Lavrans stood with his hand on his brother’s shoulder; Aasmund Bj?rgulfs?n had come to J?rundgaard as a guest. He too asked Haakon whether he was satisfied with the food.
“The ale is good, Lavrans Bj?rgulfs?n,” said Haakon. “But a slut must have made the porridge for us today. Overly bedded cooks make overly boiled porridge, as the saying goes, and this porridge is scorched.”
“It’s a shame for me to give you burned porridge,” said Lavrans. “But I hope that the old saying isn’t always true, because it was my daughter herself who made the porridge.” He laughed and asked Kristin and Tordis to hurry and bring in the meat dishes.
Kristin dashed outside and over to the cookhouse. Her heart was pounding—she had caught a glimpse of her uncle’s face when Haakon was talking about the cook and the porridge.
Late that evening she saw her father and uncle talking for a long time as they walked back and forth in the courtyard. She was dizzy with fear, and it was no better the next day when she noticed that her father was taciturn and morose. But he didn’t say a word to her.
He said nothing after his brother left either. But Kristin noticed that he wasn’t talking to Haakon as much as usual, and when their time was up for housing the old man, Lavrans didn’t offer to keep him longer but let him move on to the next farm.
There were plenty of reasons for Lavrans Bj?rgulfs?n to be unhappy and gloomy that summer, because there were signs it would be a bad harvest in the village. The landowners called a ting to discuss how they were going to face the coming winter. By late summer it was already clear to most people that they would have to slaughter their livestock or drive a large part of their cattle to market in the south in order to buy grain for people to eat in the winter. The year before had not been a good year for grain, so supplies of old grain were smaller than normal.
One morning in early autumn Ragnfrid went out with all three of her daughters to see to some linen she had spread out to bleach. Kristin praised her mother’s weaving skill. Then Ragnfrid began stroking Ramborg’s hair.
“This is for your wedding chest, little one.”
“Mother,” said Ulvhild, “will I have a chest too, if I go to a cloister?”
“You know that you’ll have no smaller dowry than your sisters,” said Ragnfrid. “But you won’t need the same kinds of things. And you know that you can stay with your father and me for as long as we live … if that’s what you want.”
“And by the time you go to the convent,” said Kristin, her voice quavering, “it’s possible, Ulvhild, that I will have been a nun for many years.”
She glanced at her mother, but Ragnfrid was silent.
“If I could have married,” said Ulvhild, “I would never have turned away from Simon. He was kind, and he was so sad when he said goodbye to all of us.”
“You know your father has said we shouldn’t talk about this,” said Ragnfrid.
But Kristin said stubbornly, “Yes, I know he was sadder to part with all of you than with me.”
Her mother said angrily, “He wouldn’t have had much pride if he had shown you his sorrow. You didn’t deal fairly with Simon Andress?n, my daughter. And yet he asked us not to threaten you or curse you.”
“No, he probably thought he had cursed me so much that no one else needed to tell me how wretched I was,” said Kristin in the same manner as before. “But I never noticed that Simon was particularly fond of me until he realized that I held another man dearer than I held him.”
“Go on home,” said Ragnfrid to the two younger ones. She sat down on a log lying on the ground and pulled Kristin down by her side. “You know very well,” she began, “that it has always been thought more proper and honorable for a man not to speak too much of love to his betrothed—or to sit alone with her or show too much feeling.”
“I’d be amazed,” said Kristin, “if young people in love didn’t forget themselves once in a while, instead of always keeping in mind what their elders regard as proper.”
“Take care, Kristin,” said her mother, “that you do keep it in mind.” She was silent for a moment. “I think it’s probably true that your father is afraid you have thrown your love away on a man to whom he is unwilling to give you.”
“What did my uncle say?” asked Kristin after a moment.
“Nothing except that Erlend of Husaby has better lineage than reputation,” her mother said. “Yes, he did ask Aasmund to put in a good word for him with Lavrans. Your father wasn’t pleased when he heard about it.”