She heard sawing and hammering as she left the main road and turned onto the farm road up towards Gråtjønngården. The trees and bushes that had stood in the middle of the road the last time Rakel was there had now been felled and the road was cleared of roots and brush.
The sound of knocking and sawing grew louder, and the yard opened up as she reached the end of the farm road. To her astonishment, she saw half a dozen men at work, hammering and cleaning. The walls had been cleared of ivy, and all the junk around the main house was gone.
Two men were fixing an old wagon in front of the carriage house. It had to be the one the sheriff was going to use for arresting people. It was black and gloomy and there were bars on the windows.
She moved closer cautiously. The men hadn’t noticed her yet. They were working hard and barely speaking to each other. Ask Bergan wasn’t anywhere to be seen.
A wall had been erected around the well, and it was covered with a solid wooden lid. The small forest on one side of the house was now gone and an old horse pasture had been fixed up. The black stallion, Odin, was roaming around inside – so the sheriff couldn’t be far away.
A moment later, the door to the main house opened and he strode out. He was also dressed in work clothes; the sleeves of his once-white shirt were rolled up and he was holding a hammer in one hand. His hair hung loose, brushed behind his ear on one side.
Rakel felt a tremor in her chest and held her breath. He hadn’t seen her. One of the men shouted something at him and he leapt down the stairs in two long steps and disappeared behind the corner of the house. Rakel stopped. Maybe she should just turn around and go home? Then one of the other workers spotted her. He came forward and stood in front of her, wide-legged, his fists placed firmly on his hips. He narrowed his eyes as he spat snuff onto the side of the road.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“I’ve come to speak with the sheriff,” she said.
“He’s busy,” the man said gruffly. “You can come back later.”
“Tell him Rakel Ovreid is here,” she said, feeling her cheeks getting warm. “I’m sure he’ll want to speak with me.”
“Rakel Ovreid?” he repeated.
“Yes, but just keep working on whatever you were doing. I can find him myself,” she said, starting to move past the man, who then stepped to the side and stopped her.
“Sheriff!” he roared without taking his eyes off her. “There’s a woman here who claims you’ll want to speak with her. Her name’s Rakel Ovreid!”
It didn’t take long before he was there. He had a gruff look on his face, but he lit up when he saw her.
“Rakel!” He smiled from ear to ear. “It really is you.”
“So you want to speak with her, Sheriff?” the brusque man asked.
“I want to talk to her,” the sheriff replied. “But I find it incredible that Frøken Ovreid wants to speak with me.”
“I must speak with you,” she replied. “Preferably alone.”
“Naturally,” he said, sending the man away. Then he stood in front of her. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon. You made it clear that you wanted nothing more to do with me.”
She winced. Of course. He was going to use that against her. He was going to force her to beg just to refuse to help her anyway – but she wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction.
“Just forget about it,” she said, turning her back and starting to leave.
“Rakel, wait…” He came running after her and gently grabbed her by the arm so she had to turn towards him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll behave. Don’t leave. Can I offer you something?” He frowned. “We have coffee and… water.”
“No, thank you,” she replied. “I just wanted to speak with you, as sheriff. Alone.”
He looked around. “Come with me. I don’t have any furniture inside yet and there’s a gaping hole in the living room floor, so it’s best if we stay outside,” he said, taking her down towards Odin’s pasture.
There was a bench at the edge of the forest. He brushed away some dry leaves and they sat down. Rakel peered up at the farmhouse, which was dark and gloomy even in the daylight.
“Do you know what happened here ages ago?” she asked.
He followed her gaze. “Here? At Gråtjønngården?”
“Yes, the people living here were killed by a vagabond, and apparently the house is haunted.”
He laughed. “Well, I haven’t seen any spirits. Was that why you came?”
“No, of course not,” she answered sharply. “Like I said, I’m here to speak to you as sheriff.” She shifted anxiously on the bench. “I need your help,” she said quickly.
“You need my help?” He stared at her in shock, but with a sly smile at the corners of his mouth.
“I know what I said,” she admitted, her voice quiet. “And if you’re unwilling to help me, I understand.” She stared stiffly at the ground in front of her. When he didn’t reply right away, she started to get up and leave, but then he grabbed her hand and held her back.
“Of course I’ll help you,” he said, and relief washed over her.
“You don’t even know what it regards,” she replied, freeing her hand from his.
“No, but I owe it to you,” he admitted. “So, what is this about?” He looked at her attentively. “Did someone go berserk with a gun at your place last night?”
