Be Still the Water

by Karen Emilson

  “You are ridiculous,” Bjorn said. “Leave Asta out of this.”

  “The devil does not do his own work,” Einar warned.

  “Then maybe the sickness came because of you,” Bjorn shot back.

  There were jeers and laughter until Magnus silenced them.

  As the realization sank in that Einar believed I was responsible, a heart-wrenching chain of thoughts occurred to me.

  Pabbi’s difficulties began the year I was born. It was me who begged to go sailing the day Freyja nearly drowned—now this. The tightness in my throat seemed to grow worse. I feared I would die.

  “Please God,” I prayed, begging forgiveness. “Don’t let me suffer like Arni.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  When ill seed has been sown, so an ill crop will spring from it.

  —Njál’s Saga

  Now, from this place between the worlds, I must watch one of the most painful events of my life unfold.

  “Do I have to go to the bunkhouse?” I whispered. My symptoms had worsened so there was no hiding that I was sick.

  “No,” Bjorn said, putting the large pup on the bed by my feet. “I brought him to keep you company.”

  Thor’s tail wagged as he crawled up onto my chest and began licking my face. He was nervous being on the bed but soon settled and began gnawing at the blanket.

  I drifted in and out of restless sleep. I had no idea if it was night or day. I dreamed about Mother, Pabbi, and of Freyja’s near drowning, and woke up crying fitfully after seeing Leifur and Signy lying in their beds with swollen, black necks.

  Bergthora came running and forced me to drink a tincture that tasted like weeds.

  One night I thought I would surely die, even wished for it. I surrendered to the pain until I felt an odd sensation of letting go. The relief was shocking. My mind detached from my body and began floating away. I saw my body lying limp on the bed and Thor’s curious stare up at the corner of the room. A deliberate force pulled me without effort through the wall to the outdoors. The air was below freezing yet it felt warm as I whirred over the trees and was enveloped in the sense of home-coming. This should have frightened me but it didn’t. I felt only calm. There was our house. Mother and Pabbi slept in their room facing each other with Solrun in between. Upstairs, Leifur snored peacefully on his side, Signy on her back with the blanket pulled up to her chin. Freyja was downstairs in Amma’s bed, tucked neatly under her arm. Then, in an instant I was back at the castle slipping back into my body. With a jarring thump, I felt the pain of the sickness, but knowing it hadn’t touched my family made the discomfort bearable.

  By the fourth night I felt better. I lay propped up in bed with the door slightly ajar, too dazed to think about practical matters; and to this day I cannot remember who fed Thor, who put a fish box filled with straw in the corner of the room for him to sleep in, who cleaned up the straw when he spread it everywhere.

  In quiet, wakeful moments I thought of what Einar had said about me.

  “Thor,” Bergthora scolded, late one evening. “Look at the mess you made.”

  He leapt from the bed, wagging his tail, jumping against her legs, his fat paws digging at her. She brushed bits of straw off his body, scolding him softly as he mouthed her wrist.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked, her hand gentle on my forehead. The full moon shone brightly in through the window. Her face was tight with concern.

  “Much better,” I said, hoping to ease her worry.

  “I think the worst of it is over now,” she said, tucking the blanket tight under my arms.

  “How is Runa?” I asked.

  “Runa and the baby are just fine,” she said. “Giving you the anti-toxin was the correct choice.”

  I was relieved to hear this. “The others?”

  “Don’t concern yourself with them,” she said, kissing my forehead. “Get some rest.”

  In the middle of the night the bedroom door opened again. My mind was still churning so I awoke easily. My initial thought was that Bergthora had returned to check on me, but the footsteps were different and I sensed it was a man.

  “Bjorn?” I whispered, opening my eyes.

  He didn’t say anything as he stood beside my bed.

  “Magnus?” I asked.

  As my eyes adjusted to the moonlight shining in through the window, I saw it was Einar. He stank of sweat and alcohol.

