The House by the Fjord (19 page)

I have chosen the largest room in which to sleep as mistress of the house. The bedhead there is magnificently carved with a design of a ship at sea and bare-breasted mermaids in abundance. I think that any woman would most surely welcome ecstatically a husband or lover into such a splendid bed
.

Anna put a bookmark in its place and then closed the journal. Ingrid's description of the house and its setting had made her feel as if she were there too, seeing it all though that young woman's eyes. Now she had to think over what she had read and consider carefully whatever might come from it. As she left her chair to prepare a light lunch, she thought that Steffan had certainly known what he was doing when he had given her the journal to read. It was easy to hear Ingrid's voice coming out of the pages.

After her snack lunch Anna sat down again and took up the journal once more to continue reading. Ingrid's name for her new habitation seemed to ring in Anna's head –
House of Fjord and Roses
. How enticing it sounded and how beautiful! Now she was sure there would soon follow a description of the interior of the
stabbur
and she was eager to know what would be found in it.

This morning I postponed any further cleaning, having worked hard yesterday evening before bed, washing and scrubbing happily and to which the house responded with a smile, I am sure. Now it smells of fresh air and sunshine, its mellow wood aroma enhanced by my vigorous cleaning. There are only two of the bedrooms left to be done and I have already washed the floors there. So this morning I took my keys to the
stabbur
that rests high on its four stone rat-proof supports. There I went up the well-worn steps to unfasten the shutters and to look inside its downstairs room. As was usual, this space had been used to store grain, hence the protection against vermin. A few empty barrels remained. Otherwise, the only object of interest was a butter-mould left on a shelf. It was like a small box, but was carved inside with a pretty pattern to shape butter for the table. I put it ready to take indoors and then mounted the staircase to the gallery. There I released the shutters and hooked them back against the walls before using my keys to unlock the door to the upper room
.

It was like entering a setting of the Arabian nights after the austere furnishing in the house. I realized instantly that my grandmother's testimonial must have included very strict instructions that nothing was to be removed from the house or the
stabbur,
for here was all the luxury that could be given in the old tradition that hospitality must ensure the best of everything for a guest. Hand-woven tapestries covered the walls and multicoloured rag-rugs lay across the floor, although there was one rug that looked to be Turkish. The grand bed had an ornately carved bedhead, much like the one that ornaments my bed in the house, and both were most surely made by the same woodcarver. The hand-woven spread covering the feather mattress was enhanced through being edged by a silky fringe. An iron washstand in the corner held a jug and basin, the cupboard beside it containing neatly folded towels. In all respects, except for a cleaning by me, it was ready to receive an honoured visitor. That caused me to wonder who would be the first guest to occupy this room that was now in my domain. I let my imagination run riot and I giggled when I considered that it should be a royal personage. After all, the room was grand enough. Maybe its first occupant would be a travelling storyteller, who would sit on the
stabbur
steps and transport me in my mind to far-off places with tales of the exciting times of long ago. I would hear the clash of Viking weapons and the cry of a woman taken in love. Perhaps he would be moved romantically to make up a poem about me that I could frame and hang on the wall. Maybe he would become lyrical about this valley too, for the scenery around this house is breathtaking enough to inspire any poet
.

Then I smiled to myself at a fanciful thought that came into my head. Best of all possible guests would be a handsome suitor, eager for my favours. I eyed the bed speculatively. Enduring Berdal's rough usage of my body had not blinded me as to how it could be with a young man, loving and ardent with smooth muscled arms that would hold me close to his warm chest
.
I felt an ache pass through my body as if it were crying out for caresses. I had to press my clasped hands against myself to ease that sweet torment
.

Anna paused momentarily in her reading. She recognized that yearning, although in her case she distrusted it, remembering how it had led her into Karl's arms. She hoped that the journal would not reveal a similarly unfortunate encounter for Ingrid, for already it was clear that she was a passionate young woman. She returned her gaze to the current page again.

I finished my inspection of the house by looking into the cellar. Some light comes through a tiny window, although in winter that will be covered with snow and there will be no illumination at all. There was nothing of interest there except a spinning wheel, which I brought up into my kitchen and washed free of dust and dirt. I had been taught to spin and weave when I was young, part of most girls' practical education, and I was pleased with my discovery of it
.

The last of the food I had brought with me had been finished at breakfast. Now I needed to replenish my larder. I made a list and took up an ancient basket that I had found in the barn. Then, wearing my most sober dress, which was a pale grey with a plain collar, and with my hair neatly arranged and tucked into a white frilled cap that fastened under my chin
,
I set off with the basket in my hand down the track that would lead me to the village. I had pegged out Hans-Petter where he could enjoy the lush grass and he whinnied, expecting to be ridden, but I had to tread cautiously in more ways than one to get myself accepted as a new neighbour in this community
.

