Time flies? Ay, when a man is growing old. Isak was not old, he had
not lost his vigour; the years seemed long to him. He worked on his
land, and let his iron beard grow as it would.
Now and again the monotony of the wilderness was broken by the sight
of a passing Lapp, or by something happening to one of the animals on
the place, then all would be as before. Once there came a number of
men at once; they rested at Sellanraa, and had some food and a dish of
milk; they asked Isak and Oline about the path across the hills;
they were marking out the telegraph line, they said. And once came
Geissler--Geissler himself, and no other. There he came, free and
easy as ever, walking up from the village, two men with him, carrying
mining tools, pick and spade.
Oh, that Geissler! Unchanged, the same as ever; meeting and greeting
as if nothing had happened, talked to the children, went into the
house and came out again, looked over the ground, opened the doors of
cowshed and hayloft and looked in. "Excellent!" said he. "Isak, have
you still got those bits of stone?"
"Bits of stone?" said Isak, wondering.
"Little heavy lumps of stone I saw the boy playing with when I was
here once before."
The stones were out in the larder, serving as weights for so many
mouse-traps; Isak brought them in. Geissler and the two men examined
them, talking together, tapped them here and there, weighed them in
the hand. "Copper," they said.
"Could you go up with us and show where you found them?" asked
Geissler.
They all went up together; it was not far to the place where Isak had
found the stones, but they stayed up in the hills for a couple of
days, looking for veins of metal, and firing charges here and there.
They came down to Sellanraa with two bags filled with heavy lumps of
stone.
Isak had meanwhile had a talk with Geissler, and told him everything
as to his own position: about the purchase of the land, which had come
to a hundred _Daler_ instead of fifty.
"That's a trifle," said Geissler easily. "You've thousands, like as
not, on your part of the hills."
"Ho!" said Isak.
"But you'd better get those title-deeds entered in the register as
soon as ever you can."
"Ay."
"Then the State can't come any nonsense about it after, you
understand."
Isak understood. "'Tis worst about Inger," he said.
"Ay," said Geissler, and remained thoughtful longer than was usual
with him. "Might get the case brought up again. Set out the whole
thing properly; very likely get the sentence reduced a bit. Or we
could put in an application for a pardon, and that would probably come
to the same thing in the end."
"Why, if as that could be done...."
"But it wouldn't do to try for a pardon at once. Have to wait a bit.
What was I going to say ... you've been taking things down to my
wife--meat and cheese and things--what?"
"Why, as to that, Lensmand paid for all that before."
"Did I, though?"
"And helped us kindly in many a way."
"Not a bit of it," said Geissler shortly. "Here--take this." And he
took out some _Daler_ notes.
Geissler was not the man to take things for nothing, that was plain.
And he seemed to have plenty of money about him, from the way his
pocket bulged. Heaven only knew if he really had money or not.
"But she writes all's well and getting on," said Isak, coming back to
his one thought.
"What?--Oh, your wife!"
"Ay. And since the girl was born--she's had a girl child, born while
she was there. A fine little one."
"Excellent!"
"Ay, and now they're all as kind as can be, and help her every way,
she says."
"Look here," said Geissler, "I'm going to send these bits of stone
in to some mining experts, and find out what's in them. If there's a
decent percentage of copper, you'll be a rich man."
"H'm," said Isak. "And how long do you think before we could apply for
a pardon?"
"Well, not so very long, perhaps, I'll write the thing for you. I'll
be back here again soon. What was it you said--your wife has had a
child since she left here?"
"Yes."
"Then they took her away while she was expecting it. That's a thing
they've no right to do."
"Ho!"
"Anyhow, it's one more reason for letting her out earlier."
"Ay, if that could be ..." said Isak gratefully.
