Freyja’s lips pressed tight as her eyes rolled to the ceiling.
Mother was exasperated by the time she turned to me. Already shame had attached itself to the desire I felt when Finn and I were close, and it was beginning to seem that my life would be much simpler with no love at all. Red-faced, I hurried out the door.
It was uncomfortable sitting next to Finn in the wagon after sharing such an awkward moment with Mother, and put a damper on our farewell dinner.
Amma was in a particularly buoyant mood. She was not bothered at all that I’d stuck to my original plan. She’d given her opinion and that was all that mattered. She sang the whole way to Signy’s house, forcing us to join in, and by the time we turned off the road down Thorsteinsson’s lane, everyone felt better. I am sure Signy heard us long before we came into view.
Olafur met us outside. He looked proud that we’d come and shook Pabbi’s hand. His eyes lit up when Amma stuck out her fist. His big hand met hers and together they hammered their fists down, counting out loud to three. This was a game they always played, so we left them out in the sunshine to howl accusations of cheating at each other, even though everyone knew there was no way to cheat when playing rock-paper-scissors.
We filled up Signy’s little house and it became fuller still when Magnus, Bergthora, Oli and his wife arrived.
“Freda, you are quite the woman,” Oli said, slapping his knee.
Amma grinned slyly, pretending she had no idea what he was talking about. We all knew of course, since it was the highlight of the picnic when she won the old Amma race.
“I thought for sure that skinny one from Big Point was going to win,” Oli winked, “until you tripped her.”
“Nonsense,” Amma said. “She was nowhere near as fast as me. Only a fool races wearing a dress.”
“Apparently,” Mother said, rolling her eyes.
Everyone began chuckling at the memory, how Amma had lined up with the other women then held up her hand for them to wait until she took off her skirt.
“I always ran like that in Reykjavík,” she said, “and never lost.”
“No wonder,” Oli said. “Barreling toward the finish line in your bloomers. Asi and J.K. were laughing so hard they couldn’t even judge who won.”
“I did, fair and square!”
Oli’s eyes danced as we all began jeering, teasing Amma that maybe she hadn’t won after all. Five year-old Lars began poking at her, jumping back, exactly as Leifur used to do.
“Come on Amma,” he said, “I bet you can’t catch me.”
Amma watched from the corner of her eye then grabbed his arm, pulling him into a headlock. “Who is the fastest Amma in the world?”
“Langamma,” Lars said.
“Langamma is dead,” Amma growled, knuckling his head until he howled.
Oli nearly doubled over with glee. Amma sized him up with squinty eyes.
“Careful or you’ll be next,” Magnus warned.
As we gathered around the table, Bergthora asked when I planned to take my training.
“Next fall.”
“I do take some credit for that,” Bergthora said. “Asta is a born nurse, I knew it the moment I saw her.”
Everyone heard the strain in her voice, the cough that punctuated her sentences, and the kitchen grew quiet. I suspect that they were thinking the same as me, how ironic it was that the nurse in the room was the one who needed care. Mother spooned food onto little Petur’s plate, and the rest of us began passing the dishes around. It was the first time I’d sat beside Magnus in a long while.
“Come now,” he said, breaking the silence. “How could you possibly have known?”
“You saw how she mothered poor Runa,” Bergthora said, then turned to Mother. “She made me explain how every instrument in my bag was used. She was absolutely heroic during the epidemic.”
There was a hint of admiration in Signy’s eyes when she looked across the table.
“I predict she will finish top of her class,” Bergthora said, embarrassing me something terrible.
“Now, now, dear sister,” Magnus said, winking. “You don’t want the girl to become full of herself.”
When we finished our meal, Signy brought two pies to the table. Mother cut them and Signy slid a piece onto each of our plates. Magnus turned his attention to Freyja.
“And what about you,” he asked. “Would you like to become a nurse too?”
