‘They don’t. No one minds us.’
Lauga narrowed her eyes and dropped the buckets by her feet. ‘Oh, they do, Steina. You don’t see it, but we’re all marked now. And it does us no favours that they see us talking to her, giving her plenty to eat. We’ll never be married.’
‘You don’t know that.’ Steina eased herself down on the stool by the hearth. ‘It’s not forever,’ she said finally.
‘I can’t wait till she’s gone.’
‘How can you say such a thing?’
Lauga gave a shuddering breath. ‘Everyone sees the Reverend gadding about Agnes like some besotted boy, and even Pabbi nods and says good morning to her now, ever since she witched Róslín’s baby from her. And you, Steina!’ Lauga turned to her sister, her face incredulous. ‘You treat her like a sister more than you do me!’
‘That’s not true.’
‘It is. You follow her around. You help her. You want her to like you.’
Steina took a deep breath. ‘I . . . It’s only that I remember her from years ago. And I can’t stop thinking that she wasn’t always like this. She was our age, once. She has a mother and father, like us.’
‘No,’ hissed Lauga. ‘Not like us. She’s nothing like us. She’s come here and no one even sees how everything has changed. And not for the better, either.’ She bent down and picked up the bloody pails and stalked out of the room.
IT HAD BEGUN TO SNOW most days in the north. Breidabólstadur was clouded in a thick fog and a cold that refused to lift, even as the October sun brought what little light it could into the world. Despite the weather, Tóti was reluctant to stay at home with his father. He felt that some invisible membrane between Agnes and him had been broken. She had begun, finally, to speak of Natan, and the thought that she might draw him closer still, might trust him enough to speak of what had happened at Illugastadir, set something quickening in him.
As he carefully wrapped his shivering body in as many layers of woollen clothing as could be found in his trunk, Tóti thought again of their first meeting. He could vaguely recall the rushing water of G?ngusk?rd, the roar it made as the melting spring waters plunged across the pass. Could see the wet gravel shining under the sun. And ahead of him, bending by the edge of the water and unrolling her stockings, a dark-haired woman preparing to cross the current.
Tóti pulled on his gloves in the badstofa of Breidabólstadur and searched his mind for her face as he’d first seen it that day. The woman had squinted against the sun as she’d looked up at him, unsmiling. Her hair had been damp against her forehead and neck from walking. A white sack lay on the river stones beside her.
Then, the warmth of her body against his chest as they forded the foamy waters on his mare. The smell of sweat and wild grass issuing from the back of her neck. The thought of it ran through him like a fever.
‘What’s got you in such a hurry?’
Tóti looked up and saw his father regarding him from across the room.
‘They’re expecting me at Kornsá.’
Reverend Jón looked thoughtful. ‘You spend a great deal of time there,’ he mused.
‘There is a great deal of work to be done.’
‘I hear the District Officer has two daughters.’
‘Yes. Sigurlaug and Steinv?r.’
His father narrowed his eyes. ‘Beauties, are they?’
Tóti looked puzzled. ‘I’m sure some think so.’ He turned to leave the room. ‘Don’t wait into the night for me.’
‘Son!’ Reverend Jón took a few steps towards the door and gave Tóti his New Testament. ‘You forgot this.’