Kristin Lavransdatter Part 83

Kristin wanted to give Jofrid her green homespun gown with the black tufts woven into the fabric, but Jofrid thought it much too fine for a work dress. Poor thing, she was just trying to flatter her husband's mother, thought Kristin, hiding a smile. At last they found an old brown dress Jofrid thought would be suitable if she cut it shorter and sewed patches under the arms and on the elbows. She asked to borrow a scissors and sewing things at once, and then she sat down to sew. Kristin took up some mending as well, and the two women were still sitting there together when Gaute and Sir Sigurd came in for the evening meal.

CHAPTER 3.

KRISTIN HAD TO admit with all her heart that Jofrid was a woman who knew how to use her hands. If If things went well, then Gaute was certainly fortunate; he would have a wife who was as hardworking and diligent as she was rich and beautiful. Kristin herself could not have found a more capable woman to succeed her at Jrundgaard, not if she had searched through all of Norway. One day she said-and afterward she wasn't sure what had happened to make the words spill from her lips-that on the day Jofrid Helgesdatter became Gaute's lawful wife, she would give her keys to the young woman and move out to the old house with Lavrans. things went well, then Gaute was certainly fortunate; he would have a wife who was as hardworking and diligent as she was rich and beautiful. Kristin herself could not have found a more capable woman to succeed her at Jrundgaard, not if she had searched through all of Norway. One day she said-and afterward she wasn't sure what had happened to make the words spill from her lips-that on the day Jofrid Helgesdatter became Gaute's lawful wife, she would give her keys to the young woman and move out to the old house with Lavrans.

Afterward she thought she should have considered these words more carefully before she uttered them. There were already many instances when she had spoken of something too soon when she was talking with Jofrid.

But there was the fact that Jofrid was not well. Kristin had noticed it almost at once after the young girl arrived. And Kristin remembered the first winter she had spent at Husaby; she she at least had been married, and her husband and father were bound by kins.h.i.+p, no matter what might happen to their friends.h.i.+p after the sin came to light. All the same, she had suffered so terribly from remorse and shame, and her heart had felt bitter toward Erlend. But she was already nineteen winters old back then, while Jofrid was barely seventeen. And here she was now, abducted and without rights, far from her home and among strangers, carrying Gaute's child under her heart. Kristin could not deny that Jofrid seemed to be stronger and braver than she herself had been. at least had been married, and her husband and father were bound by kins.h.i.+p, no matter what might happen to their friends.h.i.+p after the sin came to light. All the same, she had suffered so terribly from remorse and shame, and her heart had felt bitter toward Erlend. But she was already nineteen winters old back then, while Jofrid was barely seventeen. And here she was now, abducted and without rights, far from her home and among strangers, carrying Gaute's child under her heart. Kristin could not deny that Jofrid seemed to be stronger and braver than she herself had been.

But Jofrid hadn't breached the sanct.i.ty of the convent; she hadn't broken promises and betrothal vows; she hadn't betrayed her parents or lied to them or stolen their honor behind their backs. Even though these two young people had dared sin against the laws, constraints, and moral customs of the land, they needn't have such such an anguished conscience. Kristin prayed fervently for a good outcome to Gaute's foolhardy deed, and she consoled herself that G.o.d, in His fairness, couldn't possibly deal Gaute and Jofrid any harsher circ.u.mstances than she and Erlend had been given. And an anguished conscience. Kristin prayed fervently for a good outcome to Gaute's foolhardy deed, and she consoled herself that G.o.d, in His fairness, couldn't possibly deal Gaute and Jofrid any harsher circ.u.mstances than she and Erlend had been given. And they they had been married; their child of sin had been born to share in a lawful inheritance from all his kinsmen. had been married; their child of sin had been born to share in a lawful inheritance from all his kinsmen.

