East of the Sun, West of the Moon

by Carole Bellacera

  Yet, Margit did want more. She hated to admit it, even to herself, but she missed the danger and excitement of an illicit affair. And she knew Bjorn did, too. Still, she'd made a pact with herself, and had no intention of breaking it. She was determined to make a go of her marriage with Erik.

  Her lips lifted to kiss his chin. He pulled her up so her face was even with his. He kissed her softly on the lips. When he pulled away, his eyes gazed into hers intently.

  "Margit,” he said. “I'm falling in love with you."

  * * * *

  At Leigh's suggestion, Melissa moved into the spare room at Leigh's apartment for the rest of the summer. The incident with the near-date rape had really scared the teenager, but it had also brought her and Leigh closer together. It was wonderful having her around, even though she spend most of her time in the spare room, reading or listening to music. At Leigh's suggestion, Melissa joined a tennis club down the street. It didn't take her long to make some new girlfriends there, and then, she was never home, but out shopping at the mall, going to movies or hanging out at the local pizza place on the corner. Leigh was relieved. It seemed like she'd come through a scary situation without any permanent scars. Except that there were no boys in the picture. Still, Leigh didn't think that was an altogether bad thing. A little break from the stressful world of dating would probably be good for her.

  It was a hot humid Saturday in August, and Leigh was curled in the window seat, working on a charcoal. The apartment was quiet except for the music of Mozart's Symphony No. 41 that played softly from the compact disc player. Melissa had gone off with a group of girlfriends to Georgetown Mall. They couldn't afford anything there but had fun pretending.

  Leigh placed her drawing board down onto the window seat and went into the kitchen for iced tea. Brushing her limp curls away from her damp forehead, she opened the refrigerator door. The blast of cool air hit her hot skin like a balmy wave of water. The unseasonable cool snap of the Fourth had given way to the typical Mid-Atlantic heat and humidity, and even though the air conditioner ran constantly, she couldn't seem to get comfortable. Premenopausal symptoms, she wondered? The mere thought of it depressed her. No matter what anyone said, menopause seemed synonymous with the death of her womanhood. And she wasn't ready for that.

  Back in the living room, Leigh took a long sip of the lemon-spiked iced tea and gazed down at her charcoal drawing. The sketch was of a mother and daughter sunning themselves on a flat rock next to a rushing brook. She hoped Ward would like it enough to display it at the gallery. Working there had given her the incentive to try to market more of her own art. Already, two of her watercolors had sold.

  The doorbell pealed out over the music. Leigh looked at her watch. It was too early for Knut, who was coming over later to barbecue steaks on the patio. She placed the iced tea glass on a coaster, went to the door and looked through the peephole. Her heart jumped. It was Mark! She took a deep breath, trying to calm her suddenly racing pulse. She didn't feel up to a fight. And what else could he want, unless he was here to see Melissa. She plastered on a rigid smile and opened the door. “Hi, Mark."

  He walked in, a noncommittal expression on his handsome young face. “Is Mel around?” he asked, glancing into the living room.

  "No. She went to the mall with some friends.” Leigh held the door open, expecting him to turn and leave.

  Instead, he stood with his hands in his pockets, his eyes refusing to meet hers. “Oh."

  Leigh waited a second, and then plunged in. “Want some iced tea? It's already made. With lemon the way you like it."

  He shrugged. “Yeah. Why not?"

  For a second, she wondered if her ears were playing tricks on her, but when he still didn't turn for the door, she realized he was really going to stay. “Go have a seat in the living room. I'll get the tea."

  When she returned to the living room, he was sitting at the window seat studying her charcoal. She gazed at her son, feeling an unidentifiable emotion gnawing at her—almost a hunger. A need for his love that was so great, it made her feel dizzy. Her eyes dwelled upon him, moving over his strong, straight nose, his slightly stubbled triangular chin, his glossy dark brown hair that tumbled casually onto his forehead. How many times in the past had she watched him study her work in just this way? The years fell away, and for a moment, he was a loving, affectionate ten-year-old again. Her first-born. In his adoring eyes, she could do no wrong. But he'd grown up and realized his mother was fallible.

