Once I moved in, Father set about choosing a husband for me. He had to find someone willing to travel, because he planned on sailing to Greenland. He found what he wanted in Thorir the Eastman, a Norseman with a good family name. The Eastman knew how to joke with my father, when no one else dared. Father never saw the darkness in him, because he hid it well.
We married the winter I was fifteen. Halldis took me aside before the ceremony, to explain the ways of men with women. But her Orm was gentle and kind, nothing like The Eastman. Once we married, he raged like a bull, not only in his desire, but also with his hateful words to me.
I learned how to control him, in my own way. Still, I didn’t grieve when he died of the same illness that took Father, Orm, and Halldis, because I didn’t want to have his children.
The Eastman was a flirt. Even though he was only with me, he flirted endlessly with the slave women at Eirik’s. Women loved him, because he would entice them with flattery, making them feel beautiful.
Leif once remarked on it. “That Eastman would have children all over Brattahlid, if he made good on all his advances.” It’s funny that Leif was so concerned about my husband’s unfaithfulness, yet he too would have become guilty of the same thing, had I let him.
I feed Snorri as much ginger-water as he’ll take. He sips at the bottle, his lips strangely red. If there is a rash in his throat, I would know better what to do, but the hut is too shadowed to tell. I can’t take him outside in the sunlight or he might get more chilled. Inger and Linnea continue cleaning his things with hot water, making sure all the blankets have been changed. They are some of the most efficient slaves we’ve ever had. The slaves at Brattahlid tended to be lazy. I suppose it’s different here, where we must rely on everyone just to survive.
I hum quietly to Snorri, old Icelandic songs my mother sang to me. He enjoys it, stretching his arms and legs, ready to snuggle up.
But he grows still warmer. I put him down in his cradle, taking off everything but his cloths for the diarrhea. He still has gooseflesh, so I place another linen cloth over his chest. He looks up at me with dull eyes.
“Girls.” I speak quietly.
They immediately stand by my side.
“I want you to look in on Freydis for me. I need to know how things are going for her. You’ve done enough here for now.” They’ll need sleep before their morning chores.
Both girls nod. Inger takes the basket of dirty clothes as they go. Darkness falls outside the hut. The night meal has probably come and gone.
Tiredness washes over me. I would be content to curl up on the fresh straw on my bed and go to sleep. But I need to stay awake to watch for changes in Snorri, and to feed him more ginger water.
A knock on the door frame startles me. As I pull up the flap, I wonder how the girls can be back already.
But it is Snorri Thorbrandsson, ready to continue his vigil over his young namesake. I notice he’s changed his clothes. I’m strangely glad he thought to do that on his own, since I forgot to remind him.
“How’s Freydis?” I lean against the doorframe.
“Better.” He still doesn’t come in, shuffling his feet. “Are you hungry? There was salmon tonight. I brought some.”
He passes me a plate heaped with salmon, turnips, cabbage, and bread. The food looks tasty, but as I think of my baby’s illness, I can barely chew more than a few bites.
When the girls finally return to tell me Freydis is doing better, Snorri remains planted outside my door. This irritates me.
“Shouldn’t you be rallying your ten men?” I raise my voice toward the closed deerhide. “Preparing them to protect the women when Finn leaves tomorrow? Telling them who’s going to be in charge?”
“I’m doing that right now.” He maintains his post. It takes me a moment to understand his meaning, and when I do, fresh boldness fills me. Snorri is loyal to me.
As the night wears on, I give Snorri Thorbrandsson a task. The girls have long since gone to their own beds, and my eyes feel like they have sand in them.
“Snorri, will you come in and feed him ginger water if he wakes?”
“I will.” He has been waiting for my invitation. As he sits on the bench, I collapse on the bed, fully clothed.
“You told Finn?” I close my eyes, remembering my husband’s sad kiss the other morning.
“I did.”
And? What did he say? Finn won’t see me again for months. He won’t know if his son gets better or worse. Baby Snorri could be running instead of walking when he returns. Or he could be dead. Such is the way of illness, with our limited understanding of things. I hate sickness as much as I hate Thor.