Since neither Gaute nor Jofrid spoke of the matter, Kristin didn't want to mention it either, although she longed to have a talk with the inexperienced young woman. Jofrid should spare herself and enjoy her morning rest instead of getting up before everyone else on the manor. Kristin saw that it was Jofrid's desire to rise before her mother-in-law and to accomplish more than she did. But Jofrid was not the kind of person Kristin could offer either help or solicitude. The only thing she could do was silently take the heaviest work away from her and treat her as if she were the rightful young mistress on the estate, both when they were alone and in front of the servants.

Frida was furious at having to relinquish her place next to her mistress and give it to Gaute's . . . She used an odious word to describe Jofrid one day when she and Kristin were together in the cookhouse. For once Kristin struck her maid.

"How splendid to hear such words from you, an old nag l.u.s.ting after men as you do!"

Frida wiped the blood from her nose and mouth.

"Aren't you supposed to be better than a poor man's offspring, daughters of great chieftains such as yourself and this Jofrid? You know with certainty that a bridal bed with silken sheets awaits you. You're the ones who must be shameless and l.u.s.ting after men if you can't wait but have to run off into the woods with young lads and end up with wayside b.a.s.t.a.r.ds-for shame, I say to you!"

"Hold your tongue now. Go out and wash yourself. You're standing there bleeding into the dough," said her mistress quite calmly.

Frida met Jofrid in the doorway. Kristin saw from the young woman's face that she must have heard the conversation with the maid.

"The poor thing's chatter is as foolish as she is. I can't send her away; she has no place to go." Jofrid smiled scornfully. Then Kristin said, "She was the foster mother for two of my sons."

"But she wasn't Gaute's foster mother," replied Jofrid. "She reminds us both of that fact as often as she can. Can't you marry her off?" she asked sharply.

Kristin had to laugh. "Don't you think I've tried? But all it took was for the man to have a few words with his future bride. . . ."

Kristin thought she should seize the opportunity to talk with Jofrid, to let her know that here she would meet with only maternal goodwill. But Jofrid looked angry and defiant.

In the meantime it was now clearly evident that Jofrid was not walking alone. One day she was going to clean some feathers for new mattresses. Kristin advised her to tie back her hair so it wouldn't be covered with down. Jofrid bound a linen cloth around her head.

"No doubt this is now more fitting than going bareheaded," she said with a little laugh.

"That may well be," said Kristin curtly.

And yet she wasn't pleased that Jofrid should jest about such a thing.

A few days later Kristin came out of the cookhouse and saw Jofrid cutting open several black grouse; there was blood spattered all over her arms. Horror-stricken, Kristin pushed her aside.

"Child, you mustn't do this b.l.o.o.d.y work now. now. Don't you know better than that?" Don't you know better than that?"

"Oh, surely you don't believe everything women say is true," said Jofrid skeptically.

Then Kristin told her about the marks of fire that Naakkve had received on his chest. She purposely spoke of it in such a way that Jofrid would understand she was not yet married when she looked at the burning church.

"I suppose you hadn't thought such a thing of me," she said quietly.

"Oh yes, Gaute has already told me: Your father had promised you to Simon Andressn, but you ran off with Erlend Nikulaussn to his aunt, and then Lavrans had to give his consent."

"It wasn't exactly like that; we didn't run off. Simon released me as soon as he realized that I was more fond of Erlend than of him, and then my father gave his consent-unwillingly, but he placed my hand in Erlend's. I was betrothed for a year. Does that seem worse to you?" asked Kristin, for Jofrid had turned bright red and gave her a look of horror.

The girl used her knife to sc.r.a.pe off the blood from her white arms.

"Yes," she said in a low but firm voice. "I would not have squandered my good reputation and honor needlessly. But I won't say anything of this to Gaute," she said quickly. "He thinks his father carried you off by force because he could not win you with entreaty."

No doubt what she said was true, thought Kristin.

