And more small hands, feet, faces upturned, eyes shut tight. That deathly pallor, blue grey against the dazzling white snow.
The hawk turned northward, hoping for better hunting grounds.
But he was doomed to be disappointed on this cold, sunny morning.
CHAPTER 21
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AS THE SUN ROSE, ITS rays filled the Halvorsan house with cruel memories. A reminder of the previous morning, when everything seemed full of hope and promise. But despite the blinding rays, the house was no warmer than it had been the night before; there was ice inside the windowpanes because of the humidity from all the clothing that had thawed out during the night.
The children began to stir, sitting up, crying out their hunger, their longing for their parents. Raina rubbed the sleep from her eyes and looked down in surprise; her damp garments had been replaced by dry ones, a dress, one of Mrs. Halvorsan’s own. Every muscle ached—pulsed with pain, actually; every joint protested movement, and she had a pounding headache. But she rose, and automatically went to the stove, where Mrs. Halvorsan stood before a pot of porridge, stirring it listlessly with one hand while with the other she clutched a dishtowel so tightly, her knuckles were white.
Tor wasn’t among the children, and Raina could only assume that at some point he had gone to his own room, where his younger siblings slept.
“Has Mr.—”
“No,” Mrs. Halvorsan said abruptly. “Peter has not returned. Tor is getting dressed to go out and look, now that the storm is gone.”
“How is he? I was worried about his ears; did they get frostbit?”
“Only a little, he’ll lose some skin but not the cartilage, so he’ll be fine.”
“Mrs. Halvorsan, I—I don’t know what to say about Fredrik. He ran after Anette before I could even see that he was gone.”
“Anette? That Pedersen girl, the one who’s just a hired hand?” Mrs. Halvorsan put the spoon down, turning to Raina in surprise.
“Yes. They’re very good friends, you know.”
“I didn’t know. Fredrik talks about her now and then, but I didn’t know he was partial to her in any way.”
“She doesn’t have any friends, other than your son. The other children don’t know how to treat her; they know she’s—well, just a servant, really, at the Pedersens. It makes it awkward for them all.”
“You board with them, don’t you?” Mrs. Halvorsan’s eyebrow arched, and Raina found herself blushing, as if the woman could know what had happened over the last few weeks.
“Yes, I do.”
“I hear that woman—Anna Pedersen—is a handful. We tried to be neighborly when they first came, but she didn’t want no part of us, or nobody else. Too good for us, she must think herself.” Mrs. Halvorsan sniffed, then she turned back to the stove, picking up the spoon and attacking the porridge, the dishtowel now on the floor.
“It is—it is an unusual household. And Anette is not treated well, but then her own mother was the one who gave her away.”
“Sold her, I heard.”
“I don’t know about that. But she is unloved, that’s true. Except by your Fredrik. So please, don’t be angry with him for running after her. He has a kind heart.”
“Yes.” Mrs. Halvorsan’s chin began to tremble, and she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Yes, he has, that one.”
“And Tor, he does, too. He so wanted to go after his brother, but I couldn’t let him. It’s my fault, not his.” Raina desperately wanted Sara Halvorsan to tell her it was nobody’s fault, but she didn’t. She simply walked to the window and stared out at the pitiless prairie. The snow sparkled like fresh sugar, mounded up against the barn, the porch. Anyone out there—anyone who had been trapped overnight, lost in the storm—how could they survive the cold? Especially small, vulnerable bodies. Like Anette and Fredrik.