The House by the Fjord

Anna received another invitation that took her by surprise. The doorbell had rung and, being nearby, she opened it. A tall, thin man, well-dressed in a thick winter coat with a fur collar and hat, his eyes very alert behind horn-rimmed spectacles, greeted her immediately.

‘Mrs Vartdal, I believe,’ he said in English. ‘My name is Daniel Andersen. I am the headmaster of a school situated a little way out from Molde. I wonder if you could spare me a few minutes of your time? I expect you can guess the reason for my visit.’

‘Perhaps I can,’ she said, his mention of his school having alerted her. ‘Please come in.’

He thanked her and entered, removing his fur hat. She took him into the library where they sat down.

‘I have heard that you are a qualified teacher,’ he said, coming straight to the point of his visit, ‘and I have come to offer you a teaching post in my school. English is already spoken all over the world and I believe the time is coming when not to speak such a universal language will be a great disadvantage. That is why I want my pupils to have the very best tuition and to have full command of it. So what could be better for them than an English teacher qualified to teach it well? During the five years of the occupation we were only permitted to teach German and many of the older children fell far behind in their English studies.’ He paused, regarding her hopefully. ‘Have I said enough to convince you how gladly we would welcome you into our school?’

Anna inclined her head. ‘Indeed you have,’ she said at once, ‘but I have no plans to live in Norway. I am here visiting my father-in-law and hope to make such visits in the future, but those will be from England.’

His disappointment was obvious. ‘I know these are hard times in Norway, but we shall recover.’

‘I’m certain of that too, but at the moment I cannot foresee a future here for myself.’

He saw that her mind was made up and he shook his head regretfully. ‘If ever you should reconsider, I would always be glad to discuss this matter with you again.’

He departed soon afterwards. She did not tell either Steffan or Gudrun about his visit, not wanting it used as further persuasion towards making her consider staying permanently in Norway.

Anna had soon realized that Gudrun was making sure she was not overwhelmed by local invitations. At the same time she guessed that Steffan was pleased that she was being absorbed into the community.

On the morning of Christmas Eve, Steffan’s nephew, Harry Holmsen, called in, having returned from a business trip into Sweden. Anna had been told about him in preparation for his frequent visits to the house. He was the only son of Steffan’s late sister, of whom he had been very fond. Harry had trained as an architect, but had become interested in the restoration of old buildings, particularly those of historic interest. Presently he had a project in Sweden, which was taking him there from time to time.

Anna had looked forward to meeting him, being sure that he would be an interesting man, but now that he was here she felt an instinctive dislike of him. He bade her welcome to Norway as everybody did, but she did not feel that he was sincere in his greeting.

‘Now,’ he continued in his rather lordly manner, ‘how are you settling down here, Anna? Everything must be very different for you.’ He was in his late twenties, broad-framed and straight-backed, with a chiselled face and sleekly controlled brown hair. ‘I had begun to think you would be going home to England without ever coming to see us.’

‘It would have been foolish never to have seen this lovely part of Norway,’ she replied, not liking his patronizing air, ‘quite apart from not meeting Johan’s father.’

‘How are you getting on with the old devil?’ he asked bluntly.

She resented his attitude. ‘He has been very kind and hospitable towards me,’ she said truthfully. She did not intend to mention the coolness that still lingered in Steffan’s attitude towards her.

‘Wait until you cross him and then you’ll see a different side to his character. I know from my own experience.’ He turned towards Gudrun as she returned from placing the gifts that Harry had brought under the tree.

‘I see you have included a box of Swedish chocolates for us too, Harry. That’s very kind. Have you time to stay for a little while?’

He shook his head. ‘I’ve a lot to do. I only arrived home yesterday afternoon.’

‘But you have time to put the sheaf of corn up for us?’ she persisted.

He frowned, glancing at his watch. ‘I’d forgotten about that. Yes, I’ll do it.’

Anna followed them outside, where Harry set up a stepladder by the corner of the house. As he mounted the first steps, Gudrun held up what she had told Anna was a traditional sheaf of corn purchased at the end of a local harvest. Harry took it from her and fastened it on a hook that had probably been there for years and was specifically used for this custom of feeding the wild birds in winter. Some of the neighbouring houses already had their sheaves in place and little birds were fluttering around them, the tits among them adding their colours of blue and green to the festive sight they presented. This Christmas feast would be there to last them throughout the hardest months of the year.

As soon as his task was done, Harry left again, his Christmas gifts from Steffan and Gudrun tucked under his arm, and leaving the stepladder for Gudrun to remove. Anna helped her carry it back to the old stabbur, where it was stored with a lawnmower and various other items. The stabbur was like a little house, built of logs with a turf-covered roof and standing on rat-proof stone supports. It was much older than Steffan’s residence by two hundred years or more and had a lower and an upper floor. Anna remarked that it looked as if it had come out of a fairy tale. She had seen them on old farms as well as in Oslo’s open-air museum, and she thought that every one of them looked as if it had been plucked from a magical time.

‘I love these old buildings,’ she said appreciatively.

‘Steffan saved this one from being destroyed,’ Gudrun said. ‘Some farmers are careless about casting out or demolishing old things, but he cherishes them. Harry is just like him in that way. In the old days these stabburs would have been guests’ quarters and all the best tapestries, bed linen and draperies would be on the upper floor for them, and the lower floor would used to store corn and other such crops, hence the rat-proof supports and the gap between the steps and the building.’ Gudrun nodded wisely. ‘The housewives of the old days weren’t silly – they knew how to keep guests from being under their feet all the time.’ Then she added hastily, ‘Not anyone like you, of course.’