Signy snorted. Mother turned her head quickly but resisted scolding Signy since we were in her house. Neither Magnus nor Freyja seemed to notice.
“I might like to study theatre,” Freyja said, “Or paint. Maybe take photographs like the editor of Lögberg.”
“Very nice,” Magnus said, eyes twinkling. “Be sure to consider Heimskringla. It is a far superior paper.”
Amma, sitting beside Pabbi, slapped his leg. “Ha, I told you.”
“Whichever,” Freyja said, raising her hands. “It makes no difference to me.”
“Spoken like a true Liberal.” Magnus laughed. “Já, I should know, I raised one myself.”
“By accident?” Pabbi teased.
“Of course.”
“Bjorn is a Liberal?” Finn asked. Up until that point he’d sat silently beside me.
“He is,” Magnus said. “I take it there are plenty of young men at the University who enjoy discussing politics?”
Finn beamed, straightening himself in his chair. He leaned across me. “I am one of them. I am a Conservative like you and my father.”
Magnus opened his mouth to say something, but Freyja interrupted.
“But I’m unsure how to start,” Freyja said, pulling the conversation back to herself. “I am going to live with Asta in Winnipeg. She will take me to the University to find out.”
Pabbi’s eyebrows narrowed. I hadn’t meant to keep this a secret from him, in fact I was so wrapped up with my own concerns, that I’d barely listened as Freyja prattled on about her future.
“A very good idea,” Pabbi said. “We came here so that our daughters might have a better life.” And while he didn’t say it, I knew he was thinking if that meant leaving a beau behind, all the better.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
All things happen in threes.
—Grettir’s Saga
Finn rode the steamship to Westbourne, caught the train to Portage la Prairie then on to Winnipeg. He’d tried to persuade Stefan into going with him, to spend a few weeks in the city, but Stefan had refused.
“Brave in so many ways,” was the last thing Finn said about Stefan before kissing me good-bye. I stood on the dock with Thora until the ship was out of sight. She walked home with me and we talked about what an adventure it would be to live in Winnipeg.
“Where is Setta?” Lars asked no one in particular.
“She never goes far,” Mother said. She was preoccupied as usual, this time canning wild plums. The kitchen was filled with boiling pots, empty jars, and full ones cooling on the table. Pabbi and Leifur were busy ploughing five acres of ground that bordered Bensi’s, land they’d spent the last two years clearing.
“Maybe she is with the sheep,” Solrun said.
Thora came with me to check the east meadow, but we saw no sign of Setta.
“She is probably with Amma.” I led the way through a shortcut in the bush towards her house. The plums were ripe in the bluff so I expected we’d find her there. As we neared, I put a hand to my ear. Usually if Amma was close by we heard her banging and stomping, hollering out for someone to come help her, or at the very least humming or whistling. Mother always said she never feared berry picking with Amma because the bears were warier of her than she was of them.
“She must be inside,” I said, veering in the direction of her little house.
“Amma,” I called out, pulling open the door, but there was no
answer.
Setta was sitting in front of the stove.
“There you are,” I said. “Where is Amma?”
Setta’s ears drooped and she whined a bit. She stood up.
“Maybe she is picking somewhere else,” Thora said, nearly walking into me as I’d stopped suddenly. Amma was lying next to her table, plums scattered across the floor. She was on her side with one arm up over her head, the pail still attached to the cord around her neck.
“Go get Mama,” I said.
Dropping to my knees I reached out to touch her. Her body jerked ever so slightly and she made a faint gurgling sound. Carefully, I pulled her arm down to her side then rolled her onto her back, lifting the pail cord from her neck, tossing it aside. Her eyes were half open and she was staring straight ahead. Her mouth hung, drooping to one side. She tried to speak, but her tongue was thick and slack.
“Amma, can you hear me?” I whispered, biting back the tears. “Thora went for Mother. It is going to be alright.”