Isak knew nothing of the many lengthy writings backward and forward
between the different authorities concerning the woman who was
expecting a child. The local authorities had let her go free while the
matter was pending, for two reasons: in the first place, they had no
lock-up in the village where they could keep her, and, in the second
place, they wished to be as lenient as possible. The consequence was
something they could not have foreseen. Later, when they had sent
to fetch her away, no one had inquired about her condition, and she
herself had said nothing of it. Possibly she had concealed the matter
on purpose, in order to have a child with her during the years of
imprisonment; if she behaved well, she would no doubt be allowed to
see it now and again. Or perhaps she had been merely indifferent, and
had gone off carelessly, despite her state....
Isak worked and toiled, dug ditches and broke new ground, set up his
boundary lines between his land and the State's, and gained another
season's stock of timber. But now that Inger was no longer there to
wonder at his doings, he worked more from habit than for any joy in
what he did. And he had let two sessions pass without having his
title-deeds registered, caring little about it; at last, that autumn,
he had pulled himself together and got it done. Things were not as
they should be with Isak now. Quiet and patient as ever--yes, but now
it was because he did not care. He got out hides because it had to be
done--goatskins and calfskins--steeped them in the river, laid them
in bark, and tanned them after a fashion ready for shoes. In the
winter--at the very first threshing--he set aside his seed corn for
the next spring, in order to have it done; best to have things done
and done with; he was a methodical man. But it was a grey and lonely
life; eyah, _Herregud_! a man without a wife again, and all the
rest....
What pleasure was there now in sitting at home Sundays, cleanly
washed, with a neat red shirt on, when there was no one to be clean
and neat for! Sundays were the longest days of all, days when he was
forced to idleness and weary thoughts; nothing to do but wander about
over the place, counting up all that should have been done. He always
took the children with him, always carried one on his arm. It was
a distraction to hear their chatter, and answer their questions of
everything.
He kept old Oline because there was no one else he could get. And
Oline was, after all, of use in a way. Carding and spinning, knitting
stockings and mittens, and making cheese--she could do all these
things, but she lacked Inger's happy touch, and had no heart in her
work; nothing of all she handled was her own. There was a thing Isak
had bought once at the village store, a china pot with a dog's head on
the lid. It was a sort of tobacco box, really, and stood on a shelf.
Oline took off the lid and dropped it on the floor. Inger had left
behind some cuttings of fuchsia, under glass. Oline took the glass off
and, putting it back, pressed it down hard and maliciously; next day,
all the cuttings were dead. It was not so easy for Isak to bear with
such things; he looked displeased, and showed it, and, as there was
nothing swanlike and gentle about Isak, it may well be that he showed
it plainly. Oline cared little for looks; soft-spoken as ever, she
only said: "Now, could I help it?"
"That I can't say," answered Isak. "But you might have left the things
alone."
"I'll not touch her flowers again," said Oline. But the flowers were
already dead.
Again, how could it be that the Lapps came up to Sellanraa so
frequently of late? Os-Anders, for instance, had no business there at
all, he should have passed on his way. Twice in one summer he came
across the hills, and Os-Anders, it should be remembered, had no
reindeer to look to, but lived by begging and quartering himself on
other Lapps. As soon as he came up to the place, Oline left her work
and fell to chatting with him about people in the village, and, when
he left, his sack was heavy with no end of things. Isak put up with it
for two years, saying nothing.
Then Oline wanted new shoes again, and he could be silent no longer.
It was in the autumn, and Oline wore shoes every day, instead of going
in wooden pattens or rough hide.
"Looks like being fine today," said Isak. "H'm." That was how he
began.
"Ay," said Oline.
"Those cheeses, Eleseus," went on Isak again, "wasn't it ten you
counted on the shelf this morning?"
"Ay," said Eleseus.
"Well, there's but nine there now."
Eleseus counted again, and thought for a moment inside his little
head; then he said: "Yes, but then Os-Anders had one to take away;
that makes ten."
There was silence for quite a while after that. Then little Sivert
must try to count as well, and says after his brother: "That makes
ten."
Silence again. At last Oline felt she must say something.
"Ay, I did give him a tiny one, that's true. I didn't think that could
do any harm. But they children, they're no sooner able to talk than
they show what's in them. And who they take after's more than I can
think or guess. For 'tis not your way, Isak, that I do know."
