The Storm Sister (The Seven Sisters #2) (22 page)

What made it worse was that this summer she had struggled through
Peer Gynt
, and even now, having endlessly mulled the story over, she could not think for the life of her why the poor
peasant girl at the centre of it – Solveig was her name – had wasted her whole life waiting for a dreadful, philandering man like Peer. And then, when he
did
return, taking him
back and resting his lying, cheating head on her knee.

‘I would have used it as a ball for Viva to play with,’ she muttered as she neared their homestead. And the one thing she had categorically decided this summer was that she could
never,
ever
marry a man she didn’t love.

Reaching the end of the path, she saw the sturdy wood cabin up ahead, unchanged for generations. The turfed roof stood out as a bright, healthy green square amongst the darker foliage of the
spruce trees in the forest that surrounded it. Anna took a scoop of water from the barrel that stood beside the front door and washed her hands to rid them of the smell of cow before stepping
inside the cheerful sitting-room-cum-kitchen, where, as she’d predicted, the oil lamps were already lit and burning brightly.

The room housed a large table covered with a checked cloth, a carved pine dresser, an old wood-fired oven and a huge open fireplace, over which she and her mother heated the iron pot that was
filled with porridge for breakfast and supper and meat and vegetables for the midday meal. To the rear of the cabin were the sleeping quarters: her parents’ bedroom, Knut’s bedroom, and
the tiny bedroom where she herself slept.

Taking one of the lamps from the table, she crossed the well-worn wooden floor and pushed open the door to her room. The space was only just wide enough for her to squeeze through, since the
bedstead butted right up to the door. Setting the lamp down on the nightstand, she removed her bonnet so that her hair fell in a curly Titian mane past her shoulders.

Picking up her faded looking glass, Anna sat down on the bed and checked her face, wiping away a smudge of dirt from her forehead to make herself presentable before supper. She studied her
reflection in the cracked surface for a moment. She did not consider herself particularly comely. Her nose seemed far too small in comparison to her big blue eyes and full, curved lips. The only
good thing about the winter coming, she reflected, was that the freckles which liberally peppered the bridge of her nose and her cheeks in the summer would subside and go into hibernation with her
until next spring.

Sighing, she put the looking glass down, then manoeuvred herself out of the door and checked the clock on the kitchen wall. It was seven o’clock, and she was surprised that no one seemed
to be at home, especially as she knew that her father and Knut were expected.

‘Hello?’ she called out, but there was no reply. Stepping outside into the fast-falling dusk, Anna walked round to the back of the cabin where a solid pine table sat on the rough
earth. To her surprise, she saw her parents and Knut sitting with a stranger, whose face was illuminated by the glow of the oil lamp.

‘Where on earth have you been, child?’ asked her mother, rising from her seat.

‘Checking the cows were down from the mountain, as you asked me to do.’

‘You left hours ago,’ chided Berit.

‘I had to search for Rosa; the others had left her miles away on her own.’

‘Well, at least you’re back now.’ Berit sounded relieved. ‘This gentleman has travelled here with your father and brother to meet you.’

Anna glanced at the gentleman, wondering why on earth he’d do such a thing. No one had ever come ‘to meet her’ anywhere in her entire life. As she looked at him more closely,
she saw that he was not from the country. He was dressed in a dark tailored jacket with wide lapels and a silk cravat at the neck, as well as flannel trousers that, although mud-spattered at the
hem, were the kind worn by smart people from the big cities. He had a large moustache that turned up at each end, rather like the horns on top of a goat’s head, and Anna guessed from the
lines on his face that he was in his middle fifties. As she studied him, she could see that he was appraising her too. Then he smiled at her, and the smile was full of approval.

‘Come, Anna, and meet Herr Bayer.’ Her father beckoned to her as he filled the gentleman’s tin mug with home-made beer from the large jug on the table.

Anna walked tentatively towards the man, who immediately stood up and held out his hand. She offered hers in return, and instead of shaking it, he clasped it in both of his.

‘Frøken Landvik, I am privileged to make your acquaintance.’

‘Are you?’ she said, taken aback by the enthusiasm of his greeting.

‘Anna, don’t be rude!’ admonished her mother.

‘No, please,’ the gentleman replied. ‘I’m sure Anna didn’t mean it to sound so. She is simply surprised to see me. I’m sure it’s not every day your
daughter arrives home at her hillside retreat to find a stranger waiting for her. Now, Anna, if you will sit down, I will explain why I am here.’

Her parents and Knut looked on expectantly as she did so.

‘Firstly, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Franz Bayer and I am a professor of Norwegian history at the University of Christiania. I am also a pianist and a music teacher. I and my
like-minded friends spend most summers in Telemark county researching the national culture that you good people preserve so well in these parts, and seeking out young musical talent to represent it
in the capital city of Christiania. When I arrived in the village of Heddal, I went as I always do in the first instance to the church, and there I met Fru Erslev, the wife of the pastor. She told
me that she runs the choir and when I asked her if she had any exceptional voices amongst her ranks, she told me of yours. Naturally, I presumed you would be in the local vicinity. Then she
informed me that you spent your summers up here, almost a day’s travel away by horse and cart, but that fortuitously your father might be able to provide me with transport, which he
did.’ Herr Bayer dipped a bow to Anders. ‘My dear young lady, I confess to having had a certain reticence when Fru Erslev told me of your location. However, she convinced me that the
journey would be worthwhile. She tells me that you have the voice of an angel. And so’ – he spread his arms and smiled broadly – ‘here I am. And your dear parents have been
most hospitable whilst we waited for your return.’

As Anna struggled to absorb Herr Bayer’s words, she realised that her mouth was hanging slack with surprise and she quickly closed her lips together. She didn’t want a sophisticated
city dweller like him to assume that she was some half-witted country peasant.

