Burial Rites(62)

‘It’s snowing outside,’ she said.

Lauga shrugged.

‘Everyone’s gone to bed.’ She sniffed. ‘Smells nice in here, don’t you think?’

‘I don’t know when killing ever smelt nice.’ Lauga bent down and picked up the pails that had held the sheep entrails.

‘Oh, leave them to dry out. We’ll set to washing them in the morning.’ Steina walked over to her sister and pulled a stool out in front of the fire. ‘Did you see how Agnes set the meat in store? I’ve never seen anyone work so fast.’

Lauga stacked the pails against the wall and sat down beside Steina, holding her hands out to the hot ashes. ‘She’s probably poisoned the whole barrel.’

Steina pulled a face. ‘She wouldn’t do such a thing. Not to us.’ She sucked a corner of her apron and began to sponge at the stains covering her hands. ‘I wonder what gave her that funny turn.’

‘What turn?’

‘Agnes and I were sitting here, as we are now, tending to the heads, and all of a sudden she throws them in my lap, and off she goes, muttering to herself. Mamma followed her out, and I saw the two of them sitting there, talking. Then they came back inside.’

Lauga frowned and stood up.

‘It’s funny,’ Steina continued. ‘For all she says, I think Mamma holds a fondness for her now.’

‘Steina,’ Lauga warned.

‘She’d never say as much, but –’

‘Steina! In heaven’s name, must you always talk about Agnes?’

Steina looked up at her sister, surprised. ‘What’s wrong with talking about Agnes?’

Lauga scoffed. ‘What’s wrong? Am I the only person who sees her for who she is?’ Her voice dropped to a hissed whisper. ‘You talk about her as if she’s nothing. As if she’s a servant.’

‘Oh, Lauga. I wish you’d –’

‘You wish I’d do what? What! Make friends like the rest of you?’

Steina gaped at her sister, open-mouthed. Lauga suddenly walked to the back of the kitchen and pressed her hands, clenched in two fists, against her forehead.

‘Lauga?’

Her sister didn’t turn around, but slowly picked up the soiled buckets. ‘I’m going to go wash these.’ Her voice was unsteady. ‘You should go to bed, Steina.’

‘Lauga?’ Steina rose and took a few steps towards her. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing. Just go to bed, Steina. Leave me alone.’

‘Not until you tell me what I’ve done to upset you.’

Lauga shook her head, her face contorting. ‘I thought it would be different,’ she said finally. ‘When Bl?ndal came, I thought we might not suffer her too much because there’d be officers. I thought we would keep her locked up! I didn’t think she’d always be with us, talking to the Reverend in our badstofa. Now I see that even Mamma is talking to her in a familiar way! No one seems to care that everyone in the valley gives us strange looks now.’

‘They don’t. No one minds us.’

Lauga narrowed her eyes and dropped the buckets by her feet. ‘Oh, they do, Steina. You don’t see it, but we’re all marked now. And it does us no favours that they see us talking to her, giving her plenty to eat. We’ll never be married.’

‘You don’t know that.’ Steina eased herself down on the stool by the hearth. ‘It’s not forever,’ she said finally.

‘I can’t wait till she’s gone.’

‘How can you say such a thing?’

Lauga gave a shuddering breath. ‘Everyone sees the Reverend gadding about Agnes like some besotted boy, and even Pabbi nods and says good morning to her now, ever since she witched Róslín’s baby from her. And you, Steina!’ Lauga turned to her sister, her face incredulous. ‘You treat her like a sister more than you do me!’

‘That’s not true.’

‘It is. You follow her around. You help her. You want her to like you.’

Steina took a deep breath. ‘I . . . It’s only that I remember her from years ago. And I can’t stop thinking that she wasn’t always like this. She was our age, once. She has a mother and father, like us.’

‘No,’ hissed Lauga. ‘Not like us. She’s nothing like us. She’s come here and no one even sees how everything has changed. And not for the better, either.’ She bent down and picked up the bloody pails and stalked out of the room.




IT HAD BEGUN TO SNOW most days in the north. Breidabólstadur was clouded in a thick fog and a cold that refused to lift, even as the October sun brought what little light it could into the world. Despite the weather, Tóti was reluctant to stay at home with his father. He felt that some invisible membrane between Agnes and him had been broken. She had begun, finally, to speak of Natan, and the thought that she might draw him closer still, might trust him enough to speak of what had happened at Illugastadir, set something quickening in him.

As he carefully wrapped his shivering body in as many layers of woollen clothing as could be found in his trunk, Tóti thought again of their first meeting. He could vaguely recall the rushing water of G?ngusk?rd, the roar it made as the melting spring waters plunged across the pass. Could see the wet gravel shining under the sun. And ahead of him, bending by the edge of the water and unrolling her stockings, a dark-haired woman preparing to cross the current.