Snorri reaches over and wipes a stray tear from my face. He squeezes my hand once, then yanks the unwilling stallion toward him. He mounts it, kicking it several times before galloping away toward Brattahlid.
The heavy air presses on my scattered thoughts. What if I had married Snorri, years ago? Where would we be now? And how can I think like this? I have children with Finn!
I feel displaced, body and soul. After all those months dreaming at Straumsfjord, practically tasting Brattahlid, I don’t even fit here. I’ll stay while Thjodhild’s sick, because I may be able to ease her final pains. But after that? What do I want with my life? I’ve never asked this of myself, because I always follow my husband’s lead. And truly, I’ve been happy to follow Finn anywhere. But perhaps I should help determine which direction we go.
Overgrowth spills into the path, thick berry brambles grabbing at my mare’s legs as I head for home. The evenly spaced Greenlandic trees seem naked and exposed against the gray sky.
Once again, unbidden, I see the red-haired boy, prepared to come to my aid at my mother’s hanging. My tears flow, releasing the storm inside me. Has Finn ever loved me like Snorri Thorbrandsson has?
As Brattahlid comes into view, a churned patch of brambles by the path draws my eye. I slow my mare and dismount. Following the trail of crushed branches, I push my way into the forest. The sky's dark shadows cloak the trees. A gust of rain-kissed wind sweeps over me, as if invisible hands tug at my soul.
I stumble near one thick, outstretched limb. The black stallion stands just beyond it, not even tied up. The mist of rain turns into drops, large and heavy. I force myself to turn, my chilled body warning me before my heart can.
Close by, Snorri’s bald head shines on a wide rock, leather-clad legs sprawled at strange angles. Blood trickles from his ears and pools on the gray stone.
I drop to his side, feeling his neck for a heartbeat. None. His beautiful eyes are closed; his lips that so recently touched my own, open. I trace his strong arm, down to those wide hands that carried my wolf through the forest and cradled my face. Something deep inside me flutters, perhaps the first kicks of my child.
I am frozen beside him, unable to think what to do next. All my healing powers are useless. The black sky continues its torrent, but I can’t bring myself to drag him anywhere. I lie down on the bloody rock, forcing my own hand into his stiff, curled fingers. He must wake to comfort me again. The darkness surrounds me now, and I don’t run from it.
Chapter Thirty-Five
You killed him. The voice in my head pounds, louder and louder, until I finally open my eyes.
I lie on the bed in our own house, dark except for a lantern’s dim light in the back of the room. Someone sits in the rocking chair next to it.
For a long while, I watch the chair go back and forth. You killed him beats in time with the chair’s motions. Long hair spills over the chair’s back, like a river of spun gold. Linnea.
Everything seems too silent, even with her steady rocking. My head spins. I see Snorri Thorbrandsson, blood trickling over his ear. How can I explain it to Linnea? Maybe I won’t have to. Maybe it was a nightmare, and I was here, asleep the whole time.
Linnea doesn’t turn, but she stares at my boy’s empty little bed. I lie still, pretending to sleep. My fear and dread of her grows, with the words unspoken between us. Does she know about Snorri Thorbrandsson’s love for me? Does she know he’s dead?
Finally, after what seems like endless hours, the door opens. Stena comes in, the white light of morning behind her. She takes a quick look at Linnea, then walks over to my bed. I’ve been watching with my eyes slitted, but now I close them, trying to breathe deeply and evenly.
Stena sits lightly on the bed for a few moments, observing in her silent way. She does what I’d hoped she would, turning to Linnea. “You may leave now. I’ll watch over her.”
The rocking stops, but not the voice in my head. Linnea’s steps slowly move past my bed, then out the door. I wonder if she lives in the house with the other slave women. I should have asked her to make a room with us. She’s all alone at Brattahlid, with Inger still at sea. Doubtless, Bjarni doesn’t have the sense of direction he did earlier in his life. What if that whole crew died, as well? I can’t take one more death.
My rejection pushed Snorri into such a passion that he couldn’t control his willful horse. I’m the only one who knows he wasn’t planning to marry Linnea, as everyone thought. I’ll make sure that no one else ever knows, for Linnea’s sake.
