Fiddling with Fate

by Kathleen Ernst

  Somebody’s in big trouble, Chloe thought.

  “Landvik also confessed to tampering with your rental car. He knew that once you had Amalie’s birthplace narrowed down, it would be easy enough to find the farm name. His librarian friend had promised to give you false information, but another librarian was there?”

  Roelke confirmed that with a nod.

  “So,” Naess continued, “all she could do was tell him that you’d identified the family farm and were going to visit. Landvik’s hotel friend left the ‘call home’ message to delay you, drove Landvik up to Høiegård, and left him there. He hid, waited until you’d left the car, and damaged the brake system. Then he made his way down the mountain on foot and hitchhiked back to Utne.” The inspector closed his notebook, tucked it in a pocket, and stood.

  “Thank you,” Chloe said. “It’s good to know all this before we leave.”

  Roelke shook hands with the inspector but glanced at her. “Chloe, would you mind waiting outside?”

  She shrugged. “Um … sure.” Roelke probably wanted to wrangle some final detail from the inspector.

  Chloe went out to the front porch and stared over the fjord. Laughter drifted from the dining room where guests were enjoying breakfast. A car door slammed. Then Roelke joined her.

  Whatever he’d learned could wait, she decided. “I don’t want to talk about Landvik any more today.”

  “Me neither,” Roelke agreed. “Let’s go get married.”

  When Chloe and Roelke arrived at the mountain farm, Helene and Barbara-Eden soon whisked Chloe inside. “It’s tradition for friends and relatives to help a bride prepare for the ceremony,” Helene said. “Our stabbur, where women used to dress for weddings, was torn down years ago. But my bedroom will do.”

  When Helene opened the door, Chloe’s mouth dropped open. Draped on the bed were the components of a bunad: red skirt with colorful trim, a white apron with cutwork embroidery, blouse, dark jacket, and a beaded bodice insert.

  “I hope you will wear these,” Helene told her. “You’ve brought joy to this farm and made me a happy woman.”

  The makeshift bridal attire Chloe had pulled on that morning didn’t stand a chance. “I’d be honored.”

  Even with help, it took some time and several safety pins to get Chloe dressed. “This is similar to my mother’s favorite bunad,” she said wistfully. “I love it, but I do wish she was here.”

  “I think your mother will be smiling down,” Barbara-Eden said. Surprisingly, that thought helped.

  “You must wear my sølje too,” Helene murmured, fastening a lacey pin with quivering teardrops at Chloe’s throat. “Dangling silver frightens evil away.”

  After the week she’d had, Chloe welcomed help from any quarter.

  “And the final touch.” The old woman removed a crown from a faded black hatbox. “Many brides in our family have worn this.”

  “Oh my.” Chloe took a deep breath. This was all becoming real. She’d worn bunads when dancing, or at special functions, but she’d never imagined wearing a bridal crown. Helene carefully positioned the heavy crown, tied the ribbons beneath Chloe’s chin, and smoothed the long blond hair flowing loose.

  “You mustn’t let the crown slip,” Helene advised. “That’s bad luck.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  Barbara-Eden held out a small, flat box. “We have another surprise.”

  Chloe accepted it and removed the lid. “My handaplagg! I thought the police still had it!”

  Helene smiled. “You have Mr. McKenna to thank for this.”

  That’s why Roelke wanted a moment alone with Inspector Naess this morning, Chloe thought. He must have talked the other officer into bringing the cloth.

  Helene arranged the handaplagg over Chloe’s hands. “We don’t have the proper muff, but it looks lovely.”

  Roelke was waiting in the living room. When Chloe walked in, he sucked in an audible breath. “You,” he said huskily, “have never looked more beautiful.”

  “You look amazing yourself,” she countered. “Where did those come from?” His trousers and dress shirt were now topped with an embroidered red vest and a frock coat.

  “Ellinor knew what Helene had in mind and offered me the loan of a folk costume from the museum,” he explained. “I hope you don’t mind that I passed on the breeches.”

