The Reindeer Girl

by Holly Webb

  People kept rushing up to them and hugging her mum. Lotta wished she could understand what they were saying better, although she soon worked out what the Norwegian for “and this must be Lotta!” was. After a while she wandered off and perched on the windowsill, admiring everyone’s clothes.

  “Why don’t we go and get something to eat?” her dad suggested, coming to find her. “I bet there’s hot chocolate, as well.”

  Lotta nodded, and they threaded their way through the beautifully dressed crowd, making for the big table, which was piled with food. The pepperkaken biscuits that Lotta had decorated with Mum and Mormor were there. She was pretty sure she had seen one of her American cousins eating one.

  They hadn’t got very far towards the food table when someone stopped Lotta’s dad to talk to him. Lotta rolled her eyes and went on without him. She was hungry now, and she could smell the party food.

  In the centre of the table were great big plates of lutefisk. Lotta wasn’t sure about that. It was dried fish, and Mum said it was delicious, but Dad had whispered to her that he thought it was horrible, and he always had to pretend to like it to keep Mormor happy when they visited. Lotta took some of the bits of bacon that went with it, though, and the potatoes. And she loved the roast pork rib, which was already carved in slices. She balanced a couple of biscuits on the edge of her plate, too, and then went to look for somewhere to sit.

  The thing was, everywhere was so full of people, all talking louder and louder. Lotta blinked in the candlelight and wished there was somewhere quieter she could go.

  “Are you all right, Lotta?”

  Lotta turned round slowly, hoping it was someone she knew. Oldeforeldre was standing behind her, leaning on her walking stick. She was smiling, and Lotta beamed back.

  “You look lovely in your dress, Lotta. But tired. Shall we go and sit in my room?”

  “Oh, please.” Lotta nodded. “I’ve got cookies, look. We can share them.” She followed her great-grandmother through the main room, and they both sighed with relief as the door shut behind them and the noise of the party went down to a quiet buzz. It was cosy in the little room, with the wood stove going and the dim light making the horn carvings gleam.

  “Happy birthday!” Lotta said excitedly, as she sat down on the floor with her plate in front of her. “Oh, sorry! Maybe I shouldn’t make you sit in here when this is your party.”

  She looked at Oldeforeldre uncertainly, but her great-grandmother sniffed. “It is my birthday, Lotta, and I want to have a quiet sit down. I have been talking to everyone for hours already, it seems to me.”

  Lotta nodded. “I know what you mean. Your dress is beautiful – it isn’t like anyone else’s at all.”

  Oldeforeldre wasn’t wearing a white blouse with a dress over it, like Lotta’s. Instead her dress was a beautiful bright blue wool, with red and gold embroidery round the neck and shoulders, and an embroidered belt, too.

  Oldeforeldre nodded and smiled. “Ah! Yes, this is a Sami dress, Lotta. I wear it only for special occasions now, but when I was younger, this is what we wore all the time. Always the dress. And it was made out of reindeer skin then, not cloth.”

  “Reindeer skin!” Lotta squeaked, horrified. That was awful, like wearing a fur coat.

  Oldeforeldre laughed. “But yes, Lotta! You know my family were reindeer herders. We lived with the reindeer all through the year. They gave us everything. Meat. The skins to wear.” She pulled the photograph album from the shelf and turned to the photo of herself and her cousin Lotta. “Even our shoes were made of reindeer skin, can you see?” She pointed to the boots the two girls were wearing, with strange, curled toes. To Lotta, they looked like the kind of thing an elf would have. “These days our costumes are made from wool, and sometimes we wore wool dresses back then, too. But reindeer skin is the warmest thing to wear in the snow.”

  “It still seems cruel…” Lotta murmured, nibbling her biscuit.

  “Mmmm. It was a very long time ago, Lotta. Perhaps people feel differently today. But we did not waste anything that came from our reindeer – even the thread we used to sew our coats and boots was made from the reindeer sinews. I remember watching my mother tearing them with her teeth to make the thread.”

  Lotta shuddered. “So you didn’t have a farm, like Great-uncle Aslak’s?” she asked, wanting to change the subject.