“You can sit up now, since you’re not really asleep.” Stena smiles in a knowing way. I oblige her, feeling foolish.
“She knows about him—we all do.” Stena’s voice cracks as she hugs me, her glossy, thick black hair smelling of rosemary. “Your boys stayed with Deirdre last night.”
“How did you find me?” I look down at my dry clothing. Someone must have changed my shift and overdress. I don’t remember travelling back.
She misunderstands my question. “Well, Leif said he found you with your hand in Snorri’s. Of course, he just said this to make Finn jealous. We can all see their rivalry.”
I could strangle that brute! What’s he trying to do to me? He’s overly harsh to everyone. Everything he says is designed to make Finn furious. And a furious Finn is something I’ve never seen. Why didn’t I notice these flaws in Leif before? Or has Gunna changed him so much?
Stena sits quietly, her presence calming me. She’s waiting for me to talk. I don’t trust myself to tell the story, though. She squeezes my hand, bringing fresh tears to my eyes. I remember my baby's flutters in the woods, when I found Snorri. My hand flies to my stomach.
“My baby?” I ask. She understands I’m not talking about baby Snorri.
“You’re both fine.” Stena’s helped with births before. She would have checked to see if I’d miscarried because of the shock. Someday, I’ll thank the God in heaven for protecting my unborn child when I found Snorri dead. But not today.
“Could you eat something?” Stena stands, smoothing the blankets. “The mid-morning meal will be soon, but Finn waits for you in the longhouse.”
The tide of nausea rises in me again, but I swallow to push it down. Yes, I will go to my husband. I need his arms around me.
Unfortunately, he’s not alone in the longhouse. Leif and Gunna sit at one end of the table; Finn at the other end. Thjodhild, standing near the fire, gives me a desperate look. Given the way the men glare at each other, I should have stayed in our house. But I’ve done nothing wrong. I have not.
I gather new strength. “Where are my boys?”
Thjodhild looks relieved for something else to think about. “Your Snorri’s with Deirdre. That woman may be pale as a banshee, but she loves your boy as much as I do. And the other two ate early—they’re helping Magnus. He says they’re gentle with the sheep.” Her hand flies to her mouth as she realizes her words may offend. Gils has probably been shepherding for years.
It’s unusual for such a fearsome, elegant woman as Thjodhild to worry about what others think of her opinions, especially since she’s the matriarch of Brattahlid. But she can’t afford to offend Leif.
Gunna scowls. “His corpse is laid out in his house.” She jerks her thumb toward the door. “In case you need to say a personal goodbye.”
She doesn’t look directly at me as she says this, but I know it’s meant for me and no one else. She can’t even respect Snorri Thorbrandsson by saying his name.
“Shut your mouth.” Finn’s voice fills the room, before I can even speak. I look back at him and see the lion has wakened. His chin is iron; his eyes dark.
Gunna looks at Leif for the support he’ll never give. She slams her glass down so hard, it breaks.
Thjodhild’s face hardens as she takes control of the longhouse. Rhine glass is not easily replaced. “Get out, thankless wench!”
Gunna gets up and strides out slowly, swinging her full hips as if she has all the time in the world.
Leif watches everything, but does not intervene. In fact, I get the feeling he’s enjoying this. Eirik would take a strap to him, were he alive. Gunna may be horrible, but she’ll always be the mother of Leif’s child, and at one point, he found her irresistible.
The slaves hesitantly place steaming bowls on the table. I suppose they’ve decided we’re taking our meal early. Linnea is among them, her beautiful hair pinned up with a folded linen cap over it, making her look like any other slave on the farm. This infuriates me even further. “I release this slave,” I say. “Linnea, you are free.”
Leif’s brows draw together and he jumps up. So I can drive him to action. Finn also jumps to his feet.
I match Leif's glare. “Well, isn’t she my slave, Leif? If you don’t know, ask your sister. She knows better than I do which slaves I own.”
He looks from Finn to me, then slowly sits down.
