Be Still the Water

by Karen Emilson

“There was a complaint?” Mother asked.

  Asi nodded.

  “From who?”

  Asi shrugged. “Didn’t say.”

  Mother looked at Pabbi who looked at Amma who placed her hands firmly on her hips.

  “Pjetur wants to see the letter,” Asi said.

  The Inspector handed it to Pabbi who examined it carefully.

  “This is Bensi’s handwriting,” he said. “Tell him our neighbor sent it, a man who wants this land for himself.”

  The Inspector listened, then shook his head. “I do not care about your petty squabbles. Your neighbor had every right to complain if you have not followed the rules.”

  “Tell him that Bensi has more land than us and only one house, he should go there to see for himself. Tell him to accept if Bensi offers a roast beef dinner. It will be very tasty.”

  Amma interrupted. “Pjetur, stop being foolish. He stole that calf last year. It will be long eaten by now.”

  Asi raised his eyebrows.

  “This neighbor,” Asi said, handing the inspector the letter, “has made trouble for this family since they arrived. He owns two quarters himself and has only one house.”

  The Inspector sipped his coffee.

  “When they came here,” Asi said, taking it upon himself, “a very wise man told them to build here, on this ridge. This land is registered to Pjetur, but since he and his mother are farming together they built only one house. They plan to build one for her soon.”

  Asi took a few steps, pointing northeast. “Now they know how high the water comes…”

  Mr. Phillips followed Asi, shielding his eyes from the sun.

  “They plan to build in that oak bluff,” Asi said.

  The inspector spoke.

  “He wants to know why you haven’t built it yet,” Asi said.

  “No time,” Amma said, shooting Pabbi an ‘I told you this would happen’ look. I am not sure who Pabbi feared more, the land inspector or Amma.

  Mr. Phillips dug into his case for another sheet. He read rapidly. Asi translated.

  “Under the Dominion Lands Act, it clearly states that every tract of 160 acres must have 40 acres cultivated and improved within three years. You have not fulfilled that obligation on this quarter. He does not believe that you intend to build, since you look quite comfortable here. He says he has been sent out to revoke the title and issue it to someone more worthy.” Then Asi added, “Whatever you say next, make it good.”

  “Ásmundur Frimann,” Amma said. “I will handle this now.”

  “The old woman wants to talk to you.”

  This shocked the Inspector. He had no clue that Amma had dealt with men like him before.

  She began by taking the coffee cup out of Pabbi’s hand and throwing it to the ground. She lowered her chin, raised up her hand and began wagging her finger at Pabbi and Mother.

  “Our country’s God, our God’s country, our life is a feeble and quivering reed, we perish, deprived of thy spirit and light, to redeem and uphold in our need,” she preached.

  We all—including Asi—reacted with such surprise to her gibberish, the Inspector believed, as she’d intended, that she was scolding Pabbi for getting the family into such a mess. She shook her head in frustration and such a sorrowful look came across her face that, if you didn’t know her well, you would think she was about to start crying.

  “Come,” she said, grabbing the Inspector by the jacket sleeve, pulling him across the yard. She paused briefly for a moment to glare at us (for effect), then with Asi and the Inspector double stepping to keep up, she crossed the road into the east meadow.

  For years afterwards we begged Amma to tell us what she’d told him but she never did. And Asi kept quiet about it, too. When I asked her once, she just smiled and said: “It is best to keep me on your good side.”

  It thrills me to see my Amma again, to watch it all unfold, to cross the yard with the three of them.

  “That daughter-in-law of mine is conspiring to get rid of me,” Amma says, “so I must keep my plans secret.”

  Asi quickly translates, adding that the Inspector must have seen cases like this before, where an old woman is tricked into paying the family’s way then is cast aside.

  Mr. Phillips thinks for a moment.

  “The lumber is ready and waiting at the Siglunes mill,” she says. “Ask Magnus Magnusson if you don’t believe me, he will show you the receipt.”

  He listens.

  “If you take this land away from me, I will be forced to live with them for the rest of my life. I can hardly stand that woman. And all those children? The noise? Terrible.”

  “But how do you intend to improve the land?” the Inspector asks. “That still must be done.”

  Amma’s eyebrows shoot up. “I am not as old as you think. I can still do a man’s work. Not long ago I filled in as back-catcher with the Siglunes ball team.”

  The Inspector looks skeptical.

  Asi shrugs. “I have seen her play ball.”

  “I have another trick up my sleeve but you must promise to keep my secret. The older boy and I have an agreement. I will give him half my sheep in exchange for his help. Ella thinks that everything I own will belong to her when I die, but the land and the sheep will go to the boy.”

  “So he will help you develop the land? How will you pay for these improvements?”

  Amma waits for Asi to finish translating.

  “Tell him I have a sack of money that no one knows about,” she says.

  Asi’s eyes widen.

  “If we lose this land,” she tells him, “we will be forced to leave here.”

  “She says she will build this year,” Asi says. “All you need to do is report that the house is started. They will finish improving the land this year.”

  “You are asking me to file a false report?”

