Anna Hansdatter: Hunger In the Dale

Chapter 3

In the morning, Anna was strapped to her mother’s back, and the family selected from their meager belongings only as much as they could carry in their hands. They said farewell to their neighbors, and left Hundorp forever.

Berit walked in the lead, carrying three blankets, including one which served as the pack, their few extra clothes, and the teakettle. Poul carried a cooking pot and two blankets, insisting he was a “big boy” and could handle the load. Nels had only a blanket over his shoulders, and two rags, tied in a knot for a crude doll. Both boys were satisfied with this arrangement, for a time. Besides baby Anna and a blanket, Mari carried the day’s food: a half-loaf of bread, some boiled potatoes, and the rest of the bacon. Despite her crooked, awkward gait, she proceeded steadily and kept her head high.

After a mile or two, when the trail started its steep climb, Nels began to whine. Berit began chanting a walking song. Poul tried to join in, but his breath was coming in puffs and he soon gave up. Nels kept whining, until his mother coughed behind him. Nels looked around, and saw his mother mouthing the words of the song, almost perfectly. He turned ahead, kept walking, and began chanting his own short version, “Walk along, walk along.”

But before very long, Nels was whining again, and even brave Poul was groaning and sniffling. About halfway to the hermit’s cave, they stopped to rest and eat their day’s meal. “At this rate, we won’t make it by nightfall.” said Berit.

Mari looked around, thinking. Then she gestured toward a clump of bushes nearby. She struggled hard for words, “Po … pots … c … clothes …”

“What?”

Mari gestured again toward the bushes, then looked at Mari, “ca … carry … Nels.”

“Oh, cache the pots and clothes here? Maybe … but it’s risky. What if we still can’t make it by tonight?”

Mari struggled again for the words. Holding up four fingers, she said, “Take … bl … blankets.”

“All right, Mommy,” smiled Berit.

Mari replied with a broad grin.

Smiles were harder to come by a mile or two later. Berit’s shoes, although of leather, were old and no longer sturdy, and her feet were becoming blistered. Mari was also stressed by the extra weight. Her legs began to shake, and by the time they reached the hermit’s cave, they were all nearly exhausted. Propping themselves up against the old hut, they wrapped themselves in their blankets to take an uneasy rest. When she saw that the boys were asleep, Berit whispered, “Mari, it’s not too much further, but I don’t think I can make it. There’s only an hour or so of daylight left.”

Mari shook her head and pointed to the ground.

“Here? Oh, dear,” Berit said, already a bit chilled and thinking of spending the night here with nothing but a blanket each.

But Mari shook her head again, and put her finger to her lips. Her finger moved to her ear, and then again toward the ground.

Berit made out a weak sound, perhaps distant footsteps. In a moment … yes, footsteps, two sets of them, and the faint sound of voices … yes, but … another moment … children’s voices? Berit grew puzzled.

Mari said “A … an … gels.”

And then they appeared, in the form of Johan Olsen’s sons, Ole and Torger.

“Father sent us to help you,” said the older boy. He was fifteen, and his voice was still quite high most of the time, occasionally cracking into a quavering baritone. His polite manner, though, and pleasant disposition, were very mature for his age.

“And to tell you more about us,” said Torger impishly. He was twelve, and took every opportunity to poke innocent fun at his elder brother.

Ole blushed, and hesitated for a moment. But it was true, and Torger had guessed the secret request their father had made of his brother: to prepare the newcomers for Johan’s disfigured appearance. Ole knew the time was not yet right. “Yes,” he said, “so … I am Ole Johansen, and this is my brother Torger. I am sometimes called ‘Little Ole’ because my grandfather is also Ole.”

Poul and Nels had awakened, and were staring at the older boys. They had been told about them, but it hadn’t quite sunk in. Now they were in awe.

Ole added, “And these must be our new brothers.”

The women were astonished at the phrase, and the sincerity with which it was spoken. The boys all smiled at each other as if nothing could be more natural.

Berit said, “Thank you, Ole, thank you, Torger. You are like angels from heaven. As I spoke of yesterday, this is Mari, and Poul, and Nels. Oh, and Anna, the baby.”

Ole and Torger bowed, which set Nels to giggling. He had never been bowed to before, nor had any of the others, in recent memory. They were accustomed to doing the bowing themselves, in deference to those of higher station, who at the most may acknowledge their salute with an imperceptible nod or tip of the hat. Poul nudged him, and Berit said, “Nels, your manners!” Mari made a gesture to her sons; the two stood and bowed awkwardly.

“What can we carry for you?” asked Ole.

