by Donna Bishop
When Gustaf hears her, he stops, hurls the bellows to the floor and leaves the house. After he is gone, Ingaborg’s mother scolds Hannah, telling her she risked being beaten herself. She sends the girls to bed, but first she lets her hand rest briefly on Hannah’s head, as if to transmit her unspoken thanks.
As terrible and foreign as this violence is to Hannah, she has become accustomed to it in a way — she seems to have fallen into the pattern of being the witness and the comforter. She accepts the good and the bad of this family, grateful to them for saving her life. On this night, she snuggles in closer to Ingaborg and holds her tightly, remembering the safe feeling of her mother’s arms when she woke from a bad dream.
~ ~ ~
Oline and Alexandria are teaching Hannah and Ingaborg to make leftsa, a potato pancake rolled up with cinnamon and sugar. The older sisters snap bossily and walk them through the steps, expertly producing precise, perfect rolls.
The younger girls start off cooperating, but soon their playful nature takes over and they begin forming the dough into snakes. Ingaborg, relishing the annoyance she’s causing her prissy sisters, feeds Hannah a whole spoonful of cinnamon sugar. Oline and Alexandria flounce off in frustration and Hilde steps in to chide Ingaborg for her behaviour. As a punishment, Ingaborg must clean the soot off the fireplace.
Of course Hannah offers to help Ingaborg with the chore and as they set to work, she tells her friend that she never knew how awful sisters could be and that she can’t believe she used to want one of her own. “I’m glad I have you as the sister who found me.”
“Oline, Alexandria and I aren’t the Norn sisters, it’s true,” Ingaborg giggles. Hannah looks querulous.
“They’re the weavers of fate! Uncle Olaf has a book about them. They are three angelic sisters who live at the foot of the Ygdrasill, the tree of life. Their main job is to keep the tree alive with a magic potion made of mud and water.” She is scrubbing the hearth and black water flows down her arm into her sleeve, but she doesn’t care.
“The eldest Norn sister is Urd. When a baby is born, she begins to weave a tapestry for it, tying in all the things the little baby’s soul brings into this life. When the baby gets older, Verdani, the second sister, appears. She draws all the threads together and adds colours and textures — things that make each person’s tapestry unique.
“Skuld, the third Norn sister, appears at the time of death.” This she says in a low, spooky voice and moves in close to Hannah’s face. She feigns fear and they giggle.
“What does she do?” Hannah asks.
“She makes sure the tapestry is finished so it can be woven into the future, to become a part of the Wyrd.”
“The what?” Hannah is confused.
“It’s everybody’s stories all put together. Uncle Olaf calls it the fabric of existence.”
This is a big notion for these two wide-eyed girls.
Ingaborg’s expression turns serious. “Uncle Olav told me I mustn’t ever talk about this in front of the rest of her family, because it’s from the pagan times. It would make Papa very mad. He thinks the old ways are evil.”
Hannah nods in understanding. “I like this story. It tries to make sense of the world.”
“I like the idea that the world is much larger than this sad little island, with its big mean God and my horrible Papa making everybody as miserable as he is.”
They are sitting side by side, leaning towards one another.
Hannah smiles dreamily. “Maybe one day we can explore the world together.”
~ ~ ~
The mood is merry and Oline and Alexandra are lighting candles — it must be Christmas. They gather around the warmth of the fire, drinking mulled apple cider as a treat — all of them except Mr. Kleppen, who sits on a kitchen chair at the window, smoking his pipe.
Hannah tells Hilde and her daughters about Hanukkah, the celebration of light. She draws a picture of a menorah and explains the meaning of each of the eight candles.
In Holland, she explains, it’s a tradition to have yearly visits from Sinterklass, a white-bearded, red-suited man. On Sinterklass eve, children leave their wooden shoes by the door filled with carrots for his white horse. In the morning, the carrots are magically gone, and they find small gifts in their place.
Hannah’s eyes become teary as she tells of the time she and Finn secretly left their clogs on the doorstep, even though it wasn’t really a tradition for her Jewish family. When they rushed outside upon waking, they found a lovely set of silver bells in each shoe. She’ll never forget the look of joy on Finn’s face.
