Anna Hansdatter: Hunger In the Dale

Chapter 12

After her meeting with Berit, Anna’s life became more tolerable. The dreams continued, as Berit said they would, but gradually became less frightening. She felt less guilty about taking pleasure from her sexual fantasies, but still was sometimes embarrassed or apprehensive. Once again, Anna made sure never to be alone at any time she may encounter Nels. As much as she desired him, she could not risk bearing a child out of wedlock. She knew girls who had done so. Even if they married later, the shame and stigma followed them and their children for life.

Nels continued to help at Skurdalshougen on his days off. By the time the harvest was in, the old couple had enough potatoes for themselves, and fodder for their goats, to see them through the winter. With their rations of cheese and grain, they should have plenty. They even had a chicken to kill for Christmas. Half a chicken, actually. They had agreed to share it with another elderly couple, in exchange for a share of their grain rations to feed it.

Winter came early; the snow was knee-deep by late November, and grew deeper by the week. At Christmastime, the snow was above the windows; by the beginning of Lent, drifts reached the rooftops. Stores of fuel and fodder were running low.

Suddenly, in late March, the weather changed. For days upon days, a warm wind blew from the south, bringing a mix of sunny days and torrential rainstorms. As the snow quickly melted, the rivers rose. Trickling streams became freshets, brooklets became torrents, and the rapids at Vinstra became a raging waterfall. On the Sunday of the Palms began four more, consecutive days of drenching rain.

On Good Friday, Anna and her parents were attending service at Sødorp when Johannes, owner of the Lower Skurdal farm, arrived at a gallop. He leapt from the saddle and ran into the church, panting.

The officiating monk could see that he was terrified. He interrupted the service. “What is it, Brother Skurdal?”

“Come quickly,” he gasped, “The river is rising. We must save the livestock, and some of the food stores if we can. The whole farm is going under! I’m going after a wagon from South farm.”

The monk said a brief prayer to conclude the service. All the parishioners who lived in low-lying areas ran for their own homes, while the rest headed toward Lower Skurdal. “Ma, Pa,” said Anna, “I have to go to Berit’s house. It is so close to a stream. She needs my help!”

“All right,” said Hans. “I’ll walk your mother home, then come down there to help too.”

Anna followed the handful of people hurrying down the road until they came to the path leading to Berit’s hut, where she turned away and ran down the path alone. The stream was almost up to the path, and flowing very swiftly. When she came to the footbridge leading west, she found it broken in half, dangling in the current, still fastened do the bank at each end. Fortunately, Anna was already on the correct side of the stream.

When she rounded the last bend, she gasped. Only the roof of Berit’s hut was visible above the surface of the muddy water. Beyond the hut, Berit herself was waist-deep, far out in the swift current. She held a rope fastened to the shore, and was struggling to reach a goat stranded on a tiny and quickly shrinking island. “Berit! Berit!” shouted Anna, but her friend could not hear her. She ran along the water’s edge.

Just then a floating log struck Berit’s roof, dislodging it from the walls. It made groaning sound. Anna looked on in horror, shouting in vain to Berit as the roof, in painfully slow motion, drifted, sinking, into Berit’s safety rope, dragging her beneath the angry waves. Next fell the tree that held the rope, and the whole aggregation began moving slowly downstream. The goat, with water now at its feet, bleated forlornly, but could not be heard above the maelstrom.

Anna ran along the bank, screaming for help. She waded into the water, but it was far too swift, and she could not swim. Back on the bank, she ran downstream looking for any sign of Berit. There was none. Anna hesitated. She wanted to run back to the road for help, but how could she leave her friend like this? After staring at the muddy water for a long moment, fighting back tears, struggling for a decision, she finally ran up the path. It was now under water in several places, forcing her to scramble up the steep bank. She reached the road just in time to see the empty hay-cart disappearing in the direction of the farm compound. She ran after it, shouting, but it did not slow, and she could not catch it.

= = =

Johannes Skurdal pounded on his brother’s door. “Peder, are you there?” he shouted.

Syne opened the door. “Johannes, you are white as the snow! What is it?”

“My farm is washing away! I need your wagon, and quickly. Where is my brother?”

“At the smithy.”

Johannes ran to the forging shed, where Peder was fashioning a horseshoe. “The river is rising fast. I am liable to lose everything. Can I use your wagon?”

