by Edith Pattou
Soren had told me about a scholar in Trondheim who was eager for an apprentice or assistant. After hearing about me, the scholar suggested that we meet. I knew Soren was longing for Father to move the mapmaking business to Trondheim, and that he was trying to enlist me in his efforts. Though I was sorely tempted to meet the scholar, I felt as Father did. Because of Rose I did not want to leave the farm. So I put Soren off, saying I was not ready yet, and thanked him for his generous efforts on my behalf.
One day I was walking from Father’s workshop up to the house for the midday meal. Willem, Sonja, and I had completed the most recent order from Soren, and I was eagerly looking forward to spending the afternoon poring over the new books he had sent. I saw a figure dressed in grey standing in front of the farmhouse. She was facing away from me, but I knew at once who it was.
“Rose!” I cried out, unbelieving.
She turned to face me. I ran to her, folding her in my arms, my eyes blinded by tears. Then I held her away from me, drinking in the sight of her standing there, solid and real. She looked thinner, but her face glowed with happiness.
“Rose, are you truly back? I can’t believe it,” I said.
The smile on her face wavered. “’Tis only a visit, Neddy,” she said in a quiet voice.
“Why?”
“I promised.”
“The white bear?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“He is gone but will return for me.”
“How long?”
“One month.”
“That is too short! Surely…” I stopped when I saw her expression.
Hearing our voices, Willem and Sonja came out of the farmhouse. There were cries of joy and many hugs, and shortly thereafter Mother and Sara came walking up the road, in company with Widow Hautzig.
“Rose? Is it Rose?” Sara cried, and soon Sara, Rose, and Mother were embracing one another all at once while Widow Hautzig looked on.
“Sara, you look well! You are fully recovered?” Rose asked.
Sara smiled and nodded.
“Oh, Sara, I am so happy to see you.” And Rose embraced Sara all over again.
“But Rose, you are so thin!” Mother said, tears in her eyes, as she tightly clasped Rose to her. “Come inside,” she said, pulling Rose into the farmhouse. “There is soup on the hearth. And then you must tell us everything!”
Rose was so busy gazing around the farmhouse that she seemed barely to hear Mother’s words. “Everything is different,” she said. “The new furniture. Fresh paint. What has happened while I was gone?”
“Ah, it is a long tale,” Mother replied. “Sit down, and I’ll fetch you a bowl of soup. Sara, get Rose a cup of apple mead.”
Rose obediently sat. Then her eyes lit on the loom.
“Oh, it’s Widow Hautzig’s loom. How kind of you to give it to us,” she said to the widow.
Widow Hautzig had the grace to look a little embarrassed, but Mother rescued her. “It is yours now, Rose. I knew you would be back.” She and Widow Hautzig exchanged a look as Mother placed the bowl of soup in front of Rose.
“I…I’m sorry, Mother, but I’m not really hungry. Where is Father?”
“Your father is not here, Rose,” Mother replied. “He is a mapmaker now. Off on an exploring journey.”
“And searching for you,” I added.
“A mapmaker! Oh, I am so glad,” Rose said happily. “When will he be back?”
“We don’t know,” I responded. “Last time he was gone nearly two months.”
“Oh no!” Rose said, obviously distressed. “I haven’t much time…”
“What do you mean?” Mother asked sharply. “You are back to stay, aren’t you, Rose?”
Rose shook her head. I could see her hands were tightly clenched in her lap.
“Rose is only visiting,” I said. “She can stay for one month, no more. Come, Rose, let me show you Father’s new workshop.”
Rose quickly got to her feet, giving me a grateful look. “I’ll eat later, Mother,” she said as we went out the door.
“Is Father really a mapmaker, Neddy?” she asked. “Tell me everything!”
While we walked I told her the whole story, of all that had happened since she had left us. I didn’t show her Father’s workshop after all, not then, for we decided to keep walking until we got to our favourite spot, the hillside where Rose had first showed me the wind-rose cloak.
Rose listened in amazement. When I was done, I leaned over and took her hand. “Now it is your turn,” I said. “Tell me where you have been and all that has happened to you.”
She was silent. “I cannot, Neddy,” she finally said.
She loosened her hand from mine and, standing up, threw her arms out and put her face towards the sun. “It is so good to be home!” she said, joy radiating from her.
I smiled. Then Rose leaned down and, grabbing up a fistful of heather, put it to her nose, breathing in deeply. I remembered how Rose always loved to smell things. I used to call her an elkhound; her favourite dog, Snurri, was an elkhound, and like all of that breed, he had a remarkable sense of smell.
“Oh, it’s wonderful, Neddy. You don’t know how wonderful.” She went darting about, touching things, smelling them.
Finally she sank down beside me again. “I’m sorry, Neddy. I would like to tell you everything, but I cannot, not very much anyway. There were parts that were very, very nice. And there were some parts that were hard. Like not being able to do this…” She buried her nose in heather again. “And the loneliness. The being shut inside…” She shivered a little, then brightened. “But it is fine, Neddy. I don’t mind going back, as long as I can have a little time like this.”
“But why must you go back? You do not owe the white bear anything.”
