Kaarina found Frida sitting at her loom. “What are you making?” she asked.
“A cloth for a table,” Frida answered, but her eyes seemed faraway and her hands were idle at the loom.
“Better you than me,” Kaarina said. “I do not enjoy weaving.”
“I used to enjoy it,” Frida muttered.
“Why do you not enjoy it now?”
“I know not. I do not feel like doing it.”
Kaarina looked at her thoughtfully. “Do you think you have the melancholia winter illness?” she asked.
Frida shrugged. “Eira gave me some herbs in case that is the problem. They are helping a little.”
Kaarina had a thought. “Let us go for a walk,” she said. “I know it is cold but fresh air is good for the mood.”
Frida looked at her dully. “I do not wish to go walking.”
“Come now,” Kaarina wheedled. “I was planning to go walking and I would love some company. You would be doing something kind for me.”
“If you wish.” Frida rose to her feet and began the arduous task of preparing to go out into the bitter cold.
A few minutes later, they were walking towards the beach.
“I was afraid of the waves once,” Kaarina confided. “When we first came here, I had never seen the ocean. But Landwulf helped me to overcome my fear.”
Frida looked at her with the first spark of interest she’d shown since Kaarina had arrived. “You? Afraid? I did not think you were afraid of anything!”
“The ocean was terrifying,” Kaarina said. “But I learned that I could overcome the fear. And you can overcome the melancholia, too.”
“I know not how,” Frida muttered.
“Going for regular walks will help,” Kaarina advised.
“That is what Eira said.”
“Well, she is right. How about we go together each day? That way, we hold each other accountable for doing it. There are some days I do not feel like going either. And I need it more than anyone!” Kaarina giggled, patting her hips.
Frida smiled. “It does help with staying trim,” she agreed. “Very well, we shall walk together each day.”
Kaarina clapped her hands with delight. “I shall look forward to it,” she said.
“I shall begin hauling logs today,” Gerfrid announced early one morning as he raised the wooden shutters over the windows and peered at the dark, frosty stillness outside. “The weather will be kind. Torsten and Halvar may have time to help me; they are unable to do more work on their homes until the sun returns.”
Frida looked up. “Are you going to see Halvar?” she asked.
“Yes. I will go to tell him that I want to start today.”
“Can you take a message to Eira?” Frida asked.
“Why do you not come with me yourself?” he questioned. “I will not be there for long but it will be enough for you to see Eira.”
Frida looked at Minna.
“Yes, go with Gerfrid,” she said. “It will do you good to get out into the fresh air.”
It wasn’t as bitterly cold as the last time she’d visited Eira but Frida wrapped herself in plentiful layers once she was settled in the sled. Gerfrid slapped Pippin’s rump with the reins and they were off, trotting through the peaceful, frozen fields and forest between the two villages.
In a short time, Gerfrid deposited her at Eira’s door and went to find Halvar, who was in the barn caring for the animals.
“Frida!” Eira exclaimed happily. “You look so much better!”
“I feel better,” Frida replied, shedding some layers so she could hug her friend. “Thank you for the herbs. I am sure they are helping.”
“Have you been getting outdoors for some exercise and fresh air?”
“Most days. It helps to clear my head and I can think more clearly afterwards.”
“Good for you. It seems to be working.”
“I will not say that the sad feelings have passed away; they are still there most days. But they are not as strong and now I can manage them better. I know there are things I can do to help myself feel better. And that is thanks to you. No one else believed me or took it seriously.”
“Do not be too hard on your family,” counselled Eira. “They probably have no experience with persistent melancholia.”
“That is another reason that I feel so out of place in my own family,” Frida said. “No one else has had this complaint and they have no understanding.”
The door thumped and a moment later, Halvar, Torsten and Gerfrid came in.
“We are almost ready to leave,” Halvar told Eira.
Gerfrid looked at Frida. “Would you be able to drive the sled back?” he asked. “I want to go with Halvar and the oxen so they become accustomed to me.”
Frida was about to say yes but before she could open her mouth, Torsten spoke up.
“I can drive, if Frida agrees,” he said. “It will give me time to see Landwulf and Kaarina before the oxen arrive. I have a matter I wish to discuss with them.”
All eyes turned to Frida.
“Uh, yes, that is fine with me,” she responded. Inside, she felt awkward and uncomfortable about sharing the sled with Torsten. He had been kind to her in the past but they hadn’t spoken for some time and she felt timid around him.
But once they were settled, his easy manner helped her to relax and she found herself enjoying the ride. She even found herself laughing when he made a silly joke. She wondered what people would say if they saw them together but for now, she didn’t care. It was quite exhilarating to live dangerously once in a while. She spread the lap rug over their laps and she could feel his shoulder pressed against hers through the bulk of their layers. His eyes smiled at her over the scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face and his hands were confident but gentle on the reins. Pippin flicked his ears back, aware of a different driver, but Torsten gently encouraged him and soon they were moving smoothly down the road.
“You are looking better,” Torsten said. “I have been concerned about you.”
“You noticed?” she asked, embarrassed that he’d seen her weakness.
