Thirty-Four

Helene’s tale left Chloe teary-eyed and sniffling. Roelke passed her a tissue.

“Not all family stories are happy ones, I’m afraid,” Helene said.

Chloe blew her nose. “I hate knowing that my grandma lost the man she loved and her baby.”

“Solveig was half dead herself by the time she made her way back to Orchard House that Midsummer.” Helene pinched her lips into a thin line as she remembered. “In shock. Bleeding. She hadn’t recovered well from childbirth.”

“But why didn’t she report what happened to the authorities?”

“No one else witnessed the incident. After Jørgen went over the ledge, Father and Gustav and their helper ran off. Solveig managed to scramble down to Jørgen, but he’d hit his head on a rock. He was already dead.”

Chloe put her hand on Roelke’s knee, just needing to know he was there.

“I told her, ‘Solveig, go to America,’” Helene said. “‘Rest here, gather your strength. Then take your baby to America.’ But she didn’t have the heart for the journey anymore. Not without Jørgen. She died a month after Amalie left.”

“And your mother?”

“She did go back home. I saw her only a few more times before she died.” Helene spread her hands, palms up. “Somehow she managed to live with my father, and to keep this place. She loved it so.” She nodded, clearly remembering days long gone. “I did my best to keep the orchard I inherited from my husband going, but it was too much. I don’t know what I would have done if my mother hadn’t clung to this mountain.”

Chloe stared over the lawn, trying to imagine them all. “You never met Jørgen, right?”

Helene shook her head. “No. He must have been special.”

“What happened to the fiddle he made for Solveig? The director at the Hardanger Folkemuseum has been trying to track that down for decades.”

“It was the only thing Solveig had left of him, and I think she desperately wanted to cling to it. But as Amalie settled in the wagon that day, Solveig called for the driver to wait. She fetched the fiddle and gave it to Amalie.” Perplexed, Helene looked at Chloe. “Didn’t your mother end up with it?”

“No. I found the Hardanger doily, the blackwork handaplagg, and a little Hardanger bride doll tucked in a painted tine.”

“A doll?” Helene repeated thoughtfully. “Amalie must have purchased that for the baby in Bergen. I never saw a doll.”

“Well, I never saw a—”

“Chloe.” Roelke gave her a meaningful look.

It took a moment, but she caught on. “Oh, my, God. Hilda’s fiddle.”

“I’m thinkin’,” Roelke agreed.

Chloe pressed one palm against her forehead. That’s where she’d seen the ram’s horns symbol. On Hilda’s fiddle.

Then she explained to Helene, “I think Mom gave Solveig’s fiddle to her best friend.”

“It has devils on the sides?”

Chloe frowned. “No, the sides are rosemaled. But …” She thought that over and winced. “Mom was a skilled painter. She could have created a design over the devils.” To Chloe’s curator heart it seemed a sad desecration, but perhaps Mom hadn’t approved of the devils. Or maybe Mom had simply wanted to put something of herself into the gift to her dearest friend.

“Solveig believed the devils were Jørgen’s way of …” Helene paused, searching for the right words. “Of standing up against men like our father.”

Thumbing his nose at the zealots, Chloe thought. “My mother’s adoptive parents were wonderful people. My mom had a good life. Still, I so wish she could have known Jørgen and Solveig.”

“Solveig adored her daughter.” Helene’s voice trembled. “What was left of her heart broke when Amalie and Marit left.”

Chloe nibbled her lower lip before asking, “And you don’t know what happened to Amalie?”

“She said she’d write when she reached Wisconsin. I never heard from her again.”

Tragedy piled on tragedy. “I’m so sorry,” Chloe said. “We’ll probably never know why she decided to go to the orphanage that day, or what happened to her after that.”

“Perhaps.” Reverend Brandvold broke his long silence. “Don’t forget, I believe I had a letter from Amalie in my possession. Perhaps her letters went astray because she addressed them to Solveig, who was first in hiding and later, deceased. Anyway, if Trine Moen found the letter I had, and passed it on to Torstein, it’s possible that the police will recover it.”

