The House by the Fjord (18 page)

‘But Sally will have prepared the way when you arrive in a few months' time,' Jane said.

‘I have no doubt about that,' he replied. Only Anna, standing nearby, caught the wry note in his voice. She was full of compassion for him.

Everybody missed Sally after she had left, but soon they became accustomed to her absence and, as only one letter was received, her name rarely came into the conversation.

Thirteen

Anna decided that now everything had settled down it was the ideal time for a second attempt to start reading Ingrid Harvik's journal. She would not be disturbed by any casual callers today or by a frantic Sally, now far away in Canada and enjoying all the advantages that she had missed so much in Gardermoen. As yet there was no sign of Arvid joining her, and Anna had become even more convinced that, if it were not for his son, it was unlikely that he would ever go.

She crossed the room to take the journal from the rosemaling cupboard, which had seemed to her to be the most appropriate place in which to store this aged testimonial. Then, as before, until Sally had burst in on her, she settled back in her chair against the cushion, aware of a certain excitement in her veins, and began to read:

Today, at the age of sixteen, I am free for the first time in my life. Just ten minutes ago I parted the lace curtains at the window, holding them aside with myself silhouetted against the evening light. From there I watched the last of the mourners depart. Then I laughed, hysterically perhaps, but freedom is intoxicating when it has never been experienced before
.

I was fifteen when my widowed father, although he was a cleric, virtually sold me as a bride to Erik Berdal, a brute of a man and a childless widower, who had buried two barren wives and thought to have a son by a third, hoping for better results from a younger one. My father was not a heartless man, but his weakness was gambling, and on the day of the wedding Berdal settled his debts for him, which saved my parent's livelihood and rescued him from bankruptcy. If it had not been to prevent my father from falling into disgrace, I would have run from the church before taking the vows, but I had to accept my fate. Sadly my father is no longer here to start a new life with me, for the winter sickness took him six months ago
.

Berdal has bequeathed nothing to me and neither did I expect anything from his will, which was read out by the lawyer today after the funeral. In the end he hated me for failing to become pregnant, not knowing I took every precaution against it that was known to me, and the fact that my chilly gaze unmanned him at times. So all he owned has been left to his mistress, including this house. She was scuttling all over it today after the reading of the will and wants me out by the end of the week, but I would never wish to stay where I have known only beatings and cruelty. I'm leaving early tomorrow morning for the house in the mountains that my late grandmother left me in her testimonial. It was where she spent her childhood, and although I have never seen it, I feel drawn to it as if it has long been beckoning to me
.

Anna paused in her reading and lowered the book, thoughtful for a few minutes. Did she herself feel that the house was calling to her in any way? Was the summons in the few words that Johan had uttered when he said there was an old family house he hoped to restore at some time? Why else had she remembered that casually spoken comment in the midst of all the talk of Norway that he had shared with her? Perhaps something in his tone of voice had registered it with her. She returned her gaze to the book.

I have packed my belongings in my bridal chest. These include the bed linen and hand-woven blankets with the blue and white pattern that I brought to my marriage, but nothing that came from Berdal's purse. I have also taken my father's field gun, which he sold to Berdal once when he was desperate for money, and also a box of bullets. When sober, my father was a good shot at bringing down ptarmigan and other game birds in season. He was also a skilful angler and taught me to fish, and indeed sometimes it depended on our catch whether we had something for our supper. So I am taking my rod and line, which was a birthday gift from him and with which I caught my first salmon, and many more fish since that day
.

