Be Still the Water

by Karen Emilson

  Asi cleared his throat and with a hand crushing his hat tight to his chest, began singing Góða Nótt, a hymn I hadn’t heard since Amma sang it the day we laid my infant brother to rest.

  We all joined in, our voices tight and wavering, until gradually we gained strength from the words. Stefan stared solemnly at the sky until his shoulders began heaving. When he looked at me, the moment bonded us forever in a mixture of grief and hope. Somehow I knew, without him ever having to say so, that this was how his older sister had died.

  Everyone fell in love with the pup we named Setta, Freyja especially so. When Mother looked at our sister’s pleading face, she softened to the idea that Setta be allowed to sleep in the lean-to.

  Having spent the last three months with adults, I was now aware of how contrary children could be, but when it came to Setta we all agreed. We carried hay for her bed and not one of us ever complained when it was our turn to feed her. Even Leifur was quick to clean up her messes—fearing that if Mother noticed she’d be exiled to the barn.

  The mere sight of us would send Setta into a wagging frenzy. So excited to see us, she’d lick our faces, but was never offended when we pushed her away. Morning and evening she trotted on Leifur’s heels to the barn to watch him milk the cow. She went with Amma to the well, jumping back when the water swooshed out. Her cautiousness meant she stayed away from the oxen’s feet and always followed a safe distance behind the wagon.

  There was only one person who could give Setta a meaningful scolding and that was me. She always listened when I spoke, tilted her head questioningly, or cowered when I raised my voice, especially if I wagged my Signy finger at her. I think she knew deep down that I’d loved Thor and was desperate for my approval.

  “We should have named her after Freyja,” Signy said one afternoon while planting the garden. I looked up from covering the seed potatoes with my foot to see Setta rolling in the fresh dirt, tongue lolling out. A few feet away Freyja pranced in a circle, waving a stick like a fairy wand.

  By mid-June the creeks were still high, and thick with pickerel spawn, but the ground was nearly dry. The fish flies were out of this world, buzzing in off the lake, sticking to everything before dying in heaps that stunk so badly under the windows we had to shovel them away.

  Asi was in a particularly buoyant mood the day he brought a lumber order to the Vinðheimar dock where J.K. and Pabbi waited with their wagons.

  “Our hay crop will be tremendous this year,” Asi said as they unloaded the wood. “I bought a dozen Shorthorn heifers from Big Point. They have more for sale if you are interested.”

  “Cattle?” Pabbi asked.

  Asi nodded. “We are not in Iceland anymore. There will always be a market here for cream and beef.”

  The community chose a spot on the same ridge as our house, two miles as a crow flies from the lake along the road to Siglunes, to build our first school. A work bee was organized and construction began. We were anxious to hear how the first day went when Pabbi and Leifur arrived home that evening.

  “You should have heard Bensi,” Leifur said as Signy put supper on the table. “He tried telling Oli the carpenter he was doing it all wrong.”

  Mother shook her head, glancing at Pabbi. “What did Oli say to that?”

  “He listened. Nodded a few times, but we all kept right on building as he’d shown us in the first place,” Leifur said.

  I wished Amma was there to hear the story, but she’d left two days earlier to visit Bergthora.

  “Then Bensi had the nerve to ask who is going to administer the school,” Pabbi said. “J.K. told him it will be decided at a meeting.”

  “Does J.K. want to do it?”

  “No. There is talk that we need to form a municipality and you know how J.K. loves politics,” he said. “He and Magnus are on that committee.”

  Mother was quiet for a moment. She left Pabbi sitting at the table to fetch the coffee pot. “Someone has to do it. Why not you?”

  Pabbi was clearly flattered but shook his head.

  “You are more educated than most men around here,” she coaxed. “Can you think of anyone better?”

  “Oli, Asi, Halli—”

  “Nonsense,” she said.

  We could see by his expression, the inward turn of his eye as he blew on his coffee, that he was considering the idea. Though none of us dared say it, we knew he hesitated because of what had happened in Iceland.

