Gudrun and Sigurd huddled against the door, panting and listening. Sigurd clung to her waist, and she put her arm around him and hugged him tightly. Her hair was coming down, and she swiped a strand out of her eyes and looked up across the room.
Sigrid was backed up against the far wall, with Ran in her arms. Her eyes were wild, her lips trembled, but she held the baby firmly and defiantly.
“Has that thing gone? It can’t have her, Mamma. It can’t have her!”
“Yes, yes, it’s gone,” soothed Gudrun. There were no more sounds from outside, but she wasn’t going to open the door and check. She let go of Sigurd and came toward Sigrid, her arms out. “That’s right, Sigrid! She’s our baby! It can’t have her!”
Her knees gave way suddenly, and she sank to the ground.
CHAPTER 10
THE NIS IN DISGRACE
PEER, HILDE, AND Ralf stopped on the doorstep to take off their boots. Ralf tried the door and then thumped on it. “We’re back!” he called cheerfully.
There was a muffled cry from inside, followed by bumping and crashing as Gudrun and the children unbarred the door. Their pale faces came peeping around it. “Ralf!” Gudrun wailed.
Ralf made for her at once, one boot on and one off. “What’s wrong?” His arms went around her in a solid and comforting hug. Gudrun clutched him.
“Granny Green-teeth has been here!”
“Granny Green-teeth?” Hilde screeched.
“What?” exclaimed Ralf. “Now wait a minute, Gudrun, calm down. What happened? Tell me quietly.”
Gudrun gripped his hand. “An old woman came to the door. She was dripping all over the doorstep. See, it’s still wet! She came for Ran. She wanted to take her away. I wouldn’t let her in. Oh, Ralf! I stamped on her foot!”
Ralf began to laugh. “You stamped on old Granny Green-teeth? Good for you! My word, the sparks must have flown.”
Instead of answering, Gudrun gulped on a sob. Ralf looked into her face.
“I’m sorry.” He hugged her again. “I’m a fool. I wish I’d been here. But you’re safe, and I’m proud of you. Proud of you!”
Gudrun cried into his shoulder. Then she pulled herself together and stood back, wiping her eyes. “The twins were so brave! Sigurd helped me bar the door, and Sigrid—why, she picked up little Ran and stood there like a—a …”
“A mother wolf!” supplied Sigurd, and Sigrid dissolved into shaky giggles. She was still holding Ran. Her arms were trembling, and she kept hoisting the baby up.
“Give me that child, she’s too heavy for you.” Hilde lifted the baby away from her little sister. Sigrid sat down thankfully.
“Tell them what we heard—Granny Green-teeth talking with the lubbers,” Peer whispered to Hilde.
“I’m not telling the twins about that,” Hilde whispered back. “They’re scared enough already. But however did Granny Green-teeth find out about Ran?”
Gudrun heard the question. “I think I know!” she cried, nodding.
“Just let me get my other boot off, and then tell us everything.” Ralf turned to shut the door, but before he could close it, something small shot in from outside and hurtled between his legs. He gasped and swore. “What in thunder …?”
Over by the fire, the cat puffed out her fur with a horrible shriek. She rose up in an arch, spat, and dashed outside. Under the table something thumped and clattered and fizzed. The Nis’s empty dish came careering out on its rim and bowled to a giddy standstill against the wall.
“You see! The Nis is back.” Gudrun gave a hysterical laugh. “That’s the sort of tantrum I’ve been putting up with today. And there’s your answer, Hilde. The Nis has been jealous of little Ran ever since she came: It wants rid of her! This evening it upset the broth and threw soot about, and when I scolded, it rushed out of the house in a temper. After that, the twins spotted it going down through the wood. I believe it went straight to Granny Green-teeth!”
“Oh no,” breathed Peer. “It wouldn’t!”
“Wouldn’t it, Peer?” Gudrun inquired frostily. “You know best. But if you’re talking to the Nis tonight, give it a word of warning from me.” She raised her voice, clearly intending the Nis to hear her. “Tell it there’s no place in this house for quarrelsome, idle troublemakers!”
