God's Daughter (Vikings of the New World Saga)

by Heather Day Gilbert

  But Finn will love a girl as much as a boy. True, in the eyes of his family, a girl would make him look smaller. I selfishly thank God that he has already given us a boy to carry on the family name.

  As we sail into the open sea, Magnus stays awake almost continuously. His wrinkles seem to deepen every time I look at him. Even though he can’t see the sun, or the World Spike star for night navigation, he knows unerringly which direction we came from. And he can smell land long before the birds alert us to it.

  Anxiety makes our men row faster. They have heard the stories of ships that have been lost on this sea. I think most of the men don’t believe the sea-serpent tales Bjarni spouted, considering his mushroom habit. But other dangers exist on the open ocean, like none we’d find on land.

  One night, Magnus calls softly in the darkness, and Finn slowly unwraps himself from me. From the excitement in Magnus’ voice, we’re getting close.

  I begin talking to God in my head. I need help. I can’t believe we’re so close to the place I’ve dreamed of relentlessly for these past two years. I imagine the welcome we will have at Brattahlid. No doubt there will be feasting such as my child has never experienced in the sparse land we left behind. Thjodhild will want to hold my boy for days. She’ll be just as delighted as if he were hers by blood, so intertwined are we with Eirik’s family.

  Sometimes it seems I can feel Eirik smiling on me. If only he’d become a Christian, I’d have peace I would see him again in heaven. Sometimes I find myself searching Snorri’s baby face for Eirik’s features, then I remember he’s not Eirik’s true grandson.

  I think again of Brattahlid, and I can almost see the small crook of Leif’s nose and the thoughtful crease in his forehead. These memories fill me up, spilling into tears. I’m almost home.

  After watching my parents’ and my godparents’ deaths, and after traveling the oceans with all three husbands, my soul longs to settle down and have a safe harbor for our family. Perhaps the child inside of me causes me to feel this way. Perhaps I’m getting foolish as I age. I brush my tears off Snorri’s hair. My dark-haired boys lie nearby, blending into the night.

  Long fingers wrap over my shoulder, and I know it’s Freydis. The air is suddenly charged—exactly the way it feels before lightning is about to strike.

  “Almost here,” she says.

  I can’t tell if it’s deep love or deep regret that makes her voice so low. She squeezes my shoulder a little tighter. “And all my brother’s goods have arrived safely.”

  PART TWO

  Brattahlid

  (Greenland),

  Circa AD1000

  Chapter Thirty

  I keep forgetting I have three boys now. The two Skraelings, thick black hair falling over their haunted eyes, stand by my sleep sack every morning. They seem to be waiting for commands, but I have none to give them. I just want to teach them to talk.

  The crew has started calling the boys Hol and Hellir, for the holes and caves they sketched with charcoal on one of our tanned deer hides. They also drew people in the holes and caves, so we guessed their people must have lived in them. After pointing at the pictures repeatedly, saying our words for holes and caves, the older one earned his name by saying Hellir. Then his brother shyly whispered Hol.

  Their brown, glistening skin looks so different from ours. We washed the boys when they came aboard. Deirdre scrubbed them so hard, I think she made their bruises worse. They did have bugs in their hair, so we washed it in vinegar, then used our combs to pick them all out. Then I put rosemary oil on their heads and wrapped them with linen, hoping I wouldn’t have to cut all their hair off. Two days later, my treatments had worked, and I thanked God.

  Lice plagues are more common among Greenlandic slaves who live with animals. But since we carry animals on the ship, we’ve been combing our hair every day to avoid the bugs.

  The boys eat heartily enough, favoring Linnea’s porridge over all else. I think she must add precious honey to hers, giving it a sweet taste that sets it apart. When she isn’t cooking or watching over Snorri for me, I often find her deep in talks with Snorri Thorbrandsson. This still gives me a peculiar feeling, like he’s somehow my possession, but since I care deeply for both of them, I try to be happy.

  This morning, Hol reaches for Snorri, pulling up his now-chubby hands. Hellir bends down, helping me up from my sleep sack. I find this so moving, I almost cry. Two serious little boys, trying to act like men.

  “Many thanks.” I say it two times, hoping my smile helps them understand.