“Many thanks.” I don’t need to ask Snorri the questions that plague me.
Snorri looks at me, eyes so filled with concern, it threatens to undo me. I sometimes feel that he sees behind all my cold requests.
“He knows you love him; now go to sleep.” His suggestions are more like commands—commands I don't chafe to obey. Black silence sweeps me under, and I sleep.
Chapter Sixteen
The constant patter of rain on the sod roof wakes me. Snorri has covered the fire hole so rain won't pour in.
I stumble over to my baby’s cradle and put my hand on his head. It is slightly cooler. I’ll let him sleep, instead of waking him to change his cloths or feed him. He isn’t horribly smelly, so the diarrhea has slowed.
Snorri Thorbrandsson sleeps near the coals, on a pile of blankets. The bowl of garlic paste sits near his hand. He sleeps like a horse, with his arms and legs straight out to the side. I look away before laughter gets the best of me.
I wonder if it’s wise to eat anything, but my stomach leaves me no choice. Just an egg or piece of bread should quiet this rumbling emptiness inside. I wonder where Finn had to sleep last night. Probably in one of the men’s huts.
My purple cape hangs on its post on the wall. I drape it over my head to protect it from rain, then put on my leather boots that come up to my knees. I love these boots. Made from the softest reindeer skins, they wrap my ankles tightly. Not only do they keep my legs warm, but they’re the exact color of perfect honey mead. They were a gift from Stena when I married Thorstein the Red.
As I go out into the light rain, I breathe deeply the smell of fresh, wet earth. By the edge of the forest, the stockade looks finished. Finn will be able to leave soon—maybe even today.
Inger and Linnea have already been busy, judging from the fresh milk filling the bucket on the longhouse table. I search Ref’s carved wooden cabinet on the wall and find some jerky and cheese from yesterday.
Footsteps splash in the mud outside the door, and Finn strides in. He stops abruptly, watching me.
“Finn.” I grip the cheese and jerky.
“Is he well?”
“He’s getting better.” I fight the urge to run to him. “Snorri Thorbrandsson helped with him last night.”
He nods, and the rain runs down his long eyelashes, onto his chest. If I could only touch that chest, feel the strength of his arms around me….
“We leave today.” His eyes don’t meet my own. He looks at my muddy boots instead.
“You must.” I need to encourage him. “The stockade is finished. Have you packed enough food? And weapons? And what about some garlic? And herbs from Nerienda?”
“Linnea checked the supplies, and made sure we had the right herbs.”
“Hmmm.” That should have been my job. Finn must have noticed her youth and beauty if she helped pack. She draws the eye. But why am I so jealous of a slave girl who likely dreams of being in my position?
Finn looks up, eyes the color of storm clouds before snow. He clamps his lips, as if he's holding back words.
“I’ll go out the back.” I feel I've offended him somehow. But I didn’t speak of my jealousy aloud.
His hand circles my arm before I can take a step.
“Don’t do this.” I know the pain of leaving drives him.
“Do you think it matters if I b
ecome sick?” His scent, woodsy like juniper, yet salty like the sea, surrounds me. “Nothing matters, until I get back to you.”
I fight the frantic desire to turn and be pulled into those strong arms, to feel his urgent lips on mine. I don't want to be left behind, without my anchor. And yet he must stay healthy.
“I can’t.” I pull my arm away, slipping out the door into the rain. It quickly drenches me, the heavy drops pounding my head. Surely Finn knows what I’m feeling; that I couldn’t be the one to make him sick.
Since I grew up surrounded by rocks and cliffs and sea, I know how to pull the strength of the rocks into myself. I become hard and untouchable, locking all my emotions inside. I won’t come out until I see Finn’s face again.
Water puddles beneath me as I stand in our hut. I’m still gripping the jerky and cheese. In my clenched hands, the rain didn't touch it. Snorri Thorbrandsson sits awkwardly on a bench, holding my baby. He stands as I come in, giving me a bright smile. Hope floods me.
“Fever’s breaking, for the babe sweats.” He’s almost tender as he rocks Snorri back and forth in his sturdy arms.