  “Not at all.” Roelke did look very good in the vest and coat. Best of all, Roelke McKenna, uptight cop, looked happy. “And thank you for this.” She raised her hands, indicating the cloth.

  Pastor Brandvold, who’d happily declared himself kjøgemester for the day, poked his head in the door. “Your other guests have arrived.” Through the window Chloe saw Ellinor and Sonja waiting on the patio.

  “Ready?” Roelke took her arm.

  Chloe nodded. “Absolutely.”

  They led the others across the lawn to the stone overlook. A misty morning drizzle had cleared, and sun shone on the mountains. It’s a fine day for a wedding, Chloe thought. For our wedding.

  The pastor had asked if he might say a few words. “Let’s begin with the bryllupsfred,” he boomed in his preaching voice. “The wedding peace. It is tradition to cast aside all hurts and grudges that might be troubling those in attendance. There have been too many of those in recent days.” He paused. “I declare this to be a gathering of love and joy.”

  Chloe blinked back tears, feeling ridiculously emotional. Pastor Brandvold had set the perfect tone. She didn’t want to think about anything but making a forever commitment to Roelke.

  With the sun on their shoulders, she and Roelke faced each other and exchanged the wedding vows they’d written together. “I promise to be your devoted companion, to nurture you, to go adventuring with you, to share life’s joys and sorrows, in sickness and in health, for as long as we both shall live.” Roelke leaned in to seal the deal with a lingering kiss.

  Pastor Brandvold closed the ceremony by singing an old Norwegian folk song in a rich baritone. Barbara-Eden snapped photographs. Aunt Helene dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. Ellinor beamed. Even Sonja looked moved.

  This is the most wonderful day of my life, Chloe thought. She wanted it to last forever. Roelke smiled at her: I feel the same way.

  When the song ended, Reverend Brandvold offered a prayer before congratulating the happy couple. “May God shower you with blessings.” He clasped his hands together. “Now, refreshments will be served on the patio.”

  Chloe stepped carefully from the stone, keeping her head still. The bridal crown was heavy, but in a good way. The weight connected her to all the women who had worn this crown on their wedding days. The weight also demanded that she stand straight and tall. Based on the stories Barbara-Eden had transcribed so far, that felt appropriate too.

  Barbara-Eden had baked a luscious chiffon cake with strawberries, which she served with champagne on the patio. She’d also gathered mountain wildflowers to decorate the table. “Everything is perfect.” Chloe kissed the girl’s cheek. “Thank you.”

  They lingered, savoring the celebration. All too soon, though, it was time for Chloe to change her clothes and say her farewells.

  Ellinor gave Chloe a warm hug. “I couldn’t be happier for you two. Please keep in touch as you develop your exhibit and program in Wisconsin.”

  “I will,” Chloe promised.

  Ellinor hesitated. “Chloe, did you ever wonder why I’m so interested in Jørgen Riis?”

  “Um … not really,” she said honestly. Museum people often had some singular passion.

  “Gustav Nyhus was my grandfather.”

  Chloe had not seen that coming. “I see.”

  “When I was growing up, I heard hushed whispers about some horrific trouble he’d had with Riis. It became obvious that my grandfather was involved in something awful.” Ellinor rubbed one hand with the other. “I w
anted to find Riis’s story. I felt the need to atone, I guess. The one thing I heard over and over, as a child and later doing interviews, was that Jørgen Riis had a rare talent. I wanted to give him the credit he was due.”

  “You still can,” Chloe said. “I won’t forget to send photos of the Riis fiddle that ended up in Wisconsin.” She’d already told Ellinor about Hilda’s fiddle. “And do come visit. You can document it yourself.”

  Ellinor brightened. “I’ll do that.”

  Sonja’s farewell was more restrained. “Chloe, I’m sorry that you had reason to think I might be involved in the theft of your textiles.”

  Chloe tried not to squirm. “It was just a passing idea. Roelke is trained to consider all possibilities.”

