Simon nodded. He remembered paying a great deal of attention to Ulvhild because he thought it so sad that the lovely child was crippled. Of the youngest daughter he had no memory, except that he knew there was a girl younger than Ulvhild.
“You had the most beautiful hair. . . .” Ramborg ran her fingers through the lock of wavy light-brown hair that fell over her husband’s forehead. “And there’s still not a single streak of gray. Erlend’s hair will soon be as much white as black. And I always loved to see the deep dimples in your cheeks when you smiled . . . and the fact that you had such a merry voice.”
“Yes, no doubt I looked a little better back then than I do now.”
“No,” she whispered fiercely. “When you look at me tenderly . . . Do you remember the first time I slept in your arms? I was in bed, whimpering over a toothache. Father and Mother were asleep, and it was dark in the loft, but you came over to the bench where we lay, Ulvhild and I, and asked me why I was crying. You told me to hush and not wake the others; then you lifted me in your arms. You lit a candle and cut a splinter of wood and then poked at my gums around the aching tooth until you drew blood. Then you said a prayer over the splinter, and the tooth didn’t hurt anymore. And I was allowed to sleep in your bed, and you held me in your arms.”
Simon placed his hand on her head, pressing it to his shoulder. Now that she spoke of it, he remembered. It was when he had come to J?rundgaard to tell Lavrans that the bond between him and Kristin had to be broken. He had slept very little that night. And now he recalled that he had gotten up to tend to little Ramborg, who lay fretting over a toothache.
“Have I ever behaved toward you in such a way, my Ramborg, that you thought it right to say that I didn’t love you?”
“Simon . . . don’t you think I might deserve that you loved me more than Kristin? She was wicked and dishonest toward you, while I have stayed with you like a little lapdog all these years.”
Gently Simon lifted her off his lap, stood up, and took her hands in his.
“Speak no more of your sister, Ramborg—not in that manner. I wonder whether you even realize what you’re saying. Don’t you think that I fear God? Can you believe that I would be so unafraid of shame and the worst of sins, or that I wouldn’t think of my children and all my kinsmen and friends? I’m your husband, Ramborg. Don’t forget that, and don’t talk of such things to me.”
“I know you haven’t broken any of God’s commandments or breached any laws or code of honor.”
“Never have I spoken a word to your sister or touched her with my hand in any way that I cannot defend on the Day of Judgment. This I swear before God and the apostle Saint Simon.”
Ramborg nodded silently.
“Do you think your sister would have treated me as she has all these years if she thought, as you do, that I love her with sinful desire? Then you don’t know Kristin.”
“Oh, she has never thought about whether any man might desire her, except for Erlend. She hardly notices that the rest of us are flesh and blood.”
“Yes, what you say is probably true, Ramborg,” replied Simon calmly. “But then you must realize how senseless it is for you to torment me with your jealousy.”
Ramborg pulled her hands away.
“I didn’t mean to do so, Simon. But you’ve never loved me the way you love her. She is still always in your thoughts, but you seldom think of me unless you see me.”
“I’m not to blame, Ramborg, if a man’s heart is created in such a fashion that whatever is inscribed on it when it’s young and fresh is carved deeper than all the runes that are later etched.”
“Haven’t you ever heard the saying that a man’s heart is the first thing to come alive in his mother’s womb and the last thing to die inside him?” replied Ramborg quietly.
“No . . . Is there such a saying? That might well be true.” Lightly he caressed her cheek. “But if we’re going to get any sleep tonight, we should go to bed now,” he said wearily.
Ramborg fell asleep after a while. Simon slipped his arm out from under her neck, moved over to the very edge of the bed, and pulled the fur covers all the way up to his chin. His shirt was soaked through at the shoulder from her tears. He felt a bitter sympathy for his wife, but at the same time he realized with renewed bewilderment that he could no longer treat her as if she were a blind and inexperienced child. Now he had to acknowledge that Ramborg was a full-grown woman.
Gray light appeared in the windowpane; the May night was fading. He was dead tired, and tomorrow was the Sabbath. He wouldn’t go to church in the morning, even though he might need to. He had once promised Lavrans that he would never miss a mass without an exceedingly good reason. But it hadn’t helped him much to keep that promise during all these years, he thought bitterly. Tomorrow he was not going to ride to mass.