‘I am honoured that you have made the journey just to see me,’ she said, dropping the most graceful curtsey she could manage.

‘Well, if your choir mistress is right – and your parents too believe you have talent – then the honour is entirely mine,’ Herr Bayer said gallantly. ‘And of
course, now you are here, I am delighted to say you have the opportunity to prove them all correct. I would dearly like you to sing for me, Anna.’

‘Of course she will,’ said Anders as Anna stood there, silent and uncertain. ‘Anna?’

‘But I only know folk songs and hymns, Herr Bayer.’

‘Either will suffice, I can assure you,’ he encouraged.

‘Sing “
Per Spelmann
”,’ suggested her mother.

‘That will do to start with,’ Herr Bayer responded with a nod.

‘But I have only sung it to the cows before.’

‘Then imagine that I am your favourite cow, and you are calling me home,’ Herr Bayer replied with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

‘Very well, sir. I will try my best.’

Anna closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself back on the hillside, calling Rosa, just as she had done that very evening. Taking a deep breath, she began to sing. The words came to her
without thinking as she sang the story of the poor fiddler who traded in his cow to get his violin back. And once the last clear note had disappeared into the night air, she opened her eyes.

She looked at Herr Bayer uncertainly, waiting for a verbal reaction. There was silence for a few moments as he studied her intently.

‘Now perhaps a hymn – do you know “
Herre Gud, dit dyre Navn og Ære
”
?
’ he said eventually.

Anna nodded and once again opened her mouth to sing. This time when she had finished, she saw Herr Bayer take out a large kerchief and dab his eyes.

‘Young lady,’ he said, his voice husky with emotion. ‘That was sublime. And worth every hour of the backache I will suffer tonight from the journey up here.’

‘Of course you must stay with us,’ interjected Berit. ‘You can take our son Knut’s bedroom and he can sleep in the kitchen.’

‘My dear lady, I am most grateful. I will indeed take you up on your offer, as we have much to discuss. Forgive my presumption, but is there a chance you can offer this weary traveller
some bread? I have not eaten a thing since breakfast.’

‘Please, sir, forgive me,’ said Berit, horrified that in all the excitement she had completely forgotten about food. ‘Of course, Anna and I will prepare something
now.’

And in the meantime, Herr Landvik and I will discuss how Anna’s voice can be brought to the wider attention of the Norwegian public.’

Eyes wide, Anna dutifully followed her mother into the kitchen.

‘What must he think of us? That we are so inhospitable – or poor – that we do not have food on our table for a guest!’ Berit berated herself, as she set out a platter
containing bread, butter and slices of cured pork. ‘He is sure to return to Christiania and tell all his friends that the stories they have heard about our uncivilised ways are
true.’

‘Mor, Herr Bayer seems like a kind gentleman and I’m sure he will do nothing of the sort. If all is done for now, I must fetch more logs for the fire.’

‘Well, hurry up about it, you need to lay the table.’

‘Yes, Mor,’ Anna said, as she walked outside, carrying a large wicker basket under her arm. After loading the basket with logs, she stood for a few moments looking at the twinkling
lights that shone intermittently on the hillside towards the lake, indicating the sporadic presence of other human habitations. Her heart was still beating fast from the surprise of what had just
occurred.

She had no clear idea of what it meant for her, although she
had
heard tales of other talented singers and musicians who had been whisked off to the city from villages all over Telemark
county by professors such as Herr Bayer. She tried to think whether, if he
did
ask her to go with him, she’d actually want to. But as her experience beyond the dairy was confined to
Heddal or the occasional trip to Skien, she couldn’t even begin to contemplate what such a move might involve.

Hearing her mother calling her name, Anna turned and walked back to the cabin.

The following morning, in the few drowsy seconds between sleep and wakefulness, Anna stirred in her bed, knowing that yesterday something incredible had happened. Finally
remembering what it was, she got up and began the cumbersome process of dressing in the bloomers, vest, cream blouse, black skirt and colourfully embroidered waistcoat that were her daily attire.
After placing her cotton bonnet on her head and stuffing her hair inside it, she donned her boots.

Last night, after they’d eaten, she’d sung two more songs and another hymn, before being sent off to bed by her mother. The talk up until then had not been about Anna, but about the
unusually warm weather and her father’s predicted crop yield for the next year. But she had heard the hushed voices of her parents and Herr Bayer through the thin wooden walls and had known
that it was her future they were discussing. At one point she had even dared to open her door a crack so she could eavesdrop.

‘I worry of course that if Anna is to leave us for the city, my wife will be left to manage the household chores alone,’ she’d heard her father saying.

‘She may not be a natural when it comes to cooking and cleaning, but she is a hard worker and she also tends to the animals,’ Berit had added.

‘Well, I am sure we can come to an arrangement,’ Herr Bayer had replied soothingly. ‘I am of course prepared to recompense you for the loss of Anna’s labour.’

Anna had held her breath in disbelief as a figure was mentioned. Unable to hear any more, she had closed the door as quietly as she could. ‘So I am to be bought and sold like a cow at the
market!’ she’d muttered furiously to herself, outraged that money would even enter into her parents’ decision. Yet she had also felt a tiny jitter of excitement. It had been a
long time after that before sleep had overcome her.

Over a breakfast of porridge that morning, Anna sat silently as her family discussed Herr Bayer, who was still sleeping off the exertions of his journey. It seemed that the enthusiasm of last
night had worn off and her family had begun to question the wisdom of allowing their only daughter to go off to the city with a stranger.

‘All we have to go on is his word,’ Knut said, sounding sour because he’d had to give up his bed to Herr Bayer. ‘How do we know Anna will be safe with him?’