“You know my sister.” He waves his hand around like a bird’s wing. “Crazy. She wants to go back to Vinland this very winter. I think she wants to be as wealthy as your man there.”
The room is charged, and we’re all shooting lightning bolts at each other. Stena walks up behind me.
“Please eat something, Gudrid.” Her black eyes scold me as she lightly pushes my shoulder. Then she goes to Finn, her whisper reaching my ears. “You’ll need to oversee the burning. Snorri was your partner. It’s how he would want it.”
As Finn rises to leave, Linnea’s eyes trail after him. “Go with him, please.” I request this, instead of ordering it. Linnea wants to help prepare Snorri’s body. Her eyes fill with tears, but she nods and follows Finn. The next Althing meeting will buzz with news of her freedom.
Leif leans forward, looking at me. “And will you release them all? Deirdre, Magnus, Nerienda, and the others?” His eyes dare me to do just that.
Where is the Leif I dreamed of? The one whose feelings were as soft as his beard?
Well, he’s not the only one who has changed. I’ve seen enough in these two years to make me hard and angry, if I chose to be. I do not. I won’t become a cold woman, spiteful and irritable, like Gunna, or like Thjodhild used to be. I ignore Leif instead, drinking the cabbage soup before me and enjoying hunks of fresh wheat bread.
As a slave girl picks up shards of Gunna’s broken glass, Thjodhild finally sits to eat. Stena positions herself right next to me. Leif sighs, still waiting for my response.
He finally groans and jumps up. “Too many women. Where are all my men?” He stalks out of the longhouse, leaving his half-eaten meal in his bowl.
We don’t even look at one another, knowing the slaves are already gossipping about Gunna’s behavior. Instead, we eat our food and ask for more. Thjodhild drinks at least four glasses of beer. I can’t grudge her that—Snorri Thorbrandsson’s death is a harsh reminder of how quickly life can end.
Stena draws us both into conversation with her clever questions. She’s so easy to talk to; never hostile. I used to have the ability to unify people, as well. But here at Brattahlid, it seems my only ability is stirring up conflict with men.
I don’t know how Leif feels about me now, though I really shouldn’t care. He needs to change his habits to heal his marriage, and I can only hinder and distract him.
And Snorri Thorbrandsson. It was my fault he charged off on that skittish stallion. I was too harsh, too blunt with him.
What would Finn think of my story? How much would he understand? I haven’t had two moments to speak with him, much less enjoy his body here, with all the boys sleeping in our room. I need to find a way to put up a deer hide curtain, since it’s a larger house and the older boys are so quick to comfort Snorri. That would give us some privacy.
Something pricks the back of my thoughts, like a briar I can’t locate. When Stena mentions Freydis’ thinness, I realize what it is: Leif said Freydis wants to sail to Vinland this winter. No reasonable person would dare ship out from Greenland then.
I stand. “I need to go talk with Freydis.”
Stena gives me a look of disapproval, but she doesn’t try to stop me. Thjodhild seems too tired to respond, blankly watching the fire and the bustling slaves.
Before searching for Freydis, I check in on Snorri. I haven’t seen enough of my boys here. I remember how Snorri Thorbrandsson stayed up all night with my son when I was too exhausted to continue. My boy will never see his namesake again. Uncontrolled tears stream down my cheeks and I furiously swipe them away.
Deirdre spins wool in her house. It’s not as large as mine, but decorated beautifully, with ceramic vases and dyed linens on the bed. She also has plenty of toys for Snorri, who pushes around rolling wooden horses. The minute he sees me, he drops them and runs into my arms. I hold him tightly, marveling at his good health.
Deirdre whispers, as if Snorri could understand her. “I’ve been hearing some things.”
“And what are they?” I ask.
“Gunna’s healer woman—well, really just an old witch, if you ask me—says her mistress will be going back to her homeland in a of couple days.” Deirdre shakes her head. “It’s an ill wind that blows, given what’s happened to….”
She goes silent, patting my boy’s plump cheek. She knows I don’t want prophecies of doom based on Snorri’s accident.
I say nothing, so she finally speaks again. “Magnus says your boys are wonderful with the sheep, instinctive as if they were blind, too.” She has all the pride of a doting grandmother, reminding me of the news I want to share.
