Be Still the Water

by Karen Emilson

  “Phyllis died?” I ask, looking for clues to see if this is something I knew but have forgotten.

  Solrun hesitates. She doesn’t want to upset me but sees it is already too late. “January.”

  “How?” I ask,

  “Massive coronary while she slept.”

  Phyllis was a good friend of mine. There are so few of them left. “She is dead?”

  Solrun sighs as she reaches into her purse for a tissue then gives it to me. “Oh, Asta, I am so sorry. Try not to let life bother you so.”

  * * *

  Spirits were high as we loaded a picnic dinner then climbed aboard the wagon. Pabbi snapped the reigns, setting the horses down the road towards the school at a steady trot. Leifur was the only one who was subdued, likely due to nerves since he’d never been to a baseball tryout before.

  Every wagon arriving brought at least one prospect for the team. The younger children immediately ran off to play in the bushes while the older boys began throwing around Finn’s ball. Signy and I followed Mother to the back of the school where the women sat on blankets, watching J.K. pace out a ball diamond. He was holding a piece of wood in one hand (the pitcher’s mound) and one of Gudrun’s metal pie plates (home base) in the other.

  “So you want to join the winning team,” J.K. hollered over our heads. We turned to see Asi and Stefan ride up on their horses. They’d played for The Narrows team the year before.

  “They cut me.” Asi laughed.

  “Me too.” Stefan pointed comically at his brother. “But at least I am better than him.”

  It had been decided after church the Sunday before that if Siglunes was going to be a community, it needed to start behaving like one, so that meant forming a baseball team.

  “Are the Magnusson boys coming?” J.K. asked.

  “Hope so. They can run like hell. I know that Bjorn has a good arm. Saw him kill a squirrel once from twenty feet.”

  J.K. paused to wipe his brow. “Will you manage the team?”

  “I’m not sure I want to belong to a team that will have me for its manager,” Asi said.

  “I’m not asking because I think you’ll be good at it.” J.K. chortled. “I just want to see the look on Helgi’s face.”

  “Well, in that case I’ll do it.”

  Through a break in the trees I saw a wagon coming from the west, recognizing Bjorn immediately. He drove it like a chariot, standing legs wide, calves braced against the seat. Steina sat on the seat beside him while the twins kneeled in the back. Everyone cheered as they pulled into the schoolyard then jumped from the wagon, each with a glove. Steina had a blanket under one arm, carried a dinner sack and wore the expression of a woman in love. My heart fell to my knees.

  When it appeared everyone was there, J.K. clapped his hands then motioned for all the young men to spread out and toss the balls back and forth. J.K. and Asi whispered to each other, quietly pointing at each boy. Asi counted heads, not once but three times. The air was charged with excitement, but it was obvious that we didn’t have enough players to field a team.

  “What about you, Pjetur, can you play?” J.K. asked.

  Pabbi shook his head with surprise. “I am too old.”

  “You are younger than me.”

  “Not by enough. Besides, Ella will not allow it.”

  “Then she should play instead,” J.K. said. “Ella looks fast. I think she would make a good short stop.”

  Mother looked up from her conversation with Gudrun. “Not this year,” she said, rubbing her hand across her abdomen. The women all began congratulating her.

  “I already suspected that,” J.K. teased. “Just the other day Gudrun asked if I’d noticed that you were getting a little plump—”

  “J.K Kristjansson, I said no such thing.”

  “Yes, you did, dear wife. You said: ‘Ella must be lazing about since she is looking a bit rounder than usual. Normally she is so skinny and frail.’ I remember exactly what you said.”

  Gudrun’s eyes widened as she cocked her head, masking a smile. “Keep it up Jonas K and the only one who will be skinny and frail is you,” she teased, turning to Mother. “What I did say is that I thought you might be expecting, because you seem more tired than usual.”

  J.K.’s eyes danced. “You know how Gudrun loves to gossip. I am constantly telling her to stop, but she will not listen to me.”