“That would feel like a miracle. I will wait and see.” Helene smoothed her skirt and looked at Barbara-Eden. “Young lady, would you come with me? I have a pitcher of lemonade in the refrigerator.”

After they disappeared inside, Roelke reached for Chloe’s hand. “You must feel overwhelmed.”

“Kinda,” she admitted. It would take time to process everything she’d learned.

Barbara-Eden returned with a tray holding the lemonade, glasses, and a plate of cookies. Helene followed and handed a small leather-bound book to Chloe. “This is my dearest treasure. Solveig wrote down family stories she learned from our mother.”

Chloe’s eyes went wide. Easing the book open, she found lines of fading script covering brittle pages. Everything was, of course, written in Norwegian. Still. No way am I getting on an airplane without a copy of this, she thought.

But … no. It was impossible. The book was far too fragile to photocopy.

“I could transcribe it for you,” Barbara-Eden offered, as if reading Chloe’s mind. “Mrs. Valebrokk, might I come back to work on that?”

Helene looked delighted. “That’s a lovely idea.”

“I’ll do as much as I can before you leave,” Barbara-Eden promised. “If I don’t finish, I’ll mail you the final pages.”

“That would be perfect,” Chloe said. “Thank you.”

“Now.” Helene smiled. “I want to hear about you. You’re getting married?” She looked from Chloe to Roelke. “When?”

“We haven’t quite worked that out,” Chloe admitted. “But soon.”

“Why don’t you get married here?”

Chloe sighed. “Actually, Aunt Helene, Roelke and I did think about getting married while we’re in Norway. But there’s not enough time to make the arrangements.”

“I’m afraid that’s true,” Reverend Brandvold added sadly.

“Then perhaps you can come back,” Helene suggested.

When police officers and museum curators earn a whole lot more money than we do now, Chloe thought. “Perhaps.”

Roelke reached for her hand. “Helene, do you mind if we take a walk?”

Helene did not. Roelke led Chloe across the lawn to the high overlook. Having fallen from one cliff already, she almost balked. But he spotted a flat stone back from the edge, perfect for sitting.

“I’m sorry the conversation took that turn,” he said. “Helene didn’t know it’s a sore subject.”

Chloe gazed ahead. Beyond the sun-dazzled fjord far below, white-frosted mountain peaks scraped the sky. Veils of water plunged down stony clefts. “This place is beyond beautiful.”

“It is.”

She turned over a new thought, examining it from different directions, and felt a tiny bubble of excitement rise inside. “Roelke, let’s get married here. Right here in Helene’s front yard.”

He frowned. “Chloe, you know we can’t—”

“I’ve got an idea.” She took a deep breath. “Neither one of us wants to get married at the courthouse. So let’s make our commitment to each other here. It won’t be legal, but I simply can’t believe that God would take offense.”

“But …”

“Have you ever seen a more holy place? A more magnificent cathedral?”

Roelke regarded her, rubbing his chin.

“We can write our own vows. And when we’ve exchanged them, in our hearts we’ll be truly married.”

“It’s a nice idea. But I want our marriage to be official.”

Well, I do too, Chloe thought. “So … when we get home we’ll go to the courthouse and make it legal. At that point it will be a formality, so I won’t mind. And after that, we can have a reception for our family and friends at the Sons of Norway lodge.” She stopped then, giving Roelke time to catch up. If they were going to do this, it had to be because they both wanted to.

He looked away for a long moment, thinking. Then he grinned. “Let’s do it.”

Three days later, Chloe and Roelke dressed in their best: Chloe’s only remaining skirt and a blouse; Roelke’s dark trousers and a white dress shirt. “I wish we could just go to the farm,” Chloe murmured as they left their room.

“Inspector Naess said this wouldn’t take long,” Roelke reminded her. “And I’d like an update.”

Officer Naess was waiting in one of the hotel’s side parlors. “I have good news,” he said without preamble. “Torstein Landvik has given a full confession.”

“Wow.” Chloe tried to take that in. She felt more sadness than relief.

“I’m surprised,” Roelke admitted. “I’d expected him to fight all the way.”

