A mile from home it became clear that the fire was either at J.K.’s or Bensi’s. Petra and Pall held on for dear life as Bensi drove his horses like a wild man across the hayfield.
Somehow his sheep had managed to escape and were snaking along the creek in a long line, their walnut brains fixed on reaching the road. Pabbi slowed so Solrun and Lars could jump down to herd the sheep while we carried on. When we caught up to J.K. and Gudrun, tears of relief were streaming down her cheeks.
This was one of the few blessings God gave us that year.
The Thorsteinsson brothers all yelled wildly, the two oldest spurring their horses ahead. Olafur drove his team beside us, pointing and hollering, “We will start a burn.”
The neighbors crossed the bridge over the creek, then turned onto Magnus’s land. Likely the fire wouldn’t jump the creek but they would stand guard, just in case.
“I will get shovels,” J.K. said as he drove his team home.
The men jumped from the wagons while the women continued on, taking the children away from the smoke. Bensi drove his family as close as he dared. He jumped down but stood paralyzed on the lane. The fire burned furiously in the center of the bush, licking its way steadily away from the lake, toward the hayfield.
Mother turned our wagon and drove to Bensi’s family. They were watching helplessly as their home burned.
“Petra,” I hollered, coughing through the smoke. For a moment it looked like she might stay with her parents and brother, but then turned and ran to our wagon. My heart softened as I reached down and took her trembling hand, pulling her up.
Pabbi and Leifur had spent years clearing bush, turning up ground. At least two hundred feet of black dirt sat between our bush and the fire, and Pabbi’s new fence—the symbolic line in the sand that he had finally drawn— needed saving.
To keep the fire from spreading, Olafur and his brothers lit the brush bordering J.K.’s land, letting it burn in a six-foot swath, stomping it out as it crept along. They also set another fire ten feet wide on Bensi’s hay land, to keep the fire from building momentum as it burned to the north. J.K. brought shovels, buckets and grain sacks to pound out the flames.
Years later, when we recalled that awful, fateful day, Olafur always concluded that luck had been on our side. It was a cool, overcast day and soon after the controlled burn was out, the breeze shifted and came from the northwest. Billowing gray clouds materialized, darkening as they came toward us. It started to rain. Lightly at first, then torrentially, lasting an hour.
But before the rain, as the fire grew, preventing Bensi from getting close enough to salvage anything from his farm, he came raging across his hayfield at Pabbi who was pounding out sparks threatening his fence.
“How could you do this to me?” he screamed. “You of all people.”
Pabbi paused, his face black with soot and sweat. He was not a hard-hearted man, but on that day he looked satisfied. He lifted the shovel and pointed it at Bensi.
“You did this to yourself.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
One evil is mended by a worse one.
—Grettir’s Saga
Pabbi stayed up that night waiting for Leifur, once again worried about rough weather on the lake. I awoke to Setta’s bark and heard the lean-to door close. I went quietly downstairs to find Pabbi and Leifur sitting at the table.
“The barn and the house?” Leifur said.
Pabbi studied him carefully.
They each waited for the other to say something, but neither did.
When it came time for me to leave for the store the next morning, Pabbi handed me a piece of paper. It was another telegram to Kent. This time I opened it and read it out loud:
“My son-in-law changed my mind. No point sending the police. Thank you. Pjetur Guðmundsson.”
“But why, Pabbi?” I asked.
“Because,” he said. “Bensi has finally received his just desserts.”
At night, my thoughts wouldn’t leave me alone.
Even worse than lying awake, keeping the nightmares at bay, were times during the day that I momentarily forgot Freyja was missing. I’d almost call out to her, turn, but she was never there. I couldn’t laugh without feeling guilt, could barely smile. Finn saw all of this and, after a month had passed, said quietly that I needed to snap out of it. He wasn’t trying to be cruel, but his words felt like a knife to the heart.
Every day I walked to the store, unaware of what went on around me. I did not know how long the days were, what the weather had been yesterday or even what day it was. I walked ghost-like through the whole month of July.
“Hello,” I’d say to customers and they would reply, but our conversation ended there. Nothing mattered anymore. Bjorn would come in, stand for a while, but then leave when I didn’t look up from the ledger. Sometimes I’d stare out the window for hours on end.
Three days before Finn was to leave to begin his new job in Winnipeg, he picked me up at the store.
“Congratulations,” Bjorn said, shaking Finn’s hand. “Asta tells me your job is with a top firm in the city. Your father must be proud.”
Finn was in an incredibly good mood. “I am anxious to get started,” he said. “Have you decided what you are going to do?”
Puzzled, Bjorn looked at Finn then at me. He shrugged and waited for one of us to explain.
“When Asta leaves,” Finn said. “Once I am settled in the city we are going to get married.”
Bjorn blinked quickly but didn’t look away, though his cheeks began to flush. I could feel his hurt as he cleared his throat, pretending that he’d known, even though I hadn’t told him or anyone else about our engagement.
“I suppose I will have to find someone else,” he said.
