Jacob’s second marriage was a painful warning to Oline. It was not just that Dina never came to the kitchen to skin rabbits.
That she had table manners like a boy, climbed trees, and drank wine in the summerhouse at night were not the worst things either.
But that she did not “see” Oline at all was unforgivable.
Oline could not understand how this crazy girl could be at Reinsnes, even if she was Sheriff Holm’s daughter.
For Jacob to make such an utterly ridiculous marriage seemed a catastrophe to Oline.
But as in so many other cases, she said nothing. And since she slept in the small room behind the kitchen, directly below the master bedroom, she knew all the sounds and vibrations that came from the canopy bed.
Such inordinate and shameless activity mystified her. It hurt her more than Ingeborg’s death.
Amidst all her aversion was a quivering string. A curiosity. To discover what drove people to insane behavior such as Jacob’s. To discover how a young girl could take control of an entire estate. Without lifting a finger, apparently.
Chapter 11
Drink water from your own cistern,
flowing water from your own well.
Should your springs be scattered abroad,
streams of water in the streets?
Let them be for yourself alone,
and not for strangers with you.
Let your fountain be blessed,
and rejoice in the wife of your youth.
— Proverbs 5 : 15-18
Jacob began taking “necessary” trips with the outrigger. He visited old friends. Did business in Strandsted.
At first, Dina wanted to go with him. But he refused, saying it would be boring for her. It would be cold. He would be back very soon.
He practiced what he would say. She did not get furious, strangely enough. Just withdrew.
He saw the heavy wolfskin coat lying by the stairs in the morning. Like the sloughed hide of a bewitched animal that had become a human again.
She never asked him where he had been. Not even when he was away all night. Never met him at the door.
She sat often in the summerhouse at night. But at least she did not play the cello.
One evening when Jacob returned late from Strandsted, he saw a light in the warehouse office window.
Dina sat paging through the account books. She had taken all the ledgers from the shelves and spread them on the table and floor.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“I’m trying to figure this out,” she answered, without looking at him.
“You can’t understand all that. We’ve got to put these things back, or Niels will be furious.”
“I don’t think Niels always knows how to keep correct accounts,” she mumbled, biting her index finger.
“What do you mean? That’s been his job for years.”
“His numbers disappear. Lorch would say the arithmetic was wrong.”
“Dina, don’t fool with that. Come now, let’s go to the house. It’s late. I brought you a special kringle pastry.”
“I want to go over these figures. Jacob, I want to start working here in the office!”
Her eyes shone, and she breathed through her nose. As was her habit when she occasionally showed enjoyment.
Niels, however, was adamant. The choice was either him or Dina. Jacob tried to mediate. Suggested that Dina might be a help with the books. In fact, she was an absolute genius when it came to calculating figures and that sort of thing.
But Niels, who usually never opened his mouth at the wrong time, said no!
Dina walked over to him with her special smile. She was half a head taller than he and brandished her words like a keen-edged sword.
“No, you wouldn’t want anyone to see that you can’t keep accounts! Numbers disappear in your books like dew in the grass. Don’t they? But numbers don’t disappear forever. It only seems that way to people who don’t understand…”
The office grew silent.
Then Niels turned on his heels and marched out, calling over his shoulder:
“This could never have happened in Ingeborg’s day! Remember, it’s either me or that one!”
Dina was not allowed in the office. But she shot looks at Niels during mealtimes.
He began to eat in the kitchen.
Jacob tried to make amends for siding with Niels in the matter. He brought Dina small gifts when he returned from his trips. Bars of soap, a brooch.
He tried to include her in activities and conversations.
One evening when they were all sitting in the parlor after dinner, he turned to Dina and asked her opinion of the new king, Oscar I.
“Maybe I can request the new king’s permission to look for the lost numbers in the Reinsnes office!” she sneered. -
Niels rose from his chair and left the room. Mother Karen sighed. Jacob lit his pipe abruptly.
Jacob knew a widow in Strandsted. She had heavy, but not unpleasant, features and a dignified graying knot of hair at the nape of her neck. Beneath her tight bodice was an attractive body. She lived alone respectably in a small house, where she took in lodgers and sewing.
With her, Jacob found some comfort. With her, he could unburden his heart and talk.
In Ingeborg’s day he had taken the outrigger to look for social life — dancing and entertainment, and occasionally an embrace or two. Now he left Reinsnes to find peace and harmony.
A man’s need! Inscrutable, and impossible to predict.
The summer of 1844 arrived. It was filled with ants and light and had no meaning.
Mother Karen gave Dina a collection of folk songs by a man named J0rgen Moe and a book of heathen folktales by Asbj0rnson and Moe. But Dina had no interest in the latter.
Hjertrud’s book contained better stories. And you could not predict the endings, as you always could with folktales.
“Folktales have a different moral, Dina dear,” said Mother Karen.
“What do you mean?”
“They’re based on human morals.”
“What’s the difference?” asked Dina.
