Pabbi sighed. “We cannot blame everything on Bensi. That makes us no better than him.”
Leifur said it would be easy for Bensi to sneak into the corral after dark.
“He is right,” Amma said. “Bensi wants us to believe the farm is cursed.”
“Our farm is not cursed,” Mother said.
“But if it were, how long would you want to stay?”
“I am not going anywhere.”
“Neither am I.”
“Then we will put it out of our minds,” Pabbi said. “The steer wandered off and was killed by wolves. I do not want to discuss it again.”
The first time he came to our farm was that spring, travelling the Siglunes shoreline, leaving wide prints in the damp sand, sniffing everything in his path. Up over the bank he went onto thin grass, through the oak bluff past Bensi’s, across the open pasture. He lifted his wide snout, nostrils flaring, then began picking up speed, intent on what he wanted.
Setta saw him first.
Since the near burning of the barn, we took Setta’s warnings seriously, especially since she worked mostly in silence. She’d chase magpies off the calves’ backs with a lunge and snap and herd an errant sheep or lamb back toward the flock by calmly circling around. She only barked at predators.
“Go see what is bothering her,” Leifur told Freyja who was playing with a kitten while Signy and I milked. Now that we had five cows Leifur needed our help.
Freyja held the kitten to her shoulder and opened the barn door. She stood there for a moment, then hollered: “A bear!”
We all ran to the door to look.
Setta stood outside the corral, head down, hair on her neck straight up. A growl began deep in her throat as the massive, black body lumbered across the field toward us. We’d never seen a bear before and realized, the moment its head raised, we weren’t seeing one then either.
I recognized immediately the white lightening bolt on his chest.
“That’s just Thor.” I laughed.
Signy shook her head at Freyja whose eyes were still wide.
“Well, he sure looks like a bear,” she said.
Hearing me call his name, Thor wagged his tail. He and Setta started circling each other and it took only a few minutes to realize that Thor was here on instinct. We’d all witnessed livestock mating before, but seeing Thor behave so hungrily toward Setta raised the hackles in us. Setta wasn’t livestock, she was family. Setta wanted no part of what he wanted to do and, with her tail down, growled as she swung around.
“This is a bad idea, Thor,” Leifur said, looking a bit embarrassed as he stepped between the two dogs.
“Stop it,” I scolded, slapping Thor on the head. “She doesn’t want to have your pups.”
He cowered for a moment then was right back at it.
“Pups?” Freyja said. “But I want pups.”
“It’s not right,” Signy said. “She’s his sister.”
Leifur shuddered. “We have to chase him away.”
I shook my head, knowing this would be difficult.
Signy tried first by coaxing him with a calf bone and when that didn’t work Leifur tried scaring him by waving his arms wildly in the air. He yelled, even kicked at him, but Thor only skittered, tail down, a few steps in the direction of home, then stopped. The moment Freyja said his name again, his ears pricked and his head tilted. We laughed at how hopeful he looked and, sensing our anger was fake, he came running back to us with his tongue lolling out.
Leifur sighed. “We’ll have to lock Setta in the barn.”
“But she will hate that,” Freyja said.
We spoke to Pabbi about it and he agreed we had no other choice. Poor Setta spent two days in the barn howling day and night, and the next three quietly resigned to her fate while Thor waited patiently by the barn door.
“How long will he wait there?” Mother asked one morning, looking out the window.
“As long as it takes,” Pabbi grinned, giving her a quick pat on the backside that none of us was supposed to see.
When it was finally safe to let Setta out, she hesitated.
“It’s not your fault,” I coaxed, opening the barn door wide. Thor eagerly went in and the two sniffed one another. “Now you can be friends.”
When the dilemma of what to do with Thor arose over dinner, I offered to take him back to the mill. He’d been with us for nearly a week by then.
“He would leave on his own if you stopped feeding him,” Leifur said, taking a bite of his sandwich.
