A Bone to Pick

by Gina McMurchy-Barber

  “The girl’s name is Peggy,” Eddy said. “And I’d say she moved things along considerably. And though she did make some serious mistakes, it would be a well-deserved reward if she and her friend, Louise — who I should add was responsible for finding the cave — were given permission to spend some time there. I, for one, think we could use their help.”

  The professor didn’t object. I think he was just glad nothing else was said. So, later that day, Louise and I joined Eddy in the cave. When I entered, I had goose bumps all up and down my arms and back. The first thing I wanted to see was the exposed bear skull. It was huge, and its jaw was opened wide to bare its dangerous teeth. I got a creepy image in my head of the day the bear had killed Sigrid. I figured even Thor couldn’t have brought down a bear so big without the help of the Beothuk.

  I was envious when Eddy told me she was staying for another week to finish excavating the skull and then arrange for protection of the site, which for now was called Three Girls Cave — after Louise, me, and Sigrid. What was worse, Louise was going to help her.

  “Don’t worry, Peggy. You’re still my right-hand girl.”

  Even if I was jealous, I knew Louise deserved this chance.

  As Eddy and Louise examined the bear skull closer, I took the flashlight and walked around the cave. Now that I knew what had happened, all the pictographs made perfect sense. There was the Viking ship arriving with the pointy-chinned Norsemen. Next were several scenes of hunting, trading, and fighting. Near the end was the scene with the bear and Sigrid’s death.

  “Eddy, I didn’t notice this before,” I said, pointing to a small pictograph just before the departing ship. She and Louise joined me, and we all studied it together. “It looks like a fire down by the beach — and something burning in the middle.”

  “It is done. Her body is washed and prepared for cremation,” Gudrid says softly. Her grief is great, yet she does not have one tear left to shed. “Is the funeral pyre ready?”

  “No,” says Thorfinn. “We must gather more wood. The fire must be big enough to consume every part of her. Only then will her spirit be released and be free to journey to its rightful place.”

  They both stare at the neatly wrapped body lying on the table. Only Snorri, who plays alone on the floor, seems unaffected. Yet even he cried for her all last night.

  “To die so young — it should never have happened,” Gudrid murmurs.

  “True, yet to die so bravely — it’s how every warrior chooses to go.”

  “She was a girl, Thorfinn Karlsefni, not a warrior. You never should have encouraged her to think she was anything else. Maybe then she’d still be here with us today.”

  Thorfinn points to his son on the floor. “He’s the reason she isn’t here with us today. Because she had the heart of a warrior she fought to protect Snorri. Gudrid, can’t you see? More than anything she wanted her life to have purpose, and nothing would have made her more proud than to end her life in battle defending someone she loved.” Thorfinn pounds his chest to stop himself from shedding tears. “For this she will live out her days in Valhalla. Oh, Gudrid, can’t you see? She would never have been a good wife or mother no matter how hard you tried to make her.” His wife says nothing, for in her heart she knows he is right. “I only hope that I should go so bravely and not as an old man in my sleep.”

  Gudrid slumps onto the bench. “You and your grand ideas of dying with honour. I don’t want to hear any more of it. The fault is mine. I was the one who sent her out there alone.”

  Gunnar enters the house and senses that he has come at an awkward moment. “Excuse me, Aunt and Uncle, they wish to place the body on the pyre now.” Gunnar cannot lift his eyes to where the body rests. Sigrid’s voice — heard only the day before — still rings in his ears. Now she is far away, and he will never see her again.

  When Thorfinn gives the signal, Ellandar sets the pyre alight and almost instantly it bursts into flames. They watch as the glow of the fire lights the night sky. Then a watchman is set for every hour of the evening, ensuring the flames continue to burn bright and that they lick up every last ounce of Sigrid’s body. As the smoke rises to the sky, it carries with it her spirit into Asgard.

  The next morning, when the sun peeps over the horizon, there is nothing left but ashes. Before they cover them with soil and rocks, Gudrid kisses Sigrid’s hammer-shaped amulet and places it on the remains. Thor’s Mjolnir pendant was the only thing the girl had of her own mother’s. Then Thorfinn places her cloak pin in the ashes, too — the one she used to stab the bear. “You may need such a thing where you are going, Sigrid.” When the last of the ash is covered and the rocks placed over the grave, the community returns to the settlement.

  “Now we’ll wait the necessary seven days, and after the celebration of Sigrid’s life, we’ll set sail,” Thorfinn tells his wife. “Despite all that’s happened here, I’ll miss this place and all its potential. But it’s clear to me now that it will never be home to the Norsemen.”

  All that week the settlers work to complete their tasks. Some must gather, dry, and store sufficient food and water for the journey. Others load furs and fell trees to lash to the sides of the knarrs.

  “Uncle, Uncle!” shouts Gunnar, arriving out of breath. “It’s not there. It’s gone.”

