Be Still the Water

by Karen Emilson

  In the kitchen Stefan slipped the bag off his shoulder. He seemed surprised, almost embarrassed, to see me. One would think our common love for Freyja would have united us, but it didn’t. I had a fleeting thought that Stefan may not have loved Freyja as much as we believed.

  When he turned to leave I told him what Bjorn had said. He froze on the spot, not daring to look up from the floor.

  “Do you think she ran away?” I asked.

  He told me again about their argument, his refusal to go to Winnipeg and Freyja’s humiliation. She’d run off crying when he’d said he no longer wanted to be her beau.

  “This is all my fault, I never should have pushed her away,” he said. “But if she is still . . . alive . . . then why hasn’t she contacted anyone?”

  I could see something inside him was broken. None of it, I told him, made any sense.

  “At night do you dream?” I asked.

  “Always.”

  The kitchen fell silent.

  “The dreams are all similar,” he whispered. “She is trying to tell me something important. She wants to come home but cannot get here.”

  “Then she is still alive?” I said.

  “I’m not sure. My sister is always with her and that doesn’t give me much hope.”

  September arrived, my second favorite month of the year. Outside, the oak leaves had faded to orange and brown—last to bud in the spring, first to fall in autumn. The post office smelled of stale paper and ink while outside the sharp tang of wood smoke was everywhere, so clear it bit the inside of your nose. You could feel winter coming as the days grew short. The sky was pale blue, interrupted by the good-byes of the geese as they skimmed overhead. The midday sun still had some heat to it, but as soon as it dropped behind the trees the warmth fell out of the air.

  I was busy sorting mail one morning when a voice caused me to look up. Petra was standing in the doorway looking sad as ever. She apologized for interrupting.

  “We are leaving today,” she said.

  This came as no surprise since they’d been living in a tent since the fire. Rumors had been circulating for weeks.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I lied, relief washing over me. It would be nice to live without the shadow of Bensi’s loathing hanging over us. She studied me for a few moments.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “Papa wants to return to North Dakota,” she said. “He does not agree with Canada’s decision to support Britain. He thinks the Americans have their heads screwed on straight, at least when it comes to the war.”

  I chuckled to myself. On that point he and Pabbi agreed.

  “Do we have any mail?” she asked.

  I pulled a letter from their box, wrapping it into the fold of Heimskringla. “Something to read along the way.”

  She sighed as she took it. “Papa is paying his bill. He did not want anyone to say he left behind a debt,” she said, catching herself. “But I mean no offence.”

  Pabbi’s secret was long forgotten by then. Petra seemed relieved that my expression did not change, but then she scrunched her eyes. “My papa believes your father lit the fire.”

  Her honesty caught me off guard. “He is wrong,” I said.

  “I know,” she added quickly. “He can be—”

  “Difficult?”

  She sighed.

  “Well my brother is convinced your brother or father is responsible for Freyja’s disappearance,” I said. “And I believe this too.”

  “You’re all wrong,” she said as she looked around the kitchen to be sure no one was listening. Her mood shifted and she leaned over the counter, lowering her voice.

  “There is something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” she said. “It is about Freyja.”

  My heart skipped, then rose up into my throat, and my first impulse was to lunge forward, grab her by the shoulders and shake her, but I held back and waited.

  “I overheard Papa telling Pall that he saw Freyja on the steamer,” she said.

  “He saw Freyja leave?”

  Petra nodded.

  “Why didn’t he say something that night?”

  “He was afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  Petra hesitated. “That Mother would find out he was on the steamer, too.”

  My mind was reeling by then. “Are you sure?”

  Petra nodded. “I saw him. He snuck away with a woman from across the lake,” she said. Her words came out fast as they do when a person makes a confession. “He was gone for hours . . . but couldn’t tell anyone.”

  I was so shocked I could barely think.

  “Was Freyja alone?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  Petra stared off, losing herself, then her eyes became soft, full of sadness. “Freyja was my only friend. I really wish I knew what happened to her.”

  It all began knitting together; Petra’s silence that night, Bensi’s pleas, Olafur’s gut feeling.

  “I have to go,” she said.

  “One more thing,” I asked. “What happened to your step-sisters?”

  She laughed under her breath. “They hated him because he wasn’t their father. One day they ran off. They write to Mother. A letter came last week.”

  She backed away then hurried through the kitchen, pausing as she grasped the door knob. She looked back at me, wanting to say something else.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “You don’t know, do you?”

  I could not even guess what she might say next.

  “My papa was two years old when his mother left,” she said. “Your Amma married his father, Soli, and raised him until she kicked Soli out. Papa never forgave her, not until the stroke.”

  I was flabbergasted.

  “Our fathers are half brothers?”

  She nodded, expression softening.

  “We are cousins,” she said. “When you find Freyja, tell her I say hello.”

  That was the last time I ever saw Petra Solmundsson.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Better to fight and fall than live without hope.

