It was the day of the wedding. Rakel had woken up in the early hours of the morning and lay there, staring at the ceiling. She’d bathed the night before, and her mother had refused to let her look after the animals or go in the barn that morning. Rakel had said she had to check on the cow and calf, but her mother had seen right through her – because there was nothing wrong with either animal. They were both doing well. Rakel shoved herself out of bed and walked to the window, where she sat down in the chair and looked outside.
It seemed like the sun wanted to peek out today, but there was still a thin veil of clouds in the sky. The wind was coming from the north in such strong gusts that the half-ripe grain was lying almost completely flat on the field. The tree in the yard creaked and a few leaves came loose in a wild and frantic dance on their way down to the ground.
She sat on the chair and stared at the leaves until the wind died down and the clouds disappeared. To her surprise, she saw it was turning out to be a nice day. She’d imagined it would be pouring rain, that the day would be just as bleak as she felt inside. Everything was going to change now. In just a short amount of time, her life would take a different path, and this was the last time she’d ever enjoy the view of Ovreid from her bedroom.
The understanding sat painfully in her chest, and she let her gaze wander. The farmhand was working in the barn and Inga was milking the cows. Her gaze continued over the main road and to the forest where Gråtjønngården was hidden. There was smoke rising from that direction. It had been days since there’d been either smoke or a sound from over there.
She looked in the opposite direction towards Svartangen Farm, where she also spotted smoke. She hadn’t seen any sign of Syver after the attack, but she hadn’t expected that, either. If she was lucky, he probably didn’t even remember what had happened. Maybe he thought he’d fallen on his way home and hit his hip. It didn’t matter either way. She was just happy she hadn’t seen any more of him.
Ingvald Svartangen, on the other hand, had been at Ovreid every evening. She usually tried to avoid him, but the night before, she’d actually been happy to hear what he had to say for once – because he’d told them about the maid who’d miraculously been healed. It seemed like she was completely healthy. It was a small comfort in all this misery, something she could be happy about when everything else was so dark.
The clock on the floor below struck gloomily and sent a chill down Rakel’s spine. It was time to get ready. Reluctantly, she got up off the chair. The bridal crown was on the dressing table next to the glass rooster she’d got from Uncle Peder. It wasn’t big – just a simple silver crown that had been polished so it shone in the weak daylight. As a child, she’d sneaked peeks of it every once in a while, and dreamt of the day she’d get to wear it. Now, the dream had become a nightmare she couldn’t wake up from.
There was a knock at the door, and her mother came in with a bowl of porridge, a glass of milk, and a mug of steaming hot coffee.
“Oh, are you already awake?” she said. “I wanted to surprise you.”
“Are you bringing me breakfast in bed? That’s so nice of you, Mother.” She had no appetite but smiled nonetheless.
“Of course. I must spoil you a bit today. It’s the last chance I’ll have.” Her mother’s voice quavered a bit, but she laughed and blinked away the tears that had suddenly filled her eyes. “Into bed with you, then. Do as your mother tells you.”
Rakel obeyed her and got into bed, where she ate the porridge and washed it down with milk and coffee while listening as her mother talked about the animals.
“I spoke to your father last night,” she said. “About Blakka. We know you’re particularly fond of her, so perhaps you’d like to have her at Svartangen instead of here at Ovreid?”
“No,” Rakel answered quickly. “Thank you, Mother, but I think it will be better for her to stay where she’s used to being. If I want to take a ride, I know where to find her.”
She didn’t trust Syver enough that she wanted to take the horse to Svartangen. He might want to put her to hard work, and she was too old for that.
“I see, but let me know if you change your mind. Father is going to use Lukas moving forward anyway.”
“Not for the grain harvest, right?”
“Yes, I think he’s planning on it.”
Rakel didn’t like the sound of that. Lukas was still too unpredictable and kicked if he was startled, but she could discuss that with her father another day.