  Amma and Asi wait, trying to read the Inspector’s thoughts. When he starts shaking his head, saying that it is a highly irregular thing to do, Amma uses those powerful eyes of hers to stare at him until he’s forced to look away. Then she turns to Asi. “Listen carefully and repeat word for word what I am about to tell you.” When she is finished, Amma calmly closes her eyes. Asi takes a noticeable step away from her—again for effect.

  “Are you sure you want me to say that?”

  “What do we have to lose?”

  Turning to face the inspector, Asi raises his hands in surrender. “This is something that I do not want on my head.”

  “What in God’s name are you talking about?” the Inspector asks.

  “Well . . . ” Asi hesitates, taking a deep breath. “She tells me that if you take the land away from her, she will bring harm to herself, but before doing so will put a curse on you and this land, lasting one hundred years. She told me not to tell you, but I feel you should know.”

  “That is ridiculous. I do not believe in curses.”

  A wicked grin turns Asi’s lips. It is shocking to see him like this, so serious it’s almost as if Amma has put a spell on him.

  “You don’t have to,” he calmly says, “because we do. No one will lease this land. They will fear the sheep will die from grazing the grass, and the children will become sick from drinking the cow’s milk. There will be rain and fire. This land will either sit unoccupied or misfortune will come to all who lease it for a century. Word will spread. You will be known as ‘Mr. Phillips the man who caused Ástfriður Guðbjornsdóttir to take her own life.’ You will be blamed for every misfortune in the district.”

  “Nonsense,” he says.

  “Trust me. I have seen it. They will turn their backs on you from here all the way to New Iceland. We are determined people. If the curse sticks to you, in all likelihood you will lose your job. Terrible things happen to people who ignore a curse.”

  There we were, all anxio
usly waiting under the tree, watching Asi and Mr. Phillips hurry down the road, then disappear into the bush trail leading to the lake, as Amma strode toward us, intensely pleased with herself.

  “Well?” Pabbi asked. “Did he take the land away?”

  “Of course not,” Amma said. “But I should warn you, Mr. Phillips believes Ella is a troll and that I am a witch.”

  Pabbi chuckled. “Half correct, then?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Sweet to the eye is that which is seen.

  —Völsunga Saga

  “We should go back now,” Solrun says, turning my wheelchair.

  I fell asleep again. I cannot remember the final two innings.

  “Did we win?” I ask.

  “Of course,” Lars says.

  He is watching me now with such a pained expression it is embarrassing. He stands quickly. Brothers are never sure what to do when emotions are involved. I want to tell him that I am fine, but suddenly am too exhausted to utter a word.

  Thora tries to lighten the mood by linking her arm in his, leading him to the sidewalk while Solrun and I follow. She says something that I can’t hear and he does a little dance, causing her to laugh.

  It takes the three of them to lift me onto the bed.

  Solrun offers to take everyone home for a bite to eat. Lars says he will stay behind to sit with me. I tell him to go, but his mind is set. Once they leave we share a few uncomfortable moments. Like I said, brothers are not good at this.

  “I will be fine,” I say, reaching for his hand, and I see for the first time how much like Mother’s it is—short and strong, nails almost square. My hands are more like Father’s, long and thin. I’ve seen Solrun’s so many times, but do you think I can picture them now? I will have to look again.

  “Solrun tells me you are experiencing dreams,” he says.

  “Not dreams,” I say. “Travel. Like the Ghost of Christmas Past. You know, Dickens.”

  He hasn’t pooh-poohed me yet, so I continue.

  “That place between heaven and earth,” I say, feeling incredibly weak. He sees I am exhausted, but is curious; he leans in closer so I don’t have to strain.

  “Do you know what caused the fire?” he asks.

  I have to say that despite our age difference, he and I have always understood each other, but I am uncertain which fire he means since there were two. “No, but I will soon, and about Freyja, too.”

  He opens his mouth to say something but thinks twice. I wait, hoping he will continue but he doesn’t.

  “Do you believe me?”

  He smiles in that affable way I remember from our youth.

  “I have always believed in you,” he says. “Even when others didn’t.”

  * * *

  It was Amma who said to Pabbi that it would be prudent to allow Signy and Olafur to marry soon, otherwise, if Olafur decided to change his mind, it would leave Signy in a bit of a predicament.

  It took Pabbi and Mother an hour or so to puzzle it together. Nothing was said, at least not to us. They simply gathered everyone together to announce that Pabbi had reconsidered. In other words, as Olafur had predicted the day he met Signy, Pabbi didn’t have much choice.

  “At least he is Icelandic,” was all Pabbi said.

  Plans were already underway to build a huge house on the Thorsteinsson homestead where all the sons would live with their families, but in the meantime Signy and Olafur moved into the original log home that was there when his father bought the land. It later became the shed where Olafur hung his nets over the summer months.

  It was obvious by the way Oli Thorsteinsson looked at us with unwavering respect, especially when Pabbi spoke, that he was proud that one of his boys had married into our family, that now we were a part of their clan.

