Fiddling with Fate

by Kathleen Ernst

  The people who’d lingered on the floor, eager to keep moving, shrugged and departed. “Play something we can dance to!” a man yelled.

  But as Jørgen played, the complainers ceased grumbling and the chatterers stopped talking. Even children ended their games and fell silent. Solveig wasn’t the only listener who fumbled for a handkerchief.

  When the piece ended, Jørgen lowered his instrument slowly. He blinked at the mesmerized audience as if he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone.

  “Jørgen!” Solveig cried, just as the crowd erupted in applause. She elbowed her way closer. “Jørgen!”

  Somehow, he heard her. He met her gaze. Then he handed his fiddle to the kjøgemester and jumped from the dais to the dance floor to the ground. The next thing Solveig knew she was in his arms. She felt the longing in his crushing embrace.

  But people pressed close, congratulating him, calling for another tune. He grabbed Solveig’s hand and towed her through the crowd to the forest beyond the dance floor. “I know a special place where we can talk.”

  They took a narrow path into the woods. The kjøgemester must have called up another fiddler, for music sounded from the clearing behind them. Soon they emerged on a narrow outcrop. The view was splendid, but Solveig saw only Jørgen.

  “You’re well?” He gripped her shoulders as if needing reassurance.

  “Well enough, now. Your tune—”

  “I wrote it for you. The winter was so lonely …”

  Solveig nodded.

  “Did you like the gift I left at the seter?” His eyes danced.

  “More than I can say. But I need to tell you—Jørgen, you’re a father.”

  His mouth opened. His face went blank. “I’m … what?”

  “You have a daughter. Three weeks old.”

  Clearly, this possibility had not entered his mind. “But … whatever will we do with her?”

  He looked so bemused that Solveig had to laugh. “We will take her to America, of course!”

  “Yes. Of course.” Jørgen’s stunned expression faded to a dawning smile. “Yes! We will take her to America. I’ll make a tiny hardingfele and teach her to play. But … oh Solveig, however did you manage on your own?”

  “I wasn’t on my own. I’ve been staying with my older sister.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Amalie didn’t say so.”

  She took a step backwards. “When did you see Amalie?”

  “Last week. I traveled through Utne, stopped at the inn for a meal, and she recognized me.”

  Solveig sucked in an uneasy breath. “Amalie didn’t know I’m still in Norway. I didn’t tell my parents, either. They think I already emigrated. Did you mention my name?”

  Jørgen’s brow furrowed. “No, but she asked me—” His voice broke abruptly as he focused on something over her shoulder.

  Solveig whirled. Her father and Gustav stepped from the trees with a gray-haired man she’d seen at her father’s preachings.

  Her heart made a sickening slide. How had they known? How?

  Svein strode to them. “Father, I—” Solveig’s words ended in a yelp of pain as he gripped her arm with iron fingers.

  “Stop!” Jørgen tried to shove himself between father and daughter. Gustav grabbed his arms from behind and pinioned Jørgen against his chest.

  “You sinful girl,” Svein hissed at Solveig. His eyes glittered with the fanatical intensity of a man certain of his own unfailing righteousness. He thrust her away so roughly that she stumbled to her knees. The third man hauled her up again and jerked her toward the path.

  “No!” Solveig shrieked. She couldn’t make sense of what was happening.

  The man dragged her beyond the outcrop, farther from the dance. Voices raised in song drifted faintly from the gathering.

  Solveig fought to break free. “Help me!”

  The man smacked her across the face, hard enough to send her reeling. But when he reached to grab her again she kicked hard, catching him in the groin. He doubled over, bleating in pain. She desperately scrambled away. Back to the ledge, she had to get back toward the ledge.

  But she was too late. Before even leaving the trees she saw the men writhing on the outcrop. Jørgen was younger than Father and Gustav, but he was no sturdy laborer, and outnumbered.

  One moment there were three men on the ledge. Then there were two.

  Thirty-Two

  Chloe found herself back in the Odda hospital’s emergency room waiting area.