Dropping the food on the table, I go to him, holding out my arms. Snorri Thorbrandsson awkwardly tugs at my cape, which drips water everywhere. I pull it off my shoulder, then take my boy. Sure enough, baby Snorri has small beads of sweat on his face, and his skin has returned to a healthy color.
The worst is over now. Snorri has changed the cloths on my son. He’s also stoked the fire, straightened his blankets, and fastened back a corner of the deerskin, letting fresh air into the hut. I don’t need Inger and Linnea anymore, since Snorri Thorbrandsson knows just what to do.
He stretches and yawns, leaving his mouth wide open like a fish biting for bait. Realizing how crude this looks, he covers his mouth a bit too late. “Shall I check on Freydis?”
“Of course. Eat something, too. I brought the jerky and cheese.” I smooth my baby’s curls, enjoying the life in his eyes.
“Only a little.” He cuts off large pieces of each. Once again, I stifle my laugh.
“They leave today.” I’m sure he already knows this, since he talked with Finn last night.
“Yes.” His jaws work, chewing the jerky.
I wait, knowing he has more to tell me.
“I’ll be talking with the men today.” This answers my unspoken question.
“Good. What of our bathing and washing? How can we do these things, without Magnus as our guard?”
“I have thought about this. I could come, or your wolf. Do you have a way to call her?” he asks.
My wolf always comes when she’s needed, but I haven’t tried calling her yet. “I could go into the woods and see. But someone would have to stay with Snorri.”
“I’ll tell Linnea.” He pulls a blanket off the floor and positions it over his bald head. So the hardened Viking warrior worries about getting wet. Snorri Thorbrandsson is a riddle...a man-slayer blessed with compassion.
“Many thanks.” He is out the door before my words reach him. I don’t want to go into the woods, leaving my baby behind, but everything must be in place when camp leadership transfers. It’s an important, risky day—the ten men left behind must respect Snorri Thorbrandsson and me as they respected Finn.
Most of the men will accept this readily, but I wonder about the old man, Bjarni, and that Skraeling from Greenland, Suma. Or Suki? I can’t remember. Today Snorri has to show his dominance, much like the head wolf in a pack. I find it difficult to picture him this way, after watching his gentleness with my sick boy.
I cradle my baby, thanking God his fever has broken. I ask him to watch over Finn as he sails, and to protect Snorri Thorbrandsson and the women as we stay. I try to make a rune song for these things, one I can remember during the long months without Finn.
After rubbing more garlic on Snorri’s feet and nuzzling him a bit, I place my drowsy baby back in his cradle. Linnea bursts in the door, sopping wet.
“So sorry, m’lady.” She hangs up her cape. I find a thick cloth and hand it to her, then search for a dry shift and overdress. Hers are soaked through, clinging to her like bark on a tree. I finally settle on my light yellow overdress, thinking the color will flatter her as it does me.
“Freydis recovers. He asked me to tell you.” She dresses in the middle of the room, with no fear of someone walking in.
“Thank you.” I’m unsure if it was Snorri Thorbrandsson or Finn who told her this. “Is there anything else?”
“Yes, m’lady. The men have shipped out.”
Those simple words tear at me. Alone, alone, alone, pounds in my head.
“I must go out. Watch the baby.” I put on my wet cape as she starts combing her hair. She uses my favorite ivory comb without asking. “He’s getting better, so let him sleep.”
I remind myself that Linnea is very attentive to details, and she’s doubtless the best person to leave with my recovering child. Nerienda’s delays bothered me, and now Linnea’s boldness annoys—am I being unreasonable with my lack of sleep? How many days has Snorri been sick? One? Two? At this point, the days and nights blur together.
Outside, the rain hasn’t slowed. As my feet sink into the mud, I can’t bring myself to look at what it’s done to my favorite boots. I pull my skirts up, jumping onto a tiny patch of grass between houses.
As I pass the longhouse door, I’m surprised to see how few men are gathered at the table, listening to Snorri Thorbrandsson. So many have sailed. Inger and Nerienda are probably serving them the mid-morning meal to refresh their spirits.