  I’ve never seen the boys smile, but their black eyes shine back at me. Hol immediately places Snorri’s hand in mine. They’ve noticed I hold his hand all the time. These boys are more observant than Freydis, who dangled my son over the ship just to amuse herself.

  We take the mid-morning meal early today, though everyone’s too excited to eat. We can see the coastline now. No one has to ask if it’s Greenland, because no one doubts Magnus.

  The women whirl around the ship, packing up food and rolling sleep sacks. They’re hoping we won’t have to use them tonight. I know it’s overly hopeful to think Magnus brought us straight to Eiriksfjord, right next to Brattahlid. Chances are, we’ll dock somewhere north of it, on Greenland’s wide coast.

  The brilliant blue sky almost convinces me things are improving after our long period of death and sadness at Straumsfjord. Finn will be rich once we arrive in Greenland, given all the goods he’s fit in the ships. I will be well-respected as Eirik’s daughter-in-law and Thorfinn Karlsefni’s wife.

  Ref’s chair has been a wonder, helping me so much when my body tires of holding my son’s hand, or carrying him all over the ship. I thank Finn and Ref repeatedly for their thoughtfulness.

  Finn looks more like a seaman every day, with his salt-blown curls and his reddish-tan skin. He has let his beard grow in, and it makes him look a bit wild. I find myself brushing my hair for long periods at night, because he likes to watch me. I also make an extra effort to bathe, even though it means using a rag and freezing salt water.

  Sometimes I ask myself if I’m trying to look good for Finn, or if I’m preparing to see Leif. I pray God will take these thoughts from me, because it’s wrong to love another man. When Thorstein the Red and I were married, we lived at Brattahlid. I had to pray almost daily that I wouldn’t fall into Leif’s ever-open arms. Torture is being married to a proud, insensitive man, while an attentive, supportive man lives under the same roof. Leif’s wife Gunna, though brash and hateful, was the answer to my prayers. A married man is a preoccupied man.

  The sail is unfurled to the favorable wind, and the ship slides easily between the hills. We weigh anchor mid-fjord, since the ship is too heavy to go closer to shore. It seems impossible, but the rounded hills surrounding the water look exactly like Eiriksfjord. Up on the land, a young shepherd stands near the sheepcote. Staff in hand, he seems to be deciding whether he should stay or run back to camp. The boy looks almost exactly like Leif. His hair is the same light shade, with just a bit more red in it. He’s tall and lanky.

  Finn recognizes this as well, and gives a whoop. We’ve arrived, exactly where we wanted to. No one thought we would be this lucky, even with Magnus. The confused boy who’s almost my nephew calls out to us.

  “Who goes there?” When he shouts, his voice cracks, making it obvious he’s a boy on the edge of manhood.

  Finn walks to the edge of the ship to answer, but Freydis gets there before he does, gesturing wildly.

  “You’re Leif’s son! You’re my nephew, boy!” Her shout is filled with an excitement I’m thankful to see again. “Do you know me? I’m Freydis Eiriksdottir!”

  Pride fills her voice as she announces her name, the name Eirik chose for her. Eirik was never like those Viking men who discarded their mistress’ babies. He loved every child he fathered, and even some he hadn't—like me.

  The boy comes to the shoreline, gazing at the size of the boat. “Is this my father’s ship?”

  F
inn leans over the side. “Yes, it is. I’m Thorfinn Karlsefni, my boy. Please run and tell your father we’ve returned from Vinland.”

  The boy’s face twists into a scowl. He’s not used to taking commands. But finally he nods half-heartedly and runs up the hill.

  Soaking in the familiar views of Eiriksfjord, I almost forget to watch over my baby. I turn quickly, but thankfully, Hellir sits with him in the ribs of the ship, making funny faces behind his hands. These boys are like brothers already.

  The sheep bleat near the shore, their timid flock splitting as people top the hill. I can picture Brattahlid, snug in its high green divot, hugged by the sky. I can envision its fires burning, the noisy animals, and slaves and family working side by side.

  Freydis, determined to get to her brother first, unlashes the small ship’s boat. Finn and Magnus lower it into the fjord. Finn gets in first, then helps Magnus and Freydis in before rowing to shore.

