She pulled her flint out of the pouch on her belt, but the tinder must have gotten wet and then froze. Finally she gave up trying, picked up the ember pan, and went upstairs to borrow some coals from Jofrid.
A good fire was burning in the little fireplace, lighting up the room. In the glow of the flames Jofrid sat stitching the copper clasp more securely to Gaute’s reindeer coat. Over in the dim light of the bed, Kristin caught a glimpse of the man’s naked torso. Gaute slept without covers even in the most biting cold. He was sitting up and having something to eat in bed.
Jofrid got to her feet heavily, with a proprietary air. Wouldn’t Mother like a drop of ale? She had heated up the morning drink for Gaute. And Mother should take along this pitcher for Lavrans; he was going out with Gaute to cut wood that day. It would be cold for the men.
Kristin involuntarily grimaced when she was back downstairs and lit the fire. Seeing Jofrid busy with domestic chores and Gaute sitting there, openly allowing his wife to serve him . . . and his paramour’s concern for her unlawful husband—all this seemed to Kristin so loathsome and immodest.
Lavrans stayed out in the forest, but Gaute came home that night, worn out and hungry. The women sat at the table after the servants had left, keeping the master company while he drank.
Kristin saw that Jofrid was not feeling well that evening. She kept letting her sewing sink to her lap as spasms of pain flickered across her face.
“Are you in pain, Jofrid?” asked Kristin softly.
“Yes, a little. In my feet and legs,” replied the girl. She had toiled all day long, as usual, refusing to spare herself. Now pain had overtaken her, and her legs had swollen up.
Suddenly little tears spilled out from her lowered eyes. Kristin had never seen a woman cry in such a strange fashion; without a sound, her teeth clenched tight, she sat there weeping clear, round tears. Kristin thought they looked as hard as pearls, trickling down the haggard brown-flecked face. Jofrid looked angry that she was forced to surrender; reluctantly she allowed Kristin to help her over to the bed.
Gaute followed. “Are you in pain, my Jofrid?” he asked awkwardly. His face was fiery red from the cold, and he looked genuinely unhappy as he watched his mother helping Jofrid get settled, taking off her shoes and socks and tending to her swollen feet and legs. “Are you in pain, my Jofrid?” he kept asking.
“Yes,” said Jofrid, in a low voice, biting back her rage. “Do you think I’d behave this way if I wasn’t?”
“Are you in pain, my Jofrid?” he repeated.
“Surely you can see for yourself. Don’t stand there moping like a foolish boy!” Kristin turned to face her son, her eyes blazing. The dull knot of fear about how things would turn out, of impatience because she had to tolerate the disorderly life of these two on her estate, of gnawing doubt about her son’s manliness—all these things erupted in a ferocious rage: “Are you such a simpleton that you think she might be feeling good? She can see that you’re not man enough to venture over the mountains because it’s windy and snowing. You know full well that soon she’ll have to crawl on her knees, this poor woman, and writhe in the greatest of torments—and her child will be called a bastard, because you don’t dare go to her father. You sit here in the house warming the bench, not daring to lift a finger to protect the wife you have or your child soon to be born. Your father was not so afraid of my father that he didn’t dare seek him out, or so fainthearted that he refused to ski through the mountains in the wintertime. Shame on you, Gaute, and pity me who must live to see the day when I call my son a timid man, one of the sons that Erlend gave me!”
Gaute picked up the heavy carved chair with both hands and slammed it against the floor; he ran over to the table and swept everything off. Then he rushed to the door, giving one last kick to the chair. They heard him cursing as he climbed the stairs to the loft.
“Oh no, Mother. You were much too hard on Gaute.” Jofrid propped herself up on her elbow. “You can’t reasonably expect him to risk his life going into the mountains in the winter in order to seek out my father and find out whether he’ll be allowed to marry his seduced bride, with no dowry other than the shift I wore when he took me away, or else be driven from the land as an outlaw.”
Waves of anger were still washing through Kristin’s heart. She replied proudly, “And yet I don’t believe my son would think that way!”
“No,” said Jofrid. “If he didn’t have me to think for him . . .” When she saw Kristin’s expression, laughter crept into her voice. “Dear Mother, I’ve had trouble enough trying to restrain Gaute. I refuse to let him commit any more follies for my sake and cause our children to lose the riches that I can expect to inherit from my kinsmen if Gaute can come to an agreement that will be the best and most honorable one for all of us.”