  “The people here are kind,” she reminded him.

  “I think you should do it,” Leifur said as he stood up to go to his room. “That would show Bensi a thing or two.”

  “That is not a good reason,” Pabbi said, draining the saucer. “I will do it, but only if the community believes I am the best man for the job.”

  This reminded me of what Magnus said the day I left the mill. I’d forgotten about it until then but waited until Pabbi and I were alone that evening.

  “Bensi went to see Magnus,” I said. “He asked about you.”

  Pabbi raised his eyes from the book he was studying. He was teaching himself to read and write English so he practiced every night.

  “He asked who paid for the lumber for our house.”

  The muscles in Pabbi’s cheeks twitched and he found it hard to look at me.

  “Magnus said that I should stay away from Bensi,” I added.

  “Did he say anything else?” he asked. I knew the answer was important to Pabbi so I repeated Magnus’s words carefully.

  “Bensi told him you have a secret. Magnus said to not let it ruin your life.”

  One afternoon at the beginning of August, Pabbi rode with J.K. to the Dog Creek Reservation, returning that evening leading a white mare and black gelding—two powerful, thick horses that were well matched in size. Pabbi named the female Strong and the male Hector, after the man who’d raised them from colts.

  Haying began a few days later. Those first years we cut the hay by hand using a scythe but soon Pabbi bought a mower. The horses were a tremendous help as one pulled the mower and the other the sweep, a contraption that piled the dry hay. There was an art to making a good stack, which Pabbi had learned while we lived in Lundi. A well-built stack was like a mountain—solid throughout with a rounded peak, making it virtually impermeable to rain.

  Everyone except Mother worked in the hayfield, and many days I stayed back to help her with Solrun. Fresh hay caused my eyes to water and my nose to plug so badly I could hardly breathe.

  “They are late,” Mother said one evening as she pushed the door open with her hip. August was always hot, so most days we ate outdoors. Steaming pot in hand, she paused to look in the direction of the west hay field, our land that bordered Bensi’s. Usually they brought a stack home each evening so it was a surprise when they came, horses bumping across the trail, with everyone sitting on the empty hayrack. Most of their anger had worked away by then, but we saw immediately that something was wrong.

  Amma’s words came out fast and furious. She called Bensi the worst curse word I’d ever heard, throwing her hat to the ground.

  “He stole yesterday’s stack,” she said. “Must have done it last night.”

  Leifur threw his hat down beside Amma’s. Every inch of him except for his forehead was tanned and covered with hay dust.

  Pabbi was so irate he didn’t say a word. He took a plate then held it out as Mother began dividing up the mutton stew.

  “Probably jealous you bought those cows,” Amma said.

  “And the horses,” Signy said.

  “I think tonight when it is dark we should go steal it back,” Leifur said.

  Signy snorted. “It’s not stealing if it belongs to you.”

  Everyone agreed. Pabbi sat down in the grass to eat. They’d already debated this at length while in the field and there was little Pabbi resisted more than discussing something more than once.


  “We have no proof,” he finally said.

  “Who else could have done it?” Amma howled.

  “I know,” Pabbi said, voice rising. “But I can’t prove it.”

  I missed what was said after that since Mother sent me inside for the coffee pot.

  Pabbi did not believe in an eye for an eye like most others. He’d already learned the hard way that ill intentions brought an ill reward. Because of this, he always prayed for guidance while encouraging us to do the same. I expect that is what he’d done all afternoon—despite Amma, Leifur, and Signy’s outbursts.

  “God will punish him,” I said, thinking this would console Pabbi.

  Amma held up her coffee cup since she was always first done.

  Pabbi looked up from his plate. “There may be nothing I can do about Bensi stealing my hay,” he finally said. “But I will do everything in my power to prevent a thief from running our school.”

  Mother agreed wholeheartedly. “Who shall we ask to nominate you?”

