Suddenly she laughed.
Early the next morning, a hired man was sent back across the mountain with Dina’s horse.
Before Jacob loosed the moorings of his boat to bring her home, they were agreed. They would get married.
On the sheriff’s estate, everything was in an uproar. No one had any idea where Dina could have gone.
They had searched the surrounding area on horseback. When the hired man from Reinsnes came with his message and Dina’s horse, the sheriff fumed in relief and rage.
But when Jacob Gronelv’s boat beached at high tide and Dina jumped ashore with the manila hawser, the sheriff became calm.
I am Dina. Reinsnes is a place where the sea and the sky become one. A line of twelve tall rowan trees leads from the store to the main house. In the garden is a big chokecherry tree that one can climb. There is a black cat. And four horses. Hjertrud is at Reinsnes. Under the infinitely high roof of the washhouse.
Wind. There is always the sound of wind.
The wedding would take place in May, before the cargo boats headed south.
On the sheriff’s estate, trunks and chests were filled with the trousseau.
Dagny busily rushed here and there with flushed cheeks. Packed and gave orders. The women sewed and knitted and made lace.
Dina usually stayed in the barn and stable, as if all the activity had nothing to do with her.
Her hair absorbed the strong animal scents. You could smell them from far away. She bore the stable odors like a shield.
Dagny warned her that a young woman who was to be mistress of Reinsnes must not smell bad, but the reprimand evaporated like rain on sun-warmed rocks.
Dagny took her aside in a motherly way to confide what life would be like as a married woman. Began cautiously with the fact that she menstruated each month. Said that it was a duty and a joy to be a wife and mother.
But Dina showed little curiosity, seemed almost condescending. Dagny had the unpleasant feeling that the girl was watching her surreptitiously during the explanation, and that she knew more than Dagny about the hardships of life.
Each time she saw Dina unfasten her skirt and climb the large birch tree by the stabbur, Dagny could not understand how a fifteen-year-old girl could be so incredibly childish and yet have such a poisoned mind.
This girl was not the least coquettish, did not realize the impression she made on people. She still handled her body as though she were six years old. She showed no diffidence in her attire or her remarks.
To marry off someone like that was not quite right. That much Dagny understood. But to tell the truth, she did not know who would suffer most: Dina or Jacob.
She allowed herself the luxury of malicious pleasure. And she eagerly awaited the day when, at last, the estate would be hers. Without the strife and stress of having this crazy girl in the house.
But she hid her relief at Dina’s approaching departure behind fevered activity and concern. And thus she salved her conscience with self-pity, as women do.
The sheriff had been in excellent humor since the day Jacob arrived in his boat with Dina aboard. Everything had turned into a blessing, the sheriff said.
He mentioned this over and over again. It did not occur to him that he placed his own interests above concern for his only daughter. She would marry the best possible husband.
Yet oddly enough, he sometimes worried that he might be doing his best friend an unintentional disservice by giving Dina to him. Jacob was basically a good fellow…. But since the man wanted this marriage, he would certainly manage.
Without realizing it, the sheriff felt grateful for the mountains and air and long coastline between Reinsnes and Eagerness.
Mr. Lorch was sent south. To Copenhagen. At the sheriff’s expense. The tutor had received unmistakable indications that he was no longer needed. They were as good as a letter of dismissal.
It made little difference that Dina flew into a rage and slashed her father’s elegant Louis XVI card table with a knife. The sheriff gave her a sound scolding. But he did not hit her.
During the years Lorch was charged with Dina’s education, she had received a thorough knowledge of music and learned to play the piano and cello. “Her piano playing is still somewhat inferior, considering her ability. But her performance on the cello is most satisfactory for an amateur,” he wrote in his final report for the sheriff.
The report could serve as a certificate, should that prove necessary. It stated that Dina had received suitable instruction in both modern and ancient history. She had learned German, English, and Latin to some degree. But did not show much interest in these subjects. On the other hand, she had an impressive intellectual bent for mathematics. She could add and subtract five- or six-digit numbers rapidly and easily, and also multiply and divide multidigit numbers.