The hint was too plain to pass unchecked. "The children are well
enough," said Isak shortly. "But I'd like to know what good Os-Anders
has ever done to me and mine."
"What good?"
"Ay, that's what I said."
"What good Os-Anders ...?"
"Ay, since I'm to give him cheeses in return."
Oline has had time to think, and has her answer ready now.
"Well, now, I wouldn't have thought it of you, Isak, that I wouldn't.
Was it me, pray, that first began with Os-Anders? I wish I may never
move alive from this spot if I ever so much as spoke his name."
Brilliant success for Oline. Isak has to give in, as he has done many
a time before.
But Oline had more to say. "And if you mean I'm to go here clean
barefoot, with the winter coming on and all, and never own the like
of a pair of shoes, why, you'll please to say so. I said a word of it
three and four weeks gone, that I needed shoes, but never sign of a
shoe to this day, and here I am."
Said Isak: "What's wrong with your pattens, then, that you can't use
them?"
"What's wrong with them?" repeats Oline, all unprepared.
"Ay, that's what I'd like to know."
"With my pattens?"
"Ay."
"Well ... and me carding and spinning, and tending cattle and sheep
and all, looking after children here--have you nothing to say to that?
I'd like to know; that wife of yours that's in prison for her deeds,
did you let her go barefoot in the snow?"
"She wore her pattens," said Isak. "And for going to church and
visiting and the like, why, rough hide was good enough for her."
"Ay, and all the finer for it, no doubt."
"Ay, that she was. And when she did wear her hide shoes in summer, she
did but stuff a wisp of grass in them, and never no more. But you--you
must wear stockings in your shoes all the year round."
Said Oline: "As for that, I'll wear out my pattens in time, no doubt.
I'd no thought there was any such haste to wear out good pattens all
at once." She spake softly and gently, but with half-closed eyes, the
same sly Oline as ever. "And as for Inger," said she, "the changeling,
as we called her, she went about with children of mine and learned
both this and that, for years she did. And this is what we get for
it. Because I've a daughter that lives in Bergen and wears a hat,
I suppose that's what Inger must be gone away south for; gone to
Trondhjem to buy a hat, he he!"
Isak got up to leave the room. But Oline had opened her heart now,
unlocked the store of blackness within; ay, she gave out rays of
darkness, did Oline. Thank Heaven, none of her children had their
faces slit like a fire-breathing dragon, so to speak; but they were
none the worse for that, maybe. No, 'twasn't every one was so quick
and handy at getting rid of the young they bore--strangling them in a
twinkling....
"Mind what you're saying," shouted Isak. And to make his meaning
perfectly clear, he added: "You cursed old hag!"
But Oline was not going to mind what she was saying; not in the least,
he he! She turned up her eyes to heaven and hinted that a hare-lip
might be this or that, but some folk seemed to carry it too far, he
he!
Isak may well have been glad to get safely out of the house at last.
And what could he do but get Oline the shoes? A tiller of earth in the
wilds; no longer even something of a god, that he could say to his
servant, "Go!" He was helpless without Oline; whatever she did or
said, she had nothing to fear, and she knew it.
The nights are colder now, with a full moon; the marshlands harden
till they can almost bear, but thawing again when the sun comes out,
to an impassable swamp once more. Isak goes down to the village one
cold night, to order shoes for Oline. He takes a couple of cheeses
with him, for Fru Geissler.
Half-way down to the village a new settler has appeared. A well-to-do
man, no doubt, since he had called in folk from the village to build
his house, and hired men to plough up a patch of sandy moorland for
potatoes; he himself did little or nothing. The new man was Brede
Olsen, Lensmand's assistant, a man to go to when the doctor had to be
fetched, or a pig to be killed. He was not yet thirty, but had four
children to look after, not to speak of his wife, who was as good as
a child herself. Oh, Brede was not so well off, perhaps, after all;
'twas no great money he could earn running hither and thither on all
odd businesses, and collecting taxes from people that would not pay.