Naess offered a hard, satisfied smile. “He tried, but we had a lot of evidence. First, Trine Moen has admitted to Wisconsin police that she collaborated with Landvik.”

“Oh.” Chloe had hoped that Torstein had duped Trine.

“She confirmed she’d found a letter from Amalie Sveinsdatter in Pastor Brandvold’s things, and passed it on to Landvik,” Naess continued. “And she confirmed that Landvik believed that your real goal, Miss Ellefson, was to claim his inheritance and steal heirlooms he thought should belong to him.”

Chloe clenched her teeth. That part still really hurt.

“How did Landvik learn that Chloe was a distant relative?” Roelke asked.

Naess glanced at his notebook. “Klara Evenstad and Trine Moen both helped Landvik search for family history. And once Moen was in Wisconsin, she began searching records there. She knew she’d made an astonishing find when she got a good look at Hilda Omdahl’s fiddle.”

“Trine had worked at the Hardanger Folkemuseum,” Chloe observed. “She’d certainly know that a Riis fiddle would be an extraordinary find.”

“Mrs. Omdahl told Trine that it had been a gift from your mother.” He nodded at Chloe. “And the details you provided to Ellinor Falk and Sonja Gullickson about your family search, and the heirlooms you were bringing, enraged Landvik.”

Torstein Landvik was gunning for me before I ever decided to come to Norway, Chloe thought. It was creepy-horrible to imagine him scheming about her while she was oblivious to his existence.

“And,” Naess continued, “we have the silver necklace—”

“The necklace?” Chloe frowned in confusion. What did the necklace have to do with anything?

“After Barbara-Eden Kirkevoll confessed to taking it from Klara’s locker, we returned it to Klara’s mother. She found a note inside—”

“It’s a locket?” Chloe blurted. Roelke put a hand on her knee. “Sorry. I don’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s an antique bridal locket,” Naess explained. “Brides carried the pastor’s fee inside for safekeeping. When Klara’s mother identified the locket, she showed me a hidden catch.”

Well, shut my mouth, Chloe thought. Inspector Naess was the first cop to school her in historical detail.

The inspector leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Klara had found a letter from Trine Moen in Landvik’s things. It referred to the letter from Amalie Sveinsdatter that Moen stole.”

Chloe waited until she was sure he was finished. “Have you recovered the letter?” She longed to find out what it said.

He nodded. “It is evidence, but in time, it will be returned to Pastor Brandvold.”

Roelke stroked his chin with thumb and forefinger. “So, Moen knew what Landvik was doing, and helped him.”

“Yes,” Naess confirmed. “But Klara Evenstad assumed Torstein’s interest in family history was completely innocent.”

Why wouldn’t she? Chloe thought. Klara had loved history. She’d understood that heritage and traditions were important for their own sake, not for financial gain.

“Landvik told Klara that he wanted to surprise you with the discovery that you were distant cousins of some sort. But after you arrived, she found Trine’s note and discovered that Landvik had completely misled her. She confronted him about it.”

“She must have been shocked to discover she was involved in something unethical,” Roelke said.

“And to realize that she was not Torstein’s one and only,” Chloe added.

“Landvik’s reaction frightened Klara. When she got upset, he begged her to meet him in that cabin, Høiegård, later. Said he’d explain everything. Evidently they’d met there before. Landvik knew it had come from his old family farm, so that must have appealed to him.”

“A part of Klara must have still believed, or at least hoped, that Torstein could provide some kind of explanation.” Chloe grasped her shoulders. She hated picturing Klara daring to meet Torstein—only to be murdered.

“But part of her also feared the worst,” Naess said. “Before meeting him Klara wrote a note about what she’d discovered, hid it in the locket, and left that in her locker.”

An employee carrying a bucket of cleaning supplies appeared, spotted them, and backed out. Naess continued, “Moen’s relationship with Landvik had become strained. She hoped that if she could actually present the Riis fiddle to him, she’d win his affection.”

Chloe looked at Roelke. “Kent said Trine was having boyfriend troubles, remember?”

Roelke looked revolted. “I do not get why so many women went gaga for that guy.”

