“Rats don’t fish,” claimed Burd.
Food was getting scarce again. Ravnar slung the shotgun over his shoulder and wandered the hills, looking for hungry or shy deer and light-footed mountain goats. But it was hard to hunt alone. Time after time he came home empty-handed. Eidi and Doup and Tink spent a whole day out by the seals’ pool, collecting mussels and beach snails in the cold water.
Toward evening, when they came back dragging the dripping baskets, Tink saw some small black dots on their way over the hilltop.
“They’re coming. They’re coming,” he shouted, and Foula appeared at the door, dried her hands on her apron, shaded her eyes with her hand, and stared.
“Thank god,” she sighed when she was sure who it was. She dried her eyes, which were tearing in the evening chill.
“Thank god.”
* * *
Everyone helped carry parcels and bags into the house. Then Eidi, Tink, and Doup each took their horses over to the stable, groomed them, and gave them water and hay and a handful of oats, and hurried back to the house.
Foula cooked the mussels and put the pot on the table. Frid and Myna had brought cheese and sausage and hard, brown bread. Tink took a small sausage, a thick slice of cheese, and a hunk of bread, and ran over to Burd. Burd had let his fire go out and sat with a single candle lit in front of him. Tink placed the food on the table next to the candle and quickly ran back.
* * *
When everyone had eaten, they looked at all the things Myna and Frid had bought. They had gotten a good price for both the shawls and the skins.
The most important things they brought back were the seeds for cabbage, carrots, onions, leeks, parsnips, turnips, kohlrabi, celery root, red beets, and peas.
“I thought it might be best not to bet too much on potatoes from now on,” said Frid, and Foula nodded.
He had only bought one little sack of potatoes for planting. Tink, Doup, and Cam each got a small package of nuts and raisins.
“And look at this!” said Frid. “Is this something we can use?”
He opened a sack of dried white beans and a thick brown paper package that contained a large piece of salted, smoked bacon. Foula smiled.
“Pork and beans, I haven’t tasted that in many years,” she said.
She got up and put the beans to soak in water for the next day.
“Tomorrow we’ll have a feast,” she said.
“There were practically no hens,” said Frid. “And those to be had were too expensive.”
But he had also bought a sack of flour and sacks of oats and tea and sugar, and Eidi made them each a mug of scalding hot tea with sugar and a bit of milk.
Tink sat up on the settle and emptied his mug and his package of nuts and raisins. He was enjoying being full and having the sweet taste in his mouth, feeling warm and hearing the talk around him. The hard knot in his stomach had loosened a bit, and he felt better than he had in a long time.
Myna reported that they had met their friend Rossan and his nephew Kotka. Rossan was thinking of leaving his place to Kotka’s oldest brother, and Myna and Frid had tried to convince him to move to Crow Cove.
“He said he would think about it,” said Frid.
“If only he would,” said Eidi. “If only he would.” Tink thought so, too.
Doup had fallen asleep on the settle, where he had slept every night while Myna was away. Otherwise he usually slept at her house. They decided to leave him. Myna got up to go over to her place. Ravnar wanted to walk her home, but Myna wanted to go alone.
Frid carried Cam, who was fast asleep, to the bedroom on the opposite side of the house. Foula covered the embers with ashes, and Eidi and Ravnar and Tink each took a warmed stone wrapped in a cloth, and stumbled off to bed.
* * *
When Tink lay under the blankets with the stone by his feet, he still felt warm and good until he remembered Burd, who sat alone in his cold room. Then his stomach clenched again, and he had trouble going to sleep.
8
The room smelled of wood smoke and beans, bacon and thyme. The evening sun hung red over the sea and gilded the rough walls. That morning Foula had sent Tink over to Burd to ask him to come for dinner.
Now he stood in the doorway with a freshly trimmed beard and damp hair and nodded to Frid.
“Come in,” said Foula.
He sat down on the edge of a chair and sniffed. “It smells delicious,” he said. Then he looked over at Tink, who was holding his breath. “Well, now, little rat, how are things? Are we going fishing soon?”
Tink sighed in relief and nodded. Burd smiled at him.
The bacon made the beans savory and shiny with fat; the thyme added flavor and flecked the beans with green, its tiny, oval leaves having cooked off so that the bare twigs could be pulled out of the pot.
Burd asked a bit about the market, but otherwise silence reigned while they ate. The pork and beans were filling, and soon everyone was done. Burd got up first and thanked them for the meal.
He stood with both hands on the chair back and looked at Tink.
“Tomorrow maybe … if the weather holds?”
Tink nodded. Then Burd went over to his house.
“He’s like a different man,” said Frid.
“He’s gotten better,” said Foula, and got up to clear the table. “But he’s still the same man.”
And there was no more talk of Burd.
Myna and Doup did the dishes, and when they were done, they wanted to go home. Ravnar was just about to get up when Tink saw Frid place a hand over his and hold him back. The door closed behind Myna and Doup.
“Why?” exclaimed Ravnar angrily and pulled his hand back.
“Myna doesn’t want it,” said Frid quietly.
“What the devil is going on?”
“Perhaps she has discovered that there are other young men in the world than you.”