  He looked up and their eyes met. Mark's face reddened. “Nice,” he said, motioning to the charcoal.

  "Thanks.” Leigh crossed the room toward him. “Here's your tea."

  "Thank you,” he said stiffly. He took a sip of the drink. A long tense silence filled the room. Finally, he spoke, “So, you're still busy with your art?"

  Leigh sat down on the end of the white sofa, facing him. “Yeah. I'm mostly doing charcoals or watercolors to sell at the gallery. I haven't been commissioned to do any more illustrations for a while. But I like it like this. No pressure, you know. No deadlines."

  "Uh huh.” Mark turned to look out the window. “Nice place. Nice little backyard."

  "Yeah, except it's too darn hot to go outside lately."

  "Sure is. Oh, God...” His expression changed and he stood up. “I left something outside your door."

  With long-legged strides, he disappeared into the foyer. Leigh followed behind, curious. A moment later, he stepped back into the foyer with a large cardboard box. He looked at her with a rather strange expression. “I brought something for Melissa,” he said. “I hope you don't mind."

  He opened the box and with gentle hands, drew out a small calico kitten. It squirmed in his hands and meowed plaintively, struggling to get away.

  "Oh, Mark...” Instinctively, Leigh reached for it. He handed it over.

  "It's for Melissa,” he said quickly, following her as she carried the kitten into the living room. “Vicki found it at the shelter. There were two of them, and she took one. She couldn't bear to leave the other one behind."

  "I can see why. She's adorable!” Its tiny claws dug into the skin of her hand. “Ouch! You don't have to scratch me, cutie.” She let it down, expecting it to run off under the sofa. But the kitten surprised her by sitting on her haunches and licking her paws with a tiny pink tongue. After she'd finished grooming herself, she turned up a pair of green eyes to Leigh as if to say, “Okay, I'm no longer contaminated by your touch."

  Leigh laughed. “She's beautiful!"

  "It's for Melissa,” he said again and squatted near the cat, sticking out a finger in front of her eyes. The kitten made a half-hearted bat at it and then yawned daintily.

  "Uh ... there's a little problem with that, Mark,” Leigh said. “And I think you know what it is.” When he didn't answer, she went on, “Your father's allergy. And Melissa intends to move back home when school starts."

  Mark stood at the window, staring out. “I thought maybe you'd keep the cat here for her. You know, when she comes to visit. She's always wanted a cat."

  Leigh watched his stiff back. A smile came to her lips. It wasn't only Melissa who'd wanted a cat. Mark knew how much Leigh loved them. Once, when she'd stopped over at Vicki's house, he'd noticed how taken she'd been with her cat. He'd commented on it later, wishing he'd be allowed to get her one for her birthday. But it was impossible. Bob claimed cat hair made him sneeze.

  Mark didn't stay much longer. At the door, he looked uncomfortable again and his eyes centered on a point somewhere off Leigh's left cheek. “I hope Mel likes the cat,” he said and opened the door. “Tell her I brought it for her."

  "Mark...” she murmured as he started out the door. He looked back. “Will you stop by again?” When he didn't answer right away, she added, “To see the cat, I mean."

  He seemed to think about it for a moment. Then, “Yeah. I'll drop by now and then. To see Mel and the cat."

  "Okay.” Leigh tried to sound offhand like an uninvolved bystander.
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  "See you.” Without another backward glance, he loped down the stoop to the sidewalk.

  After she closed the door behind him, Leigh walked back into the living room and saw the kitten curled into a fluffy ball on the window seat. Lightly, she stroked her long multi-hued fur. It was a moment before she realized she was crying.

  Chapter 29

  The December night was clear and cold. Erik parked the Volkswagon in his father's driveway and stepped out to pull back the front seat for Gunny. “I'm taking Gunny to see the lights, Margit,” he said as she exited the car on the other side. “Want to come to the hill?"

  Margit smiled at him over the top of the car. “No, darling. I've seen them countless times, and I'm freezing. You go ahead but don't be long. We don't want Gunny to catch a cold."