  “No, no! We were herders. We lived in a village in the winter – little huts, built out of wood and turf. See, here.” She pointed to another photograph, of a group of round huts. “The reindeer lived in the mountains, until their food began to run out. They had to dig for lichen under the snow – very difficult. Our fathers would go up the mountains through the winter to help them find the best places. Sometimes they would have to move the herd, when the food grew short in one place.

  “Then, when the spring came, the mothers would need more food to give them the strength to feed their babies. The men would take them to the calving grounds, and we would follow with the other reindeer. We would take them down to the coast, to the summer pastures, to eat grass instead. We had to help them to get to the pastures on time, before the snows melted and the rivers flooded. So, in the spring, we would be moving and living in tents. Lavvus – made of reindeer skin or canvas, on long poles.” She pointed to another photo, this time of a family standing outside a big tent that looked a bit like a Native American tipi. “Can you see inside, look? The fire in the middle. Birch branches spread on the floor – and more reindeer skins to sleep on.”

  “You really did make everything out of reindeer skin,” Lotta said.

  “Mmmm. Those were the old ways.” Oldeforeldre sighed. “Now they have snowmobiles. You know? Motor sledges. Not the same as skis and a reindeer sledge.”

  “You actually had reindeer pulling sledges? Like Father Christmas?” Lotta stared up at her, not sure if she was joking. She hadn’t realized anyone really did that.

  Oldeforeldre laughed warmly. “Yes. Like Father Christmas. But usually just one reindeer – not lots tied together.” She leaned over towards Lotta and whispered, “And not flying, either.”

  Lotta giggled. “I suppose not. And you and your cousin Lotta went, too?”

  “Yes, all the children did. Me, Lotta, my brothers, we all helped. We worked as a family. When the reindeer went to the summer pastures, our fathers and the older cousins took the mother reindeer and the calves, and my mamma and my aunt Inge and us younger ones would take the male reindeer. They could go faster, you see. It wasn’t such hard work to look after them.”

  Lotta nodded, trying to imagine it. Following the herd through the forest, carrying everything they needed on a few reindeer sledges. Camping in a big tent, and curling up round the fire at night. It sounded magical.

  Oldeforeldre added more wood to the stove, and the flames crackled and danced. Watching them made Lotta feel sleepy. “Did you have adventures?” she asked, with a little yawn, leaning her head against the arm of Oldeforeldre’s chair. “Was it dangerous?”

  Oldeforeldre reached down and stroked her hair. “Sometimes. There were eagles, who would try to snatch the little reindeer calves. And wolves in the forests…”

  Lotta nodded and yawned again. Real wolves! It sounded like a fairy tale. Two little girls walking through the forest, and a wolf sneaking along behind…

  Lotta woke up, yawning and blinking. She rubbed her cheek against the furry rug she’d been sleeping on, and wriggled away from the shaft of sunlight. She didn’t want to get up yet. The party had gone on late, so late that she didn’t remember going to bed last night at all.

  Actually, she didn’t even remember the end of the party. Maybe someone had carried her upstairs? Curious now, Lotta sat up and stretched, looking around to see where she was.

  Then she clutched at the furry rug in a panic. This wasn’t her grandparents’ house in Tromsø. She didn’t think it was a house at all. She was sitting on a pile of soft brown furs, by the side of a fire. A real fire, not a stove. It was ri
ght in the middle of the floor, surrounded by a few big stones. Cautiously, Lotta reached out to touch one – it was still warm, even though the fire was mostly ashes now.

  It was a tent, she decided. A big, cone-shaped tent, with wooden poles. The last smoke from the fire was drifting wispily up and out of a hole at the top, and there was a door folded back. She could see out of the opening – tall, dark trees were rising out of the snow, their branches waving.

  The wind was howling, shaking the sides of the tent. She could hear bells ringing, too – not church bells, but smaller ones, clonging and jingling close by, mixed with a heavy, thudding noise, like horses trotting.

