KRISTIN HAD TO admit with all her heart that Jofrid was a woman who knew how to use her hands. If things went well, then Gaute was certainly fortunate; he would have a wife who was as hardworking and diligent as she was rich and beautiful. Kristin herself could not have found a more capable woman to succeed her at J?rundgaard, not if she had searched through all of Norway. One day she said—and afterward she wasn’t sure what had happened to make the words spill from her lips—that on the day Jofrid Helgesdatter became Gaute’s lawful wife, she would give her keys to the young woman and move out to the old house with Lavrans.
Afterward she thought she should have considered these words more carefully before she uttered them. There were already many instances when she had spoken of something too soon when she was talking with Jofrid.
But there was the fact that Jofrid was not well. Kristin had noticed it almost at once after the young girl arrived. And Kristin remembered the first winter she had spent at Husaby; she at least had been married, and her husband and father were bound by kinship, no matter what might happen to their friendship after the sin came to light. All the same, she had suffered so terribly from remorse and shame, and her heart had felt bitter toward Erlend. But she was already nineteen winters old back then, while Jofrid was barely seventeen. And here she was now, abducted and without rights, far from her home and among strangers, carrying Gaute’s child under her heart. Kristin could not deny that Jofrid seemed to be stronger and braver than she herself had been.
But Jofrid hadn’t breached the sanctity of the convent; she hadn’t broken promises and betrothal vows; she hadn’t betrayed her parents or lied to them or stolen their honor behind their backs. Even though these two young people had dared sin against the laws, constraints, and moral customs of the land, they needn’t have such an anguished conscience. Kristin prayed fervently for a good outcome to Gaute’s foolhardy deed, and she consoled herself that God, in His fairness, couldn’t possibly deal Gaute and Jofrid any harsher circumstances than she and Erlend had been given. And they had been married; their child of sin had been born to share in a lawful inheritance from all his kinsmen.
Since neither Gaute nor Jofrid spoke of the matter, Kristin didn’t want to mention it either, although she longed to have a talk with the inexperienced young woman. Jofrid should spare herself and enjoy her morning rest instead of getting up before everyone else on the manor. Kristin saw that it was Jofrid’s desire to rise before her mother-in-law and to accomplish more than she did. But Jofrid was not the kind of person Kristin could offer either help or solicitude. The only thing she could do was silently take the heaviest work away from her and treat her as if she were the rightful young mistress on the estate, both when they were alone and in front of the servants.
Frida was furious at having to relinquish her place next to her mistress and give it to Gaute’s . . . She used an odious word to describe Jofrid one day when she and Kristin were together in the cookhouse. For once Kristin struck her maid.
“How splendid to hear such words from you, an old nag lusting after men as you do!”
Frida wiped the blood from her nose and mouth.
“Aren’t you supposed to be better than a poor man’s offspring, daughters of great chieftains such as yourself and this Jofrid? You know with certainty that a bridal bed with silken sheets awaits you. You’re the ones who must be shameless and lusting after men if you can’t wait but have to run off into the woods with young lads and end up with wayside bastards—for shame, I say to you!”
“Hold your tongue now. Go out and wash yourself. You’re standing there bleeding into the dough,” said her mistress quite calmly.
Frida met Jofrid in the doorway. Kristin saw from the young woman’s face that she must have heard the conversation with the maid.
“The poor thing’s chatter is as foolish as she is. I can’t send her away; she has no place to go.” Jofrid smiled scornfully. Then Kristin said, “She was the foster mother for two of my sons.”
“But she wasn’t Gaute’s foster mother,” replied Jofrid. “She reminds us both of that fact as often as she can. Can’t you marry her off?” she asked sharply.
Kristin had to laugh. “Don’t you think I’ve tried? But all it took was for the man to have a few words with his future bride. . . .”
Kristin thought she should seize the opportunity to talk with Jofrid, to let her know that here she would meet with only maternal goodwill. But Jofrid looked angry and defiant.
In the meantime it was now clearly evident that Jofrid was not walking alone. One day she was going to clean some feathers for new mattresses. Kristin advised her to tie back her hair so it wouldn’t be covered with down. Jofrid bound a linen cloth around her head.
“No doubt this is now more fitting than going bareheaded,” she said with a little laugh.
“That may well be,” said Kristin curtly.
And yet she wasn’t pleased that Jofrid should jest about such a thing.
A few days later Kristin came out of the cookhouse and saw Jofrid cutting open several black grouse; there was blood spattered all over her arms. Horror-stricken, Kristin pushed her aside.
“Child, you mustn’t do this bloody work now. Don’t you know better than that?”
“Oh, surely you don’t believe everything women say is true,” said Jofrid skeptically.
Then Kristin told her about the marks of fire that Naakkve had received on his chest. She purposely spoke of it in such a way that Jofrid would understand she was not yet married when she looked at the burning church.
“I suppose you hadn’t thought such a thing of me,” she said quietly.
“Oh yes, Gaute has already told me: Your father had promised you to Simon Andress?n, but you ran off with Erlend Nikulauss?n to his aunt, and then Lavrans had to give his consent.”
“It wasn’t exactly like that; we didn’t run off. Simon released me as soon as he realized that I was more fond of Erlend than of him, and then my father gave his consent—unwillingly, but he placed my hand in Erlend’s. I was betrothed for a year. Does that seem worse to you?” asked Kristin, for Jofrid had turned bright red and gave her a look of horror.
The girl used her knife to scrape off the blood from her white arms.
“Yes,” she said in a low but firm voice. “I would not have squandered my good reputation and honor needlessly. But I won’t say anything of this to Gaute,” she said quickly. “He thinks his father carried you off by force because he could not win you with entreaty.”
No doubt what she said was true, thought Kristin.
As time passed and Kristin continued to ponder the matter, it seemed to her that the most honorable thing to do was for Gaute to send word to Helge of Hovland, to place his case in his hands and ask to be given Jofrid as his wife on such terms as her father decided to grant them. But whenever she spoke of this to Gaute, he would look dismayed and refuse to answer. Finally he asked his mother crossly whether she could get a letter over the mountains in the wintertime. No, she told him, but Sira Dag could surely send a letter to Nes and then onward along the coast; the priests always managed to get their letters through, even during the winter. Gaute said it would be too costly.
“Then it will not be with your wife that you have a child this spring,” said his mother indignantly.