Be Still the Water

by Karen Emilson

  “I am her father. I know what is best,” he said.

  Mother walked ahead of him, pulling the withered plant tops, pitching them into a pile.

  “Signy loves him,” she said, breathless.

  “How can she? They barely know one another,” he grunted, jamming the shovel into the ground again.

  “Don’t you remember?” she said, pausing to stretch her back. The baby inside was due in less than a month.

  Pabbi continued with the shovel and when Mother had pulled the last of the plants, she came back to where he was and began crawling opposite him, rubbing the damp soil from each potato as it came out of the ground.

  “I am disappointed that she has no plans to further her education,” Mother said. “But we’ve always known she might prefer marriage over school. It is not a bad thing, not for Signy.”

  Since the ball tournament, Signy and Olafur had been inseparable. It had started with him coming by on weekends. He and Signy would walk hand-in-hand to the lake with the rest of us tagging along. Many nights we sat under Amma’s tree listening to Olafur’s dreamy optimism. He wasn’t afraid to share all his ideas, the plans he’d made for the farm and for him and Signy.

  “This is the finest place on earth and a man can make something of himself here,” he said one late summer afternoon, the sweat glistening on his forehead. Signy stared lovingly as he pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket, smoothing it out in the grass, showing us the pencil drawing of the house he would build for her, a two-storey frame home that would rival the castle at Siglunes.

  “Someday we will be rich. All we have to do is work hard.”

  Even Leifur, who was prone to skepticism, believed in him.

  “One thing for sure is that we will never go hungry,” Olafur said, repeating what his father had told him when he moved the family here.

  “What about all these mosquitoes?” Freyja asked, hoping Olafur with all his wisdom had a solution. We were constantly slapping or scratching our arms and legs.

  He laughed. “They have to eat too.”

  Soon, he began visiting weeknights. He and Signy would talk so late into the night Pabbi had no choice but to ask him to leave. Olafur would wave as he galloped away, then return at the same time the next day.

  Pabbi was the only one who hadn’t seen it coming. It pained the rest of us to watch Signy and Olafur standing nervously in the kitchen, talking about nothing, until finally Olafur summoned the courage to ask permission. When Pabbi shook his head, our hero shrank like a whipped pup.

  “Two years?” Signy had said. “We have to wait two years?”

  “Until you are twenty-one,” Pabbi said. “If you still want to get married then, you will have my blessing.”

  Signy was outraged. Olafur calmed her down, saying that he understood how Pabbi felt, that he didn’t mind waiting. Signy thundered out the door with Olafur on her heels. Amma didn’t say a word, but her expression changed, seeing a glimpse of the future she wasn’t willing to share.

  Pabbi saw her grin. “What?”

  “Nothing,” Amma said quickly.

  A week passed. Signy was too proud to ask again so she stopped talking to Pabbi altogether. Digging potatoes was a way for him to work out his frustration.

  “Why Olafur?” he asked. “Why him?”

  Mother’s voice was soft. “Pjetur, don’t you know your daughter yet?” She paused for a moment to rest. “I understand Olafur is not the sort of man you would choose for her, but you have seen how he looks at her. No other man will ever love her like that. She is bossy just like your mother. Olafur needs that. She can tame him.”

  “Why should she have to?” Pabbi asked.

  “Because she wants to. Signy always needs to be right and with Olafur she can win sometimes. He admires her intelligence and respects her. That is what makes Signy happy.”

  Mother stood up, then wrapped her arms across his shoulders. “He is kind and honest. Sound familiar?”

  Pabbi cocked his head. “Olafur is not good enough for her.”

  She smiled. “He will spend his entire life working to prove you wrong.”

  They dug in silence until all of the potatoes were unearthed, until the sky grew dark to the west.

  “Put Signy out of your mind,” Mother said as they walked toward the house. “It is Asta we need to worry about.”

  Leifur and I were on our way back from the barn after bottle-feeding the orphaned lambs. We met them on the road. Pabbi was listening with a most serious expression as Mother spoke, but her words trailed off when she saw us.

