by Jonas Lie
One party after another was flying past down the high-road on sledges, like shadows in the moonlight, with shouts and cries—half-grown lads and lassies, and now and then a party of fine people from the town below. One tall lad, with the rope over his shoulder and his heels digging into the hillside, was dragging a wood-sledge up, with a heavy load of girls upon it.
Nikolai could not help keeping watch through the kitchen window, and left his mother, who sat inside by the paraffins lamp, without any answer.
They were Kristofa and Kalla, those two who were standing there in the street talking, while they slid backwards and forwards the whole time on a little bit of ice. They were waiting for somebody—Silla perhaps; they were standing close by her street. It was a question which of them would dare to venture in and be so bold as to ask Mrs. Holman with many “dear, kind, goods” if she would allow Silla to go over to her for a little while this evening—always untruthfulness and disorder!
There was another sledge party with fine hats and glowing cigars standing laughing just outside.
Barbara stopped her knitting-pins to listen.
“We have this noise every evening till quite late,” she remarked, “as long as the moon shines on the road.”
He turned hot all over. If Silla were to get into this, then he might as well lay both himself and his hammer down.
Yes, there she was looking about at the corner for her two friends.
“Good evening, old lady,” said he, suddenly coming out of the door.
“Is that you, Nikolai?” exclaimed Silla, in surprise. “Have you seen anything of Kristofa and Kalla? I did so want to speak to them! Haven’t you? Do you know how I got out? I was only going to get the cat in for the night. I chased it out myself, and hid it so nicely under the wooden tub out in the shed. If only it doesn’t mew.”
She looked round again eagerly, while the elongated shadow across the snow imitated her slender figure and swaying movements.
“Oh, and they promised to wait for me!”
“Well, I suppose they’ve only gone.”
“Only? They thought I was going out with them this evening, and if they haven’t been here already, they may perhaps stand and wait, for I must go in, you see, or else I shall have mother coming out into the street after me. Listen, Nik! If you were nice “—she took hold of his jacket, and pushed him backwards and forwards—“you would find them and tell them—can you tell them properly?—that I must be good and stay at home this evening, but hurrah for a holiday tomorrow and the day after! Say that mother will be washing at the Antonisens’ the whole of the end of the week, and they’ll quite understand it. But be sure you find them, Nikolai, so that they won’t blame me.”
Nikolai was not insensible to her amiability, nor yet to her liveliness and prettiness; but it had just the opposite effect. While she stood pulling his jacket, he heard the voices on the high-road all the time.
“That’s it, that’s it! You want to get quite free now, Silla. Well, just let them drag you out among them! But that a respectable girl will let herself be drawn into such goings on!” he added, out of humour.
“A respectable girl? Respectable girl! May I ask what sort of fun she is to have then? I really wonder, Nikolai, that you didn’t find a respectable girl for yourself who would walk with her back like a poker, and her arms under her shawl, and who only lets herself slide by accident as it were, when she comes to a slide—daren’t even look out of the corner of her eye at a hand-sledge, because she’s so well-behaved! It was a respectable one like that you ought to have had. And then, when you were standing hammering all day in the smithy, and she was deep in her work standing on all fours with her head behind the wash-tub at home, I suppose that would be as you would like to have it. But I can tell you, Nikolai, that if there isn’t to be any fun in this world, then good-bye and be rid of it. I’ve had to sit shut up long enough at home.”
He shook his head. “If only there weren’t all those wolves howling away there on the road. But you see, they want to amuse themselves too; and—and the insignificant ones have to take care of what they have, it seems to me—and if you’re of the same mind, Silla, we’ll go in to your mother at once—this very moment.” He took her by the hand to carry out his intention.
“You must be mad, Nikolai,” she exclaimed in terror; the resolution was as terrible as it was unexpected. “No, no, let it be,” she begged in an eager whisper. “Think of mother! Have you quite forgotten what mother is like? It will be time enough when we’ve got something to marry on.”
“Time enough? No, it’s not time enough for me, Silla. I must try and get it said now.”
“And what will happen to me at home afterwards? And you’re not dressed for it either, this evening.”
“Oh, don’t be afraid, Mr. Nikolai. I may as well see with my own eyes how highly my daughter condescends to respect her mother who is left a poor defenceless widow.”
It was Mrs. Holman’s own voice; she was standing in the gateway, looking preternaturally large.
“I thought I had gone through the worst that could be, when Holman died, and that I should be spared the pain of catching my own flesh and blood out, without leave, in conversation in the street, in the middle of the snow. Neither should I have thought that that person would ever presume to come so near my house. Just you come in with me, Silla. Come in, do you hear—at once!”
If any one could have gathered up the component parts of Mrs. Holman’s last screaming treble, he would have found a wealth of emotions: injured motherly dignity, wrath, contempt, hatred, and something heavy, which was meant to have a crushing effect, and really did almost make Silla fall on her knees; she stood there without moving.