“God’s words are divine. They’re about sin and the need for salvation. The others are just tales told by ordinary people. Where evil is punished and goodness triumphs.”
“But Hjertrud’s book is written by people too,” said Dina.
“God has His messengers. His prophets who bring us His word,” Mother Karen explained.
“I see. Well, at least God tells better stories than Asbj0rnson and Moe!” declared Dina.
Mother Karen smiled.
“That’s fine, Dina dear. But you must say ‘the Bible,’ not ‘Hjertrud’s book.’ And you mustn’t compare God’s word with heathen folktales!” she added in a conciliatory tone.
“Hjertrud’s book, the Bible, wins that comparison,” the girl said dryly.
Mother Karen sensed that philosophical discussions or theological topics were not the way to train Dina. So she dropped the subject.
Dina played the cello and rode with Tomas. And she met Hjertrud at Andreas Wharf.
Each morning, red circles the size of a wineglass were drawn on the table in the summerhouse.
She watched the shipping lane from the chokecherry tree. The steamboat carried few passengers. And those who came ashore were from other worlds.
Dina drew conclusions about Jacob’s frequent business in Strandsted. Rumors reached her through the walls of the servants’ quarters and on random breezes. She heard a strophe now and then. Sometimes the whispering stopped when she entered a room or approached people. Even on the hill leading to the church.
And she put the pieces together.
Autumn came.
The dark sea frothed with whitecaps, and snow blew like icy needles from Blaflag Peak. The moon shone round and white, as the northern lights chased evil forces across the star-studded sky.
The weather had alternated between snow and rain, making the road across the mountain im
passable for either humans or horses. Anyone who owned a boat felt fortunate. Although the sea was whipped by strange winds that nobody fully understood.
They entered the sound from the north at first. Then they came from the west, bringing heavy seas and cormorants with blue-black plumage.
Dina lay awake all night. But she did not follow her usual custom. Did not get up and sit in the summerhouse wearing her wolfskin coat.
The night was alive with rough weather. The clear sky and northern lights persisted, a protest against the storm sweeping past.
She lay in the canopy bed with its curtains open and stared through the tall windows until scant daylight turned the sky pale blue and infinitely distant.
Suddenly Jacob entered through the closed door. Came right through the door panels and toward the bed. Hobbling.
His ravaged face looked weary, and he held out his hands as if pleading tor mercy.
He had removed just one boot and made a great racket that might awaken the whole house.
Infidelity was chiseled into his pale face.
She had called him. But he did not hear. So now it was too late. His pitiful specter appeared instead. She stared toward the sound, waiting for morning and a message from Strandsted.
I am Dina. Jacob says one thing and does another. He is a horse that refuses to be ridden. He knows he is mine. But he is afraid I will see that he wants to escape. Seven times he has lied in order to escape.
It is late. People are like seasons. Jacob will soon be winter. First I feel the blow. I think it hurts. But the feeling disappears in the enormous thing I always carry with me.
I float from room to room, among furniture and people. I can make people tumble over each other. They are so poor at playacting. Do not know who they are. With a mere word I can make their eyes waver. People do not exist. I will not count them anymore.
A cold, wet young man arrived ignominiously at the estate in afaering boat. Jacob had been hurt in an accident and needed to be fetched at the home of the widow at Larsnett, near Strandsted.
Dina showed no surprise. She just began putting on her wraps and ordered Blackie hitched to the sleigh.
Anders wanted them to take the boat. A woman should not travel across the mountains.
Dina was a snarling lynx and already leaping for her prey.
Anders shrugged his shoulders. Given the swift currents in the sound, perhaps this was not a bad solution.
It seemed as if she had gotten dressed that morning so she could just put on her fur coat and shawl, climb into the sleigh, and go to get Jacob.
Mother Karen and Oline sighed more deeply over Jacob than over the hazardous trip for Dina.
So it was Dina herself who came to fetch Jacob from the small bedroom in the widow’s home.
He had been with a convivial group and planned to end the evening in peace and delight at his usual refuge.
But unfortunately, he slipped on some ice and fell down the steps. His leg snapped like a dry branch at the first gust of wind. The break was so serious that the bone shaft protruded.
Fortuitously, the doctor was at Strandsted. It took a whole bottle of rum to dull the pain while he cleaned the wound and applied a splint.
As usual, Dina was wearing leather pants and high boots like a man. She seemed overwhelming in the small house. Between her brows was an entire mountain chasm. Her words were like ice.
She treated the widow as a servant. And she ignored the good advice about letting Jacob wait until they could sail across the fjord.
She demanded help in getting Jacob lashed securely to the sleigh. Finally he lay in the sheepskin robes like a solid piece of rolled mutton.
“The woman must be reimbursed for the doctor’s fee, and for my lodging,” said Jacob meekly.
But Dina said neither thank you nor good-bye to Jacob’s hostess. Just smacked Blackie to get him moving and swung herself onto the sleigh.
The horse was a devil. That fled from the flashing sleigh runners across the mountain.
Dina was a falcon above the man.