“Who on earth would that be?”
“It could be someone she met in Last Harbor,” said Frid.
Ravnar stared at him. Then he got up abruptly and stomped out of the house, slamming the front door with a bang. A bit later they heard him return and run up the stairs to his room in the attic.
* * *
Tink placed the small woven bag on top of his bed, where he was sure Eidi would find it. He wanted her to know that he was coming back.
He tiptoed out into the attic and listened in the dark at Ravnar’s door, hearing his heavy breathing. Then he snuck down the stairs. A board creaked and he stood stock-still until he heard Eidi turn in her bed below him. Then he continued, closed the front door behind him, and headed for the stable in the freezing night air.
His teeth chattering, he led his horse toward the bridge over the stream. He was afraid it would start neighing. In the sky a reddish light slowly spread up to the dark blue. A lone star blinked a last farewell to the fading night. He stopped by the bridge.
Tink knew how the horse’s hooves would thunder against the wood, so he pulled himself on and rode through the stream and up the hill. At the end of the hollow where the graves were, the path grew so steep that he had to get down again and lead the horse along behind him.
When he reached the top, Tink stared directly into a glowing, red sun that had just risen above the horizon.
He had to lower his gaze, turn around, and let the black spots in front of his eyes finish their dance before he could look at the small white houses in Crow Cove. Smoke was rising from Myna’s chimney, and perhaps that little thing jumping around in front of the house was Glennie, barking a greeting at the new day.
Then he turned toward the sun again and began the trip up to the road.
* * *
When he finally reached the large boulder at the road, the sun was high in the sky. He let the horse graze in the dry grass. He sat down in the sun, pulled his boots off, and wrung out his wet socks, laying them in the sunshine. Then he found a dry pair in his bundle, along with a bit of bread and sausage.
Wh
en he had eaten, he turned south and rode on. He took his time, because he knew where he was going.
The countryside spread out before him—yellowish grass filled with green shoots, bare brown heather. Where water kept the sheep away, the willow trees had the chance to grow in peace. Their buds shone light gray, like baby swans, and small birds flew among the branches with straw and tufts of wool in their beaks.
Water raced in the streams along the roadsides and splashed over the edge of big stones on its way to the sea, which could no longer be seen.
The sky was cold and light blue, but between the drifting clouds the sun poked Tink on the shoulders with its warm fingers to remind him that spring was on its way.
He had ridden for quite a while when he saw a small party approaching him. He scanned both sides of the road, but there was neither path nor hiding place in sight. Besides, he had probably already been seen, so if these were unfriendly folk, there was nothing to be done but to let them take his horse.
He leaned forward and patted the horse on the side of the neck while he stared at the strangers.
Two men on horseback, each with a heavily laden pony following behind. A small flock of sheep. One man, stooped, with a knitted cap on his head. The other, large and broad, with a fur-lined hat.
Tink’s heart pounded hard in his breast, and the horse shuffled uneasily, sensing his uncertainty.
The man with the hat was Bandon.
But it was Bandon’s old servant, Ram, who recognized Tink when they were almost abreast.
His lean, furrowed face lit up, and he pulled off his glove and stuck out his hand. Tink rode over and grabbed it.
“How big you’ve gotten,” said Ram, and shook Tink’s hand before putting on his glove again.
“How did you know we were coming?” asked Bandon, with both hands on his reins.
Tink shrugged.
“Is there far to go?”
“Where to?” asked Tink, surprised.
“To Crow Cove, of course! Isn’t that what the place is called?”
Tink nodded.
“Can we make it before dark?” Bandon wanted to know.
“Yes, I think so, but…”
“Then let’s get going,” said Bandon briskly, and set the animals in motion.
Ram and Tink followed.
* * *
They reached the cove toward evening. When they rode across the bridge, Foula came out of the house and emptied a bucket of water outside the door. She caught sight of them and stood still. Tink lifted his hand and waved at her. She waved back. But it was Bandon she continued to stare at, while a blush spread across her cheeks.
Eidi appeared in the doorway, drying her hands on her apron. Her gaze moved from Tink to Ram and stopped at Bandon. A vertical wrinkle appeared between her brows above a defiant but uncertain gaze.
Tink looked down at the ground. He had brought the wrong person again. Why did he have to meet up with Bandon when it was Rossan he had hoped to bring?
9
“Look at this!” said Bandon, opening yet another package.
Foula already had many different bags with all sorts of food and spices in front of her.
Bandon lifted some yellowish knitting out of the package. He unfolded it carefully, and it turned out to be a large shawl, knit out of very thin yarn in a latticework pattern. Here and there a stitch had torn.
“It was my mother’s,” he said. “It’s old. No one makes this kind anymore. Look!”
He took off his broad gold band and stuck one corner of the three-sided shawl into the ring—and then he slowly pulled the entire shawl through it.
“I’ve never seen anything like that,” said Foula. “How is it possible?”
“Don’t you think it’s because the shawl is so worn?” suggested Frid.
Eidi shook her head and got up and took the shawl in her hands. She looked at the yarn and the knitting and the pattern, spread it out and gathered it in again. She could almost fit it in the palm of her hand.
