Freyja and Stefan spent the whole day together and the next. Mother found out that Freyja wasn’t helping in the store and said that she should stay home to care for Amma. Freyja objected, saying she could not stomach the job.
I agreed. “That would be unfair to Amma,” I said.
Mother handed Freyja a stack of laundry to fold. “I do not want you there all the time,” she said.
“Why?” Freyja demanded, rolling Leifur’s shirt into a ball. “Because of Stefan?”
Exasperated, Mother grabbed the shirt from her grasp.
“We have discussed this many times,” she said, handing it back to her. “Now fold this properly.”
Freyja threw it on the floor. “No one ever listens to me.” Then she stormed upstairs and slammed the bedroom door.
With the mill in full swing and the lumber orders greater than ever, Bergthora needed help in the kitchen, so I suggested that she hire Freyja for the summer. Bergthora was looking thin and her eyes had lost their sparkle, but she seemed to perk up at this idea. I was the go-between who told Mother that Freyja would be kept busy and, while I did not say it, thought to myself that with Bergthora giving orders, there would be no further opportunity for Freyja and Stefan to hide out in the barn together.
The day Finn came home finally arrived. I see my family standing at Kristjansson’s door, Pabbi fidgeting with his collar, Mother nervously holding a Vínarterta made especially for Stanley’s mother. Pabbi had asked on the way if Mother was sure she didn’t mind taking an ox to the opera. He’d muttered it in Icelandic (we have a saying for every occasion).
“Not if he is wearing his best shirt,” she’d said. “Now remember, we must speak English.”
I am the last to go in. Elizabeth gets up to give Mother a hug. Kent shakes Pabbi’s hand vigorously, as he tries to assess the sort of man Pabbi is. I see the look of disappointment on Thora’s face when Stanley abruptly stops talking to her the moment he sets eyes on Freyja—the girl with the God-given gift of stopping a room without even realizing it.
All I saw was Finn, heard his ever so slight gasp when he noticed me. I hung back. He pushed past everyone to take me into his arms, squeezing the breath out of me. He led me by the hand over to the bookshelf where Stanley stood. Our introduction interrupted Stanley’s pleasure at seeing Freyja, and, although Finn did not notice, I saw Stanley’s annoyance and surprise when, like Amma, I extended my hand. His palm was clammy, hand limp. How strange it was that Stanley’s father, broad-shouldered and solid as a house, hadn’t taught his son the importance of a firm greeting.
He looked like his mother, doe-eyed and angular, long-legged as a fawn. It was easy to imagine Finn and Stanley in the University lecture hall together, both knowing the answers before the others; studying quietly in their dorm room at night. Neither was in residence by choice—Finn who lived so far from home, Stanley because his father said it was bloody-well-high-time he went out into the world.
What the two also had in common were their fathers. Politically the same, J.K. and Kent held similar religious beliefs, even though they disagreed on the ideology of war. Both had the same boisterous confidence and were gregarious men who enjoyed showing off their intimidating wit.
Finn gave Stanley a wolfish poke in the side. “See,” he said, glancing sideways at me.
Stanley could not resist Freyja and I sensed that he’d expected I’d look more like her. He barely acknowledged me.
“Where is Bjarni?” I asked.
“He went to Big Point to visit relatives,” Finn said.
I wondered out loud if Bjarni was a relation to Arni who’d brought diphtheria to the mill. But before Finn could answer, there was a commotion in the kitchen.
“Vínarterta,” J.K. announced, eyeing Mother’s cake on the table. “No offence, dear wife, but Ella does make the best Vínarterta.”
“None taken,” Gudrun quipped as she went to the counter to fetch a knife. “So long as you are not offended if I never make you one again.”
Laughter. The whole evening was filled with it.
“Veena—?” Elizabeth asked.
“Vínarterta,” Mother said. Everyone stopped to watch as she sliced it first length ways in a thin strip, then into inch wide pieces that she overlapped on a plate.
“I thought you might like to try it,” she said, looking pleased as she held it out. The cake had settled into perfection, the moist filling almost completely soaking through the cake layers.
“Like this,” J.K. said pinching a piece lengthwise then lifting it off the plate. He raised his eyebrows as he split it in two, eating the bottom half. He rolled his eyes and looked up to the ceiling as if thanking God, chewed, then ate the other half.
Elizabeth did the same, even licking her fingers as he’d done.
“Mmmmm,” she said, eyes widening as she began counting the cake layers with a well-manicured finger. “How many are there?”
“Seven,” Mother said, holding the plate out to Kent as the rest of us milled around.
“Veena—”
“terta.”
Because they were British, they could not manage our words no matter how many times we rolled them off our tongues. They could not hear the disciplined inflections, softened vowels, clipped consonants. It would be impolite to correct these fine people, so we all smiled, forgiving their harsh accents pounding through toothy grins with every word they said.
All of the hot issues were avoided and the few times J.K. began winding up to debate, Gudrun quietly interrupted. Mother and Pabbi stole the occasional glance across the table, waiting to discuss the contentious issues privately, which they did when we rode home at 2:00 a.m. Lars fell asleep on Mother’s lap, Solrun on mine.