The report did not contain much about Dina’s reading ability. It simply noted that she had no patience for this pastime. On the whole, she preferred things she could do in her head.
“She can recite almost the entire Old Testament by heart,” Lorch added as a mitigating factor.
On several occasions he mentioned to the sheriff that Dina might need glasses. She should not have to squint each time she opened a book or wanted to see something at close range.
But for some reason, the sheriff forgot that comment. A young girl with a monocle was too unappealing.
When Mr. Lorch left, with his cello packed safely in cotton blankets and his modest belongings in a cardboard suitcase, the sheriff’s estate seemed to lose its spice.
There were many small details about this dry, quiet man that one did not notice when he was present. But they were evident as soon as he had gone.
Dina did not enter the house for three days. And for long afterward she lived and slept in the stable. She grew even taller. Within a month, her. face had become pinched and thin. As though Lorch had been the last human being to be taken away from her.
She would not talk even to Tomas. Regarded him like dung and air in an old sheepskin.
But no one reproached Dina, since things were more peaceful for Dagny when the girl was not in the house.
Now and then the cook stood in the doorway and beckoned to Dina. As if to a stray dog. Except this creature was not so easily enticed.
She wandered around like a wolf. Trying to conjure up Lorch. He was there. In the air she inhaled. In the fragile sounds of nature. Everywhere.
I am Dina, When I play the cello, Lorch sits in Copenhagen, listening. He has two ears that hear all music. He knows all the musical notes in the world. Better than God. Lorch’s thumb is bent and completely flat from pressing the strings. His music is in the wall. One needs only to free it.
* * *
“What can you do with a child who isn’t afraid of punishment?” the sheriff asked the pastor who confirmed Dina.
“The Lord has His ways,” said the pastor expressively. “But those ways are beyond an earthly father’s domain.”
“You understand that it’s difficult, Pastor?”
“Dina was a headstrong child and is a headstrong young woman. She may need to bow her head deeply in the end.”
“But she isn’t a bad girl?” the sheriff asked earnestly.
“Our Lord must be the judge of that,” replied the pastor. He had taught her in confirmation class and preferred not to pursue the subject.
She was confirmed in 1841, although she was not questioned about mathematical formulas or asked to figure the sheriff’s business profits.
It was good to get that accomplished. For the next spring she became a bride.
Chapter 5
A prudent man sees danger and hides himself; but the simple go on, and suffer for it.
— Proverbs 22 : 3
Dina’s marriage to Jacob took place at the end of May the year she turned sixteen in July.
She sailed from Fagerness to the church in an outrigger decorated with leafy branches. In bright sunshine across a gentle sea. Nonetheless, sit
ting on a wolfskin the sheriff had bought in Russia, she shivered with cold.
At the church they dressed her in Hjertrud’s white muslin bridal gown trimmed with narrow lace. The draped skirt had four wide rows of cording at the bottom. Lacework in the shape of a heart was sewn across the front of the fitted bodice. The delicate puffed sleeves were transparent as a spiderweb.
The gown smelled of moth repellent and storage, despite having been carefully washed and aired. But it fit exactly.
Although they had dressed her in a bridal gown and sent all her things to Reinsnes in trunks and chests, she acted as if the whole thing were a game.
She shook herself and stretched, she laughed at them as they dressed her. Just as when she and Lorch had played theatrical games with plaster-of-Paris masks and memorized lines.
She had the body of a well-developed animal. The day before the wedding, she climbed the large birch tree and sat there a long time. And she had two skinned knees because she had fallen while running on the rocky beach looking for seagull eggs.
The bridegroom arrived in a longboat with a large company and much commotion.
Forty-eight years old, with a graying beard, he looked younger than Dina’s father, although he was older. The sheriff had grown stout from alcohol and good living, whereas Jacob was still lean.
