Jenny was paralysed with fear. Something was thumping on the floor above her, as though someone was stomping in anger. Then it stopped abruptly, and silence descended. All Jenny could hear was her own rapid breathing. Then there was a hard banging on the door, and she jumped with a small scream. She heard laughter on the other side of the door – but not the creeping and cold laughter Jenny might expect from a ghost.
No, this was very human and familiar. The maids. They were giggling outside the door, probably giddy with joy because they’d managed to frighten her. Her cheeks grew warm. How could she have been so stupid? It was probably because she was a bit disoriented from having just woken up.
A somewhat shaky Jenny entered the dining room a little while later. The pastor was sitting at the table with his wife while Priest Lomvi stood with his hands behind his back, staring out the window. When he heard her come in, he turned and smiled at her.
“There you are, Frøken Hoem,” the pastor’s wife said. “And you’re wearing the dress! It is a bit big, but it’s the smallest I have.”
“Thank you,” she stammered. “The dress fits just fine.”
It wasn’t true. It was far too big, but Jenny didn’t mind.
“Food will be served soon,” the wife continued. “You must be starving. Come now, husband, and we’ll leave these two alone. Herr Lomvi has something to discuss with you,” she added and smiled at Jenny before pulling her husband out of the room.
“Yes. Frøken Hoem,” Herr Lomvi began when they were alone. “I promised I would help you, and I intend to keep that promise. But it requires something from you in return.”
“Oh?” she asked cautiously. The conversation she’d overheard between the maids buzzed at the back of her mind.
“My solution is perhaps…” He cleared his throat. “…perhaps not exactly what you had in mind. But you’ll be safe, at least. It’s up to you to decide how far you’re willing to go. At the same time, you don’t have much choice…”
He swallowed heavily and dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief.
Jenny’s heart sank and her mouth went dry.
He cleared his throat again and continued: “Yes, you see, my sister has a grocery store in the hills by Holmestrand. She’s agreed to keep you hidden in exchange for you working for her at the store. She can’t pay, but she can offer room and board. I feel it’s almost a bit embarrassing to come to you with such an offer.”
Jenny straightened up.
“I’ll be able to hide at your sister’s store in Holmestrand?”
“Yes,” he replied, dabbing his forehead once more. “Unfortunately, it was the only thing I could think of. I don’t have many contacts outside of Carljohansværn. I hope I haven’t offended you.”
“It’s a good offer, Herr Lomvi,” she said, surprised. “You haven’t insulted me at all. I have nothing against working for room and board. I’d be happy to do that.”
“Really? You won’t be recognised,” he continued, a bit more eagerly now. “We’ll tell everyone you’re a distant relative named Nora. Unless you have something against that, of course.”
“No, absolutely not,” she replied with a smile. “I think it’s an excellent plan!”
“Good,” he concluded, and his face grew serious again. “There’s just one more thing, though,” he added. “My sister is a difficult woman. Very difficult, I must say.”
“That makes no difference,” Jenny replied, feeling relieved. Considering what she’d feared when he first started to speak, there was nothing that could scare her off now. And how difficult could this sister really be? Jenny had worked under grocer Ludvigsen’s wife and at the tavern. It could hardly be any worse than that.
Rakel mucked out Blakka’s stall until the sweat ran down her back. Dust tickled her nose and throat, and she scratched the bridge of her nose. She’d been engaged for almost four days, and tomorrow, they’d be lighting the candles for her and Syver in the church.
She’d been in a daze ever since the wedding date had been set. She hadn’t cried, but the tears felt like a painful lump in her stomach and hurt more with each passing day. She felt numb. It was as if this wasn’t even her life.
At the same time, she knew that wasn’t the case. This was serious. She’d tried to talk to her father, but he was evasive and disappeared down to the mill whenever he got the chance. Halvor Ovreid probably understood how much he’d hurt his daughter, but he also most likely thought he had no other choice. That’s why he simply avoided her rather than have a difficult conversation.
It was different with her mother. She’d always been there and comforted Rakel growing up – when she hurt herself or one of the children at the village school had been mean to her. The fact that she was so distant and silent now was even more hurtful. She felt impossibly alone. If only Aunt Esther were here. Or Jenny. Her chest tightened, and Rakel straightened up and rested the rake against the wall.
The day before, she’d discovered that one of the hens was ailing. It had a runny nose and gooey eyes and made a wheezing sound when it breathed through its beak. This was bad news since it often indicated a serious, contagious disease. If that were the case, they risked all the hens getting sick and dying. However, none of the others had similar ailments. She hoped, therefore, the hen was suffering from a respiratory illness a bit like scarlet fever. Her mother had said that could happen, although it was rare. So, Rakel had done as she usually did and taken the hen inside the house to help it get better.
