I roll from one side to the other, trying to forget Leif and think only of Finn. I wish for sleep to come. But I never sleep alone—Leif is always right beside me.
Chapter Fourteen
I feed Snorri before dawn, then snuggle him back into the cradle before going out. I need to clear my head from all this dreaming, so I will milk my cows and do something helpful for the camp.
Two of my cows are giving milk now—I call them Amber and Crystal, names of my favorite stones. Amber lost her calf, and her milk is starting to dry up, so we’ll need to breed her again soon. Crystal’s both fatter and more difficult. She has to be bribed away from her calf with hay.
Amber comes right over when I walk inside the fence, eager to be milked. I put my stool down and rub my hands together to warm them. I’ve only gotten two good pulls when she starts kicking her back leg, moving uneasily. Turning, I see Freydis running up the hill, her hair flowing around her like an erupting volcano.
“Is all well?” She had better slow down before barging into my pasture. I pat Amber’s side, murmuring words to calm her.
“Have you seen what your husband has been doing?” Freydis gasps for breath and holds her stomach. She takes so long fumbling with the latch, Crystal lows from her shady spot beneath a maple tree. “The men worked on it all day yesterday! Wait until you see it!”
“I’ve seen nothing, because I came straight over here.” I turn back to Amber.
“You must come with me!” Freydis yanks my arm so hard, my bucket spills. Amber’s sad, dark eyes fix on me, anxious for the sweet relief of milking.
Once Freydis gets like this, I can’t deny her, or she becomes a thorn in my foot. I pat Amber’s side again, planning to come back later. Holding my bucket and stool, I latch the fence, then follow Freydis back down the hill. She is too thin, because her shift hasn’t tightened at all over the child. From behind, her overdress hangs in loose folds that drag the ground.
I leave my bucket and stool in the longhouse, then we walk all the way past Freydis’ hut. Near the shoreline, her arms fly open, as if she’s embracing the air. And there, perfectly built, is a stockade. Log after log, sharpened, tied together, ends dug into the ground. A perfect protection, reaching from one end of the beach to the other, with only a small portion at the edge of camp unfinished.
Finn. Finn has done this for me.
Freydis’ large eyes take it all in. “Imagine the work! Last night, Ref said he was exhausted, but I had no idea why. I’d been out hunt—well, I didn’t even see the logs when I went in for the meal.”
She knows I want to scold her for hunting. But I’m too awed by Finn’s determination to keep me safe. She sighs next to me, as moved as I am.
“I dare any Skraeling to come ashore now!” She wraps her bony fingers around my arm and squeezes it like a small girl.
“Thank you for showing me this, Freydis.”
‘‘'Thank you for showing me this?!’ What’s wrong, Gudrid? Why all the formal talk?”
I remain silent.
“Not that I’m mocking you, of course.” That’s exactly what she’s doing. “But you don’t seem yourself these days. Nerienda noticed it, too—not just me. Are you worried about something?”
I’d like to know who in this camp is not worried.
She raises her eyebrows. “Don’t give me that look! There's nothing to worry about, now that we have the stockade, and Thorfinn chose the best men to guard us. Have you seen Sindri and Tyr? They look like brutes. And of course, we all know Snorri Thorbrandsson and his ways. Not to mention that brown-eyed man, Suka. He looks like he wants to kill something.”
Probably us.
“And Geisli? Now there is a man.” She sighs, again like a silly girl.
I haven’t met Geisli yet, but Freydis would do well to remember her own husband. “I thought Ref was staying behind?”
Freydis rises to the bait, as always. “Of course Ref’s staying! He’s a man among men!” Then she rubs her stomach, probably remembering he’s given her a child, too.
“How is the baby?”
“How should I know? I’ve never had one before. All I know is what you midwives keep telling me.” She glares at me, as if it's my fault I haven't taught her more about childbearing.
I look up into her eyes. “Does he move inside you?"
“Not so much. But Nerienda says he’s dropped.”
I put my hand over hers. Then I put my other hand on her stomach—it’s still hard, with no kicking. I bend down and speak to her stomach.
“Your mother is a real handful.” There’s no movement in response.