  “Hold on to him, Chloe. You know what they say. A good man is hard to find.” For a moment Sonja’s gaze was unguarded. Chloe read longing there, and regret. Then the curator smiled, and the moment passed. “I’m glad you were able to carry the handaplagg today.”

  “Ever since that day we met at the airport, I’ve been wanting to ask you about it!” Chloe darted to her daypack, extracted the box, and returned with the cloth held over her palms. “You said the woman who did the embroidery was expressing herself. What do you think she was trying to say?”

  Sonja leaned close. “Actually, I think more than one woman contributed to this cloth. The stitching is excellent, but there are some minuscule variations.”

  Okay, even better, Chloe thought, but that wasn’t what she wanted. “What about the symbols? What do they mean?”

  “Well, this figure”—Sonja pointed—“probably represents the disir, ancient spirits who guarded women and families. The tiny stitches in these squares represent seeded fields, and the hope that the bride be blessed with many children. Crooked lines were added to confuse malicious spirits, and this sun to celebrate all that is good. My favorite is the tree of life, with roots in the earth and top branches in heaven.” Sonja smiled. “I think the women in your family wanted to protect their daughters and granddaughters from evil, and to bless their lives with love and balance and holy light.”

  Love and balance and holy light, Chloe thought. Who could ask for more?

  Barbara-Eden was next. “Thank you, Chloe. You were kind during a—a bad time.”

  “If I helped, then I’m glad. And I’m so grateful to you for transcribing my family stories.” The tales had filled a void, reminding Chloe that even though daughters and mothers sometimes misunderstood each other, even resented each other, bonds remained. “What you said about my mom earlier—you were right. I could feel her presence here today.”

  Barbara-Eden looked pleased. “And I want you to know that I’ll keep an eye on your great-aunt Helene, Chloe. I like coming here, and she said I’m welcome any time.”

  Chloe put her hands on the girl’s shoulders. “You have no idea how reassuring that is. We’ll stay in touch.”

  The hardest good-bye came next. “Aunt Helene,” Chloe began, “meeting you has been a dream come true. And having our wedding here …” Her voice trailed away. She couldn’t find the right words.

  “When I was a child, this was still considered a poor farm,” Helene said. “But now …” She waved an arm toward the vista. “You’ve reminded me how special this place really is. I hope to transfer the property to a preservation group so that after I’m gone, people can come learn about the old days.”

  “I love that idea!”

  “And I’m officially changing the farm name back to Høiegård.” Helene smiled. “I should have done it long ago. It wasn’t appropriate to change it in the first place! I’m sure my father renamed it just to make himself feel powerful.”

  “I’ll always think of this place as Høiegård.” Chloe wrapped her arms gently around Helene’s thin shoulders.

  Helene took Chloe’s hand. “Will you take advice from an old woman? To escape my father, I left home at fourteen and married at fifteen. My husband was a good man, but I did not love him. I don’t know what that feels like.”

  That made Chloe sad.

  “But I do know what true love looks like. I saw it in Solveig’s eyes when she spoke of Jørgen. I see it when you look at Roelke, and when he looks at you. Don’t ever take that for granted.”

  “I won’t,” Chloe whispered. “I promise.”

  Roelke was waiting nearby. “Ready? Pastor Brandvold has already gone to the car.” The minister would drive Chloe and Roelke back to Utne, where they would spend a final night at the old hotel before heading home.

  Chloe took one last look over the farm. “It’s so hard to leave.”

  “This place will always be a part of you.”

  She nodded, then leaned against his shoulder. “Just like you.”

  Thirty-Five

  A month later, thunderous applause greeted Chloe and Roelke when they walked into Stoughton’s Sons of Norway lodge hall for their reception. “Oh my,” Chloe murmured. The room was packed with friends from high school, friends from Old World Wisconsin, friends of her parents. Cops from the Eagle and Milwaukee Police Departments were there, and Roelke’s cousin Libby with her kids and her steady, Adam. Museum director Ellinor Falk had even scheduled her trip to Wisconsin to coincide with the event.

  “What a great space!” Roelke murmured. The lodge hall had retained most of the original church windows, including a huge work of stained glass that lent a warm golden glow to the gathering.

