“Here, here,” Bergthora, Amma, and Gudrun cheered. They were sitting together at the front of the room.
Asi Frimann pounded the table-top while the children began cheering. We all stood—nineteen of us in total—leaning against the wall. This annoyed Bensi and he was the first to interrupt.
“Is it necessary to have them here?” he asked, inclining his head in our direction.
“They are the ones attending the school,” Gudrun said. She folded her arms across her chest.
Bensi muttered, shaking his head.
Magnus tapped his gavel. “Já, these children are the future of our community. I see nothing wrong with it.”
Neither did anyone else, so he continued.
“The province has entrusted us this responsibility so we must choose our Board wisely,” he said. “The term shall last three years, then another election will be held.”
Slight murmurs, then a voice rose from the crowd. “Would it not be wise to have J.K. stay on, at least for now?”
“Only if he agrees,” Magnus said.
All eyes turned to J.K. who said that he would be willing, but only if Magnus would as well. “That way, if I am absent, the Secretary-Treasurer might consult with you.”
It was quickly decided that the two of them would form the Board. J.K. made a quick note of it on the tablet in front of him and Magnus explained that in order to elect the Secretary-Treasurer he would ask for nominations.
“Once all nominations are final, we will allow the nominees to speak, then we will vote,” he said, giving us a few moments to digest the rules.
Pabbi shifted in his seat, looking straight ahead. The room became deafeningly quiet.
“I nominate Pjetur Gudmundsson,” Gudrun said, voice clear and strong. Bergthora nodded in approval. Amma did not move. She just stared down the table at Bensi with her devil eyes. Now we knew what she meant when she said she’d take care of it.
“Pjetur, do you accept?” Magnus asked.
As Pabbi opened his mouth to speak, Bensi interrupted.
“I challenge the chairman to explain how this is in order,” he said. “We are following procedures set out by the province, correct?”
“We are.”
“To my knowledge, women are not allowed to vote, so they cannot nominate. Neither can any of the boys under the age of twenty-one.”
Bergthora stood up. “Women should be allowed the vote,” she said.
“I do not agree,” Bensi argued. “Matters of importance should be left up to men to decide.”
Gasps and outrage. The room erupted, leaving Magnus unsure how to proceed. We all knew this debate, if started, could run long into the night.
“Am I correct?” Bensi challenged.
It took Magnus a few moments to gather his bearings. He thought carefully before he spoke.
“Já, Bensi, you are half correct.”
“Magnus,” Bergthora hissed.
He raised his hands in surrender, apologizing to every woman in the room. “I do not make the rules,” he said. “And can only imagine what they would think in Winnipeg.”
“All the more reason to do it,” Bergthora said while the women nodded.
We all looked to J.K. who was obviously thinking hard. “We cannot behave like a community of fools. To err in ignorance is one thing, to do so deliberately is another.”
Gudrun did not take well to the stinging. Neither did Bergthora who stood up and went to stand by the sink, turning her back on everyone.
“Is now a bad time to ask for more coffee?” Asi asked innocently, holding his cup up at her. She picked up a dish towel then dropped it on his head. The room was in such an uproar after that, Magnus was forced to tap his gavel twice to call the meeting back to order.
“Only men may nominate and vote today,” he said.
Bensi looked around the table. “I nominate Asi Frimann,” he said.
Asi looked as if he’d just been dropped down from the moon. “Me?” he laughed. “I am not built for serious matters. Leave it to those who are. I decline.”
Before anyone else could speak, Bensi nominated Oli, who was equally surprised.
“Give me a saw and hammer,” he said. “But books and schoolchildren? A shameful thing for an Icelander to admit, but I have no time to read. A half-wit would be a better choice than me.”
“That is the direction we are headed,” Bensi quipped. There were gasps and shocked expressions since everyone knew that Pabbi wanted the job. Mother looked ready to fly across the table at him. Pabbi sat stoically enduring what was quickly becoming a nightmare.
“For whatever my opinion is worth, I think that Pjetur would do an excellent job,” Oli said.
“You barely know him,” Bensi said quickly. “Why should you care? Your sons are already grown.”
Magnus hammered the gavel and a hush fell over the room. He levelled his gaze at the end of the table. “Are you implying that Oli and I should not have an opinion on the future of this community because of our age?” he asked. “If so, I will gladly allow you to chair this meeting so that I might exercise my right to vote.”
“No,” Bensi stammered, looking for someone else to nominate. “Gudmundur did similar work in Iceland so he is qualified for the job.”
Gudmundur shook his head no.
“How many men are you going to suggest?” Oli asked, bewildered. “Should I bring in my horse so you can nominate him too?”
Another burst of laughter followed by raucous clapping.
Gudrun, who was fuming by then, stood up and waited until the room fell to a hush.
Magnus signaled for her to proceed. She took her time, made eye contact with every man before she began.
“The fact women are denied the vote may be law, but it is an abomination that will soon change,” she said, words fiery as a storm. “We Icelanders will see to it.”
It was a bold statement that caused my heart to swell.
“Here, here,” Bergthora said.