‘I’m reassured,’ Anna said teasingly in amusement as they turned for the kitchen entrance of the house. Then, before they reached it, Anna felt something soft and cold alight on her cheek and she looked up in delight. Large white flakes were falling without a breath of wind to disturb their descent.

‘It’s Christmas snow!’ she exclaimed joyfully.

Gudrun looked surprised at her delight. ‘But you’ve seen plenty of snow at Gardermoen.’

‘Not like this, without the bitter cold. This snow is going to transform Molde into the most beautiful Christmas card ever seen!’

‘What a romantic you are!’ Gudrun declared kindly with a smiling shake of her head. She thought to herself how much Johan must have loved this girl with her wide-eyed appreciation of all that was beautiful. Again, Gudrun personally mourned him anew for his father’s sake and for her own private loss in no longer having his friendship. He must have known that she and his father became lovers after his very sick mother died, but he was never judgemental.

She remembered so well the night he was planning his escape to England. So many young men were going, little groups of them taking fishing boats under the cover of darkness to cross the North Sea to the Shetlands while the boat owners deliberately looked the other way. Quite a number went with the escapees, but others had too many domestic commitments to risk the danger of being shot for trying to escape, or being drowned in the North Sea when their vessels were attacked by patrolling German ships or by the ever watchful Luftwaffe from the air.

It was four o’clock on the dark, snow-clad February morning of Johan’s departure in 1941 when she went downstairs in her dressing robe to find him putting the last items that he was taking with him into his rucksack. They exchanged a long look with each other, but she spoke as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

‘I’ll make you breakfast,’ she said, fetching the coffee kettle. She had managed to get three eggs from the grocer the day before and she fried all three for him. Then she wrapped two loaves, which would have been the mainstay of her and Steffan’s diet for the week, and added a last hoarded tin of meat-cakes.

‘I can’t take this food—’ he began when he had finished breakfast and saw what she had made ready, but she silenced him with a gesture.

‘You may be glad to have it,’ she said. ‘That’s all that matters.’

He thanked her and packed it away. Then he shouldered his rucksack and kissed her on the cheek. Still they had not exchanged a word about his departure, and she understood that it was because the less she knew of his exploit, the safer she and Steffan would be if interrogated. Then, as he went out of the house, she darted after him into the porch to clutch at his sleeve in desperate appeal.

‘Don’t let the Germans get you!’ she implored.

He gave her a reassuring grin. ‘Just let them try!’

She had watched him go off down the road with his quick and easy stride, the darkness soon swallowing him up. It was to be five long years until the liberation, when she and Steffan wept together at the news that he was never coming home again. Gudrun’s thoughts turned to Anna, for there was mounting up in her a determination to confront this young woman with the future instead of letting everything dwell on the past. The opportunity presented itself when she was busy in the kitchen and Anna came in after taking a brisk walk.

‘What are you making now?’ Anna asked with interest, pulling off her hat and gloves before dropping her jacket on to the back of the chair. Gudrun, standing by the table, was beating hard the mixture in a bowl that she was balancing on her hip.

‘A blotkaker,’ she replied. ‘Want to help?’

‘Yes! Those cakes are the most delicious I have ever tasted and I’ve had a fair share of them since I arrived here in Molde. Tell me what to do.’

‘There are five eggs in this bowl and – in your English measurements – five ounces of sugar. Carry on whisking until the mixture trebles in size and becomes thick enough for you to trail a figure eight in it. Then lightly fold in three ounces of plain flour sifted with two ounces of potato flour. I have greased and lined the baking tin already.’

Anna took up the whisking with enthusiasm, thinking how she would make one of these glorious cakes for her next coffee gathering at Gardermoen. It was not long before the mixture was ready to be poured into a tin, which she estimated to be about ten inches in diameter. Then into the oven it went at 150 degrees centigrade for ten minutes and then the heat was not increased, but lowered to 140 degrees for half an hour.

Gudrun came into the kitchen just as the cake was ready. She took it from the oven and turned the feather-light sponge upside down on to a rack, explaining that it would not sink.

‘When it is cold,’ she said, ‘you turn it out the right way up, slice sideways through it and put whipped cream on the bottom half, sprinkle on some fruit, and then put on the top half and cover it all with whipped cream. Make a design on the top with a fork if you like or decorate with more of the fruit. I always think that strawberries or raspberries in season are the best choice.’

‘What are you using today?’

‘Some very nice canned apricots. Harry brought us a couple of cans from Sweden after one of his trips there.’

‘This cake will be food for the gods!’ Anna declared happily, proud over the part she had played in the making of it.

Suddenly the words which Gudrun had had uppermost in her mind over several days burst forth as if of their own volition. ‘You should be making cakes like these for a husband and family!’

The colour drained from Anna’s face. ‘How can you say that to me here in Johan’s home?’

‘Because he would never have wanted to block your happiness for the rest of your life! And that is what your memories are making him do! Love him still! Remember him always! But make way for the future. It’s where you belong!’

For a few seconds Anna stared at her. Then she rushed from the kitchen up to her room, slamming the door behind her. She went across to the window and stared out, as if to draw strength from the view. Gudrun’s words were to haunt her for the rest of her stay, the truth of them burning into her. Yet how could anyone ever take Johan’s place?