Audun walked past with his candle and bell, which rang faintly and gently. Behind him rode Sira Eirik. With his hands he lifted the Host vessel high as he came upon the kneeling man, but he did not turn his head; he rode silently past as Lavrans bowed down and raised his hands in greeting to his Savior.
That was the son of Einar Hnufa with the priest—it must be nearing the end for the old man now. Ah well. Lavrans said his prayers for the dying man before he stood up and walked back home. The meeting with God in the night had nevertheless strengthened and consoled him a great deal.
When they had gone to bed, Lavrans asked his wife, “Did you know anything about this—that things were such with Kristin?”
“Didn’t you?” said Ragnfrid.
“No,” replied her husband so curtly that she could tell he must have been thinking of it all the same.
“I was indeed fearful for a time this past summer,” said the mother hesitantly. “I could see that she took no pleasure in her food. But as the days passed, I thought I must have been mistaken. She seemed so happy during all the time we were preparing for her wedding.”
“Well, she certainly had good reason for that,” said the father with some disdain. “But that she said nothing to you. . . . You, her own mother . . .”
“Yes, you think of that now when she’s gone astray,” said Ragnfrid bitterly. “But you know quite well that Kristin has never confided in me.”
Lavrans said no more. A little later he bade his wife sleep well and then lay down quietly. He realized that sleep would not come to him for some time.
Kristin, Kristin—his poor little maiden.
Not with a single word had he ever referred to what Ragnfrid had confessed to him on the night of Kristin’s wedding. And in all fairness she couldn’t say he had made her feel it was on his mind. He had been no different in his demeanor toward her—rather, he had striven to show her even more kindness and love. But it was not the first time this winter he had noticed the bitterness in Ragnfrid or seen her searching for some hidden offense in the innocent words he had spoken. He didn’t understand it, and he didn’t know what to do about it—he would simply have to accept it.
“Our Father who art in Heaven . . .” He prayed for Kristin and her child. Then he prayed for his wife and for himself. Finally, he prayed for the strength to tolerate Erlend Nikulauss?n with a patient spirit for as long as he was forced to have his son-in-law there on his estate.
Lavrans would not allow his daughter’s husband to set off for home until they saw how his wrist was healing. And he refused to let Erlend go back alone.
“Kristin would be pleased if you came with me,” said Erlend one day.
Lavrans was silent for a moment. Then he voiced many objections. Ragnfrid would undoubtedly not like to be left alone on the farm. And once he had journeyed so far north, it would be difficult to return in time for spring planting. But in the end he set off with Erlend. He took no servant along—he would travel home by ship to Raumsdal. There he could hire horses to carry him south through the valley; he knew people everywhere along the way.
They talked little as they skied, but they got along well together. It was a struggle for Lavrans to keep up with his companion; he didn’t want to admit that his son-in-law went too fast for him. But Erlend took note of this and at once adapted his pace to his father-in-law’s. He went to great lengths to charm his wife’s father—and he had that quiet, gentle manner whenever he wished to win someone’s friendship.
On the third evening they sought shelter in a stone hut. They had had bad weather and fog, but Erlend seemed to be able to find his way just as confidently. Lavrans noticed that Erlend had an astoundingly accurate knowledge of all signs and tracks, in the air and on the ground, and of the ways of animals and their habits—and he always seemed to know where he was. Everything that Lavrans, experienced in the mountains as he was, had learned by observing and paying attention and remembering, the other man seemed to intuit quite blindly. Erlend laughed at this, but it was simply something he knew.
They found the stone hut in the dark, exactly at the moment Erlend had predicted. Lavrans recalled one such night when he had dug himself a shelter in the snow only an arrow’s shot away from his own horse shed. Here the snow had drifted up over the hut and they had to break their way in through the smoke vent. Erlend covered the opening with a horsehide that was lying in the hut, fastening it with sticks of firewood, which he stuck in among the roof beams. With a ski he cleared away the snow that had blown inside and managed to build a fire in the hearth from the frozen wood lying about. He pulled out three or four grouse from under the bench—he had put them there on his way south. He packed them in earth from the floor where it had thawed out around the hearth and then threw the bundles into the embers.