  “What are you talking about, boy?” Thorfinn asks. “What’s gone?”

  “The bear. The bear.” No one asks what bear, for it is understood immediately what the boy is speaking about.

  Thorfinn and others go with Gunnar to the scene of Sigrid’s death. When they arrive, there is no sign of the bear’s carcass. Thorfinn leans down and examines the ground carefully. “Someone has butchered the animal. Look here — you can see fragments of bone and scraps of fur.”

  “And the boulders here are covered in blood and flesh. They must have used this as a chopping block,” adds Gunnar.

  Thorfinn turns slowly, looks toward the forest, and has an eerie feeling of being watched. “Let’s go. There’s much to do.”

  No one speaks of the incident when they return to the settlement. It will only upset the others.

  The day the men row the knarrs away from the shore the sun is high and the winds are strong. When they are a safe distance from the rocky shoreline, Thorfinn gives the order to set the sails. Soon each of the three ships picks up speed and the Norsemen head northward.

  Thorfinn holds his son as they watch the settlement get smaller in the distance. Then Snorri becomes restless and reaches back to the land. “No leave Sig-id,” he whimpers. “No leave Sig-id .”

  “Shhh, Snorri. Sigrid can’t come. She’s gone to Valhalla to be with the gods,” says Thorfinn. He knows Snorri does not understand and holds him tight when the boy begins to cry.

  I was hoping by the time I returned home Aunt Margaret would have finished painting the house. But no such luck.

  “You have a choice, Peggy,” said Aunt Margaret before I climbed the stairs for bed. “Tomorrow you can either paint or shop for new school clothes.”

  “Not much of a choice. I guess I’ll have to pick painting.”

  Aunt Margaret smiled. “I thought so. But you know school’s starting soon.” Then she got all silly and excited. “And this is a special year — you’re finally beginning junior high school. I loved high school. It’s when I started wearing high heels, makeup … and got interested in boys!”

  “Stop, already. You’re making me ill,” I complained.

  Mom wrapped her arms around me and laughed. “Oh, Peggy. You’re going to have to face it sooner or later — you’re growing up.”

  When I finally reached my bedroom that night, I flopped onto my comfy bed. I’d been looking forward to having a good sleep, but on some weird level I knew I was going to miss waking in the night to the sounds of Bertha. I looked over to my dresser to her going-away present to me. It was one of those cheesy Viking helmets with horns. I totally loved it and had laughed when she gave it to me.

  “Thanks for everythin
g, Bertha. It’s sure been a slice,” I’d said the day I left.

  “Maybe fer you,” she’d kidded. “But like they say, if ya can’t stand the heat, then get out of the kitchen.”

  The next morning when I woke it was still dark outside and the house was quiet. I figured the automatic alarm clock in my brain was still set on Newfoundland time. But once I was awake there was no going back to sleep. Besides, I was too used to getting up at the crack of dawn to the sounds of drill-sergeant Bertha.

  I tiptoed down the stairs and into the kitchen. I was a little hungry and opened the fridge to see what there was to eat. In the past I would have seen nothing good. Now all I could see was endless potential.

  Out came the milk, the eggs, the butter, and the cinnamon. A short while later the pan was sizzling and the air was filled with a delicious smell. When I was done, I stood back and admired the stack of French toast I’d made.

  “Breakfast in bed?” Mom said when I delivered her French toast. “How sweet, honey. But it’s so early.”

  “Yah, that’s what Aunt Margaret said when I took her some, too. She thought my French toast was delicious,” I boasted. “I told her, ‘That’s nothing — wait till you taste my chili.’”

  Author’s Note

  I learned a lot about the Viking Age while researching for this book. There are many popular but false impressions about these people. For instance, they never had horned helmets and the term Viking wasn’t a synonym for Norsemen but rather an activity. To go on a Viking was to go exploring, trading, and yes, sometimes pillaging.

  The Norse were amazing shipbuilders, explorers, artisans, and inventors. They originated in Denmark, Norway, and Sweden. The Viking Age was from about A.D. 700 to A.D. 1100. While Sigrid and various other characters are fictitious, Gudrid Thorbjornsdottir, Thorfinn Karlsefni, and their son, Snorri, were real people who travelled from Greenland to what is now called L’Anse aux Meadows around A.D. 1000. As far as we know, Snorri was the first European to be born in North America. They were fascinating people and are worth learning more about.

  Another fact is the two versions of the Norse voyage to Vinland — Saga of the Greenlanders and Saga of Erik the Red. They have many similarities between them, but one alludes to Thorfinn Karlsefni as having more impact than the more popularly known Leif Eriksson. Which is true? The experts are still debating.