“Trine Moen went to Hilda Omdahl’s house the night of Marit Kallerud’s funeral,” Naess said. “She tried to talk Mrs. Omdahl into selling the fiddle. Things got heated.”

“And Hilda ended up in a coma,” Chloe said bitterly.

“Moen panicked and fled without the fiddle. She hoped the problem would go away.” Naess’s mouth twisted with disgust. “That’s a quote. But she really panicked when Hilda showed signs of improvement.”

“Which, fortunately, she did.” Chloe had enjoyed a brief but wondrous telephone conversation with Aunt Hilda the day before.

“Moen called Landvik, and all he did was criticize her for not finishing the job. I think that’s why Moen was so eager to talk to the police.”

“A woman scorned,” Roelke murmured.

Naess leaned back in his chair. “As you see, we had a lot to lay out to Landvik. He knew he was caught. He confessed to trying to grab your pack at the airport, to killing Klara Evenstad, to ransacking your room in search of any other heirlooms, and to stealing your textiles from the safe. He enlisted the help of a female employee here for that.”

Somebody’s in big trouble, Chloe thought.

“Landvik also confessed to tampering with your rental car. He knew that once you had Amalie’s birthplace narrowed down, it would be easy enough to find the farm name. His librarian friend had promised to give you false information, but another librarian was there?”

Roelke confirmed that with a nod.

“So,” Naess continued, “all she could do was tell him that you’d identified the family farm and were going to visit. Landvik’s hotel friend left the ‘call home’ message to delay you, drove Landvik up to Høiegård, and left him there. He hid, waited until you’d left the car, and damaged the brake system. Then he made his way down the mountain on foot and hitchhiked back to Utne.” The inspector closed his notebook, tucked it in a pocket, and stood.

“Thank you,” Chloe said. “It’s good to know all this before we leave.”

Roelke shook hands with the inspector but glanced at her. “Chloe, would you mind waiting outside?”

She shrugged. “Um … sure.” Roelke probably wanted to wrangle some final detail from the inspector.

Chloe went out to the front porch and stared over the fjord. Laughter drifted from the dining room where guests were enjoying breakfast. A car door slammed. Then Roelke joined her.

Whatever he’d learned could wait, she decided. “I don’t want to talk about Landvik any more today.”

“Me neither,” Roelke agreed. “Let’s go get married.”

When Chloe and Roelke arrived at the mountain farm, Helene and Barbara-Eden soon whisked Chloe inside. “It’s tradition for friends and relatives to help a bride prepare for the ceremony,” Helene said. “Our stabbur, where women used to dress for weddings, was torn down years ago. But my bedroom will do.”

When Helene opened the door, Chloe’s mouth dropped open. Draped on the bed were the components of a bunad: red skirt with colorful trim, a white apron with cutwork embroidery, blouse, dark jacket, and a beaded bodice insert.

“I hope you will wear these,” Helene told her. “You’ve brought joy to this farm and made me a happy woman.”

The makeshift bridal attire Chloe had pulled on that morning didn’t stand a chance. “I’d be honored.”

Even with help, it took some time and several safety pins to get Chloe dressed. “This is similar to my mother’s favorite bunad,” she said wistfully. “I love it, but I do wish she was here.”

“I think your mother will be smiling down,” Barbara-Eden said. Surprisingly, that thought helped.

“You must wear my sølje too,” Helene murmured, fastening a lacey pin with quivering teardrops at Chloe’s throat. “Dangling silver frightens evil away.”

After the week she’d had, Chloe welcomed help from any quarter.

“And the final touch.” The old woman removed a crown from a faded black hatbox. “Many brides in our family have worn this.”

“Oh my.” Chloe took a deep breath. This was all becoming real. She’d worn bunads when dancing, or at special functions, but she’d never imagined wearing a bridal crown. Helene carefully positioned the heavy crown, tied the ribbons beneath Chloe’s chin, and smoothed the long blond hair flowing loose.

“You mustn’t let the crown slip,” Helene advised. “That’s bad luck.”

“I’ll be careful.”

Barbara-Eden held out a small, flat box. “We have another surprise.”