Rakel listened to her mother’s excited chatter as she helped her with her clothes. She hardly participated in the conversation herself. She looked at herself in the mirror when they were done. Her mother said she looked beautiful, but she couldn’t see it. The dress was far too big. Despite eating more over the past week, she was still thinner than when she’d tried it on the first time.
The plan was for her hair to hang loosely that day as a symbol of her virginity, but it wasn’t as shiny as it usually was, and her curls were limp around her ears. She tried to smile, but sadness lingered in her eyes. She just had to get through today somehow. Then she’d take each day as it came after that.
Her mother and grandmother went to the church before Rakel. She’d arrive later with her father. It was a rather strange journey; neither of them said anything until they approached the church and were greeted by the ringing of bells.
“Listen,” her father said, smiling. “They sound so merry today. It’s because they’re waiting for you, Rakel, the most beautiful bride who’s ever walked down the aisle in Borre church!”
She didn’t respond but forced out a small smile. To her ears, they sounded more like they were warning of an impending doomsday.
The carriage stopped outside the cemetery wall and her father helped Rakel down the steps. She took his arm and then he led her the few metres to the church door. She saw he was smiling, and it struck her once again how bizarre this whole situation really was. Her father, mother, and grandmother were acting like this was the most important day of their lives. She was the only one who felt like it was the end of the world.
For a moment, she wondered if Syver felt the same way as she did. He’d expressed he was happy as long as he got himself a woman with a farm in the bargain, but she doubted whether he took it quite so lightly. She shook the thought away. Why should Syver be despondent? He was probably just going to continue with his life as before without taking any of the wedding vows seriously at all.
The wind whipped her hair against her face as they waited to enter the church. She didn’t know if her father noticed how quiet she was. He was chatting away about this day of joy and the feast that awaited them afterwards. Rakel listened but it felt like this had nothing to do with her, like it was happening to a completely different person.
Then it was time. The parish clerk opened the door a bit and nodded to them. They heard the organ music begin and her father held out his arm.
“You’re beautiful today, have I told you that?”
“Yes, Father,” she replied with an empty smile. “But thank you again.”
The doors were opened all the way and she allowed herself to be led forward. She couldn’t bear to look at the guests sitting on the rows of benches, just stared straight ahead and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. With every step she took, it was as though she met greater and greater resistance, as though something was holding her back. But she kept going anyway.
The church was full of people – friends and neighbours who’d come to see them get married. Most of them had visited Ovreid over the weekend to congratulate them. She saw them as nothing more than indistinct figures with the occasional familiar face here and there.
When they were almost at the altar, Rakel caught a glimpse of her mother. Tears were running down her cheeks, but they seemed to be tears of joy. Her grandmother sat next to her and was truly shining today. It was unusual to see her so happy. She was almost unrecognisable. Rakel thought briefly that she didn’t understand this old woman at all, but then she caught sight of Syver at the altar and forgot everything else.
He looked handsome in his finery and with his hair combed neatly back. He was also freshly shaven, and there was nothing that reminded her of the drunken man from just a few days before. She met his gaze. He was just as serious as her. So he wasn’t completely unaffected by this either, it seemed. Strangely enough, that was a bit reassuring.
She felt unwell as her father let go and gave her over to Syver, and the feeling only increased when the music stopped and the priest began the marriage ceremony. She needed to sit down and felt cold sweat running down her back.
The priest cleared his throat and asked if Syver would take her as his wife.
“Yes.” Syver’s voice was clear and distinct.
“Will you love and honour her and remain faithful to her in good times and bad until death do you part?”
“Yes,” Syver replied again.
“I ask the same of you, Rakel Ovreid: Will you take Syver Svartangen, who stands by your side, as your spouse?”
She stared at the priest. His face was expressionless. He waited. So did Syver and the rest of the church. She felt the weight of their silence on her shoulders like a silent reproach and felt like she was going to faint. But she had to do this; she had no choice.
She had just opened her mouth to answer when someone cleared their throat loudly from the aisle. There was a confused murmur among the guests.
“Her answer is no,” a clear, deep voice said behind her. “The wedding is cancelled.”