Rakel stood behind the bush for a long time after her grandmother and Svartangen left. What on earth was going on? Her grandmother had been in love with Ingvald Svartangen’s father, Jon Svartangen. Had she also fallen for his son? In which case, he was using her, Rakel thought in horror. Their age difference was considerable, and her grandmother looked older rather than younger than she was.
She almost couldn’t believe what she’d seen. And what was this plan her grandmother had so that Halvor wouldn’t take Svartangen Farm back?
Rakel sauntered from the garden to the porch. There must be some connection between Svartangen and Ovreid that made her grandmother willing to go against her own son. Rakel was hesitant to go inside. Her father would be furious when he found out that his mother had been listening in on his conversations with the solicitor. He was going to get worked up, and almost certainly confront her.
There would be turmoil and distress in the house and her mother would get even more upset. Rakel had to tell him, but perhaps she could wait until tomorrow? For now, there was peace at Ovreid, and tomorrow was Sunday – which already meant an unpleasant trip to church. They needed all their strength to get through the gossip and judgement of the villagers. She decided to wait and felt the night air soothingly against her skin. A wood pigeon cooed from a nearby tree, but otherwise, it was quiet.
She looked up at the moon. It was narrow as a sickle. Her gaze shifted back to the Plough and something came to life in her memories, but she couldn’t remember what it was. She shook her head in frustration and headed inside.
Rakel went to her bedroom and carried the kerosene lamp over to the window. She opened it and felt the night breeze creep in, making the flame in the lamp flicker and lick up the glass. She put out the lamp and looked at the sky for a while before going to bed.
Rakel had vivid dreams that night. She was a child, sitting on the floor of a cosy old living room. A middle-aged woman was sitting in a rocking chair next to her with a cat on her lap. She smiled at Rakel but said nothing. Then the dream shifted, and Rakel was in a cold, dark room, and the cross was being fastened around her neck. Jesus will protect you, a warm voice whispered in her ear. Make me proud, it continued. Run!
Rakel tossed and turned. Someone was coming after her. Suddenly it was cold. Snow. Wind whipping against her face in the pitch dark. Then there was a terrible noise and she backed up against a wall and tried to hide. Flames above her. She looked up and saw a torch. The flames lit up a man’s hideous face – a devil – and she knew she was the one he was looking for!
Rakel gasped and sat up in bed. Wide awake, she looked around the room. Her hand was gripping her cross. No one was there. Still, she could see the devil’s face clearly, and it felt like he was in the room with her.
She’d had this dream before. Ever since she was a little girl, the dreams had tormented her with a feeling of flight and flames, but she couldn’t remember this terrifying man from earlier dreams. She thought of him again. His nose was long and curved and his eyes narrow and close-set. Bushy eyebrows and a pointy chin. He had a peculiar appearance, and his features were etched in her mind.
The next day, Rakel sat in the carriage on her way to church, the feeling from the nightmare still in her body. She’d dozed off again, but it had been a restless sleep. Now she stared out the window. The last time she’d driven here, she’d been dressed in a bridal gown. It was only a few days ago, but it felt like an eternity.
Reality didn’t really hit her until she heard the church bells. Her stomach tightened painfully. This was the first time she would be seeing people after the cancelled wedding. She glanced over at her mother and father. They were staring rigidly straight ahead. Neither of them had said a single word along the way. Her grandmother had stayed at home.
As the carriage stopped outside the churchyard wall, the church bells rang for the last time. They were late and had to hurry inside. Silence was settling over the congregation as they found their seats. Rakel felt the other churchgoers’ eyes on her but ignored it. She sat down on the bench with a straight back and neck and stared ahead. She had nothing to be ashamed of. Even so, her mouth was dry, and her palms were clammy as the service began.
Rakel looked neither to her right nor left during the service. She didn’t even glance around until they were on their way out. The Svartangens were nowhere to be seen, luckily, but she met Herr Disen’s eyes on the men’s side. He smiled carefully and she felt some of the tension release.
She stood by the pews for a while, waiting for the church to empty so she could leave. Several passers-by stared at her openly, and her cheeks grew warm when she saw Fru Sørensen approaching with two of her friends.
“What a shameful thing to do to that poor man!” Fru Sørensen whispered so loudly it was impossible not to hear. “He was left standing in the church in shame while she ran after her lover!”
“Which one?” another woman asked, glaring at Rakel. “I’ve heard three men could be the child’s father.”
Rakel felt boiling hot and gritted her teeth together.
“The lieutenant, the sheriff, and the church singer, yes – that’s three. Four if we count the scorned fiancé,” Fru Sørensen replied. “She’s just as depraved as that friend of hers,” she added. “The harlot from the tavern.”
“Yes,” one of the others said. “I remember you warning her against Frøken Hoem’s immoral behaviour, but apparently that didn’t help.”
All three of them scowled at Rakel as they passed. She met their gazes with her head held high and stared back defiantly. What they said about her hurt, but it hurt just as much to hear them call Jenny a harlot. She couldn’t snap back at them, though, because that would only make the situation worse.
Rakel saw Bergan was there as well when she left the church. She hadn’t noticed him inside. He was standing by the door and speaking to Sheriff Knudsen from Borre. He looked up as she passed but then resumed the conversation. Both men looked very serious.
“Rakel, my dear, how are you?” Aunt Esther came up beside her and looked around warily. Rakel did the same. It seemed like everyone was staring at her. Some were talking eagerly, but the conversation stopped abruptly when Rakel looked in their direction.
“I knew it would be like this,” she replied. “So I’m getting through it.”
“But it’s not just you and the wedding they’re talking about anymore,” her aunt said, turning towards the church.