“You have been sad,” he said simply. “You do not need to be ashamed.”
“No one else in my family has experienced this. To them, it is a weakness.”
“They do not understand,” he said. “But it has happened to me. I was sad for a long time after our village was destroyed and my father and Revna were killed.”
“Revna?”
“My betrothed. We should have been wed by now.”
“Oh, that is so sad,” Frida sympathized.
He reached out and covered her gloved hand with his, the reins held loosely in the other. “The grief is not as sharp now,” he said. “But I understand about sadness. You made me think of Revna when I first saw you. But not now.”
“Why?’
“You are unique, just as she was. My brother had some wise words for me not long ago. He told me to treasure her memory but live for the living. So that is what I shall do.”
They were nearing the village and Frida felt that the ride could go on forever. She had experienced something rare and exquisite: understanding from someone who had been through the same experience.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“I did not do anything.”
“You showed me that you understand,” she said. “No one else has done that for me.”
He patted her hand. “You are strong, Frida. You will find strength and conquer the sadness. And when you do, the world will be a beautiful place again.” He drew the sled to a stop outside her house.
“Shall I take Pippin to the barn?” he asked.
“Yes, please do. My father is probably there or in his workshop. He will take Pippin for you.”
“Farewell, Frida. We shall talk again another day.” He gave a little wave and drove Pippin towards the barn.
Frida watched him go, hoping that he meant it.
Fritjof had come to the door of his ba
rn as the sled passed by. He knew that Frida and Gerfrid had visited Halvar’s house a short time before; he recognized the horse and remembered that Halvar said he would be helping Gerfrid haul logs. When Gerfrid visited, Frida often came with him to see Eira. But it wasn’t Gerfrid driving the sled on the return journey. If he wasn’t mistaken, that was Torsten’s distinctive red scarf wrapped around the driver’s face. He was sitting next to Frida; he said something and she turned her face towards him. A light laugh tinkled on the frosty air.
Fritjof’s eyes narrowed as he watched the sled disappear around the bend into the forest. Torsten was on a collision course with trouble. He ought to know better than to interfere when Fritjof had already staked his claim. He turned to go back inside the barn, the corners of his mouth turned up in a chilling smile. Soon it would be time for the next stage of his game plan. Soon, he would win. The sooner the better, if the latest development meant anything.
CHAPTER 6
“Have you seen the shoes that Fritjof has been making?” Halvar asked Eira one evening after coming inside.
“No,” she replied, ladling stew into a bowl for the evening meal.
“His workmanship is superb,” Halvar said, helping himself to a fresh, warm barley roll. He popped it straight into his mouth, not willing to wait to put butter on it. “This is good!” he announced around a mouthful. “I am starving!”
Eira laughed at him. “You say that every evening,” she said. “It’s a good thing I know how hard you work or I would get disheartened because my cooking is not enough to fill you up!”
He put his arm around her waist and kissed the top of her head. “Your cooking leaves nothing to be desired,” he said. “Is it ready to eat?”
As they ate their food, Halvar’s attention again turned to the shoes Fritjof was making. “The next time we need shoes, we can buy them from Fritjof,” he said. “They are good quality and sturdy. He is a good shoemaker.”
“Is he making them to sell at the markets?” asked Eira.
“I believe so. He seems to have a bit of an obsession over making them at the moment. I went to the barn before bedtime last night and the lamp in his workshop was still going. I went over to check on him and he said that he was fine. He just wants to have plenty to sell at the markets because he knows they are popular.”
“He is a hard worker,” Eira said. “He has much to do in the spring but he has achieved much already.”
“As we all have,” Halvar said, thinking of all the things that still needed to be done around the village when the weather warmed up.
“You have done well,” Eira said, smiling at him. “I am a fortunate wife indeed.”
Fritjof stood up and rubbed his aching back. His eyes watered from the strain of working by the light of the lantern but he was satisfied with what he’d achieved. He surveyed the growing pile of completed shoes. Not only would he have the most shoes, but they would also be the best. He had taken extra care with each pair and he knew that he’d done a fine job. He already had a reputation as a good shoemaker. Now he would certainly be considered the finest shoemaker in the region. But would it be enough? Tomorrow, he would visit Alfonso. It would be disguised as a friendly visit but he wanted to discover if Alfonso had made as many pairs as he had. Somehow, he doubted that. Alfonso didn’t have the same burning desire to win.
“Fritjof, my friend!”
Alfonso opened the barn door and Fritjof pulled his horse inside with him, glad of the warmth. Everyone was anxiously watching for the first signs of spring. This was always a dreary time of the year and Alfonso was glad to have some company to brighten his day.
“What brings you to my barn?” he asked jovially. “It has been a long time since you came to see me.”
“The weather has been unkind and I have been busy,” Fritjof replied.
“As have I,” Alfonso responded. “Making shoes,” he added meaningfully.
Fritjof smiled. “I shall be the winner, Alfonso,” he goaded.
“We shall see when the time for the spring markets arrives,” Alfonso replied with a grin. “Maybe your boast will become mine!”