  “Huldra,” he said, words slurred and mocking. “You have everyone fooled, but not me.”

  By the time I realized that I should scream it was too late. His disgusting hand clamped down hard on my mouth, pressing my head against the pillow. The moonlight on his face morphed it into a vile mask as he bent close.

  “Why did you come here?” He grabbed my hair with his other hand. “To tempt me?”

  My heart leapt in my chest. Deep in my gut there was an understanding of what he wanted and a fear like nothing I’d ever experienced. I started to cry.

  I could hear Thor whining and growling in the corner.

  “Girls and their tears,” he taunted. “What did that bitch tell you, ehh?”

  My mind whirled. I had no idea what he was talking about. I tried to shake my head no.

  He laughed. His hand let go of my hair and pulled back the quilt.

  “Please, no,” I begged. He slapped me hard. A painful flash of light behind my eyes and then he grasped my throat. He began squeezing. I flailed at him, the breath trapped in my lungs.

  When all the fight left me he released his hand and I choked in a gulp of air.

  I dared not scream fearing he would strangle me again.

  Then he called me a whore and all at once I understood how vile a word it was, what old Uncle Ásgeir had meant when he said it to Amma.

  I whimpered as he climbed on top of me and forced my legs apart.

  “You want it,” he whispered, breath hot against my ear. “I see how you look at me. You and Runa both.”

  The pain was piercing, like a knife. He pressed his forearm across my mouth. My mind drifted far away. I listened to Thor and his puppy growls as Einar pounded me into the bed until he was spent. The anger left him. My insides throbbed and it took every ounce of control to quiet my sobs.

  “Tell anyone and I will kill you,” he rasped. “Don’t think Bjorn can protect you from me, he is a coward. I will enjoy killing you and your dog.”

  I heard footsteps and a voice in the hallway. It was Bjorn. “Asta?”

  Einar hissed. He pushed himself up from the bed and slunk out of the room as quietly as he’d come.

  “Einar? What the—”

  “Beat you to it,” he hissed.

  “You bastard,” Bjorn said.

  Harsh whispers, swearing, and then banging against my door. A struggle and grunts. Einar laughing. The front door swung open and slammed shut.

  It is over, I told myself. Over, and he’s gone.

  “What’s going on?” Bergthora called from her room at the end of the hall.

  Bjorn hesitated. “Nothing,” he said into the quiet darkness. “Einar had too much to drink that’s all.”

  “Well hush, you’ll wake the whole house.”

  He stood just inside my door for a long while. “Asta?” he whispered.

  “Yes,” I heard myself say.

  “Are you all right?”

  I found the quilt and pulled it up like a barricade.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I am sorry,” was all I could say. The shame was unbearable. I must have been sobbing because he stood frozen in the moonlight, arms hanging uselessly by his side.

  “It’s not your fault,” he said.

  “It is,” I said. I couldn’t tell him how desperately I dreamed of marrying him, tried to look prettier and older than I was to gain his attention. I had attracted Einar instead.
This most certainly was my fault. Everything Runa had told me that afternoon in the cottage made sense. Einar had even confirmed it.

  “I should have known,” he said through clenched teeth. “I should have done something before this—”

  There is a story in the sagas about a man who bullied everyone around him, wreaking havoc wherever he went until finally a small man stood up to him, and even though the man lost his life by doing so, it roused everyone else and eventually the bully was killed. I remembered the look on Amma’s face as she closed the book.

  “He hurt Runa too,” I whispered.

  Bjorn’s head tilted. He was unsure if he’d heard me correctly. “What did you say?”

  I stared at the quilt pulled tight over my knees. It was hard to formulate the words.

  “Tell me,” he rasped.

  “That is why she is sad all the time,” I whispered. “And does not like the baby much.”

  It took a few moments for Bjorn to piece it all together. The shadow of his jaw tightened as my words began to make sense.

  “You should have told me,” he said.

  “I didn’t understand until tonight.”

  Bjorn growled. He stood shaking his head.

