The House by the Fjord (20 page)

There followed two pages of how she made two new friends the following day. Their names were Sonja and Greta. Marie had brought them with her to help illustrate the exchange of partners in some of the dances. They were bright, happy girls, both betrothed to young men in the valley. They were like Marie in having come originally from other parts of Norway, it being the custom to send farmers' daughters for a year or more to other farming communities in the hope of marriage, and to bring fresh blood into families that had lived on their farms for generations. Ingrid enjoyed the prospect of their forthcoming weddings and had many discussions about what they would be wearing and how the celebrations should be. She thought how different her own wedding day had been, when tears had run down her face throughout the ceremony and then that night, innocent and terrified, she had been subjected to what had amounted to brutal rape.

Anna closed the book. There had followed some harrowing details that upset her and had brought the shine of tears to her eyes. Poor Ingrid! Yet, perhaps by writing about that night and other cruelties she had suffered, it had released her from the torment of those distressing memories once and for all.

During the days that followed Anna could not put the journal aside for any length of time. She was fascinated by this insight into another age and another time.

I could not understand
, Ingrid had written at the end of her first week,
why Hans-Petter was so restless on Saturday afternoon, neighing and pulling on his tethering rope. Then I saw what it was! Since nobody works on Sundays, which is strictly observed by everybody, all the farmers in the valley release their
fjordings
into the mountains at the week's end. To my joy I could see these lovely horses galloping up the slopes to freedom, one after another, and I ran to release Hans-Petter to let him go with them. He snorted, reared up in his excitement and then went bolting off in the wake of the other horses, his mane and tail flying. I did wonder if I might have difficulty getting him home again on Sunday night, but he followed the other horses back to the valley and I fetched him from there. I was told that sometimes the horses played truant, ignoring the whistles and calls of their owners, but on the whole they were conditioned by routine to know when their period of rest was at an end . . 
.

Anna knew from farming talk she had heard in Molde that this custom was still in existence, and almost without exception farm horses were treated as if they were extended members of the family. Always beloved by the children, the horses showed the utmost tolerance towards them. It was this mutual affection and respect that had made it so hard for the animals and their owners alike when the Germans had commandeered the strongest of the
fjordings
to pull their loaded wagons and their guns. All these horses were abandoned when the enemy was defeated, and farmers from all over Norway had gone in search of their own animals, quite a number being successful. She had been told that one local farmer, having located his horse among hundreds, had tears of joy running down his face as he walked it up the valley, bringing it home again.

Already Ingrid's journal had had a profound effect on Anna. She found that she was identifying herself in quite a few ways with Ingrid, as if she had found a kindred spirit. Both of them had had traumatic experiences – Ingrid with her marriage and she herself with heart-tearing widowhood. She wished she could reach out and take Ingrid's hand into her own, linking them through the years and bringing them both into friendship. Would she experience that same wish to bond with the past when the time came for her to enter the old house, because by now she knew she would never rest until she had viewed Ingrid's home for herself.

The next time Anna settled to read, there was a description of the two weddings. As Sonja's parents were dead, the family with whom she lived had arranged for her and her betrothed, a pleasant young farmer's son, to be married from their home. Three hundred guests came for the occasion, which was quite customary, for a wedding was a grand occasion for merrymaking in otherwise quiet lives, and everybody – even those that came from away – brought food to help feed the vast gatherings, and Ingrid was told that there was always more than enough. Many women were like the bride in wearing full national costume, the bridegroom among the men in their grand attire. Sonja also wore a borrowed, traditionally high golden crown, which had been handed down through generations of somebody's family. Both she and her bridegroom rode their
fjordings
to and from the church, with a fiddler playing merrily as he walked ahead of them. Everybody in the valley accommodated the guests and Ingrid had two of Sonja's cousins to sleep in her
stabbur
, while several children slept on the floor. The feasting and the dancing and the singing lasted three days before everybody departed and the valley was peaceful again.

Greta went home to marry, but, in contrast to Sonja's happy celebration, everything went disastrously wrong, including a change in the weather from warm sunshine to steady rain. Ingrid had been invited as an important guest, for she had helped Greta make a wedding gown trimmed with exquisite handmade lace and in which she looked beautiful. Then, a week before the marriage, an aged uncle in Greta's family died, which meant the unfortunate girl had to go into mourning. Although she was allowed her white bridal veil and flowers for her hair, she had to wear a black dress.

‘I've never even met the horrible old man!' she sobbed bitterly on her wedding morning. ‘How dare he spoil this day of all days for me!'

Ingrid tried to comfort her, wanting her to flout convention and wear the white dress as she would have done, but Greta did not dare face the shock and condemnation of both her own and her bridegroom's family at a lack of conventional respect.

‘Take the gown, Ingrid!' she cried, waving it away. ‘Keep it for your wedding day! You haven't any family to die at the wrong time!'

So when Ingrid returned home, she had the wedding gown with her and packed it away in her bridal chest.

Fourteen

Alex had become a frequent visitor, coming to see her whenever his work permitted, mostly at weekends. She had also discovered that when he had called on the day she had seen the concentration camp, it had not been at Steffan's instigation.

‘I could not stay away from seeing you any longer,' he had told her, touching her face with his fingertips before bending his head to kiss her. ‘I had only seen you for a matter of half an hour on the day of your arrival in my country, but I could not get you out of my mind.'

She was becoming very fond of him and looked forward to his visits, but whether it was the beginning of love in her case she could not be certain. Everything was so different from the time of the whirlwind romance she had experienced with Johan, when death was threatening everybody, civilians as well as those in the forces. This new experience was quiet and very calm, being taken with a careful approach, and she felt lost and unsure of herself in such different circumstances.