  Hand in hand, Erik and his son climbed the small hill behind the house where he grew up. It had been one of his favorite play areas, especially when he and his brothers played war games. The hill had been the major strategic point of battle. At the top, the man and little boy faced northward where bright lights shimmered on the horizon in hues of white, green and sometimes blue. The Northern Lights. It wasn't often they were seen this far south, but on exceptionally cold, clear nights, they were an exciting spectacle. Erik and Gunny stood watching for a few moments as the lights danced across the sky, sometimes changing shapes while they watched.

  "The lights are pretty,” Gunny said, a delighted smile on his face. “Like Christmas lights!"

  Erik smiled down at his son and tugged his knit hat down firmly over his ears. He squatted in front of him. “Did you ever hear the story of how the northern lights were born? My mother used to tell me the legend when I was a little boy."

  Gunny shook his head. “Tell me, Father."

  Erik smiled at the sound of Gunny calling him father. “A long time ago in the far north, there was a young maiden named Torill who was very beautiful, but the most unusual thing about her was her long golden hair."

  "Like Mommy's?"

  Erik smiled. “Sort of. But this maiden's hair was so bright and shining it literally blinded the eyes of her many suitors. You see, an evil troll had cast a spell upon her because she wouldn't marry him. It saddened her that her hair blinded the men who wooed her, so she covered it with a long black hooded cape. One day a handsome young man named Olav arrived to court her, and she fell immediately in love with him. He asked for her hand in marriage and she accepted. The night before the wedding, they were out walking on the dark fells when a wolf bounded out of the darkness and snatched her cape away from her. Her golden hair tumbled down around her shoulders and the polar night was suddenly dazzled by a bright light. Olav tried to shield his eyes, but it was too late. He would never see again."

  "Did it hurt, Father?"

  "Oh, I'm certain it did. Anyway, Torill was so upset because of the pain she'd caused her lover that she ran away to the North Cape, and there, she chopped off all her beautiful hair and tossed it into the Arctic Ocean. And two miracles happened. Olav got his eyesight back, and he and Torill lived happily ever after."

  "What was the second miracle, Father?"

  Erik grinned. “Well, when Torill threw her golden hair into the ocean, something magical happened. Since that day, on cold clear winter nights, the bright lights from her golden hair still dance in the heavens to the north. The Northern Lights. And you know what else your Grandmother told me?"

  Gunny shook his head soberly.

  "She said when you watch the northern lights if you wish hard enough, whatever you desire will come true."

  Gunny's face brightened. “I'll wish for a new train set for Christmas! Do you think my wish will come true?"

  "I think it might."

  "Did all your wishes come true?"

  For a brief instant, Erik thought of Kayleigh. Then he shook his head and stared out at the lights. “Not all of them. But you see, you have to save your most important wishes for the northern lights. You can't expect every little wish you have to come true."

  "Well, a train set is my most important wish,” Gunny said firmly.

  Erik laughed. “It won't be long before you find out if it comes true, son. In just a few hours."

  "Are we going to take some rommegrot out to the nissen?” Gunny asked.

  On Christmas Eve in Norway, it was a popular tradition for children to place a bowl of porridge in the barn for the “good-luck” elf who lived there. For city or suburban dwellers, a garage or even a front porch would do as a replacement for the barn.

  "Sure,” Erik said. “Right after dinner."

  "Can we go in now? I'm hungry."

  "Yes, go on. I'll be just a moment."

  Gunny ran down the hill to the Haukeland house. Erik watched him until he was safely inside and then turned again to stare pensively at the performance of the lights across the sky.

  Kayleigh, I wish you would return to me.

  The thought was out before he realized he'd formulated it. As if to brush away an annoying insect, Erik shook his head and spoke aloud, “No! I'm in love with my wife. I don't need Kayleigh anymore. I don't want her."

  He turned and made his way down the hill.

