East of the Sun, West of the Moon

by Carole Bellacera

  Erik sat up. “Did you ask Bjorn about him and Margit?"

  "Of course. I was very angry and I hurled the accusation at him."

  "And what did he say?"

  "He denied it, of course."

  "Do you believe him?” Erik asked quietly.

  Anne-Lise looked at him. “Come on, Erik, don't look like that. I told you, I was imagining all kinds of things about Bjorn. And yes! I do believe him. He's been wonderful to me lately. I was a fool to be suspicious of him."

  "Yes, I suppose you're right. It's ludicrous to think of him and Margit together.” Erik dropped back down to the blanket and closed his eyes. “They've known each other since she was a girl. She's like a little sister to him."

  Yet, he couldn't quite dismiss the sudden image in his mind of Bjorn and Margit ... in bed together.

  * * * *

  "We can talk here,” Bjorn said after they'd been walking silently for several minutes inside the huge black and white granite slabs of Vigeland's Labyrinth.

  Margit turned to face him. “I don't think this is a very good idea. What if Erik comes looking for me?"

  "This won't take long,” Bjorn said grimly. “And it's important."

  "Well, what is it?"

  "Erik came to my office on Thursday and dropped a bombshell in my lap. You know those tests he took to determine his sperm count? Well, apparently, he hasn't got many of those little buggers swimming around in those stallion balls of his. He's sterile!"

  Margit stared at him. “Why did he tell you instead of me? He hasn't mentioned a word of it."

  Bjorn gripped her shoulders. “My dear little addle-brained redhead, I don't think you understand what I'm saying. He's sterile because of a childhood disease. Mumps. Remember it? It balloons out your cheeks and makes you look like a little chipmunk."

  "So, what of it?” Margit gave an exasperated sigh. “Bjorn, would you get to the point?"

  "Think, darling. He was an adolescent when he had the mumps. That means he's been sterile since then. No baby-making powers. Yet, you turned up pregnant with Gunny. And we proved Gunvor couldn't be the father because of his blood type."

  Margit felt the blood drain from her face. “So, that means..."

  Bjorn nodded. “Bingo. You're looking at Papa. Unless you had yet another man on the side."

  "Oh, God.” Her eyes focused blankly on the labyrinth wall. Then she looked back at Bjorn. “What did you tell him? Christ, Bjorn, you didn't tell him we were sleeping together?"

  "Of course not. I've bought us some time. I convinced him to go to another urologist for more tests. That will give us a few weeks, at least."

  Panic curled in her stomach. “But then what will we do? Bjorn, if he finds out you're Gunny's father, and I made him marry me, he'll be furious! He'll never understand I sincerely believed he was the father."

  Bjorn grimaced. “Oh, come on, Margit! We both knew from the start Gunny could've been mine. But we decided you should marry Erik to cover up our affair."

  "You decided,” Margit reminded him. “You were dead-set against him going off with that American woman. And you used me to keep him here."

  Bjorn's voice was cold. “I don't remember you protesting too loudly about it at the time, my sweet."

  "Perhaps I didn't. But let me tell you one thing, Smart Boy. I was the one who got rid of that bitch. Your little plan almost back-fired. When I went to that hospital in Ose, I had to do some fast talking to convince Erik to marry me. He wanted to see her again. And if he had, I don't think he'd be here now. But I took care of it. I convinced him to write her one of his gushy goodbye notes. Then I said I'd take it to her.” Margit smiled. “But I didn't. I tore it into little pieces. So, you can thank me for making sure she wouldn't turn up again. I've been on the ball the entire time. You're the one who seems to be screwing up these days. What are you going to do about this?"

  Bjorn's face was grim. “Don't worry. I have it covered. The urologist he's seeing next week is a friend. And he owes me a favor or two. I don't think I'll have any problem convincing him to make sure Erik's test results show plenty of sperm."

  Margit's lips tightened. “You'd better, Bjorn. Because if you don't, it's our skin. And brother or not, I don't think Erik will stop at anything to come after you."