“No,” Freyja said, sticking her little chin out at him. “He loves Setta because she is his sister and he misses her.”
Leifur rolled his eyes.
Signy laughed. “Will it work if we stop feeding you?”
Leifur pretended not to hear her. “Thor will not starve. A dog that big can take care of himself.”
But we all knew it was best if dogs didn’t have to rely on instinct to find food. It could spell disaster if one acquired a taste for raw lamb.
When it came time to take Thor home, we went out to discover he and Setta were gone.
“She will come back,” Mother said when we ran breathless into the kitchen.
Many nights we fell asleep to the sound of a coyote or wolf, imagining a nose pointed up to the moon, the baleful cry calling out to others who would answer in quick succession until an eerie choir filled the air.
I slept so lightly that I always heard the chorus and tried to imagine where the wolves or coyotes were. They could be miles away but their howls travelled so clearly through the crisp night air, it sounded as if they were right under the bedroom window. Coyotes, when they were close, were quiet as can be. They’d circle the sheep pen silently and strike quickly. Seeing two usually meant there were more we couldn’t see.
That night we were startled awake by ferocious barking. Pabbi’s feet hit the floor and we heard Mother’s voice as their bedroom door swung open. Leifur was quick out of bed, down the stairs in an instant. Signy sat up straight and together we listened, ears pricked through the silence in our room, to the heart-bending squeals of a dog fight outside. It was hard to distinguish how many there were, but we knew by her tone that Setta was one of them.
We heard the slide of Pabbi’s rifle as it was loaded, the bolt pulled back. We ran downstairs to see Mother quickly lighting the lamps. We followed her out the back door.
It was a new moon that night so the only light came from the lamps Mother and Amma carried. They held them high and the light scribbled across the sky as their feet pounded on the cold ground. As we came closer we saw a bit more. Pabbi and Leifur side by side. The sheep huddled in the corner of the pen nearest the barn. A mass of swirling black fur with a tinge of silver spinning outside the pen.
Pabbi and Leifur were hollering. They stopped ten feet from the frenzy. We watched in near disbelief. None of us had ever seen a fight like this before.
Wolves. Three against Setta and Thor.
Mother and Amma held the lamps steady. I am sure Signy’s heart was thumping as heavily as mine. Pabbi aimed but could not get a clear shot. He lowered the gun for a second then quickly aimed again, holding, holding, holding, then down.
“Setta, Thor!” he called, but neither heard him. The dogs dared not stop—so closely matched, they couldn’t—weakness would make them a target, so they just kept fighting.
Thor and Setta’s strength must have surprised the wolves who likely had never met a pair like this before. Thor recognized his chance when the largest male turned its head, and instantly threw all his weight onto him, forcing him to the ground, jaws clamped to his throat, but this left Setta to fight the other two on her own.
Setta hated the sound of gunshot. She understood that it brought the stillness of death. Every time she went hunting, Leifur told us, he’d see her standing over the dead ducks and geese, studying them w
ith a mixture of curiosity and sadness. She seemed to connect the dots in that dog brain of hers that the butt end of the gun was the correct place to be.
“Pabbi, do something,” Leifur rasped, fingers running long furrows in his hair.
The wolves had Setta down, one had her by the throat, the other chewed hard on her underbelly. But Pabbi didn’t need any coaxing. Aiming to kill would bring the barrel too close to Setta, so he quickly ran his aim across the wolf’s back, toward its hip, then fired. A wild yelp as all the wolves jerked free, loping into the darkness. He would have aimed again but Thor was in heated pursuit, crashing through the bush behind them.
“Setta,” Mother cooed as she dropped to her knees and crawled to where Setta lay, covered in blood, panting out a thin whine. As a child, Mother had spent years as a shepherd and knew more about sheep and dogs than most men.
“How bad is it?” Pabbi asked.
“It’s not good,” she said. “We have to get her to the house.”
