Ramborg and Jamm?lt had not yet had a child of their own. Kristin had heard from those who had seen Ramborg at Raumarike that she had grown quite fat and lazy. She kept company with the wealthiest and mightiest people in the south, but she never wanted to make the trip to her home valley, and Kristin hadn’t seen her only sister since they parted on that day at Formo. But Kristin was convinced that Ramborg’s resentment toward her remained unchanged. She got on well with Jamm?lt, and he tended to the well-being of his stepchildren with loving care. If he should die with no children of his own, he had arranged for the eldest son of the man who would inherit most of his property to marry Ulvhild Simonsdatter; in that way at least the daughter of Simon Darre would have some benefit from his inheritance. Arngjerd had married Grunde of Eiken the year after her father’s death; Gyrd Darre and Jamm?lt had provided her with a rich dowry, as they knew Simon would have wanted. And Jamm?lt said she was well. Grunde appeared to let his wife guide him in all manner of things, and they already had three handsome children.
Kristin was strangely moved when she saw Simon and Ramborg’s oldest son again. He was the living image of Lavrans Bj?rg ulfs?n, even more than Gaute. And over the past few years Kristin had given up her belief that Gaute might be anything like her father in temperament.
Andres Darre was now twelve years old, tall and slender, fair and lovely and rather quiet, although he seemed robust and cheerful enough, with good physical abilities and a hearty appetite, except that he refused to eat meat. There was something that set him apart from other boys, but Kristin couldn’t say what it was, although she watched him closely. Andres became good friends with his aunt, but he never mentioned his visions, and he didn’t have any of his spells while in Sil.
The four sons of Erlend seemed to enjoy being together on their mother’s estate, but Kristin didn’t manage to talk much with her sons. When they were discussing things among themselves, she felt as if their lives and well-being had now slipped beyond her view. The two who came from far away had left their childhood home behind, and the two who lived on the manor were on the verge of taking its management out of her hands. The gathering took place in the midst of the springtime shortages, and she saw that Gaute must have been making preparations for it by rationing the fodder more strictly than usual that winter; he had also borrowed fodder from Sir Sigurd. But he had done all these things without consulting her. And all the advice regarding Gaute’s case was also presented without including her, even though she sat in the same room with the men.
For this reason she was not surprised when Ivar came to her one day and said that Lavrans would be leaving with him when he went back to Rognheim.
Ivar Erlendss?n also told his mother on another day that he thought she should move to Rognheim with him after Gaute was married. “Signe is a more amenable daughter-in-law to live with, I think. And it can’t possibly be easy for you to give up your charge of the household when you are used to running everything.” But otherwise he seemed to be fond of Jofrid—he and all the other men. Only Sir Jamm?lt seemed to regard her with some coolness.
Kristin sat with her little grandson on her lap, thinking that it wouldn’t be easy no matter where she was. It was difficult getting old. It seemed such a short time ago that she herself was the young woman, when it was her fate that prompted the clamor of the men’s counsel and strife. Now she had been pushed into the background. Not long ago her own sons had been just like this little boy. She recalled her dream about the newborn child. During this time the thought of her own mother often came to her; she couldn’t remember her mother except as an aging and melancholy woman. But she too had once been young, when she lay and warmed herself with the heat of her own body; her mother’s body and soul had also been marked in her youth by carrying and giving birth to her children. And doubtless she hadn’t given it any more thought than Kristin had when she sat with the sweet young life at her breast—that as long as they both should live, each day would take the child farther and farther away from her arms.
“After you had a child yourself, Kristin, I thought you would understand,” her mother had once said. Now she realized that her mother’s heart had been deeply etched with memories of her daughter, memories of her thoughts about the child from before she was born and from all the years the child could not remember, memories of fears and hopes and dreams that children would never know had been dreamed on their behalf, before it was their own turn to fear and hope and dream in secret.