  Chapter 37

  Margit and Bjorn's voices drifted away. Hakon realized they were moving toward the exit of the labyrinth. His ears still rang from what he'd just heard. What a stroke of luck it had been when he'd lost them in the maze. When he first saw them enter Vigeland's granite slabs, he'd tried to follow behind, hoping he'd be able to pick up some useful information, but only a few seconds later, he'd lost them in the confusing twists and turns of the place. After searching for a few minutes longer, he'd given up and stopped to light a cigarette. That was when he'd heard their voices from just over the slab he was leaning against. Motionless, barely breathing, he'd listened, a slow grin spreading across his face as their words sank in.

  So, little Gunny was Bjorn's son. Since discovering Margit and Bjorn's tete-a-tete in France, he'd been relishing their little secret, wondering exactly what he could do with it.

  He still remembered the look on Margit's face when he'd propositioned her. She'd gazed upon him like he was some kind of primordial creature that had just climbed out of a slime pool. No woman had ever looked at him like that before. Margit was going to be sorry she had. With this little gift of information, he was going to bring that snobbish redhead down into the muck where she belonged. And Bjorn with her.

  Hakon grinned as he left the labyrinth. He knew just how he was going to do it.

  * * * *

  As Margit exited the labyrinth with Bjorn, she idly glanced over at a group of people walking past on the sidewalk. There was something very familiar about one woman, a tall, attractive blonde dressed in a lavender-paisley broom-skirt and a linen blouse. She walked beside an older man who moved tentatively as if he were out of practice at walking. Two others, an older woman and a teenage girl, completed the group. For a moment, Margit had no idea why the blond woman looked so familiar. Then it hit her with the impact of an icy plunge into a fjord.

  Kayleigh! Erik's American woman. Margit stopped and stared. What on earth was she doing back in Norway? Looking for Erik? If so, Margit would have to make damn sure she didn't find him.

  "Come on,” Bjorn said. “Why are you stopping?"

  She almost told him about Kayleigh, but then changed her mind. He might let it slip to Erik. “Why don't you go on ahead, Bjorn. I need to be alone for a few minutes."

  "I'll see you later.” He turned and headed for the exit.

  Margit followed Kayleigh and her friends. She wasn't sure how to approach her. Perhaps if she followed long enough, she'd find a chance to get the American woman alone. But after a few moments of trailing the group, Margit realized Kayleigh was sticking to the frail-looking man like glue. Who was he, anyway? Too young to be her father. Her husband? But why would she bring him to Norway, especially if she were planning to look up Erik? And who were the other two? The dark-haired older woman reached the shade of a blue spruce tree and turned around to the others as if to ask if the spot was agreeable to them. Margit watched as Kayleigh and the teenager spread a quilt onto the ground. The man stretched out upon it while the women unpacked a picnic basket. Margit decided she couldn't wait any longer to approach her. Let the others think what they would.

  Kayleigh didn't see her until she spoke.

  "Hello, Kayleigh. What brings you back to Norway?"

  The American woman looked up, and Margit was pleased to see her face whiten with shock. Slowly, she stood up and faced her. The other woman and the teenager paused in what they were doing to stare at her curiously. Margit felt the eyes of the man upon her, too. Kayleigh finally spoke, “It's Margit, right?"

  Margit bristled at her false tone. The American woman knew damn well who she was. She watched as Kayleigh's hazel eyes searched the area behind her. Looking for Erik, she su
pposed. Thank God he hadn't been with her in the sculpture park, or surely he would've seen her, too. And if he had? What would be happening right now?

  "Oh, so you do remember me? I wasn't sure."

  Kayleigh looked around at the others. “Oh, yes. I met Margit on my first visit here. Margit, I'd like you to meet some very good friends of mine. This is Sigurd and Knut Aabel and their daughter, Kristin."

  Sigurd, the older woman, smiled warmly at Margit and spoke in English, “Won't you join us for lunsj? We have plenty of food."

  "No, thank you. I've already eaten.” So, they were Norwegian. But how were they connected with Kayleigh? Her gaze returned to the American woman. “Actually, I'd love to have a word with you in private. If your friends could spare you for just a moment."

  "Of course,” Sigurd said. “But hurry back, Leigh, if you want some food. Kris is at an age where she eats like a hungry wolf."