I stop at the edge of the woods, waiting. Will my wolf find me even if I don’t call? Will she sense my sadness?
The ocean is dark as charcoal, and the wind whips rain around me. I won’t move until she comes. Even though my head is covered with the hood on the cape, wetness seeps through the wool.
I missed watching Finn ship out. I didn’t come to the point to wave goodbye. He wanted a kiss, a reassurance of my love, and I could not give it. If he never returns, will he die wondering if I loved him?
I finally turn, defeated. But as I wipe rain and tears from my eyes, I see her. She sits close to the new stockade, watching me with her yellow eyes.
I walk toward her, not caring that she’s wild. She doesn’t move. I stop short of her and wait, hand at my side.
She comes up and puts her nose into it. Her muzzle feels like the blue velvet curtains Thjodhild gave me when I married her son.
The wolf jerks her head toward the forest and I yank my hand back. Suki runs out of the trees, his long black hair flipping water on me as he passes. He runs at top speed, and I’m truly impressed. My wolf isn’t. Her wet hackles form spikes.
Suki has a bag on his back, probably carrying game of some sort. He looks back at me scornfully.
Who does he think he is? The way he flew by me shows disrespect. His eyes are dangerous, and my wolf doesn’t trust him.
“Told you he wants to kill someone.” Freydis has crept up behind me. The wolf ignores her, like she's some kind of forest animal.
Freydis’ eyes look sunken, as though she hasn’t been drinking enough. If her body gets too dry, the pains will be much worse.
“You’re looking at me that way again.” She sighs. “I had to get out of that hut. If Deirdre tells me one more thing about how healthy Scottish women are, I’ll…I’ll pull her hairs out, one by one.”
“Calm down.” I use the same tone I use with my cows. I won’t scold her for not drinking enough, but I’ll make sure Nerienda does. Right now, Freydis wants to talk.
“I’m so thankful Ref was able to stay.” She catches herself. “Of course, I’m sorry Thorfinn had to go. But you know Leif.”
Yes, that I do.
“And I know your husband. He’ll find Vinland in no time and bring back plenty of treasure.” She pats my back.
“I have to get back to camp.” The rain trickles to a stop, and I push my wet hood back, holding her gaze. “And don’t think about
looking in on my sick child, either.”
“I won’t.” Her lip droops. She wanted to escape Deirdre and stay with me.
Our trails between the huts are thick with mud now. It's surprising Suki could run so quickly without falling on his face.
Back at my hut, I wave Freydis on to her own, knowing full well she’ll head back into the woods instead. But she stands with her mouth open, pointing.
At the top of our stockade, the tall Skraeling leader climbs over, red silk tied around his head.
Chapter Seventeen
Freydis flies into the men’s hut, knowing there are weapons hanging on its walls. Snorri Thorbrandsson gives a shrill whistle from the longhouse to rally our men.
I run straight to Snorri’s cradle. He babbles to himself, playing with his toes. Linnea sits on the bench, staring right past me. I turn. Behind me, the Skraeling magic woman shifts on her feet. She truly must be magic to make it into the camp without raising alarm.
The woman is short, with a tight-fitting wrap and a shawl protecting her head from the rain. Her hair reminds me of a red squirrel, and her large cow-eyes watch me. The unnaturally white shade of her face makes me think she's painted it somehow.
She struggles as she balances a large pile of material over one arm. She motions to me, pointing to a leather dress on top of the pile. It has tiny red and white beads sewn along the sleeves and bodice. I’ve never seen any beads like these, in Greenland or Iceland.
It would have taken a whole season for one woman to bead this, so they must have many women, unlike us.
I point to the chair behind her. She sits, holding her clothes in her lap. Her large eyes are disturbing, anxious with her need to communicate. I wonder how she knew which hut was mine. Perhaps she divined this by magic, or realized I had the only baby in camp.
“What is your name?” I ask.
Her eyes are empty as she stares at me. Perhaps I need to talk to a younger Skraeling, one more accustomed to change.
God's Daughter (Vikings of the New World Saga) Page 10