by Karen Swan
‘Oh, but you must, especially if you’re in the tourist trade; it gives you a global reach. How many followers have you got?’
He thought for a moment. ‘Forty something? Mainly my neighbours.’
She slapped her hands on the table. ‘I know pot plants with more following than that!’ she guffawed.
This time it was his turn to laugh out loud. ‘Thank you!’
‘Ahem!’
The cough made them both turn and they saw Lenny standing by the door, peering through at them.
‘Lenny, you’re back!’ she smiled.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked, sounding sullen.
Bo held up her mug. ‘Having coffee? Want one?’
He shook his head tersely, looking irritated.
‘So how was it?’ she asked, just as a peal of laughter suddenly curled through the crystalline air and she looked through the window to see Anna’s distinctive tumbling hair as she and Zac crested the ridge.
‘Oh, just look at this!’ Anna cried, stopping as she took in the sight of the shelf farm, smoke puffing from the two chimneys. Zac was laden with shopping bags and Anna was rolling a small wheeled suitcase on the bumpy ground behind her.
‘Who is that?’ Anders asked as they watched them advance up the grassy path, Anna having to stop repeatedly to kick her bag the right way up as it continually toppled over.
‘That’s Anna, she’s the marketing rep for the company we’re endorsing while we out here,’ Bo murmured. Why did she have a suitcase with her? More product for them?
Anders and Lenny watched as Anna passed by the windows. Bo had a feeling most men liked the look of Anna: curvaceous but athletic, her lively eyes made her appear to be laughing even when she wasn’t. She looked like good company, feisty, bubbly. Sexy.
‘Guys, in here,’ Lenny called, still sullen. Had he and Zac had an argument in town? Or had Anna given him the brush-off?
‘Ssh!’ Bo hushed, pressing a finger to her lips, but Anders shook his head.
‘It is fine. When my grandmother sleeps, she really sleeps. She’s pretty deaf.’
A moment later, Anna and Zac were in the room too.
‘Hey!’ Zac puffed, dropping the bags by his feet and looking across at the cosy scene – her and Anders sipping coffee, Signy asleep in the rocking chair, the fire crackling quietly. ‘What are you two up to?’
Bo held her mug up again.
Zac nodded. ‘Oh. Is it good? As good as ours?’ he asked, winking over at Anders matily.
‘Better. Hand-ground in a pestle and mortar no less. Anders is without doubt the best barista I’ve ever met. You should have seen him in action.’
Zac’s smile stayed stretched. ‘Yeah? Well I can,’ he panted. ‘I assume you took loads of photos of him in action?’
‘Photos?’ The word escaped her like a wisp of smoke.
‘Yeah, you know – those pretty shiny things we post everyd—’ The smile faded from his face at the expression on hers. ‘You didn’t take any photos? Whilst you were having your coffee hand-ground by a real-life Viking in an historic shelf farm? You didn’t think the fans would want to see that?’
Irony aside, she knew he had a point. She bit her lip – her nervous tic. ‘I forgot.’
‘Forgot?’ Zac asked, annoyance in his eyes. ‘You just forgot about the nine million people who care about this stuff?’
‘I’m sorry. It was just coffee. We were talking.’ She shrugged. ‘It was a . . . a moment, not a stage set.’
‘Oh, a moment, uh-huh,’ Zac nodded, sarcasm radiating from him.
Anna cleared her throat. ‘Hi, Bo.’
‘Anna, sorry,’ Bo apologized, mortified that she should witness their tiff. ‘How are you?’ she asked as Anna came over and they kissed on the cheek.
‘Great, thanks. I’m so happy to be here,’ she said excitedly. ‘It feels like the days have dragged since I saw you all at Storfjord. I’ve been counting down the hours.’ Her gaze floated up to Anders, standing just behind Bo.
‘Oh, this is Anders Jemtegard, and his grandmother there is Signy. They own the farm.’
Anna suddenly saw the sleeping woman in the corner. ‘Oh –’ she mouthed, as though any sound might wake her.
‘No, don’t worry, she isn’t easily woken, apparently.’
‘Oh good,’ Anna grinned. ‘Well it is a pleasure to meet you, Anders,’ she said, holding out a hand.
‘Anders has also agreed to act as our guide for the next two weeks,’ Bo said. ‘To ensure we can deliver the best posts. He knows all the hidden-away beauty spots around here.’