Peer felt Hilde’s eyes on him. With a stab of dread, he remembered the little scuttling shadow he had seen near the millpond. It must have been the Nis. But why? Could there be an innocent reason why the Nis might want to visit the mill? He tried to think of one, and failed. The Nis hated the mill and the millpond as much as Peer did, and for the same reason: It had been badly treated by the Grimsson brothers. It would never go near the place, unless for some special purpose.
Had the Nis sent Granny Green-teeth up to the farm? He feared so. The pale faces of Gudrun and the twins floated in a foggy haze—did the fire usually smoke this much? His eyes stung and his hands were cold.
He had to tell. “I think I saw it this evening,” he began in a troubled voice, but broke off as something nudged him under the table. He glanced down, expecting to see Loki. Instead, light dry fingers caught pleadingly at his knee. Two beady eyes glinted up at him.
The words stuck in his throat. He stopped in confusion. They were waiting for him to finish. Should he lie? But Hilde knows I saw it. And it is very jealous of Ran. What if it went to Granny Green-teeth in a fit of temper? It might be sorry now.
The truth, he thought. “Down by the millpond, I saw it,” he stammered. “But I’m sure there’s an explanation, Gudrun. I mean, I know it can be vain and quarrelsome, but I’m sure it wouldn’t be treacherous.”
The clutching hand abruptly let go. Ralf wore a dark frown on his usually pleasant face. “The Nis was at the millpond? It rushed down there in a temper, just before Granny Green-teeth turned up? That’s bad, Peer. That looks very bad.”
There was an awkward, heavy silence, and everyone looked into the corners of the room to see where the Nis was lurking.
“What will you do?” Peer asked miserably, feeling a complete traitor. In a way, the Nis was his oldest friend. He’d met it even before he’d met Hilde. It saved my life, and it saved Loki! I was the one who even brought it here.
“I don’t know,” said Gudrun wearily. “I think it may have to go. I don’t see how we can trust it again.”
“Don’t feel bad, Peer,” said Ralf in a kind voice. “It isn’t your fault.” He looked at his wife. “Shall we talk about it later? After supper?”
Gudrun whirled with a cry of alarm and lifted the pot of barley broth from the embers. “Oh dear!” She was almost in tears again. “It’s been keeping warm for hours, and now look at it! All dried up.”
“Blame old Granny Green-teeth for that, not yourself,” said Ralf.
“And the Nis,” Gudrun muttered.
Peer slumped. They both believed the Nis was guilty. He looked at Hilde, who was rocking Ran on her knee, murmuring old nursery rhymes. “What do you think?” he asked in a low voice. She shook her head, avoiding his eye.
“This child is asleep. Why don’t you put her in the cradle for me? Come on, Peer. Take your baby!”
“Why mine?” asked Peer gruffly, allowing Hilde to hand Ran over.
“Yours, because you rescued her. And I wonder, Peer, if you hadn’t been there, what Kersten would have done with her?”
“I’ve wondered that too.” Peer remembered the cold waves crashing on the beach. He looked down at the sleepy face and felt his heart squeeze. Little Ran seemed surrounded by dangers. Did she need to be protected from the Nis as well?
They spent a restless night. Sigurd woke with a nightmare, and after Gudrun rose to soothe him, Eirik woke too. Peer lay drowsily, hearing Ralf cough, seeing with blurred eyes the dark shape of Gudrun against the fire, moving here and there, rocking Eirik, patting him on the back. Or was it Ran she was holding? He blinked, unsure whether he’d slept or not. It seemed late. The room was dark and quiet. He lifted his head sleepily. Was that a di
smal little shape, crouching by the hearth? He listened and thought he could make out a hiccuping sniff.
“No groute!” It was a thread of a voice, the tiniest whisper. The gulping and sniffing went on. Peer’s eyes flew wide. Had Gudrun forgotten to put out food for the Nis?
He lay, wondering what to do. They’d all gone to bed early, tired, and nothing had been decided about the Nis. It sounded terribly upset. Should he get up? Gudrun had never forgotten to feed it before. Perhaps this was its punishment.
No, I don’t believe that, Peer thought. Gudrun just forgot. She wouldn’t punish it this way, even though she’s angry.
“No groute! Everybody hates the poor Nis….” There was a bitter little sob.
Whether the Nis was guilty or not, Peer couldn’t bear it. He called out gently, “Nis! We don’t all hate you, truly we don’t. But I did see you down at the mill, didn’t I? What were you up to?”