  When the first responders had arrived at the restored cabin from Høiegård, Torstein was still breathing. In a detached way, Chloe was relieved. But Roelke had lost consciousness in the ambulance. Medical staff had whisked him away upon arrival, and no one had provided an update since.

  Now she sat with elbows on knees and face in hands. What would I do without Roelke? she wondered numbly. She’d already lost her mother. She wasn’t sure she was strong enough to lose Roelke too. He’d become part of her, the foundation for everything else.

  A heavy hand settled on her shoulder. “Chloe?”

  Chloe jumped. “Why—Reverend Brandvold! What are you doing here?”

  “People still call me when there’s trouble in Utne.” He settled heavily into the next chair. “I thought you might like some company.”

  His kindness almost broke her composure. “I would love some company. Roelke’s with the doctors now. I don’t know what’s happening.” Her forehead wrinkled. “But … how did you get here? We left your car parked at the museum.”

  “Barbara-Eden drove me.” Reverend Brandvold leaned closer. “She wasn’t sure you’d want to see her, so she’s fetching coffee.”

  “Why wouldn’t I want to see her?”

  “She’s learned to be hard on herself.”

  A few minutes later, when the young woman hesitantly approached, Chloe reached for the Styrofoam offering. “Thank you, Barbara-Eden. This is exactly what I needed.”

  Barbara-Eden perched on the edge of another chair and began pleating the hem of her skirt. “Is what I heard true? Did Torstein really do something awful?”

  Chloe sipped the coffee, thinking that through. “I haven’t given a formal statement to the police yet, so I shouldn’t say too much. But … yes. He did.”

  “I thought he was wonderful,” Barbara-Eden whispered.

  “I did too.” Chloe pinched her lips into a tight line. From the moment they’d met she’d been attracted to his energy, his enthusiasm for folk dance. She remembered how his intense gaze suggested that her every word was fascinating. She remembered the joy she’d felt while dancing with him that afternoon.

  Her stomach roiled. She’d been dancing with the devil.

  “Chloe, I …” Barbara-Eden glanced at Pastor Brandvold, who gave her an encouraging nod. “Torstein asked me questions about you. He asked if you’d brought a fiddle to Norway. I said I didn’t know! But …” She swallowed hard. “But I did tell him about the heirlooms you put in the hotel safe.”

  Well, there’s one question answered, Chloe thought. She imagined Torstein Landvik bestowing one of his smiles as he pumped Barbara-Eden for information, leaving the girl eager to share something, anything, that might interest him.

  Barbara-Eden looked wretched. “I didn’t think that he would—”

  “I know,” Chloe said firmly. “We’ll let the police sort all that out, okay? None of this is your fault.”

  “Miss Ellefson?” A gray-haired nurse beckoned from the doorway.

  “That’s me.” Chloe spilled her coffee as she jumped up, but she didn’t look back. Please, please, please, she thought. Please tell me that Roelke’s okay.

  “Mr. McKenna lost a lot of blood, but he was lucky.”

  Chloe’s knees went wobbly.

  “He had several slash wounds, but those were shallow,” the nurse continued. “We were m
ost worried about the deeper wound in his side. Fortunately, the blade didn’t hit any organs. He’s getting a transfusion, and the doctor’s stitching him up now.”

  “So—so he’s going to be all right?” Chloe wanted it spelled out.

  The nurse put a reassuring hand on Chloe’s wrist. “Your friend is going to be fine.”

  “He’s my fiancé,” she whispered, because it mattered. “We’re going to be married soon.”

  Pain woke Roelke the next morning, but he tried to put it aside. He was lucky to be alive. And instead of being incarcerated at the damn hospital as he’d feared, he was back in Room 15 at the Utne Hotel. And Chloe was in bed beside him. And, she’d actually met a relative yesterday. There really was nothing to complain about.

  Then he realized that she was awake too, watching him. “Hey,” he said.

  “You’re really okay?”

  “I’m really okay.” They’d had that exact exchange the night before. Several times.

  “When I saw you on the floor, and Torstein standing there with a bloody knife in his hand …”

  They’d had this conversation last night, too. But he knew exactly how she felt. When Landvik attacked, all Roelke could think was, Thank God Chloe’s back at the museum. The moment she burst into the cabin was one of the worst of his life.