  —Völsunga Saga

  Confidently, I took Thora’s hand, leading her through the throng, pretending to be brave. Instinct told me to follow the jostling people away from the trains rattling the tracks, far from the sound of steam whistles and porters yelling over the noise on the platform.

  By then I was exhausted, having played over and over again the tears and good-byes. It was the first time either of us had ridden a train so we were excited. We felt like sophisticates. But the farther it snaked south, the quieter we became. Thora and I stared wordlessly out the window that last hour, thinking about home.

  A little more than a week had passed since Petra’s revelation that Pabbi and Bensi were half-brothers. That day it had taken me a long while to reign in my thoughts enough to finish sorting the mail. One of the last letters I’d pulled from the bag was from the Winnipeg General Hospital addressed to me.

  I’d watched for Bjorn through the post office window then called him to the little room when he came in for dinner. Petra’s words came tumbling out of me in an excited, harsh whisper. He’d asked me to slow down, to explain it all again.

  “How can you be sure she isn’t lying?” he whispered back.

  We could hear Magnus banging around in the kitchen and Bergthora croaking from her room for him to stop—that she was coming.

  After I told him about Bensi’s woman from across the lake, he pieced it all together the same way I had. I waited. Then I showed my acceptance letter. I knew in my heart what I needed to do.

  “You have to go find her,” he said. “I will come with you.”

  It was knee-jerk and noble, but we both knew it was impossible for him to get away. Instead, we hatched a plan over dinner.

&nbs
p; That evening at home, after Thora left, I wheeled Amma into the front room and looked deep into her eyes.

  “Did Freyja get on the steamer?” I whispered.

  I was certain her good eye widened, grew brighter.

  “I am going to find her,” I said, bringing my finger to my lips.

  Amma clutched my arm, digging her fingernails deep. I think she may have even said “yes.”

  Initially I told no one except Bjorn that my plan would include a search for Freyja. When I sat my parents down to tell them I’d been accepted and had decided to take my nurse training after all, both looked disheartened.

  “I have it all arranged,” I said. “Magnus has hired a private nurse for Bergthora and has offered for Amma to go live there. “She will receive better care than we can give.”

  We all looked at Amma, who rocked back and forth, a signal that she agreed.

  According to the letter, in exchange for on-the-job training, I’d receive room and board. My only expense would be books, the required uniform and sundry items.

  “It is not the expense that concerns us,” Pabbi said.

  Mother looked as though she might cry. The image of Freyja’s surprised smiling face on the day I’d find her helped steady my resolve. I told them I’d made up my mind.

  On the day before I left, I was upstairs packing my freshly laundered clothes in the same duffel Amma had carried from Iceland, when I turned to see Mother standing in the doorway.

  “Please stay,” she said.

  We’d moved Amma to Magnus’s house the prior morning. Solrun and Lars were at school. Pabbi and Leifur were doing chores. Everything was quiet and I felt the loneliness floating through the house.

  “I am going to find Freyja,” I said.

  Mother brought a hand to her mouth; her head tilted ever so slightly. She listened in rapt silence, nods barely perceptible, as I told her about the conversation with Petra.

  “Bjorn and Amma are the only ones who know my plan,” I said.

  She didn’t reply right away as she weighed the possibility.

  “It makes sense,” she finally said, looking around the room, a renewed brightness springing to her eyes. She sighed, heavy with relief, bent forward; then she slapped her knees and laughed a little bit.

  “Petra told me something I find hard to believe,” I said.

  Mother became alert, waiting for me to say more. When I didn’t she sighed. “Your Pabbi didn’t want you children to know.”

  “Why not?”

  “As a youngster he idolized Bensi,” she explained. “Bensi was four years older. Pabbi missed him terribly after Soli left. They didn’t see each other after that, until they were grown.”

  She went on to say that Pabbi had trusted Bensi until he’d been deceived by him in the lumber deal. Pabbi was devastated and it took years for him to get over it. He was so humiliated that he declared Bensi no longer his brother.

  “Pabbi believed when we moved here that he’d never see him again,” she said. “They hadn’t spoken in years.”

  Not wanting to raise everyone’s hopes, we decided it best not to tell anyone else my plan to find Freyja. Knowing I had her blessing and that she’d find the words to soothe Pabbi, it was easier to look him in the eye when it came time to say good-bye.

  “You will make a fine nurse,” he said, lifting the duffel from the wagon, carrying it to the platform. “Take care, elskan.”

  Mother stood in silence and I knew her sentiments were the same, but also that her hopes hung on me for a different reason.

  Thora and I had boarded the train. I pressed my forehead against the window, looking back to see Mother’s palms together in prayer. Pabbi waved, his expression the same as that morning I’d ridden away with Bergthora to Siglunes.

  Now here we were, following closely behind a stranger wearing a long overcoat, along a plank walkway away from the station onto the street. It was nearly dark and snow fell frivolously, dusting the hard-packed ground.

  “Father said we need to hire someone to take us,” Thora said nervously.

  Bjorn, too, had offered plenty of advice. He’d told me about the many ways we could travel the city; warned me about strangers, to beware of pickpockets and thieves. Look confident, he’d said.