I was careful not to touch the deep gouges on Setta’s face as I cautiously reached out to stroke the back of her neck.
“Careful,” Amma warned.
“She would never bite me,” I said, looking deep into Setta’s eyes. “Would you, girl? We are here to help.”
Pabbi stood facing the bush, listening, with gun ready, until Thor came crashing back, his own face torn and bloody. Leifur tried to pat him but Thor was not interested in praise, he pushed past us and stuck his head right up to Setta.
“Go back to the house for a blanket,” Mother said to Signy.
When she returned with the one from our bed, Mother didn’t say a word as she laid it out on the ground. She guided our actions until Setta was on the blanket. Pabbi grasped one end, Leifur the other, and they carried her home. Thor trotted behind with his head high, looking from Pabbi to Setta then back again.
The rest of us ran ahead to gather up as much hay as we could carry, piling it in the corner of the lean-to. We stood for a while watching Setta after they lowered her onto it, until finally Mother said there wasn’t much more we could do. Reluctantly, one by one, we all went inside. It took a few minutes to settle down enough to go back to bed, but before I did, I peeked through the door at her one more time.
Setta hadn’t moved. Thor was standing over her, licking her wounds. Surprised, I looked at Mother, who didn’t say a word. She just hugged my shoulder, lips pressed into a thin line.
Mother checked on Setta many times that night. I know because I heard every time her feet padded across the floor to the lean-to. I expect none of us slept well, especially us girls who were without our blanket.
Two days Setta lay there, refusing food or water, as Thor and the rest of us hovered. By the third day, we’d learned a lot about the desire to live and a body’s ability to heal itself. Setta began first by sitting up. Then she lapped water. By day four she was sniffing the scraps we gave her, and the next morning we came down to see her standing beside the empty water bucket.
“Can we have our blanket back?” Freyja asked.
We all laughed at that.
Setta still looked traumatized, though. Her ears were flat and she flinched whenever we came close. Mother kept reminding us to be gentle, to let her sleep. Within two weeks Setta would be back to her usual self. But I wondered if I was the only one who saw the difference in her. She seemed older, more mature.
“Now we will find out her true character,” Mother said. “There is no middle ground with dogs. Either she will cower and run every time she sees a wolf or she will hate them so much she’ll fight to the death.”
Pabbi coaxed Thor into the wagon, then took him home. When he returned that evening he drew an envelope from his pocket. Mother let out a tiny gasp as her eyes grew wide.
“It’s not from your sister,” he warned before handing it to her.
She stared at it for a long while then looked into Pabbi’s eyes and they read each other’s thoughts.
“Open it,” Signy said, pushing Freyja and me aside.
“I will,” Mother said, biting her lip. “Later.”
We groaned as she placed it on the shelf. When she wasn’t in the room, we took turns climbing up to examine it, holding it to the window, returning it perfectly so Mother would never know. The address on the envelope was written in old uncle Ásgeir’s scrawl. The following evening the letter was gone.
That night we lay in our attic rooms, listening in silence to our mother crying. In between the words that came harshly off her tongue were gasps punctuated by fits of tears. Pabbi’s voice was quiet and calm. His tone was apologetic, but she kept interrupting, unable or unwilling to hear his words.
We’d never heard our parents fight before. I stared up at the beamed ceiling, cringing every time Mother shouted. No one had the courage to go downstairs, except Freyja who was pulled back to bed by Signy.
“You will only make it worse,” she scolded, embarrassing Freyja, who buried her face in the blanket after turning to face the wall.
“Where is Amma?” I whispered. “She should do something.”
There was a loud bang as the downstairs bedroom door flew open. Mother’s voice grew louder as she stormed into the kitchen. “You cannot possibly understand how I feel.”
Pabbi tried to hush her, encouraging her back into bed, but her mind had shifted to that place where a woman’s will go when she has been deceived.
“He is lying! He does not want her to come,” she said. The outside door flung open hard.