Nikolai had become a little hardened, however, since the old days; he knew now that there were others of whom he was more afraid than he was of Mrs. Holman. He was not affected by her.
“I must ask to be allowed to come in, however, ma’am, for I didn’t come here this evening to stand out in the snow. It is to you yourself I want to speak.”
“Perhaps it’s no longer than can be said here where we stand,” answered Mrs. Holman, rudely. “Come here, Silla!”
“Oh no, it’s not very long; but then I must explain one or two things that belong to it.”
As Mrs. Holman still continued to bar the gateway and only beckoned again to her daughter, Silla, in her despair and terror, suddenly made her choice. There was nothing for it but to shut her eyes and stand by Nikolai, and she took his arm boldly.
“Yes, ma’am, that’s it, as you see. We hold together as we have done ever since we were little. And I came this evening to ask for her, and to ask if we could have the benefit of your leave and consent. For with my credentials and good wages, and when I never drink and—”
Silla now acted with the courage of despair; she pushed Nikolai so that they all three—Mrs. Holman yielding half involuntarily—came through the gate and from thence into the room where the battle was then fought.
While Silla sat with her hands before her face on a chair in the dark and Nikolai, with quiet persistency continued to plead his case, and make as manifest as possible how he now had a prospect of becoming foreman and could provide for Silla, Mrs. Holman assumed a mightily offended, repellant attitude. She employed her whole power; she bridled, and she was wrathful, and she exhibited the most extreme astonishment. It almost looked as if he thought he could really take her daughter from her, whether she said yes or no. What was there left for an elderly woman to live on, when her husband was dead, and her daughter who could keep her, refused, because she thought of marrying a smith who could not so much as show that he had a wedded father?
She was on the point of rising in defence to the death of her maternal rights, when a light suddenly dawned upon her. Her eyes began to gaze into a perspective of the future. If Nikolai ever came to
justify the great words and promises he was now making, she might, in case of the worst, when the time came, claim an asylum with them.
This thought, however, did not prevent her from selling every concession, with deep sighs, as dearly as possible.
She must say she had thought of something quite different for Silla. And, however it might be, she would not hear of any gadding about or sweet-hearting until Nikolai could show as much ready money as Holman had done.
He had had a hundred dollars and his good wages, and when Nikolai could lay as much money on the table in front of her eyes, it would be time to talk about it.
A hundred dollars—that was something decided at last. He held her in a vice with that.
That was the feeling which filled him when, a little while after, he sprang right across the snowdrift to shorten the way, and knocked at Barbara’s door. He must have some one to tell it to—that Mrs. Holman had acquiesced in Silla’s having in this way promised herself to him.
It was exactly the same view of her well-considered advantage that occurred to Barbara while she lay that night collecting herself after the news. She raised her large person up in bed under the influence of the brilliant idea:
Why, then, she could live with Nikolai!
This grocery business was completely eating her up—it did not enter her head that she was eating it up.
She suddenly felt quite clear as to her whole position; how it would be best both for her and Nikolai that she should give up the shop in time, and how instead she could be of unspeakable use in helping the totally inexperienced Silla to manage the house, and perhaps earn a few pence at other houses. And she had never heard but that a son was bound to provide for his mother.
The following Sunday Mrs. Holman drank coffee at Barbara’s; but as Mrs. Holman was silent about what had taken place, Barbara was silent too. Only once she led the conversation up to her son Nikolai, and thought that possibly in the autumn, when the room next door was empty, he might move into it. It would not be too much, when it was remembered how they had always been separated.
Why Mrs. Holman at that moment became thoughtful, pursed up her mouth and said: “Thank you,” she would not have any more coffee! and somewhat unexpectedly shortened her visit, shall be left untold. It can only be stated, that from that moment, a silent contest began between them under water—under the most friendly form, it must be added, for Mrs. Holman’s sake if for nothing else.
The coffee visits continued, if possible, with greater frequency, and Barbara as well as Mrs. Holman discussed and talked over every possible subject, except the one that lay nearest to their hearts—their own personal plans in connection with Nikolai and Silla. On that point they watched each other in diplomatic silence, like two chess-players of whom the one dare not move until he has seen through the other one’s intention; Mrs. Holman, in the middle of some strictly reserved opinion, taking in everything with her precise, little face and cold grey eyes, and seeing it all clear and small as if through the bottom of a tumbler; and Barbara, round, hospitable, large and fat, with great, overflowing features, and generally talking about her time at the Consul’s.
But during all this, there was one thing upon which each of them became always more and more decided—if she could not live with them herself, she would at any rate put a stop to the other coming and filling up the house.
The two future mothers-in-law were each occupied to the best of their ability in making it impossible for the other; but of this quietly calculated conflict which was going on in the ground far below them, Nikolai and Silla had no suspicion.
CHAPTER X
A RISE IN LIFE
Since Mrs. Holman had seen what Silla could busy herself with—she was quite struck with amazement at her own blindness—she had become far more strictly attentive, and also much more on the lookout and watch against Nikolai.
