Burial Rites

Tóti reached over and tentatively took up her hand. ‘Trust me, Agnes. I’m here, as I was in your dream. You can feel my hand in yours,’ he added.

Tóti pressed her slender fingers, her knuckles. He was aware of her smell, the sweet scent of fresh buttermilk, and a sourness also. Of skin? Of the dairy? He fought off a sudden compulsion to put her fingers in his mouth.

Unaware of his thoughts, Agnes smiled and patted his knee with her free palm. ‘I am sure that you will make a fine priest after all,’ she said.

Tóti stroked the skin on the back of her hand. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘Bl?ndal nearly didn’t let me come to you.’ He felt conspiratorial.

‘Of course he didn’t.’

‘When I saw him today I was worried he would forbid me from seeing you.’

‘And did he?’

Tóti shook his head. ‘He said I must preach to you.’

Agnes gently pulled her hand out of his grasp, and he reluctantly released her. He watched her resume her knitting.

‘Why don’t you tell me about Natan,’ he asked, a little peevish.

Agnes glanced at the people before them. ‘Do you think they need more food brought out?’

‘Margrét would have called you.’ Tóti wiped his sweaty palms against his trousers. ‘Go on, Agnes. Bl?ndal isn’t here.’

‘And thank the Lord for that.’ Agnes took a deep breath. ‘What do you want me to tell you about Natan? You know that he was my employer at Illugastadir. You’ve obviously heard enough about his character from people around here. What else do you want to know?’

‘When did you meet him?’

‘I met Natan Ketilsson when I was working at Geitaskard.’

‘Where is that?’

‘In Langidalur. It was my sixth farm as a workmaid. It’s run by Worm Beck. He was good to me. I’d been working at Fannlaugarstadir, in the east, then Búrfell. That is when we first met, Reverend, when I was on my way towards Búrfell and you took me across the river. I’d gone because I’d heard that Magnús Magnússon, the man named as my father, was working there, and I thought I might go stay with him.

‘I didn’t stay there long. Magnús was kind, but when I reminded him I was named Magnúsdóttir for him, he flew into a rage and said that my mother had damaged his good name, and would he ever see the end of the trouble women had brought him. I didn’t like to stay after that. Magnús fixed me a bed and let me stay with everyone there, but from time to time I’d see him looking at me with a queer expression and I knew it was because he saw my mother’s likeness. He gave me some money before I left. It was the first time I ever held money in my life.

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