Anna was looking up at him intently, her eyes shining with intensity as their hands clasped. ‘Have we . . . have we met before?’
‘No.’ Anders’ reply was immediate. Typically brusque. They dropped hands.
‘Are you sure? You look really familiar to me – and I’m great with faces.’
He shrugged but offered nothing further.
‘I’m from Alesund. You don’t have any connections there?’ she persisted.
‘No.’
Anna smiled her twinkly eyed smile, clicking her fingers and pointing at him playfully. ‘Oh, it’ll come to me. I’m sure we have met.’
Another shrug. He seemingly felt no compunction to make moments – or people – feel less awkward.
Bo spread her arms wide, indicating the rustic cabin. ‘So what do you think of our little hideaway?’
Anna’s hands flew to her cheeks. ‘It’s incredible! So tucked away! You can hardly see it until you are almost upon it. I have always wanted to visit one of these.’
‘I know, I feel like I’m in a Tolkien novel up here. On the one hand, the farm is so tiny and snug, and on the other there’s this vast, epic view outside the windows. It’s insane.’
‘Your followers are going to go crazy for it,’ Anna agreed, turning back to Bo. ‘And did Zac give you the good news?’
‘No, what’s that?’ Bo asked, looking between them both.
‘Zac!’ Anna scolded him.
‘Give me a chance!’ Zac protested, his hands held up in the air. ‘I got here the same time as you!’
Anna looked at Bo with her palms pressed together excitedly. ‘The Sami – which is your style jacket – has already completely sold out online; within three hours of your first post going up, actually.’
Bo’s mouth dropped open a little. ‘Oh my goodness.’
‘It’s official – our customers can’t get enough of you,’ Anna squealed. ‘You’re already a hit!’
‘Well, that’s great!’
‘And just wait till you try the rest of the collection. We guarantee you’ll want to hike in it, ski in it, climb in it, sleep in it, even!’
So there was more product in that bag then, Bo thought to herself.
‘I frickin’ hope not,’ Zac guffawed. ‘Bo and I like to sleep au naturel. I don’t want that changing!’
‘Really?’ Bo asked him, knowing she was blushing furiously. ‘You said that out loud? You let those words actually come out of your mouth?’
Zac laughed, his tetchiness from a moment ago seemingly forgotten already. If there was one thing about Zac, he never held a grudge. ‘Aw, you’re going red. When did you get to be such a prude?’ he teased, coming over and draping an arm over her shoulder and kissing her on the cheek.
‘I’m not. I just don’t think that it’s anything anyone else particularly wants to know about, that’s all,’ she said wryly. ‘Sometimes, you really need to apply a filter.’
‘You don’t usually care.’
‘We don’t usually have an audience,’ she retorted, before adding, ‘well, apart from Lenny.’
‘Okay, okay, I’ll keep shtum,’ he murmured, sweeping her hair off her shoulder and kissing her neck instead.
‘Zac!’
Lenny gave a loud groan, rolling his eyes in Anna’s direction. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. They can be pretty nauseating to be around.’
‘He
y, I’m not doing anything!’ Bo protested as Zac looped his arms around her and hung off her like a sloth.
‘So it’s all true then?’ Anna beamed as she gazed back at them both. ‘True love?’
‘The truest,’ Lenny said flatly. He wasn’t a big believer in affairs of the heart; most of his romances barely lasted the night. ‘Come on, Anna, I’ll show you your digs.’
‘And I’d better put that food away,’ Zac said, reluctantly letting go of Bo and, picking up the bags, heading back out of the door.
‘Sorry, wait – what did you say, Lenny?’ Bo queried.
He looked back at her, his eyebrow hooked just fractionally in the middle. He still looked irritable. ‘I’m gonna show Anna where she’s sleeping.’
‘Anna’s staying here? At the farm?’
‘Yeah. We discussed that the other day.’
‘But I thought she would be in the village. I mean, where . . . ?’ She indicated to the cramped cabins with her hands. There was barely enough space for the three of them as it was.
‘In the storehouse,’ Lenny said, as though it was obvious, jerking his head back to indicate the blocky stilted building down the path.
‘The storehouse?’ Anna laughed, looking as shocked as Bo.