  I patted my breast pocket. The money I’d need to carry me through the year was still there. A small democrat and horse was parked on the street. I threw up my hand to catch the attention of the driver who sat hunched, waiting, with his collar up, newspaper on his lap.

  “How much to the General Hospital Nursing residence?” I asked.

  “Nurses, aye?” he said with a heavy accent. He motioned over his shoulder for us to climb in.

  I waited for him to name a price, asked him to repeat it, then nervously counted out the coins jangling in my mitten.

  “Should be a Scot by the way you’re handlin’ those coins,” he chuckled, dropping them in his hip pocket. “But I can tell ya ain’t.”

  As the carriage traversed the mud-packed streets, Thora and I broke our rule to speak only English while in Winnipeg. We couldn’t find the words fast enough to describe everything in this foreign place. Motorized cars sped by and trollies scuttled down the street like giant centipedes. Buildings loomed overhead, each one so tall it was impossible to imagine what sort of businesses might be housed there. Had you told me that, by the time my training was done, I’d know all of those corners by both sight and name, I would never have believed it.

  “Goolies?” the driver asked, glancing over his shoulder.

  Neither of us answered. He looked back raising his eyebrows.

  “Not surprised, aye.” He chuckled again as he turned onto McDermot Avenue. “Ya can smell each other from a mile away.”

  Thora and I were stunned. I’d double wrapped the harðfiskur before putting it in my bag.

  Seeing my embarrassment—and Thora’s fear—he laughed. “Nay, ladies, I meant to say that where yar goin’, ‘tis where all yar kin live. ‘Tis like that here, ya know. The frogs ‘cross the river, the chinks over there,” he said pointing. “My kin, we lives on the other side of the tracks, with the Scots. Ya think there ain’t no difference between the Irish and the Scots but there is.”

  It wasn’t until the hospital came into view that either of us relaxed. It is a shame we were so unhinged. I remember little else of that first ride, as pleasant or terrifying as it may have been.

  “´Tis Emily Street,” he said as he halted the horse. “Here’s a little tip. If ever ya need help, just say yar a nurse. Everybody loves the nurses. Blokes will double over backwards to help ya, ‘specially now with the war.”

  Three young women stood on the sidewalk shivering in the cold, sharing a cigarette. They snickered as we climbed out of the democrat. We stood for a moment unsure where to go.

  “The Superintendent’s office is inside to the right,” one of the girls said, taking pity on us. Then a car carrying two young men pulled up. The girl holding the cigarette flicked it to the ground then stomped on it. They hurried past us, giggling, climbed in then sped away.

  The moment we stepped inside, Thora pulled on my jacket sleeve.

  “Look at this place,” she whispered. “It’s beautiful.”

  We took in the ornate wood trim, glass-paned interior doors, brocade carpet, stuffed chairs, and side tables. A piano sat in the corner back-dropped by a wall of windows.

  A door opened and a woman came out. She smiled, but only for a moment, then her eyes ran the full length of us, settling back on our faces. She introduced herself as the Superintendent of Nursing, Miss Mabel Gray.

  “Come in,” she said, turning back into the office.

  She asked our names then thumbed through a stack of folders on her desk. She opened one and I recognized Thora’s handwriting on the application form. Pabbi’s letter of recommendation was
peeking out from underneath.

  “Thora Krist-jans-son?”

  Thora timidly raised her hand.

  Then eyeing the other folder. “And Ast—?”

  “Ástfriður,” I said. “In English they say ‘Asta.’”

  “Ow-sta?”

  I nodded.

  “Why did neither of you send a letter from your clergy?”

  This surprised both of us. Being of sound character was something we took for granted.

  “Our Pastor arrived only recently,” I said. “It would have been misleading to send a recommendation from someone who does not know us well.”

  She tilted her head and raised one eyebrow ever so slightly.

  “The results of your provincial exams show outstanding scores,” she said. “Especially you, Ow-sta.”

  “We have exceptional teachers at Siglunes.”

  This answer seemed to please her. “Your English is better than I had expected. Foreign girls often grow so homesick they quit. Any chance of that happening with either of you?”

  “No, ma’am,” I said.

  She turned to Thora, who looked like a surprised deer. She quickly shook her head.

  “Good,” Miss Gray said. “I expect from you both the same level of achievement here as you accomplished at home, understand?”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “Come with me.”

  We followed her out of the office, up the oak staircase.

  “No young men allowed. No smoking or horseplay. Temperance and discipline is a nurse’s life and anyone who breaks those rules will be immediately dismissed.”

  Our room was on the third floor at the end of a hallway lined with doors. Some were propped open with a wedge, letting out the quiet conversations of the girls inside.

  “There are no locks,” she said, turning the knob then pushing it open. “Thievery is not tolerated.”

  She flipped a switch and the room lit up.

  The room was long and narrow, with white plastered walls. It contained a desk, two chairs, closet space and two steel-framed beds side by side under a small window.