With the sheep rounded up, slaughter done, and the hay brought home, the household of Kornsá was spending the day indoors, attending to spinning, knitting and rope-making.
Agnes was sitting on her bed, trying to find stitches Steina had lost on a mitten. ‘Illugastadir is almost on the edge of the world,’ she said, inclining her head, as though to point out where the farm stood. ‘I didn’t know the way, and everyone had been telling me how lonely it would be, how it was nothing like the valley, where there are folk you know wherever you look. But I wanted to work for Natan.’
‘When did you go there?’
‘As soon as I was able. The Flitting Days, at the end of May.’
‘What year was this?’ Tóti asked.
‘1827. I saw through Yuletide and the new year at Geitaskard, and then waited for the Golden Plover to arrive and sing the snow away. I packed up my possessions, and set off on foot. There were lots of servants moving up and down the valley, but no one was going to Vatnsnes, and no one was headed to Illugastadir. As I started walking northwards on the peninsula a fog came down and I was worried I would be lost. But I could hear the sea in the distance, and I knew I was going in the right direction. When the fog cleared I saw that I wasn’t far from the church of Tj?rn. I asked to sleep the night there and the next day the priest gave me directions to Illugastadir.
‘It didn’t take me long to reach the farm from Tj?rn. That morning was the first time I had ever seen sea so wide and far. The wind was coming from the north, blowing spray off the waves that scudded against the shore, and there were hundreds of seabirds screaming in circles above the surface. I could even see the west fjords over the grey swell of water. Like a shadow of themselves.
‘It made an impression. The priest from Tj?rn had told me to watch for a croft by a rocky bay, and I soon came across this very place. There was a little boat upon the shore, and bedclothes tied to fish-drying racks, which were waving madly about in the wind. At the time I took it as a good sign; I thought it seemed that they were waving to me in welcome.
‘I hadn’t gone very far down the slope when someone appeared out of the croft, and started to trip up the hill. As the figure grew closer I saw that it was a young girl, no more than fifteen winters old. She was waving at me, and seemed exhilarated. When I came within speaking distance she cried out a welcome, and ran towards me. She seemed even younger as she drew closer, Reverend. She had a snub-nose and very red lips, and her hair was fair and tangled in the wind. She was too pretty for a peasant girl, and I remember wondering whether she was some daughter of Natan’s. Her clothes were too fine for her to be a servant.
‘The girl took my sack of belongings and kissed me. She asked if I was Agnes Magnúsdóttir, and she introduced herself as Sigrídur, but said that everyone called her Sigga.’
‘This was the girl-servant Natan had mentioned to you at Geitaskard?’