I am not without money, although Berdal gave me nothing and every krone had to be accounted for in the household expenses, with a beating for anything he considered an unnecessary extravagance. But whenever my father had a win at cards, he would slip some of his winnings secretly into my hand or my pocket, knowing that otherwise Berdal would take it from me. As a result, I have become an expert in finding good hiding places and I never left my little hoard in one place for long. Poor Father! Sometimes he had to borrow back from me, but he always repaid his debt. I know my fate as a battered wife troubled his conscience until the end of his days. His best gift was a pony and a little red-painted wagonette, which Berdal could not deny me, although he would have used it himself if he had not thought it too old and shabby for him to be seen in, especially since he owned a fine carriage himself. Yet the most important thing my father did for me was when he inherited a deal of money from an elder brother, who had emigrated and done well in America. I was only ten years old at the time, but my father was in a sober period and, knowing his own weakness as far as money was concerned, he invested a share for me that ensured that I had a small income for the rest of my life. His own share went into higher stakes at the gambling tables and, after a few ups and downs, was finally totally lost in a single game of cards
.

My pony, which I named Hans-Petter, is a
fjording
, one of the sturdy native breed that have been ridden and worked on this land since Viking times. Patient and gentle, they are a beautiful cream colour and have a characteristic black streak running through the mane and down the tail. Hans-Petter has been my only friend during my unhappy time, because Berdal disliked my having any female company with whom to laugh and gossip. He once took a whip to Hans-Petter and I think I went crazy, screaming and fighting for the whip only to have it turned on myself. But I suffered the beating gladly since it meant that Hans-Petter was spared
.

I have some grand clothes in the closets here, silks and satins in a variety of lovely colours, most of them expensively lace-trimmed, for Berdal was one of the town's dignitaries and I had to accompany him to important functions. He guarded me closely, but liked showing me off, although I was never allowed to dance, since he considered dancing indecent – even our jolly national dances in which everyone has a good time. Without exception my gowns are high-necked and long-sleeved to ensure that my bruises from Berdal's brutal fists never showed in public. I am taking none of those garments. Instead, I have packed some cotton gowns and a couple of woollen ones that I made secretly for the time when I could make my escape and run away. I never suspected that freedom would come to me through Berdal's demise
.
If I had anticipated it, I would have chosen much brighter colours for my secretly made clothes, but as it was I had not dared to risk his finding by chance a forgotten scarlet thread or a tiny frayed piece of yellow silk that would have made him suspicious. I truly believe that if he had made such a discovery, he would have guessed what I was plotting and probably murdered me in his erupting fury
.

There followed a description of her setting off on her journey early next morning after a kindly neighbour had come with his son to load her bridal chest and all else she was taking into the wagonette, which included a basket of food to sustain her. They waved to her until she was out of sight.

She spent five nights in the open air on her journey, sleeping in the wagonette and washing in the crystal clear streams that were forever hurrying by on the way to the nearest river or fjord. Finally she came to a lush farming valley and to the track wandering up a steep slope that would lead her at last to her new home. She had seen its neighbouring waterfall from some distance away, a great cascading glory of water leaping and dancing from some source high in the mountains.

As she drove up higher, she was presented with a wonderful view of the valley that was a cul-de-sac of farmland and forest. Then, as if nature wished to treat her lavishly, there lay in the other direction the greatest of all views, the sparkling sun-diamond fjord that was as deep as the mountains were high. On its far shore stood the village of Molde. Even from here she could just see patches of red that denoted the presence of its lovely rose.

Ahead there were tantalizing glimpses of her new home through the trees. Then suddenly it came into full view, a two storied house built of dark logs with its windows shuttered and padlocked. It was much larger than she had imagined it would be and she could scarcely believe her good fortune. Its roof was turf-covered and thick with harebells and buttercups and wild pansies as if it were wearing a floral crown in which to greet her. She felt her heart go out to it, this haven where she could live and breathe as a liberated woman at last.

Springing down from the wagonette, the keys in her hand, she set off on a tour of inspection around the house to see what else was there and was pleased to see redcurrant and blackcurrant bushes full of ripening fruit. She would be able to bottle juice for the winter and make jam. Close by was a
stabbur
that was surely as old as the house, built of the same dark timber. It had an outside staircase which led to a gallery where a door gave access to an upper room. At some time both the upper and lower doors had been painted white, a covering that had long since weathered away. Before long she would see that each had a new coat of paint and she would choose a sunny colour, which would always make her smile.