“What do you mean?” Rakel asked, but then she saw it as well: Eilert and his mother were exiting the church. Silence fell as they stepped out into the sunlight, and now everyone’s eyes were fixed on the maid from Svartangen Farm. The woman who’d been at death’s door less than a week before now looked perfectly healthy.
Rakel knew Eilert’s mother was better, but even she was surprised at how good she looked. Fru Holm had colour in her cheeks and her hair shone.
“Wasn’t she dying not long ago?” Aunt Esther asked.
Rakel didn’t respond. People around them had started murmuring. Soon, a stern voice cut through the humming sound, and Rakel turned to see the priest standing right behind her, the doctor beside him. They stared at Eilert’s mother in disbelief.
“How could this happen?” the priest asked. “Were you wrong when you thought she was dying?”
“No,” the doctor replied. “I wasn’t wrong. She should be dead now.” “What is this?” The priest grimaced. “Is it devilry?”
“No, I’d rather say it’s a miracle,” the doctor replied dryly.
“I’m going to get to the bottom of this,” the priest insisted. “Something unnatural has happened here.”
A shiver ran down Rakel’s spine. What was going to happen now? She saw that Eilert seemed anxious. He was glancing around nervously at the people they passed. His mother walked with her head held high and didn’t look at anyone.
“Witch!” An older woman in the crowd shook her fist at Eilert’s mother, and Eilert flinched. Rakel didn’t hesitate. She hurried over to the boy and took his hand in hers, then accompanied them to the cemetery wall.
“I’m happy to see you’re well again, Fru Holm,” Rakel said.
“Thank you,” she answered weakly. “I’m afraid not everyone feels the same.”
“They’re just unsure,” Rakel replied. “Soon, everything will go back to normal.”
“I hope so,” Fru Holm replied and went through the gate. “Goodbye, Frøken Ovreid,” she said then hurried off with Eilert close behind her.
Rakel felt sad as she walked back towards the church. All she’d wanted to do was help Eilert. She heard words like quacksalver and evil forces coming from the crowd. There was no doubt that most people believed someone was behind this recovery and that it was unnatural. Did that mean that she was a quacksalver? Those were people who made medicine without a licence, as far as she knew – and that was a punishable offence. But she hadn’t given Eilert’s mother medicine; she’d only used her hands.
She groaned as the thought struck her. As if that was any better! What would happen if it came out that she’d healed the maid? Would the priest believe it was the devil’s work and come after her?
Rakel wished she had someone to talk to about it, but she couldn’t. Although… She looked around. Bergan was still standing with Sheriff Knudsen. He knew her secret, and he also knew if what she’d done was punishable.
“Frøken Ovreid?” A voice made her turn around, and she saw Herr Disen looking at her. “It looks like something is weighing down on you.”
“Oh,” she answered quickly. “I was just thinking about Eilert and how his mother fortunately seems to be healthy again.”
“Yes,” Herr Disen replied. “It’s a strange affair, that is.”
“I’ve heard some murmuring about evil forces,” she said carefully. “Witchcraft.”
“What?” He laughed. “Are there still people who believe in that kind of thing? I didn’t think people in this area were so unenlightened.”
“No,” she said quickly. “Most people don’t think like that. I suppose they probably think it’s the work of a quacksalver.”
“Yes, that’s something different,” he said, growing serious. “But I doubt whether such a trickster has been at work here. A quacksalver doesn’t have the ability to make people healthy, they just pretend and charge people exorbitant sums. It’s reprehensible how they exploit the lack of education in the population. Fortunately, the punishment is severe, and those kinds of people always get their comeuppance.”
He sounded agitated, and Rakel shrank beneath his gaze.
“Don’t you think they can do good as well?” she asked cautiously.
“Quacksalvers? No, they’re just looking to exploit other people’s despair. They never do anything good. If a patient recovers, it’s only by chance.”
“But what if someone with healing powers helped her? Is that considered quackery?”
“Healing powers?” He looked at her doubtfully. “You don’t believe in such nonsense, do you?”
“No,” she answered quickly, looking down at the ground. “Not at all. I’m just curious.”
“Yes, that’s just like you,” he answered with a smile.
Rakel cast a nervous glance at the sheriff. After what Herr Disen had said, she was afraid that what she had done was punishable. She couldn’t ask Herr Disen without him becoming more suspicious, so her only option was to speak with Bergan.
“Unfortunately, I must go,” Herr Disen said. “But I just wanted to let you know that I’ve agreed with your father that I’ll stop by Ovreid in a few days. I hope we’ll have the chance to speak together again.”
“I hope so, too,” she replied.
“Farewell,” he said. “And may time fly with the speed of the wind until we meet again.”
“Wergeland?” she asked.
“No, Lars Disen,” he said, winked, and left.
Rakel looked around and found Bergan in the crowd, but she was almost too late; he’d just disappeared around the church wall. She lifted her skirts and hastened after him.
It was nice to round the corner of the church and leave the crowd behind. Now she saw the sheriff again. He was readying his horse. If she was going to catch him, she had to be quick.
She was just about to call his name when a horse came galloping at full speed on the road from Tønsberg. When she looked over her shoulder, she saw a darkly-clad man on horseback heading straight for Bergan. His face was covered with a scarf and his hat was pulled far down on his forehead – as if he didn’t want to be recognised.
Rakel felt uneasy and slipped behind a tree so they wouldn’t see her. Bergan started when he saw the stranger. His hand automatically went to his hip, where he usually kept his long knife – but he didn’t have it today. The rider stopped so abruptly that Bergan’s horse lurched to one side and almost wrenched the reins from his hands.
The man jumped off the horse and untied the scarf he had had over his mouth. He also took off his hat, and then cast a wary glance around him. His nose was crooked and long, his eyes close-set and narrow. He had bushy eyebrows and a pointy chin.
An icy shiver went down Rakel’s spine.
It was the man from her nightmare.