“Deirdre, I want you and Magnus to be free. You are no longer my slaves. Do you want to leave Brattahlid?
“No longer your slaves? Leave Brattahlid? What’s this about? We’ll go nowhere!” She grips her silver necklace. Someday she’s going to break it, handling it so often. “We stay with you and your children, slaves or not.”
“But don’t you miss Scotland?” Snorri wraps his fingers in my hair. Fresh tears fill my eyes at Deirdre’s loyalty to our family.
“Only on misty days. Or when the grass smells fresh and new. Yes, I do miss it, and I imagine my Magnus does, too. But your God brought us to you.”
I put Snorri on the floor and hug her. Yes, my God brought her to me. Deirdre and Magnus have always sought the best for my family.
She pulls me back and looks at my face and eyes, still reddened from crying over Snorri Thorbrandsson. “I know what you need, dearie. A warm bath in one of Leif’s fancy washtubs, then you can snug up in your own bed. You must take care of your unborn baby, too.”
She is right. Even though I need to talk with Freydis, I feel tired and useless after Snorri Thorbrandsson's death. I had almost forgotten I’m expecting.
Deirdre knows my question before I ask. “I’ll watch the boys. Snorri loves playing here, and we have extra beds for Hol and Hellir. They could even learn to play King’s Table with Magnus.”
How a blind man plays board games, I can’t imagine. But Magnus doesn’t ever seem limited in anything he does.
“But I need to talk with Freydis, and Linnea…” Who am I to sleep at such a time of unrest on the farm?
Deirdre’s concerned blue eyes focus on me. “You must not worry yourself so much over the others. Think only of your own babe. You are too good at mothering.”
The truth in Deirdre’s observation strikes me. It explains why I feel guilty for rejecting Snorri; my continual worry for Inger, Geisli, and Suka; my burden to help Thjodhild, who’s not even my mother-in-law anymore; and why I can’t let Freydis return to Straumsfjord. I mother everyone except my husband.
Finn enters the house, his face gray. He has seen Snorri Thorbrandsson. I hope someone wrapped Snorri’s head, so Finn couldn't see the gaping wound that killed him.
He takes little Snorri from my arms, into his tight embrace. His eyes swim with unshed tears. It is my fault his best friend lies dead.
When Finn finally returns Snorri to Deirdre’s arms, he takes my hand, leading me out of the house without a word. We walk across the farmyard to our
house. As we pass Leif and Gunna’s door, their angry shouts make their way to our ears.
Finn is acting strangely. This husband of mine can be overly secretive when he wants to be. He doesn’t say why he’s taking me into our house. He might want to ask me about Snorri’s death, or scold me for releasing slaves, or….
He shuts our door, turning to face me. “Gudrid, we have to talk.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Thorfinn Karlsefni has never been a man of words. He acts. I used to believe he had given all those goods and food to Eirik so he could have decent housing in Greenland that winter. But later, I realized he’d planned it that way. When he and his men stayed longer, it depleted Eirik’s supply, making him reliant on his merchant boarder. And, when Eirik had to ask for food, Finn had the advantage. It gave him the powerful position of being able to ask for my hand without any reason for rejection.
I’m sure Snorri Thorbrandsson knew Finn planned to marry me. It’s probably why he asked for my hand first, earlier that winter. But it was already too late. Eirik respected wealth and title. Snorri had some wealth, but not as much as Finn, and he had no title. Eirik never truly considered Snorri worthy of my hand.
Men instinctively recognize Finn’s determination and loyalty. He makes friends for life. And not many fathers would have accepted two Skraelings as their own children. But, as a husband, I feel I know him less now than when we first married.
And now he wants to talk. The light from the window hits his cheekbones, and his face looks thinner to me. The circles under his eyes have darkened. Why have I not seen my husband lately?
But he seems calm enough. “First of all, are you well?” He sits down on our bed and motions for me to join him.
I sit, straightening my soft brown skirts around me. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll sleep soon. And you?”
God's Daughter (Vikings of the New World Saga) Page 21