“Of course.” Peder put down his work. They both ran to the stables. “Nels! Evan!” Peder called. “There is a flood at Lower farm. Hitch up the big wagon with all four mares.” Peder thought quickly. “Throw in some ropes. As soon as it is ready, Nels, take it down to Lower. Then, Evan, you hitch the stud team to the hay-cart and bring it too.” The men set into action.

“A thousand thanks, Brother,” said Johannes.

“I will saddle my horse and go back with you now. We can have a plan ready when the wagons get there.”

Nels and Evan harnessed the first team. As Nels pulled out of the compound, Hans Davidsen was just returning from his hut. Nels stopped the wagon to let him climb in. “How is your back?” Nels asked him.

“Damn the back,” Hans replied. “There are people in trouble. Anna is down there now. I need to find her.”

Nels could see that the old man was in a considerable pain. “Are you sure you can do this?”

“Yes. I must.” Nels helped him into the wagon.

Nels tried breaking the team into a trot. The road was too muddy; the best they could manage was a fast walk. When they reached the path to Berit’s hut, Hans said, “Anna went to Berit’s. Let me out here.”

“We had better check at the compound first,” replied Nels. It is just as close from there to Berit’s, and we can drive the wagon that way if we need to.

At Lower Skurdal, the scene was chaotic. Water had already reached the two largest haystacks, and was getting dangerously close to the granary. Men were carrying sacks of grain to the dwelling-house, which was situated on the highest ground. Peder Skurdal was alone in the house, overseeing the moving of food and fodder. Johannes, the owner of the farm, was in the fields with most of his servants, rescuing his livestock.

“Nels!” shouted Peder Skurdal from the dwelling-house door. “First go straight to the granary. There is some loose wheat to load there.”

Hans Davidsen jumped down from the wagon, wincing in pain as he hit the ground. “Have you seen Anna?” He asked.

“No. Did she come here?”

“Ja, an hour ago. She was looking for Berit.”

“I have not seen Berit either … uh-oh,” said Skurdal, looking down the road toward Berit’s. The road was under water.

“She is down there! I will find her!” yelled Hans, and started that way.

“Hans, No!” Skurdal shouted. “The water is still rising. You will get trapped out there.” Hans did not look back.

Peder Skurdal turned back to the wagon. “To the granary, Nels, quickly,” he said, in a commanding voice.

Nels looked down the road. He wanted to go to Anna, and Berit. On foot, Hans was able to skirt the water’s edge, parallel to the road. A wagon would never make it. Even a saddle-horse would have trouble. Going on foot, his foot, was out of the question. “Yes, sir,” Nels said, and headed for the granary.

When he arrived, the usual wagon route was blocked by water at the building’s main entrance. Water was already at the windows of the mill-house, and the power wheel was gone. To position the wagon, Nels had to drive to the far side, all the way to the water’s edge, then back up the team and wagon to the back door. The horses were nervous. “It’s all right, boys, back up, now, back, back.” Nels tried to reassure them, but he was frightened, too. Finally the wagon was in position. Nels waited in the driver’s seat as the miller and his apprentice began loading the wheat.

Evan arrived with the hay-cart. It had a large flimsy bed with high cane sides, for carrying the bulky fodder. “Down to the haystacks!” shouted Peder. Evan could only reach the first stack, where two men were waiting. He jumped down to help them load the cart.

The wagon only held about a third of the hay. The base of the stack was now in the water, which rose faster than ever. In it, stalks of grass drifted away in increasing numbers. Suddenly, the haystack collapsed on top of them. The water soaking the base of the stack, plus the gap the men had taken away to load the cart, caused it to fall. The wagon overturned, and even the horses and men were showered with loose hay. The three men emerged from the hay, sputtering. The horses whinnied, shaking off the hay, tugging of their own accord, but they were unable to move the overturned cart under the weight of the haystack. The water continued to rise. “Easy, boys,” Evan cooed. “Easy, now, Ho! Ho!”

The team was frightened. They stopped pulling, but pawed the water and whinnied. “Easy, easy,” Evan said again, approaching them slowly. He edged around behind them to unhitch the cart. The hitch was under water. He groped to find it, cursing under his breath.

The two hired men made it to safety. “What can we do?” shouted one of them.

“Get Nels Poulsen!” Evan shouted back.

The shout spooked one of the horses, who kicked Evan on the shoulder. Slowed by the water, the kick was not as hard as it might have been. Still, it stunned the teamster and knocked his breath from him. He backed away, gasping.