He felt deathly afraid as they sped down the steepest slope on frozen terrain.
The road had been partially washed away by fall floods. And his leg ached when they had to force their way into the deep, ice-covered ruts.
It was the first time he felt totally under Dina’s control.
Jacob had limited experience with horses and roads. He was happiest at sea.
He tried to complain that she had not brought a crew to sail his boat home. But she did not give him even a glance in reply.
Jacob had not only seriously injured his leg; he had also fallen into disfavor. He knew that time was needed to heal both wounds. But had very little patience.
The break was serious, the bone was not set properly, and the leg would not heal.
It was as though evil forces had settled in the innocent limb. Jacob was confined to bed. He shouted and complained, whispered and begged for sympathy.
They moved him into the parlor, bed and all, to make him feel that he still belonged among the living.
The cleft between Dina’s brows became deeper. And her sympathy for the sick man was well hidden.
When Jacob innocently asked if she would play for him instead of drinking so much wine, she rose from the elegant leather chair. So abruptly that her glass tipped, the stem broke, and the contents spilled onto the lace doily.
The wine formed a red flower that grew larger and larger.
“Ask the widow at Strands ted to play that shank into place in your old carcass,” she hissed, and rushed out the door.
But Mother Karen and Oline nursed him tirelessly. And Anders sailed the outrigger back to Reinsnes.
After Dina’s outburst, Jacob understood several things. But he did not know the situation was irreparable.
To him, nothing was irreparable when it concerned women. Not even the two years with Dina had destroyed this irrepressible optimism.
Jacob’s wound did not improve. Gangrene developed. That was obvious from the color. The odor spread like an evil rumor, an inexorable warning of Judgment Day. Wrapped itself oppressively around each second.
Time became precious.
Mother Karen realized that Jacob required expert treatment. Soon!
Dina was the only one who actually had any idea what expert treatment would mean.
She had seen gangrene before. One of the sheriff’s trawl fishermen had developed gangrene in a frostbitten foot. He survived but could only sit with his stump in the air and rely on charity. After a few years he was so shriveled with bitterness and hate toward everyone that the maids dreaded bringing him food.
Dina had visited him out of curiosity.
Even in the hallways you could smell Jacob’s leg. Mother Karen sat by the bed. Oline added tears to the soup.
The ocean seemed the devil’s own handiwork. Waves rose as high as boathouse doors.
Anders gave in once again when Dina announced that she and
Tomas would drive Jacob across the mountain to the doctor.
Since she and her headstrong horse had managed to make the trip alone, she could probably do it with the help of a stableboy.
That was definitely the best plan. And was what happened.
Except for one thing: Tomas did not go along.
He gave her an incredulous look when she swung herself onto the sleigh and wanted to drive off alone.
Jacob nodded to him palely. As if uttering a prayer.
Tomas tensed his body. Prepared to jump onto the sleigh.
“No!” she snarled, lashing his knuckles with her whip. Then she barked a “Giddap!” to the horse and sped from the courtyard on squealing runners.
Tomas was left sprawled on the ice-covered ground. Gasping for breath. With bloody stripes on his right hand.
Later he defended Dina’s actions by saying that three would have been too many on the sleigh. And she had no time to lose if she was to reach the doctor in time.
Like most thin
gs Tomas said, this seemed true enough to everyone. He had seen the fear in Jacob’s eyes. But it was so terribly hard to remember.
Tomas was a trained dog. He did not howl while there was still time.
He drowned his thoughts in the water barrel in the courtyard. He rinsed his hand and his face in the ice-crusted water. Felt the pain from the whiplash go up his arm and into his armpit. Then he dried his face lightly with a wet hand and went inside to see Oline.
His face ruddy from the ice water, he commented that Jacob was indeed very ill.
Oline dried her eyes and sniffed the air imperceptibly. The smell of Jacob’s leg was all they had now.
Three hours later, Tomas stood ready to receive Dina and the horse with the empty carriage shafts.
Book Two
Chapter 1
The heart knows its own bitterness,
and no stranger shares its joy,
— Proverbs 14 : 10
Christmas was not celebrated at Reinsnes the year they laid Jacob in the grave. No one felt tempted to visit the widows at Reinsnes. Bad road conditions developed, as if specifically ordered for those who needed an excuse to stay away.
Oline claimed that a damp misery came from the walls and settled in both her hips, giving her no peace.
The bad roads lasted until the middle of January. People at Reinsnes were idle and uncertain.
Tomas found pretexts to walk past the master bedroom windows. Raised one blue eye and one brown eye. And did not realize he was praying.
When occasionally he was sent upstairs with firewood, his hands shook so much he dropped logs on the stairs.
Dina always sat with her back turned as he put the wood in the basket behind the folding screen with a picture of Leda and the swan.
He offered prayers to her back, said “God’s peace’ and left.
No one knew when Dina slept. Day and night, she paced the floor in travel boots with iron cleats on the heels.
The delicate pages of Hjertrud’s Bible fluttered in the draft from the window.
Dina's Book Page 13