  “You are the one,” Gudrun said. “Why don’t you tell them what you really want to say?”

  He laughed. “No, my dear, this is your news.”

  Gudrun’s cheeks flushed and she was almost giddy when she said: “I am expecting, too.”

  Everyone cheered and clapped.

  “So what about you, Freda?” Asi interrupted.

  Amma turned her head quickly. “Pregnant? No, I am more careful than that.”

  More laughter.

  “We need a back-catcher,” he said, waving her toward home plate. “Help us get started.”

  Amma brightened. She pushed herself up from the stump, flicked her cigarette to the ground then stepped on it. She strode across the grass, rolling up her sleeves. “Had I known this I would have worn my pants,” she said.

  J.K. asked if any of the boys wanted to pitch to Asi so he could hit fly balls to the outfield.

  The twins egged Bjorn on. He wound his arm as he trotted to the pitcher’s mound.

  “A southpaw,” J.K. said, tossing him the ball. “Exactly what we need.”

  “Go easy on me,” Amma hollered from where she stood behind Asi.

  He cocked his head as he looked back over his shoulder. “What do you mean go easy on you? I’m the one who’s batting.”

  “Yes, but I have to catch that thing when you miss it.”

  Asi pointed at the bush beyond the fielders’ heads. “It’s going straight over those trees.”

  “That’s what you told Helgi,” she said, crouching down.

  Asi braced himself, ignoring everyone’s laughter. Bjorn wound up, sending the ball straight across home plate. Asi swung, but missed. Amma jumped out of the way and the ball bounced, then rolled across the ground toward the back of the school.

  Amma huffed as she chased after it.

  “Lob it in,” J.K. said to Bjorn. “We can work on speed later.”

  Everyone cheered when Asi hit the next pitch, a grounder to third base. Then another. And another. Winded, Asi went to stand with J.K. on the third base line as the boys took turns at bat. Red-faced and nervous, Leifur swung hard. He missed the first two, causing Amma to curse as she ran after the ball. He connected on the third try, sending a neat line drive straight at the shortstop, hitting Finn in the hip.

  J.K. flinched.

  “Well at least he stopped it,” Asi whispered.

  With their heads bent together they assessed each player until it was time for dinner.

  I’m not sure what felt worse, watching Bjorn sit down on the blanket with Steina or knowing that Signy felt so sorry for me that she’d stopped teasing.

  “Finn keeps looking at you,” she whispered.

  The girls sitting with us tittered.

  Thora blushed, nodding that it was true.

  Then came the moment that changed everything.

  Four horses came trotting into the schoolyard. There were gasps and cheers at the sight of Oli Thorsteinsson’s four youngest boys—all in their 20s, born one right after the other. These were the most intimidating young men I’d ever seen; long-boned and broad-shouldered, each stood well over six feet. All had high cheekbones, full lips and distinct noses that turned up at the end—a feature they’d inherited from their father, one that would be passed down for generations to come. The three older boys were dark-haired, but the youngest was fair-skinned and heavier set, with hair that stuck out like fresh cut straw.

  I knew nothing about baseb
all—few of us did—but in numbers we had a team, and, by the looks of it, now with some strength behind it.

  “We heard there are baseball try-outs today,” the youngest one said as the four came confidently across the yard. His name was Olafur and soon we’d see he was full of energy and talk. “I think we might be able to help your team.”

  J.K. met them halfway to offer a welcoming handshake. “We will see about that. Have you ever played before?”

  Olafur shrugged. “How hard can it be?”

  J.K. grinned at Asi. “I guess you will find out.”

  Amma hollered that they must be hungry, nudging Signy, who boldly held a plate out to them while Thora and I shrank, stealing quick glimpses when we thought they weren’t looking, giggling to the point we embarrassed ourselves without even knowing.

  Few in those days could afford the luxury of owning a baseball glove, so most came empty-handed. Finn handed his glove to Leifur so that he could back-catch instead of Amma, and the team trotted back to the field.