  It took a long time for well-wishers to pass through the receiving line. Kent Andreasson was one of the last to greet them. “Congratulations!” he exclaimed before leaning close. “I’m so sorry about everything that happened. Both over there and here. With Trine. I feel just horrible.”

  “None of it was your fault,” Chloe said. “Let’s try to forget about all that right now.”

  “Of course.” Kent looked relieved. “I’m truly happy for you both.” He moved on.

  After the last handshake, Roelke shook his head and murmured, “Holy toboggans. I didn’t expect quite so many people.”

  “It means a lot, doesn’t it?” Chloe laced her fingers through his and took her first good look around. “And the lodge members have done an awesome job. This party is more Norwegian than the one we had in Norway.” The hall was adorned with Norwegian flags and banners. Many people wore bunads, and some of the Old World staffers wore period clothing. Sprightly folk music played on a sound system. Chloe’s sister, Kari, had baked a kransekake—the traditional cake made with almond meal and powdered sugar, baked in rings, stacked high and decorated with icing, flowers, ribbons, and tiny flags.

  “The lodge members have been great,” Roelke agreed. “And now, I could use something to drink.”

  Before they could reach the refreshments table, Kari joined them. “The cake is amazing,” Chloe told her sister, while Roelke headed toward the punch bowl.

  “You two did make it legal, right?” Kari asked. “There are eighteen layers in that cake, Chloe. I went to a lot of trouble.” Then her teasing look disappeared, and she surprised Chloe with a quick hug. “I wanted to do it. I’m so glad you and Roelke found each other.”

  “Our marriage is absolutely legal,” Chloe assured her. “But listen, I’ve got something to show you.” She pulled Kari out of the traffic flow. “Guess what came in the mail today? A copy of the letter Amalie wrote from Stoughton. Want to hear it?”

  Kari hesitated only briefly before nodding. “At this point, yes. I do.”

  Chloe pulled a folded piece of paper from her purse. “The original was in Norwegian, of course, but Pastor Brandvold sent a transcription. Let me share the most important part.” She found the appropriate paragraph and began to read.

  Solveig, before we parted I promised that I would always do my very best for your precious Marit. Before we left Bergen I bought a bride doll for her, to one day help remind her of the country where she
was born. On the journey I often felt overwhelmed with the responsibility of her care, but I have also come to love her as my own. I often sing to her, and whisper stories about her brave mother.

  Now I am trying to be brave. You see, I have promised myself to a wonderful man. Rasmus and I met on the ship and already I can not imagine life without him. He had no prospects in Norway and is very poor, but has accepted a job with a railroad company. It will be his job to travel throughout the West to inspect ongoing work projects and consider new ones.

  Rasmus already loves Marit. When we began speaking of marriage we imagined becoming a family of three. But Solveig, since arriving in Wisconsin, and talking with his brother (who already works for the railroad, and made arrangements for the job), I have come to realize that the life Rasmus and I will lead is no life for an infant. We will be moving from here to there, not making a permanent home for who knows how long. After much anguished thought and prayer, and many tears, I have decided that Marit’s best chance for a happy life does not lie with me.

  Many Norwegians have settled in Stoughton, Wisconsin. Tomorrow I will take sweet Marit to an orphanage, with the request that she find a home with a well-settled Norwegian couple.

  My heart breaks as I write these words. Please don’t think of me harshly. It is not laziness that has led me to this decision, but only love and my promise to you to always put Marit’s needs first. I will leave several family treasures with her in hopes that one day she can rediscover her true homeland.

  “There’s more, but that’s the main bit.” Chloe folded the paper back away. When she looked up, she saw a tear trickling down Kari’s cheek. “I know.” She’d had time to think about Amalie’s decision, but re-reading the letter still brought a lump to her throat. Would I, Chloe wondered, have been strong enough to make that decision? She wasn’t sure.

  “Well, now we know,” Kari managed. “Chloe … thank you for that. For persevering. You were right all along.”