“Where the Devil did you come from? What do you want here?”
Fru Aashild stepped forward and said, “Come with us up to the house, Eline Ormsdatter. We have enough courtesy on this farm that we don’t receive our guests in the cookhouse.”
“I don’t expect Erlend’s kin to greet me as a guest, Fru Aashild,” said the woman. “You asked where I came from? I come from Husaby, as you well know. I bring you greetings from Orm and Margret; they are well.”
Erlend didn’t reply.
“When I heard that you had asked Gissur Arnfins?n to raise money for you, and that you were heading south again,” she went on, “I thought you would probably visit your kinsmen in Gudbrandsdal this time. I knew that you had made inquiries about the daughter of their neighbor.”
She looked at Kristin for the first time and met the girl’s eyes. Kristin was very pale, but she gazed at the other woman with a calm and searching expression.
Kristin was as calm as a rock. From the moment she heard who had arrived, she realized that it was the thought of Eline Ormsdatter that she had been constantly fleeing from, that she had tried to drown it out with defiance and restlessness and impatience. The whole time she had been striving not to think about whether Erlend had freed himself completely from his former mistress. Now she had been overtaken, and it was futile to fight it anymore. But she did not try to avoid it.
She saw that Eline Ormsdatter was beautiful. She was no longer young, but she was lovely, and at one time she must have been radiantly beautiful. She had let her hood fall back; her forehead was round and smooth, her cheekbones jutted out slightly—but it was still easy to see that once she had been quite striking. Her wimple covered only the back of her head; as she spoke, Eline tucked the shiny gold, wavy hair in front under the cloth. Kristin had never seen a woman with such big eyes; they were dark brown, round, and hard, but beneath the narrow, coal-black eyebrows and the long eyelashes her eyes were strangely beautiful next to her golden hair. Her skin and lips were chapped from the ride in the cold, but this did not detract from her appearance; she was much too beautiful for that. The heavy traveling clothes enshrouded her figure, but she wore them and carried herself as only a woman can who bears the most confident pride in the splendor of her own body. She was not quite as tall as Kristin, but she had such a bearing that she seemed taller than the slim, small-boned girl.
“Has she been with you at Husaby the whole time?” Kristin asked quietly.
“I haven’t been at Husaby,” said Erlend brusquely, his face flushing again. “I’ve been at Hestn?s for most of the summer.”
“Here is the news I wanted to bring you, Erlend,” said Eline. “You no longer need to seek lodgings with your kinsmen and test their hospitality while I keep house for you. This autumn I became a widow.”
Erlend stood motionless.
“I wasn’t the one who asked you to come to Husaby to keep house last year,” he said with difficulty.
“I heard that everything was going downhill there,” said Eline. “I still had enough good feelings toward you from the old days, Erlend, that I thought I should look out for your well-being—though God knows you haven’t treated me or our children very kindly.”
“I’ve done what I could for the children,” said Erlend, “and you know full well that it was for their sake that I allowed you to stay at Husaby. You can’t say that you did either them or me any good,” he added, smiling spitefully. “Gissur could manage quite well without your help.”
“Yes, you’ve always trusted Gissur,” said Eline, laughing softly. “But the fact is, Erlend—now I am free. If you wish, you can keep the promise you once gave me.”
Erlend was silent.
“Do you remember,” said Eline, “the night I gave birth to your son? You promised then that you would marry me when Sigurd died.”
Erlend pushed back his hair, wet with sweat.
“Yes, I remember,” he said.
“Will you keep your word now?” asked Eline.
“No,” said Erlend.
Eline Ormsdatter looked over at Kristin, smiled slightly, and nodded. Then she turned back to Erlend.
“That was ten years ago, Eline,” he said. “Since that day we have lived together year in and year out like two people condemned to Hell.”
“That’s not entirely true,” she said with the same smile.
“It’s been years since there was anything else,” said Erlend, exhausted. “It wouldn’t help the children. And you know . . . you know that I can hardly stand to be in the same room with you anymore,” he almost screamed.
“I didn’t notice that when you were home this summer,” said Eline with a telling smile. “We weren’t enemies then. Not all the time.”
“If you think that meant we were friends, go ahead and think so,” said Erlend wearily.
“Are you just going to stand here?” said Fru Aashild. She ladled some porridge into two large wooden trenchers and handed one of them to Kristin. The girl took it. “Take it over to the house. Here, Ulv, take the other one. Put them on the table; we must have supper no matter how things stand.”
Kristin and the servant went out with the dishes of food. Fru Aashild said to the others, “Come along, you two; it does no good for you to stand here barking at each other.”
“It’s best for Eline and me to talk this out with each other now,” said Erlend.
Fru Aashild said no more and left.
Over in the house Kristin put the food on the table and brought up ale from the cellar. She sat down on the outer bench, erect as a candlestick, her face calm, but she did not eat. Bj?rn and Erlend’s men didn’t have much appetite either. Only Bj?rn’s man and the servant who had come with Eline ate anything. Fru Aashild sat down and ate a little porridge. No one said a word.
Finally Eline Ormsdatter came in alone. Fru Aashild offered her a place between Kristin and herself; Eline sat down and ate something. Every once in a while the trace of a secret smile flitted across her face, and she would glance at Kristin.
After a while Fru Aashild went out to the cookhouse.
The fire had almost gone out. Erlend was sitting on the three-legged stool near the hearth, huddled up with his head on his arms. Fru Aashild went over and put her hand on his shoulder. “God forgive you, Erlend, for the way you have handled things.”
Erlend looked up. His face was tear-streaked with misery.
“She’s with child,” he said and closed his eyes.
Fru Aashild’s face flamed up; she gripped his shoulder hard. “Whose is it?” she asked bluntly and with contempt.
“Well, it isn’t mine,” said Erlend dully. “But you probably won’t believe me. No one will. . . .” He collapsed once more.
Fru Aashild sat down in front of him at the edge of the hearth.
“You must try to pull yourself together, Erlend. It’s not so easy to believe you in this matter. Do you swear that it’s not yours?”
Erlend lifted his haggard face. “As truly as I need God’s mercy. As truly as I hope that . . . that God has comforted Mother in Heaven for all that she had to endure down here. I have not touched Eline since the first time I saw Kristin!” He shouted so that Fru Aashild had to hush him.
“Then I don’t see that this is such a misfortune. You must find out who the father is and pay him to marry her.”
“I think it’s Gissur Arnfins?n, my foreman at Husaby,” said Erlend wearily. “We talked about it last fall—and since then too. Sigurd’s death has been expected for some time. Gissur was willing to marry her when she became a widow if I would give her a sufficient dowry.”
“I see,” said Fru Aashild.
Erlend went on. “She swears that she won’t have him. She will name me as the father. If I swear that I’m not . . . do you think anyone will believe that I’m not swearing falsely?”
“You’ll have to dissuade her,” said Fru Aashild. “There’s no other way out. You must go home with her to Husaby tomorrow. And then you must stand firm and arrange this marriage between your foreman and Eline.”