As time pa.s.sed and Kristin continued to ponder the matter, it seemed to her that the most honorable thing to do was for Gaute to send word to Helge of Hovland, to place his case in his hands and ask to be given Jofrid as his wife on such terms as her father decided to grant them. But whenever she spoke of this to Gaute, he would look dismayed and refuse to answer. Finally he asked his mother crossly whether she could get a letter over the mountains in the wintertime. No, she told him, but Sira Dag could surely send a letter to Nes and then onward along the coast; the priests always managed to get their letters through, even during the winter. Gaute said it would be too costly.

"Then it will not be with your wife that you have a child this spring," said his mother indignantly.

"Even so, the matter cannot be arranged so quickly," said Gaute. Kristin could see that he was quite angry.

A terrible, dark fear seized hold of her as time went on. She couldn't help noticing that Gaute's first ardent joy over Jofrid had vanished completely; he went about looking sullen and ill tempered. From the very start this matter of Gaute abducting his bride had seemed as bad as it could be, but his mother thought it would be much worse if afterward the man turned cowardly. If the two young people regretted their sin, that was all well and good, but she had an ugly suspicion that there was more of an unmanly fear in Gaute toward the man he had offended than any G.o.d-fearing remorse. Gaute-all her days she had thought the most highly of this son of hers; it couldn't be true what people said: that he was unreliable and dealt carelessly with women, that he was already tired of Jofrid, now that his bride had faded and grown heavy and the day was approaching when he would have to answer for his actions to her kinsmen.

She sought excuses for her son. If Jofrid had allowed herself to be seduced so easily . . . she who had never witnessed anything during her upbringing other than the seemly behavior of pious people . . . Kristin's sons had known from childhood that their own mother had sinned, that their father had conceived children with another man's wife during his youth, and that he had sinned with a married woman when they were nearly grown boys. Ulf Haldorssn, their foster father, and Frida's frivolous chatter . . . Oh, it wasn't so strange that these young men should be weak in that way. Gaute would have to marry Jofrid, if he could win the consent of her kinsmen, and be grateful for it. But it would be a shame for Jofrid if she should now see that Gaute married her reluctantly and without desire.

One day during Lent Kristin and Jofrid were preparing sacks of provisions for the woodcutters. They pounded dried fish thin and flat, pressed b.u.t.ter into containers, and filled wooden casks with ale and milk. Kristin saw that Jofrid now found it terribly difficult to stand or walk for very long, but she merely grew annoyed if Kristin told her to sit down and rest. To appease her a little, Kristin happened to mention the story about the stallion that Gaute had supposedly tamed with a maiden's hair ribbon. "Surely it must have been yours?"

"No," said Jofrid crossly, turning crimson. But then she added, "The ribbon belonged to Aasa, my sister." She laughed and said, "Gaute courted her first, but when I came home, he couldn't decide which of us he liked best. But Aasa was the one he had expected to find visiting Dagrun last summer when he went to Sogn. And he was angry when I teased him about her; he swore by G.o.d and man that he was not the sort to come too close to the daughters of worthy men. He said there had been nothing between him and Aasa that would prevent him from sleeping without sin in my arms that night. I took him at his word." She laughed again. When she saw Kristin's expression, she nodded stubbornly.

"Yes, I want Gaute to be my husband, and he will be, you can count on that, Mother. I most often get what I want."

Kristin woke up to pitch-darkness. The cold bit at her cheeks and chin; when she pulled the blanket more snugly around her, she noticed there was frost on it from her breath. It had to be nearly morning, but she dreaded getting up and seeing the stars. She curled up under the covers to warm herself a little more. At that moment she remembered her dream.

She seemed to be lying in bed in the little house at Husaby, and she had just given birth to a child. She was holding him in her arms, wrapped in a lambskin, which had rolled up and fallen away from the infant's little dark red body. He was holding his tiny clenched hands over his face, with his knees tucked up to his belly and his feet crossed; now and then he would stir a bit. It didn't occur to her to wonder why the boy wasn't swaddled properly and why there were no other women with them in the room. Her heat was still enveloping the child as he lay close to her; through her arm she could feel a tug at the roots of her heart every time he stirred. Weariness and pain were still shrouding her like a darkness that was starting to fade as she lay there and gazed at her son, feeling her joy and love for him ceaselessly growing the way the rim of daylight grows brighter along the mountain crest.

