Ramborg took them from him. “You didn’t have to stand there looking like such a fool because of this.”
Kristin felt ill at ease as she sat there. It was true that Simon had looked quite ridiculous as he stood there hiding the broken pieces in such a childish manner, but Ramborg didn’t need to mention it.
“I expected you to be mad because your dish was broken,” said her husband.
“Yes, you always seem to be so afraid that something will make me mad—and something so frivolous,” replied Ramborg. And the others saw that she was close to tears.
“You know quite well, Ramborg, that’s not the only way I act,” said Simon. “And it’s not just frivolous things either . . .”
“I wouldn’t know,” replied his wife in the same tone of voice. “It has never been your habit, Simon, to talk to me about important matters.”
She turned on her heel and walked toward the entryway. Simon stood still for a moment, staring after her. When he sat down, his son Andres came over and wanted to climb onto his father’s lap. Simon picked him up and sat there with his chin resting on the child’s head, but he didn’t seem to be listening to the boy’s chatter.
After a while Kristin ventured, a little hesitantly, “Ramborg isn’t so young anymore, Simon. Your oldest child is already seven winters old.”
“What do you mean?” asked Simon, and it seemed to her that his voice was unnecessarily sharp.
“I mean nothing more than that . . . perhaps my sister thinks you find her too young to . . . maybe if you could try to let her take charge of things more here on the estate, together with you.”
“My wife takes charge of as much as she likes,” replied Simon heatedly. “I don’t demand that she do more than she wants to do, but I’ve never refused to allow Ramborg to manage anything here at Formo. If you think otherwise, then it’s because you don’t know—”
“No, no,” said Kristin. “But it has seemed to me, brother-in-law, that now and then you don’t consider Ramborg to be any older than when you married her. You should remember, Simon—”
“You should remember—” he set the child down and jumped to his feet—“that Ramborg and I came to an agreement; you and I never could.” His wife came into the room at that moment, carrying a container of ale for the guests. Simon quickly went over to her and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Did you hear that, Ramborg? Your sister is standing here saying that she doesn’t think you’re happy with your lot.” He laughed.
Ramborg looked up; her big dark eyes glittered strangely. “Why is that? I got what I wanted, just as you did, Kristin. If we two sisters can’t be happy, then I don’t know . . .” And she too laughed.
Kristin stood there, flushed and angry. She refused to accept the ale bowl. “No, it’s already late; time for us to head back home now.” And she looked around for her sons.
“Oh no, Kristin!” Simon took the bowl from his wife and drank a toast. “Don’t be angry. You shouldn’t take so much to heart every word that falls between the closest kin. Sit down for a while and rest your feet and be good enough to forget it if I’ve spoken to you in any way that I shouldn’t have.”
Then he said, “I’m tired,” and he stretched and yawned. He asked how far they had gotten with the spring farm work at J?rundgaard. Here at Formo they had plowed up all the fields north of the manor road.
Kristin left as soon as she thought it was seemly. No, Simon didn’t need to accompany her, she said when he picked up his hooded cape and axe; she had her big sons with her. But he insisted and also asked Ramborg to walk along with them, at least up through the fenced fields. She didn’t usually agree to this, but tonight she went with them all the way up to the road.
Outdoors the night was black and clear with glittering stars. The faint, warm and pleasant smell of newly manured fields gave a springtime odor to the night frost. The sound of water was everywhere in the darkness around them.
Simon and Kristin walked north; the three boys ran on ahead. She could sense that the man at her side wanted to say something, but she didn’t feel like making it easier for him because she was still quite furious. Of course she was fond of her brother-in-law, but there had to be a limit to what he could say and then brush aside afterward—as merely something between kinsmen. He had to realize that because he had stood by them so loyally during their troubles, it wasn’t easy for her when he grew quick-tempered or rude. It was difficult for her to take him to task. She thought about the first winter, not long after they had arrived in the village. Ramborg had sent for her because Simon lay in bed with boils in his throat and was terribly ill. He suffered from this ailment now and then. But when Kristin arrived at Formo and went in to see the man, he refused to allow her to touch him or even look at him. He was so irate that Ramborg, greatly distressed, begged her sister’s forgiveness for asking her to come. Simon had not been any kinder toward her, she said, the first time he fell ill after they were married and she tried to nurse him. Whenever he had throat boils, he would retreat to the old building they called the S?mund house, and he couldn’t stand to have anyone near him except for a horrid, filthy, and lice-ridden old man named Gunstein, who had served at Dyfrin since before Simon was born. Later Simon would no doubt come to see his sister-in-law to make amends. He didn’t want anyone to see him when he was ill like that; he thought it such a pitiful shortcoming for a full-grown man. Kristin had replied, rather crossly, that she didn’t understand—it was neither sinful nor shameful to suffer from throat boils.