Finn was sincere when he said: “It shouldn’t be too difficult finding someone to work in a store.”
Bjorn saw me flinch and we both narrowed our eyes.
“You are right,” he said. “But finding someone as competent as Asta . . . I hate to see her go.”
Without a word I followed Finn to the democrat. The longer I thought about what he’d said, the harder my blood boiled. We were halfway home and I couldn’t stand his cheerful chatter any longer.
“How could you say that?” I asked.
“What?” he asked, looking across the seat at me.
“To Bjorn,” I said. “Do you really think that my work is unimportant?”
“I didn’t say that,” he said.
“That is how it sounded,” I said. “I happen to find it very satisfying work, but you wouldn’t know because you’ve never asked me.”
Finn was incredulous. “I am not asking you? I have nothing to say? It is you who refuses to talk to me.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is. You are right, but I will not apologize for my belief that clerking is beneath you. Truth be told, you should be at the University, training to be a doctor.”
More silence.
“You didn’t tell him, did you?” he said, and when I didn’t reply, “I have always thought there was something between the two of you.”
“This has nothing to do with Bjorn,” I said.
“Then what is it?” he asked, pulling the horses to a stop. “Every time I try to discuss our future, you refuse. I am beginning to think we don’t have one.”
I covered my face with my hands.
“Asta, what is it?” he said softly, reaching across to rest his hand on my knee.
“I cannot bear the thought of telling Mama and Pabbi that I am leaving,” I said. “How can I go now?”
“They will manage.”
“They are devastated. Can’t you see that?”
He sighed. “Father says—”
“I don’t care what your father says,” I hissed. “I care about how mine feels. First Amma, th
en Solrun—Freyja—and now me?”
He withdrew his hand and began rubbing his face. “But I said I would pay for a nurse.”
“I appreciate that, I really do. But they need me right now.”
“More than I do?”
I couldn’t answer.
“It’s been four long years,” he said, slapping the reins. The horses jolted forward. “I have been patient but can’t wait much longer.”
I rolled the conversation over in my mind and imagined he was doing the same. Gudrun had invited my family for supper so I wasn’t surprised to see all was quiet at home as we rode by. Finn seemed lighter having voiced his thoughts, but I wasn’t sure if what he’d said was an ultimatum. Mind still churning, I followed him up onto the verandah. We could see through the front window everyone sitting in the front room. It struck me as odd. They were all huddled around J.K.’s crystal set.
“Shhh,” they chorused over their shoulders as we came in.
J.K. sat closest to it, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, ear attached to a wire headphone. I’ll never forget his expression as he turned and his eyes met Pabbi’s. The creases in his forehead were pronounced, his eyebrows furrowed. His hair stuck straight up the same as it did when he coached hardball.
Gudrun motioned for us to sit down.
“What is it?” Finn asked.
“Shhhh.” J.K. held up his finger for us to wait, then began translating what Sir Wilfred Laurier, leader of the Liberal party, was saying over the airwaves into his ear:
“It is our duty . . . to let Great Britain know . . . and to let the friends and foes . . . of Great Britain know . . . that there is in Canada but one mind . . . and one heart . . . and that all Canadians are behind the Mother Country.”
When J.K. removed the earpiece his hand ran from his forehead all the way back to his neck.
“My God,” Pabbi said. “We are at war.”
Finn left as planned two days later. I told him that I would follow soon, but we both knew I wasn’t ready to leave.
For the rest of my life, whenever I’ve thought of Finn I’ve remembered him that day, how he stood waving from the back of the democrat as his father took him down the road to the train. It was the wistful hopefulness in his expression that I’ll never forget; his youth and naiveté.
And in the moment that he and J.K. faded from sight, I was overcome by the all too familiar feeling that my heart would be broken all over again.
Three weeks later, I received a letter:
August 15, 1914
Dearest Ásta,
I am so excited I do not even know how to begin.
The job did not turn out as planned. The war announcement halted everything and plans to construct the new store for the Hudson’s Bay Company were put on hold, so I was terminated before I even began.
The Burroughs were generous enough to allow me stay with them. Stanley was in the same predicament as I. We were job searching and found ourselves in the middle of a rally. It was a most incredible thing to witness. People marching in the streets, cheering, and so many speeches. The 90th Winnipeg Rifles were in full uniform and hundreds of civilians (that is what they call anyone not in the military) joined in behind. Stanley and I followed the march that ended at City Hall. A recruitment officer offered us a fair wage. We decided we had nothing to lose so I am proud to say we are now members of the 90th Winnipeg Rifles.
Kent is thrilled. He said it is our duty to fight for our country. He has rejoined as well and will resume his duties as a Captain. Elizabeth sent a telegram to her brother asking he watch out for us. I hope that he does not find us desk jobs because that doesn’t sound very exciting.
So now I must ask you once again - will you wait for me?
Kent believes the war will be short. I expect to be back by springtime. Once the war is over, life will return to normal in Winnipeg. Everyone says so. I will contact the firm again or find a job elsewhere. By then, I hope you will be ready to move to Winnipeg and we can begin our lives together. If you would rather work in a store than be a nurse, tell me so. I will not think less of you; in fact, I now realize that being a merchant takes considerable skill. All I want is what is best for you.