But at the same time as she lay there in bed, she was also standing outside the house. Below her stretched the countryside, lit by the morning sun. It was an early spring day. She drank in the sharp, fresh air; the wind was icy cold, but it tasted of the faraway sea and of thawing snow. The ridges were bathed with morning sunlight on the opposite side of the valley, with snowless patches around the farms. Pale crusted snow shone like silver in all the clearings amid the dark green forests. The sky was swept clean, a bright yellow and pale blue with only a few dark, windblown cl.u.s.ters of clouds hovering high above. But it was cold. Where she was standing the snowdrift was still frozen hard after the night frost, and between the buildings lay cold shadows, for the sun was directly above the eastern ridge, behind the manor. And right in front of her, where the shadows ended, the morning wind was rippling through the pale year-old gra.s.s; it moved and s.h.i.+mmered, with clumps of ice s.h.i.+ny as steel still among the roots.

Oh . . . Oh . . . Against her will, a sigh of lament rose up from her breast. She still had Lavrans; she could hear the boy's even breathing from the other bed. And Gaute. He was asleep up in the loft with his paramour. Kristin sighed again, moved restlessly, and Erlend's old dog settled against her legs, which were tucked up underneath the bedclothes.

Now she could hear that Jofrid was up and walking across the floor. Kristin quickly got out of bed and stuck her feet into her fur-lined boots, putting on her homespun dress and fur jacket. In the dark she fumbled her way over to the hearth, crouched down to stir the ashes and blow on them, but there was not the slightest spark; the fire had died out in the night.

She pulled her flint out of the pouch on her belt, but the tinder must have gotten wet and then froze. Finally she gave up trying, picked up the ember pan, and went upstairs to borrow some coals from Jofrid.

A good fire was burning in the little fireplace, lighting up the room. In the glow of the flames Jofrid sat st.i.tching the copper clasp more securely to Gaute's reindeer coat. Over in the dim light of the bed, Kristin caught a glimpse of the man's naked torso. Gaute slept without covers even in the most biting cold. He was sitting up and having something to eat in bed.

Jofrid got to her feet heavily, with a proprietary air. Wouldn't Mother like a drop of ale? She had heated up the morning drink for Gaute. And Mother should take along this pitcher for Lavrans; he was going out with Gaute to cut wood that day. It would be cold for the men.

Kristin involuntarily grimaced when she was back downstairs and lit the fire. Seeing Jofrid busy with domestic ch.o.r.es and Gaute sitting there, openly allowing his wife to serve him . . . and his paramour's concern for her unlawful husband-all this seemed to Kristin so loathsome and immodest.

Lavrans stayed out in the forest, but Gaute came home that night, worn out and hungry. The women sat at the table after the servants had left, keeping the master company while he drank.

Kristin saw that Jofrid was not feeling well that evening. She kept letting her sewing sink to her lap as spasms of pain flickered across her face.

"Are you in pain, Jofrid?" asked Kristin softly.

"Yes, a little. In my feet and legs," replied the girl. She had toiled all day long, as usual, refusing to spare herself. Now pain had overtaken her, and her legs had swollen up.

Suddenly little tears spilled out from her lowered eyes. Kristin had never seen a woman cry in such a strange fas.h.i.+on; without a sound, her teeth clenched tight, she sat there weeping clear, round tears. Kristin thought they looked as hard as pearls, trickling down the haggard brown-flecked face. Jofrid looked angry that she was forced to surrender; reluctantly she allowed Kristin to help her over to the bed.

Gaute followed. "Are you in pain, my Jofrid?" he asked awkwardly. His face was fiery red from the cold, and he looked genuinely unhappy as he watched his mother helping Jofrid get settled, taking off her shoes and socks and tending to her swollen feet and legs. "Are you in pain, my Jofrid?" he kept asking.