Chloe accepted it and removed the lid. “My handaplagg! I thought the police still had it!”

Helene smiled. “You have Mr. McKenna to thank for this.”

That’s why Roelke wanted a moment alone with Inspector Naess this morning, Chloe thought. He must have talked the other officer into bringing the cloth.

Helene arranged the handaplagg over Chloe’s hands. “We don’t have the proper muff, but it looks lovely.”

Roelke was waiting in the living room. When Chloe walked in, he sucked in an audible breath. “You,” he said huskily, “have never looked more beautiful.”

“You look amazing yourself,” she countered. “Where did those come from?” His trousers and dress shirt were now topped with an embroidered red vest and a frock coat.

“Ellinor knew what Helene had in mind and offered me the loan of a folk costume from the museum,” he explained. “I hope you don’t mind that I passed on the breeches.”

“Not at all.” Roelke did look very good in the vest and coat. Best of all, Roelke McKenna, uptight cop, looked happy. “And thank you for this.” She raised her hands, indicating the cloth.

Pastor Brandvold, who’d happily declared himself kjøgemester for the day, poked his head in the door. “Your other guests have arrived.” Through the window Chloe saw Ellinor and Sonja waiting on the patio.

“Ready?” Roelke took her arm.

Chloe nodded. “Absolutely.”

They led the others across the lawn to the stone overlook. A misty morning drizzle had cleared, and sun shone on the mountains. It’s a fine day for a wedding, Chloe thought. For our wedding.

The pastor had asked if he might say a few words. “Let’s begin with the bryllupsfred,” he boomed in his preaching voice. “The wedding peace. It is tradition to cast aside all hurts and grudges that might be troubling those in attendance. There have been too many of those in recent days.” He paused. “I declare this to be a gathering of love and joy.”

Chloe blinked back tears, feeling ridiculously emotional. Pastor Brandvold had set the perfect tone. She didn’t want to think about anything but making a forever commitment to Roelke.

With the sun on their shoulders, she and Roelke faced each other and exchanged the wedding vows they’d written together. “I promise to be your devoted companion, to nurture you, to go adventuring with you, to share life’s joys and sorrows, in sickness and in health, for as long as we both shall live.” Roelke leaned in to seal the deal with a lingering kiss.

Pastor Brandvold closed the ceremony by singing an old Norwegian folk song in a rich baritone. Barbara-Eden snapped photographs. Aunt Helene dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. Ellinor beamed. Even Sonja looked moved.

This is the most wonderful day of my life, Chloe thought. She wanted it to last forever. Roelke smiled at her: I feel the same way.

When the song ended, Reverend Brandvold offered a prayer before congratulating the happy couple. “May God shower you with blessings.” He clasped his hands together. “Now, refreshments will be served on the patio.”

Chloe stepped carefully from the stone, keeping her head still. The bridal crown was heavy, but in a good way. The weight connected her to all the women who had worn this crown on their wedding days. The weight also demanded that she stand straight and tall. Based on the stories Barbara-Eden had transcribed so far, that felt appropriate too.

Barbara-Eden had baked a luscious chiffon cake with strawberries, which she served with champagne on the patio. She’d also gathered mountain wildflowers to decorate the table. “Everything is perfect.” Chloe kissed the girl’s cheek. “Thank you.”

They lingered, savoring the celebration. All too soon, though, it was time for Chloe to change her clothes and say her farewells.

Ellinor gave Chloe a warm hug. “I couldn’t be happier for you two. Please keep in touch as you develop your exhibit and program in Wisconsin.”

“I will,” Chloe promised.

Ellinor hesitated. “Chloe, did you ever wonder why I’m so interested in Jørgen Riis?”

“Um … not really,” she said honestly. Museum people often had some singular passion.

“Gustav Nyhus was my grandfather.”

Chloe had not seen that coming. “I see.”

“When I was growing up, I heard hushed whispers about some horrific trouble he’d had with Riis. It became obvious that my grandfather was involved in something awful.” Ellinor rubbed one hand with the other. “I wanted to find Riis’s story. I felt the need to atone, I guess. The one thing I heard over and over, as a child and later doing interviews, was that Jørgen Riis had a rare talent. I wanted to give him the credit he was due.”

