That was reasonable enough. Kristin lay awake at night, now and then stroking Munan’s face as he slept at her side. She was sad that Erlend didn’t come for Christmas. But it was reasonable that he should want to see his daughter while he had the chance. She wiped away her tears as they slid down her cheeks. She was so quick to weep, just as she had been when she was young.
Just after Christmas, Sira Eirik died. Kristin had visited him at Romundgaard several times during the fall after he had taken to his bed, and she attended his funeral. Otherwise she never went out among people. She thought it a great loss that their old parish priest was gone.
At the funeral she heard that someone had met Erlend north at Lesja. He was on his way home to his farm. Surely he would come soon.
Several days later she sat on the bench under the little window, breathing on her hand mirror, which she had taken out, and rubbing it shiny so she could study her face.
She had been as suntanned as a peasant woman during the past few years, but now all trace of the sun had vanished. Her skin was white, with round, bright red roses on her cheeks, like in a painting. Her face had not been so lovely since she was a young maiden. Kristin sat and held her breath with wondrous joy.
At last they would have a daughter, as Erlend had wished for so dearly, if it turned out as the wise women said. Magnhild. They would have to break with custom this time and name her after his mother.
Part of a fairy tale she had once heard drifted through her mind. Seven sons who were driven high into the wilderness as outlaws because of an unborn little sister. Then she laughed at herself; she didn’t understand why she happened to think about that now.
She took from her sewing chest a shirt of the finest white linen, which she worked on whenever she was alone. She pulled out threads from the neckband and stitched birds and beasts on the loosely woven backing; it was years since she had done such fine embroidery. If only Erlend would come now, while it was still making her look beautiful: young and straight-backed, blushing and thriving.
Just after Saint Gregor’s Day the weather turned so lovely that it was almost like spring. The snow began to melt, gleaming like silver; there were already bare brown patches on the slopes facing south, and the mountains rose up from the blue haze.
Gaute was standing outside in the courtyard, repairing a sleigh that had fallen apart. Naakkve was leaning against the wall of the woodshed, watching his brother work. At that moment Kristin came from the cookhouse, carrying with both hands a large trough full of newly baked wheat bread.
Gaute glanced up at his mother. Then he threw the axe and wheel hubs into the sleigh, ran after her, and took the trough from her; he carried it over to the storehouse.
Kristin had stopped where she was, her cheeks red. When Gaute came back, she went over to her sons. “I think the two of you should ride up to your father in the next few days. Tell him that he is sorely needed here at home to take over the management from me. I have so little strength now, and I will be in bed in the middle of the spring farm work.”
The young boys listened to her, and they too blushed, but she could see that they were full of joy. Naakkve said, feigning nonchalance, “We might as well ride up there today, around midafternoon prayers. What do you think, brother?”
On the following day around noon Kristin heard horsemen out in the courtyard. It was Naakkve and Gaute; they were alone. They stood next to their horses, their eyes on the ground, not saying a word.
“What did your father say?” their mother asked.
Gaute stood leaning on his spear. He kept his eyes downcast.
Then Naakkve spoke. “Father asked us to tell you that he has been waiting for you to come to him every day this winter. And he said that you would be no less welcome than you were last time you saw him.”
The color came and went in Kristin’s face.
“Didn’t you mention to your father . . . that things are such with me that . . . it won’t be long before I have another child?”
Gaute replied without looking up, “Father didn’t seem to think that was any reason . . . that you shouldn’t be able to move to Haugen.”
Kristin stood there for a moment. “What did he say?” she then asked, her voice low and sharp.
Naakkve didn’t want to speak. Gaute lifted his hand slightly, casting a swift and beseeching glance at his brother. Then the older son spoke after all. “Father asked us to tell you this: You knew when the child was conceived how rich a man he was. And if he hasn’t grown any richer since, he hasn’t grown any poorer either.”
Kristin turned away from her sons and slowly walked back toward the main house. Heavy and weary, she sat down on the bench under the window from which the spring sun had already melted the ice and frost.