“That’s like one of our traditions — well, not for us, but for some families,” Oline exclaims. “Here, people leave a bowl of porridge on the hearth and an elf named Nisse comes in the night, gobbles it up and leaves a gift.”
All of a sudden, Mr. Kleppen rises, knocking his chair over as he comes toward them.
“My daughters and your greedy, stupid talk of gifts and magic. Christmas marks the birth of our lord Jesus Christ, God’s son, who died to save us from our sins,” he shouts. He stands above them scowling, looking down on their shocked and frightened faces — and then he turns and goes out into the snow, cursing and slamming the door behind him.
~ ~ ~
There’s a swirl of blue and I see the family on Christmas morning, thrilled to find their bowls of porridge have been transformed into four pairs of red mittens on the hearth. This is the first year that Nisse has visited the Kleppen home, Ingaborg tells Hannah in an excited whisper.
Gustaf casts a stern glance at his downtrodden wife, who looks at him innocently. A moment later, though, he puts his arm around her shoulders as the girls hold up their brightly clad hands. “Perhaps if their hands are warm, they won’t be so slow to bring in the wood for the fire,” he mutters.
~ ~ ~
Warm weather finally arrives, and in contrast to the darkness of winter, the summer days are never-endingly light.
Ingaborg and Hannah enjoy hours of freedom when they’re sent down to the shore to gather firewood for winter. They scour the beach, gathering shells, driftwood and odd things, which they bury in a secret spot at the foot of the cliff. When Oline and Alexandria aren’t looking, they shed their outer clothes and wade into the frigid water, bravely ducking their whole bodies in.
Laughing, they scatter bits of bread they’ve sneaked from the kitchen to feed the birds, crustaceans and small fish that scoot through the shallows.
Now they hear the birds calling — they circle over their heads and dive, squawking competitively, for the treats. At first, the birds startle Hannah and remind her of her terrifying ordeal in the barrel, but she soon finds herself just as fascinated with them as Ingaborg. There is a profuse variety of ducks, gannets and gulls. Large grey-blue wading birds with purple beaks stride in the shallows, little brown birds flit through the foliage and splendid white birds with blue feet stand like clowns on the beach, unconcerned by the activity around them. Then there are the chattering black birds with orange feet that come very close and chitter and fight over the crumbs.
~ ~ ~
A neighbour arrives and spreads an intricate, hand drawn map of Europe on the Kleppen’s table. Hannah excitedly shows Ingaborg where she came from. With her finger, she draws a line across the expanse of blue sea and follows Denmark’s jagged coastline to where they now live on Lunde Island — which is hard to distinguish on the map, being so small. She looks at the enormous island that is Great Britain and wonders how that fated ship managed to go so far astray that she would land in this distant place.
The Kleppens tell the neighbour they have finally made contact with the authorities in Holland. Hannah secretly prays no one will claim her. As far as she knows she has no remaining relatives there and it would be so sad to go back to a home without her family.
Now the adults are talking about the school that will soon start up in the community, something the island has never had. The girls are excited at the thought of going to schoo
l together. Mr. Kleppen gruffly says he’s not convinced it’s something that he wants for Ingaborg, given her rebellious nature. Hannah watches her friend grow pale, her happy mood and hopes crushed.
~ ~ ~
A young man and his parents have come to the Kleppens’s home to arrange for his marriage to Alexandria. It’s an occasion that should be joyful, but instead it’s enormously awkward. The Kleppens and their guests sit rigidly at the table. Gustaf is clearly uncomfortable but trying to appear welcoming and generous.
Alexandria is visibly nervous, tittering and glancing at the young boy, whose name is Erik. Oline is keenly interested in the proceedings — she’s hoping she’ll also be married one day soon.
The dowry has already been negotiated, so the elders are attempting to begin planning the ceremony and the feast. Since neither family has much money, they are wary of committing too much. As it is, the young couple will live in a tiny house on his parent’s small farm and have few prospects for ever having their own land.