Freydis smiles, her freckles crinkling all the way up her nose. “Gudrid, you’ll be the death of me yet!”
Freydis very well could have died for me, if she’s the one who killed Hallstein’s man. I pray I can redeem myself to her by keeping her and the baby alive during the delivery.
We walk closer to the shoreline, examining the heavy log wall. The men have done a week’s work in a day. Although many of the logs were already felled in the woods, hauling them to the shore and burying the ends should have taken days. No wonder Finn slept so deeply last night—he was exhausted.
Freydis speaks my own thoughts. “I pity the man who would stand in Thorfinn’s way. He appears so gentle and peaceful, but when it comes to you, there's no telling what he'd be willing to do. You do have that effect on people, you know.” She shoots me her crooked grin.
I start walking toward the longhouse again. Freydis always makes me uncomfortable with her obsession with my personal life. “We must get our chores done.”
“Yes, do go finish milking your cow—goodness knows she needs you.” She laughs, then half-runs toward the forest.
Once I have a full bucket, I carry it to the longhouse, where Inger waits to make butter. Her hair is so dark, it looks out of place among us. But her light eyes and skin tell she’s Norwegian. She is pretty, but not beautiful, like Linnea. Her hands are red and cracked from all her time spent cooking over the fire, and from the spinning she’s probably done most of her life. I’ll find a salve for her to rub on them.
She doesn’t say anything until I walk toward the door, then speaks so quietly I can hardly hear her. “It’s a perfect stockade.”
And I see that Finn has made us all feel safer, with his one huge gesture. I want to sit on the bench and cry without stopping. I want to find him and throw my arms around him. But, mostly, I just want the next four months to be over.
“I’m sorry, m’lady, to upset you.” Inger’s clear blue eyes show her surprise.
“No, don’t think of it.” I hope she soon forgets this weakness she has seen in me.
“Yes’m.” She turns back to the churn.
I have a sudden yearning for my baby—to hold his solid little body, to sprinkle kisses on his lips and eyes, to feel his soft fair skin.
The fire has died in our empty hut. Deirdre should be here. Perhaps Snorri is with Nerienda. Urgency presses me to run toward the old woman's hut. Something is wrong; I can feel it.
Nerienda meets me at her door, holding Snorri. “Gudrid.” Instead of saying more, she passes my baby to me.
He’s burning up, and his eyes are glazed over. Dear God, don’t let this be the shivering disease that took so many in Greenland.
“How long?”
“Not long,” she says. “He was just tired this morning. He wanted to be held.”
For a healing woman, she should have known to send for me when she realized he was feverish. She knows as well as I do what can happen if we leave the fever unattended. I try not to let my anger spill over.
“I’ll get the garlic.” She bustles toward the longhouse, probably sensing my black thoughts. She’ll make a paste from the garlic and mix it with oil, then spread it over Snorri’s feet to draw the fever out. It's the traditional way. If that doesn’t work, I’ve hidden another cure—a powerful, expensive one.
But first of all, I’ll pray. In the middle of the ca
mp, holding Snorri high, I raise my eyes to the heavens. I ask the God who lives there, the God who sees even me, to heal my only son. I beg Him. I’ve watched all my parents die, even my godparents. I’ve been with two husbands as they took their last, rasping breaths from the shivering disease. I can’t let my son die.
Finn comes up behind me and puts his arm over my shoulder. He doesn’t interrupt my prayer, as it's obvious I pray for our boy, lying limp in my arms. Snorri feels like a hot coal. We have to sponge him off with cool water.
“Finn, please run and get Linnea. Or Inger—she’s in the longhouse. We need water from the creek.” The deep concern in his eyes mirrors my own.
He doesn’t answer me before racing off. He is a quick runner, light on his feet, like a deer. I’ve never noticed this before.
I cradle Snorri. His eyes fix on the clouds instead of me. As I reach the door of our hut, Linnea runs up, holding a small ceramic jar. “Inger’s gone for water. I have the paste. Nerienda’s coming soon.”