  I stand frozen to the deck. Deirdre comes closer to me, putting her hand on my arm as if she understands my connection to this place. With her intuitive ways, I wonder if she knows my feelings for Leif.

  Deirdre watches as Magnus carefully climbs out of the small boat. “That man will always be a shepherd before a sailor.”

  Sure enough, Magnus goes straight to calm Leif’s sheep, and they nudge at his trousers and hands as if they remember him.

  A group of men come down the hill, the boy among them. Leif’s hair is longer now; his smile unmistakable as he takes the lead.

  “Karlsefni!” His booming voice echoes off the rocks. His flame-haired sister runs up, throwing herself on him. This isn’t the best way to approach a Viking, but Leif has been working and he carries no sword. Freydis barely stops to talk before running up the hill to see the rest of the family. Ref stands near me, beaming like the sun. We share the hope that Freydis will return to normal here, in her homeland.

  When Finn finally makes his way to Leif, he’s rewarded with a gigantic bear hug. Both men are muscled, but Leif stands a full head taller, and his muscles are bulky and noticeable. Finn has the compact, sinewy body of a sailor.

  I feel eyes on the back of my head, and I know, without turning, that Snorri Thorbrandsson watches me. Even though his constant scrutiny is wearisome, part of me longs for the affirmation it brings. I pick up baby Snorri to distract my mind. I feel trapped in a web of men.

  Deirdre looks at me, helpless without a command. I ask her to bring Hol and Hellir over, so we can take them ashore and show Thjodhild her new grandchildren. She’ll either accept all three, or none at all. I won’t let her dote on Snorri and ignore the other two. And she won’t call them Skraelings. All this I resolve right now, even if I have to demand this from her myself. Finn has no real say in Eirik’s family.

  One of Leif’s men brings our boat back, and Deirdre holds onto the ropes, slowly lowering herself into it. I pass baby Snorri down to her, but Hol and Hellir are afraid to leave the ship. I leave them no choice, lowering myself down by the ropes, then holding my arms wide to them. As understanding dawns, they both scramble to get to me first.

  Once we are ashore, Leif falls silent, staring at me. My eyes meet his as I go by, but I won’t stop, since I don’t know to handle myself. There’s too much emotion in his gray eyes, with those long, light lashes.

  But he doesn’t let me pass. He’s next to me in two long strides. He folds his arms around the baby and me, like a father with his child.

  “Is this all the welcome I get from one of my favorite sisters?” He beams. “You have children now! Look at this little man! You’ve seen my boy already. But mostly—” He looks me up and down. “Mostly I need to know you’re fine and healthy. You were gone too long.”

  He turns back to Finn. “I hope it was worth it?”

  It’s not clear if he’s talking about plunder from the journey, or Finn’s decision to take me along.

  Finn glances at me. I’m pinned firmly to Leif’s side by one of his long arms. He meets Leif’s gaze.

  “Very profitable, for all of us. I found your wheat and grapes in Vinland. And Gudrid is with child again.” The proud, challenging note in his voice is unmistakeable.

  Leif’s arm moves only slightly as he turns to face me. “I never knew how jealous your Thorfinn is. We’ll have to put his mind at ease.”

  He throws both hands in the air and winks at me. “You must go see Mother. She’s been praying for you daily and has declared she’ll go down to the grave within the month if she can’t meet her grandchild. And even though she said that five months ago, she’s still here.”

  The children and I start walking up the hill. Leif didn’t ask about the native boys, who were holding Deirdre’s hands. We’ll have to discuss them soon. But if Thjodhild accepts them, he’ll have to. Even the huge Eiriksson brothers would never cross their mother.

  The blue sky reflects the ocean, making for a wide, uninterrupted view. As we top the hill, a small, black-haired woman runs to me. It’s only when I see her children run up behind her that I recognize her. Stena! She must have returned to Brattahlid, despite Thjodhild’s behavior. As she embraces me, she smells warm and golden, like rare cedar wood.

  We smile at each other, not saying anything. Stena is the only person I’ve met who’s as comfortable with silence as I am. I touch the faces of her two daughters and two sons, still speechless in my happiness.