Berit told him of the cache they had left further down the trail; they agreed that the boys would return for those items the next day. Ole and Berit took turns carrying Nels, while Torger carried the blankets. In this way, they easily reached the farm before dark. As they walked, Little Ole began telling of his family. He spoke so clearly, so intelligently, he seemed more like an adult than a young teen.

Ole explained that the family belonged to a revivalist community which held weekly meetings at a member’s home. The believers were, at the same time, devout Lutherans, who attended mass at the parish church every week, baptizing and confirming their young in the accepted way. The group called themselves simply “the Brethren,” although outsiders generally referred to them as “Hernhutters.” They were pacifists, observed several rituals not sanctioned by the official church, and studied the New Testament in great depth.

The Hernhutters took great store in lay-preaching, insisting that a man need not be ordained by the official church to preach God’s word to the people. Most obvious to other parishioners, they strictly avoided alcohol and tobacco, as well as profanity and other undignified language or behavior. In these things they resembled other Pietists, including Quakers, Puritans, and many others. They placed great value on honest labor, personal piety and discipline. On the other hand, they deplored sloth, sexual or personal impropriety of any kind, materialism, and especially hypocrisy.

These last two points in particular could and often did run such revivalists afoul of the official clergy. While a few parish priests had Pietist leanings, and a handful even referred to themselves as Hernhutters, the Norwegian clergy in general (and not only the Norwegians) were worldly, sometimes corrupt, and often grossly insensitive to the common folk, whom they considered vulgar and uncultured. The priests came mostly from the privileged class, and enjoyed such perks as their own farm, complete with servants and sometimes peasants; horses, carriages, drivers, and a generous food allowance, even if it must be imported from some distance. The rise of the revivalist groups, with their lay-preachers and home meetings, was seen as a grave threat to the established order, and to the power and privileges enjoyed by the clergy.

The priest of Gausdal parish was especially hostile to the revivalists. He railed against them in his sermons, and slighted them any way he could, although they were faithful parishioners in every way. He even threatened to deny them communion, in effect to excommunicate them, but the Brethren appealed to the bishop, and prevailed in this matter. But when the priest heard rumors of an impending visit by the fiery young lay-preacher Hans Nilsen Hauge, he was enraged.

Hauge, newly converted to the revivalist movement, was already a controversial figure. With his inspiring sermons, this peasant’s son brought congregations to tears, and to the altar for “new birth” by the dozens. He was highly sought after by the many revivalist communities. While in his sermons he avoided direct criticism of the official church, in his many private discussions, and in his writings, he mercilessly pointed out the excesses and hypocrisy of the clergy wherever he saw it. Later in life, he would be imprisoned for ten years on trumped-up charges, never convicted, and finally released as a frail and broken man, unable to resume his work.

The day before Hauge’s visit to Gausdal, the parish priest delivered a blistering sermon denouncing lay-preaching in general, and the work of Hans Nilsen Hauge in particular. Despite the priest’s heated disapproval, the meeting went on as planned, and was a great success. Afterwards, Hans Nilsen was a guest at the home of Johan Olsen. As they walked there together, they sorrowfully observed a great deal of drunkenness and loud behavior at some of the neighboring farms. Although they could not hear much of the conversations, they sensed that their passing by somehow caused the merriment to become more boisterous.

While his family were deeply committed Brethren, Johan himself was something of a skeptic, both of revivalism and of the church more generally. He and Hans Nilsen argued many points of the faith, amicably and vigorously, far into the night. As the hours passed, even as their differences went unsettled, the two men felt friendship growing between them. When they finally retired, they embraced and pledged their continuing bond.

In the small hours of the morning, even before the twilight, Johan Olsen’s house burned down. The origin of the blaze was highly suspicious. Hans Nilsen was the first to awaken. The flames spread so quickly that there was barely enough time to wake the family and escape unharmed; all, that is, except Johan’s mother. Before she could exit, the roof-beam fell and knocked her down, pinning her leg to the floor. Without hesitation, Johan turned around and went in through the smoke to rescue her. He struggled in vain with the heavy beam as flames licked his face, until he fell unconscious. Seeing him fall, his father and Hans Nilsen went back in, suffering minor burns themselves as they dragged the horribly injured Johan outside, and smothered the flames consuming his clothing and flesh.

No one in memory had ever survived such extensive burns, but Johan did. As soon as he was able to travel, the entire family moved to Flaate. Within six months, he was able to work, and to function in every way, except to appear in public or engage in any social activity.

“So you mustn’t be frightened by Father’s face,” concluded Ole. “He keeps it covered from morning until night. When he eats, or washes, he turns his back to all of us, to spare us the sight. We have grown used to it, and so will you.”