The men saw that Evan was still standing, and ran to the granary. “Nels Poulsen, come quickly. There has been an accident.” They described the scene. “The horses are stranded, they are spooked, the driver is hurt.”

“All right, all right, help me down.” Nels climbed down from the wagon and unhitched it from the horses, leaving their yoke and harness on them. “Keep loading,” he said to the men in the granary. “We’ll be right back.” Then, to one of the men who had come to fetch him, “Bring that rope. Let’s go.”

Nels set out leading the horses, but was dissatisfied with his own slow pace. “Help me up,” he said to one of the men, and with help mounted the left lead horse. The horse was surprised, but Nels quickly calmed her. “All right, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I am not so heavy.” He shook the reigns and clicked his tongue. The four-horse team took up a quick walk.

When they reached the haystack, water was up to the horses’ haunches. Evan was again groping unsuccessfully at the wagon hitch. It was now a full arm’s length under water.

The team had been fairly quiet, although with a desperate look in their eyes. That all changed when they saw their stable-mates up on dry land. They whinnied loudly, tugging again at their load, to no effect.

“Hei, Evan!” shouted Nels. His own team became very nervous when they saw the other horses. He managed to get them turned around, heading away from the danger, and not looking at the others.

This time, Evan waded away from the horses before replying. “I can’t get it unhooked!” he shouted with a colossal shrug.

“Forget that,” Nels replied, “Come get a rope!” He tied one end to the rear of his team’s harness.

Evan waded to the shore. Looking at the rope, he said, “That is not long enough to reach down there. It will barely reach the water’s edge.”

“Don’t worry. I will get this team close enough.”

“Well you might. But my team is deathly scared. I cannot get near them.”

“Yes you can. Just talk nice to them.”

“Talk nice? They are facing death by water, hell, so are we. And I should ‘talk nice?’ Leave the horses, I say, leave the cart, get out of here and save ourselves, at least, I say!”

“I am as scared as you are. But we need those horses. Just take this rope and tie it hard to the front yoke.”

As Evan waded back in, Nels coaxed his team backwards, no small feat in their frightened condition. But when Evan neared the stranded horses, they reared up and pawed wildly. He backed off, shouting, “Whoa!, Whoa, boys!” When they calmed slightly, he approached them again, and again they panicked. He turned toward shore and shouted, “No use!”

“All right, come back.” Nels backed the team a bit further, then handed the reins to one of the field hands. To the other, he said, “Daniel, isn’t it?”

“Ja.”

Nels put down his walking stick. “Hold on to me, Daniel. You know my bad leg. Keep one hand on the rope and the other on me.”

“All right.”

As Evan waded toward shore, Nels and Daniel met him in the water. “Take my team when you get up there,” Nels said. “I’ll get this tied on.”

“Good luck,” said Evan skeptically.

= = =

Peder Skurdal caught sight of Anna as she ran up to the dwelling-house. She stumbled up the steps, nearly fell, catching herself at the door frame, panting.

“Anna!” cried Skurdal. “What is it? What happened?”

Anna heard him, but could not respond. She was gasping for breath and nearly fainted Skurdal caught her and helped her inside to the bench. Her clothes were soaked. She shivered as Skurdal wrapped a blanket around her. With the first breath she could manage, she whispered hoarsely, “Berit … help … Berit …”

“Anna, look at me. Calm down. Take your time.” She began to catch her breath. “Anna, what happened?”

She gestured toward the door. “Berit …” she panted.

“What about Berit? We must know before we can know what to do. What happened to Berit?”

Between gasps, Anna whispered, “Help … Berit … gone … under …”

“Dear God,” said Peder Skurdal. “Anna, if she’s gone under, there’s nothing to do for her now. We must save the people who are left, and the livestock, and the food we need to survive. What we can save, we must. We cannot save Berit, child.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “I am sorry. What about your father?”

Anna had caught almost enough breath to weep, but now gasped again. “Pa? Was he here?”

“He went to Berit’s to find you.”

“Oh, God!” She got up and started for the door.

Skurdal intercepted her.“No, Anna. Stay here,” he said sternly, leading her back to the bench. “The water is too deep. Stay here and wait.”

“Yes, sir,” said Anna, intending to do no such thing.

The miller appeared at the door. “Well?” Peder said. “Is the wagon loaded?”