So now he was trying a new venture on the soil. He had raised a loan
at the bank to start house in the wilds. Breidablik, he called the
place; and it was Lensmand Heyerdahl's lady that had found that
splendid name.
Isak hurries past the house, not wasting time on looking in, but he
can see through the window that all the children are up already, early
as it is. Isak has no time to lose, if he is to be back as far as this
on the homeward journey next night, while the roads are hard. A man
living in the wilds has much to think of, to reckon out and fit in as
best can be. It is not the busiest time for him just now, but he is
anxious about the children, left all alone with Oline.
He thinks, as he walks, of the first time he had come that way. Time
has passed, the two last years had been long; there had been much that
was good at Sellanraa, and a deal that was not--eyah, _Herregud_! And
now here was another man clearing ground in the wilds. Isak knew the
place well; it was one of the kindlier spots he had noted himself on
his way up, but he had gone on farther. It was nearer the village,
certainly, but the timber was not so good; the ground was less hilly,
but a poorer soil; easy to work on the surface, but hard to deal with
farther down. That fellow Brede would find it took more than a mere
turning over of the soil to made a field that would bear. And why
hadn't he built out a shed from the end of the hayloft for carts and
implements? Isak noticed that a cart had been left standing out in the
yard, uncovered, in the open.
He got through his business with the shoemaker, and, Fru Geissler
having left the place, he sold his cheeses to the man at the store. In
the evening, he starts out for home. The frost is getting harder now,
and it is good, firm going, but Isak trudges heavily for all that. Who
could say when Geissler would be back, now that his wife had gone;
maybe he would not be coming at all? Inger was far away, and time was
getting on....
He does not look in at Brede's on the way back; on the contrary, he
goes a long way round, keeping away from the place. He does not care
to stop and talk to folk, only trudge on. Brede's cart is still out in
the open--does he mean to leave it there? Well, 'tis his own affair.
Isak himself had a cart of his own now, and a shed to house it, but
none the happier for that. His home is but half a thing; it had been a
home once, but now only half a thing.
It is full day by the time he gets within sight of his own place up on
the hillside, and it cheers him somewhat, weary and exhausted as he is
after forty-eight hours on the road. The house and buildings, there
they stand, smoke curling up from the chimney; both the little ones
are out, and come down to meet him as he appears. He goes into the
house, and finds a couple of Lapps sitting down. Oline starts up in
surprise: "What, you back already!" She is making coffee on the stove.
Coffee? _Coffee_!
Isak has noticed the same thing before. When Os-Anders or any of the
other Lapps have been there, Oline makes coffee in Inger's little pot
for a long time after. She does it while Isak is out in the woods or
in the fields, and when he comes in unexpectedly and sees it, she says
nothing. But he knows that he is the poorer by a cheese or a bundle of
wool each time. And it is to his credit that he does not pick up Oline
in his fingers and crush her to pieces for her meanness. Altogether,
Isak is trying hard indeed to make himself a better man, better and
better, whatever may be his idea, whether it be for the sake of peace
in the house, or in some hope that the Lord may give him back his
Inger the sooner. He is something given to superstition and a
pondering upon things; even his rustic wariness is innocent in its
way. Early that autumn he found the turf on the roof of the stable was
beginning to slip down inside. Isak chewed at his beard for a while,
then, smiling like a man who understands a jest, he laid some poles
across to keep it up. Not a bitter word did he say. And another thing:
the shed where he kept his store of provisions was simply built on
high stone feet at the corners, with nothing between. After a while,
little birds began to find their way in through the big gaps in the
wall, and stayed fluttering about inside, unable to get out. Oline
complained that they picked at the food and spoiled the meat, and made
a nasty mess about the place. Isak said: "Ay, 'tis a pity small birds
should come in and not be able to get out again." And in the thick of
a busy season he turned stonemason and filled up the gaps in the wall.
Heaven knows what was in his mind that he took things so; whether
maybe he fancied Inger might be given back to him the sooner for his
gentleness.