“We shall see,” Fritjof challenged. He tried to see into the workshop at the end of the barn. Alfonso had a pile of shoes stacked neatly in sight but Fritjof had no way of knowing if there were more.
“Are those the shoes for the markets?” he asked, pointing towards the pile.
“Some of them,” Alfonso replied proudly. “There are more. I am a contender for the prize, Fritjof.”
Fritjof felt his spirits plummet. Alfonso was right; he was a contender. Fritjof would have to increase his output. There was no way he was going to allow Alfonso to win.
That evening, he accepted Alfonso’s invitation to stay for the evening meal. A bit of company and some good food wouldn’t hurt and he might learn more about Alfonso’s shoe-making efforts.
Frida watched in horror as her father walked through the door, followed by Fritjof. She served the bowls of stew with shaking hands.
“I do not feel well, Mother,” she said. “I would prefer to lie down rather than having dinner.”
Minna looked at her sharply. “There is nothing wrong with you, Daughter,” she said. “We have a guest for the evening meal and I expect you to be there.”
Frida’s heart sank and revulsion filled her as she remembered the time that Fritjof had squeezed her breast. If only her parents would listen to her. If only they knew the truth; surely then they wouldn’t force her to be hospitable.
She sat at the table and played with the food in her bowl, too anxious to take a single bite. She didn’t even glance at Fritjof, sitting opposite her, and kept her feet tucked under her chair where he would be unable to reach them with his.
But her fears were unfounded. Fritjof laughed and joked with the boys and Alfonso and completely ignored her. Rather than reassuring her, his behavior made her anxiety rise in a huge wave that almost choked her. He was so unpredictable; she didn’t know what to expect from him. Even though he was ignoring her for now, she did not doubt that he would still touch her if given the opportunity. Her stomach heaved at the thought of his vileness, his evil smile, and the way he peeled her clothing off with his eyes. Feeling nauseous, she jumped from her chair, clutching her stomach.
“Feeling sick!” she muttered and bolted for the outhouse.
Later, after Fritjof had gone, Minna came to see her.
“What was that performance at dinner all about?” she asked, censure in her tone. “You embarrassed us in front of our guest.”
Suddenly, Frida had had enough. “I told you I did not feel well,” she said.
“But you are fine now,” Minna accused.
“Mother, you need to hear the truth,” she said, anger giving her a level of bravery she did not normally possess. “Fritjof is an awful man. The last time he stayed for dinner, he followed me out to the kitchen and grabbed my breast. When I screamed, he told Father a mouse startled me. He is evil.”
Minna stood with a stunned look on her face. “He is Father’s friend. He would do no such thing under our roof.”
Frida stood face-to-face with her mother. “He would and he did. Why is it that you believe the account of a stranger over that of your own daughter?”
“Fritjof is an honorable man,” Minna insisted.
“That is not the only time that he has done things to me,” Frida said. “But it seems that you do not want to know. I have no reason to tell lies. Have I ever disliked Father’s other friends this way? Or even yours?”
“I brought you up to tell the truth,” Minna muttered. “And it appears that my efforts were in vain.”
“I am telling the truth. But you would rather save face with your friends than deal with the embarrassment of protecting your daughter from a man who has evil intentions.”
“How dare you!” Minna screeched, angry now. She slapped Frida across the cheek. “I should have been harder on you when you were small,” she shouted. “That would have
taught you to tell the truth.”
Tears started in Frida’s eyes as she rubbed her stinging cheek. “I am a grown woman, Mother. I don’t deserve to be slapped like a small child receiving a punishment. I am no liar and God knows that. Perhaps you need to talk to Him about it.” She walked away from her mother and threw herself on her bed where she cried until there were no more tears left.
As the wintery landscape finally started to show signs of spring, a wary truce sprang up between Minna and Frida. Neither of them mentioned the argument and for Minna, it was business as usual. But Frida noticed that she was less bossy than she had been before, as if it were a new revelation that her daughter was grown and she didn’t quite know what to do about it.
One day, Alfonso sent Frida to Gerfrid’s new house with a message. She was glad to escape the daily chores for a short walk to the edge of the village where the new house was taking shape. Gerfrid expected to take a break from building soon so that he could visit Wina’s village as part of their courtship. It was expected that by the time he returned, the two of them would be betrothed. He was anxious to get the building to a point where it would be easy to finish once he returned and he had been working long hours. Frida was glad that her brother had fallen in love with a sweet young lady such as Wina. He had become more thoughtful and caring as a result and Frida found it easier to enjoy his company than when they were younger.
She stepped onto the road with her head down, intent on running the errand. But after a few paces, she suddenly found herself face-to-face with Fritjof. She looked up and froze as he came towards her but he gave her only the slightest glance before guiding his team of oxen around her and continuing on his way. Frida felt as if she were being strangled. Although he had done nothing to her, the mere sight of him stirred up feelings of panic and suffocation that she had spent months trying to squash down. She was shaking by the time she arrived at Gerfrid’s.
Frida: Claimed (Viking Guardians Book 3) Page 4