Aunt Hildegaard was nothing like I had expected.
The other ladies I knew who were that age – the Greystone sisters – were slim, gray haired, and proper looking, wearing silk tea dresses and gloves and hats when they went outside. Aunt Hildegaard, tall and broad shouldered, looked extremely fit in her farming boots and thick wool sweater. Her salt-and-pepper hair was piled high on her head in braids, and her sharp green eyes sent chills down my spine. The wrinkles of her leathery face folded deeply into a stern expression.
“Hello,” I said nervously.
“God dag.” Her large calloused hands reached out and shook ours in a hearty grip. “It’s time for you to learn a few Swedish phrases.” Then without so much as an “I’m so happy to see you,” she turned abruptly and started talking to Ms. Dreeble.
Mom had said Aunt Hildegaard was kindly and warm, but this woman seemed neither. She appeared so …
“Formidable, isn’t she?” Sookie whispered to me, shaking her head. “Mom didn’t mention that. I don’t want to go with her, Cat. I want to stay with the teachers.” She sounded more like a little kid than usual, but she wasn’t the only one who wanted to stay behind.
“They were just sitting down to lunch,” Ms. Dreeble said.
“We need to get back to the farm,” said our aunt. “There’s a lot of work going on now that it’s spring. There are livestock to herd and feed, and I’m in the middle of planting. I need extra hands today.”
Work? I thought miserably as I pictured Mia sipping her coffee. My friends were probably stuffing shrimp down their throats this very moment. My stomach growled.
Ms. Grimmaar joined us. “I’ve enjoyed meeting your nieces, and I hope you will allow Sookie to accompany us on many of our excursions. They’re both welcome to stay with me if you’d like. I live close to the school.”
My heart soared with hope.
My aunt said something sharp in Swedish, and Ms. Grimmaar got a distasteful look on her face, but she quickly smiled and said, “Of course, whatever is most convenient for you.”
“I want to stay,” Sookie whined.
Ms. Dreeble shot us a sympathetic look and quietly said, “I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time with your aunt.”
It wasn’t like Ms. Dreeble to lie. Then she said almost urgently, “Really, I think it’s for the best.”
“There’s no time for nonsense girl,” my aunt said briskly to Sookie. “We have to get going.”
Sookie got her stubborn look, and I knew there was no way to get her on board. Then Aunt Hildegaard said, “We have to get the reindeer fed.”
“You have reindeer?” Sookie did a full turn and grabbed my aunt’s hand. “Let’s get going.”
My aunt hoisted Sookie’s suitcase over her shoulder and they began walking away, leaving me standing in the lobby.
My feet didn’t want to move.
CHAPTER 14 - A Mysterious Visitor
“COME, CAITLIN, I haven’t got all day,” my aunt said.
“My name is Cat.”
Aunt Hildegaard turned sharply and fastened me with a cold, searching stare. “Cat?”
“It’s short for Caitlin,” Sookie volunteered.
“Well, come along, Cat.” Aunt Hildegaard took off with a purposeful stride, and Sookie had a hard time keeping up. Sighing, I grabbed my suitcase and dragged it behind me. Staying with this person was definitely not one of Mom’s better ideas.
Piling our suitcases in the back of an old-fashioned black truck, we climbed into the worn leather seats in the front cab. Aunt Hildegaard shifted grinding gears, and the truck lurched onto the road that followed the lake’s edge out of town. Crossing several bridges, I noticed how the boiling water rushing beneath made our town’s river look like a peaceful stream. Waterfalls wound through gray rock cropping ahead in the road. Turning away from that road, we traveled through a dark forested lane until we wound up a narrow path and approached a wide pasture by the lakeshore.
Beside the pasture sat a large red cabin. Between the cabin and the trees was a barn and outside that were chicken coops and a small pig pen. My aunt’s farm sprawled across a narrow strip of land hemmed in by the forest on one side and the lake on the other side.
“Look!” Sookie’s shriek made me jump.
“Good heavens!” said Aunt Hildegaard as she parked the truck.
“I see a reindeer!” Sookie shouted excitedly, paying no attention. She shot out the door and ran across the field.
“That girl should be more cautious approaching the animals,” my aunt warned. “At least the ren she’s headed for is docile.”