They had decided to celebrate the wedding at Reinsnes. Because it was closer to the church and had more space for guests. Besides, they had the best cook in the parish. Oline.
It was a lively wedding.
After dinner, the groom wanted to show his bride the house. Upstairs. Show her the master bedroom with the wonderful canopy bed. He had ordered a new canopy and bed curtains. Above the wainscoting there was new velvet wallcovering with a vinelike border. She had to see the small alcove and the bookshelves with glass doors. Which had a key to turn and then hide in a Chinese vase on the writing table. The linen cupboard in the wide, dark upstairs hallway. The stuffed male ptarmigan. Shot by Jacob himself. Stuffed in Copenhagen and carried in a hatbox by Mother Karen. But first and foremost: the master bedroom and the canopy bed. With trembling hands, he turned the key in the lock. Then he walked over to her with a smile and pressed her against the bed.
It had long been an obsession. To find her opening. Penetrate her.
He tugged at the hooks in the bridal gown.
Breathing heavily, speaking childishly and incoherently, he told her she was the loveliest creation in Jacob Gronelv’s life.
At first she appeared to be somewhat curious. Or she wanted to protect Hjertrud’s dress from the man’s greedy hands. At any rate, the dress came off.
But suddenly the bride seemed unable to make Jacob’s words correspond to his actions.
She went at him tooth and claw. And she had brass tips on her silk shoes. It was a wonder that her kicks did not debilitate him for life.
“You’re worse than a stallion,” she hissed. Tears and mucus ran down her face.
Clearly, she knew what a stallion could do.
She was already in wild flight toward the door when Jacob realized her intentions. The moment he understood what was happening, all his rutting instincts evaporated.
For a while, they stood breathing hard, measuring each other’s strength.
She refused to put on the clothes Jacob had torn off her.
He had to pull on her pantalets with as much force as when he tried to remove them. And the ribbons on one leg got torn. He was very clumsy.
Despite all his efforts, the terrible thing happened. She finally wrenched herself free and fled downstairs. To the sheriff and all the guests. Wearing nothing more than underclothes, silk stockings, and silk shoes.
It was the first time he sensed that Dina had no limits. That she did not fear other people’s judgment. That she swiftly added up the balance sheet — and acted! That she had an inborn ability to ensure that any calamity that struck her would strike others too.
This first time, he became sober immediately. Somehow she made him a criminal on his own wedding day.
Dina came rushing down the stairs, making an extraordinarily loud racket. She ran through the rooms wearing only pantalets, past thirty pairs of eyes that stared at her aghast.
She knocked the punsj glass from the sheriff’s hand, splattering its contents and causing unpleasant stains. Then she climbed into his lap and declared loudly and clearly, so everyone could hear:
“We’re going home to Fagerness. Right now!”
The sheriff’s heart skipped several beats. He asked the maid to put the bride in “proper condition” again.
He was furious, because he realized Jacob had shown no restraint, had not waited until the bridal night, after people had properly gone to rest. He was furious at Dagny, who had not told the girl what was expected of her. She had promised to do so. He was furious at himself for not anticipating that Dina would act exactly as she had. Now it was too late.
Brusquely, the sheriff swept Dina out of his lap and straightened his shirtfront and tie. Both were dotted with punsj stains.
Dina stood there wild-eyed, like a trapped animal. Then she ran into the garden. Quick as a lynx, she climbed the large chokecherry tree by the summerhouse.
And there she stayed.
By now Dagny was weeping openly. The guests sat or stood, immobile as statues. No one had moved since Dina rushed into the room. And they had forgotten they knew how to speak. Fortunately, the pastor was already out on the sound and could not see or hear anything.
Only the sheriff showed some practical sense. He went outside and bellowed abusive words at the tree where the white, thinly clad figure sat.
What was to have been a celebration and a triumph, when the sheriff gave his daughter to his best friend, became a nightmare.