  “Do not worry about that,” Amma said quickly as she lifted the cup to her lips, wincing a bit since the coffee was even hotter than she was. “You let me take care of it.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  No one is a total fool if he knows when to hold his tongue.

  —Grettir’s Saga

  Pabbi’s anger settled into a quiet resolve as he waited for the meeting. Every evening, he and Mother sat together under Amma’s oak (we named it that after she saved it from the axe), making notes. We were not allowed to listen as Pabbi stood alone facing an imaginary audience, looking up from the page, pausing occasionally to scratch out a word. He came in at night distracted, with his speech still rolling through his mind.

  When the day finally came we put on our best clothes and clambered into the wagon, baby Solrun on Mother’s knee, Freyja on mine. Amma sat in her usual spot on a chair leaning against the backboard. She immediately lit a cigarette.

  “Who did you get that from?” Mother tsked as Pabbi turned the horses, clicked his tongue, slapped the reins and the wagon jolted forward.

  “Magnus,” she said.

  Every time Amma lit a cigarette, Leifur asked if he could try it but she always refused, except this time she handed it to him. He hesitated, unsure what to do as he put it to his lips.

  “Now take a deep breath,” she said. “Take the smoke all the way into your lungs.”

  Leifur’s eyes were bright. Concentrating, he did exactly as told.

  “Freda,” Mother scolded, turning all the way around in her seat.

  Leifur’s eyes widened. He coughed hard, and a stream of smoke burned out through his nose. He shook his head as he handed it back to her, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “That is horrible,” he said, spitting twice over the side of the wagon.

  Amma laughed. She took a deep drag, held the smoke in, then turned to the sky, blowing a straight line into the air. “Best you never get used to it,” she said.

  “Don’t worry, Ella,” Pabbi whispered, “she did the same thing to me.”

  We were a half mile from home before I realized that I’d forgotten to brush my hair. I began running my fingers through it. Signy noticed and asked what I was doing. I shrugged like it didn’t matter.

  “Excited to see Bjorn?” she teased, singing his name.

  It was so difficult to hide anything from her.

  “I know you are,” she giggled.

  The truth was I’d had only nightmares since finding out the meeting would be at the mill. In those horrible dreams, Bjorn turned his back on me as Einar chased me up the staircase, down the long hallway. The moment I was caught, his grinning face became Bensi’s, and Pabbi was there but helpless to do anything. Night after night I relived it all, waking up screaming.

  “I can hardly wait to meet him,” Signy said, pulling my thoughts back to her. “He is closer to my age anyway.”

  My heart hurt but I kept my thoughts private.

  “He will probably think you are an ugly cow,” Leifur said to Signy, raising his arms up to protect himself as she punched him hard.

  “Leifur,” Mother scolded over her shoulder. “Stop talking to your sister like that.”

  “It is true.” He laughed. She punched him again.

  Amma always enjoyed it when those two fought, taking a different side each time.

  “Consider yourself lucky to find a wife as pretty as Signy,” she said.

  Surprised, Signy beamed, while Leifur pulled a face, pretending to vomit.

  “I was pretty like that when I was her age,” Amma said, taking another drag from her cigarette. “Look at me now.”

  Leifur threw back his head in glee. Signy’s eyes widened.

  “We all need something to look forward to,” Mother quipped, patting Pabbi heartily on the knee, but his mind was elsewhere. At the time I didn’t see Pabbi’s nerves. He ignored our banter even as Leifur pointed excitedly at a full-grown buck standing in the school yard. Pabbi didn’t even react.

  “It’s so beautiful,” Signy said.

  Of course Leifur thought she meant the buck.

  Our school looked as most did in those days—big enough for thirty students, with a teacher’s desk at the front. The door (which was never locked) opened into a vestibule where we hung our coats. A big stove inside the door on one side, shelves that eventually became our library on the other. But what I would remember most was the row of windows that let in the sunshine on beautiful spring days, and how the chalk dust danced in the rays that warmed my face. I often sat daydreaming. As the years passed, the shiplap siding would turn from creamy gold to a weathered gray. That school would stand there, the first in the region, for the next sixty years.