When they came to the ridge overlooking the farm, the sun was low in the northwest. Snow-capped peaks all around fairly shone with the pinkish-orange hues of the gathering sunset. The farm below, while shaded from direct sunlight, was bathed in a gentle glow reflecting off the white granite ridge to the east.

When they arrived at the farmhouse, Kari and Ole (the senior) washed the feet of the travelers, a ritual cherished by the Brethren. That night, they dined on roasted chicken and herb-seasoned potatoes. Before the meal, they said the table blessing together, and sang Psalm 128:

“Blessed are those who fear the Lord,
and walk in His ways;
You shall eat of the fruit of the labor of your hands;
you shall be happy, and it shall be well with you …”

This was a favorite song among the farm folk; the newcomers knew it almost as well at their hosts. Something stirred within Mari. As she mouthed the words, her old voice sounded in her mind with perfect clarity. It longed for release, but Mari could not find the key.

When they began eating, Johan, as was his custom, turned his back to the table, and stayed that way to remove his kerchief and take his meal. This made the new arrivals a bit uncomfortable. The back of his head was disturbing enough in appearance; at the same time, Poul and Nels especially were curious about his face. With his back still turned, Johan said, “Another day I will let you see me, but for one time only. First, you must get to know me a little.”

Kari smiled at Johan, and again deftly changed the subject. “You may not know that we are in Ringebu parish here, not Froen. The priest in Ringebu, Father Nygaard, is very sympathetic towards the Brethren. Little Ole told you of the Brethren, didn’t he?”

Both women nodded. This explained how little was known of them in Froen parish.

“There is another trail from here to the wagon road between Ringebu and the saeters (summer pastures) to the south. We can walk all the way to Ringebu church in less than three hours. When there’s snow, the boys can ski it in an hour. We go to mass there, and to a meeting at one of the farms on the way, most every Sunday in good weather. All except Johan, of course. But we have our own meetings here too, and he always takes part. Hans Nilsen himself visited us here once.”

Johan added, still with his back turned, “I don’t agree with everything the Brethren say or do, but I admire them. They are kind, honest, and gentle with everyone, not just their ‘own kind.’ God knows they were kind and generous with all of us after the fire.”

Berit was still curious about the farm’s subalpine location. “How can you grow crops in a mountain meadow like this?”

“To start with, it’s not as high as it seems,” began Johan. “Only a little higher than the river valley. Heat from the sun reflects off the ridges to the south, and the high mountains to the west help slow down the storms. The snow leaves here only a week later than Froen or Ringebu.”

“How many animals do you keep?” asked Berit.

Johan answered, “Three goats, and a few chickens.”

“No horses or cattle?”

“No room. Of course, the boys want a horse, but we haven’t enough farming land to raise the feed, nor for a cow either.” Ole and Torger squirmed a little. It was true that they often nagged their father to buy a horse, but his answer was always the same.

“Then how do you fertilize the soil?” Berit asked. Ole and Torger chuckled. Of all the reasons they had dreamed up for coveting a horse, they had never thought of the manure.

Johan had put on his kerchief and turned toward the table, “That was Uncle Knut’s secret. Pa had a clue, but we didn’t solve it until several years after Knut died.”

Grandfather Ole spoke up, “The hour is too late to start with that story now, son. Let’s save it for another day. Our guests are very tired.”

Johan corrected him, “Pa, these are more than guests. From today we live as one family. Berit, you will stay on for a while too, won’t you?”

Berit blushed, “Thank you kindly, Cousin, but several of my girls are going to need me very soon. This month there will be three birthings at Skurdal; I must go there tomorrow.”

Mari interrupted with a gesture, and looked at Johan, “ Y … you … know … me?” she stammered.

“In a way,” answered Johan. “I know your hands … and your heart. When I was ten years old, you saved my mother’s life, and that of my baby brother. Ma told me of it many times. It was a breach birth … you brought him out alive, stopped the bleeding afterwards, and nursed the both of them back from the grasp of death.”

Mari smiled. “Ja,” she nodded, “ja.”

The four boys brought in fresh straw to make up beds for the night: one near the stove for the five pilgrims, the others in their regular places. Before retiring, Kari read a bible verse aloud, and they all sang another hymn. Mari, as before, mouthed the words diligently, but couldn’t quite sing.

That night, Mari’s dreams were filled with music. There were no words, as with all of her dreams these days, but there was beautiful singing all the same, along with the sight and sound of instruments she had never heard of, let alone heard or seen herself. She also dreamed again of Knut Flaate, and his silence, and his secret.