At that moment Erlend came into the room. He had been sleeping in a chamber above a storeroom with several other men, since Fru Gunna was sharing Kristin’s bed. And he flew into a rage. He grabbed Kristin by the arm so hard that the marks from his fingers were still on her skin.
“Do you think my daughter should be lying on straw and homespun cloth? Margit is mine, even though she may not be yours. What’s not good enough for your own children is good enough for her. But since you’ve mocked the innocent little maiden in the sight of these women, then you must rectify matters before their eyes. Put back the covers that you took from Margit.”
It so happened that Erlend had been drunk the night before, and he was always bad-tempered the following day. And no doubt he thought the women must have been gossiping among themselves when they saw Eline’s children. And he grew sensitive and testy about their reputation. And yet . . .
Kristin had tried to talk to Sira Eiliv about it. But he couldn’t help her with this matter. Gunnulf had told her that she need not mention the sins to which she had confessed and repented before Eiliv Serkss?n became her parish priest unless she thought that he should know about them in order to judge and advise her. So there were many things she had never told him, even though she felt that by not doing so she would seem, in Sira Eiliv’s eyes, to be a better person than she was. But it was so good for her to have the friendship of this kind and pure-hearted man. Erlend made fun of her, but she gained such comfort from Sira Eiliv. With him she could talk as much as she liked about her children; the priest was willing to discuss with her all the small bits of news that bored Erlend and drove him from the room. The priest got on well with children, and he understood their small troubles and illnesses. Erlend laughed at Kristin when she went to the cookhouse herself to prepare special dishes, which she would send over to the parsonage. Sira Eiliv was fond of good food and drink, and it amused Kristin to spend time on such matters and to try out what she had learned from her mother or seen at the convent. Erlend didn’t care what he ate as long as he was always served meat if it wasn’t a time for fasting. But Sira Eiliv would come over to talk and thank her, praising her skill after she had sent him grouse on a spit, wrapped in the best bacon, or a platter of reindeer tongues in French wine and honey. And he gave her advice about her garden, obtaining cuttings for her from Tautra, where his brother was a monk, and from the Olav monastery, whose prior was a good friend of his. And he also read to her and could recount so many wonderful things about life out in the world.
But because he was such a good and pious man, it was often difficult to speak to him about the evil she saw in her own heart. When she confessed to him how embittered she felt at Erlend’s behavior that day with Margret, he had impressed upon her that she must bear with her husband. But he seemed to think that Erlend alone had committed an offense when he spoke so unjustly to his wife—and in the presence of strangers. Kristin doubtless agreed with him. And yet deep in her heart she felt a complicity which she could not explain and which caused her great pain.
Kristin looked up at the holy shrine, which glittered a dull gold in the dim light behind the high altar. She had been so certain that if she stood here again, something would happen—a redemption of her soul. Once more a living fount would surge up into her heart and wash away all the anguish and fear and bitterness and confusion that filled her.
But no one had any patience for her tonight. Haven’t you learned yet, Kristin—to lift your self-righteousness to the light of God’s righteousness, your heathen and selfish passion to the light of love? Perhaps you do not want to learn it, Kristin.
But the last time she knelt here she had held Naakkve in her arms. His little mouth at her breast warmed her heart so well that it was like soft wax, easy for the heavenly love to shape. And she did have Naakkve; he was playing back home in the hall, so lovely and sweet that her breast ached at the mere thought of him. His soft, curly hair was now turning dark—he was going to have black hair like his father. And he was so full of life and mischief. She made animals for him out of old furs, and he would throw them into the air and then chase after them, racing with the young dogs. And it usually ended with the fur bear falling into the hearth fire and burning up, with smoke and a foul smell. Naakkve would howl, hopping up and down and stomping, and then he would bury his head in his mother’s lap—that’s where all of his adventures still ended. The maids fought for his favor; the men would pick him up and toss him up to the ceiling whenever they came into the room. If the boy saw Ulf Haldorss?n, he would run over and cling to the man’s leg. Ulf sometimes took him along out to the farmyard. Erlend would snap his fingers at his son and set him on his shoulder for a moment, but he was the one person at Husaby who paid the least attention to the boy. And yet he was fond of Naakkve. Erlend was glad that he now had two lawfully born sons.