The fruits of idleness had unfortunately revealed themselves, and there was no other remedy for them than to watch conscientiously and see that Silla worked. She must really set about something that there was some use and help in, all through the long light spring evenings, and not just run for the milk, or out when any one came and asked if she might.
Nikolai soon found that the situation was far from being improved after he was acknowledged in the quality of wooer. But notwithstanding that he saw no more of her than a short glimpse now and then, a great step in advance had actually been made. He had now only to work hard, and that he did manfully; the hammer worked, in his hands, as if by steam.
In some ways, too, he was re-assured, for if Mrs. Holman watched against him so carefully, this same watchfulness was a security against others, too. It was well to know that she was no longer to be found up there among those giddy girls in the evening. A cold shiver ran down his back when he one day met young Veyergang coming out of his mother’s. He only looked indifferently at Nikolai with half-closed eyes, when they met in the doorway, as if he did not quite remember him, and then asked Barbara over his shoulder, with a nod at Nikolai: “Is that the fellow?” and went out:
“What’s he been doing here, mother?”
“Nothing.”
“Have you been borrowing money of him?” he continued sharply.
“Of course not. Not a penny, though I do need it so badly.”
“What was he talking about?”
“He wanted to light his cigar, as he so often does when he goes down this way. Surely that can’t do you any harm! And it wouldn’t be much good forbidding him to do it either, I should think—either for me or for you!” She added the last words red with anger.
“No, I certainly can’t forbid him, mother. But remember, if you borrow of him, everything is at an end between us!”
“Oh, Nikolai, you are so quick-tempered. No, of course not; I shouldn’t think of borrowing!” As she spoke she turned round and pushed something she had in her hand into her bosom. “No, of course not!”
“I could hear he had been talking about me.”
“No, indeed, how could you think so?”
“Yes he was, mother,” he persisted, gloomily.
“About you? Oh, well, I was telling him a little about how hard you were working now to get together those few shillings for Mrs. Holman.” Barbara talked rather confusedly.
“And perhaps about Silla, too?” he asked searchingly.
“Oh, no! he knew all about that before. I’m not the only one who knows about it in this gossiping place, and, upon my honour, Nikolai, it didn’t come from me—not today,” she added.
“I wouldn’t have minded if you had said it then; it would be a good thing for that fellow to know that she is an engaged girl.”
“Isn’t that just what I said? Only he didn’t believe it.”
“No, I dare say not!” Nikolai stood at the window reflecting. This visit of Veyergang’s!
He had enough noise and worry just now down at the smithy. It was just a question whether he should not be made a foreman. Old Mrs. Ellingsen had sent for him several times on this account, and it looked as if it were almost settled.
Things had been in this condition for some time; there was no great need of hurry in coming to a determination, as the situation was not to be filled until the autumn.
Lately, however, it had seemed to Nikolai that Mrs. Ellingsen was behaving rather strangely. He noticed, too, that they were talking and making a great deal of fuss in the smithy; but it did not strike him that it might be Mrs. Ellingsen’s intention to draw back, until one day when one of the men remarked scornfully that he did not suppose there was any one in the smithy who would think of supplanting Olaves. If any one did, he would have to look out for himself, for they would all stick to Olaves.
Nikolai knew well that they frowned at him because he was always hard at work, saved up his pence, and firmly refused to join the othe
rs in a glass of beer or a dram.
He was without a companion. And now, when this foreman’s question hung in the balance, he noticed that the whole of his past life was stirred and dug up again till it was as thick as the grounds in a coffee-cup—from the old police and fighting story right back to his childhood’s days among the timber-stacks.
These old stories were Nikolai’s smarting wounds. He was always thinking they were forgotten, and they were always coming up again, and now it was insupportable suffering. He endeavoured not to betray it by a look; but he was by no means in a good temper as he stood there.
The sooner he got to know from Mrs. Ellingsen how it was to end the better; and Nikolai was soon standing with his cap in his hand in her room, to ask what he might depend upon.
It took a long time, with many “h’ms” and “ha’s” before she managed to get her spectacles off and the wires put properly into her hair again. Then at last it came out with some hesitation. She meant no offence; she knew he was a good smith enough; but there were so many who knew Olaves to be such an honest, good fellow, and she was an old woman who needed some one whom she could thoroughly trust—no offence meant to Nikolai—but she must consider the matter.
That was the answer he received, and with it his prospects, that he had counted upon and shown to Mrs. Holman when he asked for Silla’s hand, were destroyed.
The next day when he came into the smithy they all smiled and tittered. They knew he had been to Mrs. Ellingsen and had got his answer. But if they thought they could tease or frighten him into giving it up, they were very much mistaken.
Olaves behaved as if nothing was the matter, and even civilly offered a helping-hand in breaking the bar-iron.
Nikolai only turned his back on him.
“I never meddle with any other man’s work, and I don’t advise any one to worm himself into my affairs,” he said, “unless he wants a dressing that will make his back as hot as that red iron there!” he added, with a glance at Olaves.