Bandon’s face shone with satisfaction. His skin was fine and white above the blue shadows of his beard stubble. His lips were red and moist as always. He had on shiny boots and a corduroy jacket with silver buttons. Tink thought he looked younger than ever, though there was a bit more gray at his temples.
“It made me think of you,” said Bandon to Eidi, “because you had a scarf with several different knit patterns, and if I’m not wrong, this was one of them?”
Eidi nodded. “Yes, it’s the pattern we call pearl’s dew, and the border there we call dew falling.”
“You know that best.” He turned to Frid. “I don’t know how good your stock is. I’ve brought two sheep and a ram. The finest animals I could find. If you could put down your male lambs in good time, so we avoid their interference! How many shawls can you make a year?”
He looked at Eidi.
“If I have to card and spin and knit, one—maybe two.”
Bandon still looked satisfied.
“But whether I want to do it, depends on the payment,” she said.
The smile disappeared from Bandon’s face. “Isn’t it usually fair?”
“Yes,” said Eidi, “and always agreed on ahead of time.”
“For every shawl, a year’s supply of tea and sugar.”
“And a piece of smoked bacon and a sack of beans,” added Eidi.
Bandon didn’t look as if he would relent, but suddenly he began to laugh.
“Now I recognize you again,” he said. “But in that case I want a pair of socks on top.”
Eidi smiled and nodded.
“Then I’ll come once a year.” He emptied his mug. “Remember though, the shawls must be able to go through a ring. You have to focus on quality when you live in a place like this. The road alone makes any thought of quantity impossible. And getting ahead in this world does depend on trade with others.”
“I can card and spin,” suggested Foula.
“Then I might be able to knit four,” said Eidi.
“I’ll come two times a year,” Bandon promised.
He suddenly turned to Tink. “And what can you make?”
“I’ve learned to fish,” mumbled Tink.
“That’s a good skill. Have you dried the fish?”
“Not yet. It’s only Burd and I who fish. And Burd has been sick.”
“Who is Burd?”
“Someone who lives here,” Foula said quickly.
“Is there anything else you can do?” Bandon asked.
“I can whittle.”
“May I see?”
Tink got up and fetched the last spoon he had carved and handed it to Bandon, who looked at it and handed it back.
“Not bad. But you can get spoons everywhere. You have to come up with something else. What are your tools?”
Tink showed him the little knife that Ram had once given him for his birthday. Bandon just shook his head.
Then he got up and went to the hearth, where the teakettle hung on a chain high above the flames. Foula hurried over, took his mug, and added sugar and milk before she poured tea for him.
“Stay with the fishing!” said Bandon. “I’ll buy dried fish. But only the best.”
He took a sip, then set the mug aside and began to pack up. The shawl he handed to Eidi.
“You’d better hold on to that,” he said.
He turned to Tink.
“Tomorrow you can show me around.”
He didn’t say any more to Tink that evening.
* * *
The lambs’ faint bleating filled the air as they tumbled after the flock of lean mother sheep.
“Those are the best animals we have left,” said Tink.
Bandon nodded. They continued along the stone walls around the fenced-in fields toward the barn. A pair of long-legged hens raced around on the steaming manure pile.
“Frid was going to buy some more hens, but they were too expensive.”
Bandon bent his head and stepped into the warm, stinkin
g gloom. Tink followed. Bandon walked over and ran a hand along Tink’s horse’s back. He didn’t say anything. They went out and headed for the potato house.
“We use … we used it for potatoes,” said Tink, “and vegetables, until I found … until Burd moved in.”
They stepped into the hallway. Bandon took off his hat. Tink knocked on the door to Burd’s room and awaited his answer before stepping in with Bandon at his heels.
Burd sat at the plank table, repairing his lines. He had an old knitted cap pulled down over his forehead. He pushed it back a bit and glanced at them before continuing his work.
“Sit down,” he said.
Tink sat on the bed. Bandon remained standing, stroking the fur on his hat with one hand.
“I don’t think we’ve met before,” Bandon said.
Tink began to unbutton his jacket.
“No rich man sees a beggar,” said Burd.
Tink’s fingers stopped at the last button. The fishhooks rattled against each other. A muscle tensed in Bandon’s jaw. Burd rolled up the line he had been working on and walked over to throw a log on the fire. He stood with his back to them, warming his hands.
“Not even the beggar who took care of his mistress and their bastard,” he said.
Tink got up from the bed.
“In that way, we share our fate,” Bandon answered, and, bowing slightly, he placed his hat on his head and left the room.
Tink looked back and forth between Burd’s back and the door.
“You go on with him,” said Burd without turning.
And Tink hesitantly buttoned his jacket and ran after Bandon.
10
A parlor with a high, dark ceiling, shiny brown furniture, long corridors, and locked doors, that’s how it had been in Bandon’s house. And always measured portions. Not like Crow Cove, where you could eat your fill as long as there was enough for everyone. Like now.
Tink sighed with satisfaction. He was full, but he took yet another slice of ham with mustard and pickled cucumber.
Bandon didn’t hold back either. Again and again Foula filled his plate, and again and again he emptied it. But, of course, he was the one who had brought the food.
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