“You still can,” Chloe said. “I won’t forget to send photos of the Riis fiddle that ended up in Wisconsin.” She’d already told Ellinor about Hilda’s fiddle. “And do come visit. You can document it yourself.”

Ellinor brightened. “I’ll do that.”

Sonja’s farewell was more restrained. “Chloe, I’m sorry that you had reason to think I might be involved in the theft of your textiles.”

Chloe tried not to squirm. “It was just a passing idea. Roelke is trained to consider all possibilities.”

“Hold on to him, Chloe. You know what they say. A good man is hard to find.” For a moment Sonja’s gaze was unguarded. Chloe read longing there, and regret. Then the curator smiled, and the moment passed. “I’m glad you were able to carry the handaplagg today.”

“Ever since that day we met at the airport, I’ve been wanting to ask you about it!” Chloe darted to her daypack, extracted the box, and returned with the cloth held over her palms. “You said the woman who did the embroidery was expressing herself. What do you think she was trying to say?”

Sonja leaned close. “Actually, I think more than one woman contributed to this cloth. The stitching is excellent, but there are some minuscule variations.”

Okay, even better, Chloe thought, but that wasn’t what she wanted. “What about the symbols? What do they mean?”

“Well, this figure”—Sonja pointed—“probably represents the disir, ancient spirits who guarded women and families. The tiny stitches in these squares represent seeded fields, and the hope that the bride be blessed with many children. Crooked lines were added to confuse malicious spirits, and this sun to celebrate all that is good. My favorite is the tree of life, with roots in the earth and top branches in heaven.” Sonja smiled. “I think the women in your family wanted to protect their daughters and granddaughters from evil, and to bless their lives with love and balance and holy light.”

Love and balance and holy light, Chloe thought. Who could ask for more?

Barbara-Eden was next. “Thank you, Chloe. You were kind during a—a bad time.”

“If I helped, then I’m glad. And I’m so grateful to you for transcribing my family stories.” The tales had filled a void, reminding Chloe that even though daughters and mothers sometimes misunderstood each other, even resented each other, bonds remained. “What you said about my mom earlier—you were right. I could feel her presence here today.”

Barbara-Eden looked pleased. “And I want you to know that I’ll keep an eye on your great-aunt Helene, Chloe. I like coming here, and she said I’m welcome any time.”

Chloe put her hands on the girl’s shoulders. “You have no idea how reassuring that is. We’ll stay in touch.”

The hardest good-bye came next. “Aunt Helene,” Chloe began, “meeting you has been a dream come true. And having our wedding here …” Her voice trailed away. She couldn’t find the right words.

“When I was a child, this was still considered a poor farm,” Helene said. “But now …” She waved an arm toward the vista. “You’ve reminded me how special this place really is. I hope to transfer the property to a preservation group so that after I’m gone, people can come learn about the old days.”

“I love that idea!”

“And I’m officially changing the farm name back to Høiegård.” Helene smiled. “I should have done it long ago. It wasn’t appropriate to change it in the first place! I’m sure my father renamed it just to make himself feel powerful.”

“I’ll always think of this place as Høiegård.” Chloe wrapped her arms gently around Helene’s thin shoulders.

Helene took Chloe’s hand. “Will you take advice from an old woman? To escape my father, I left home at fourteen and married at fifteen. My husband was a good man, but I did not love him. I don’t know what that feels like.”

That made Chloe sad.

“But I do know what true love looks like. I saw it in Solveig’s eyes when she spoke of Jørgen. I see it when you look at Roelke, and when he looks at you. Don’t ever take that for granted.”

“I won’t,” Chloe whispered. “I promise.”

Roelke was waiting nearby. “Ready? Pastor Brandvold has already gone to the car.” The minister would drive Chloe and Roelke back to Utne, where they would spend a final night at the old hotel before heading home.

Chloe took one last look over the farm. “It’s so hard to leave.”

“This place will always be a part of you.”

She nodded, then leaned against his shoulder. “Just like you.”