‘Don’t worry, it’s not a storehouse any more – is it, Anders?’ Lenny asked him. ‘It’s done up as a one-bed unit with a little living area. Why do you think I’m not staying in there?’ He suddenly grinned at Anna again, giving a cheeky wink too. ‘Lucky for you I’m a gentleman.’
Anna gave a surprised laugh, as did Bo – he was anything but that.
‘Does my grandmother know about this?’ Anders asked, looking displeased by the development.
Lenny’s grin faded as he looked back at Anders, and Bo could tell he had taken against him. His easy-going, laissez-faire mentality was completely at odds with Anders’ taciturn, almost formal, demeanour. ‘Of course. It’s all in the original booking. Ask her.’
‘Well . . . she’s sleeping,’ Anders said, pointing to the sleeping woman, sarcasm hovering around the words.
Lenny shrugged. ‘Well it is, anyway. Do you have the keys? We’d better get the stove going. If it was anything like our place, it’ll be freezing in there.’
There was a pause, before Anders walked over to the dresser and pulled a set of keys from the drawer.
‘Well, I guess I’d better help Zac unpack,’ Bo said, returning her mug to the sink.
She walked over to the chair and took her jacket. ‘Thank you,’ she said, as she walked outside, Anders just behind her.
‘For what?’
‘Just all of it. The coffee. The chat. It was so nice and . . . normal,’ she shrugged.
He looked down at her and she was surprised again by the dazzling colour of his eyes. ‘No problem.’
Someone cleared their throat and they both looked up to find Lenny still standing on the path. ‘You got the keys?’ he asked impatiently. ‘Anna’s standing out in the cold.’
‘There.’ Anders pressed them into his hand. ‘You know how the stoves work now?’
‘Sure do,’ Lenny said shortly. He turned away but Anders put a hand on his shoulder – at six foot three, he was a good six inches taller than him. ‘Hey, there’s something you should know.’
Lenny frowned. ‘Yeah?’
‘Next time you go to town, you don’t need to carry the bags up yourselves.’
His face fell. ‘We don’t?’
‘There are aerial cables down there, a pulley system to bring things up and down from the farm. Just clip the handles on and you’re good to go.’
Irritation settled on Lenny’s face like a cloud of flies. ‘I really wish we’d known that an hour ago, man.’
Anders shrugged, turning away with a smile. ‘Well, you do now.’
Chapter Eight
Reiten seter, Lodal, June 1936
It was a gentle day, the sun beaming with a kindly heat that warmed her bones without scorching her skin. Signy sang as she walked in long strides – well, the longest her legs could manage anyway. She hadn’t grown in almost two years and she was still a good five inches shorter than her big sister, which felt like a keen injustice. If Margit was going to forever be the oldest, then didn’t she get to be the tallest? Wasn’t that fair? Her mamma kept saying she would grow again in the summer when the sun found her in the fields, but it hadn’t happened last year, thanks to her broken leg and all those weeks spent stuck lying on her bed. But this year she was in the sunlight every day, and at night, saying her prayers, she always remembered to add on a plea for her legs to grow too.
Her shepherding stick was a downy birch branch she had found around the back of the stabbur; perhaps it had been used to prop the door open, for it was almost perfectly straight and the perfect height for her to use over the hillocks as she roamed with the herd. She knew the valley in its broad strokes from the occasional days spent here as a child whilst the adults worked, but the detail was new to her and she was enjoying exploring its nooks and crannies. Today, she had taken the goats to the pastures on the outer western edges of the valley, on the far side of the stream, where the ground began to rise up again, pine trees feathering the landscape in loose knots. Slowing her pace, she turned and checked the goats had all kept up with her; with almost two hundred nannies and kids, there were too many to stop and count individually, but her eyes scanned the ground for any drifters going astray.
Stormy had led something of a revolt several days earlier, deciding she wasn’t yet ready to give up the day’s lush grass for a return to the pens and had stubbornly kept grazing as Signy ran around dementedly, making her various different-pitched calls and even, at one point, trying to push Stormy into action. It was surprisingly difficult to move a sulking goat, and, of course, if Stormy wouldn’t budge, neither would the others; only bribing her with Signy’s own treasured afternoon pear had eventually made her move, although seemingly feeling her principles had been compromised, the goat had petulantly cried in loud protest the whole way home.