Amma flinched and jerked. All that came out were half-words. I used my shirt sleeve to wipe her spittle, the same way she’d wiped Leifur’s face after he threw up on the ship during the crossing.
Taking her stiff hand, I closed my eyes, heart pounding in my ears.
“Our Father who is in heaven . . .” I was halfway through the prayer a third time when the house door swung open with a bang.
I scrambled backwards as Mother rushed in and pushed past me, kneeling down.
“Ástfriður, mínn,” she said, carefully stroking Amma’s forehead. “What has happened to you?”
Amma struggled to speak, her left hand wavering up, clasping Mother’s arm, the other limp at her side. Her eyes were wider now and she struggled to speak.
“Shhhh, it is going to be fine, sweet woman,” Mother said as she gently pushed her hair back. “Calm your thoughts. Pjetur is coming and the doctor, too. We will find out what is wrong and make you better.”
I began pacing, wiping back the tears. It seemed to take forever until Pabbi arrived. I was standing in the kitchen with Setta when the door flew open again. When our eyes met, the look on Pabbi’s face cut deep into my heart. Pabbi. The one expected to make everything right. He stood there for a few moments with his arms hanging helplessly.
“Pjetur, finally,” Mother said. “I was afraid we might drop her.”
Without a word, Pabbi crouched down, slipped his arms under Amma’s shoulders and knees, and lifted her like a baby, carrying her to the bed.
“Mama?” he whispered after laying her down. “Can you hear me? Leifur went for the doctor. He will be back soon.”
The thought occurred to me that it might be easier for her to breathe if she was lying on her side, the same as when I found her. Pabbi agreed, slowly turning her, supporting her head with a pillow.
My knees were so weak by then I had to sit. Setta slumped down beside my chair, groaning as her chin rested on the floor.
Freyja appeared in the doorway with Solrun on one side, Lars on the other.
“How is Amma?” she asked, lip quivering.
I motioned for them to come stand by me, taking their hands solemnly in mine.
“She is sick so you must be quiet.”
“But Amma doesn’t want us to be quiet,” Solrun said.
“She likes it when we make noise.” Lars grinned.
Freyja turned away. She started to sob. “What happened?”
I shook my head. “I am not sure.”
Freyja went cautiously to the bedroom door.
“Come on, Setta,” I said.
I couldn’t stand being in the house any longer so I took Solrun and Lars outside. Sitting on Amma’s stump chair, I picked up a stick to poke at her long-dead fire, mentally calculating how long the doctor would take. Leifur would follow the lakeshore on the way there because it was shorter, but they would return by road, past Signy’s house and stop to tell her.
Four hours. If the doctor was home.
That afternoon I kept the younger ones from going back inside. We talked, told stories, and played little games. All the while, my mind kept drifting back to my last conversation with Amma.
The relief I felt when J.K. and Gudrun rode into Amma’s yard was indescribable. Though medically speaking they provided no help, their big hearts had a calming affect on us all.
Sure enough, it was right around suppertime that Leifur came galloping home. He’d pushed Hector hard so both were sweating, eyes wild with uncertainty. The Doctor’s black democrat was not far behind.
“Did I make it in time?” Leifur asked, pulling the horse to a stop. “Is she alive?”
I told him she was.
He jumped down, walked in circles for a few moments, breathing deep as he ploughed his fingers through his hair. I took the reigns from him.
“I did not want to let Amma down,” he said, voice breaking.
“You never have,” I whispered.
The doctor arrived and Leifur followed him to the door. He hesitated for a moment on the stoop—took a deep breath—then went inside.
Twenty minutes later, the time it must have taken to find Olafur and hitch the team, I heard a rumble. Olafur turned up Amma’s narrow lane. Before he had the wagon fully stopped, Signy jumped off and came running toward me, cradling her belly with one arm.
“How is she?”