  I’ll never forget helping with the birth of her youngest daughter. It was four years ago now, when sailors returning from Vinland brought reports of Thorvald’s death by that Skraeling arrow. Stena gave birth the very next day.

  Her daughter clasps my free hand, pointing at my hair. I pick her up, Snorri in my other arm. She’s light as a feather, with Stena’s small bones. Snorri watches her, wide-eyed, as she grasps a handful of my hair.

  Stena bats her daughter’s hand away, scolding her in her Sami language. She points to Hellir and Hol, who sit on the ground, encircled by her other children.

  “Sons," I say. She doesn’t ask more, just nods with an understanding look. “They had bad parents,” I explain.

  Deirdre looks impatiently at the longhouse, waiting. I know she’s anxious to reunite with her friends as well. She’ll tell them all the news of Straumsfjord, good and bad. Meanwhile, I just want to forget all about it.

  A tall, slightly stooping woman with flowing hair the color of buttermilk stands in the doorframe. She squints as if she can’t see us well.

  “Thjodhild awaits,” Stena says.

  I walk toward Eirik’s wife, alone and unprepared. Thjodhild is one of the most intimidating women I know. She always gets her way. But this time, I determine that I will have mine.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Although not as well-born as I am, Thjodhild might as well be royalty in Greenland. Her husband is the one who brought everyone here. And the fact she stayed with Eirik the Red is reason enough to respect her.

  Right after Thjodhild married Eirik, they were outlawed to the south of Iceland because of Eirik’s knack for finding conflict. Maybe he didn’t start the fights, but, as he told me often, “By Odin’s ugly face, I always finished them.”

  After getting into several feuds in south Iceland, Eirik proceeded to move himself and his disappointed wife to an island off the coast. He made friends quickly, with his outgoing personality and his seemingly boundless generosity. Unfortunately, Eirik made the mistake of loaning his favorite maple headboards to a man named Knut. When he finally asked for them back, Knut refused. Eirik took a group over, killing several of Knut’s slaves and two of his sons.

  My father, Thorbjorn, had met Eirik around this time. They immediately liked one another, each assuming the other wealthier than himself. Eirik stayed around long enough to be condemned as an outlaw at the Althing meeting. At that point, he set out for the land he later returned to tell everyone about—the Green Land.

  The place attracted outlaws and rabble-rousers from all over Iceland. In the absence of the heavy hand of the v
olva, the wild settlers of Greenland created their own rituals, often involving women. This resulted in countless forest children, many of whom were left to die. The pagan practices in Greenland grieved Thjodhild. Her grandmother, a Christian from Norway, had taught her to pray.

  Thjodhild put a stop to this madness when she showed up at Eirik’s mistress’ hut, right as the poor woman was giving birth. It was Thjodhild’s hands that brought Freydis into the world. It was her hands that placed the red-haired babe in her husband’s arms. Eirik told me later that his wife’s icy eyes froze his blood, and he swore right then never to be with another woman. Thjodhild had won his respect, and that of every woman on the island. The men had no choice but to follow their leader’s example.

  Eirik and Thjodhild agreed to disagree, but fighting somehow kept their marriage alive. He felt he’d earned her disrespect. She felt a religious obligation to bring him to repentance.

  When I arrived at Brattahlid, claiming Christianity and not paganism, Eirik was immediately suspicious of me. He liked my father, but didn’t trust him. But the first time he looked curiously into my eyes, I believe he saw me as I was—a girl who needed protection.

  Thjodhild wasn’t jealous of our friendship. In fact, she welcomed more time to herself. Since she’d learned more about Leif’s Christianity, she preferred to live like a nun, giving up worldly pleasures. Her constant refusal of Eirik’s desire only fanned the flames of his ever-present temper.

  And so Thjodhild had tamed the red-headed plunderer, in her own way. I didn’t approve or disapprove. I might have done the same thing in her place.

  I walk toward this determined woman now, sorry to see how the years have aged her. Her back used to be straight as a rod. Now it seems to have lost all its strength. And yet, her face is still beautiful in its very lack of color. Her lashes are light as her hair, instead of light brown, like mine. She seems unworldly, even angelic.