Robbie appeared friendly, but I wasn't buying it. “Yah, exciting.” I hung up my apron and moved to the door. “Sorry, but I've got to see how Bertha is doing.”

“Sure. See you in the morning. What's for breakfast?”

“Bertha planned for breakfast burritos, muffins, and yogourt.”

“Sounds great. I'll look forward to it. Well, good night then.” She turned and left.

I stood there wondering what that was all about. What was she up to?

When I went to the tent, Bertha was sound asleep. I didn't want to wake her, so I just crawled into my cot. I was so tired I didn't even bother to undress. It didn't take long before I was fast asleep, too.

“It is as certain as I am sitting here talking to you that one day the gods are doomed to perish. Odin even foretold it himself,” Sigrid tells Gunnar and the others who have gathered around the hearth. “In that day the mountains will shake and the ground will tremble. And Skoll, the monstrous wolf, will leap upon the sun and gobble it up. And the stars and sparks of Muspellheim will flicker out and there will be complete darkness throughout all of Midgard.”

Gunnar shifts uncomfortably on the bench. “My father will want me to come and help,” he tells his cousin.

“You're not scared, are you?” teases Sigrid. “Don't you want to hear how

Fenris-wolf
is going to break free from his prison and how he'll join with all the frost and storm giants to battle Odin, Thor, and the other gods?”

“I'm not scared. Besides, I've heard the story before. I just don't care to hear it again right now,” Gunnar tells his older cousin.

“Fine, just as long as you understand that the end will come.” Sigrid is pleased that Gunnar's eyes are as big as onions.

“Don't forget the rest of the story,” butts in Aunt Gudrid. “Out of the ruins of old Asgard a new world will arise and the younger gods who don't perish and all mankind will rise up and build a new home where all will live in peace.”

Sigrid stands and thrusts the stick she is using to poke the fire into the air. “Yes, but only the brave will live in such a place — only those who aren't afraid to battle with evil.”

“Sigrid, did you do what I asked you to do?” Aunt Gudrid says to change the subject.

“Not yet,” she answers. “I'm in the middle of telling a story.”

“You cheeky girl. Get on with it. I told you I need more firewood, and I need it now. We're drying fish today.”

Sigrid storms to the door and snatches up the basket.

“Snorri, go with your cousin,” Gudrid tells the little boy.

Sigrid growls and takes her cousin's hand. “Keep up,” she says briskly, and he toddles after her as fast as he can.

Aunt Gudrid watches her children leave. Though Sigrid dislikes babysitting, she will never let anything happen to Snorri, especially since the incident in the forest. When they are out of sight, she returns to preparing the fire moss. It really is the worst of all the jobs.

“Where are the children?” Thorfinn asks when he comes in for his morning meal.

“I've sent them off to gather firewood. If I don't keep that girl busy, she'll get into trouble,” she tells him. “When she returns, I'm going to put her to work spinning yarn. Like it or not, she's got to get used to women's work.”

Thorfinn sits beside the hearth. “Gudrid, I've been thinking about the match we made with Bjorni. I'm not so sure now it's a good one.”

“I've been thinking the same thing. Poor man. He'd provide well for Sigrid, but I don't think he'll know how to handle one so defiant and lively as that girl. He needs a wife who appreciates security over freedom. And, besides, he's so old.”

“He's younger than I,” Thorfinn objects.

His wife laughs. “Yes, but he's still too old for Sigrid.”

The couple fall into silence, and soon the demands of preparing for the journey home occupy their thoughts. When a good deal of time has passed and Sigrid has not returned with the necessary supply of wood, Gudrid grows annoyed. “That girl, all I asked her to do was gather some firewood and then come right back. I should have sent Gunnar instead. I'll have to see where she's gotten to.”