I carry my baby to our bed. He looks fiery, wearing the bright red cloak Thjodhild made for him before he was even born. I strip him down, then lay a light piece of linen over him. Linnea hands me the paste, and I rub it into his feet, praying all the while.
Suddenly, he has a bout of diarrhea, which spurts everywhere. We’ll have to put a covering on his backside, like the Europeans do, just to contain it. Without my asking, Linnea leaves, saying she will fetch water and cloths. I stand motionless, splattered by the blast. The smell of my son’s sickness fills the small hut.
Snorri Thorbrandsson barges through the door, not even calling out first. “I saw you and the boy.” He draws closer and rubs the paste on baby Snorri’s feet. He motions to the corner. “You change clothes.”
Unfortunately, we have no large furniture to stand behind in our hut. But the mess on my shift makes me take the chance, because I’m afraid the stench will make me sick, too.
I secure the deerskin flap to the wall with a piece of bone through a leather loop. Turning my back to Snorri Thorbrandsson, I pretend he can’t see me. Trusting he won’t look, I undress and drop my soiled clothing into our basket. I’ll have someone wash it with hot water soon. With these illnesses, I’ve noticed those who handle the dirty clothes are next to get sick.
I wipe down with a wet rag before pulling on a clean shift and my overdress, holding it up until I can secure the brooches. My leather shoes have also gotten dirty, so I take them off, looking around for my fleece-lined slippers.
Someone knocks on the door frame. I unhook the deerskin, still bare-footed. Finn stands there, probably wondering why I’ve secured the door. He looks over at Snorri, then back at me. Whether he notices I’m wearing a rust colored overdress, instead of the green one I was just wearing, I don’t know.
“Nerienda will come, and Deirdre.” He doesn't look me in the eyes. There is something he’s not telling me. Linnea mentioned Nerienda was coming, too. She should have been here by now, if she’s only a few steps away in the longhouse.
Suddenly, I divine the source of his worried tone. “It’s Freydis.”
“Sometimes you understand too much, my wife.” Finn sighs, his eyes meeting mine. “Yes, Freydis is having early birth pains.”
But she and I laughed together just this morning, enjoying the security of the new stockade. Something must have happened when she went hunting.
“Tell Nerienda to stay with her. I’m a healer, too, and I can care for my own son.” I still can’t believe the old woman delayed when she knew my son was ill.
“And Deirdre?” he asks. Deirdre would probably rather be with me, but Linnea is more instinctive in knowing what I need next.
“She also must stay with Freydis. Linnea and Inger can help me.”
Finn looks again to Snorri Thorbrandsson, who holds our baby on the filthy bed. I don’t want to think of what he’s sitting on. I’ll remind him to change when he leaves. But Finn must leave our hut now, because he can’t get sick before the trip. There will be no healers on his ship, since we’re both staying behind with Freydis.
“Could you go find Inger? She’s supposed to be at the creek.” Commands come easier when my child is sick.
Before Finn even turns, Inger and Linnea come in, each bearing the kind of water we need. Cool for Snorri’s overheated body, and warm to clean everything.
I tell Finn to go ahead and work with his men, since he doesn’t know how else to help. He must finish the stockade, so they can ship out as soon as possible. He can’t delay searching for Leif’s camp in Vinland because of our baby or Freydis, or he won’t get back before winter.
The girls and Snorri work together to clean the baby, securing rags on him to stop the diarrhea. They also take blankets from the bed and burn the ruined straw. When I try to help, Snorri Thorbrandsson says, “No—you’re clean.” He makes me sit down in the chair to wait.
Already, Snorri Thorbrandsson steps into the space my husband will leave. And this isn’t a bad thing.
Chapter Fifteen
After many bouts of diarrhea, my boy finally tosses into a fevered sleep. I slump in my chair, exhausted.
Linnea speaks in her quiet way. “We must stop the diarrhea. I've seen this before in children.”
She’s right. I search out my wooden herb chest, filled with spices, healing powders, and dried leaves. Pulling back a hidden sliding panel, I find the root I seek. I tell Linnea to cut off a small piece and grind it into powder, before mixing it with water.
She fingers it tenderly. “I’ve heard about ginger root, but I’ve never seen it. This must have been costly.”