“Her name is Sookie,” I couldn’t help mentioning.
My aunt fastened me with another serious stare and said, “Tell Sookie to come in and wash up. I’m sure you both want lunch before you begin the chores.”
How could Mom do this to us? I fumed, trudging across a muddy pasture to fetch my sister. She’s hired us out as farmhands for what was supposed to be a fun trip. Suddenly I wasn’t so sure about leaving Sookie here to fend for herself when I was with the rest of the group. But my heart ached to be with my friends, and I wouldn’t be able to join them again until Monday morning. Instead, I’d be stuck slaving away here for two whole days.
“Cat,” Sookie’s voice brimmed with excitement, “do you think this one is Rudolph? His nose is kind of pink.” She was on her tiptoes and had to reach up high to put her arm around a reindeer’s neck.
“Maybe you shouldn’t get so close,” I said from a distance. “Those reindeer are pretty big. Aunt Hildegaard said you should be careful about the animals. She also said it was time for lunch.”
Sookie made a face and said, “Rudolph doesn’t mind. And Aunt Hildegaard is crabby.” Then after giving Rudolph a firm pat on the side of the head, she left him and came with me back to the cabin.
“What’s for middag?” Sookie asked cheekily.
Aunt Hildegaard regarded her with a peculiar look and simply said, “You’ll see soon enough. Wash up – the sink is down the hall.”
I followed Sookie down the whitewashed hallway, noticing that some of the walls were birch like the floor. The windows were small, but a door at the end of the hall led to a closed-in porch with a panoramic lake view. Except for a few braided rugs, there weren’t any decorations. The only furniture was a couch and rocking chair around the potbellied stove, and a birch table and chairs that had been scrubbed to a gleaming polish, just like the floors. I didn’t see any televisions or computers. But I did notice the smell of fresh pine, like a house at Christmastime, combined with the sharp, fresh tang that drifted up from the lake.
After washing, we sat down at the table. Aunt Hildegaard coldly announced, “These are the rules. Sookie, you will fetch the eggs and feed the animals. Cat, you will help with the more physical chores of baling hay and planting the field.”
Sookie frowned, then said, “Can I herd the reindeer?”
My aunt shook her head. “You will not enter the reindeer pen,” she said, staring directly at Sookie. “You may sit on the fence and feed them grass.”
Looking at us both, she continued, “You will ask permission before leaving the farm, and you will never leave the paths. Do not cross any foot bridges in the area, but if you must, use utmost caution. Hold tight onto the rails and watch out below; the rivers beneath are treacherous. And you’ll stay out of the forest.”
Aunt Hildegaard put a plate of dark brown bread, sliced tomatoes, and pickled herring in front of us.
“Ewww,” said Sookie looking at our lunch of pickled herring. I kicked her not-so-gently under the table.
“Ow, Cat.”
“What’s wrong?” Our aunt gave us a side glance, which seemed to size us up. I didn’t think we were measuring up too well.
There was an awkward silence on our part, then Sookie blurted, “I don’t like this kind of food.”
“What kind of food do you like?” Aunt Hildegaard said this matter-of-factly, but she didn’t sound pleased.
“No.”
Sookie tried again. “Peanut butter?”
“No.”
Finally, Sookie said, “Jam?”
Aunt Hildegaard left the table and came back with a jar labeled lingonberry that had purple stuff inside. I held my breath, worrying what Sookie would say next. She dug in her knife, then plopped an indelicate amount of the purple jam on her bread and smeared it to the edges. She bit in and declared, “Not bad.”
“What about you?” Aunt Hildegaard stared at me again, her mouth not flinching toward a smile or a frown.
“I’m fine, thank you,” I replied, making sure my own mouth didn’t move. I skipped the herring but put the tomatoes onto my bread. Tomatoes weren’t my favorite, but I didn’t want my aunt to think Sookie and I were spoiled kids. Once again I thought of my friends, now finishing off their giant smorgasbord. My aunt left the table again and brought us two glasses of cold milk.
“Cat prefers coffee,” Sookie said.