“In the meantime, give serious thought to how your wife would vote today. If you do not agree with her, then you should forfeit your vote as well.”
Every woman in the room clapped with such vigor, that not even Asi had the courage to make jokes after that. Gudrun straightened her skirt as she sat down.
Magnus’s eyes twinkled. When all was quiet he cleared his throat and thanked Gudrun for putting the situation into perspective. Bensi shrank ever so slightly as J.K. nominated Pabbi. Oli quickly seconded it. “I do not have a wife so I am safe,” he whispered.
Magnus asked for the third and final call for nominations.
“I think someone should nominate Bensi,” Amma called out. “That way he cannot complain later that we did not give him the chance.”
Bensi quickly refused. “If you trust Pjetur with the school’s finances, then good luck to you all.”
Pabbi ignored him as he stood up. I hoped that no one noticed how his hand shook. Even though he’d carefully written his speech on a fresh sheet that morning, it looked dog-eared by now. Everyone listened carefully as he outlined everything he could think of regarding plans for the school, right down to how to obtain a winter’s supply of wood for the stove.
“And I believe that our children should be taught in English,” he concluded. “So my intention is to hire a teacher who speaks both languages fluently.”
This final statement caused a few eyebrows to rise. Those who were unsure turned to J.K., who shifted in his seat.
“I have always employed teachers from our homeland because I believe it gives my children an advantage,” J.K. said. “How will they learn if they do not understand the language in which they are being taught?”
Pabbi was prepared for this reaction. “There is no question you have done an excellent job. I have never met a boy as bright and well-educa
ted as Finn. My children, well, it is obvious they have their Mother’s wits.”
“And her looks as well,” Asi quipped and we all chuckled.
Pabbi explained that before emigrating he’d given serious thought to how his children would manage in Canada as foreigners. He did not want to personally benefit from the move at our expense.
“We may doom our sons to farming and fishing and daughters to work as domestics unless they receive an education, one that extends beyond what our little school can provide. How can—”
“What is wrong with farming?” Bensi interrupted.
“We have chosen this life, but it does not necessarily suit—” Pabbi began but was interrupted again.
“My son does not need to learn English any more than I do,” Bensi said.
“Some might rather be doctors, craftsmen, shopkeepers,” Pabbi implored, “but without English they are limited outside of the Icelandic community.”
“You do not believe that farming and fishing is an honorable way to make a living?” Bensi challenged.
Pabbi sighed. “If you think that is what I’ve said, there is no reasoning with you. To everyone else—if we want our children to reach their full potential, we cannot limit them by a short-sighted decision. How can they attend university in Winnipeg if they speak only Icelandic?”
Eyebrows were raised, then everyone looked to J.K.
“Disagreements in New Iceland have split that community apart,” J.K. warned. “We cannot have that happen here.”
“Religion and politics are areas where we will disagree,” Pabbi said. “Some teachings are best done at home. English is not one of them.”
Everyone except Bensi seemed to agree by then.
“Any final words?” Magnus asked.
Pabbi read from his paper again. “I would like to establish a mentahvöt, a library that moves from home to home. I will start by donating some of my own books and ask that J.K. and Magnus do the same. I also believe we should—”
Bensi raised his hand. “What if our Secretary-Treasurer conducts himself in an unsatisfactory manner?” he asked.
“It wouldn’t say much for us, now would it?” Asi laughed. “If the first person expelled from our school is Pjetur.”
The room erupted again.
“My brother Stefan should have that honor,” Asi said, grinning at the boys standing along the wall. Stefan blushed and shook his head as Finn gave him a playful push.
Pabbi quietened everyone with a raised hand, before continuing.
“We should begin church services on Sundays once a month. We will have dances, sporting events and picnics where we can speak Icelandic to our hearts’ content. The school will enrich our children’s minds and our community’s spirit as well.”
Then he sat down.
Magnus closed the debate then called for the vote. Every man raised his hand except Bensi. The women voted in defiance of the law so I jerked my hand up, too.
When the moment arrived that I felt ready to face Bjorn, it was too late. He’d slipped out the front door with the rest of the young men.
Magnus invited Bensi to enjoy a drink, but he said loudly that his lips never touched ‘devil water’ then hurried outside. Pabbi was able to relish his victory in peace.
“That was a fine speech,” Asi said. “Even Ella couldn’t have done a better job.”
“Who do you think helped me write it?”
“It is not often that I change my mind,” J.K. said, slapping Pabbi on the back. “But it was not entirely your doing. Seeing Bensi agreed with my argument, it became obvious I needed to re-think it.”
A young woman stood beside Asi, smiling. He introduced her as his future bride.
“It’s about time you found yourself a wife,” Amma said, looking the young woman over. Her name was also Freda, which pleased Amma greatly.
“Do you smoke?” she asked.
“No,” Asi interrupted. “And I’ve warned her to stay away from you.”
“There is plenty I can teach her. Most of it you would like.”
“Those aren’t the things I’m worried about.”
Amma kissed Freda then pulled Asi in for one of her famous bear hugs. “My instincts tell me you chose well.”