  “Which one of you wants to bat first?” J.K. asked the Thorsteinsson brothers. Olafur was quick to offer.

  “Batting is as much about good technique as it is strength,” J.K. explained, showing him how to stand, hold the bat and swing. “It is important to focus on the pitcher and not take your eyes off the ball.”

  Had J.K. been instructing a girl, she would have listened closely. But apparently Olafur already knew everything about batting, and was anxious to get started. He took the bat and examined it. Standing loosely at home plate, he let it rest on his shoulder.

  “If I hit it over the trees, the prettiest girl in the community has to marry me,” he said.

  Everyone laughed, but the girls shrieked, captivated by this forward young man.

  “And who might that be?” Asi hollered.

  “She is sitting right over there in the blue dress,” he said, pointing over his shoulder at Signy. “Someday she will be my wife.”

  Everyone gasped at his boldness. Bjorn looked unimpressed as he wrapped his fingers tight around the ball.

  “Her father might have something to say about that,” Asi hollered.

  “He might not have a choice,” Olafur quipped.

  Everyone laughed again, steeling quick glances at Pabbi, whose cheeks were flaming by then.

  “All right, Bjorn, let him have it,” J.K. said.

  Bjorn nodded, his mouth quirking upward ever so slightly. Focusing hard, he wound up, firing a fastball straight across home plate.

  Olafur swung hard but missed.

  Pabbi looked delighted as the ball thwapped neatly into Leifur’s glove.

  Undeterred, Olafur swung again. Then again. It wasn’t that he swung far too soon that caused everyone to chuckle, but his loud grunt.

  I jabbed Signy in the side with my elbow to annoy her. Without taking her eyes off Olafur, she punched me back.

  “I was hoping you might be our clean-up batter,” J.K. said, eyeing Olafur’s brothers who were all smiling. “But perhaps I was wrong.”

  Olafur let the bat fall as he shook out his shoulders.

  “How do you hold this goddamned thing again?” he asked.

  Mother tsked, but Amma liked his spunk. I could tell by the way she clapped her hands and cheered, “Come on Olafur, show’em what you’ve got.”

  J.K. seemed pleased. He spoke quietly, lifting Olafur’s right shoulder back, left elbow up. He coached, and Olafur’s head bobbed as he listened, then he dug his heels into the grass and turned to face Bjorn. His smirk was gone, but not the gleam in his eye. He focused with such intensity, we all grew silent. A hiss escaped Bjorn’s lips when he threw the ball again.

  Anyone who has watched hardball knows instantly the crisp sound of a home run. We cheered wildly as the ball screamed over the trees, landing far in the bush. Olafur tossed the bat on the ground then sloped around the bases, the team patting him on the back as he went.

  Signy blushed, but she did not giggle or change expression even when we teased her. She focused her soft smile on Olafur and did not look away when their eyes met. He touched the brim of his hat at her as he stamped his foot, crushing Gudrun’s pie plate, then trotted to the outfield.

  The morning of The Narrows ball tournament and picnic everyone gathered at the Siglunes dock dressed in their finest clothes. Gudrun and Thora were admiring the summer frocks Mother had made for us with the remainder earned from our knitting venture when Bensi and his family came up the dock. He went over to where Pabbi was talking to J.K. to announce in a loud voice that Setta had killed one of his sheep.

  “I saw her carry it away,” Bensi said, his tone more boastful than angry.

  Pabbi was, of course, taken aback. It took him a few moments to deny the allegation. Then Bensi asked J.K. what he would do if the neighbor’s dog began killing his sheep. The question stopped conversation on the dock. Everyone turned to hear the answer.

  “Well, I am not sure,” he said carefully. “My neighbor’s dog does not kill sheep.”

  “But let’s assume for a moment that it did,” he said. “Would you expect to be paid restitution?”

  “You have no proof,” Pabbi interrupted before J.K. could answer. His voice trembled with anger. “Under no circumstances am I going to pay for a sheep that the wolves have killed.”