My eyes widened, and then almost popped out of my head, when my aunt took a pot off the stove and poured that forbidden liquid into a cup. I grabbed my glass, dumped milk into the black brew, and took a delicate sip. Wincing, I spooned in some honey she’d brought to the table. Not bad at all, Sookie, I thought. She had definitely scored some points.
Aunt Hildegaard dropped into a chair and took a sip from her own cup. The way she sat rigidly in her chair gave me the sense she wasn’t much for relaxing. “Tell me,” said Aunt Hildegaard, “how is your mother?”
The question caught me off guard, and for a moment I couldn’t think of what to say. Funny, nobody had ever asked me that before. I could say straight away how I was doing, or even most of my friends. I could maybe even take a shot at my sister. But my mom?
I guessed she liked her night school courses because it was going to get us ahead, and she told us how lucky she was that her work hours fit into our schedules. I knew she didn’t like stretching money to make ends meet … and that’s what got me into this mess.
“She’s fine,” was all I said.
“Well then, time for work.” My aunt took our cups and put them into the sink, even though I hadn’t finished my coffee. Sighing, I began clearing the table.
*
The sun was low on the horizon when we’d finally finished washing the dinner dishes and putting them away. My muscles ached from throwing hay in the barn, and my back didn’t want to bend ever again after I’d helped plant turnips.
“Hey, Cat, do you think Santa Claus lives across this lake?”
I shrugged my shoulders. Who was I to say where Santa Claus lives?
Sookie had spent her day gathering eggs from the chicken coop, and Aunt Hildegaard had taught her how to milk a cow. At every free second, she stole off to the pasture next to the lake and climbed the fence to feed handfuls of grass to the reindeer.
“Sookie,” my Aunt snapped, “what is this creature doing in my house?”
After dinner Sookie had lugged a big black cat into the cabin, and I had simply thought it was my aunt’s pet. She’d poured the cat a bowl of milk on the sunporch, and now it had wandered into the kitchen looking for more.
“She was hungry,” Sookie said. “Can she stay inside? She really likes me.”
“Certainly not,” my aunt said. “I’ve never seen that beast. Who knows where it’s been.”
Before there was a showdown, I reached for the cat, but it hissed menacingly and arched its back.
“Hey, I’m a Cat, too.” But I couldn’t go near the wild thing. Instead Sookie reached over and slung the cat over her shoulders like a sack of potatoes and took it to the door.
“It’s not too cold in the barn,” she consoled it, then shut the door.
I hung the checkered dish cloth on the rack and sat wearily on a chair, wondering what my friends were doing now. Even though I’d finished dinner – the tiny boiled potatoes, meatballs, and delicious gingerbread for dessert were a step up from lunch – I still had this empty feeling in my stomach.
All at once I remembered when I’d had that feeling before. It was after my dad had left, and we’d moved to our new town. Mom had explained how I was homesick for my old life. Now I was homesick for my new life. I suppose that was an improvement.
There was a timid knock, and when my aunt opened the kitchen door, freezing night air flooded the cabin. My heart jumped as a sickly gray hand reached through the crack of the door, its long fingers curled menacingly around a tin cup. Then Aunt Hildegaard did something peculiar. She went to the fridge, brought out the milk, and began filling the battered cup.
My stomach lurched when I noticed the hand was missing a finger! As my aunt poured the milk to the brim, Sookie and I crowded the door to get a better look. The man in the shadows wore a hat that wrapped around his neck like a scarf, partly covering his long gray hair and beard. He had on an oversized dark coat, and his boots reached up to his knees. His features were craggy and sharp, and he had beady eyes and the strangest nose I’d ever seen. I forced myself to look away and stop staring.
After the man got his milk, he silently left the porch.
“That is Osgaard,” said my aunt. “He is my reindeer herder and helps out with the farm.”
When my aunt shut the door, she almost fell over the black cat, which had snuck back inside. Sookie grabbed the animal and headed for the door again. I followed and became chillingly aware of a sense of foreboding. My feather, tucked under my shirt, was heating up as if I’d slipped a hot water bottle next to my skin. We watched the reindeer herder move toward the shadows as the cat ran from the porch.
“Cat,” Sookie whispered, “do you think he’s one of Santa’s elves?”
“No,” I said to my sister. “Not even close.”