  As they walked away, Margit heard the teenager protest at her mother's affectionate dig. Silently, they headed back toward the entrance of the labyrinth. Margit realized Kayleigh wasn't about to initiate the conversation. With irritation, she noticed the American woman's color had returned, along with her composure. Margit felt an irresistible urge to shake it up again.

  "So, did you come back to Norway to see Erik?"

  Kayleigh stared at her. “No. Of course not!"

  Margit eyed her coolly. “I hope that's true. Because he hasn't the slightest interest in seeing you again.” She didn't miss the wounded look that flared in Kayleigh's eyes, and decided to press her advantage. “As a matter-of-fact, he's told me many times how much he regrets the relationship he had with you."

  "He told you about us?” Kayleigh's voice was soft with shock.

  "Ja, he told me everything. All about your sleazy affair in America. His words, by the way. Let's see, how did he put it? Something about ‘middle-aged American ass.’”

  "I don't believe you.” Anger flared in Leigh's blue eyes, and Margit congratulated herself. She'd obliterate every ounce of feeling this woman had for her husband if it was the last thing she ever did. “Erik would never have been so vulgar."

  Margit met her shocked gaze calmly. “But Kayleigh, you didn't really know Erik, did you? You couldn't have. The only thing you two ever had in common was a hot bed. Oh, at first, he believed he was in love with you. But after we married, he realized how shallow your relationship was. And now he hates you for seducing him."

  "I seduced him?” Kayleigh's face had gone bloodless. She didn't speak for a moment, but her eyes were blazing fire. “I never realized you were such a vicious bitch."

  Margit held back a delighted laugh. Oh, this was going too well. She sighed and casually examined the end of her long braid. “I am trying to save you from yourself. I know you must be here searching for Erik. And I simply want to spare you the humiliation of confronting him. These words coming from him would hurt much more, don't you think?"

  "What I think is that you must not be very sure of yourself or your marriage if you're going to all this trouble to warn me to stay away from Erik.” Kayleigh said grimly. Her face was still white, but her eyes glittered with anger. It didn't matter. Margit was finished with her. She had a feeling their little conversation had been very effective.

  "That's what you would like to believe, isn't it?” She smiled and touched the American woman on the shoulder. “Anyway, I must go. Erik is over in the park with our son. You should see him. He's growing so big, and looks just like his father. Erik is so proud of him. But then, he's such a wonderful daddy. We just couldn't be happier, the three of us. Nice seeing you again."

  With a satisfied smile, Margit turned and walked away from Kayleigh. When she passed her friends, she smiled and waved. “Nice meeting you. Take good care of Kayleigh. She's a sweetheart!"

  * * * *

  Trembling, Leigh walked back to where the Aabels were waiting. Not only was she devastated by Margit's cruel words, she was stunned by the difference in the Norwegian woman's personality. When she'd met her the first time, Margit had been friendly and outgoing. Nothing in her manner had hinted at the viciousness she'd just displayed. The attack had been so sudden. What hatred must have festered in her these last two years. But why? Because of the things Erik had told her? He must've told her. How else would she have known? That hurt the most. Knowing Erik had shared with her the intimate details of their relationship. “Middle-aged American ass.” Could he have really said that? He had said some pretty vile things in the past when he'd been angry. Even if he hadn't said it in those words, wasn't it possible he'd implied as much to Margit? Perhaps it was true. Maybe this was how he thought of her now after he'd gained some perspective. Middle-aged American ass.

  Leigh blinked back tears. She'd finally found the strength to bury her feelings for Erik in the back of her heart, but now, to think he might not have ever loved her at all ... it hurt more than she ever thought possible.

  By the time she reached the quilt they'd spread out on the ground, Leigh had managed to compose her face into what she hoped was an expression of serenity. Knut smiled and reached a hand up to her. “Ah, good. You're back. Sigurd just brought out the gravlaks."

  Leigh looked over at the delicate pink salmon flecked with dill and other spices. A wave of queasiness rushed over her. “I don't feel like anything just now."

  Knut's hand tightened on hers. He peered at her closely. “What's wrong?"

  Leigh shook her head. “Nothing. I guess the sun is getting to me."

  Kristin grinned. “What sun? You're in the shade."

  "Kris!” Sigurd reprimanded. “Mind your manners!"

  "So, who is this Margit?” Knut asked.