“The mistress wants me to go.” The Nis sounded heartbroken, and Peer wasn’t sure that it was even listening to him. “I hears her say so. And so—I goes!
With a faint flutter like falling ash, the small humped shape vanished. Although Peer strained his eyes and ears, he saw and heard no more.
I’d better get up and fill its bowl… but why didn’t it answer the question?
He lay back, groaning. What had the Nis been doing down at the mill? And why did it have to be so difficult all the time?
The bed was warm. He was stiff, aching from hours of work. He didn’t fancy blundering around in the dark, maybe waking the family. And Loki was lying across his legs. And besides he was sleepy … so sleepy….
“Well, the Nis is gone!” snapped Gudrun next morning, slapping breakfast on the table.
“How do you know?” asked Hilde.
“I just do,” said Gudrun. “And look at Eirik: crotchety, crabby—he knows too.”
“Isn’t he teething?” Ralf suggested, glancing at his youngest son’s fretful, scarlet face and looking hurriedly away again.
“Exactly!” Gudrun cried. “And if the Nis were here, it’d be keeping him happy. It adored Eirik, I will say that. Still, if it’s gone, it’s gone. And good riddance!”
“It’s upset,” said Peer. “I heard it last night. You didn’t put its food out.”
Gudrun flushed. “I cannot think of everything. I’ve a house to run and enough on my hands with two babies to look after, not to mention the rest of you. And where’s Bjorn? When’s he coming to see his daughter? I hope he doesn’t suppose he can just leave the child to me!”
“I’ll feed the Nis, Ma,” said Sigrid. “Oh, please let me! I’m sure it didn’t mean to do wrong.” She carefully measured a ladleful of groute into a bowl and looked at her mother. “Shall I put in some butter?”
“If you must,” said Gudrun. Sigrid cut a very small lump. She placed the bowl in the hearth among the warm ashes, and the family all watched as if she were doing something very important. It was easier than talking, with Gudrun in this mood.
The next day, to Sigrid’s sorrow, the Nis’s bowl was still full of congealed groute. She scraped it out for the dogs, poured a fresh one, and wandered around the farmstead with the bowl in her hand, softly calling for the Nis, as though it were a lost kitten. And although Gudrun muttered that it was a shocking waste of good food, she didn’t try to prevent Sigrid from putting food out in various different places around the farm. The bowl she left in the cowshed seemed to get cleaned out most regularly.
“I’m sure it’s the Nis,” said Sigrid wistfully.
“It’s rats,” sniffed Gudrun. “I don’t know why the cats don’t get them.”
“The cats won’t go in the cowshed anymore,” said Sigrid, so quietly that nobody heard her.
CHAPTER 11
SUCCESS AT THE MILL
THE DAYS WENT by, and nothing more was seen of the Nis. They began to realize how many little odd jobs it had done, from skimming the cream (its favorite) to amusing the baby, sweeping, and generally tidying up. And with Ran to care for as well as Eirik, Hilde spent hours each day scrubbing and rinsing baby clothes in the cold stream at the back of the house.
“I wish the Nis would come home,” she sighed to Peer one afternoon, as she spread the wrung-out washing over the bushes to dry.
“So do I,” Peer agreed. “I’m sure it didn’t talk to Granny Green-teeth.”
“Oh, I should think it did.” Hilde blew on her cold, red hands. “My, that water’s icy! No, I think that’s probably exactly what it did. It’s got such a quick temper. But I wish it would come back, all the same. I don’t believe Ma ever meant it to go. She’s missing it. She’s angry, and hurt that they’ve quarreled, and neither of them knows how to make friends.”
“Do you think Sigrid’s right? Is it hiding in the cowshed?”
“I don’t know. Have you looked? I have. And I’ve seen Ma and Pa going in there too, when they thought no one was around.”
Peer nodded gloomily. He’d been in, late at night, and found nothing but a few cold little dusty nests in the straw that might have been made by the cats. “I feel so bad about it,” he said. “I’m sure it thinks I gave it away, and it would never understand why. Perhaps we’ll never see it again.”
Hilde gave him a significant glance. “Speaking of friends who have quarreled, what about you and Bjorn? Don’t you think it’s time you made it up with him?”