“Yes, sir,” he replied. “But there is no team.”

“What?”

“Some field hands said another rig was in trouble. Your man unhitched the horses and they all left. I came as fast as I could.”

“Damn,” said Peder. “That is my rig too. And my other driver.” He shouted out the door to the stable-boy, “Saddle my horse!” He turned to Anna. “Anna, you must stay here. Don’t do anything foolish. I have to help Nels and Evan.”

“Yes, sir,” Anna lied again. No sooner was he out of sight than Anna was at the water’s edge along Berit’s road. It was deeper now. Hans’ footprints disappeared ominously beneath the surface. She looked back along the way Skurdal had gone, where she knew Nels was also in danger, hesitated a moment, then set out, the blanket still wrapped around her, to find her father.

“Stop!” cried the stable-boy. “You will never make it. You will get trapped out there and drown.” Anna did not stop.

Skirting the water’s edge was harder now, and when she reached the area where Berit had been lost, Anna could not recognize it. Everything was either under water or washed away. “Pa!” she called, “Papa!” There was no reply. The path to the high road was now submerged. Anna followed the water’s edge a little further. It came to a point, then circled back, forcing the realization that she was on a small peninsula. “Pa! Pa!” she cried again. There was a groaning in the bushes above her. “Papa!” she ran to him.

= = =

Nels slowly limped into the water, with Daniel helping from behind. The stranded horses whinnied and fidgeted. “Ho! Easy, boys, good boys!” Nels turned to his companion. “Daniel, just look straight at me. Do not look at the horses, and don’t speak.” His companion nodded.

Looking back at the horses, he said softly, in his friendliest voice, “Good boys. Good, now, I will get you out of here. Easy, easy.” He inched toward them. With their eyes fixed on his, the team continued to fidget, but did not panic. “Good, good. Easy, easy, whoa now.” Never taking his eyes off theirs, Nels held the rope under the water, as he reached for the yoke between the horses’ shoulders. Ever so slowly, sweet-talking all the while, he worked the rope around the yoke and tied it securely. “Good boys, good boys,” he repeated over and over as the men backed along the rope toward shore.

Once at a safe distance from the horses, Nels turned around and shouted, “Now, Evan! Ahead easy!” As the rope tightened, he turned back to the stranded team. “All right, boys, time to go home. Hey! Hey!” The team began to pull. At first there was no movement. The rope grew very tight. “Hey! Hey! Hey!” Louder and louder Nels shouted, the echoes mixing with each other and with those of Evan from on shore. Both teams pulled harder; soon they began to move. “Ja, Ja! Hey! Hey!” the drivers shouted. The overturned wagon pulled free of the haystack, and was soon dragged to shore.

Peder Skurdal rode up just as the four men were struggling to right the hay-cart. With his help, they were able to turn it over. It was damaged, but still could roll. “Nels, get back to the granary with your team, quickly.”

“What about Anna?” Nels asked.

“No word yet,” Skurdal lied. “Her pa is still looking for her. As soon as we get the food moved, I will send men after them. Evan, take these men to the stabur* and load what you can. There is already some water in the cellar. What you can get in the cart, bring to the dwelling-house. The men can move the rest upstairs.”

*stabur: a two-story structure, usually with food storage on the ground level, and living quarters above.

With help from the servants, Nels mounted one of his draft horses to drive the team back to the granary, but his thoughts were with Anna and her father. He had to back the team into knee-deep water to hitch the wagon. When he had safely pulled it to the dwelling-house, he called out, “Mister Skurdal, what of Anna and Hans?”

Skurdal came outside. “Anna was here,” he said, not admitting he had seen her himself. “The stable-boy saw her heading toward Berit’s. It was after I came to help you and Evan.”

“I am going after them,” Nels said. “Can I borrow a saddle for Princess here?”

“Nels, I can not spare you right now.”

“Look, the grain is safe. There is no one to unload the wagon. Please.”

“All right. Get a saddle at the stable.”

Nels unhitched the team and led them to the stable. The stable-boy helped him saddle and mount the draft mare. By following the ridge line, Nels was able to ride to the bend in the river. Once there, his heart sank. The way to Berit’s hut was completely cut off by water. The river had pushed through a side channel, creating a little island quite far from shore. He knew the workhorse under him could not wade or swim to it.