Nearby was a small barn with space enough for a cow or two if they had been wanted, as well as room for a few sheep to be kept out of the snow in winter. Hans-Petter could be comfortably stabled in the stall there. A privy located in the barn was entered from the rear of the building. It was set high and there were six steps up to it. She thought that she would feel like a queen on a throne whenever she sat there, which made her laugh out loud in her happiness. Skylarks, nesting under the eaves, twittered at this unexpected intrusion and some began to sweep in and out of the building.

‘Don't be afraid, my dears,' she said to them, looking up with her back arched and her hands on her hips. ‘You have been here longer than I, and I hope you always will be.'

Coming out into the open air again, she stood listening to the waterfall. It had a song on its own for her. She would hear it when she woke in the morning and it would be her lullaby at night. It fed the river that flowed by her land and she alone would have fishing rights to that section.

Well pleased with all she had seen, Ingrid turned her attention to unfastening the house's window-shutters, which had big hooks as well as padlocks keeping them closed. Behind one of the shutters some little bats had made their daytime habitat and they flew off in a flutter of wings as the sunshine fell on them. At last, her task finished, she set the house key in the lock and tried to turn it. It resisted her at first, but she was young and her wrists were strong and finally she conquered it, making a mental note to oil it at the first opportunity. Then she gave the door a thrust with the flat of her hand, sending it swinging wide, and her shadow fell inwards across the wide boards of the pine floor within.

Instantly, adding to the joy of her arrival and possession, she saw that the house was furnished, never having been told that its contents were still there from her late grandmother's time. She had fully expected to make do with a box or two for both table and chairs and also to sleep in her blankets on the floor until she could get some furniture. The windows, free of their shutters, allowed the sunshine to fill gloriously the large living room that was the width of the house from wall to wall.

She stood for several minutes just gazing around her. The warm breeze coming in through the door made the cobwebs dance where they hung from the ceiling and adorned the furniture that was decorated with the rich tints of rosemaling. This gave wonderfully subdued colours to the room and she clasped her hands together with delight at now being the owner of these beautiful things. The board of the long table at the far end was one to be scrubbed white, but its legs and a strengthening bar, much scuffed by countless feet, held the same traditional designs.

‘This is my house of fjord and roses,' she whispered in awe of what had been given to her by a woman she had seen only once, and that had been at her mother's funeral. She had been five years old at the time, but was fully aware of the tragedy that had befallen her father and herself. She had the memory of a kindly old face and of being comforted in her tears. No doubt her grandmother would have taken care of her from that day onwards, but her father could not have borne to part with the adored child of the wife he had loved so much. She had had a happy if somewhat erratic time growing up with him, for he never stayed long in any parish, his gambling soon becoming talked about and considered a sin by most of his parishioners, especially when he tried to borrow money from them. There had been many times when she had wished that they did not have to move on, especially when she had made friends with local children and liked her present school, but she never complained to him, understanding that it was not by his choice that they had to leave.

Now, in a daze of joy, Ingrid went through to the kitchen where a great black stove spoke of many good meals served in the past. It had rings that could be lifted out to accommodate the size of the cooking pots that were stacked along a shelf, others hanging from a row of wooden pegs. She opened the door of a cupboard to find it full of crockery.

There was a neighbouring room of moderate size that was empty, except for a table and chair, and it could have been a sewing room, although there was nothing to indicate its use. Then she went back into the living room to climb the flight of stairs that led to the upper floor. Here she found four rooms, each with a bed and one with a cot. All had mattresses and she could sleep on one of the beds tonight, for when these wooden houses were closed up it was as if they created a vacuum, for with nothing able to penetrate the stout wooden walls from outside they stayed dry as bone, as did everything in them.