  Now he instinctively reached for her, groaning against a throbbing burst of pain. “Jesus. I swear the shoulder where Landvik kicked me hurts worse than the knife wounds. Is he some kind of secret ninja or something?”

  “No,” Chloe said soberly. “He’s a folk dancer who obviously excels at the Halling.”

  Roelke gritted his teeth and tried again, wriggling his fingers beneath the sheet until he found hers. For a long while he was content to just be, bruised and bloodied but alive, with Chloe’s warm hand in his.

  Finally she pulled away. “I couldn’t sleep last night, so I got up and wrote down some thoughts.” She pulled her notebook from the bedside stand and handed it over.

  Roelke took a careful look. She’d told him a few things last night—including the astonishing arrival of her great-aunt—but honestly, he hadn’t made much sense of it.

  Monday

  Arrived in Bergen, met Sonja at the airport, showed her my heirloom textiles, she speaks of ideas expressed in embroidered symbols

  After Sonja left, someone tried to grab my pack—presumably after the textiles

  Torstein was in Bergen at the time (per Ellinor)Tuesday

  Torstein arrives in Utne

  Rockfall while Roelke hiking up mountain

  Sonja returns to Utne early

  Klara killed in Høiegård that evening, circle of ashes drawn on her foreheadWednesday

  Trip to Kinsarvik, Ellinor said she couldn’t go, but Roelke spots her there

  Visit Rev. Brandvold and learn a letter from Amalie has disappearedThursday

  Fire alarm before dawn, our room ransacked, my heirlooms stolen from hotel safe

  I find reference to Amalie in Ellinor’s Jørgen Riis fileFriday

  Get fake phone message to call home, delay kept us from getting the next ferry

  At Fjelland, see whorled heart symbol carved into log, I’m sure I’ve seen the motif before but can’t remember where

  Someone cut brake line so we crashed in the tunnelSaturday

  Librarian lies about telling no one that we were going to Fjelland the day before

  Met Helene Valebrokk, my great-aunt; she IDs fiddle in photograph as Torstein’s, and photo shows similar whorled heart symbol

  Helene seems to dislike Torstein

  Helene confirms that the museum building called Høiegård came from Fjelland, and that Mom’s mother comes from there

  In Høiegård, Torstein

  The final notation was incomplete.

  “I couldn’t even write the words,” Chloe admitted. “And I left out the personal stuff too. The places where I experienced flashes of ancestral memory.”

  “We can hardly present that as evidence,” Roelke agreed. He looked over the list again. “You left out Barbara-Eden and the necklace, too.”

  Chloe shrugged. “That’s been resolved. But Ellinor has some explaining to do. Possibly Sonja too, since she’s the textile expert and has knowledge about old symbols. Torstein is the constant, though.”

  Roelke couldn’t grab all the dangling threads. “Let’s go down and get some breakfast before taking this further.” Coffee and smoked salmon and some of that odd-but-tasty brown cheese could only help.

  A fax from Rosemary Rossebo was waiting at the hotel desk. Still no sign of Amalie, but Solveig Sveinsdatter left Bergen on the steamship Jupiter, first stop Newcastle, England. From there she would have taken a train to Liverpool and boarded a ship to America.

  “I’m hoping Helene can help sort this out,” Chloe said.

  Roelke nodded. “There’s a whole lot that needs to get sorted out right now.”

  After hitting the buffet, they were just settling at a table when Ellinor, Sonja, and Reverend Brandvold approached. It was an unlikely trio: Ellinor in jeans and a plain blouse, Sonja in a glowing emerald jacket with matching earrings, Reverend Brandvold in his usual suit.

  “Are we interrupting?” Ellinor asked hesitantly.

  “Not at all,” Roelke assured them. “Pull up a chair.”

  “We’re all concerned,” Ellinor said. “Martin here”—she patted her friend’s arm—“gave us an update late last night, and Sonja and I have been interviewed by the police again. But we still don’t know what’s going on.”

  Sonja leaned forward. “Did Torstein really stab you?”

