Thora reached out to grab my hand. We both looked at Finn who flinched ever so slightly. To everyone else it appeared he was listening, but I knew his mind was elsewhere.
J.K. congratulated Thora first, saying that she had graduated at the top of our class.
“I am proud to say that she was awarded a prize at graduation, having achieved top marks in the area of infectious disease.”
Thora giggled, did a little curtsey, then covered her face as we all clapped.
“I am told that Asta also earned a prize,” J.K. said. “And I cannot say it surprises me. In fact, I predicted it long ago when she sat at my table doing sums.” Like every great orator, J.K. waited to let the tension build. When everyone’s eyes were on me, he said: “Asta was awarded the Royal Household Prize for the Highest Overall Proficiency. The Superintendent told me that her third year grades were the highest the school has ever seen.”
“What about the first year?” Asi called out.
“Missing Finn too much,” someone else said, and they all laughed.
I beamed at Finn who looked as though he hadn’t heard one word.
As J.K. began again, I slipped by all the neighbors so that I might stand by Finn. He noticed me coming and snapped back to the present. I took his hand. It felt cold; it hung there with no life at all.
“What’s wrong?” I whispered, giving his hand a little shake.
He forced a smile.
“ . . . took awhile for me to get it out of him,” J.K. said to the crowd. “Finally he relented since I had him trapped on the train.”
More laughter.
Finn’s muscles tensed. His eyes went to the ground.
“The first medal he was awarded is for heroism at Ypres, after the gas attacks. Countless men were saved because of him.”
A murmur floated through the crowd. Jon Larson’s brother stood on the other side of Finn. He patted him on the back.
“The second one because last year, during fighting at the Somme, he took out more German machine gunners than any other sharpshooter.”
All eyes turned to Finn. Many shook their heads in amazement. J.K. waited until Finn looked up.
“And the third,” he said proudly, “was for bravery while in the battle at Vimy in Nord-Pas-de-Calais where he saved Colonel Lipsett’s life. In doing so, he was shot in the thigh.”
I thought my heart might burst with pride and could not resist the temptation to kiss him on the cheek. The yard erupted in cheers. If ever there was a moment that Finn Kristjansson was vindicated, it was right then.
“Thank you, everyone,” he said, then turned away from us all and hobbled toward the lake.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
The one you trust most can disappoint you most.
—Fljótsdæla Saga
Carrying two plates of food, I slipped away to where he sat on a makeshift bench—a fallen tree across two rocks in the sand. I heard Mother in the distance calling Lars back as he tried to follow. A faint haze hung over the lake, but we could still see Gull Reef. The mosquitoes were biting as always.
Finn was leaning forward, elbow on knee, watching tiny insects burrowing in the sand. He batted away a swarm of sandflies as I sat down. It was such a relief to get away from everyone, to sit in silence.
“I want to show you something,” he said, reaching into his coat pocket. He pulled out a bent and tattered eagle’s feather, stared at it solemnly. “Father shouldn’t have bragged like that.” He carefully placed the feather on the log between us.
“He is very proud of you,” I said, handing him a plate. “So am I.”
I was concerned, though, about the wheeze, a whistling deep in his lungs that came between words with every breath.
Finn scoffed. “I didn’t want to embarrass him in front of everyone, but it wasn’t God who brought me home.”
“Of course it was,” I said.
He poked a piece of meat then scraped it off the fork with his teeth. He chewed violently, swallowing hard.
“Do you like my dress?” I said, lowering my eyes. “I bought it especially for today.”
He glanced at me and softened a bit. “You always look beautiful. It doesn’t matter what you wear.”
“Why thank you,” I said, giggling as I struck a pose. “So tell me, are you glad to be home?”
“I thought I’d be thrilled,” he said. “It is all we ever thought about. Now that I’m here, I can hardly believe how empty I feel.”
His words were so shocking I didn’t know what to say. He looked at me, shaking his head in disbelief that I couldn’t read his thoughts.
“God brought me home,” he said, “and left my only friends there?” He took another forkful of food and looked out over the water as he chewed, swallowing hard. “It makes no sense. Why would God allow Stanley and George to die but spare me?”
“Maybe they didn’t pray.” I realized the words sounded mean once said out loud.
There was no joy in his laughter. “They prayed alright. We all did.” He took the bun from his plate and bit into it. “Prayer had nothing to do with it. God has nothing to do with it. The ruthless and the lucky, those are the ones who survive.”
“Which are you?” I asked, taken aback.
“Both,” he said, tapping the medals with his fork. “That is why I have these.”
I grasped for something to say but nothing came. We finished eating in silence, then he lit a cigarette.
“How is your leg?” I asked.
“It will heal.”
“And your lungs?”
“Cannot run worth a goddamn, but I fared better than most.”
“Tell me about the hospital,” I said. “Was it well equipped?”
“The nurses were nice. One brought me books so it wasn’t a total waste of time.”
