“Yes, either it was a dream—and it might have been sent by God or one of his guardian angels—or else the monk is a holy man.”
Shivering, Kristin whispered, “My father . . . Sira Eirik, I have prayed so often that I might be allowed to see his face one more time. I long so fervently to see him, Sira Eirik. And perhaps I might be able to tell from his expression what he wants me to do. If my father could give me advice in that way . . .” She had to bite her lip, and she used a corner of her wimple to brush away the tears that had welled up.
The priest shook his head.
“Pray for his soul, Kristin—although I’m convinced that Lavrans and your mother have long ago found solace with those from whom they sought comfort for all the sorrows they endured here on earth. And certainly Lavrans still holds you firmly in his love there too, but your prayers and the masses said for his soul will bind you and all the rest of us to him. How this occurs is one of the secret things that are difficult to fathom, but I have no doubt that this is a better way than if he should be disturbed in his peace to come here and appear before you.”
Kristin had to sit still for a moment before she gained enough mastery over herself that she dared speak. But then she told the priest about everything that had happened between Erlend and her on the evening in the hearth house, repeating every word that was said, as best as she could remember.
The priest sat in silence for a long time after she was finished.
Then Kristin clapped her hands together harshly. “Sira Eirik! Do you think I was the one most at fault? Do you think I was so wrong that it wasn’t a sin for Erlend to desert me and all our sons in this manner? Do you think it is fair for him to demand that I seek him out, fall to my knees, and take back the words I spoke in anger? Because I know that unless I do, he will never return home to us!”
“Do you think you need to call Lavrans back from the other world to ask his advice in this matter?” The priest stood up and placed his hand on the woman’s shoulder. “The first time I saw you, Kristin, you were a tiny maiden. Lavrans made you stand between his knees as he crossed your little hands on your breast and told you to say the Pater noster for me. You repeated it in a lovely, clear voice, even though you didn’t understand a single word. Later you learned the meaning of every prayer in our language; perhaps you’ve forgotten about that now.
“Have you forgotten that your father taught you and honored you and loved you? He honored the man before whom you are now afraid of humbling yourself. Or have you forgotten how splendid the feast was that he held for the two of you? And then you rode away from his manor like two thieves. Did you take with you Lavrans Bj?rgulfs?n’s esteem and honor?”
Sobbing, Kristin hid her face in her hands.
“Do you remember, Kristin? Did he ever demand that the two of you should fall to your knees before he thought he could take you back into his fatherly love? Do you think it too harsh a penance for your pride if you have to bow before a man whom you may not have wronged as much as you sinned against your father?”
“Jesus!” Kristin wept in utter despair. “Jesus, have mercy on me.”
“I see that you at least remember his name,” said the priest. “The name of the one your father strove to follow like a disciple and serve like a loyal knight.” He touched the small crucifix that hung above them. “Free of sin, God’s son died on the cross to atone for the sins we had committed against him.
“Go home now, Kristin, and think about what I have told you,” said Sira Eirik after she had regained some measure of calm.
But during those very days a southerly gale set in with sleet and torrential rains; at times it was so fierce that people could barely cross their own courtyards without the risk of being swept away above all the rooftops; at least that was how it seemed. The roads through the countryside were completely impassable. The spring floods arrived so abruptly and turbulently that people had to move out of the estates that were most vulnerable. Kristin moved most of their belongings up into the loft of the new storehouse, and she was granted permission to put her livestock in Sira Eirik’s springtime shed. The shed used at J?rundgaard in the spring was on the other side of the river. It was a dreadful toil in the storm; up in the meadows the snow was as soft as melted butter, and the animals were so wretched. Two of the best calves broke their legs as if they were tender stalks as they walked along.
On the day they moved the livestock Simon Darre suddenly appeared in the middle of the road with four of his servants. They set about lending a hand. In the wind and rain and all the tumult with the cattle that had to be prodded and the sheep and lambs that had to be carried, there was neither peace nor quiet for the kinsmen to talk. But after they returned to J?rundgaard in the evening and Kristin had seated Simon and his men in the main house—everyone who had helped out that day needed some warm ale—he spoke a few words with her. He asked her to go to Formo with the women and children, while he and two of his men would stay behind with Ulf and the boys. Kristin thanked him but said that she wanted to stay on her manor. Lavrans and Munan were already at Ulvsvold, and Jardtrud had gone to stay with Sira Solmund; she had become such good friends with the priest’s sister.
Simon said, “People think it’s strange, Kristin, that you two sisters never see each other. Ramborg won’t be happy if I return home without you.”
“I know it looks strange,” she told him, “but I think it would look even stranger if we should visit my sister now, when the master of this estate is not home and people know that there’s animosity between him and you.”
Then Simon said no more, and soon after he and his men took their leave.
The week preceding Ascension Day arrived with a terrible storm, and on Tuesday word spread from farm to farm in the north of the region that the floods had now carried off the bridge up in Rost Gorge, which people crossed when they went up to the H?vring pastures. They began to fear for the big bridge south of the church. It was solidly built of the roughest timbers, with a high arch in the middle, and was supported underneath with thick posts that were sunk into the riverbed. But now the waters were flooding over the bridgeheads where they joined the banks, and beneath the vault of the bridge all kinds of debris that had been brought by the currents from the north were piling up. The Laag had now overflowed the low embankments on both shores, and in one place the water had accumulated across J?rundgaard’s fields like in a cove, almost reaching the buildings. There was a hollow in the pastures and in the middle was the roof of the smithy, and the tops of the trees looked like little islands. The barn on the islet had already been swept away.
Very few people attended church from the farms on the east side of the river. They were afraid the bridge would be washed away and they wouldn’t be able to get back home. But up on the other shore, on the slope beneath Laugarbru’s barn, where there was some shelter from the storm, a dark cluster of people could be glimpsed through the gusts of snow. It was rumored that Sira Eirik had said he would carry the cross over the bridge and set it on the east bank of the river, even if no one dared follow him.