Ramborg went to church to visit her husband’s grave a couple of times; otherwise she never left her manor. But Kristin went south to see her as often as she could. She now sincerely wished that she had known her sister better. The widow looked like such a child in her mourning garb. Her body seemed fragile and only half grown in the heavy, dark blue gown; the little triangle of her face was yellow and thin, framed by the linen bands beneath the black woolen veil, which fell in stiff folds from the crown of her head almost to the hem of her skirts. And she had dark circles under her big eyes, the coal-black pupils wide and always staring.
During the hay harvest there was a week’s time when Kristin couldn’t get away to see her sister. From the harvesters she heard that a guest was visiting Ramborg at Formo: Jamm?lt Hal vardss?n. Kristin remembered that Simon had mentioned this man; he owned an exceedingly large estate not far from Dyfrin, and he and Simon had been friends since childhood.
A week into the harvest the rains came. Then Kristin rode over to see her sister. Kristin sat talking about the terrible weather and about the hay and then asked how things were going at Formo.
All of a sudden Ramborg said, “Jon will have to manage things here; I’m heading south in a few days, Kristin.”
“Yes, you must be longing for your children, poor dear,” said Kristin.
Ramborg stood up and paced the floor.
“I’m going to tell you something that will surprise you,” the young woman said after a moment. “You and your sons will soon be invited to a betrothal feast at Dyfrin. I said yes to Jamm?lt before he left here, and Gyrd will hold the wedding.”
Kristin sat without saying a word. Her sister stood staring at her, pale and dark-eyed.
Finally the older sister spoke, “I see that you won’t be left a widow for very long after Simon’s death. I thought you mourned him so grievously. But you can make your own decisions now.”
Ramborg did not reply. After a moment Kristin asked, “Does Gyrd Darre know that you intend to marry again so soon?”
“Yes.” Ramborg began pacing again. “Helga advises me to do so. Jamm?lt is rich.” She laughed. “And Gyrd is such a clever man that he must have seen long ago that our life was so wretched together, Simon’s and mine.”
“What are you saying! No one else has ever noticed that your life together was wretched,” Kristin said after a pause. “I don’t think anyone has ever seen anything but friendship and goodwill between the two of you. Simon indulged you in every way, gave you everything you wished for, always kept in mind your youth, and took care that you should enjoy it and be spared toil and travail. He loved his children and showed you every day that he was grateful to you for giving birth to the two of them.”
Ramborg smiled scornfully.
Kristin continued fiercely, “If you have any cause to think that your life wasn’t good together, then surely Simon is not to blame.”
“No,” said Ramborg. “I will bear the blame—if you do not dare.”
Kristin sat there, dumbfounded.
“I don’t think you know what you’re saying, sister,” she replied at last.
“Yes, I do,” said Ramborg. “But I can believe that you might not know. You’ve had so little thought for Simon that I’m convinced this may be new to you. You considered him good enough to turn to whenever you needed a helper who would gladly have carried red-hot iron for your sake. But never did you give any thought to Simon Andress?n or ask what it might have cost him. I was allowed to enjoy my youth, yes. With joy and gentleness Simon would lift me up into the saddle and send me off to feasts and merriment; with equal joy and gentleness he would welcome me when I came back home. He would pat me the way he patted his dog or his horse. He never missed me while I was gone.”
Kristin was on her feet; she stood quietly next to the table. Ramborg was wringing her hands so the knuckles cracked, pacing back and forth in the room.
“Jamm?lt . . .” she said in a calmer voice. I’ve known for years how he thought of me. I saw it even while his wife was still alive. Not that he ever gave himself away in word or deed—you mustn’t think that! He grieved for Simon too and came to me often to console me—that much is true. It was Helga who said to both of us that now it would be fitting if we . . .
“And I don’t know what I should wait for. I will never find more consolation or any less than I feel right now. I want to try living with a man who has been silently thinking of me for years on end. I know all too well what it feels like to live with a man who is silently thinking about someone else.”
Kristin didn’t move. Ramborg stopped in front of her, with her eyes flashing. “You know what I say is true!”
Kristin left the room without a word, her head bowed. As she stood in the rain outside in the courtyard, waiting for the servant to bring her horse, Ramborg appeared in the doorway. She stared at her sister with dark and hateful eyes.
Not until the next day did Kristin remember what she had promised Simon if Ramborg should marry again. She rode back to Formo. This was not an easy thing for her to do. And the worst of it was that she knew there was nothing she could say that would give her sister any help or solace. This marriage to Jamm?lt of ?lin seemed to her a rash decision when Ramborg was in such a state of mind. But Kristin realized that it would do no good for her to object.
Ramborg was sullen and morose and answered her sister curtly. Under no circumstances would she allow her stepdaughter to go to J?rundgaard. “Things at your estate are not such that I would think it advisable to send a young maiden over there.” Kristin replied meekly that Ramborg might be right about that, but she had promised Simon to make the offer.
“If Simon, in his feverish daze, didn’t realize that he was offending me when he made this request of you, then surely you should realize that you offend me by mentioning it,” said Ramborg, and Kristin had to return home without accomplishing her goal.
The next morning promised good weather. But when her sons came in for breakfast, Kristin told them they would have to bring in the hay without her. She had a mind to set off on a journey, and she might be gone several days.
“I’m thinking of going north to Dovre to find your father,” she said. “I intend to ask him to forget the discord that has existed between the two of us, to ask him when he will come home to us.”
Her sons blushed; they didn’t dare look up, but she could tell they were glad. She pulled Munan into her arms and bent her face down to look at him. “You probably don’t even remember your father, do you, little one?”
The boy nodded mutely with sparkling eyes. One by one the other sons cast a glance at their mother. Her face looked younger and more beautiful than they had seen it in many years.
She came out to the courtyard some time later, dressed for travel in her church attire: a black woolen gown trimmed with blue and silver at the neck and sleeves and a black, sleeveless hooded cloak since it was high summer. Naakkve and Gaute had saddled her horse as well as their own; they wanted to go with their mother. She didn’t voice any objections. But she said little to her sons as they rode north across Rost Gorge and up toward Dovre. For the most part she was silent and preoccupied; if she spoke to the young lads, it was about other things, not about where they were going.
When they had gone so far that they could look up the slope and glimpse the rooftops of Haugen against the horizon, she asked the boys to turn back.
“You know full well that your father and I have much to talk about, and we would rather discuss things while we’re alone.”
The brothers nodded; they said goodbye to their mother and turned their horses around.