“No,” she answered quickly. “It was just my father hunting hares.”
“In the middle of the night?”
“Yes, I got him back inside, though, so you don’t need to spend any time on that, Sheriff Bergan. This is about Svartangen,” she continued before he could interrupt her.
“Svartangen?” He leaned back on the bench. “Tell me.”
“Svartangen is trying to take over our farm,” she began, then told him all about the deed – but she omitted the bit about Svartangen’s marriage demands. It didn’t feel right to tell him, somehow, without her quite knowing why. Instead, she told him what Herr Disen had said about how he, as sheriff, could help her assess the deed’s validity.
“So your Herr Disen is a solicitor as well as a teacher and church singer?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “That’s… impressive.”
“Yes,” she answered, straightening up. “He’s not at all as boring as you thought,” she added before she could stop herself.
“Well, a lot of knowledge doesn’t exactly equate to an exuberant personality,” he commented dryly.
“In any case, I prefer a man who converses with women he wants to get to know rather than chaining them up in their cellar,” she answered sharply.
The sheriff laughed.
“You’re really something, Rakel,” he said. “You’re not like other women.”
What do you mean by that? she wanted to ask, but didn’t.
“But this isn’t about Herr Disen,” she said instead. “This is about Svartangen. Will you help me or not?”
“Of course I’ll help you,” he continued sombrely. “The Svartangens aren’t exactly my favourite people, either. They’ve made it crystal clear to anyone who will listen that I’m not fit to be sheriff.” He raised an eyebrow. “At least you can agree on that much.”
“Can we stick to the case?”
He squinted at her.
“You do realise this can go both ways?” he asked. “If there’s nothing wrong with the deed, I also have to note that. In that case, it would be to Ovreid’s disadvantage.”
“I’m aware of that,” she answered weakly. “But I still have to try. I can’t believe these two drinking pals could possibly have managed to think clearly enough to get all the formal requirements right one drunken night after a game of cards. But if I’m wrong, I have no choice but to marry Syver Svartangen.”
It slipped out without her intending to say it. He straightened up on the bench with a jerk and looked at her, his eyes dark.
“Syver Svartangen?” he asked incredulously. “But you can’t marry that simpleminded rake?”
“I have no choice. Ingvald Svartangen wants to take us to court and demand half our property unless I marry Syver. We only have four days to find another solution.”
“You can’t marry Syver Svartangen,” he repeated. “You should have come to me right away. I could have told you what Herr Disen told you days ago. Even if you think I’m unsuitable as a sheriff, I actually have a great deal of knowledge about things sheriffs ought to know about.”
“To be completely honest,” she replied, looking down, “I don’t have much faith in you after what happened between us. I tried to keep you out of this matter for as long as possible, and it’s not easy for me to ask for your help now.”
“I understand,” he said. “And I’m sorry I’ve caused you to feel this way. But this time, you can trust me. I’ll do what I can to help you.” He furrowed his brow. “But where is your father? Does he even know you’re here asking for my help?”
“Father is… indisposed,” she said, looking down at her hands.
“After last night’s shooting,” he said thoughtfully. “I see. But you know I can’t do anything unless he asks for it? He must be present when I visit the Svartangens. They won’t take it seriously if you’re the one demanding the deed be evaluated.”
“I’m aware of that,” she replied. “And you don’t need to worry about Father. I’ll get him to show up.”
“Well,” he answered, standing up. “I’ll go change, then come up to Ovreid and speak with your father.”
She was amazed that he was being so obliging.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m happy you want to help me.”
“You don’t have to thank me, little witch,” he replied. “Taking evidence in a case is just the kind of thing a sheriff should do. I can’t let you be right about me being unfit, now, can I?”
Rakel went home to Ovreid and straight up to her parents’ bedroom, where her father was still asleep. She had to get him out of bed and persuade him to go to Svartangen with the sheriff.
He was lying on his back and snoring loudly as she pulled back the curtains to let in the morning sun.
“Father, you have to get up,” she said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He grunted a few times and turned over on his side. She nudged him. First once, then again.
She heard a growl before he turned over onto his back and squinted at her.
“You have to get up,” she repeated. “It’s late and there’s something you have to do.”
“What are you talking about?” he muttered into his beard.
“The sheriff is coming. You’re going with him to Svartangen Farm to get him to present the deed.”
“What?” Her father put one arm over his eyes to shield them from the sunlight.