Hannah and Ingaborg have been instructed to prepare tea. They are twelve and thirteen, and Hilde thinks it’s time for them to take more responsibility in the kitchen. Ingaborg is sullen. She bangs the kettle loudly on the hearth. Hannah takes it from her, giving her a questioning look.
“It’s ridiculous,” Ingaborg says, too loudly. Hannah shushes her.
“She’s never even spoken to that boy. Anyone can see he’s an idiot.”
Hannah stands back in shock, then reaches for Ingaborg’s arm, but she pulls away.
“You will not see me marrying one of these village oafs just to escape this dreary house!” She spits the words, then thumps up the stairs.
Gustaf glowers menacingly at Hannah as she sets the tea on the table.
Oline sniffs and breaks the silence: “I believe our Ingaborg is jealous of Alexandria’s good fortune.”
There’s an awkward moment before the group seems to accept her interpretation. Slowly, the conversation resumes.
It’s clear to Hannah that Mr. Kleppen is barely controlling his rage. His face is red and his hands are vibrating, waiting to strike a blow. She knows Ingaborg will pay for her outburst when these people leave.
I’m remembering how I felt as a child, scared of my own father and what he might do. I want to come back to the present, but I don’t want to leave the girls alone with that man.
“I know, my time travelling friend,” Celeste's voice intones. “But Hannah will be fine — what’s happened is in the past and you’ve shown you can will yourself to return whenever you want. They will be safe until you come back.
“Climb the stairs and join me in the present. Counting as you climb from one, two, three, follow your path to the present…four, five, six…breathing deeply…seven, eight, nine, ten. Open your eyes feeling fresh and relaxed.
“Welcome back. You've had quite the journey over several years of Hannah’s life,” Celeste says gently.
“I know, it’s just so compelling. This family totally resonates with me, Celeste. I don’t know if I’ve made up this story based on my ancestors or if I’ve actually visited them. It sure feels real, though. My father’s family, the Kleppens, came from Norway — he never lived there himself and he’s never talked about his family history. The only real reference I can remember was when he used to tease me that he wanted to name me Ingaborg because it was an old family name. Mom wouldn’t let him.
"It’s a crazy coincidence that the two stories of Hannah and the Kleppens would come together like this!”
“Perhaps it’s not a coincidence. Your intuition took you to Hannah for a reason. Maybe you were searching for your family stories.”
Liv tilts her head and smiles at this idea.
“Liv, when you were in hypnosis, you said you didn’t want to leave Hannah because you were remembering how it felt to be afraid of your own father? Do you feel like talking about that?”
“I think so. It’s something I recognized all too well — that cloud of anxiety that keeps Hilde and those girls walking on eggshells around their angry father. You see, my dad was an abusive drunk, so my brothers and I, and especially our Mom, had to be careful to avoid setting him off.”
“Ah. Your nightmare is beginning to make sense to me now. We should talk more about this.”
“Yes, I guess that is a part of my life I should revisit at some point, as much as I just want to forget it.”
Walking slowly home to meet the school bus, Liv swings a fabric bag containing two gleaming jars of freshly made raspberry jam protectively wrapped in large chard leaves from Celeste’s garden. Just like Celeste to give me so much of her time, and then give me her delicious jam too, expecting nothing in return. Liv ponders her next hypnotherapy session. Am I ready to go back to my childhood? It will take a great deal of trust to talk about the things she’s never told anyone. No one would be a gentler or a more supportive listener than Celeste.
Liv rounds the corner on the path, giving her a view of the road. She can see the yellow and black school bus in the far distance, with many stops yet to make.
This experience with Hannah confirms for me that life is just one big interlocking puzzle. One piece leads to another. Even the way we came to Little Mountain took place because of a mystical string of events, and meeting Celeste was part of it.
She and Ross had been living in Twin Rivers and were planning to take in the Pumpkin Hoot, a backwoods music festival they’d heard about north of the city. At the last minute, Ross was summoned to the college to deal with some union emergency. Liv was disappointed, and determined to go anyway. So she drove up on her own with two-year-old Leah.
