The night seemed endless. She dozed more than slept. It was a relief when dawn came and the blinds went up, revealing views so dramatically different from those left behind in the South that it was as if magic had been wrought during the night hours. On either side of the track the great mountain ranges of the West rose against the cloudless morning sky, the snow-caps tinted in the sun’s first rays. Waterfalls fed by the melting snows formed huge cascades, thundering down in their own spray in which rainbows danced, and every steep slope was alive with rivulets that shone like liquid silver in the spring sunshine but would dry up when the summer came. The high pastures above the tree line had lost most of their winter covering, the green grass lush and vivid enough to sting the eye. Below came the thick forests that blanketed the main slopes with fir and pine and spruce and silver birch until giving way at a lower level to a natural abundance of ferns and wild flowers; then the valleys themselves took full possession with cultivated fields and spreading meadows. Fruit trees in full bloom seemed to cradle the scattered farmsteads in pink-and-white clouds. Only the oldest farmhouses and buildings stood in their natural timber, the log walls darkened by pitch and looking much as they had for four hundred years or more. Houses of a later date were painted white or ochre or saxe-blue or amber, the barns always a strong rust red, and they blended harmoniously with the rich and powerful landscape as if the colours had been evolved by nature itself.
With smoke from the locomotive drifting past the windows, the train rattled along through the vast Roms gorge, keeping pace with the wide river that was bounding over rocks and boulders in full spate in the direction of the fjord that lay ahead. Johanna strained her neck to look up at the jagged and unclimbed peaks of the range rightly named Trolls’ Teeth, not wanting to miss anything in her return to this part of the country that was home territory to her. She had not fully known how much she had missed in the South these mountains of vast proportions, and her heart was reopening to everything she saw in the happiness of home-coming.
At the busy station of Åndalsnes at the head of Romsdal Fjord she left the train, which would continue northwards. It was almost noon and gloriously warm. Carrying her possessions, she made her way along the platform and without knowing why, she found her gaze fastened on a man ahead of her in the crowd of dispersing passengers. He was tall and dressed in nondescript clothes, a cloth cap pulled down on his dark head, and he carried a small brown battered suitcase. Something about him struck her as familiar. She thought he must be someone from her own district whom she had not seen for a long time. Increasing her pace, she hurried forward to try to catch a glimpse of his face from the side, thinking that if she knew him they might travel the rest of the way together and she could catch up with the news of all that had been happening in her absence. But his face remained turned away from her as he threaded his way purposefully through the crowd, and there were too many people thronging between them for her to get nearer. When she came outside the station there was no sign of him.
Thinking no more about the incident, Johanna followed the sloping street that wound picturesquely down through the little town to the quayside where a steamboat waited. It would take her on the last lap of her journey along many miles of fjord to her home. On board she stood at the rails to gaze at the sparkling water that was as deep as the peaks were high all the way from Åndalsnes to the sea. To her no photograph ever seemed to capture the breath-taking width and height and splendour of the fjord country to which she was returning after being so long away.
The last passengers were coming aboard, the time of departure imminent. German armed guards stood on the quayside, watching everything and breaking up any gathering of more than two people that formed anywhere. Then she saw the man from the railway station again. He was showing his pass to the guard at the foot of the gangway just as she and every other civilian had done before being allowed on board. The guard gave a nod and returned the pass to him. He tucked it into an inside breast pocket with his free hand as he came up the gangway. By chance he happened to glance up and see her at the rails in the moment before he stepped aboard. Without the slightest sign of recognition, he turned and went to another part of the deck.
She knew then that he had seen her on the railway platform as she had seen him, and he had been prepared for her presence on the ship. Remaining where she was, she watched the casting off and the churning of the widening strip of emerald water as the steamship drew out into the fjord. Excitement was racing through her. It was a strange kind of reunion that had taken place in which neither could acknowledge the other. Steffen was on board. His single piercing glance at her had been one of warning and of love.
Chapter 5
It was a peaceful voyage of several hours down the fjord, calling in at many jetties along the way. The great mountains on either side were clear as cut-outs and there was barely a ripple on the glassy green water. By chance Johanna discovered that her father’s cousin, Tom Ryen, was on board. He greeted her heartily.
“What a pleasant surprise to see you!” He was a large, bulkily built man with sandy colouring and a broad, affable face. A widower of some years, he had been a major in the regular army and had served at Narvik during the fighting. She was pleased to see him again, having always enjoyed his company, and noted that he was as well dressed as ever, his suit and well-cut overcoat obviously new, which was a rare sight these days. He fetched coffee for them both in the saloon. There was no cream or sugar even if they had wanted it, and if anything the ersatz coffee tasted worse than usual. They both made a face over it and then laughed. Laughter helped everything. It was no wonder that there was always a new joke about Quisling and Terboven going the rounds.
“So what are you doing these days?” Tom asked her, folding his arms on the table between them. “Still in secretarial work? The last I heard you were in Oslo.”