That was all he would say about the hospital, even when I asked about supplies, treatment methods, if the nurses spoke English.
“What was the main cause of death?” I asked.
“Being blown to bits,” he said, puffing smoke in the air, chuckling and coughing a bit.
I felt my cheeks grow warm. “That is not what I meant. Sepsis or inadequate medication, a shortage of doctors—” But my words lost their steam.
“You don’t understand,” he said under his breath. “You weren’t there. Neither was Leifur.”
“I know. That is why I am asking.”
“The design of war,” he began, “is to create a common enemy so that we believe they are evil. It is all nonsense. The Germans are no worse than us.”
“Of course they are.”
Finn shook his head. “Not the boys in the trenches. Not the men I killed. But do you want to know the worst of it?” He took a deep breath and shook his head at the memory. “I knew,” he said, digging the toe of his boot into the sand. “I knew but I did it anyway.”
Then he told me a story.
After the battle at Ypres, his unit finally began to advance and a group of them surprised three Germans separated from their unit. The Germans immediately laid down their guns to raise their hands in surrender. One of the Canadian soldiers fired anyway.
“One German, damn him, he looked me in the eye. He was younger than me, for Chris’ sakes. A nice lad, I could tell. Scared to die. As he lay there pleading for his life, the soldier beside me shot him again. In the face.”
Finn hung his head at the memory, then he whispered: “That moment I knew. I saw war for what it is.”
He startled me when he raised his hands and shouted up at the sky, “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.” And then he laughed, throaty and sarcastic.
I gasped. Finn thought me naive. We all were I suppose, those of us who did not go off to war. It took months before I fully understood that what had kept him alive on the battlefield was now destroyi
ng him at home.
“I knew in the eyes of God killing was wrong, but still, after seeing that act of brutality, I made the conscious choice to kill again. That is why I say it was not God who brought me home.”
His words sent a chill through me. I reached out to take his hand but he pulled away.
“And to think how harshly I’d judged Bjorn,” he said, stabbing the cigarette butt into the sand. “How much better I thought I was than him because he’d killed a man. At least Bjorn felt regret. All I feel is a haunting.”
I suggested we go back to join the festivities.
He refused. His voice grew soft when he asked, “What do you think happens to us after we die?” He lit another cigarette while waiting for my answer, drawing hard on it, then let the smoke out of his lungs, watching the wind take it away.
“I wish I knew,” I said. That same question had been lurking in me since seeing Runa take her last breath.
“Everything can be proven with science,” he said, “except the existence of God, heaven, hell … the devil. We are expected to have faith, to believe.” He shook his head, disgusted. “What is all this, then?” He waved his arm out over the water.
I understood he meant more than the lake. He was talking about everyone, everything. The profound question of life’s purpose.
“I don’t know,” I said, stifling the urge to tell him about Freyja, fearing her death might somehow prove correct the theory he was formulating. That there was no purpose. That after we die we turn to dust and our souls do not reunite in heaven. The thought settled in my stomach like a stone.
“I think all God wants is for us to do our best,” I said.
He took another desperate pull on the cigarette.
“What exactly is that?” he asked, turning to face me. “To fulfill our solemn vows? We promised to defend our country, to not let each other down. But at what price?”
He had not an inkling how his words mocked me, that soldiers weren’t the only ones who made promises. I shook it off, telling him he should feel blessed to be alive; that we had so much to look forward to once the war ended. We could live in Winnipeg, build our house along the river as planned.
“Life will be normal again,” I said.
But he wasn’t listening. His thoughts had moved across the ocean to the battlefield; the memory of all he’d seen was trapped inside his head. A simpler man might have known how to release it. “Life will never be normal again, not for you and me,” he said. “I am not the man you fell in love with.”
His words exploded inside me, shattering my dreams like glass.
“You go back to the party,” he said. “I want to stay here. Alone.”
Dumbstruck, I stood up and started toward the house, tripping across the uneven ground. Anger caused me to stop, to turn around. “How long have you known?”
“Since the Somme,” he said.
“Last fall?”
He nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
In my rush to leave I’d knocked the feather to the ground. Finn stooped to pick it up and went to the water’s edge. He examined it carefully one last time then flicked his wrist, spinning it out onto the water. It bobbed in the peaceful waves and slowly moved towards Gull Reef as he said good-bye to me.
“I only want what is best for you, Asta,” he said. “And it isn’t me.”
The hardest part after that was facing everyone, forced to pretend that everything was fine, hiding my humiliation. I could not talk to the women, who would no doubt ask about wedding plans, so I went to stand by Pabbi and J.K. They were so absorbed they didn’t see me behind them.
“Been hunting that wolf the better part of five years,” J.K. said quietly, one eye on Pabbi the other on the wolf still hanging from the tree. “I didn’t see it once. Only its tracks. Finn slipped out last night and stalked it for miles, fired only one shot.”