“The deed, Father. It might be invalid. Certain formal requirements must be met, and I doubt if your great-great-grandfather cared much about that when he was drinking and playing cards. If the deed is invalid, you don’t have to share the farm with Ingvald Svartangen and I don’t have to marry Syver.”
Her father sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes.
“What is this nonsense, Rakel?” he asked. “Is this really necessary?”
“Yes,” she replied. “It is. So you have to get up and get ready.”
“It’s no use, Rakel,” he answered, yawning. “You’re only putting off the inevitable.”
He was about to lie down again but Rakel grabbed him and held him tightly.
“Father, you must do this!” She stared him straight in the eyes, which were red and swollen from lack of sleep. “For my sake,” she begged.
He thought for a moment, then sighed heavily.
“Alright, then,” he grumbled and swung his feet out of bed. “But how will we know if the deed is invalid?”
“The sheriff knows. He can answer all the questions you might have,” she promised, and sincerely hoped that Ask Bergan hadn’t been lying when he boasted about knowing as much as Herr Disen.
A little while later, her father was dressed and sitting at the dining table with a cup of coal-black coffee in front of him. He looked miserable, but at least he was up. Rakel was impatient and wandered over to the windows looking out onto the yard. Shouldn’t the sheriff be arriving soon?
Then she heard a horse galloping up the farm road.
“He’s here, Father,” she said. “I’ll go out and meet him.”
She jogged out onto the steps.
“Is he awake?” the sheriff asked as he jumped off the horse.
“Yes,” she replied and tied the horse to the railing by the steps. “Follow me.” She led him in, amazed at how formal he looked. He was wearing a white shirt under a dark suit and had a grey cravat around his neck. His hair was slicked back and gathered at the nape of his neck, and he was freshly shaven for a change. He carried his hat in his hand.
She showed him the way into the living room where her father was sitting, and the two men greeted each other.
“My daughter says you can help us?” her father said, clearing his throat.
“Yes, as sheriff, I can record evidence in cases that are going to court,” Bergan explained. “Frøken Ovreid has told me about the deed Svartangen possesses, and she asked me to testify that the deed’s formal requirements have been met.
“Has she?” Her father looked over. “Where did you get such an idea from?”
“Herr Disen,” she explained quickly. “Aunt Esther’s colleague.” She noticed that the sheriff was trying to hide a smile but ignored it.
“I see,” her father said. “Then I suppose it’s worth a try. How do we proceed?”
“The two of us take a trip down to Svartangen Farm and ask for the deed to be presented,” the sheriff replied. “I have legal authority, so he can’t refuse.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll still try,” her father said, sighing heavily. “Well, we should get going. I’ll just fetch a jacket.”
Rakel waited until he’d left before she walked over to the sheriff.
“You know what you’re looking for, right?”
“Yes,” he answered, smiling carefully. “Do you think I was lying about my knowledge?”
“That’s impossible for me to say,” she answered honestly. “Were you?”
“No,” he said, and put his hat on. “And I’ll make you a promise, Rakel. To make amends for what I did to you, I’ll do everything in my power to help you out of this.”
He turned away as her father came back into the room. Then the two men left before she could answer.
Rakel went out onto the doorstep and watched as they walked down towards Svartangen. It was so frustrating she couldn’t join! After all, this was her future, and she should have the opportunity to influence it. But that was just the way it was, she knew that. Matters like this were reserved for men, and she had to stay away.
Instead, she went down to the cow pasture. One of the cows was expecting a calf, and she needed something to do while waiting for the outcome of the visit.
Everything seemed to be in order with the cow, and she made her way to Dagros, where she stayed for a while, chatting and cuddling. It didn’t take long for her mind to wander, though, and she kept looking over her shoulder, hoping to see the two men returning with good news.
Eventually, Rakel became so impatient she could hardly sit still, and after what felt like an eternity, she finally heard footsteps. She lifted her skirts and ran to the yard. The sheriff was standing there. He had a sombre expression on his face and his eyes were dark and focused. He came alone and went straight to his horse. As he swung up on the saddle, he saw her running towards him.
“What happened?” she asked breathlessly.
He was about to answer when the door opened and Grandmother came out onto the doorstep. She put her hands on her hips and glared hostilely down at the sheriff. He met her gaze. Then he turned his attention to Rakel.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “There was nothing I could do.” Then he tipped his hat and set off.
She watched him disappear down the driveway and her heart sank.