“I don’t care that we have different opinions,” Mother said into the clear, morning air. “They were so generous to us that I will remain forever in their debt.”
We left early the morning of the picnic, travelling by wagon to The Narrows. The new road, which had taken the government three years to build, was an absolute blessing to us. The night before, the room had turned silent when Kent stated that building roads in the north was a waste of money. We hoped that once he saw for himself how it linked our communities, he would understand the need.
J.K. and Kent sat in the front of the democrat. Our wagon kept pace behind, and all of their children were with us. We overheard bits of their conversation and the occasional burst of laughter.
“They are still discussing whether or not to bring a rail line this way,” J.K. said, opening the discussion again. He projected his words over his shoulder into the back seat where Gudrun sat with Elizabeth.
“I hope they do,” Gudrun said quickly. “It will be far more cost efficient to bring goods out by rail than water.”
Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully. “That drive from the train station at . . . where was it—Loon-dee? It was exhausting. I am not looking forward to leaving in the morning.”
“Imagine if you could catch the train right here,” Gudrun said.
“Do you play hardball?” I asked Stanley in careful English.
He shook his head no. “You must be very skilled to earn a spot on a Winnipeg team.”
Finn laughed. “Not true. I have seen them play. Siglunes is as good as the University team, maybe better.”
“You have so few players to choose from out here. Statistics prove your team cannot be better.”
“Not so,” Leifur said. “How many on the University team are bigger than your father?”
“Only one.”
“Does he hit home runs?”
“He is their best player.”
Leifur and Finn grinned at one another. “We have four his size.”
Stanley was not convinced.
“Can their fastest runner beat Finn in a race?” Leifur asked.
Stanley looked at
him sideways. “No.”
We were enjoying this immensely. “Can their pitcher kill a squirrel with a stone?”
Now he looked outraged. “How should I know?”
“Well, we have the Larsons who were born with gloves on,” Leifur said, puffing out his chest, “and the Sveistrup brothers.”
“Now, boys,” Pabbi said over his shoulder. “Save the bragging until after you win.”
Knowing that Kent was watching the game seemed to drive J.K. to a higher level of competitiveness. Before the first pitch was thrown he rallied the team into a huddle, enthusiastically patted Bjorn on the back and shook Olafur’s arm. As they broke apart to run onto the field, we all cheered and clapped. Everyone looked particularly focused, especially Bjorn, who set an impressive tone by striking out the first three batters on the Kinosota team.
By the fifth inning it was apparent that we would win. Mother and Pabbi enjoyed watching Kent, who hollered, clapped loudly and was thoroughly engrossed in the game.
“I must admit I did not expect to see such a thrashing,” Kent said, as we sat down on the blankets to have dinner. Crouched on his knees, he bit into a sandwich.
“What a marvelous place, Elizabeth,” he said, scanning the water.
We followed his gaze across the channel to watch a steamship cut its engine and approach the dock.
The next hour was spent introducing the Burroughs to our neighbors, who made their way, family by family, over to where we were sitting. Mother and Gudrun always brought extra food for the young ballplayers who did not yet have wives.
Freyja was glowing. She took Stefan by the arm and led him to where Kent was sitting.
“Mr. Burroughs,” she said. “I would like to introduce my beau, Stefan.”
Kent quickly stood up to shake Stefan’s hand.
“You are quite the ball player,” he said, unable to avoid looking at his uniform sleeve sewn shut at the shoulder. Stefan was accustomed to the curiosity by then, the shock when strangers noticed his missing arm, the admiration that followed when they saw him accomplish what so few could do.
“This is the young man you told me about,” Kent said to Freyja, then turned to Stefan, a wide smile opening up his face. “Thinking of becoming a lawyer, I hear? Good for you.”
Stefan’s head jerked back ever so slightly. I saw it and others did too; as he mentally withdrew from the conversation. He was polite, even nodded a few times, but he was no longer listening.
“Winnipeg has a fine law school, second only to McGill, but you must speak French to enroll there and I take it you do not.”
“Pardon me?”
“French, do you speak French?”
“No sir,” Stefan said. “I am Icelandic.”
This seemed unimportant to Kent who waved it off with a flourish.
“It takes more than stellar marks to be accepted at either school. Experience is the key. I will be glad to offer assistance in that regard. I am proud to say that we have the finest firm in the city. When you arrive in Winnipeg come by my office. Freyja knows where it is. Of course you are welcome to stay with us until you get settled.”
Stefan slowly turned to look at Freyja, but he did not say a word. Her cheeks were flushed by then and those of us who saw it, who knew Stefan, felt embarrassed for both of them. Stefan made an excuse that he had to be elsewhere and left her standing in her own awkwardness. Thankfully, Kent was oblivious.
Pabbi quickly diverted the attention away from her by telling the rest of the team that Finn had graduated top of the class and that Stanley’s grades were second highest. This pleased the Burroughs to no end; they did not notice Freyja looking over her shoulder then running after Stefan.
“Where is Freyja?” Mother asked as we followed the players back to the ball diamond. Two hours had passed and we hadn’t seen either her or Stefan. He’d missed the tug-o-war and now the team was set to play two more games, back-to-back. They were nowhere to be seen.