"Yes," said Jofrid, in a low voice, biting back her rage. "Do you think I'd behave this way if I wasn't?"

"Are you in pain, my Jofrid?" he repeated.

"Surely you can see for yourself. Don't stand there moping like a foolish boy!" Kristin turned to face her son, her eyes blazing. The dull knot of fear about how things would turn out, of impatience because she had to tolerate the disorderly life of these two on her estate, of gnawing doubt about her son's manliness-all these things erupted in a ferocious rage: "Are you such a simpleton that you think she might be feeling good good? She can see that you're not man enough to venture over the mountains because it's windy and snowing. You know full well that soon she'll have to crawl on her knees, this poor woman, and writhe in the greatest of torments-and her child will be called a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, because you don't dare go to her father. You sit here in the house warming the bench, not daring to lift a finger to protect the wife you have or your child soon to be born. Your Your father was not so afraid of my father that he didn't dare seek him out, or so fainthearted that he refused to ski through the mountains in the wintertime. Shame on you, Gaute, and pity me who must live to see the day when I call my son a timid man, one of the sons that Erlend gave me!" father was not so afraid of my father that he didn't dare seek him out, or so fainthearted that he refused to ski through the mountains in the wintertime. Shame on you, Gaute, and pity me who must live to see the day when I call my son a timid man, one of the sons that Erlend gave me!"

Gaute picked up the heavy carved chair with both hands and slammed it against the floor; he ran over to the table and swept everything off. Then he rushed to the door, giving one last kick to the chair. They heard him cursing as he climbed the stairs to the loft.

"Oh no, Mother. You were much too hard on Gaute." Jofrid propped herself up on her elbow. "You can't reasonably expect him to risk his life going into the mountains in the winter in order to seek out my father and find out whether he'll be allowed to marry his seduced bride, with no dowry other than the s.h.i.+ft I wore when he took me away, or else be driven from the land as an outlaw."

Waves of anger were still was.h.i.+ng through Kristin's heart. She replied proudly, "And yet I don't believe my my son would think that way!" son would think that way!"

"No," said Jofrid. "If he didn't have me to think for him . . ." When she saw Kristin's expression, laughter crept into her voice. "Dear Mother, I've had trouble enough trying to restrain Gaute. I refuse to let him commit any more follies for my sake and cause our children to lose the riches that I can expect to inherit from my kinsmen if Gaute can come to an agreement that will be the best and most honorable one for all of us."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Kristin.

"I mean that when my kinsmen seek out Gaute, Sir Sigurd will meet them, so they will see that Gaute is not without kin. He will have to bear paying full rest.i.tution, but then Father will allow him to marry me, and I will regain my right to an inheritance along with my sisters."

"So you are partially to blame," said Kristin, "for the child coming into the world before you are married?"

"If I could run away with Gaute, then . . . Surely no one would believe that he has placed a sword blade in bed between us all these nights."

"Didn't he ever seek out your kinsmen to ask for your hand in marriage?" asked Kristin.

"No, we knew it would have been futile, even if Gaute had been a much richer man than he is." Jofrid burst out laughing again. "Don't you see, Mother? Father thinks he knows better than any man how to trade horses. But a person would have to be more alert than my father is if he wanted to fool Gaute Erlendssn in an exchange of horses."

Kristin couldn't help smiling, in spite of her ill temper.

"I don't know the law very well in such cases," she said somberly. "But I'm not certain, Jofrid, that it will be easy for Gaute to obtain what you would consider a good reconciliation. If Gaute is sentenced as an outlaw, and your father takes you back home and lets you suffer his wrath, or if he demands that you enter a convent to atone for your sins . . ."

"He can't send me to a convent without sending splendid gifts along with me, and it will be less costly and more honorable if he reconciles with Gaute and demands rest.i.tution. You see, then he won't have to give up any cattle when he marries me off. And because of his dislike for Olav, my sister's husband, I think I will share in the inheritance with my sisters. If not, then my kinsmen will have to see to this child's welfare too. And I know Father would think twice before he tried to take me back home to Hovland with a b.a.s.t.a.r.d child, to let me suffer his wrath-knowing me me as he does. as he does.