  “Please don’t tell anyone,” I said.

  He was no longer listening. He looked at me one last time, eyes the angriest I’d ever seen, and left the room, leaving the door ajar.

  Fearing Einar might return, I lay awake most of the night. As daybreak began filtering in through the window, I rose on wobbly legs. My face felt swollen and tight. I pulled the sheet from the bed, determined to scrub away all evidence from the night before.

  The sun was barely up. All was quiet in the house, but outside I heard the faint sound of voices so I went to the kitchen window. Two shadows were crossing the yard half-dragging something between them. As they neared I recognized Bjorn and Siggi pulling Einar across the frozen ground. Einar had one arm crossed protectively over his ribs. Bjorn shoved him hard. Einar fell forward onto the ground, his other hand protecting his head. Siggi kicked him hard in the gut. Bjorn grabbed him by the coat, pulled him to his feet, shoving him forward toward the lake. When he fell again, Siggi kicked him repeatedly in the head. The brothers dragged him the rest of the way to the lake bank.

  This was a most horrific thing, and yet I needed to see. On tiptoes, I ran to the end of the hall and opened the front door just enough to peer out.

  A frigid draft blew in, chilling my feet.

  They dragged Einar to the sleigh that was already hitched to the dog team. They swung his body onto the sleigh. Bjorn mounted, cracked a whip overhead, and the dogs took off in the direction of Ghost Island. Siggi stood there watching until they were out of sight.

  I closed the door, tiptoed back to my room, but continued watching out the window until Bjorn returned with an empty sleigh. He must have sensed me standing there, because he looked up. Our eyes locked together in a moment that would become the secret we’d share for the rest of our lives.

  “How are you feeling, Elskan?” Bergthora asked an hour later as I stood at the sink washing the sheet. I’d been so preoccupied thinking about the night before and what I’d seen in the early morning, I hadn’t heard her come into the kitchen.

  I spun around, so rattled I could barely speak

  “Much better,” I said.

  It was not a total lie. The fever still plagued me but seemed trivial compared to everything else. Nor could I look her in the eye. Never before had I experienced such shame.

  “There are rags you can use in the bottom dresser drawer,” she said. “Wash them out and take them when you leave. I have no use for them anymore.” Her monthlies were long done and she assumed mine had started.

  During breakfast, Magnus asked why Einar wasn’t there. I looked immediately at Bjorn. He looked up from his plate, directly at his father, and shrugged innocently. The knuckles on his left hand were raw. Siggi said nothing as he kept his head down. The rest of the men, including Arn, kept eating.

  “Probably started walking home,” Bjorn said.

  “Without getting paid?” Magnus said, looking up from his newspaper. “That seems unlikely.”

  “He had no intention of waiting out the quarantine,” Arn said. “Snuck away when we weren’t looking.”

  Magnus shook his head. “Já, well, I wish there was a way to warn his family. I hate to think of all the innocent people he might infect.”

  The rims of Bjorn’s ears flushed. “I’m glad he’s gone.”

  “I’ve never met a more brutish man,” Bergthora said with a snort. “Well at least Runa will not have to make him coffee anymore.”

  Without a word Siggi stood up and took his plate to the sink. He threw it in, startling everyone, then stormed across the floor then out the door.

  “I guess Siggi didn’t like him after all,” Arn chuckled, and everyone except Bjorn and I laughed.

  “I agree, good riddance to him,” the beak-nosed fisherman said. “I never did trust the look in his eye.”

  A murmur of agreement flowed around the table and the mood lightened. Einar was gone and nobody cared what happened to him.

  I never discussed with Bjorn how much I’d seen that morning. He always quickly changed the subject the few times Einar’s name came up.

  Three weeks into the quarantine, Siggi burst into the house. “The baby is coming,” he said, breathless.

  “She seemed fine yesterday,” said Bergthora, coming around the corner from the front room, grabbing her bag. She told Siggi to wait but waved at me to come with her.