All her friends liked Alex and he was included in all their party invitations. The war brides eyed him appreciatively for his good looks and attractive presence, all beginning to hope that there would be a wedding before long, but Anna evaded answering their sometimes very probing questions.

On most of Alex's visits he took her into Oslo where they ate at interesting places. She liked very much the artists' restaurant where the walls were covered with sketches and drawings by Scandinavian artists who had eaten there in their time. After seeing a splendidly acted production of Ibsen's
Hedda Gabler
, she particularly liked dining at the Grand Hotel where Johan made sure they sat at a corner table by the window, for it was there, many years before, that the playwright had always seated himself, coming to his favourite table every day at noon as regular as clockwork. Before the snow melted away, they went up many times to the Holmenkollen ski jump to view competitions there. The height of the jump dazzled Anna as she watched the breathtaking events. She joined in with the rest of the spectators in cheering the skiers who soared through the air like eagles, reaching incredible lengths when they landed, and she waved a national flag as enthusiastically as if she were as Norwegian as the rest of the spectators. Alex often glanced sideways at her and smiled at her enthusiasm.

They went to plays and concerts as well as to the movies, holding hands. He always drove her home afterwards, and although he stayed for a coffee, he never put pressure on her, seemingly content to wait. Yet his kisses had become more deeply passionate and his caresses lingering. Privately she yearned for greater intimacy between them, but was held back by the ties of the past when Johan had filled her life. She remembered Gudrun's advice to her, but she did not know yet if she had permanent room in her heart for another love. Alex most surely understood her state of mind; otherwise, he would not have been so patient.

One of the trips they made was south of Oslo to the east of the fjord. By now he knew how almost anything antique fascinated her.

‘I guarantee that what I'm going to show you will be the oldest thing that you'll ever see,' he had said before they set out.

‘Whatever can it be?' she had asked. ‘Give me a clue.'

‘How about four thousand years?'

She laughed. ‘It is an old pot in some museum!'

He shook his head, laughing. ‘No, you're far out with that idea.'

She was intrigued, and on the drive, which turned out to be much longer than she had expected, he would not give away what she was to see, although she kept guessing in vain. It was in the countryside when they came at last to a national sign indicating the presence of an historic site. There he parked the car. Then he took her by her hand to guide her along a path that wandered on until they came to a large rock. Incised into it were the Stone Age carvings of the first inhabitants of this northern land. Depicted as if they were pin-men, all of the male figures well-endowed, they were sailing on Viking-shaped boats as well as fishing and using bows and arrows, and – most astonishing of all – many were on skis. She had seen ancient skis in the ski museum at Holmenkollen, but none as old as these. A very human touch, which linked the present with that ancient time, was the shape of a little child's outspread hand that a prehistoric father must have chiselled out of the rock after outlining the shape of it.

Anna put her own hand over it. ‘I'm touching the past,' she said wonderingly.

Alex put his arm about her waist and drew her close to him. ‘Come back to the present,' he said and then kissed her. Caught up in the atmosphere of the moment, she responded warmly and he kissed her again, his hand finding her breast beneath her silk blouse and fondling her lovingly. If they had not been in a place where some other sightseer might appear without warning, she thought afterwards, it would have been the moment they became lovers in the true sense of the word.

In the city's National Gallery he took her to see two paintings by Magnus Harvik. As with the artist's other paintings, such as the one in Johan's room and those in the hall of her father-in-law's home, she was enthralled by the artist's brilliant use of colour. Both paintings were mountain views and blazed across the canvas. Then they moved on to another section of the gallery where Alex introduced her to the work of Edvard Munch, which he much admired, and she was in full agreement with him as she viewed Munch's
Girls on the Bridge
and another of little children holding hands. His painting entitled
The Scream
chilled her with its torment while filling her with admiration at the power of this artist's work.

Before they left the gallery, Alex bought her a book about Munch, and not long afterwards, on a fine spring day, he took her to the little town of Asgardstrand by the Oslo fjord to view Munch's home, with everything just as it was in his time. While there in Asgardstrand, they went on to the bridge reaching out into the fjord, where they leaned their arms on the railings.

‘I feel as if I stepped into a Munch painting,' she said happily, thinking of the paintings the artist had done in this location, and having recognized a white house and the lush green tree that had featured in the background of more than one of his works.

Alex was amused. ‘Yes, there are girls on the bridge in his paintings, but not a solitary pair of lovers.'

She turned her head to meet his eyes. ‘Are you sure that is what we are?' she asked quietly.

He nodded, his gaze serious. ‘Yes, even though I have yet to make love to you as I wish to do.' He took both her hands into his. ‘Marry me, Anna.'

A kind of panic gripped her and she seized the first excuse that came into her head. ‘I can't decide anything until I've seen Ingrid's house!' Then, in her agitation, she gave away what had been on her mind for a considerable time. ‘I feel as if in some strange way my life is tied up with it.'

He misunderstood her meaning. ‘As it will be if you accept ownership of it.'

‘No, that's not the reason.' She wished again that she could tell him about the journal, but she could not break the trust that commanded her silence, not even for Alex. ‘I still need time.'

‘Then how long is it to be before you come back to Molde?' he persisted. ‘There will be easy access to the old house now that the snow has gone. Your father-in-law told me that he has already had the obstructive bushes cleared away and a tree felled.'

‘I'll come soon,' she promised wildly, momentarily feeling trapped.

He was not to be deterred. ‘Pack a suitcase and I'll take you back with me tomorrow.'

‘No,' she declared firmly. ‘I'm not ready yet. Not even to give an answer to what you have just asked me.'