Anything ostentatious about me, such as riding luxuriously when I could walk, would startle these good, hard-working country people. They have a deep-rooted attitude, held by both sexes, that women should be modest in their ways and in their dress at all times – mostly daily wear of black garb for all but the very young – and not to draw vulgar attention to themselves at any time
.
On this day, my first in their community and suitably attired, they will not suspect that the newcomer in their midst is a rebel who has finally broken free and finished with all forms of subservience, for I have no wish to offend from the start these neighbours that I want to become my friends. When they get to know me, I hope that they will accept that I have strong opinions about most things without ever wanting to hurt their feelings. They will also have to get used to the way I shall be dressing, because I have had enough of being ordered what to wear and intend to don myself in the brightest colours I can find
.

I sang to myself as I went along, swinging my basket and loving the mingled scents of flowers, fern and grass, as well as the hay that was drying on lines stretched across the meadows like golden necklaces for giant trolls. As I reached level ground, I set out for the cluster of three little shops that I had glimpsed from a distance when I had arrived. The first one that I came to was a cobbler's and, peering through the window, I could see him handing over a pair of newly soled boots to a boy aged about six years old. I saw the cobbler laugh heartily at something the child had said, shaking his head. As I was about to move on, the boy came out and spoke to me, a worried frown on his round, pink-cheeked face
.

‘Arne Nilsgard,' he gulped before turning on his heel and bolting away in the direction of one of the farmhouses up the valley. Meeting him had been my first encounter with a local resident, but it was clear that word of my arrival had spread widely already
.

The next shop was a little country store that sold almost everything from needles and thread to potatoes and home-made bread. The shopkeeper raised his bushy eyebrows in surprise as I entered and, by some signal that I did not notice, he summoned his wife, who appeared almost instantly with floury hands, to greet me breathlessly
.

I recognized the beginning of some cross-questioning. The shopkeeper was serving somebody else who had come in, and I could feel the significant looks being exchanged
.

I bought golden farm butter, two loaves, meat and various other items, including a little straw basket of strawberries and another of raspberries that were almost the size of young plums. When I left the shop, four or five women had gathered outside and stopped their conversation as I emerged. I guessed that the little boy had boasted that he had met me and they had hurried to have a good stare at the new arrival. I smiled, bidding them good morning. They all replied and I could feel their interested gaze following me as I set off for home again
.

Home! What a beautiful word it is! If I could have run up the mountain track, I would have done it in my eagerness to see the old house again, but my basket was too heavy with all that I had purchased. I had to plod all the way, but the sight of my home became even more precious to me as it came into view. It was almost possible for me to believe that I could become a hermit here, needing nothing from the outside world, but I know my own nature too well. I would soon become restless, needing the company of others with the freedom to laugh and even – if the right man happened to come along – to love
.

The next day I went down to the village again. This time I wore a brighter dress and no cap, drawing my hair back smoothly from my brow into a coil at the nape of my neck. The previous day I could not have carried anything extra, so this time I had an empty basket when I went into the dairy
.
This was where the local milk was brought in for distribution elsewhere, a proportion being made into a local cheese. There was a wonderful smell of cheese as I entered and a selection was displayed on a white cloth. A youth in a large white apron served me. I chose a brown goats' cheese, and another local cheese that was creamy in colour and in taste, both of which proved later at supper time to be extremely good
.

I had not been long home again when I had my first visitor, whom I recognized as having been outside the shop the previous day. Young and pretty, with a round face enhanced by dimples and moon-fair curls escaping from her cap, she introduced herself as Marie Eikdal, wife of a local farmer. For me it was a great joy to chat with someone of my own age, and she had kindly brought me a little bunch of flowers from the garden of her home. I was quick to put them in water and placed them on the table in a vase that I had discovered the previous evening in one of the cupboards. We chatted over coffee and she told me much about the valley and the people who lived there
.

‘Do you like to dance?' Marie asked me when I was refilling her coffee cup
.

‘No, I'm at liberty to dance as much as I like,' I replied quickly. I could have added that I had not mourned Berdal for a single moment, only thankful for being liberated from his countless cruelties, but that period in my life and all it entailed was my own affair. I never wanted to speak of him or the bondage of my marriage ever again
.

So there began for me a good and lasting friendship, as well as learning at last a way to release my pent-up energies. At the same time I became proud as a little peacock that my feet were light and nimble, each dance I learned a pleasure to me, and I earned praise from Marie because I was so quick to master whatever new steps she gave me
.

When she judged I was ready, she asked her brother, Henrik, to come and play music for dancing on his fiddle for us, so that I could hear for myself the various tunes that she had hummed for me. He was a pleasant youth, yellow-haired and with a crooked front tooth that somehow only added to the charm of his merry grin. Soon I will be ready for the open-air dances that are held on Saturday evenings when the weather permits. So far there has been only lovely weather, but I know that the west coast with its mountains can have torrents of rain if its mood changes . . 
.