  Since Sonja had walked in on the aftermath, Roelke saw no reason to be evasive. “Several times.”

  Ellinor winced as if she’d hoped for a different response. “Why? Why?”

  Chloe caught his gaze. He gave a tiny nod: Go ahead.

  “I’ve been trying to lay everything out.” Chloe opened her notebook to the correct page and placed it on the table. Reverend Brandvold, Ellinor, and Sonja hitched chairs closer so they could all read.

  “What?” Sonja gasped almost at once. “Someone tried to steal your textiles at the airport? I didn’t know that.”

  “At the time we thought it was a random thing,” Chloe said.

  “You’re the textile expert,” Roelke pointed out. “Did you tell anyone what Chloe had with her?”

  “No.” Sonja looked stunned. “But … I did make some notes when Chloe and I first spoke on the phone, and it’s possible that someone saw them on my desk. Ellinor had mentioned the textiles too, so it didn’t occur to me to be secretive.”

  After eyeing her closely, Roelke decided Sonja was telling the truth. He turned to Ellinor and tapped the Wednesday notation. “What about this?”

  Ellinor looked chagrined, but she met his gaze. “I did go to Kinsarvik. The man I met deals in antiques. He told me he might have a lead on the Jørgen Riis fiddle I’ve been trying to trace.”

  “Why be so secretive?” Chloe demanded.

  “Because this particular dealer doesn’t have the best reputation.” Ellinor picked up a fork and turned it in her fingers. “After years of searching, I’d grown desperate for leads. But I’m not proud of contacting him. In the end, I walked away without seeing what he’d found.”

  Plausible, Roelke admitted silently.

  Chloe, though, wasn’t done with Ellinor. “Why was ‘Amalie Sveinsdatter’ written in some notes in your Jørgen Riis file?”

  Ellinor looked startled. “Why were you reading my file?”

  “Because it was in plain sight on your desk, and after you told me about the legendary Jørgen Riis, I was curious.” Chloe didn’t sound even a little bit remorseful. “Amalie was my mother’s mother. What do you know about her?”

  “Som
e of the notes in that file go back decades, Chloe. I didn’t remember that the name was in there.”

  Chloe looked unconvinced.

  Ellinor’s forehead furrowed. “Was the name Solveig there as well?”

  “Well, I don’t know,” Chloe allowed. “At that point I wasn’t looking for that name. But I’ve learned that Solveig was one of Amalie’s sisters.”

  “I’ve heard tales about Solveig Sveinsdatter.” Ellinor nodded pensively. “Her name gets whispered when the old ones speak of that murder I told you about. Some said she was in love with Riis.”

  “Helene would know. Oh!” Chloe’s eyes went wide. “Roelke, she’s expecting us up at Fjelland this afternoon. And she doesn’t have a phone, so I can’t call her.”

  Pastor Brandvold spoke for the first time. “I’d be glad to drive you. I’m almost as eager to sort out your family story as you are.”

  Roelke wasn’t ready to think about returning to Fjelland, and he didn’t want to lose track of the conversation. “That’s a kind offer, sir, but let’s get back to Torstein.”

  “I have a theory,” Chloe said. “To me, the symbols are significant. Torstein had a symbol on his fiddle that echoes one carved into the house up at Fjelland. That’s the farm where the building here called Høiegård came from.”

  “What does the symbol look like?” Sonja asked.

  Chloe pulled the notebook closer, sketched the design, and pushed it back.

  Sonja nodded. “Norwegian people have expressed important thoughts in symbols like this since ancient times. They played an important role in ceremonies and rituals. They might be stamped, or embroidered, or carved, or—”

  “Are you familiar with this particular symbol?” Roelke wanted the condensed version.

  “Historians call these reciprocal spirals.” Sonja touched Chloe’s sketch with one manicured finger. “Or ram’s horns.”

  “I knew it.” Chloe looked pleased with herself.

  “This ram’s horns design was invoked to encourage male fertility. Horse heads too. Sometimes you see carved horse head handles on ale bowls that end in a circle or spiral.” Sonja circled one hand. “Whatever the variation, the symbol is all about male vitality.”