“She is with Petra,” Signy said.
A few minutes later Stefan re-appeared, jogging across the field toward us.
Halfway through the first game, Amma started to nod off. The sun was particularly hot that day so I wheeled her back to the water’s edge so she could nap in the shade. I gave her a drink of water, slipped a pillow behind her head, telling her I would be back soon.
It was a heart-stopping final game against Big Point and everyone at the picnic was watching. Our team came from behind to win by one run and we took home our first tournament victory. The editor of Lögberg snapped a team photo with his big, square camera. When everyone began making their way to the hall for the dance, Finn came running over to me.
“Come, I have something to tell you,” he said, dragging me by the hand away from everyone. I slowed as we reached the lake bank. Amma was jerking her arms, trying to make herself understood to Bergthora, who was leaning in, listening. She lifted a jar of water, but Amma slapped it away.
“I should go to her,” I said, but Finn told me to stop worrying.
Bergthora will take care of her,” he said, eyes the brightest I’d ever seen. “This is important.”
He took my hand to lead me down to the water and we followed the shoreline, around a small bend, until we were out of sight.
“What is it?” I asked, but he would not tell me until we were sitting.
“Mother gave me this yesterday,” he grinned, taking a folded envelope from his pocket. “I did not open it until after the game.”
He waited, eyes dancing. I begged him to tell me what it said.
“I have been hired by a firm in Winnipeg. They want me to start at the beginning of August,” he said.
Thrilled, I threw myself into his arms.
“There is more,” he said hopefully, pushing the hair off my forehead. He hesitated, settling into the moment as he calmly formulated his words. “I will earn more salary in four months than Father makes in a whole year,” he said. “I will be able to afford to hire a private nurse for your Amma so you can come to Winnipeg. That is if you will agree.”
A private nurse. Someone qualified to care for Amma, who also would understand how to rehabilitate Solrun’s leg. We’d never even considered such an expensive idea. But now Finn was offering it. I wondered how Pabbi would react.
“I still don’t know if I’ve been accepted into nursing school,” I said.
“You will be,” he said softly. “And if not, it doesn’t matter. You can still come with me.”
“Well, it matters to me. What would I do?”
He shook his head, smiling. “What I am asking is, will you marry me?”
I was so surprised I could barely breathe.
I closed my eyes, feeling the heaviness of the years spent longing for Bjorn, the weight of what he’d done to Einar because of me. Then Bensi’s words came: Tragedy follows them everywhere and a young man would be wise to stay away.
When I opened my eyes they settled on Finn. He was so bright and hopeful. Only good luck had touched him since I’d come into his life. This was my chance to prove that Bensi was wrong.
“Yes,” I said. “I will be your wife.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Often it is that anger is blind to the truth.
—Fóstbroeðra Saga
As the placid waves lapped the shoreline, Finn and I sat on the rock planning our future. He assured me that I would not long for home because there was so much to do in Winnipeg. We would go to plays, picture shows and dances. Did I even realize how vibrant an Icelandic community existed there? We could join the church on Victor Street, eat dinner at Runey’s café. Buy as many books as we wanted.
“They can come visit and we will take the train home for Christmas,” he said. “I will buy a motor car. Father will love that.”
For an hour we sat there, until the sun dipped low, turning
the sky over the water a brilliant shade of pink.
“Now I must ask your Father,” he said, standing up. “What do you think he will say?”
I told him not to worry, that Pabbi would be very pleased.
Finn was on edge nevertheless and, as we started back to the picnic area, I looked up to see Signy hurrying toward us, hands holding her sweater tight over her swollen belly. She looked anxious and my first thought was of Amma.
“Have you seen Freyja?” she asked. She looked out over the water. I followed her gaze along the shoreline, then up at the bush that spread out behind us for countless miles. Bewildered, she shook her head, then her eyes met mine.
“She is gone.”
Pabbi stood with his hands on his hips, looking desperately alone despite the throng of neighbors who gathered around him. Mother was staring silently, wringing her hands. They startled a bit, looking hopeful as they saw Finn and me following Signy. When they realized Freyja was not with us, Mother started crying.
Gudrun had her arms wrapped around Solrun and Lars. Leifur and Bjorn stood off to the side, each with their legs wide and arms crossed. Bensi stood directly behind Pabbi.
The Burroughs appeared stunned.
“Olafur,” Bjorn called, motioning for him.
Olafur strode across the grass and Bjorn turned his back to everyone as they bent their heads together.
Amma was distraught, pounding her armrest.
“Who was the last to see her?” J.K. asked.
Stefan and Petra both raised their hands.
“When?”
Stefan was in a daze and spoke so low J.K. had to ask him to repeat himself.
“During the tug-o-war,” Stefan said, pointing toward the edge of the bush by the road. “We were over there.”
Then J.K. turned to Petra. “When did you see her last?”
Petra always looked pale, but that evening, under the fading light, she was ghostlike.
“We talked for, I don’t know, possibly an hour,” she whispered.
“After she left Stefan?”
“They had a fight. She was crying.”
Be Still the Water Page 34