  The sun was warm and the air smelled of hot wood as we hurried by the men working in the mill. The shrill of the buzz saw shaving through oak logs filled our ears, blocking out all other sounds, until it halted and another log was slid forward. It was in those moments we heard hammering, the rhythmic sound of caskets being built.

  Runa was sitting on the edge of the bed in a daze, massaging her stomach.

  “It is too soon,” she said, looking up at us.

  “I know,” Bergthora said. “Did your water break?”

  Runa nodded.

  “Pain?”

  “It comes and goes. It started early this morning. I did not want to worry Siggi.”

  This time it was I who took the instruments from the bag to place in boiling water as Bergthora helped Runa lie on the bed. I shuddered as Bergthora skillfully lifted her knees and spread her legs, the image of Einar so vivid I had to excuse myself for a few moments, to sit down until the lightheaded feeling passed.

  “There is not much we can do,” Bergthora said softly.

  “But why?”

  Bergthora shook her head. “Sometimes this happens.”

  “Will the baby live?” Runa groaned, clenching, as a ripple that began along her spine crept up over both sides of her belly, tightening hard, causing her to cry out. When she could breathe again, she asked Bergthora a second time.

  “It depends,” she said. “Sometimes the date is wrong. If you are further along than we thought, there is a chance.”

  This seemed to lighten Runa’s outlook. “Further along . . . that would be wonderful.”

  Runa labored for another four hours until it came time for her to push. The baby was tiny and came quickly with no need for instruments. Runa laughed and cried, her chest heaving with exhaustion, as Bergthora quietly snipped the cord.

  “A boy or a girl?” she asked between breaths.

  “Go get Siggi,” Bergthora whispered to me.

  I ran out of the cottage, my feet slipping almost immediately and I landed on the hard packed snow wet from the melt, banging my head on the ground. The sky overhead was a disorienting mash of sun and fluffy clouds. The squeal of the saw was relentless.

  I shook it off, praying as I ran that everything was going to be all right, focusing
on the yellow sign on the vestibule door. I knew that Runa had prayed, too, early on in the pregnancy that she would miscarry. Then later, that she’d rather be dead than give birth to Einar’s child. But once the baby started to kick, she began prayers of hope.

  I flung open the door, hollering for Siggi. Magnus and Bjorn threw on their coats and followed. Magnus had already sent for the doctor. We all came quietly in and stood watching as Siggi went over to the bed. Bergthora whispered something to him. He dropped to his knees.

  Runa was crying, holding the naked baby to her heart. Born too early, he was a fair-skinned child with blonde hair. His muted cries and tiny clenched fists were weak and, after only a few minutes, he grew quiet as his tiny lungs began failing. His skinny legs pulled up to his chest and there was nothing any of us could do except watch his energy slip away.

  I’ve never forgotten Runa’s despair, how her hope dissolved. Bergthora didn’t have to say the bleeding was heavy, as she swiftly removed the padding on the bed, replacing it many times over.

  Placenta accreta. Now I understand. Massive bleeding during delivery due to a placenta embedded too deep in the uterus.

  Magnus and Bjorn sat silently at the table by the window. Arn refused to come in. He sat on a bench outside the door, waiting. Hours passed and when the outcome was certain, Bjorn looked at me with such disbelief in his eyes, I turned away. He bent forward and placed his head in his hands. Magnus, in his soft, comforting voice began reciting the 23rd Psalm.

  Siggi held Runa’s hand, stroking her hair back, whispering that she was going to be all right, but Runa turned away. She was distracted by something going on elsewhere in the room.

  “Please do something,” Siggi whispered to us through clenched teeth.

  Bergthora gently patted his back. She took the dead infant and wrapped it in a blanket. I have never forgotten either how peaceful Runa became as she focused on the wall, speaking to her dead grandmother, saying how glad she was to see her again, whispering that she needed to go. Her last words to Siggi before quietly slipping away: “We will see you soon.”