“I left there yesterday morning.” She told him briefly how it had all come about, although she made no mention of the reports she had made for the underground press or her part in the Alsteens’ escape. Even if there had been no chance of being overheard by other passengers, she would have retained the same discretion. It was a hard lesson being learned that her fellow countrymen and women, never having been used to a lack of openness, too often let a word slip in all innocence that resulted in others being picked up by the Gestapo.
“How long is it since you’ve been to Ryen Farm?” she asked him.
“Some months now. I’ve been extremely busy since putting my uniform away and now I’ve taken on some administrative work. The wheels have to be kept turning in everyday matters. I’ll drive out to Ryendal one day and have a talk with your father. I’ve fixed my car up with a wood-burning stove. It doesn’t go far before one has to get out and refuel from a stack of logs on the roof, but it’s better than being without any transport at all.”
They remained together for the rest of the voyage before her destination was reached. Once, while strolling around the deck, they passed Steffen leaning on the rails and studying the passing view, the vista of mountains going on and on as far as the eye could see. If he turned his head to look after her she did not know it, for she did not glance back or do the slightest thing that would bring any attention to him. Yet it seemed to her that an electric current passed between them and she was momentarily distracted in the conversation she was having with Tom.
When her destination was reached, she parted from her relative. He was going on to Ålesund, the place she now knew must be Steffen’s port of call since it was the last one on the route and he was still on board.
“Give my good wishes to Gina and Edvard and your brothers. I’ll not forget my promise to visit before long. I’m truly sorry to hear that Edvard is still far from well.”
“Why not come ashore and have a word with Rolf? He’s sure to be there to meet me and the ship always takes a little while to load and unload.”
Tom became quite reserved in his manner, more military and stiff-shouldered. “No, I’l
l not intrude on your reunion. You go to the rails now and see if he’s in sight yet. Take care of yourself. I’ll see you again one day.”
She thought the change in his attitude somewhat odd, but forgot all about it when she saw Rolf waving to her from the jetty.
“Hello! How are you?” he called out as the steamship came alongside.
“Fine!” she replied excitedly from the rails.
“Is it good to be back to the mountains?”
“Oh, yes!” Good to see him, too. When she stepped from the gangway he came forward to greet her fondly and take her luggage. “How’s Father?” she asked him at once.
Her brother was reassuring. “He’ll be all the better for seeing you. Mother is well and everything is all right at the farm.” He carried her suitcases across to the waiting wagonette, and she ran ahead of him to make a fuss over the old farm horse in the shafts, giving him a sandwich she had saved specially. Named Nils-Arne, he was the creamy colour with the distinctive black streak through the mane and down the tail that characterised the pure west coast breed. This was the horse the Vikings had bred—sturdy, hard-working and patient, the present-day mainstay of small farms where machinery was at a minimum. Many horses had been taken by the Germans, and since farming families had a deep affection for their horses it had been a sad day in many homes all over the country when the animals had been led away.
“I’m so glad Nils-Arne hasn’t been commandeered,” she said, climbing up onto the driving seat beside her brother.
“Luckily his age was against him. The Germans inspected each one and took the best.”
“Well, whatever his age he’s the best to me.” She looked back at the steamship as Rolf drove off along the road that ran through farmland at the edge of the fjord. There was no sign of Steffen or Tom Ryen. She mentioned seeing their father’s cousin to Rolf, whose brows drew together. “We’ve heard rumours about him that we don’t like. It’s said that he’s in charge of an office recruiting workers for the building of aerodromes and defences for the Germans.”
“Surely not Tom, of all people!”
“I’m afraid that these days we’re discovering the difference between the wheat and the chaff as never before.” Then, as if not wanting to dampen down the pleasure of her home-coming, he distracted her thoughts by drawing up on the brow of a bend in the road to allow her time at a look-out spot, a favourite place where any member of the family always paused at a time of home-coming. From the octagonal white wooden church at the water’s edge, a nearby cluster of houses and three shops made up the hamlet of Ryendal. She could trace with her gaze the road ahead as it forked past the church and out of sight to meet up with the way into Ålesund, which was only walking distance compared with the long detour the steamship had to take around a promontory of mountainous terrain to reach the harbour there.
The fork of the lane that led up the valley was her homeward route, wandering up the great cul-de-sac of mountains to the prime site where Ryen Farm stood, commanding the best view all the way down to the inlet, a view enriched by the huge waterfall that cascaded down the slope opposite Ryen farmhouse, its tumult increased by the melting of the snows that had silenced it to ice in winter.
“Let’s go on now,” she said contentedly.
They drove up the valley in the early evening sunlight. While they were talking together, Johanna took in the sights and sounds and scents of home. The wagonette carried them past farmsteads she knew as well as her own, having grown up with the children of the households. Some of the older houses and most of the barns had picturesque turf roofs from which spring flowers were sprouting like blooms on a bonnet. Then ahead, at the side of the road, the schoolhouse came into sight, painted pine green. Rolf gave a nod towards it.