I apologize for not being more understanding about Freyja. I honestly cannot imagine how you feel, only know that it is my love that clouds my thinking. Please forgive me and remember that no one will ever love you the way I do.
Forever in my heart, Finn
Oh what a foolish girl I was! So relieved that Finn’s love for me was still strong, I burst into joyous laughter. I read the letter out loud to everyone the moment I arrived home. When I looked up from the page, Mother and Pabbi’s jaws were slack.
“You,” Mother said, pointing a finger immediately at Leifur, “will not even consider it.”
Leifur opened his mouth, but before even one word escaped, Pabbi stood up. “Under no circumstances.”
“But—”
“Not another word,” Pabbi said. “My son will not go off to war and get himself killed.”
Mother’s voice started to shake. “How could Finn make such a foolish decision? He is such a bright, promising young man.”
It took a few moments for me to recover from the shock of their reaction.
Mother began pacing. “Poor Gudrun. What will J.K. think?”
“The same as I do,” Pabbi growled. “That this is Kent’s doing.”
Up until that point in our lives, Leifur and I had found little reason to disagree with our parents, but on this issue, I believe, he and I were of the same mind. Later that evening, after Lars and Solrun were asleep, I tiptoed to his room. He was sitting up in bed reading by lamplight.
“I wish now that I had kept it to myself,” I whispered.
Leifur shrugged. “They would have found out soon enough.”
“What do you think about Finn enlisting?”
Leifur flinched as he closed the book. I wanted desperately for him to say that he believed Finn would return home safely, but he seemed as apprehensive as Pabbi.
“Why does everyone believe he is incompetent?” I asked.
Leifur sighed. “Finn belongs behind a desk,” he said, adding it felt wrong that he should stay home while others went off to fight. There were other young men from the community who were going to enlist and Leifur wanted to go with them.
“Do you think Olafur will sign up?” he asked.
“He would never leave Signy.”
“Finn left you,” he said.
His words stung. “They are married and have children,” I said, but I knew deep inside that Signy was more to Olafur than just his wife, she was his whole life.
Believing Finn wouldn’t have enlisted had I promised to go to Winnipeg, I came to blame myself for everything that happened afterwards. But that night, while standing in Leifur’s bedroom I said something I’d never regret.
“You can’t go,” I said. “Pabbi needs you.”
As far removed as we were from the battlefields in Europe, the war wrapped itself around us, doing its best to weigh down every thought and conversation. It took great discipline for Pabbi to not go to J.K.’s daily to listen to the crystal set. Instead, he waited until Thora arrived every morning to care for Amma, then grilled her about what they’d heard the night before.
He waited impatiently for Lögberg to arrive and, even though the news was dated, the editor was thorough, providing tremendous insight into the war. This prompted Pabbi to write letters to the editor; and to renew Amma’s subscription to Heimskringla so that he could also read an opposing view.
Bjorn was behind the counter one morning when I pushed open the door, the bell quietly jingling behind me. He was fiddling with the cash register he’d bought second-hand the week before and had it over on its side with the back plate off.
“Can you sort th
e mail today?” he asked. “Bergthora is not well.”
“Of course,” I said. She could no longer keep up with the daily chores. They’d hired the Sveistrup girl to replace Freyja, but she only worked three days a week. Not a day went by that I wasn’t reminded Freyja was gone, even though nobody ever mentioned her name.
“All they talk about is the war,” I said. “It is like she never even existed.”
By then Bjorn had grown accustomed to my outbursts.
“I know, it is the same with Siggi and Arn.” He sighed, pressing the cash drawer button. It was sticking, no doubt the reason the previous owner had decided to sell it. Like Magnus, Bjorn believed that everything could be fixed.
“The way they were found, with Siggi tied to Arn’s back, that is all people remember about them,” he said, jimmying the workings with thin-nosed pliers. “At least you still have hope. Have you heard from Finn again?”
“You know I haven’t,” I said.
He shrugged. “I spoke to J.K. the other day. He is more worried than he lets on.”
I recalled the first time I saw him after receiving the letter, his pained expression and the forced optimism in his voice. He said he was confident Finn would return home safely, but his words after that were less so. Gudrun finally asked him to discuss something else, so we did for a while, but the conversation always wound back to where it started.
“Of course there is hope,” I said, glancing out the window. Stefan was in the yard with the mail bag slung over his shoulder. I reached for the door handle. “Finn is brave and resourceful.”
“Asta,” Bjorn said, looking up from the cash register. “I wasn’t talking about Finn. Freyja must have ran away, and once she realizes her mistake, she will come home.”
The sun shone in through the window brightening his face. He looked hopeful, eyes warm. Seeing him like that jarred my insides, tugging at that place in my heart where I’d tucked all those old feelings. I’d made my choice. But when it came to Freyja, Bjorn understood me in a way Finn never could.
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