It was agreed that the betrothal celebration would be held that same autumn. Lavrans said that he could not offer a grand banquet because the previous year had been so bad in the valley; but he would, on the other hand, host the wedding and hold it at J?rundgaard with all appropriate splendor. He mentioned again the bad year as his reason for demanding that the betrothal period should last a year.
CHAPTER 6
THE BETROTHAL CELEBRATION was postponed for various reasons. It didn’t take place until the New Year, but Lavrans agreed that the wedding needn’t be delayed because of that. It would be held immediately following Michaelmas, as had been originally agreed.
So Kristin continued to live at J?rundgaard as Erlend’s properly acknowledged betrothed. Along with her mother she went over the dowry that had been assembled for her and strove to add even more to the piles of bed linen and clothing, for Lavrans wanted nothing to be spared now that he had given his daughter to the master of Husaby.
Kristin was surprised that she didn’t feel happier. But in spite of all the activity, there was no real joy at J?rundgaard.
Her parents missed Ulvhild deeply—she knew that. But she also realized that this was not the only reason they were so silent and somber. They were kind to her, but when they spoke of her betrothed, she could see that they had to force themselves to do so. And they did it to please her and to be kind; they did not do it out of any desire to speak of Erlend themselves. They were not any happier about the husband she had chosen now that they had come to know the man. Erlend was also silent and reserved during the brief time he was at J?rundgaard for the betrothal celebration—and it could not have been any other way, thought Kristin. He knew that her father had only reluctantly given his consent.
Even she and Erlend had hardly exchanged more than a few words alone. And it had been awkward and strange for them to sit together in full view of everyone; they had had little to talk about because they had shared so many secrets. A slight fear began to stir inside her—faint and dim, but always present—that perhaps, in some way, it might be difficult for them when they were finally married, because they had been too close to each other in the beginning and then had been separated for far too long.
But she tried to push this thought aside. Erlend was supposed to stay with them at J?rundgaard during Whitsuntide. He had asked Lavrans and Ragnfrid whether they would have any objections if he came to visit, and Lavrans had hesitated a moment but then replied that he would welcome his son-in-law, Erlend could be assured of that.
During Whitsuntide they would be able to take walks together, and they would talk as they had in the old days; then it would surely go away, this shadow that had come between them during the long separation, when they had each struggled and borne everything alone.
At Easter Simon Andress?n and his wife were at Formo. Kristin saw them in church. Simon’s wife was standing quite close to her.
She must be much older than he is, thought Kristin—almost thirty. Fru Halfrid was short and delicate and thin, but she had an unusually lovely face. Even the pale brown color of her hair, which billowed from under her wimple, seemed so gentle, and her eyes were full of gentleness too; they were large and gray with a sprinkling of tiny glints of gold. Every line of her face was fine and pure; but her complexion was a pale gray, and when she opened her mouth, it was apparent that she did not have good teeth. She didn’t look strong, and she was also said to be sickly. Kristin had heard that she had already miscarried several times. She wondered how Simon felt about this wife.
The people from J?rundgaard and from Formo had greeted each other across the church hill several times, though they had not spoken. But on the third day Simon came to church without his wife. Then he came over to Lavrans, and they talked together for a while. Kristin heard them mention Ulvhild. Afterward he spoke to Ragnfrid. Ramborg, who was with her mother, said quite loudly, “I remember you. I know who you are.”
Simon lifted up the child and swung her around. “It was nice of you not to forget me, Ramborg.” Kristin he greeted only from a short distance away. And her parents didn’t mention the meeting again.
But Kristin thought a great deal about it. It had been strange to see Simon Darre as a married man. So many things from the past came alive once more: she remembered her own blind and submissive love for Erlend back then. Now it was somehow different. She wondered whether Simon had told his wife how the two of them had parted. But she knew that he wouldn’t have done that, “for my father’s sake,” she thought with derision. She felt so oddly destitute to be still unmarried and living at home with her parents. But they were betrothed; Simon could see that they had forced their will through. Whatever else Erlend might have done, he had remained faithful to her, and she had been neither reckless nor frivolous.
One evening in early spring Ragnfrid wanted to send a message south to Old Gunhild, the widow who sewed fur pelts. The evening was so beautiful that Kristin asked if she could go. In the end she was given permission because all the men were busy.
It was after sunset, and a fine white frosty mist rose up toward the golden-green sky. With every hoofbeat Kristin heard the brittle sound of evening ice as it shattered and then dispersed with a rattling sound. But in the twilight, from the thickets along the road, came a jubilant birdsong, soft and full of spring.
Kristin rode briskly down the road without thinking about much of anything, simply feeling how good it was to be outside alone. She rode with her gaze fixed on the new moon, which was about to sink behind the mountain ridge on the other side of the valley. She almost fell off her horse when the animal abruptly swerved to the side and then reared up.
She saw a dark body curled up at the edge of the road. At first she was afraid. The dire fear of meeting someone alone out on the road never left her. But she thought it might be a wanderer who had fallen ill, so when she had regained control of her horse, she turned around and rode back as she called out, “Is anyone there?”
The bundle stirred a bit and a voice said, “I think it must be you, Kristin Lavransdatter.”
“Brother Edvin?” she asked softly. She almost thought it was a phantom or some kind of deviltry that was trying to fool her. But she went over to him, and it was the old man after all, but he couldn’t get up without help.
“My dear Father, are you out here wandering at this time of year?” she asked in astonishment.
“Praise be to God for sending you this way tonight,” said the monk. Kristin noticed that he was shivering all over. “I was on my way north to visit you, but I could go no farther tonight. I almost thought it was God’s will that I should lie here and die on the roads where I’ve roamed and slept all my life. But I would have liked to receive absolution and the last rites. And I wanted to see you again, my daughter.”
Kristin helped the monk up onto her horse and then led it by the bridle as she supported him. In between his protests that she was getting her feet wet in the icy slush, he moaned softly in pain.