CHAPTER 15 - An Eerie Incident
THERE WAS SOMETHING just not right about my aunt’s farm. I couldn’t shake my uneasiness the next day as I went through my chores and tried to keep an eye on my sister. Sookie was always asking the wrong questions to our aunt, like, “Why can’t the cat come in? Why can’t I play with the reindeer? Why can’t I swim in the lake? Why can’t we take the boat out? Why can’t I …”
Worse, by the afternoon, Sookie refused to mind our aunt, and she kept sneaking away to play with the cat or reindeer. I was doing my best by checking up on her constantly. That’s why I’d forgotten the full milk jug inside the barn.
I’d just finished pouring the milk from the bucket into a hefty earthenware jug to bring back to the house for the next morning’s breakfast. The crimson sun was setting in a hazy red horizon when the hair on the back of my neck prickled. With a growing urgency I thought, I should make sure Sookie’s inside the cabin.
I ran for the cabin and asked, “Is Sookie here?”
Aunt Hildegaard was knitting by the warm stove and muttering to herself, “Be wary of the fog.” Finally, she looked up from her needles and wool and acknowledged me. “She’s been playing on the sunporch.”
But when I checked, Sookie wasn’t there. Quickly, I rushed back outside and found my sister with that stupid black cat by the lake. There was a gray fog rolling in from the water, its creeping tendrils ready to snatch any passersby.
“Time to come in,” I urged, “before you get scratched.” Once again, the cat arched its back and began hissing when I approached. I figured the huge animal could do a lot of damage.
“She likes me,” Sookie said, “and I like her.” She looked smug, as if to say, so if she rips you up into shreds, that’s your fault.
I backed away as the cat shot out a clawed paw and said, “Well, get back inside before Aunt Hildegaard discovers you’re not there. Play with the cat in the morning.”
Sookie sighed dramatically and embraced the cat, taking her life into her own hands if you asked me. We were almost back to the cabin when I remembered the milk jug. So after Sookie went inside, I headed back to the barn to fetch the milk.
&nbs
p; As I walked back up to the house, chills crept up and down my spine. I hurried past a huge pile of rocks half hidden in shadow. Then I saw something that almost made me drop the jug of milk. That pile of rocks in the yard slowly started to move, morphing into the shadowy reindeer herder.
He stood right in front of me. My heart slammed against my chest as I froze and watched him pull his battered tin cup from a brown sack. He held the cup out to me.
Hoisting the jug to pour the milk, I tried to control my shaking hands that were sloshing milk on the ground before I could fill the cup. I tried not to stare at his strangely deformed hand or his hideous warty skin. As he drank the milk, I rushed for the cabin clutching the heavy pitcher to my chest, debating whether or not to drop the jug as I fled. Don’t be a baby, I thought. Behind me I heard loud lapping sounds, as if the cat had crept up and began drinking the spilled milk. But I couldn’t force myself to turn around. I was too frightened by the crazy idea that Osgaard was on his hands and knees, licking the ground with a long black tongue.
Slamming the door behind me, I sucked in a ragged breath.
“Good heavens!” These seemed to be Aunt Hildegaard’s favorite words. “There’s no need to slam the door.”
“Sorry,” I muttered, putting the jug in the fridge.
“Did you bring the milk pail with you?” asked Aunt Hildegaard. “I need to wash it out for the morning.”
I tried thinking of an excuse not to go outside again; somehow I didn’t think Aunt Hildegaard would think too favorably of, “I’m scared.” Instead, I settled with, “I’m tired. Can I get it in the morning?”
“Certainly not,” my aunt said brusquely. “Firstly, you are giving the bacteria plenty of time to multiply instead of cleaning the pail thoroughly right away. We don’t leave things dirty. Secondly,” she eyed me in that way again, as if Mom had been dragging us up instead of bringing us up properly, “never put off until tomorrow what can be done today.”
Panicky thoughts darted through my mind. Which would be less terrifying: walking slowly to the barn and keeping a sharp eye out for Osgaard, or just running for it, not looking left or right? I opened the door, shut it behind me carefully, and made a dash for the barn, keeping my eyes fastened on its entrance. But as I neared the barn, I swore I could hear voices. I slammed to a stop outside the door.
Grim Hill: The Family Secret Page 7