  “Look at me,” Freyja called out and we all turned to see her sitting on Setta’s back.

  “Come Setta,” Leifur called, slapping his knees.

  Setta broke into a trot, causing Freyja to lose her grip and slide off into the dirt. Amma stuck her head out the door right then, hollering that coffee was ready. Then a noise down the road caught all our attention. We turned to see a team of horses pulling a wagon toward us and knew something was terribly wrong. Bjorn was standing, jaw set, eyes focused on the lake. He slowed when he passed us, enough that we could see Bergthora and one of the hired men kneeling in the wagon. Stefan was lying on a bed of hay, his mouth open in pain and shock, Bergthora leaning over him, her expression grim.

  Leifur began running before Pabbi could stop him. He caught up to the wagon then leapt onto the back. Pabbi hollered out, but it was too late. As soon as Leifur scrambled in, Bjorn slapped the reins, and once again the horses were at a full gallop.

  By the time Pabbi had run to the bay, they’d already set sail. Gudrun and Finn were standing on shore watching the boat under full sail move swiftly through the water.

  “Leifur went?” Pabbi asked.

  “I offered to go, but he could only take one of us,” Finn said, kicking at the sand.

  Gudrun sighed, shaking her head. “They missed Asi by only a few minutes. Bergthora said the hospital in Portage is his only chance.”

  Pabbi looked up at the churning sky. “What in God’s named happened?”

  “Hunting grouse,” she said. “The doctor removed most of the shot. He said if there is any chance of saving the arm, he needed to get to the hospital.”

  “Where is J.K.?”

  “He will be home later today,” she said, also squinting at the sky. “He’s spent the last few days in meetings with government.”

  Pabbi ran his hands through his hair.

  “Bjorn knows the lake, he’s been sailing it his whole life,” Gudrun said patting Pabbi’s arm. “God will watch over them.”

  We met Pabbi at the door.

  “What happened?” Mother asked.

  Pabbi took off his jacket and hung it on the hook. “Shot himself.” Then he told us everything Gudrun had told him.

  Freyja began crying uncontrollably. “Is he going to die?”

  “They have taken a terrible risk sailing in this weather,” Pabbi said.

  “Oh, Leifur,” Mother cried.

  “Is Stefan going to die?” Freyja asked again.

  “I don’t know,” Pabbi said raising his voice.

  A hush fell over us as Pabbi and Mother paced.

  “Stefan can’t die,” Freyja cried.

  Signy became instantly enraged. “Is he all you think about?” she said. “What about Leifur? What if he drowns? He’s your brother.”

  “Enough,” Mother said through clenched teeth. “No more talk like that from either of you. Freyja, go upstairs. Signy, in the front room.”

  Freyja opened her mouth to protest, but Mother slapped her hand down on the table. Freyja sucked in her tears, turned, and ran. Signy spun on her heel, storming out the front door. The wind slammed it behind her.

  I took little Solrun upstairs where Freyja was lying face-down on the bed.

  “It is not fair,” she
cried as I pulled her into my arms.

  Solrun sat on the bed wide-eyed, sucking her thumb.

  “I know,” I said.

  “If it was Olafur who went . . .”

  “Shhhh,” I whispered, understanding exactly how she felt. I stroked Freyja’s hair as she wailed, silently reciting the Lord’s Prayer. Two hours passed and when both were asleep, I slid silently off the bed to tiptoe downstairs.

  Mother was at the window watching Pabbi who stood on the road staring defiantly at the lake. His hair was pushed back from his face, shirt sleeves flapping like flags in the wind. Signy stood beside him.

  “Where is Amma?” I whispered.

  “In the front room,” she said as she went to the door. Lifting Pabbi and Signy’s coats from the hook, she went out to stand with them in the wind and rain.

  “Amma?” I said.

  She was sitting on Pabbi’s chair with her eyes closed, hands resting easily on her lap. Her expression was serene, but her eyes twitched as if experiencing a dream.