  “Lotta, are you going to sleep all day? Get up!” A girl a little older than Lotta slipped in through the open door and stood in front of her, hands on her hips. “You’re so lazy!” she giggled. “You’re worse than Nils and Matti. Come on. My pappa says they’re about to leave. And your pappa asked me to find you. You need to come and say goodbye.”

  Lotta nodded. She didn’t understand what was happening, but if she needed to say goodbye to her dad, then of course she would go. Perhaps he could explain what was happening – and where he was going.

  She pushed back the furry covers, and ran her hands down the blue cloth of her dress. Then she followed the other girl to the door of the tent, blinking as she came closer to the bright light. Even though the tent was surrounded by snow, the day was glittering and brilliant. Icicles hung from the tree branches, sparkling in the sun.

  The snow must be thawing, Lotta thought, frowning to herself. You only got icicles when there were drips that froze again, she was sure. Wasn’t it strange for the snow to be melting away at Christmas time? She was sure that Mum had said there would be snow until April, at least.

  “Lotta, put your boots on!” the other girl said, popping her head back through the door. “Are you still half asleep?”

  Lotta gave a nervous sort of laugh. “I think I must be,” she muttered, looking down at the boots, which were waiting by the door. They were full of soft, dried green grass, like sweet hay, and she wondered if the other girl was playing a trick on her. She crouched down to pull the grass out, and then saw that the other girl’s boots had grass in, too. She could see it sticking out just a little between the boots and the pretty red embroidered bands that tied around the boots and the furry leggings the girl was wearing. Perhaps the grass was instead of socks? Lotta thought, dazedly. But why?

  She wriggled her bare feet into the boots, wincing a little as she stuffed her toes in. She’d expected the grass to be itchy and horrible, but it didn’t feel too bad, and the boots fitted perfectly.

  “Erika! Lotta! Come on!” Someone was calling from outside, and the other girl – was she called Erika then? – grabbed the long bands of woven red ribbon that were piled next to the boots. Lotta blinked as she watched her. Oldeforeldre’s name was Erika…

  “Oh, hurry up!” Erika started to wind the bands round the tops of Lotta’s boots. “I don’t want to miss saying goodbye. We won’t see them for weeks once they go off to the calving grounds with the mother reindeer.” Erika finished tying the bands, and then grabbed a thick fur jacket and a hat, and slung them at Lotta. “Let’s go!” She grabbed Lotta’s hand and dragged her out of the tent, running through the snow towards the growing noise outside.

  It was reindeer hooves, Lotta now realized. Thudding and thumping on the snow, as the reindeer milled around. The pregnant mothers and last year’s young calves had been separated out from the males, who were shut up inside a strange sort of enclosure made out of fabric wrapped round tall poles, like a fence. They were grunting and stamping, and the mothers and young reindeer were skittish and jumpy, as if they knew they were about to set off.

  “Lotta! There you are!” A big man was stomping towards them, wrapped in a thick, heavy fur coat that made him almost as wide as he was tall. He wrapped Lotta in a huge hug and lifted her off her feet, swinging her round and making her laugh in delight. It was something her dad did sometimes.

  But this wasn’t her dad. Lotta stared at the smiling man, as he set her down in the snow. He was taller and bigger, and smelled different. Yet she felt safe with him, somehow. It was as though she’d stepped into his daughter’s place – Lotta, the cousin her great-grandmother had told her about. As well as her clothes, and her boots with the grass in…

  Lotta stepped back a little, watching this man who felt strangely like her father, and the other men who were bustling around, packing bundles on to sledges and harnessing themselves up to the reindeer. It looked as though the reindeer were actually going to pull some of them along on skis. It was another world…

  “Are you all right, Lotta? Have you said goodbye to Pappa?”

  “Mamma!” Lotta looked up at her, blinking tearfully – everything felt so strange, and she was frightened. The woman smiling at her had a very faint look of her mother – the way her eyes went when she smiled, perhaps. She wrapped her arms round Lotta and hugged her tightly.

  “Oh, Lotta, don’t be sad! We’ll see Pappa again in a week or two! We’ll meet them all at the calving grounds, won’t we? Pappa and your uncles.”