“What have I done to Bjorn?” Peer asked hotly. “Only rescued his daughter. Not that he seems to care. He never comes to see her!”
“After the way you glowered at him?” said Hilde. “I’m not surprised.”
Peer turned away angrily. As if anything I’d said would affect Bjorn. It’s not my fault if he keeps away!
But Hilde’s words smoldered in his mind. Slowly, reluctantly, he began to remember the good times he had spent with Bjorn, the easy companionship of their fishing trips. He began to realize that between the Nis and Bjorn he had lost two of his best friends. And he missed them.
At least the sheep were safe, although they had nibbled the meadows down to a short, dry lawn. It seemed the trolls dared not venture this far down the hillside. “We’ll move the flock back up to the Stonemeadow after midsummer,” Ralf told Peer. “Once the trolls’ feast is over, perhaps the danger will be past.”
And the sweet, spring days followed one after another: The grass in the paddock grew deep and glossy, the birch trees on Troll Fell glittered with new leaves, and the larches put out tender green fingers. Little white flowers like curds appeared on the elder trees and opened into creamy, heavily scented plates. It was a pleasure just to be outdoors. And then one day the swallows arrived at last, skimming and diving about the farmyard more swiftly than the eye could follow. Hilde’s heart sang as she watched them flashing to and fro. Summer was here!
But the hot sunshine had no effect on the mill. A sort of clammy chill hung about inside the building, and it clung to the skin and penetrated to the bones. For all their efforts, the mill was far from becoming the neat, trim place of Peer’s dreams. They had patched the doors and shutters, and the new wood stood out against the old, piebald and blotchy, like some kind of skin disease. They had rethatched part of the roof, and it looked tufty and brittle, like the hair of someone very old or very ill. And there was a damp, sickly smell about the place, which no amount of daylight and fresh air could cure.
“Let’s light a fire!” said Hilde in desperation one morning. “That might bring the place back to life again!”
If anything can, Peer thought.
“I’ve got a better idea!” Ralf rubbed his hands. “There’s only one way to bring a mill back to life, isn’t there, Peer?”
Peer looked at him. “You mean, get it going? But how? We don’t have any grain.”
“Aha.” Ralf beamed. “I brought some. Just a little—a quarter of a sack. Seems to me it’s time we found out if the machinery still works.”
“It works all right,” said Peer without thinking.
/> “How do you know?” Hilde asked.
His mouth fell open. He’d never told her. And if he tried to explain now, it would sound as if he’d been hiding it. What could he say?
Ralf saved him.
“Feeling confident?” he asked, his eyes twinkling. “I like that. Well, you’re the miller. Show us how it’s done. What first?”
“Fill up the hopper,” said Peer quickly.
“Lead on!” Ralf picked up the quarter sack of barley and followed Peer into the mill. One by one they climbed the rickety ladder up to the dark loft and crowded together in the small space beside the millstones. Above them loomed the dark bulk of the hopper, suspended from the rafters on four thick ropes.
“Mind your heads!” warned Peer.
Ralf slapped his hand against the hopper’s sloping wooden sides. “That’s solid!” he exclaimed, impressed. He raised the sack to tip the barley into the open top.
“Wait,” said Hilde. “It’ll be dirty. After three years, that hopper must be full of dust and cobwebs. Let me sweep it out.” She scrambled down the ladder and returned with a small brush, but discovered that the sides of the hopper were too high for her to get her hand inside. Peer looked around and found a crate. Standing on tiptoe, Hilde bent over the edge of the hopper and started brushing. “I was right!” they heard her muffled voice. “What is this? It must have dropped in from the thatch. Almost like gravel.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Peer muttered.
“Cover your eyes!” Hilde peered down at them. “I’ll flick this stuff out.” Peer and Ralf looked away as she wielded her brush. A shower of something light and gritty pattered over the edges of the hopper. They couldn’t see what it was, but it crunched underfoot. Finally Hilde was satisfied.
“Good enough. Go ahead, Pa.”
Ralf raised his sack and carefully let the barley run into the hopper. A few grains instantly dribbled through the hole in the bottom and ran down into the eye of the upper millstone.
Troll Mill Page 10