  Bensi held up his hands in surrender, pretending he meant no offence, but the glint in his eye told us he was pleased to have gotten under Pabbi’s skin.

  The rest of us looked at Mother, whose expression did not change. The day before, Leifur had come running inside with alarming news. Mother followed him out to where Setta lay at the edge of the yard. On the ground in front of her was a dead ewe. She was gently licking blood from its hindquarters. When Mother called to her, Setta looked up and her tail began to thump.

  “Good girl,” Mother said quietly then pulled the sheep away by its front legs, telling Leifur to take it and bury it.

  “Probably a female hunting to feed her pups,” she said. “The time of year is about right. Soon she will be teaching them to hunt for themselves.”

  Then she explained that dogs never kill the animals they have an instinct to protect and, if they find one injured, will try to nurse it back to health.

  “Unlike people, dogs do not know how to hide their sins,” Mother had said. “I see no guilt in her at all.”

  So there was no question in our minds that the ewe must have already been dead. That it happened to belong to Bensi was a stroke of luck, good or bad, depending how you saw it.

  “Setta does not kill sheep,” Mother said directly to Bensi.

  “A less tolerant neighbor would have shot her on the spot,” he replied.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  There is more in the heart of man than money can buy.

  —Grettir’s Saga

  Nearly a year had passed since Einar’s body washed up at The Narrows, but nothing had come of it. Bjorn appeared to have completely forgotten about that terrible night. He sat directly across from me on the Lady Ellen, engaged in lively conversation with Steina, whose leg touched his. She listened carefully to everything he said, laughing in all the right places as the ship chugged along. She even strained to see the shanty as we passed Ghost Island.

  “Will you take me there sometime?” she asked playfully.

  “If you’d like,” he said, not flinching at all.

  I glanced at Siggi who was watching the two of them. Shaking his head, he turned away.

  Bensi’s daughter Petra was between myself and Freyja in age. Life must have been awfully lonely for her living in Bensi’s bush. I tried to ignore the little waif as she stared, seeking eye contact that invited conversation. It turned out Petra had more substance than I allowed myself to see that day and became someone I genuinely liked later in life. At the time I despised her father so intensely that fr
iendship with her seemed impossible. Freyja on the other hand was so trusting she could be friends with anyone.

  Watching Freyja and Petra again, and knowing what transpired between our families in the coming years, it tugs at my heart to see their first steps on the path toward friendship. Freyja, the indulged sweetheart desperate for a playmate nearer her age, is standing on the deck telling Petra about the nest of baby mice she found under the hay. Would Petra like to come see them sometime? Would Petra like to hold her kitten, a ginger tom that she believes will never dream of eating the mice? Freyja sits down beside her and grabs her hand. They both beamed. Each has a friend at last.

  As we neared the hall at The Narrows, Asi throttled down the engine, swung the Lady Ellen around, then slipped up to the dock. J.K. began rallying everyone. With only a few practice games since the first tryout, the team needed reminding of the rules.

  This was a much larger event than I had imagined. People were scattered all around the grassy area that surrounded the hall. Children were chasing one another. Teenagers stood in groups. Men were everywhere, talking and laughing, while the women sat on blankets under the trees. The crack of the bat announced a flurry of activity in the open grass beside the hall and players sprinted across the field, around the bases.

  We paraded up the dock as if going into battle, with enough gloves for half the team and only one bat.

  Having seen the Lady Ellen’s approach, Helgi was already on his way to meet us. He brought a few men with him. Fortunately, we had Asi, who knew everyone.

  “I’ve brought the Siglunes ball team with me,” he said.

  I didn’t realize it at the time but now I see clearly the apprehension etched across every player’s face. A clan of Icelandic boys showing uncertainty? That wasn’t something you saw often. Helgi looked amused.

  “I hope you are ready,” Olafur said loudly. “We are here to win.”

  His words carried far and the men with Helgi laughed. This didn’t sit well with Bjorn who was the first to cross his arms defiantly. The Thorsteinsson brothers scowled.