"I don't know much about the law either, but I know Father, and I know Gaute. And now enough time has already pa.s.sed that this proposal cannot be presented until I myself am delivered and healthy again. Then, Mother, you will not see me weeping! Oh no, I have no doubt that Gaute will have his reconciliation on such terms as- "No, Mother . . . Gaute, who is a descendant of highborn men and kings . . . And you, who come from the best of lineages in Norway . . . If you have had to endure seeing your sons sink below the rank that was their birthright, then you will see prosperity regained for your descendants in the children that Gaute and I shall have."

Kristin sat in silence. It was indeed conceivable that things might happen as Jofrid wished; she realized that she hadn't needed to worry so much on her behalf. The girl's face was now quite gaunt; the rounded softness of her cheeks had wasted away, and it was easier to see what a large, strong jaw she had.

Jofrid yawned, pushed herself up into a sitting position, and looked around for her shoes. Kristin helped her to put them on. Jofrid thanked her and said, "Don't trouble Gaute anymore, Mother. He finds it hard to bear that we won't be married beforehand, but I refuse to make my child poor even before he's born."

Two weeks later Jofrid gave birth to a big, fair son, and Gaute sent word to Sundbu the very same day. Sir Sigurd came at once to Jrundgaard, and he held Erlend Gautessn when the boy was baptized. But as happy as Kristin Lavransdatter was with her grandson, it still angered her that Erlend's name should be given for the first time to a paramour's child.

"Your father risked more to give his son his birthright," she told Gaute one evening as he sat in the weaving room and watched her get the boy ready for the night. Jofrid was already sleeping sweetly in her bed. "His love for old Sir Nikulaus was somewhat strained, but even so, he would never have shown his father such disrespect as to name his son after him if he were not lawfully born."

"And Orm . . . he was named for his maternal grandfather, wasn't he?" said Gaute. "Yes, I know, Mother, those may not be the words most becoming a good son. But you should realize that my brothers and I all noticed that while our father was alive, you didn't think he was the proper example for us in many matters. And yet now you talk about him constantly, as if he had been a holy man, or close to it. You should know that we realize he wasn't. All of us would be proud if we ever attained Father's stature-or even reached to his shoulders. We remember that he was n.o.ble and courageous, foremost among men in terms of those qualities that suit a man best. But you can't make us believe he was the most submissive or seemly of men in a woman's chamber or the most capable of farmers.

"And yet no one need wish anything better for you, my Erlend, than that you should take after him!" He picked up his child, now properly swaddled, and touched his chin to the tiny red face framed by the light-colored wool cloth. "This gifted and promising boy, Erlend Gautessn of Jrundgaard-you should tell your grandmother that you you aren't afraid your father will fail you." He made the sign of the cross over the child and put him back in Kristin's arms, then went over to the bed and looked down at the slumbering young mother. aren't afraid your father will fail you." He made the sign of the cross over the child and put him back in Kristin's arms, then went over to the bed and looked down at the slumbering young mother.

"My Jofrid is as well as she can be, you say? She looks pale, but I suppose you must know best. Sleep well in here, and may G.o.d's peace be with you."

One month after the birth of the boy, Gaute held a splendid christening feast, and his kinsmen came from far away to attend the celebration. Kristin a.s.sumed that Gaute had asked them to come in order to counsel him on his position; it was now spring, and he could soon expect to hear news from Jofrid's kin.