= = =

Hans Davidsen was lying face-up, his face pale and contorted with pain, fists clenched, arms clutching his chest, when his daughter found him. He groaned again, and muttered “Anna …”

“Dear Papa, what is it? Is it your back?”

“No,” he whispered. “My heart. I am dying.”

“No, Papa, no! You cannot die now, not like this. Oh, God, no! Do not let him die by water!”

“I am glad to see you, Anna. My heart feels …” Another bout of pain seized him. When he regained his breath, he said, “Now, say goodbye, and go back while you can.”

Choking back a sob, she said, “No, Pa! I am not leaving you, and you are not going to die, either!”

“It is you who will die by water, when it reaches us. I will be dead before then.” He closed his eyes and went silent, except for an occasional groan, still clutching his chest. His breathing was rapid and shallow.

“No, Papa! Wake up, wake up!” He did not awake, but continued breathing, and moaning. Anna took the blanket from around herself, laying it over her father. Still the water rose. In an hour the land bridge disappeared, and they were on a small island, only a few feet above the flood. The rising water slowed somewhat as twilight began to fall. Every few minutes, Anna stood up and looked around, shouting in all directions. Hans continued to moan. The mainland looked so far away, part of some other farm, she thought. The Lower Skurdal compound was around a bend in the river; Anna could not see whether any of it was still above water. No one answered her shouts.

Before the long twilight ended, the river had almost stopped rising. In the distance Anna heard a voice calling, “Hallo! Anyone over there?”

Anna jumped up. “Ja, Ja!” she shouted, looking around in the direction of the sound. She could make out a small boat headed toward them, one man rowing furiously against the current while another stood in the bow with a lantern. “Over here! Over here! My Pa is hurt!”

“All right, we are coming,” said the man in the bow. When they landed, Anna saw it was the sheriff of the parish. “Hmm. Anna Hansdatter, Ja?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Skurdal-seie?” To the farm name, he added the suffix denoting peasant status.

“Skurdalshaugen, sir.”

“Whatever. Another lousy huusman. Where is your father?”

Anna led the men to her father, only a few steps away, still semi-conscious and clutching himself. He moaned.

“By God, he is nearly dead already!” said the sheriff. “Well, come on, let’s get him in the boat.” Cursing and muttering under their breath, the two men carried Hans to the boat and laid him on the floorboard.

“Be careful,” Anna said.

“What for? He will be dead before we get to shore.”

Anna said nothing, climbed into the boat, and sat on the floorboard with her father, cradling his head in her lap. “Don’t listen to them,” she said, stroking his face. “You will live.”

Hans opened his eyes slightly, only for a moment. Anna thought she even saw a little smile.

When the boat reached the Lower Skurdal compound, only the dwelling-house was on dry land. The river had crested and was beginning to recede. In the light of the sheriff’s lantern, Anna could make out the second story of the stabur, and the rooftops of a few other buildings. The oarsman rowed right to the front steps, where Nels was waiting anxiously with Johannes Skurdal.

Nels spied Anna in the boat. “Anna, are you all right?” he called. “Where is your Pa?”

“He is here, but he is badly hurt.” she replied.

“You mean he is still alive?” said the sheriff. “I never thought he would make it this far.”

They carried Hans into the house, where a warm fire was burning, and laid him on a bench near the hearth. No one else was there. Johannes’ wife, their children, and all the servants, had dispersed to the other Skurdal farms for the night. The house was full, though, with sacks of grain, potatoes and other foodstuffs saved from the cellar of the stabur.

After a few moments, Hans opened his eyes. “Anna …” he groaned. He tried weakly to sit up, but could not raise himself at all.

“Pa! Oh, Pa!” cried Anna. She put her arms around him. “I knew you would live!”

His breathing was still shallow and labored, but the intense pain had subsided. He spoke haltingly, with great effort, “Anna, dear Anna, you risked your life for me. I am forever grateful. But my life is nearly gone. My heart …” He coughed and struggled for breath.

“Shhh, Papa, rest now. You are safe; it is warm here.”

“Where is your Ma?”

“She is at home,” Anna replied.

Nels interjected, “We will go there at first light. It is all planned; Peder is going to store Johannes’ grain for him at South farm.”

“Good. But if I die before then, tell Ingeborg I love her.”

“Shhh, Pa, you are not going to die.”

“Dear Anna, we all die, sooner or later. For me, it will be soon. Very soon.” He drifted into a fitful sleep.