This time, she’d used the book Aunt Esther had given her. She’d read that elderflowers could be boiled into a tea and given to a patient with signs of scarlet fever. This advice was for humans – she knew that – but she didn’t know what else to do. They had elderflowers on the farm, and they were in bloom, so it was easy to get hold of. She had therefore tried to feed the hen a bit of cooled elderflower tea. It hadn’t shown any progress the day before, so she’d tried a larger dose that morning. Now, she was anxious to see if it had worked.
Rakel hurried up the stairs and into her bedroom. She’d put the hen in a box in the corner of her room, a good distance from the window so it wouldn’t feel a draught. Rakel quietly walked over and saw the hen was resting with its eyes closed. She squatted next to it and examined it closely. It still had a runny nose and was breathing in short, wheezing breaths. No signs of progress to be seen. If anything, it seemed even weaker than before.
“What am I going to do with you, then?” she asked quietly, stroking a finger gently down its back. She felt the hen quivering. It took a deep, heavy breath, then toppled over on one side and stopped moving.
Rakel gasped.
“No, don’t die on me,” she said, putting her hand over it – but the hen wasn’t breathing. Rakel sighed dejectedly. She hadn’t done enough, and now it was too late. Suddenly, she noticed a prickling in her palm. Her first instinct was to pull it away, but then she let it stay and shut her eyes – and there it was. She could practically feel that there was something in the hen’s chest. It was a strange sensation, as though she could grab it and pull it out of the bird.
Rakel concentrated on her hands, and the tingling in her palms increased. When she took a deep breath, it was as though the air consisted of pure and clear light. It flowed into her body, making her feel more alive than ever, before spreading down each arm. From there, it shot out through her palms and into the lifeless bird.
Rakel felt as though a strong wind was tearing at her. The feeling was overwhelming and powerful, and it made her lightheaded. Then it ended abruptly. The light and the tingling both disappeared, taking all of Rakel’s strength with it. She collapsed and leaned her head against the wall. Her eyelids were heavy and the room seemed to be floating around her. Then she fell asleep.
She woke up because she was cold. Confused, she sat up and squinted at the window. It was the middle of the day. Startled, she realised she’d been asleep. What happened? She’d tried to heal the hen. She turned towards the box – but the hen was still dead.
“Oh, no,” she said sadly. “What have I done?”
She bent over it and gently stroked its feathers. Had she killed it? She swallowed hard and looked at her palms. Her hands trembled.
The marks from your fingers were still visible on his skin the day after it happened. He showed it to me. Dark, blue-purple marks. Do you have any idea what kind of strength is needed for something like that to be possible?
She could hear the sheriff’s voice in her head. Had she hurt the hen? No, she dismissed the thought. If the sheriff was right about the marks on the Kipper, the hen would also have visible injuries. Besides, it was already dead when she tried. If she had killed it, it was by giving it elderflower tea. However, something told her it would have died anyway.
She got up. She was still dizzy, and her body was heavy and limp. She picked up the box with the dead hen and carried it out.
Since she didn’t know what disease had afflicted the hen, it wasn’t suitable for eating, so she took it with her behind the small house where they buried carcasses. She covered the hen with earth so the foxes wouldn’t find it and put some stones on top.
Rakel felt sad when she went to the well and washed her hands. Then, she took a trip to the chicken coop and looked inside. The hens were strutting around as usual and the rooster was sitting on top of the henhouse, crowing over the yard. Neither he nor the hens seemed to be sick.
Rakel heard her grandmother’s voice from the back garden. They were standing in the middle of the road that led from the house over to the washhouse. Her mother was carrying an empty washtub and her grandmother was standing in front of her with her hands on her hips.
“I’m the one who should have the keys!” her grandmother barked.
Rakel sighed quietly. Her mother had taken over the keys to the farm when she married her father, but her grandmother had never made peace with that. She still thought she was the mistress of Ovreid. Her mother rarely argued back and usually let her have her way. Now, her mother turned and walked back towards the washhouse with her head bowed, her mother-in-law hovering behind her. Naturally, she hadn’t got the keys. Her father would never allow it, and both her mother and grandmother knew that. She’d probably just wanted to show her mother that she could still subdue her. It made Rakel angry, but then she heard someone running up the hill behind her. When she turned around, she saw Eilert coming towards her.
“Frøken Ovreid,” he said, stopping in front of her. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Has something happened?”
“It’s Mother,” he said. “Can you come and see her? She’s still sick.”
“Is she?”
“Yes, she’s been bedridden for several days and the doctor has stopped by again. But he can’t do anything else for her, and she still has a fever. Can’t you help her again just like you did that day by the river?”
“Eilert, I…”
“You can do it, Miss Ovreid,” he interrupted. His blue eyes were shining with tears and his lower lip quivered. “Please.”
“I don’t think I can help,” she said. “I’m not the one who made her better last time. It was the doctor.”
“No,” he said tearfully. “Whatever you did helped her before the doctor came. Please, Frøken Ovreid.”