  Seeing they’d built the largest farm in the district, you’d think those Thorsteinsson boys had enough to do, but all four of them turned up, along with Oli, when the lumber for Amma’s house arrived. They set aside three days to get it done and by golly that’s how long it took. Pabbi and Leifur looked almost insulted that Amma hadn’t needed their help.

  When Oli finished hanging the door, Olafur joked that the house wasn’t much bigger than the double-seated outhouse they’d built at their farm the year before. Amma was quick to reply.

  “I need one of those too,” she said. “One hole will do. When can you get started?”

  Oli laughed, saying it served Olafur right. His eyes danced at everything Amma said and he enjoyed her wit so much, he started coming by for regular visits. His wife had died a few years before so he was in need of female companionship.

  “Nine children we had,” he said of his late wife. “All I did was look at her sideways and the next thing I knew she was in a family way.”

  He and Amma spent all those summer visits outside, sitting under a tree if it was hot, in the sun if it was cool. Every time Magnus came for a visit, however, she always invited him in, then closed the door.

  Eventually Oli put two-and-two together, realizing that Amma, despite his many hints, had no desire to marry him. This didn’t offend him in the least, but he came around less often.

  He used to say that Amma “helped him through a rough patch,” that it was she who gave him the courage to find what became the second love of his life—a widow from The Narrows who was thrilled to move into the big house.

  “Have you looked at her sideways yet?” Amma asked, the first time she saw them together at a dance.

  He winked. “Still working up the courage.”

  “Well you aren’t getting any younger.”

  “That’s what she keeps telling me.”

  They both laughed. They always danced together at least twice at every community function and for a while, his second wife didn’t know what to make of their friendship. She must have figured it out, though, seeing Amma’s face light up like a schoolgirl when she was with Magnus, because soon after that she and Amma started a friendship that would last the rest of their lives.

  Once Amma’s house was built, Setta began splitting her time among three places. From dusk until dawn she was like a black island among a sea of sheep, returning home to sleep in the shade until early afternoon, and then plodding over to Amma’s where she was allowed indoors to continue her nap.

  “What a lazy dog you are,” Amma would say.

  Setta would stare up at her, ears drooping submissively, tail hammering against the floor, waiting for a scrap of meat. Which of course she always got.

  I visited there often.

  “Where did you get that new stove?” I asked one afternoon in early August. It stood in the middle of the house, facing into the kitchen, the back of it along the front room wall.

  “So nosy,” she said. “No wonder I moved into my own house. Can’t a woman do anything without a thousand questions?”

  “What am I supposed to do, pretend I don’t see it?”

  Amma smirked. She preferred banter to regular conversation and I was getting the hang of it.

  “If you must know, Bergthora gave it to me.”

  “How did you get it in here?”

  “Magnus and the twins.”

  “It looks new.”

  “Too small for her kitchen. It was moved out to the barn years ago. Didn’t you see it?”

  “No,” I said. “But mostly I played with the pups.”

  “Well there you have it. Often we only see what we are looking for.”

  The sun shone in nicely through the kitchen window. Her table pushed up underneath it reminded me of Siggi and Runa’s cottage. Amma always knew when something was bothering me. She poured me a cup of coffee then asked what had me so preoccupied. She sat down across from me, placing a sugar lump between her teeth, just like Pabbi did.

  “Finn came for a visit last night. We spent the evening pla
ying chess.”

  “And?” she asked, taking a sip.

  “It was fine,” I said. “Has Magnus said anything about Bjorn?”

  “Some. He seems to like working in the store. He lives in the back. Sifton is a task master, but Magnus warned him of that before he left. Fishing is good.”

  “And Steina?”

  “Magnus expects they will marry.”

  “I thought as much,” I said, the words barely squeaking out.

  I was long past the point of feeling bitter toward him for leaving without saying good-bye. I wished, though, that he’d been at Signy’s wedding to see how Finn kept asking me to dance. It was obvious to everyone that Finn was smitten with me.

  Amma fetched the pot from the stove to add a bit more to our cups.

  “Life has a way of working out the way God intended,” she said. “Look at your Pabbi. He moved thousands of miles across the ocean only to end up living next to his worst enemy.”

  I shook my head. “Why would God arrange such a thing?”

  “Your father is a better man now because of it,” she said. “We cannot run away from our demons, Asta. We heal by facing them head on. You must remember that.”

  In the months since his talk with J.K., Pabbi did seem happier. With his secret no longer hiding like Gryla waiting to pounce, he was more relaxed, and while he never said, I think his shame had dissolved.

  It did not change how I felt about Bensi, though.

  “The nerve of him, bringing his family to Signy’s wedding like that.”

  “It certainly was a surprise.”

  “Why didn’t Pabbi send him away?”

  Amma sighed. “Because that would make him worse than Bensi. Someone has to take the first step if they are ever going to get along. How do we know that was not Bensi’s way of trying to make amends?”

  Amma was clearly in a conciliatory mood while I was not. It was time I let go of Bjorn once and for all, but it was such a difficult thing to do. She saw my angst and softened, her large hand reaching across the table to gently cover mine.

  “Your heart is broken and it is impossible to understand right now,” she said. “Someday you will look back on your life and the answer will be there.”