“My instincts tell me everything that happened today was arranged,” he whispered. “Bensi didn’t stand a chance.”
I could see Amma was anxious to mention the stolen hay but it would have to wait until another time.
Stefan came from the front room with Freyja riding on his back.
“Where is Leifur?” Mother frowned as we prepared to leave.
I looked out the kitchen window to see him sitting in the wagon, looking anxious to go home. It struck me that he was the one in the outhouse and had overheard Bensi’s cutting words to Stefan’s father.
“A little harlot,” he’d said. “All those girls are. The same as old Freda. How do you think she made her living in Iceland? God will punish her, you will see. Tragedy follows these girls everywhere, so Stefan would be wise to stay away from them.”
Stefan’s father had been speechless with surprise.
Mother was on top of the world as we drove away. She restrained herself until we were out of earshot, then let out a wild cheer.
“Good for you, Pjetur,” she said, grabbing him in a one-armed hug.
Pabbi laughed as he shook his head. “Now I’m not so sure.”
“You were by far the best choice.”
“A helluva lot better than Oli’s horse,” Amma called out.
“That may be so, but Bensi is outraged,” Pabbi said.
“Who cares? He is a bully and now everyone knows it.”
But none of us, not even Amma, could predict what Bensi would do next and certainly not how Leifur would react.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Trust not him whose father, brother or other kin you have slain
no matter how young he be, for often grows the wolf in the child.
—Völsunga Saga
Lögberg-Heimskringla.
In the ‘olden days,’ as Solrun’s grandchildren like to say, there were two Icelandic newspapers. Lögberg and Heimskringla. Hard to believe such an insignificant number of immigrants could support two Winnipeg-based papers, but we did. Now the two are combined and it is written mostly in English. That I don’t like.
Thora was reading out loud from it as I drifted off. Now I’m awake again, she is lost in thought, staring at the painting of Jesus with faraway eyes.
“Do you have any regrets?” she asks.
I am caught off guard. I need to think before answering so I change the subject.
“You will make sure my obituary is printed in there,” I say.
She looks down at the paper. “Certainly.”
I ask her to glue it into the back of my scrapbook, a way to finish off my life.
“That old relic?” she laughs.
The book sits on the bottom shelf of my bedside table. I admit it is strange looking. Four joined scrapbooks the size of a child’s dresser drawer, swollen up ten times its original thickness like some ancient volume from medieval times.
Keeping it bound together has been a constant chore. I took off the paper bindings then put it through the sewing machine, ten pages at a time. I punched holes down the long edge and tied it together with string, but it flopped all over. I tried stapling it, but that didn’t hold. I inquired a few years back about having it professionally bound, with a hard cover, but the quote was exorbitant. Then one day Solrun’s husband carried it away like a sick calf and returned it, completely healed, with fencing staples and a newfangled thing called duct tape. Marvelous stuff. The book isn’t pretty, but it will outlive us all.
“Ready to go outside?” a nurse asks as she comes into the room. She has brought an orderly with her to hel
p get me out of bed.
I sit up, swing my legs so they dangle at the side of the bed.
Thora holds the wheelchair steady as they lower me onto the seat.
“Where did you get this?” the nurse asks, admiring the cane back antique that is as uncomfortable as it looks.
I say it has been in my family for years.
* * *
“Who wants to go to The Narrows?” Pabbi asked one morning. He’d pushed hastily through the chores and now we understood why.
“On the Lady Ellen?” Freyja asked.
“It would take too long by wagon over that bumpy trail,” he said.
She shook her head. “I will stay with Mama.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Pabbi asked the two of them as he pulled on his coat. Mother said she had plenty to do. She handed us a packed dinner and off we went, racing to the dock at Vinðheimar. The first to reach there would hoist the flag. Usually it was Leifur, but this time Signy beat him to it.
Asi blew the horn as he turned in, letting us know he’d spotted it.
J.K. and Gudrun waved from the verandah.
“Stop in for coffee when you get back,” J.K. hollered through cupped hands as we ran to the end of the dock.
“On official business?” Asi asked loudly over the roar of the engine as we boarded. He took Amma’s hand even though she needed no help.
“Benches, tables, and a teacher’s desk,” Pabbi said. “It all should be there by now.”
“It is,” he said, setting the engine to full steam. “I unloaded it two days ago.”
“Why not just bring it here?” Pabbi asked.
“That isn’t how it works. You pay Helgi, he pays me. Otherwise I get nothing for the freight.”
Asi lit two cigarettes, handing one to Amma.
Stefan came up from below deck to sit beside us. Leifur reached for the sack, digging in for a sandwich.
“Hey—” Signy said.
“I’m hungry now,” he said, handing the sack to Stefan.
It was a beautiful day to travel the lake. September had arrived and with it the killing frost, but summer was still up to her playful tricks, pulling back for days so that we thought she was gone, then surprising us with a week of shirt-sleeve temperatures. The sun hadn’t given up today either, winking overhead, the wind whispering to us to enjoy every moment because soon winter would swoop in.
Be Still the Water Page 15