  “It won’t be long at all,” Pappa said.

  Lotta nodded. It must be just before the spring migration, she thought. Oldeforeldre had told her about it. When her father and her uncles took the mother reindeer off to the calving grounds. Then her mother and her aunts and some of the cousins came on afterwards with the males, once the mothers had had their babies in peace. Then they would all travel on to the summer pastures together.

  But what was Lotta doing in the middle of all this? Eighty years in the past? Was it a dream? It didn’t feel dream-like at all. She could smell the reindeer. A strong, horsey smell, like in the stable at Great-uncle Aslak’s farm. She didn’t ever remember smells in dreams before.

  She had gone to sleep at a party, leaning against her great-grandmother Erika’s chair, and listening to the story of her time as a reindeer girl. Lotta had fallen asleep, thinking of snow, and reindeer, and wolves. And she’d woken up here.

  Inside the story.

  Lotta’s pappa stared down at Lotta and Erika seriously. “I’m leaving you two to look after the mother reindeer and her calf, you understand? It’s your special job.”

  “Yes, Uncle Peter.” Erika elbowed Lotta gently, and Lotta gave a little gasp. “We understand, don’t we, Lotta? We’ll make sure she’s all right. And her new calf.”

  Lotta nodded, gathering her wits. It was as though she had to pull in a fishing net, full of all the things she needed to know. She tried to think of everything Oldeforeldre had told her about her life as a reindeer girl, but there were so many gaps. She’d just have to do her best.

  She didn’t understand what had happened, but there was no time to think about it. It must be a very strange and real dream, that was all. And now her pappa was asking them to do something important.

  “He’s still not feeding well from his mother,” Pappa said, frowning. “In a week or so you can try and give him a handful of grain every so often. And some for her, too. You have to keep her strength up so she has enough milk for him. He’s very small, and he’s her first calf. She needs you to help her.”

  “We will,” Lotta whispered, and her pappa leaned down to hug her again, his bristly chin scratching her face and making her laugh.

  “I’ll miss you. Look after your mamma while I’m away, too, yes?”

  Lotta’s mamma tugged the flaps on her tall red hat closer around her ears. “The wind is bitter,” she said. “Make sure you build your fire well tonight, Peter. There’s some dried fish on one of the sledges, you must eat properly.”

  “Of course, I will.” He wrapped one arm round each of them. “I promise. And I’ll see you soon, when we all meet up at the calving grounds.”

  One of the other men was calling, and he looked round. “Time to go.” He walked back over to the big wooden sledge at the front of the line and checked the harness. />
  “I hope Growler pulls the sledge well, don’t you?” Erika said, coming up beside her, and nodding at the reindeer that was going to pull the sledge. “I loved helping your pappa to train him this winter. It was fun, wasn’t it?”

  Lotta nodded, trying to look as though she knew what Erika meant.

  “He doesn’t seem worried by the harness, does he? But then we spent ages getting him used to it. Oh, my pappa’s calling.” She dashed off towards one of the other men, huge and tall in his fur coat, and Lotta was left alone again.

  Growler grunted loudly, staring at Lotta, as though he wanted something. She walked over slowly, and hesitantly began to stroke him and rub his soft nose, the way she had with the reindeer at the farm.

  They must have named him Growler because of the noises he made, she thought. He was doing it now, making deep, throaty growls as he nuzzled at the pockets of Lotta’s heavy fur coat. He seemed to think there was food in there.

  “I don’t have any,” Lotta told him apologetically. “I’m not quite who you think I am. But I’ll try and give you some food next time I see you. You do look so silly with half your antlers gone like that,” she added, with a little laugh. Growler had only lost the antlers on one side, which made him look all lopsided and a bit dopey.

  She stayed there, patting Growler and stroking his ears, while everyone bustled around. She could feel the little notches cut in the edges of his ears. Mum had told her about those in one of her stories – the marks that showed he belonged to her family.

  Her pappa was putting on his wooden skis, tucking the ties carefully under the curly toes of his reindeer-skin boots. So that’s why they have such funny-shaped boots, Lotta thought. It helps to hold the skis on…