It was. Finn could sell this for a large sum, having traded for it in Persia. Even Icelanders, so close to the mainland, don’t have this root yet. I took this from Finn before we left. He wasn’t able to inventory his goods before leaving Greenland, and I’m hoping he’ll think he lost it somehow.
When Linnea leaves to grind the root, I touch Snorri’s forehead. Still hot, but not as hot as before. I send Inger to mash more garlic and replace the paste. She will also stir eggs in a bowl and put the mix on cloths we can wrap around Snorri’s feet. This is an old Scottish cure that Deirdre taught me.
Deirdre. I should be helping her with Freydis now. Hopefully, Freydis won’t go into labor yet. There are herbs that can stop the pains, but Nerienda would know of those, too.
I wonder about this sickness of Snorri’s. It’s too early for the coughing illness that usually comes in fall. It can’t be something he ate, because he eats so little. I pray it’s not an illness that spreads quickly.
Snorri Thorbrandsson comes back in, rubbing his hand over his bald head in a gesture that always makes me think he misses his hair. “Freydis’ pains are slowing.”
I nod, glad of his report.
He pulls up a chair near baby Snorri, looking at him, then at me. Snorri Thorbrandsson’s eyes are difficult to describe. They’re usually light brown, but today they resemble dark wildflower honey. He looks distressed, and it’s clear what he’s thinking about.
I’ll relieve him of the burden of telling me. “I understand what has to be done.”
Snorri Thorbrandsson nods without speaking. We both know that Finn cannot return to this hut, which means we’ll be apart until his return.
“He took a chance coming in before.” Snorri’s eyes rest on mine.
I stand, offended. “He didn’t touch the baby.”
“No.” He readily agrees with me. For being such a valiant warrior, Snorri Thorbrandsson is almost as thoughtful of me as Deirdre is.
I sit down again. “You must tell him.”
“I plan to.” His eyes reflect the fire.
As he rises to carry out his mission, he knocks his chair over. The baby starts awake, but then falls back into his dazed sleep.
“Sorry.” Snorri keeps his eyes down as he leaves.
I move to the wall bench, my eyes heavy. Inger and Linnea come in, bringing the smell of fresh garlic with them. Inger rubs
paste on baby Snorri’s feet and wraps them with cloths, while Linnea holds him close to the breast, much as I would.
“Is he cooler?” I ask.
Inger just barely shakes her head.
“We’ll give him the ginger water, then.” I stand, strangely weak.
Linnea holds Snorri out to me. His skin has gooseflesh and his color looks mottled. I can’t understand why the fever hasn’t broken.
She hands me the deerskin bottle. “I mixed it like you said.”
I hold the bottle to his mouth. Rather than gulping, he takes tiny sips, which is best for him anyway. Maybe his stomach will be calmed by the ginger.
Both girls look to me for instructions, but I have none. “It’s good that he drinks,” I say.
They both nod, eyelids drooping from exhaustion.
I speak of something other than the sickness. “The stockade? Is it finished?”
“Geisli said it will be complete sometime today.” As Inger speaks, a blush colors her cheeks.
Geisli...the same man Freydis was impressed with. Inger’s blush says much about her feelings for this man.
Although these girls are old enough to be married, I want to protect them from it. I had no mother to prevent my marriage to The Eastman. Orm and Halldis had found a good match for me, but my father disapproved. And everyone knows the chieftain has the final word.
My godparents thought I should marry Einar, a boy whose father had become rich in Iceland. Einar had brought a shipload of wares from Norway for Orm to examine. While loading them into Orm’s barn, he saw me walking past and started asking questions. Who was I? Was I a good cook? Would my father let us marry? Orm was surprised but impressed at his boldness.
When Orm brought word of Einar’s proposal to Father, he rejected it, because Einar was the son of a slave—even if he was a prosperous slave. Orm made the unwelcome suggestion that Einar’s wealth and status could raise my father’s standing. With his endless feasts and parties, Father was running the farm into the ground. But, in return for Orm’s good advice, Father took me from my godparents and brought me back to live with him again.
God's Daughter (Vikings of the New World Saga) Page 9