  * * * *

  The Haukeland's Christmas Eve party was in full progress when Erik entered the house. He found the women busy in the kitchen, putting together the traditional holiday foods. The men were busy, too. Skaling each other with their shot glasses of aquavit around the Christmas tree. They greeted him garrulously when he stepped into the room, and a moment later, he found a stein of beer in one hand and a shot-glass of aquavit in the other. But some of the cheer had gone out of Christmas for him. The image of Kayleigh lingered in his mind. Just when he was beginning to think he was over her, she'd come back to haunt him with dreams of what might have been. For a moment, Erik felt her presence so strongly it was all he could do not to turn around and scan the room for her. Was she thinking of him? Or was she so enmeshed in her new life she'd completely forgotten him?

  Grethe announced dinner. Erik tossed down the rest of his beer and followed the others out of the room.

  * * * *

  By some stroke of ill-luck, Margit found herself seated next to Bjorn at the dinner table. All evening, she'd been purposely staying out of his way because she didn't trust her dangerous emotions. His eyes had been following her every move. How on earth was it possible no one else seemed to notice? It had been seven long months since she'd ended their affair, yet, it was obvious to her tonight that their ardor hadn't cooled. And she was finding it increasingly difficult to remain strong. So far, she'd resisted the temptation to resume their relationship simply by looking at her healthy young son and being grateful he was still alive. But how much longer could it last? Especially when just a mere smile from Bjorn made her knees weak. Having him at the dinner table next to her was almost her undoing.

  While she sat there smiling politely and nibbling gravlaks, Bjorn, who'd been hitting the aquavit bottle at a fairly liberal rate, had his practiced medical hand up her dress. No one even noticed. They were used to his American habit of using only one hand to eat; it was one he'd picked up during his years of medical school at Pope University. At first, she'd pushed his hand away but when it stubbornly returned, she gave up, reasoning the only way to stop him would be to cause a scene. That, she would never do.

  Across the table, Erik smiled at his wife. She was looking radiant tonight. He hoped it was because she had good news to share with him. She'd visited her gynecologist yesterday, but when he'd asked about it, she'd shrugged and told him it could wait. He guessed she was waiting for Christmas to arrive before she told him. What a great gift that would be. A new daughter or son. This time, he'd be there to share the birth with her. He glanced at her again and was startled to see a dark flush on her cheekbones.

  "Margit, are you feeling all right?” he asked.

  She stared at him blankly for a second and then nodded. “Yes, sweetheart, just a bit overheated."

 
"Perhaps you should step outside for some air."

  "No, I'll be fine.” She threw him a teasing smile. “Don't hover so!"

  Everyone laughed. Dordei, sitting next to Erik, leaned closer and whispered, “I just have to admit I was wrong about you and Margit. I didn't think you could be happy with her. But it's so obvious now you're mad about each other."

  Erik smiled at his sister. “Well, I had my doubts about our marriage, too. But I'm glad I was wrong."

  "Me, too."

  From the head of the table, Arne's voice boomed out. “Erik! How long have you and Margit been married now?"

  Erik chewed thoughtfully on a piece of mutton. “We celebrate our first anniversary next month."

  Margit smiled dreamily at him across the table. “Doesn't time fly?” Her eyes appeared glassy. Erik wondered if she'd had a bit too much to drink.

  "So, when are you going to make us grandparents again?” Arne asked bluntly.

  Erik shrugged. “You're asking the wrong person."

  All eyes turned to Margit. For a moment, Erik thought she was having a seizure. Her eyes were strangely unfocused and for a few seconds, she seemed to shudder in her chair. Suddenly she became aware she was the focus of attention. Her face turned crimson. She covered her mouth with a hand and stood up rather unsteadily.

  "I think I'm going to be sick,” she murmured.

  As she left the room, she cast a baleful glare at Bjorn. Erik felt the amused gazes of everyone upon him. He grinned back at them and shrugged.

  "There's your answer,” Arne said.

  Erik stood up. “Excuse me. I'd better go check on her."

  * * * *

  Erik tapped on the door of the bathroom. “Margit, are you okay?"

  He heard the sound of running water. Then, “Yes, Erik. The heat just got to me.” Her voice was impatient.