CHAPTER 6
SHE TOLD HER sons that their father had to take care of a few things at Haugen before he moved home. No doubt he would come south early in the fall.
She went about her estate, looking young, her cheeks flushed, her face soft and gentle, moving more quickly about her work, although she didn’t manage to accomplish nearly as much as she used to with her usual quiet and measured manner. She no longer chastised her sons sharply, as had been her custom whenever they did something wrong or failed to satisfy her demands properly. Now she spoke to them in a jesting manner or let it pass without saying a word.
Lavrans now wanted to sleep with his older brothers up in the loft.
“Yes, I suppose you should be counted among the grown-up boys too, my son.” She ran her fingers through the boy’s thick, golden-brown hair and pulled him close; he was already so tall that he came up to the middle of her breast. “What about you, Munan? Can you stand to have your mother treat you as a child for a while longer?” In the evenings, after the boy had gone to bed in the main room, he liked to have his mother sit on the bed and pamper him a bit. He would lie there with his head in her lap, chattering more childishly than he allowed himself to do during the day when his brothers could hear him. They would talk about when his father was coming home.
Then he would move over next to the wall, and his mother would spread the covers over him. Kristin would light a candle, pick up her sons’ clothes that needed mending, and sit down to sew.
She pulled out the brooch pinned to her bodice and put her hand inside to touch her breasts. They were as round and firm as a young woman’s. She pushed up her sleeve all the way to the shoulder and looked at her bare arm in the light. It had grown whiter and fuller. Then she stood up and took a few steps, noticing how softly she walked in her soft slippers. She ran her hands down over her slim hips; they were no longer sharp and dry like a man’s. The blood coursed through her body the way sap flows through the trees in the spring. It was youth that was sprouting inside her.
She went to the brewhouse with Frida to pour warm water over the grain for the Christmas malt. Frida had neglected to tend to it in time, and the grain had lain there, swelling until it was completely dry. But Kristin didn’t scold the maid; with a slight smile she listened to Frida’s excuses. This was the first time that Kristin had failed to take care of it herself.
By Christmas she would have Erlend back home with her. When she sent word to him, he would have to return at once. The man wasn’t so rash that he would refuse to relent this time; he had to realize that she couldn’t possibly move up to Haugen, far from everyone, when she was no longer walking alone. But she would wait a little more before she sent word—even though it was certain enough—perhaps until she felt some sign of life. The second autumn that they lived at J?rundgaard, she had strayed from the road, as people called a miscarriage. But she had quickly taken solace. She was not afraid that it would happen again this time; it couldn’t possibly. And yet . . .
She felt as if she had to wrap her entire body protectively around this tiny, fragile life she carried under her heart, the way a person cups her hands like a shield around a little, newly lit flame.
One day late in the fall Ivar and Skule came and told her they wanted to ride up to see their father. It was fine weather up in the mountains, and they wanted to ask if they could stay with him and go hunting during these days of bare frost.
Naakkve and Bj?rgulf were sitting at the chessboard. They paused to listen.
“I don’t know,” said Kristin. She hadn’t given any thought to who should carry her message. She looked at her two half-grown sons. She realized it was foolish, but she couldn’t manage to speak of it to them. She could tell them to take Lavrans along and then ask him to talk to his father alone. He was so young that he wouldn’t think it strange. And yet . . .
“Your father will soon be coming home,” she said. “You might end up delaying him. And soon I’ll be sending word to him myself.”
The twins sulked. Naakkve looked up from the chess game and said curtly, “Do as our mother says, boys.”
During Christmas she sent Naakkve north to Erlend. “You must tell him, son, that I am longing for him so greatly, as all of you must be too!” She didn’t mention the other news that had come about; she thought it likely that this grown lad would have noticed it. He would have to decide for himself whether he would speak of it to his father.
Naakkve returned without having seen his father. Erlend had gone to Raumsdal. He must have received word that his daughter and her husband were about to move to Bj?rgvin, and that Margret wanted to meet with her father at Ve?y.