Syver tried to open his fly with one hand while holding her tightly with the other. She writhed like a worm and he was soon roaring in frustration.
“Keep still, goddammit!”
He took a step back and bumped into the cow. Rakel saw what was about to happen but couldn’t do anything to stop the cow from launching a powerful kick that hit Syver right in the hip.
He crashed against the wall and collapsed to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Rakel hurried over to the cow and stroked her comfortingly over the bridge of her nose until she saw both the cow and calf had calmed down. Only then did she go over to Syver.
She looked down at him with disdain. He deserved this, and she found herself hoping he was seriously injured. She stood there, staring down at him as he writhed in pain. She should just leave him there, she thought. Just as she was going to take a step over him, though, she changed her mind. He might try to hurt the cow when he sobered up.
She had to get him out of the stall. Even though she didn’t want to, she squatted down, put her hand on his hip, and felt around. It wasn’t broken. He was just bruised, and he could live with that. She wasn’t going to make the slightest attempt to remove either the pain or the swelling.
“You’re not seriously injured,” she said. “But you’ll be sore and bruised for a few days. That’s what you deserve when you act like a pig,” she added, but so quietly he couldn’t hear it.
“Help me up,” he slurred. Reluctantly, she grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet. He cried out when he had to put weight on his foot, but Rakel ignored him and dragged him limping out into the yard.
“Take it easy!” he hissed. “It hurts.”
“You only have yourself to thank for that,” she replied, letting him go. He had to take a step to the side to keep his balance and swore in pain.
“That cow is no good,” he continued. “You should tell your father to slaughter it.”
“Don’t you dare!” she replied. “The cow just gave birth and you come in there shouting and making a fuss. She just got scared and wanted to protect her calf. Go home now, Syver. Sleep it off.”
It looked like he wanted to protest, but then he just snorted and started staggering home.
It was early in the morning and Jenny was washing the floor in the shop. She yawned and looked out the window. Dark clouds hung ominously in the sky, and there was practically no daylight even though it was past six o’clock. Jenny turned back to her work and kept going at the floor.
She’d been tiptoeing around Frøken Lomvi for several days, and today, she’d exerted herself even more than before. She had to show Frøken Lomvi she could be trusted, so she got up long before Frøken Lomvi usually did so she could get everything ready. She cleaned the storage in the back room, washed the pantry under the stairs, and filled the shelves behind the counter. Now only the floor remained, as well as the counter itself. She hoped she’d manage to finish that, too.
She’d cleared away the bucket and was polishing the counter when Frøken Lomvi came downstairs.
“Good morning,” Jenny said carefully, but got no response. Frøken Lomvi went straight past her and into the back room but left the door open, and Jenny knew she could hear her.
“Looks like rain today,” she said loudly. “The clouds are heavy and dark.”
Frøken Lomvi still didn’t answer, and Jenny gritted her teeth and scrubbed frantically at a spot on the counter. She’d hoped Frøken Lomvi would remark on how clean and tidy it was in the back room, but she didn’t say a word when she came back out. “I filled up behind the counter as well,” Jenny said, straightening up.
Only now did Frøken Lomvi make a sound.
“You’ve done a lot,” she said dryly. “I suppose you don’t need me down here then, do you?”
Jenny didn’t know how to answer. Was Frøken Lomvi offended? Had she done too much?
“I…” she began, but stopped when the older woman lifted a hand to silence her.
“You’ve done well, Frøken Hoem,” she said.
Jenny eyed her suspiciously. Did she mean it, or was she just being spiteful?
“I believe you’re ready for more responsibility,” Frøken Lomvi continued. “I am therefore leaving the store in your charge this morning, and we’ll see if you can manage it.”
Jenny flushed.
“I can,” she replied quickly. “You can trust me.”
“We’ll see then,” she replied stiffly and went over to the money box on the counter. She opened it and put in some money she had in the pocket of her apron.
“There are two speciedals and thirty-seven shillings here to use as change. I leave the responsibility for the money to you. You’ll take care of the customers this morning, then I’ll come down in a little while and see how it’s going.”
“Thank you, Frøken Lomvi,” Jenny replied. “I’ll take good care of the money and the shop.”
“That would be best for you,” she replied, shutting the cash box. “You know what will happen if you disappoint me.”
She gave the key to Jenny. “Hide that in a safe place, and never let the money box out of your sight.”
“I won’t,” Jenny assured her.
Jenny practically tiptoed around once she was on her own. She was constantly sliding her hand over the pocket of her apron where she had the key, and her gaze kept wandering towards the money box. Stop being silly, she told herself. As long as she had no customers, there wasn’t any danger of something happening.
When the first customers – an elderly man and his very cheerful wife – arrived an hour later, Jenny was so on guard that she could barely even calculate how much the customer should pay. When customer number two came in right afterwards, though, she started to relax. It was an older man who chatted with her about this and that and seemed satisfied with the story about her being a relative of Frøken Lomvi who would be helping in the shop. He bought some tobacco and Jenny counted the change twice before handing it back to him and wishing him a good day.
When he closed the door behind him, she checked whether the amount left in the box matched what she’d sold the goods for. It did. Jenny smiled to herself. This was going fine, and she didn’t need to worry.
The sound of boys shouting reached her through the glass window. She looked up and spotted a group of boys running around and hollering in the area between the road and the store. It looked like they were playing, but it seemed a bit too intense. She realised they were circling something – or someone.
A little boy was crouching behind the legs of the bigger boys to escape kicks and punches. When his hat was knocked off, the other boys roared with laughter as the little one looked up at them anxiously. He reminded Jenny of Henry, her younger brother.
“That’s enough of that!” she said out loud and grabbed the door handle. The bell rang aggressively as she stormed out onto the stairs, but the boys were so preoccupied with what they were doing that they didn’t hear it. It wasn’t until she was almost next to them that one of them noticed her.
“There’s a wench coming! Run!” he shouted to his buddies.
The boys right in front of Jenny turned and almost ran her over. They pushed her so she lost her balance, but then they disappeared in all directions.
Jenny let them run. She was mostly concerned with the little boy. He was sitting on the ground and looked at her in a daze as she approached him. His hair was dishevelled and one cheek was red from being hit. His hat was in a puddle on the ground next to him.
“Are you hurt?” Jenny asked in concern, bending over him to look.
“No, I don’t think so,” he responded. He seemed a bit embarrassed, and picked up his hat before getting to his feet.
“Do you need help? Shall I take you home to your mother, perhaps?”
“Thank you, but it’s not far. We live in the woods right on the other side of the road there.” He pointed and started walking.
“Are you sure I shouldn’t take you?” Jenny asked again, still worried. She imagined the big bullies might come back, but the little boy had already set off and disappeared amongst the trees on the other side of the road.
Jenny stood there for a moment, listening, but she heard no running feet or boys’ voices; he must have made it safely home. She started walking back towards the shop and noticed that her apron was a bit muddy around the edge of her pocket. She started to brush it off – and froze. The pocket was empty. The key was gone! She must have lost it when the two boys pushed her.
She quickly ran back and scanned the ground, but the key was nowhere to be seen. Then she turned and ran back to the shop. There was no one there. She breathed out a heavy sigh of relief. For a moment, she’d feared that one of the boys had stolen the key when they jostled against her and that the rascals had stolen from the money box.
She walked around the counter. And stopped abruptly. The key was in the money box. Could she have left it there? No, she knew she hadn’t done that. She opened the box with trembling hands.
“Good God, no!” she whispered, leaning weakly against the counter.
The box was empty. The money was gone.