  Leigh rubbed her forehead where a headache was beginning to throb. “Oh, she's someone I met on my first visit here. A family friend of ... someone I used to know.” She didn't look at Knut, but she knew what he was thinking. Strange. Not once had he ever asked her about Erik. It was as if he didn't want to know.

  "Kayleigh,” he said.

  Leigh stiffened.

  "That's what she called you. It's such a beautiful name. I can't understand why you don't like it."

  Abruptly, Leigh stood up. “I have to get some air."

  She walked aimlessly, her mind echoing with Margit's caustic words. Why did it hurt so badly, she wondered? It had been over with Erik long ago. It shouldn't hurt this bad.

  She found herself at the Fountain of Life. As she stared up at the worn faces of the elderly men straining to carry the weight of the fountain, her eyes misted with tears. It had been a mistake to come this way. The sharp memory of being at this very spot with Erik pierced her. Had that been a lie? That day ... the look of love in his eyes. Had it all been a lie?

  She heard Norwegian voices on the other side of the fountain. Abruptly, she turned away and retraced her steps. She didn't want anyone to see the tears tracking down her face.

  * * * *

  "Here we are, Gunny. The Fountain of Life!"

  Erik hoisted the little boy onto his shoulders. Gunny clapped his hands and laughed.

  "Go closer, Father. I want to feel the spray!"

  "No way, little one,” Erik laughed. “Your mother will kill us."

  "Walk around it then. I want to see it all."

  Erik strolled around the fountain. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a slim blond woman in a lavender-paisley skirt making her way down the steps. His stomach contracted. How like Kayleigh she looked. Even moved like her.

  Bitterly, he shook his head and turned back to the fountain. He had to stop this nonsense! Was he going to live his entire life seeing Kayleigh's ghost in every attractive blond woman he passed?

  "Gunny, I've taken you to the fountain as I promised. Are you quite happy now?"

  "Yes, Father. Now can we go to the Labyrinth?"

  "All right. But only for a few moments."

  Erik walked on. The sight of the blond woman had cast a pall over his day. His lips tighte
ned.

  I'm glad you're happy, son. Enjoy it. Because happiness is fleeting.

  * * * *

  It was Monday morning, two days after their picnic at Frogner Park. Erik was just about to get into his Volkswagon when he found the first note under the wiper blade. It was unsigned and scrawled clumsily with a green marker. And it asked the same question he'd been asking himself for the last week.

  Who was Margit sleeping with the year Gunvor died? (Besides you?)

  * * * *

  No one, not even Knut or Sigurd, realized the June outing in Frogner Park would be his last. That night he began to cough and his temperature shot up to 102. Sigurd guessed it was a cold, but it wasn't to be taken lightly. With his lowered resistance, it could easily turn into pneumonia. She called in a doctor who immediately prescribed a precautionary decongestant. Even though he was terribly ill, Knut continued to sleep in the big bed with Leigh. She held him closely as violent episodes of coughing racked his wasting body, thinking if only she could keep him in this bed with her, instead of surrendering him to the one in that other horrible room, she could stop him from dying.

  After a few days, his temperature returned to normal and the coughing eased. Yet, he remained weak and lethargic. Leigh made frequent trips to the library to keep him in reading material. She was becoming quite familiar with the streetcar system of Oslo, and more and more, she enjoyed her time away from the depressing little house on Kjelsaveien Gate. It made her feel guilty when she found herself gazing at the sights of Oslo instead of thinking of Knut. But then, she knew he would be happy she wasn't spending all her time worrying about him, and conversely, that made her feel even more guilty. After a few hours away from him, she would step off the streetcar at the corner of Storoveien and Kjelsaveien and walk down the street to their house. As she approached, her stride would slow until it felt like she was barely moving at all. By the time she reached the door, her heart would be as heavy as the load of books she carried in a bag.

  For the first few weeks in the house, the two of them had enjoyed nightly strolls in the neighborhood. But this stopped after he caught the cold and since then, he hadn't felt like trying it. Still, Leigh continued to encourage him to walk again. She thought if she could just get him to take a walk with her, she might be able to delay what was going to happen. But Knut always pleaded fatigue. And each time he said it, Leigh's heart sank a little lower.