Signy and I jumped out of bed and I shoved her over so we both could see out the window. It was a beautiful spring night - no wind, singing frogs, and the warm air came in exquisitely fresh with the smell of new growth. Mother appeared below. She ran head down, away from the house toward the bay. She stopped at the edge of the bush and, lifting her face to the sky, started to wail. It was distressing to see her like this, twisted with frustration into someone we barely recognized.
The door downstairs opened again and I assumed that Pabbi was going after her, but it was Amma who came into view.
“This is all her fault,” Signy said.
I wondered how that could be possible. It was not Amma who wrote the letter. Now, I understand that Amma knew everything because Mother had confided in her when the rest of us were not around. Also, she’d heard every word of the fight.
Mother spun around when she sensed Amma’s approach. Leading with her chin, Mother began punching the air, hollering at Amma until her voice lost its power and her strength dissolved. Her shoulders slumped as she pulled her sweater tight, staring at the ground, hugging herself; it looked like that sweater was the only thing holding her up. When all her energy was spent, Mother fell sobbing into Amma’s strong arms.
Amma began leading Mother farther from the house.
“Where are they going?” Signy whispered, but we both knew. To the lake. To breathe in the peaceful stillness that could only be found along the water.
The next morning Pabbi was silently eating breakfast when we came downstairs. Mother’s eyes were red and her face swollen. She refused to look any of us in the eye. We tried hard to pretend that we hadn’t heard the fight.
When breakfast was finished, Mother stood up from the table, took the letter from her apron pocket, stared at it for a few moments, then wordlessly opened the stove’s firebox and dropped it inside.
Freyja gasped. “Why are you so angry at the letter?”
Mother was too defeated to reply. She poured herself a cup of coffee then went to stand at the window behind Pabbi, laying a hand on his shoulder.
“Please tell us,” Signy said softly.
Finally, she turned to look squarely at us all.
Pabbi stiffened. Leifur braced himself and I feared the crying would start again, but then we saw a difference in her. The anger was still there, but it had turned inward.
<
br /> “Your Aunt Freyja is not coming,” she said.
“Why not?” Signy asked.
“It is complicated,” she said. “I have no one to blame but myself. I made the wrong choice long ago. Please do not ask me to explain.”
It wasn’t until I became an adult that Mother revealed what was written in the letter, and after that she never spoke of it, nor did she offer to sponsor anyone to come to Canada ever again.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A person should trust their own experience rather than hearsay.
—Bandamanna Saga
How many patients have I brought here to this patio to enjoy the morning sun?
Oh how relaxing it is to sit listening to the chickadees, while Solrun concentrates on the crossword puzzle page folded into a tidy rectangle on her lap and Thora stares off at the street traffic. A poodle is yapping endlessly down the street.
I have always loved the intensity of the sun. My sleeves are rolled up as far as they will go and this ugly hospital gown is hoisted thigh-high, showing off my bony knees and swollen ankles. Solrun is worried that I will sunburn, but I don’t care.
“What time is it?” I ask.
Solrun lifts her wrist. “Ten-thirty.”
“Bill isn’t usually late,” I say.
“Do you mean Brian?”
Maybe I do. A father and son who look so much alike, I’m not the first person to mix them up.
“Who are you talking about?” Thora asks.
“The undertaker,” I say. “He will be here soon to pick up Mary.”
In the distance we hear the thump thump thump of rock and roll at the Fair grounds, travelling with the wind across town as the midway opens.
“That will be a big funeral,” Solrun says a few minutes later when the black sedan slides discreetly along the side street and turns into the back of the hospital. A man steps out, then pulls open the back door.
Mary was a respected elder, the Chief’s grandmother. Everyone from the reserve will be there.
“Who is that with him?” I ask.
“Her name is Jennifer. She came here from Toronto the day after Phyllis died,” Solrun says. She takes a deep breath, bracing herself. I see her regret immediately.
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