“Sara is well now,” Rose replied. “And Father’s workshop…the good fortune that came to our family because I…”
“You sound like Mother! Rose, those things had nothing to do with the bear. It was coincidence, nothing more. Harald Soren, a flesh-and-blood man, brought about our good fortune, not the bear.”
Rose looked at me. There was a yearning in her face, as if she wanted very much to believe what I said. “You can’t know that, not for sure, Neddy,” she said slowly. “And besides, I made a promise.”
“To the bear.”
She nodded, her eyes bright. I thought she might weep, but she didn’t. “Don’t let’s talk about this any more, Neddy.”
“I won’t press you,” I said. “But if you do wish to talk about anything at all, I am here.”
“Thank you,” she replied softly. And we began making our way back to the farmhouse.
“What is that nasty Widow Hautzig doing here anyway?” Rose asked in a low voice as we saw Mother and the widow coming out of the front door.
“She and Mother have grown thick as thieves,” I replied.
“What does Father think of it?”
“He barely notices, he’s gone so much. And…” I paused. “Well, there is ill feeling between Mother and Father.”
“Because of me?” Rose said quickly.
“It began then,” I answered, somewhat unwillingly.
“I am sorry to hear it,” Rose said. “Oh, how I wish Father would return!”
“So do I,” I replied fervently. “What joy it would give him to see you back home.”
I have always thought time to be a very fickle thing. When you are unhappy, doing something you’d rather not do, time crawls at the slowest, cruellest pace. But when you’re happy, it speeds up faster than a skier racing down an icy mountain.
The moments at home seemed to fly by.
How I wanted Father to return! So he’d know I was well and safe, and so I could make up for the anger I’d shown him before I had left. The thought of him wandering the land, looking for me, maybe even putting himself in danger, was almost enough to dampen the joy I felt being home.
The journey from the castle with the white bear had
been much like the one before, but the white bear wasn’t in such a hurry and I was not so confused and apprehensive. That first moment when I stepped out the doors of the castle in the mountain, I thought I might burst into tears or faint or have some sort of hysterical outburst, but I did nothing except stand there, breathing in my first draught of fresh air in more than six months. The air was fragrant with spring flowers. It was sheer bliss.
The white bear had watched me, letting me get my fill, then he had said, “Come,” and I climbed onto his back. I was awkward again after so long. And it felt strange to me, riding on his back as if he were my pet horse, especially because I knew him so well. It was almost like climbing onto Neddy’s back. But I was quickly distracted by the immediate need of finding my balance as the white bear began to run.
We stopped occasionally to eat and rest, though always well away from any town or people. He was very good at finding berries and other fruit, and even brought me fresh meat (seal, when we were by the sea, and badger or stoat inland), which I cooked over a fire. My appetite had returned.
Because I was not in such a daze that time, I was even able to enjoy the travel. I marvelled all over again at the underwater sensations in my sealskin apparatus. It was the most extraordinary thing, to blindly float through water, carried like a tiny child.
He spoke to me several times during the journey, which may have been part of the reason we went slower. The talking always wore him out and he did not move as swiftly afterwards.
During our first stop after crossing the sea, he said to me, “Only a visit… If you do not return…great harm.”
The word “harm” was said forcefully, yet he did not seem to be threatening me, only telling me a fact; as if the possibility of harm was something he had no control over.
“A month…one cycle of moon…no longer,” he said.
“I understand,” I said.
“They…family…will want you to stay…will do anything.”
“I give you my word,” I said a little shortly, annoyed by the suggestion that my family might behave less than honourably or trick me into staying.
He ploughed on, with great effort. “Do not tell… They will ask…not tell.” He was agitated, more upset than I’d ever seen him. His eyes were fixed on me, entreating.
“I promise,” I said.
“Your mother… Be most careful… Do not tell…about white bear.” His humanness was wearing thin, I could see; he was struggling to form the words. “Do not…alone with mother…not listen.” He gave a low growl, almost of pain, and turned, padding slowly away from me until he disappeared from view among a large cluster of trees.
He returned a short time later with two dead hares. We did not talk while I prepared and cooked them.
He left me several furlongs from the farm, by a brook with a willow tree bowed over it. “I…go no farther… In a month…here…I will wait.” Again those eyes were fastened on me, devouring, as if the sight of me had to last him a very long time.
For some reason I wanted to reassure him. “I will be here. One month.” Then I looked up at the blue sky and could just make out the sliver of the new moon. “When the moon is new again.”
He lowered his head, then turned and bounded away. I watched him a moment, marvelling as I had before at his grace, the enormous strength in that massive body. At that moment it was impossible to believe that such a great beast had anything to do with the invisible figure who had slept beside me every night. But then I remembered that the last night before we had left the castle, my visitor had shivered for the first time since I’d made the nightshirt.
“Rose?”
It was Mother. I had been home a little less than a fortnight and that afternoon had taken a walk by myself, saying I wanted to collect flowers for the dinner table. I was lost in thought when Mother found me by the creek we used to call Rosie’s Creek. I started a little, dropping a few stems of oleander. She bent over to retrieve them.