Later, after the servants and guests had gathered under the choke-cherry tree in the garden, the bridegroom and master of Reinsnes came downstairs.
He had allowed himself plenty of time to tidy his clothes and hair and beard. Feared the worst. From fatherly rage to icy condescension from all the prominent guests.
He had observed parts of a threatening picture from the bedroom window. Behind the curtains.
A blush of shame spread across his face. His organ hung helplessly in his trousers when he met Mother Karen’s worried eyes on the stairs.
She had remained at a dignified distance from the spectacle around the tree and was on her way upstairs to find her son.
Jacob looked at the group under the chokecherry tree. Dina was a large white bird with dark drooping feathers on her head.
He stood on the wide flagstone steps with wrought-iron railings and saw a picture unlike anything he had ever seen. It was incredible! The clump of people milling around the tree. The sheriff’s shouts and gestures. The evening sun through the thick green foliage. Daisies in a heart-shaped bed. The girl in the tree. As though she had been sitting there a thousand years and intended to remain for years to come. She looked down at the people as if watching a bothersome caravan of creeping ants. Jacob began to laugh.
He was still laughing as he brought a ladder from near the bam and ordered everyone into the house so he could work in peace. Had forgotten he should be ashamed. Chuckling, he waited until the last guest disappeared inside.
Then he leaned the ladder against the tree and climbed up.
“Dina,” he called. Slowly and bubbling with laughter. “Won’t you come down to this bad billygoat of a man? I’ll carry you into the house as carefully as if you were the Bible.”
“You filthy animal!” snarled the bride from above his head.
“Yes, yes!”
“Why do you act like a stallion?”
“I couldn’t help it. But things will be better…”
“How can I be sure?”
“I swear it!”
“Swear what?”
“That I’ll never force myself into you like a stallion.”
She sniffed. It was quiet for a moment.
“Wil
l you witness to that?”
“Yes, by God!” he replied quickly, afraid the sheriff’s daughter would demand actual witnesses.
“You swear?”
“Yes! And if I break my promise, I’ll die!”
“You’re saying that so I’ll come down.”
“Yes! But you can believe me…”
She leaned forward so both breasts nearly spilled out of her shift. Her dark hair was a tangle of sea kelp whose magnificence shadowed the sky for him.
It occurred to Jacob that he was too old for this bride who fled into treetops. She might demand more stamina than he possessed. But somehow he could not confront that. Not now.
“Get out of the way so I can come down,” she commanded.
He climbed down backward and held the ladder for her. Closed his eyes and inhaled her aroma as she brushed past him. Close, close.
Jacob was a happy clown. Before God and the wedding guests. For the rest of the evening he satisfied himself with Dina’s scent. Still, he felt like one of the Lord’s elect. He would get closer, without her escaping into a tree!
The sheriff did not understand much about the matter. It amazed him that his friend was more foolish in dealing with women than in business. He regarded the episode as a painful personal insult against the sheriff of Fagerness.
Widow Karen Gronelv, on the other hand, had serious misgivings. She felt uneasy about Dina’s being given the keys to the Reinsnes estate and managing Jacob’s home.
At the same time, she was concerned about this girl, of whom she had heard so many strange stories. It was not right that a young woman from a good family was so uninhibited. And had so little understanding of what was proper!
Mother Karen thought Jacob had bitten off more than he could chew with this impulsive marriage. But she said nothing.
Johan Gronelv was twenty years old. Had just arrived home from school to celebrate his father’s wedding. He sat in a corner for hours and stared at a crack in the floor.
* * *
Jacob kept his word. He approached very carefully. They were to sleep in the large canopy bed in the master bedroom. Everything was ready. Cleaned and decorated. The embroidered sheets had been bleached on the snow in April. Had been cooked in lye, rinsed, and hung on clotheslines in May. Smoothed with a mangle, folded neatly, along with small bags of dried rose petals, and placed in the large linen cupboard in the upstairs hall, awaiting a bride.
Dina's Book Page 7