Wanderers Part 59

I took up my spade and went up, thinking of his clothes.

"Hadn't I better sc.r.a.pe the stone a bit clean?"

"No, it doesn't matter," he said.

But he got up all the same, and let me clean it a little.

It was then that Ragnhild came running up to us, following the line of the trench. She had something in her hand--a paper. And she was running, running. The Captain sat watching her.

"It's only a telegram!" she said breathlessly. "It came on by messenger."

The Captain got up and strode quickly a few paces forward toward this telegram that had come. Then he tore it open and read.

We could see at once it must be something important. The Captain gave a great gasp. Then he began walking down, running down, towards the house.

A little way off he turned round and called to Nils:

"The carriage at once! I must go to the station!"

Then he ran on again.

So the Captain went away again. He had only been home a few hours.

Ragnhild told us of his terrible haste and worry, poor man; he was getting into the carriage without his fur coat, and would have left the food behind him that was packed all ready. And the telegram that had come was lying all open on the stairs.

"Accident," it said. "Your wife.--Chief of Police." What was all this?

"I thought as much," said Ragnhild, "when they sent it on by messenger."

Her voice was strange, and she turned away. "Something serious, I dare say," she said.

"No, no!" said I, reading and reading again. "Look, it's not so very bad! Hear what it says. 'Request you come at once--accident to your wife.'"

It was an express telegram from the little town, the little dead town.

Yes, that was it--a town with a roar of sound through it, and a long bridge, and foaming waters; all cries there died as they were uttered--none could hear. And there were no birds.

But all the maids spoke now in changed voices; 'twas nothing but misery amongst us now; I had to appear steady and confident myself, to rea.s.sure them. Fruen might have had a fall, perhaps, she was not as active of late. But she could, perhaps, have got up again and walked on almost as well as ever--just a little bleeding.... Oh, they were so quick with their telegrams, these police folk!

"No, no!" said Ragnhild. "You know well enough that when the Chief of Police sends a telegram it's pretty sure to mean Fruen's been found dead somewhere! Oh, I can't--I can't--can't bear it!"

Miserable days! I worked away, harder than ever, but as a man in his sleep, without interest or pleasure. Would the Captain never come?

Three days later he came--quietly and alone. The body had been sent to Kristianssand; he had only come back to fetch some clothes, then he was going on there himself, to the funeral.

He was home this time for an hour at most, then off again to catch the early train. I did not even see him myself, being out at work.

Ragnhild asked if he had seen Fruen alive.

He looked at her and frowned.

But the girl would not give up; she begged him, for Heaven's sake, to say. And the two other maids stood just behind, as desperate as she.

Then the Captain answered, but in a low voice as if to himself:

"She had been dead some days when I got there. It was an accident; she had tried to cross the river and the ice would not bear. No, no, there was no ice, but the stones were slippery. There was ice as well, though."

Then the maids began moaning and crying; but this was more than he could stand. He got up from the chair where he was sitting, cleared his throat hard, and said:

"There, there, it's all right, girls, go along now. Ragnhild, a minute."

And then to Ragnhild, when the others had gone: "What was I going to say, now? You haven't moved some photos, have you, that were on the piano here? I can't make out what's happened to them."

Then Ragnhild spoke up well and with spirit--and may Heaven bless her for the lie!

"I? No, indeed, 'twas Fruen herself one day."

"Oh? Well, well. I only wondered how it was they had gone."

Relieved--relieved the Captain was to hear it.

As he was leaving he told Ragnhild to say I was not to go away from vreb till he returned.

XIV

No, I didn't go away.

I worked on, tramped through the weariest days of my life to their end, and finished laying the pipes. It was a bit of a change for us all on the place the first time we could draw water from a tap, and we were none the worse for something new to talk about for a while.

Lars Falkenberg had left us. He and I had got rid of all disagreement between us at the last, and were as we had been in the old days when we were mates and tramped the roads together.

He was better off than many another, was Lars; light of heart and empty of head; and thereto unconscionably sound and strong. True, there would be no more singing up at the house for him now or ever after, but he seemed to have grown a trifle doubtful of his voice himself the last few years, and contented himself now for the most part with the things he had sung--once upon a time--at dances and gentlefolk's parties. No, Lars Falkenberg was none so badly off. He'd his own little holding, with keep for two cows and a pig; and a wife and children he had as well.

But what were Grindhusen and I to turn our hands to now? I could go off wandering anywhere, but Grindhusen, good soul, was no wanderer. All he could do was to stay on at one place and work till he was dismissed. And when the stern decision came, he was so upset that he could not take it easily, but felt he was being specially hardly used. Then after a while he grew confident again, and full of a childlike trust--not in himself, but in Fate, in Providence--sat down resignedly, and said: "Ay, well, 'twill be all right, let's hope, with G.o.d's help."

But he was happy enough. He settled down with marvellous ease at whatever place he came to, and could stay there till he died if it rested with himself. Home he need not go; the children were grown up now, and his wife never troubled him. No, this red-haired old sinner of former days--all he needed now was a place, and work.

"Where are you going after this?" he asked me.

"A long way, up in the hills, to Trovatn, to a forest."

He did not believe me in the least, but he answered quickly and evasively:

"Ay, I dare say, yes."

After we had finished the pipes, Nils sent Grindhusen and myself up cutting wood till the Captain returned. We cut up and stacked the top-ends the woodmen had left; neat and steady work it was.