Pabbi looked out to where Finn sat.
“I blame myself, Pjetur.”
“There is nothing you—”
J.K. shook his head. “He knew that none of us thought he had what it takes,” he said sadly. “Turns out he had more than we ever realized.”
I held my tears until the walk home, alone, while everyone stayed at the party. Laughter and music echoed into the cool evening air as I made my way along the bush trail. Night sounds and being amongst the trees no longer frightened me. Exhausted and still in a state of disbelief, I slipped out of the dress and hung it over a chair before putting on my nightgown and lighting the lamp.
Bjorn had told me he would wait and that sparked an inkling of hope. Pushing away the image of Finn’s enraged face and his words that kept rolling through my mind, I pulled the covers up and carefully opened Bjorn’s package. In it was the jewelry box and a letter.
May 16, 1917
Dear Ásta,
It is with a heavy heart I sit down to write to you.
You did not reply to my last letter. I feel like a fool now, professing my undying love for you. I prayed that you would change your mind about waiting for Finn, but alas it appears that you have not.
Father tells me that Finn is home now so this leaves me no choice but to give up on the chance that we may someday be together.
It has been nearly a year since I last saw you and our time apart has been lonely for me. Business at the store is excellent and I enjoy it immensely. I built a house as planned along the river, but it feels empty living here alone. I desperately want a wife and family and I have decided it is time to get on with my life.
I met a young woman named Katherine a few months ago. She is not Icelandic but I am pleased to say she is intelligent and kind nonetheless so I have asked her to marry me. I, too, need to follow my heart even if it takes me away from you.
I have no use for the locket as I cannot imagine ever giving it to anyone else. Please accept it as a symbol of our friendship.
My sincerest hope is that you and Finn have a life filled with love and peace. Letting go of the past is the only way you will find happiness. I know because that is what I have done.
I have concluded that this is God’s plan for us. Sometimes we are not meant to know why things happen as they do. All we can do is trust.
Good bye, Ásta. Best of luck.
Your friend, Björn
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Long is it remembered what youth has gained.
—The tale of Gunnlaug the Worm-tongue and Raven the Skald
I convinced myself that Finn would regret everything he’d said then come ask for forgiveness. I waited by the window for him to show up at the house with the chessboard and, as it always had been between us, all would be forgotten. But he didn’t come. Not that day or the next.
Thora and I discussed his decision when she came to see me. We sat in the front room, talking about nothing until I couldn’t stand it any longer.
“How is Finn?” I asked, still hoping he’d changed his mind.
“Quiet,” she said, unable to meet my gaze. “Mostly he reads. Father says we need to be patient, that he will come around.”
There was nothing more to say, really, and it was terribly disheartening that I couldn’t confide in my closest friend about the inner turmoil I’d kept secret for years.
“I still hope the two of you will marry,” she said, but the words sounded hollow. I think deep down we both knew.
“Pabbi?” I whispered.
A week had passed since the homecoming. It was late evening and Pabbi was sitting in the front room reading. The house was quiet except for Mother working in the kitchen.
“Yes, Asta?”
I studied my fingernails for a while then turned my hands over, seeing for the first time how similar mine were to his, to Amma’s.
“I have made a terrible mistake,” I said.
He closed the b
ook to wait.
I sat down on the sofa. “It is about Finn,” I said.
“I have noticed.”
“He no longer wants to marry me.”
He sighed. “I thought as much.”
There it was, out in the open. Seven years, wasted.
“You are not the only one concerned about him.” He lay the book on the side table. “But I don’t understand. How is this your mistake?”
“I made the wrong choice.”
He nodded, and while he probably knew, waited for me to explain.
“I saw a glimpse of it in his letters, that war had changed him, but I refused to believe it, thinking everything would be fine once he came home.”
“You cannot be faulted for that,” he said.
“After I saw Bjorn last summer I had to make a choice.”
Pabbi’s face softened. “I always thought you were in love with both of them.”
“But I’d made a promise to Finn and it would have been heartless to leave him when he was at war,” I said. “Why did he let me believe we still had a future?”
“Because the truth shamed him,” Pabbi said.
I thought back to that conversation in the garden with Amma. She had been standing with her fingers raised, unable to think of the fifth reason men don’t tell us what is on their minds.
Mother came in holding three cups. She handed one to each of us, then sat down beside me. She gently patted my knee.
Pabbi took a sip. “Now it is time to do what you should have in the first place,” he said. “You must follow your heart.”
“I can’t,” I sobbed. “Bjorn plans to marry someone else.”
Three weeks later, Thora returned to Winnipeg. It surprised everyone that she would go without me, evidence that the years away from Siglunes had changed not only Finn.
Mother and Pabbi were thrilled by my decision to stay. I was content for the time being to help Lars with his homework and exercise Solrun’s legs. I spent time with Signy and the boys. It is true with sisters that time away brings them closer together; it certainly did with us.
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