Just south of Little Mountain, where the highway drops down and follows the wide, glistening river, she saw up ahead a curtain of misty water pouring from a low-lying cloud just up the valley. She slowed the car as she drove into it, and then slowed further to a crawl, stunned by the force of the rain pounding loudly on the windshield. Leah woke in her car seat and looked alarmed. And then, suddenly, it was over. They carried on, turned a corner and were treated to the sight of a rainbow that spanned the whole valley. She stopped the car to take a photo, finding herself at the driveway of a small farm. It was the quintessential homestead — two meadows dotted with daisies, separated by a stand of tall trees. The quaint little farmhouse was nicely fixed up, with pots of geraniums on the porch. The river slid lazily past, its banks lined by enormous cottonwoods, the whole idyllic scene framed perfectly within the brilliant rainbow. And there was a “For Sale” sign. She was entranced and for the rest of the journey, daydreamed herself and her little family there with their own cows, horses, pigs, lambs, dogs, cats and an organic garden patch.
Entering the festival grounds, Liv skirted puddles, lifting Leah over the muddy patches. Her white, gauzy peasant dress barely concealed her huge, pregnant belly. Just in front of a row of artisan booths, her foot slipped in the ooze and she landed on her side in a cold, slimy puddle. A woman ran to help her up and took her to the booth where she was selling her stained glass and jewellery. It was Celeste.
Seeing how rattled Liv was from her fall, she encouraged her to sit a while and drink some herbal tea. Celeste had a natural way with children and kept Leah occupied with her first taste of homemade strawberry fruit leather.
The sun came out and with the help of a gentle breeze, Liv’s dress dried as the women got to know each other. The harmonious music of Pied Pumpkin carried over the crowd and completed the festive, happy, hippie mood. The two women recognized each other instantly as friends and knew intuitively they would meet again.
The next weekend, she and Ross went to see the property. As they walked the land together, he was quick to see its charms and to share her vision. Other than being just off the highway, it was like a storybook farm, with an angle-roofed barn, a paddock with a rail fence, fruit trees, a big vegetable garden and a bright red tractor. The defining moment was when they came to a charming little bridge a previous owner had built to a small islan
d in the river. They were sold by the notion of owning their own island.
It hadn’t taken long to run into Celeste again the following spring when they moved to the farm — she and Jacques were their closest neighbours. The two women quickly and happily insinuated themselves into each other’s lives forever. Still, even after all these years of friendship, there are things that Liv has never told Celeste, or anyone.
I’ve been guarding my secrets, keeping them on a dusty shelf in my mind and not even daring to look at them. It isn’t going to be easy to share these brutal truths, but I know now I must. With Celeste’s help, maybe I can let the puzzle pieces fall into place and be able to move forward with my life.
She leaves her jars of jam on the porch and strolls up the driveway, smiling and waving, just as the school bus screeches to a halt. The door opens, revealing two smiley, gap-toothed girls swinging their My Little Pony lunch kits. Following behind them is a tired, crabby looking kindergarten boy, slamming his Spiderman lunch kit against the bus door on his way out. The bus driver, Mr. Kinney, sits draped over the steering wheel. He points at Micah, scowls and gives a shake of his fist. Clearly, her son has run afoul of the rules again. Liv gives the bus driver an apologetic smile and shrugs her shoulders.
“Who needs a hug?” she calls.
“Grumpy Mr. Kinney, not me,” says Micah with a pout. But he runs to her anyway.
6
~ Disclosure ~
Session No. 4 transcript, Sept. 21, 1987
Little Liv, 1961
“I’m right here with you, Liv. Hold the soapstone and trust me to lead you to a safe place, knowing that you can return at any time. Counting down from ten, moving past the trees, breathing evenly and deeply, you walk down the path toward the ocean…nine, eight…down the stairs, one by one. The ocean is now in view, the golden sun illuminating the water…seven, six…choose the path slightly to your left, breathing in the salty air, listening to the gulls overhead…five, four… deepening your connection…three, two, one. There you are. Let’s begin with a sweet memory from your childhood.”