  My fear fell away as the mill came into view, the house looking far less ominous than it did in my nightmares. My stomach churned knowing that soon I would see Bjorn.

  The first person we all noticed was Bensi, who stood at the vestibule door, talking to everyone before they went in. Mother tried to pull Amma back, but she hopped off the wagon, determined to reach the door before the rest of us. Pabbi patted his breast pocket, double-checking that his speech was still tucked inside. As we hurried after Amma I wondered if Siggi was still holed-up in the cottage or if the memories had driven him out.

  Amma stopped less than a foot from Bensi to look him square in the eye. “We are missing a haystack. Any idea where it went?”

  “Hello, Freda,” he replied with amusement. “Nice seeing you again.”

  “Bull feathers. I am the last person you want to see,” she said, the edges of her mouth curling up the same way I imagined the devil’s would.

  Pabbi gave Bensi the same consideration he would a boulder on the path, by stepping around him. Bensi seemed to enjoy that Pabbi refused to shake his hand, and a wide grin spread across his face. “Good day, Ella,” he said.

  “Did you leave your wife and children home to do the chores again?” she asked.

  Annoyance tightened Bensi’s face and he even flinched a bit. Amma, who held open the door for us, looked from Bensi’s shoes to the top of his head, then snorted as she followed us inside.

  Like cream in a separator, the men went one direction, women in another. The atmosphere was light as the men discussed haying and speculated on how fishing might be that fall. The women told details of recent letters from Iceland, complimented Gudrun’s new dress, expressed concern that the store was going to have to lower its prices.

  “Have you heard from your sister?” Bergthora asked.

  Mother sighed and shook her head.

  Somewhere in the background I heard Bjorn’s voice.

  Bergthora’s eyes lit up when I slid in beside her. It was such a natural thing for me to offer help. Signy looked envious as I moved deftly through the kitchen. I took the canister from the shelf and measured the
grounds to start a fresh pot; put out the cups, saucers and opened the icebox as if I lived there.

  Magnus placed an easy hand on my shoulder. “Good to see you again, elskan.”

  The conversations would have carried on all afternoon had he not tapped a wooden gavel on the table, calling everyone into the kitchen.

  “Goodness,” Bergthora exclaimed, realizing that the younger children were riding Thor like a horse down the hallway. “Asta, will you put him outside, please.”

  I took him out the front door then made a mad dash for the outhouse. Seeing it was occupied, I went into the thick bushes behind. That is when I caught a glimpse of Bensi talking to Asi and Stefan’s father, who was clearly alarmed by what Bensi was saying. What surprised me more than his words was that he made no effort to lower his voice, not caring who heard his disgusting remarks about our Amma. Embarrassed, I snuck back inside without them seeing me.

  Bjorn stood in the hallway holding a chair. “Hello, Asta,” he said.

  I barely acknowledged him, mind whirling as Bensi’s words played over in my mind.

  As Magnus outlined the meeting formalities set out by the Board of Education, I slid along the wall to stand with the rest of the children. Bensi came through the door then sat himself in Bergthora’s usual spot at the end of table. Leifur came inside a few moments later, looking furious. He could not even look at Bensi, whose confidence was overflowing by then.

  Magnus explained it was the ratepayers’ responsibility to elect our first school board. The Secretary-Treasurer would arrange the purchase of furniture, hire the teacher, pay bills, arrange its general upkeep, and consult with two board members on important matters.

  “Before we start, I would like to thank everyone, especially Oli for supervising the construction of the building,” Magnus said.

  There were murmurs in agreement and polite clapping. All eyes turned to Oli, who raised his skillful hand.

  “Magnus donated the lumber,” he said. “So I think in his honor we should name the school Siglunes.”