“Come and visit me when class is in session. The children are all ages and they’re fun, several exceptionally bright ones among them. Did you know the teaching of English has been banned? German is to become Norway’s second language.”
“I had heard that. It must be difficult for you to have the Germans breathing down your neck. The domain of your classroom should be your own.”
“I’m one of thousands of teachers in the same boat. Our own association has already had one severe clash with the German administration and there’s more trouble to come. Dictates for nazification have been laid down that are the same as those used with success on the young in Germany.” His voice tightened. “It’s not enough to steal our country and our freedom; now they want to steal the minds of our children wherein the whole future lies. The entire teaching profession is consolidating itself into a powerful section of the Resistance to counteract Nazi educational policy on all sides.”
It was not only the teachers who were taking action as a group. Doctors, dentists, farmers, fishermen and others who had always had their own closely knit associations had made mass resignations from their organisations, leaving empty frameworks for the Germans to control, while the groups themselves continued to operate as before at a subversive level and in resistance activities. So far the trade unions, separate from the other organisations, had escaped direct interference from Reichskommissar Terboven. It was possible he feared a general strike throughout the country if a move was made against them. Johanna glanced sideways at Rolf.
“I’m hoping to get an early chance to do my share of local resistance.”
“Such as?”
She shrugged. “Whatever is available. Surely you can give me some idea of how I could be of use.”
He shook his head firmly. “Take it easy for a while, Johanna. The Germans have been like hornets in this district recently. One of their patrol boats was sabotaged in the fjord and they have made a number of arrests.”
She refrained from saying any more. From what Leif had told her before she left, she believed someone would be contacting her before long. It would be her decision what she would do when the time came.
The road climbed towards the head of the valley. When an arm of forest drew back before them, the white farmhouse came into view with its roof of curved dove-grey shingles and filigreed woodwork painted blue to ornament the window frames, the lintels and the porch. Farther ahead lay the rust-red barn with its turf roof matching that of the smoke-house, the wood-shed and other outbuildings. Their arrival had been glimpsed from a sitting-room window and Gina Ryen appeared in the porch. She was a small woman with silky grey hair worn in a knot, her body so thin as to be almost birdlike, her face lined beyond her age by years of hard work. Her cautious smile had never lost a childlike shyness. As Rolf drew the horse to a halt, Johanna sprang down from the wagonette and rushed up the porch to embrace her mother.
“I’m so glad to be here again!”
“Welcome home, child.”
Gina remained stiff-backed and withdrawn in her daughter’s arms. Her upbringing in a remote valley far from Ryendal had conditioned her from early childhood to an intense reserve that kept her from any outward show of feeling, and nothing in her composed exterior, except a heightened spot of colour in her cheeks, revealed what it meant to her to have her daughter home again. She was released from the embrace she could not return, beyond a pat on the girl’s shoulder, when Edvard appeared in the doorway. With something close to envy Gina watched the exuberantly affectionate reunion between father and daughter, their arms around each other.
“I’ve brought you home on false pretences,” he joked easily when Johanna drew back to take a longer look at him, holding one of his hands in both of hers. Although prepared for a change in him, she had been unable to visualise how wasted he would be or how drawn. The ruddy colour of an outdoor man had faded from his broad-boned face and his hair had turned quite white, yet she answered him cheerily in the same vein.
“I can see that, but no matter. I couldn’t have stayed away longer in any case. You need me on the farm with summer coming and Steffen not here to help any longer.”
They had lapsed into the happy bantering that always made Gina feel shut out, simply b
ecause it was never possible for her to respond to any attempts on their part to draw her into it with them. She loved her daughter as she loved her sons. They were more to her than life itself. Edvard had soon realised after the arrival of their first-born that he was always to be relegated to second place in her affections, and in his big, generous nature, which had matched his appearance before his injuries, he had never held it against her. Yet the matter lay on her conscience, no matter how often she reminded herself that she did her best to be a good wife and partner in all else. She had been at his side in any crisis, fought with him in all weathers to save a crop and rescue a sheep or cow that had strayed from the mountain pastures, and struggled and connived to save every kroner to keep debt at bay and make the farm secure. Her calloused hands bore witness to that effort. In the past she had believed sometimes he would have sacrificed everything for one spontaneous gesture of love from her, but those days had gone.
In the farmhouse kitchen, Karen Hallsted was waiting by the table she had laid for supper. She was, Johanna thought as they were introduced, as strikingly beautiful as Steffen had described her. Yet there was character and strength of will in her lovely, symmetrical face with the lustrous violet eyes and flawless complexion. Her hair was literally her crowning glory, being a platinum colour full of shining lights and dressed from a middle part into a braided coil at the back of her head. Her smile was natural and sunny.
“I’ve been looking forward to your coming home, Johanna. Now I can say I’ve met all the family.”
This Shining Land Page 10