  There was so much I wanted to ask.

  They hadn’t meant for anyone to see. After the ball tournament, Bjorn and Steina snuck off together behind the hall. It had been eviscerating to watch as he pressed her up against the wall, gently brushed back her hair then cradled the nape of her neck, pressed his lips against hers. I’d turned away, the pain so excruciating that I vowed to stop loving him.

  In the months between then and now, I’d played out many scenarios in my head. I imagined them getting married. Making love. I saw her standing by his grave crying. I observed each drama like a bystander, forcing anger to overtake the sadness. If I could not be happy, why should they? Just that morning I’d been able to imagine Bjorn dead and feel nothing at all.

  But to do such a thing was a sin. Wouldn’t it serve me right if my hateful imaginings came true? Leifur and Stefan were with him.

  It was the first time since moving here that Amma had allowed herself to slip away to that magical place she went to find answers. I knew about her ability, but had never witnessed a trance before. She was always quick to predict an outcome, so we mostly ignored her, especially since she wasn’t always correct. This time it felt different.

  I sat on the chair opposite her to wait, and it was a long time before she spoke.

  “Your parents worry for no reason,” she said, eyes still closed. “Leifur will be back tomorrow afternoon.”

  “But how do you know?”

  Amma slowly opened her eyes. “It is like dreaming while awake. I ask for an answer, relax my mind, and trust whatever image comes.”

  I waited for her to say more.

  “Your brother will have a long life,” she said, as if sensing my apprehension, let her eyes close again. “I see his face as an old man. But I cannot see Stefan.”

  “And Bjorn?” I asked.

  She slowly opened her eyes. “Be patient, my little namesake. Your chance will come.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Who dares, wins.

  —The Saga of Hrafnkels Freysgoða

  None of us except Amma slept much those two nights. Freyja muttered beside me and each time Pabbi or Mother went outside to check the weather, to stare off toward the lake. Signy stirred in the other room. It made sense to her to sleep in Leifur’s bed as a way to will him home. He would have cringed at the thought of it.

  Amma did not flinch one bit when Leifur did not appear the next afternoon as predicted; in fact, she behaved as if nothing was wrong at all. The morning after that she was up early, whistling her way to the barn to do his chores.

  By the second day, Pabbi couldn’t stand the waiting so he rode to the mill to see if Magnus had heard any news. He returned optimistic, saying that no one had seen or heard from Asi either. Hopefully that meant they were all at the hospital in Portage la Prairie.

  Hours later there was a commotion outside. I ran to the window in time to see Leifur jump down off Bjorn’s wagon seat. Mother hugged him. Pabbi was so relieved that he couldn’t manage a word. He shook Bjorn’s hand. All Pabbi’s emotions were tied up in that handshake and it took most of Bjorn’s strength to keep his arm from being wrenched out of place.

  I see them now, in the boat just south of Ghost Island. Everyone is soaked to the skin. Bjorn is working the sails as the boat chops through the waves. The hired man gripping the tiller has shrunk to the size of a child and is sobbing.

  “I said hold her tight to the wind,” Bjorn hollered over his shoulder at him. “I thought you said you’d sailed before.”

  “Let me off on the island,” the man pleaded.

  Bjorn shook his head. “We have to keep going.”

  “He is going to die anyway.”

  “No, he’s not,” Bjorn said through clenched teeth. “I won’t allow it.”

  “You are a fool who will drown us all,” the man cried.

  Bjorn wasn’t listening. Stefan was lying at the bottom of the boat, face to the sky. Leifur was baling in the bow.

  “You steer,” Bjorn told him.

  Leifur quickly crawled past Stefan. The hired man willingly traded places but was too rattled to do anything but curl into a ball. He cried out every time the bow crashed down.

  “Please God I don’t want to die.”

  “Shut up or I will throw you overboard,” Bjorn said.

  Bergthora inched to the bow, picked up the bucket and started baling.

  “Stefan, wake up,” Leifur said, eyes on the horizon, one foot pressing hard against the side of the boat. “We are almost there.”