“I’m sorry I startled you,” Mother said, “but I wanted to see you, alone. We have barely had any time together since your return.”
I took the flowers from her, saying, “It’s nearly suppertime, isn’t it? We’d better be getting back,” and I began to walk briskly in the direction of the farmhouse.
Mother laid a hand on my arm and I was forced to slow my pace. “There is no hurry, Rose. I must talk with you. It is important.”
Her voice was trembling a little and I looked at her sideways, surprised.
“Oh, Rose, I have been wanting to explain, about your birth.”
I became alert.
“You left so suddenly, there was no chance…” Her voice was choked with emotion and she coughed to clear her throat. “I know that you were very angry. That you felt we had hidden the truth from you. I realize now it was I who had hidden the truth from myself. That was the real lie. I was so set on what I believed to be the truth, I could accept no other. Your father tried to reason with me, but I would not listen. I still do not understand, but I must acknowledge now that you have a streak of northernness in you.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but she stopped me. “Very well, perhaps you are even all north. I don’t know – the circumstances of your birth were so muddled. But I will tell you that there were reasons, good reasons, other than the empty space on the compass rose, why I did not want you a north. Reasons that spring from love, not stubbornness. And I do love you, Rose, no matter what point of the compass you are.”
Tears stung my eyes. I did not realize until that moment that those were words I had never thought to hear from my mother. And had longed for.
She saw the tears standing in my eyes and pulled me to her, stroking my hair gently. I felt like a small child again, being comforted for my freshest hurt.
“What reasons, Mother?” I said finally.
She hesitated before speaking. “The words of a skjebne-soke. She prophesied that…”
“That what?” I pressed, pulling away from her.
“That any north child I had would die.” She finished reluctantly, her words coming fast, “Crushed by an avalanche of snow and ice.”
“I see.”
“No, it is I who sees what utter foolishness it was to believe her words. Why, only last week I heard that Agneta Guthbjorg had a baby girl instead of the boy that same skjebne-soke foretold.”
“Well, I’m certainly glad to hear it,” I said dryly. We exchanged smiles.
We resumed our walk to the farmhouse. “I wish your father would return,” Mother said wistfully. “Neddy may have told you that there is a distance between us of late. I think that seeing you home and safe would help heal that distance.”
“I would like to see it healed,” I said.
We walked for a few moments in silence.
“May I…” She paused. “…ask about your life these past months? Are you comfortable? Do you get enough to eat? You look so thin.”
“Only because I grew homesick. But it is not so bad there, Mother. I do have plenty to eat.”
“And the white bear? Does he live with you, where you are?”
“He does. Mother, I cannot talk about this. I made a promise.”
She gazed at me closely, as if trying to read how safe I really was.
“The white bear is good to me,” I said.
“What manner of place do you live in?”
“It is a comfortable place. I call it a castle, but it reminds me more of a large hunting lodge, like the ones the wealthy people in Andalsnes keep in the mountains.”
“Are there servants?”
“Yes, of a sort. I rarely see them.”
“How do you spend your time?”
“I weave. And sew. There is a loom there, a very nice one.” The words were completely inadequate when I thought of that magnificent loom. “I made this dress,” I added, gesturing at the grey dress I wore but thinking of the three gowns that were folded in the leather wallet, which I had left at the castle.
“It is very
fine, Rose. I’m glad you have a loom,” Mother said. “And the white bear, do you see him every day?”
“Usually,” I said shortly. I tried to quicken my pace a little, but Mother’s arm linked in mine made it difficult; she would not be hurried.
“What are your sleeping arrangements? Do you have a comfortable bed?”
I stiffened, hoping Mother had not noticed. “Very comfortable,” was all I said.
I spotted Neddy coming from Father’s new workshop and breathed a great sigh of relief. Pulling my arm from Mother’s, I energetically waved at Neddy, calling out to him.
I thought I detected a little frown on my mother’s face as Neddy joined us. She wants to know more, I thought. The white bear was right.
And the white bear was right about something else as well. At dinner that night each member of the family, except Mother and Neddy, said a little piece about how my leaving with the white bear had had nothing to do with Sara’s getting well and the reversal of the family’s fortunes. It was Harald Soren who was responsible – as well as Father and his talent at mapmaking. The appearance of the white bear, his request and my departure with him, were nothing more than a coincidence. Even Sara said she thought it was nonsense that a white bear, albeit a talking one, could have cured her. It was the doctor and the medicine that had cured her. And therefore, they said unanimously, I must not think of going back. I must stay home, where I belonged.
I turned to Mother. “What do you think? Was it a coincidence?”
Mother set a pitcher of sweet cream on the table, for pouring over our bowls of fresh strawberries, then sat down. She looked me in the eye. “No, I for one do not believe it was a coincidence. I think our good fortune was in part because we granted the white bear’s request. But, Rose, I also believe that by having done so, you may consider your obligation fulfilled.”
“The white bear asked me to return. And I gave my promise.”
“I don’t understand… Sikram Ralatt expressly said…” Mother looked puzzled. “In that case, though it pains me beyond words to say so, I believe you must return.”