They carried Hans to the children’s bed, where Anna slept beside him. Johannes and Nels shared the parents’ bed. A few hours later, at the morning twilight, Nels hitched up the wagon, still loaded with grain, before waking the others. With great effort, Hans was able to sit up. Anna, Johannes, and Nels all helped him to the wagon and hoisted him in, where he lay, exhausted, on top of the grain.

Anna sat in front beside Nels as they drove away. Tears filled her eyes as she gazed on the devastation. The river had dropped a foot or two, but most of the buildings were still submerged, along with all the fields and pastures. When she thought of all she had lost; her dear friend Berit only the day before, her little brother years earlier, and now her father’s life hanging by a thread, she began to sob. Nels put his arm around her, but did not speak until the flood was out of view.

“Can you and your mother care for him? You may continue to hold your hope, but he really does seem to be dying.”

“Do not speak of dying right now. My mother? She cannot remember where she is or what she is doing half the time. There is no telling what seeing Pa like this will do to her. I will be taking care of both of them. And I cannot leave the dairy now, it is cheese making time, plus we need the extra rations I earn there.”

“Rations indeed,” grumbled Nels. Secretly, he hated the entire system that so unfairly favored the land-owners. Moreover, he hated the Skurdal brothers as symbols of that unjust system, even though Peder himself was a basically kind man. Then, regaining his composure, “I will talk with the boss.”

“Oh, Nels, what if he does give us the rations anyway, I cannot manage alone with Pa, and Ma too.”

“It will be all right,” said Nels. He had a plan in mind, but it was not yet time to reveal it.

The wagon arrived at South Skurdal just as people were awakening. Refugees from Lower farm were crowded into the servants’ quarters. Nels recruited two men to come along and help Hans down from the wagon at his hut. Once the old man was on the ground, it took all of his strength to walk inside, with the two men holding him upright. They took him to the bed, where he lay down immediately, sweating and breathing hard.

Ingeborg stood at the door, a quizzical look on her face. She did not seem to recognize her husband, but reached out to her daughter without speaking. Anne embraced her, saying, “Oh, Ma, Ma, we are alive, but Pa … his heart …”

“Never mind, dear,” said Ingeborg, “You are my baby, I will take care of you. Your Pa will, too. He is in the fields today. No one can work like my Hans.”

Anna and Nels exchanged glances. “I will be back as soon as I put this rig away,” said Nels. “We can talk then.” He clucked at the horses and drove off.

“Anna …” Hans whispered from the bed.

Anna rushed to his side. “Ja, what is it, Pa?”

He spoke slowly, with great effort. Anna had to lean close to understand him. “You must marry Nels …”

“Of course, Pa, I will marry him as soon as I am old enough.”

“You are old enough. As soon as I am gone, very soon. Your Ma needs him. Our little place needs him.”

“But Pa, I must be eighteen years old before …”

“Shhh,” hushed her father. “Trust Nels. He will know what to do.”

By the time Nels returned, Hans was sleeping fitfully. Ingeborg was sitting silently by his side, staring into space, still uncomprehending. Anna served tea.

After a few minutes, Nels said “Can we talk outside?” He and Anna stepped into the cool morning air. There were birds singing. The sun had risen. The buds on the trees were swollen, about to burst open. It was hard to believe that a devastating flood was raging only a few kilometers away.

“Anna,” Nels said, “do you want to marry me?”

“Nels, I am only sixteen. We can not be married, or even engaged, for almost two more years.”

“Are you sure? In what year were you born?”

“Well, I don’t know, but it was in the fall. Mother always remembered my birthday on the Sunday when the plums were ripe and falling from our tree. Every year she would carve a small notch in bark for me, and for my sister and brother at their birth-time. I learned to count by those notches.”

“What happened to the plum tree?”

“It died years ago.”

“How many years?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

“The point is, Anna, that the priest’s house burned down a few years after you were born. All the church records were destroyed. I checked up on it. There is no proof of your age anywhere. You yourself cannot say what year you were born.”

Anna struggled for a long time, counting on her fingers, trying to count backwards. She had forgotten what little elementary arithmetic was taught in confirmation class. “Well, eighteen hundred and one, I think, or eighteen hundred.”

“I think it was seventeen-hundred ninety-eight,” said Nels.

“So what if it was?”

“That would make you eighteen.”

“Nels, I am not … well, I … maybe … where did you learn to figure like that? No, it will not work. Remember I told you Amund Skurdal was born the day before I was. Mister Skurdal will know the truth.”