  Then Bjorn started singing into the wind:

  Fifteen years, too young to die

  The saint he fell within the last battle cry

  Bergthora and Leifur joined in:

  But the time has come for you not yet

  Escape from the battle of Stiklestad . . .

  Stefan began silently mouthing the words to the song they all knew well.

  “Your father is going to be mighty pleased when we bring you home,” Bjorn hollered. “Now Asi owes me for saving your life.”

  “I want at least two cows for risking mine,” Leifur said.

  “Plus their best team,” Bjorn added.

  Stefan grimaced as he squinted up at them, then he fell unconscious.

  I ran out the door and met them coming toward the house.

  “You saved Stefan?” Pabbi asked.

  Leifur looked at Bjorn. “We did.”

  Pabbi’s pride erupted as a wide grin. He blinked back tears. “Heroes,” he said, reaching out to grab Leifur’s shoulder.

  “Hello Asta,” Bjorn said.

  Every speck of anger I’d felt toward him fell away at the sight of him smiling at me.

  “Well?” Signy asked. “Tell us what happened.”

  Freyja was over the moon with happiness.

  “Give them a moment to sit,” Mother said as we flooded the kitchen. “They will tell us when they are ready.”

  Signy helped Amma fill the table with all Leifur’s best-loved foods prepared earlier that day. By a strange coincidence, Bjorn took my usual spot at the table. Realizing this, he shifted over so that I could wedge in beside him.

  Pabbi said Grace, finishing off by thanking God for bringing them safely home. Mother wiped away a tear and Amma broke the awkward silence that followed.

  “Where is Stefan now?” she asked.

  As we began passing around food, they relayed the story in tandem, Bjorn telling most of it, Leifur filling in the blanks.

  “The surgeon says he will recover,” Bjorn said. “He said the doctor from The Narrows saved Stefan’s life by digging out the lead so it wouldn’t poison his blood.”

  Leifur explained that they’d caught up to Asi at the Kinosota dock. They moved Stefan onto the Lady Ellen then sped to Westbourne, but arrived fif
teen minutes too late. The train to Portage la Prairie had already left and the next one wouldn’t come by until morning.

  “Asi talked the station manager into letting us take the handcar,” Leifur said. “A telegraph was sent ahead to let them know we were coming.”

  Two fishermen that Asi knew happened to be at the station and they volunteered to come along, spelling off Leifur and Bjorn. It took them nearly three hours.

  “Asi pumped the whole way,” Bjorn said, folding a piece of bread in half then taking a bite. “By the time we got there, an ambulance car was waiting.”

  “What happened to the hired man?” Pabbi asked.

  Bjorn laughed. “Ran off.” He forked a piece of meat into his mouth.

  Word of their heroics spread quickly. They spent the first night at the hospital then in the morning a buggy took them from the hospital to a private home where they were fed and stayed the night, enjoying spirits with their host, an Icelander who owned a business in town.

  “Stefan’s arm?” Pabbi asked.

  Leifur ran the heel of his hand down his left shoulder joint to show where it had been amputated.

  We saw him a month later when we went to visit. There he was, sitting in a chair, smiling that crooked grin of his, using his right hand to eat as if nothing in his life was amiss. His mother had removed the left sleeve on his shirt and sewed the hole shut at the shoulder as if all shirts were made that way. It was shocking that first time. We could barely stop staring at his lopsidedness, but it was obvious that he hated all the fuss.

  I see now that the only person he accepted sympathy from was Freyja. She hung back when we were at the door saying our good-byes. When no one was looking, she gently kissed him on the forehead.

  Stefan became the subject of much discussion. How would he manage on the farm? Leifur tried working with his right arm tied behind his back to see what it was like.

  We were outside the house and Pabbi was teaching Signy and me how to seam nets. Signy took to it immediately, leaning over the cord strung between two poles, fastening the mesh to it. She chatted cheerfully as she used a thick needle to slip the twine through six mesh, tied it, then slipped it through six more.