Kristin had the joy of seeing Ivar and Skule come home together. And her cousins came to Jrundgaard too: Sigurd Kyrning, who was married to her uncle's daughter from Skog, Ivar Gjesling of Ringheim, and Haavard Trondssn. She hadn't seen the Trondssns since Erlend had brought misfortune down upon the men of Sundbu. Now they were older; they had always been carefree and reckless, but intrepid and magnanimous, and they hadn't changed much at all. They greeted the sons of Erlend and Sir Sigurd, who was their cousin and successor at Sundbu, with a free and open manner befitting kinsmen. The ale and mead flowed in rivers in honor of little Erlend. Gaute and Jofrid welcomed their guests as unrestrainedly as if they had been wed and the king himself had married them. Everyone was joyous, and no one seemed to consider that the honor of these two young people was still at stake. But Kristin learned that Jofrid had not forgotten.

"The more bold and swaggering they are when they meet my father, the more easily he will comply," she said. "And Olav Piper could never hide the fact that he would be pleased to sit on the same bench as men from the ancient lineages."

The only one who did not seem to feel quite comfortable in this gathering of kin was Sir Jammaelt Halvardssn. King Magnus had made him a knight at Christmas; Ramborg Lavransdatter was now the wife of a knight.

This time Sir Jammaelt had brought his eldest son, Andres Si monssn, along with him. Kristin had asked him to do so the last time Jammaelt came north, for she had heard a rumor that there was supposedly something strange about the boy. Then she grew terribly frightened; she wondered whether some harm might have been done to his soul or body because of what she had done in his behalf when he was a child. But his stepfather said no, the boy was healthy and strong, as good as gold, and perhaps cleverer than most people. But it was true that he had second sight. Sometimes he seemed to drift away, and when he came back, he would often do peculiar things. Such as the year before. One day he took his silver spoon, the one Kristin had given to him at his birth, and a torn s.h.i.+rt that had belonged to his father, and he left the manor and went down to a bridge that stretches across the river along the main road near aelin. There he sat for many hours, waiting. Eventually three poor people came walking across the bridge: an old beggar and a young woman holding an infant. Andres went over and gave the things to them, and then asked if he might carry the child for the woman. Back home everyone was desperate with anguish when Andres didn't appear for meals or by nightfall. They went out looking for him, and at last Jammaelt heard that Andres had been seen far north in the next parish, in the company of a couple known as Krepp and Kraaka; he was carrying their infant. When Jammaelt finally found the boy on the following day, Andres explained that he had heard a voice during ma.s.s on the previous Sunday while he was looking at the images painted on the front of the altar. It showed the Mother of G.o.d and Saint Joseph leaving the land of Egypt and carrying a child, and he wished that he had lived back then, for he would have asked to accompany them and carry the child for the Virgin Mary. Then he heard a voice, the gen tlest and sweetest voice in the world, and it promised to show him a sign if he would go out to Bjerkheim Bridge on a certain day.

Otherwise Andres was reluctant to speak of his visions, because their parish priest had said they were partly imagined and partly due to a confused and muddled state of mind, and he frightened his mother out of her wits with his strange ways. But he talked to an old servant woman, an exceedingly pious woman, and to a friar who used to wander through the countryside during Lent and Advent. The boy would doubtless choose the spiritual life, so Simon Simonssn was sure to be the one who would settle at Formo when the time came. He was a healthy and lively child who looked a great deal like his father, and he was Ramborg's favorite.

Ramborg and Jammaelt had not yet had a child of their own. Kristin had heard from those who had seen Ramborg at Raumarike that she had grown quite fat and lazy. She kept company with the wealthiest and mightiest people in the south, but she never wanted to make the trip to her home valley, and Kristin hadn't seen her only sister since they parted on that day at Formo. But Kristin was convinced that Ramborg's resentment toward her remained unchanged. She got on well with Jammaelt, and he tended to the well-being of his stepchildren with loving care. If he should die with no children of his own, he had arranged for the eldest son of the man who would inherit most of his property to marry Ulvhild Simonsdatter; in that way at least the daughter of Simon Darre would have some benefit from his inheritance. Arngjerd had married Grunde of Eiken the year after her father's death; Gyrd Darre and Jammaelt had provided her with a rich dowry, as they knew Simon would have wanted. And Jammaelt said she was well. Grunde appeared to let his wife guide him in all manner of things, and they already had three handsome children.