  While L’Anse aux Meadows is the only place in North America, so far, where there is absolute evidence that the Vikings sailed here, for some the butternut squash offers proof they travelled farther south. The butternut squash wasn’t indigenous to Newfoundland, and since seeds from this vegetable were excavated at L’Anse aux Meadows, it at least raises the possibility that the Norse voyaged south and traded with the indigenous people there.

  The term skraeling was used by the Norse and referred to the indigenous people of North America. Literally translated, it means “barbarian” or “foreigner.” This is ironic, since it was the Norse who were the foreigners. Other Viking terms used in this novel are: Thing (a meeting of the clan leaders), thrall (a slave), knarr (Viking flat-styled sailing boat), berserker (warriors who fought in a near trance-like state), mead (wine), fimmt (the Viking five-day week), and hnefatl (a Viking board game similar in aspects to chess and checkers).

  When I first started writing this book, I thought it was going to be just about the Vikings who came to Canada. But what I realized was it’s impossible to isolate them from their interaction with the Beothuk. Now I see it’s nearly impossible to write about most aspects of Canadian history without looking at the connection to the First Nations people. After all, they were here first!

  Selected Reading

  Cadnum, Michael. Raven of the Waves. New York: Orchard Books, 2001.

  Chisholm, Jane, and Struan Reid. Who Were the Vikings? New York: Usborne Publishing, second edition, 2002.

  Picard, Barbara Leonie. Tales of the Norse Gods. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001.

  Wallace, Birgitta. “Viking Farewell,” The Beaver: Canada’s History Magazine, January 2007.

  In the same series

  Reading the Bones

  A Peggy Henderson Adventure Book 1

  Due to circumstances beyond her control, twelve-year-old Peggy Henderson has to move to the quiet town of Crescent Beach, British Columbia, to live with her aunt and uncle. Without a father and separated from her mother, who’s looking for work, Peggy feels her unhappiness increasing until the day she and her uncle start digging a pond in the backyard and she realizes the rock she’s been trying to pry from the ground is really a human skull.

  Peggy eventually learns that her home and the entire seaside town were built on top of a 5000-year-old Coast Salish fishing village. With the help of an elderly archaeologist, a woman named Eddy, Peggy comes to know the ancient storyteller buried in her yard in a way that few others can — by reading the bones.

  As life with her aunt becomes more and more unbearable, Peggy looks to the old Salish man from the past for help and answers.

  Broken Bones

  A Peggy Henderson Adventure Book 2

  A vandalized burial in an abandoned pioneer cemetery brings twelve-year-old Peggy Henderson and her elderly archaeologist friend Eddy to Golden, British Columbia, to excavate. The town dates back to the 1880s when most of the citizens were tough and rowdy miners and railway workers who rarely died of old age. Since the wooden burial markers disintegrated long ago, Peggy and Eddy have no way of knowing the dead man’s identity. But when Eddy discovers the vertebrae at the base of the skull are crushed, a sure sign the cause of death was hanging, they have their first clue.

  Peggy’s tendency to make quick judgments about others leads her to the conclusion that only bad people are hanged, so the man in the burial must have gotten what he deserved. Hoping to learn more about him that proves her beliefs, she is soon digging through dusty old newspapers at the small-town museum. It’s there that Peggy learns that sometimes good people do bad things.

  Bone Deep

  A Peggy Henderson Adventure Book 3

  An expedition to investigate an old sunken ship teaches Peggy lessons about herself.

  When archaeologists discover a two-hundred-year-old shipwreck, Peggy Henderson decides she’ll do whatever it takes to take part in the expedition. But first she needs to convince her mom to let her go, and to pay for scuba diving lessons. To complicate matters even more, Peggy’s Great Aunt Beatrix comes to stay, and she’s bent on changing Peggy from a twelve-year-old adventure-seeking tomboy to a proper young lady. Help comes in the most unlikely of places when Peggy gets her hands on a copy of the captain’s log from the doomed ship, which holds the key to navigating stormy relationships.

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  Copyright © Gina McMurchy-Barber, 2015

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (except for brief passages for purposes of review) without the prior permission of Dundurn Press. Permission to photocopy should be requested from Access Copyright.

  All characters in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Editor: Michael Carroll

  Design: Laura Boyle

  Cover Design: Carmen Giraudy

  Epub Design : Carmen Giraudy

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  McMurchy-Barber, Gina, author

  A bone to pick / Gina McMurchy-Barber.

  (A Peggy Henderson adventure)

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-4597-3072-4 (pbk.).--ISBN 978-1-4597-3073-1 (pdf).--

  ISBN 978-1-4597-3074-8 (epub)

  I. Title. II. Series: McMurchy-Barber,
Gina. Peggy Henderson adventure.

  PS8625.M86B655 2015 jC813'.6 C2015-901270-8

  C2015-901271-6

  We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and Livres Canada Books, and the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Book Publishing Tax Credit and the Ontario Media Development Corporation.

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  J. Kirk Howard, President

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