Olafur came marching up the trail with Petur in one arm, Oli in the other. His expression was stern, muscles tense and ready. If we needed anything done that required physical strength, by God, he was prepared to do it. Seeing me melt at the sight of him must have rattled his nerves because his bottom lip started quivering, those massive legs of his slowing when he realized there wasn’t anything he could do. Of us all, I felt most sorry for Olafur. He’d never looked so helpless before.
“I think I will stay out here for a while,” he said, sitting down on a stump away from us. I took little Oli from his arm and began pacing, glad for the distraction.
Solrun and Lars were pleased to have someone other than themselves to play with. Setta walked circles around them, her big mouth open, tongue hanging out. Petur picked up a stick and began hitting her on the head. Setta squinted as she turned away.
“Petur,” Olafur rasped, but the scolding trailed off with his voice.
A half hour later the door opened and Signy waved us in. We stood in a semi-circle listening to the Doctor speak. Though it was the first time he’d been summoned to our farm, Pabbi held the Doctor in high esteem for saving Stefan’s life.
I understand the diagnosis now. Amma had suffered an Apoplexy, resulting in aphasia and some paralysis. How much mobility she would regain, he couldn’t say. There was much to learn about the treatment of stroke victims; back then there was little that could be done—at least where we lived.
After the doctor left, Olafur sprang to life. He went to get the wagon, backing it close to the door. Amma seemed to understand as the men grabbed the edges of her feather mattress to carry her out. Everyone walked behind Olafur as he drove slowly home. We moved Amma back into her little room.
Word traveled throughout the community and it seemed that every day for weeks afterwards someone came to our door leaving a gift of food after a brief visit.
Magnus and Bergthora arrived two days after it happened. I stood in the doorway of Amma’s room as the two of them went in. She was propped up in bed wearing a clean dress. Mother had smoothed out a blanket, folded over the edge and tucked it neatly under her arms. It was encouraging that Amma recognized everyone, though the signs were slight. A blink or a sigh, the hint of a smile.
Bergthora hovered over Amma’s bed, kissed her on the forehead and held her hands. She spoke clearly and directly, waiting for a response before continuing. She behaved no differently to Amma than she ever had while Magnus simply stood at the foot of the bed.
“I will leave the two of you alone,” she said, patting Amma’s thigh.
Our eyes met at the door. Softly squeezing my shoulder, she forced cheerfulness into her voice. “Come along,” she said to me.
Magnus went to Amma’s side. I paused.
As he bent in close, Amma reached up with her working hand to grasp his arm. Her body was shaking ever so slightly, face contorted. She started to cry. His rough hand held her face, wiping the tears with his thumb. He kissed her, long and full on the lips, then whispered something, words that prompted her to tremble and sigh deeply.
“Asta,” Mother called out, “Bjorn is waiting outside for you.”
I found him patiently sitting in the democrat. His hair was tied back and he wore one of his better shirts. It was a shade of blue that matched his eyes.
As soon as he saw me he hopped out. “I didn’t want to intrude. How is she?”
“Very happy to see them.”
Instead of going inside we meandered down the road.
“We heard last night,” he said.
“Only a few days and it already feels like a month,” I said. “I try to be hopeful, but—”
He tried to reassure me that Amma was going to be fine.
I told him about an old man I’d forgotten about until that day. He’d lived not far from us in Iceland. All the children believed he was a skrímsli, a monster, because of his grotesque, drooping head and bony legs that turned at unnatural angles. One writhen arm stuck out like an oak branch. Whenever he’d sit outside we’d run by in fear. He’d call out, begging us to stop but we never did.
“Amma will hate this,” I said. There was a part of me that wished for her sake that she’d died.
We walked down the road. The only sound was the rustling of the wind in the trees, the brittle scatter of leaves. A flock of geese flew south overhead so low we heard the whir of their wings and looked up. Spread out in front of us was a remarkable autumn day.
“You didn’t come to the picnic,” he finally said.
Be Still the Water Page 30