Peace had been restored, however, and today Stormy was only a half-step behind her, her wet nose butting against Signy’s hand every now and again. Signy smiled at the sight and sound of them all clustering behind her in a bottleneck, their little cowbells jangling on their collars. She had spent much of the afternoon stretched out on her tummy on a pale grey speckled rock that had at first glance looked like a basking seal, choosing names for the kids and laughing as she watched them frolicking in the lush pastures, picking their knees high over the grass tufts as they bleated little sounds that were at once joyous and melancholic; they were only nine weeks old but already they bounded and bounced with a dexterity she could never match. They still kept close to their mothers at this age, some of them wanting to feed even as they walked and the nannies protesting loudly in response, but in a couple of weeks it would be a different matter entirely and the urge to roam would kick in in earnest. She wouldn’t get away with spotting her beloved gyrfalcons or counting butterflies then.
The valley lay cradled beneath her as she walked back in loping strides, the late evening sun still bright upon her face. The distant sheep looked like cottongrass tufts in the close pasture, the horse nosing the grass at a slow pace. The cluster of selets was on the other side of the stream from here and although she was too far away to make out any details keenly she could see general movement between the buildings – two figures carrying a filled butter churn between them to the in-ground cellar (Signy could tell from the way they held out their outer arms as counter-balancing weights), another sitting on a stool milking one of the cows, and two more threshing the long grass.
From here, the girls were as small as pepper pots but she knew she would hear their voices long before they became life-size again. For the past fortnight, this valley had rung with their shouts and calls, their laughter and squeals, as they settled into the freedoms of life away from their parents’ watchful gazes, and Signy sometimes wondered what th
e eagles and foxes, the lynxes and squirrels must think from their hideaway homes, to have their quiet plateau suddenly filled up with farm animals and humans.
She sighed happily as she drew closer, knowing exactly what would happen when she crossed the stream; the pastures there were largely contained by rough stone walls – mainly to keep the sheep and cows in, rather than the goats, which would hop over them like daisies should they choose – but within the topmost field, closest to the selets were more secure, higher-walled pens. She would leave the animals to range freely with the others there and run to help Ashild and Brit with making the last of the sur-ost (cottage cheese). It was a Tuesday today, which meant Ashi’s rommegrot for dinner; whipped up from sour cream, milk, flour and served with cinnamon and melted butter, it had fast become Signy’s favourite meal of the week, especially if they could have a slice of ham to go with it and some flatbread.
They had all fallen into a routine quickly, mainly because the others had done it before – they knew the shape and rhythm of the days here and fell into exhausted sleep when the sun was just nosing the horizon. Signy was sure she was asleep before her head hit the pillow most nights.
Margit and Sofie were in joint charge (although as far as Signy was concerned, that was only because Margit was happy for it to be that way), the two of them organizing the rosters and handing out chores. Signy, on account of her boundless energy, was sent out with the goats most days; the others had no doubt hoped the miles of walking might subdue her lively spirits but, if anything, the hours spent alone with just the animals meant she was even more sparky and talkative when she got back, always wanting another story around the fire. She had quickly acquired a reputation as the practical joker too, pouring jam in Ashi’s boots and putting a toad in Sofie’s bed one night. Kari, though not as prepared to be caught red-handed, was her accomplice in most of her japes and they had agreed whilst milking the goats one evening that playing tricks was far more fun than worrying about how to wear their hair, or which ribbon to thread in their blouses. They would stay forever free and wild and most certainly untamed by men.
Not that there was any risk of taming happening to either of them. Nils was the only man they had seen in two weeks, having returned to check on Sofie’s ankle as promised a few days after the buføring. He had brought with him some of his mamma’s ystingsoll pudding and word that a dead reindeer carcass had been found in the river up by the blacksmith’s, before taking back with him their first batch of setermat products: butter, milk and brown cheese. But apart from ruffling her hair as he jumped off his father’s horse, he had barely even noticed her, instead wasting all his time asking Sofie about her stupid ankle when it wasn’t even hurt and never had been. The moment the men had gone, that first day, Sofie had jumped up from her perch on the rock – but only after the rest of the girls had all worked themselves silly, unpacking the materials off the animals and airing and cleaning out the huts so that even Signy, who worked harder and had more energy than any of them, had woken up stiff and aching the next day.