“Damn,” Nels muttered. “Still, maybe he will not say anything. It is a way to give your parents some care, and to plant the potatoes. Skurdal cannot afford to let the patch go fallow. If we are engaged, I could live here and take care of your mother … uh, I mean your parents, and tend the plot, while you stay on at the dairy. He will have to let you come home when I am driving. But I am asking you, Anna. What do you want?”

“Nels, I … I …” Her mind was racing. Why did things always happen so fast? And what choice did she have anyway? Their lives for the past two years had sealed their destiny to marry, regardless that no promise had been made. But she had envisioned it it only in the distant future. A rush of desire and guilt, happiness and foreboding nearly overwhelmed her. Finally, in a shaky but determined voice, she said, “Ja, Nels. I want to marry you.” She threw her arms around him, and they kissed long and passionately.

Ingeborg came outside. “Mister …” she muttered. “Mister … Skurdal …” She began to wander down the road.

Anna ran to her mother, taking her hand. “Wait, Ma, come back.” She gently pulled her hand to guide her back toward the hut. “What is it, Ma?”

“Mister …” she said again.

They all entered the hut. To their surprise, Ingeborg had added extra straw and a blanket beneath her husband, raising him to a partially sitting position. He was awake, but struggled for breath, especially when he tried to speak.

“Anna …”

She sat down beside him “Ja, ja.”

“I … want … Mister … to talk to him … now.”

“I will fetch him,” said Nels.

When Nels arrived at the compound, Peder Skurdal was at the forge, working with the blacksmith to repair the damaged hay-cart. He chafed at the interruption of his work, but knew he could not refuse. “All right,” he said. “You go on back. I will saddle my horse and catch up with you before you get there.”

Skurdal thought the situation over. He had pledged to help his brother at Lower Skurdal as much as possible. The full extent of the flood damage would not be known until the waters receded. He anticipated some kind of death-bed request from Hans, but was in no position to make any firm commitments. On the short ride to Skurdalshaugen, he weighed the options. When he caught up with Nels, he explained his predicament.

“You know, Nels, at least three people died at Lower farm yesterday, maybe more. There will be little or no crops to feed those who survived. Some of the livestock was lost, maybe half. Their fodder is gone, too. It will be a very difficult year for all of us.”

“I know,” Nels said, “but what is your point?”

“I am afraid Hans will ask for more than I can promise, at least until we know the damage at Lower. I will try to reassure him, and I will do the best I can for Ingeborg and Anna, that much I promise. But I cannot be more specific right now.”

Nels silently nodded his understanding.

When they entered the hut, Hans was noticeably weaker. Ingeborg sat beside him, silent and attentive. Anna was visibly distressed. “Hello, Hans,” said Peder, approaching the bed.

Hans opened his eyes and mumbled a greeting. It was difficult to understand him. “Anna … will marry … Nels.”

Peder Skurdal was mildly surprised. He knew that Anna was too young to marry, according to well-established custom. He looked at Nels, then at Anna, who both looked back with little expression. “Anna, you are not …” Skurdal caught himself. “How old are you?”

“I am not sure, sir,” she said. It was not totally untrue, since her discussion with Nels had shaken her certainty, and in those days, most people did not keep close track of their age.

“Hmm.” Skurdal thought it over. He remembered that all the church records had been burned. There had been two new priests since Anna was born, and the parish had added a clerk only after the Swedish union two years ago. “You must be eighteen to be engaged or married. Are you eighteen?”

“I … I think so,” said Anna, stretching the truth a little further.

Skurdal let it pass. “And is it your wish to be married?”

“Yes, sir,” said Anna and Nels in unison.

The farmer made his decision. “Then I will not stand in your way. But as I told Nels, we are in for a very difficult season, after the flood at Lower farm. I will honor the occasion somehow, but I cannot afford a huge engagement party. And, there will be land for you when you can marry, but it may not be this same place.”

Nels drew in his breath. He wanted to object to the last stipulation, but thought better of it. At the same time, he was grateful that no issue was made of Anna’s age. “Thank you,” he said.

“Thank you, sir,” agreed Anna.

Before the sun went down, Hans Davidsen was dead. The next day, Easter Sunday, had little of its usual celebratory atmosphere. A hearty meal was prepared for the refugees, but grief and apprehension owned the day.