It was so painful to see Eilert’s despair that she couldn’t bear to reject him.
“But where is she, then?” she asked. “At the farm?”
“No, she’s washing clothes by the river,” he replied.
“I see,” she answered, resigned. “I’ll come,” she said to Eilert and followed him as he jogged down towards the river.
“You have to move faster so she doesn’t leave, Frøken Ovreid!”
“What do you mean by that? Doesn’t she know I’m coming?”
“No,” Eilert said. “Look, there she is!” He pointed. The maid looked gaunt as ever and was on her knees, washing some bedclothes at the water’s edge.
“Eilert.” Rakel stopped and took his arm. “If your mother doesn’t want to see me, we must respect that.”
“She just doesn’t understand,” Eilert replied. “Mother!” he shouted.
His mother looked up from the washing. When she saw them, she stood and held a hand up against the sun. Then she dried her hands on her apron.
Rakel followed Eilert. She didn’t like it, but continued over the small footbridge. Eilert’s mother looked like she wanted to sink into the ground.
“Good afternoon, Fru Holm,” Rakel said. “I’m surprised to see you’re already back on your feet.”
“Yes, I feel better,” she replied, giving Rakel a weak smile. “And Herr Svartangen needs the laundry to be done, so…” She didn’t say anything else, just looked down at the ground. Now that she was standing up close, Rakel could see that Eilert’s mother wasn’t better at all. She was unnaturally pale, and beads of sweat pearled along her hairline.
“Eilert wanted me to speak with you,” she said carefully. “But I don’t know how I can be of help since you’ve already had a visit from the doctor, as I understand it?”
“Yes,” Fru Holm answered weakly. “And there wasn’t anything else he could do.”
It was as Rakel feared.
“Did he not even tell you to stay in bed?” she asked, noticing a small grimace crossing Fru Holm’s face.
“A maid can’t just lie around when there’s work to be done,” she replied.
Rakel wanted to protest, because no responsible master of a house would demand that a maid work if she was poorly – but then again, Svartangen wasn’t responsible. If she interfered with this, it wouldn’t be to Fru Holm’s advantage.
“Help her, Frøken Ovreid,” Eilert pleaded.
“What do you think she can help with, Eilert?” his mother asked uncertainly. “She said herself she can’t be of any help, and you’re making her uncomfortable by nagging like this.”
“Frøken Ovreid can heal you with her hands. I’ve told you that, Mother,” he insisted.
Fru Holm looked at Rakel as though she feared the boy had lost his mind.
“We must let Frøken Ovreid continue with her work,” she said. “We both have things to do.”
“It’s no problem,” Rakel said. “If you’ll allow me?” She didn’t know why she said that, but she saw Eilert’s face light up.
“Please, Mother!” Rakel begged. Rakel and Fru Holm glanced at each other. Rakel interpreted her look to mean that she was willing to go along with anything just to put an end to this uncomfortable encounter.
“Yes, alright,” Fru Holm said. “Surely it can’t hurt. Although Our Lord is unlikely to appreciate it…”
“Our Lord?” Rakel asked weakly.
“Yes, you know, it’s only priests who can heal, and that’s through prayer. But I’m willing to give it a try. For Eilert’s sake.”
“Yes, for Eilert’s sake,” Rakel agreed with a stiff smile, placing a tentative hand on Fru Holm’s stomach. Just like last time, she felt it at once: there was something that shouldn’t be there, just below the navel. Rakel closed her eyes and tried to imagine it. Her palm tingled, and she felt the heat building up.
Then she heard Fru Holm’s words ringing in her head: Surely it can’t hurt. Although Our Lord is unlikely to appreciate it… That struck Rakel. Was this blasphemy? She hadn’t thought of it that way. What if Ask Bergan was right about her having dangerous powers, the kind that came from evil? She opened her eyes and pulled her hand away.
“Will she get better now?” Eilert asked eagerly.
“I don’t know,” she answered weakly.
“Well, it was worth a try,” Fru Holm said, smiling at Eilert. “I’m sure I’ll get better now, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” he replied, smiling broadly back at her. “Thank you, Frøken Ovreid. Now I won’t bother you anymore.”
“It’s no trouble, Eilert,” she answered meekly – because she hadn’t done anything whatsoever, and he had no reason to thank her.
Rakel returned to Ovreid feeling downtrodden. Could she have done something for Fru Holm? No, she shouldn’t be silly. The thing with the dog had to have been a coincidence, and if she had such powers, why hadn’t she been able to help the hen? She picked up the pace and tried not to think about it anymore.
She met her mother as she entered the yard.
“Oh, there you are!” her mother said. “Can you go up to your room and get changed out of your work clothes? I’ll be right there.”
Rakel swallowed hard. She wanted to ask her mother if she could drop it, but she knew it was no use. She knew what was coming, and that it was inevitable.