This strange weather had already lasted for several days: no wind, a thick haze with a peculiar leaden blue color that could be seen out over the sea and toward the mountains whenever it lifted enough so that a little of the countryside became visible. Now and then it would grow denser, becoming a downpour; now and then it would disperse so much that a whitish patch would appear where the sun hovered amid the shrouded peaks. But an odd heavy bathhouse heat hung on, quite unusual for that region down by the fjord and particularly at that time of year. It was two days before the Feast of the Birth of Mary. Everyone was talking about the weather and wondering what it could mean.
Kristin was sweating in the dead, damp heat, and the thought of the news she had heard about Naakkve was making her chest ache. She had reached the outskirts of the woods and come to the rough fence along the road to the sea; as she stood there, scraping moss off the rails, Sira Eiliv came riding toward home in the fog. He reined in his horse, said a few words about the weather, and they fell to talking. Then she asked the priest whether he knew anything about the incident with Naakkve, even though she knew it was futile. Sira Eiliv always pretended to know nothing about the private matters of the monastery at Tautra.
“I don’t think you need to worry that he won’t come to Rein this winter because of that, Kristin,” said the priest. “For surely that’s what you fear?”
“It’s more than that, Sira Eiliv. I fear that Naakkve was never meant to be a monk.”
“Do you mean you would presume to judge about such things?” asked the priest with a frown. Then he got down from his horse, tied the reins to the fence, and bent down to slip under the railing as he gave the woman a steady, searching glance.
Kristin said, “I fear that Naakkve finds it most difficult to submit to the discipline of the order. And he was so young when he entered the monastery; he didn’t realize what he was giving up or know his own mind. But everything that happened during his youth—losing his father’s inheritance and the discord that he saw between his father and mother, which ended with Erlend’s death—all this caused him to lose his desire to live in this world. But I never noticed that it made him pious.”
“You didn’t? It may well be that Nikulaus has found it as difficult to submit to the discipline of the order as many a good monk has. He’s hot-tempered and a young man, perhaps too young for him to have realized, before he turned away from this world, that the world is just as harsh a taskmaster as any other lord, and in the end it’s a lord without mercy. Of that I think you yourself can judge, sister.
“And if it’s true that Naakkve entered the monastery more for his brother’s sake than out of love for his Creator . . . Even so, I don’t think God will let it go unrewarded that he took up the cross on his brother’s behalf. Mary, the Mother of God, whom I know Naakkve has honored and loved from the time he was a little boy, will doubtless show him clearly one day that her son came down to this earth to be his brother and to carry the cross for him.
“No . . .” The horse snuffled against the priest’s chest. He stroked the animal as he murmured, as if to himself, “Ever since he was a child, my Nikulaus has had remarkable capacities for love and suffering; I think he has the makings of a fine priest.
“But you, Kristin,” he said, turning toward her. “It seems to me that you should have seen so much by now that you would put more trust in God the Almighty. Haven’t you realized yet that He will hold up each soul as long as that soul clings to Him? Do you think—child that you still are in your old age—that God would punish the sin when you must reap sorrow and humiliation because you followed your desire and your pride along pathways God has forbidden His children to tread? Will you say that you punished your children if they scalded their hands when they picked up the boiling kettle you had forbidden them to touch? Or the slippery ice broke beneath them when you had warned them not to go out there? Haven’t you noticed when the brittle ice broke beneath you? You were drawn under each time you let go of God’s hand, and you were rescued from the depths each time you called out to Him. Even when you defied your father and set your willfulness against his will, wasn’t the love that was the bond of flesh between you and your father consolation and balm for the heart when you had to reap the fruit of your disobedience to him?
“Haven’t you realized yet, sister, that God has helped you each time you prayed, even when you prayed with half a heart or with little faith, and He gave you much more than you asked for. You loved God the way you loved your father: not as much as you loved your own will, but still enough that you always grieved when you had to part from him. And then you were blessed with having good grow from the bad which you had to reap from the seed of your stubborn will.