Anna Hansdatter: Hunger In the Dale

Chapter 14
A month later, a wedding date was set.  As there had been no menstrual period, it seemed that Anna was indeed with child. She retained her painful ambivalence toward making love with Nels. Now that she had actually experienced it, she desired it more than ever. Yet she was always conflicted by feelings of guilt and sinfulness. Nagging her constantly was her terrible secret, and doubt over whose child it was she was carrying.
At times she would welcome Nels’ advances, only to shrink away and bolt at the height of their passion. On other occasions she would avoid him altogether. Only two or three times did she fully abandon herself to him. Each time, her pleasure was greater than the last, but each time, she was overcome with regret afterwards.
For his part, Nels was delighted when Anna told him of the child.  “The first of many,” he said , “It must be God’s will we get started.”
At the thought of motherhood, Anna by her nature felt a sense of pride and purpose. At the same time, she wondered how they would feed their ‘many children.’ But guilt over the matter of Amund’s assault, and the uncertainty who was the father, ultimately trumped any other thoughts.
About the same time, Peder Skurdal began teaching his son to shoot. They took Peder’s musket to the far meadow on several occasions, where Amund learned to load, aim, and fire it. Loading was most difficult; first, a carefully measured charge of black powder was poured down the barrel. Then the wadding and the ball were driven in with a ramrod. To fire the gun, a steel hammer struck a flint near the chamber, igniting the powder to expel the lead shot. Amund turned out to be a decent marksman; he was soon able to hit a target the size of a stag quite consistently from a hundred paces away.
= = =
A week before the wedding day, while Peder Skurdal was away on business, Amund came to the stables in the early morning, carrying his fathers rifle. Nels, at the workbench mending harness, eyed him darkly. “Yes?”
“Hello, Nels. I am going hunting.” He leaned the gun against the wall.
Nels drew in his breath, and called to the stable-boy, who was pitching hay, “Kris! Come saddle Mister Amund’s horse.”
“Not my horse, the old plug,” Amund said. “I want a quick horse, a jumper. Which one is the best jumper?”
Nels’ expression changed. “Well, now … that would be Prince … but he is awfully high-strung.” He smiled tauntingly, “I don’t think you could handle him on a hunt.”
“What? If my little sister can ride Prince, then by God, so can I. I have seen her jump with him. I want Prince.”
“Wait a moment, Kris,” said Nels, as the servant boy came into the tack-room. “Mister Amund wants to ride Prince. Saddle him instead.”
Kris looked incredulously at Nels, at the musket, then at Amund. “Prince!” he exclaimed. “Prince has never gone hunting. Have you even ridden him?”
“I am heir to this farm,” Amund bristled. “I will not be bossed about by a stable-muck and a crippled ox-driver.”
“As you wish, sir,” said Nels. “But as God is our witness, we both warned against it. Go ahead, Kris, saddle him up.”
Kris protested, “But Mister Amund, he will kill you!”
Amund retorted, “Listen, muck: Saddle that horse or I will give you a thumping you will not soon forget!”
He rode to the far meadow, where he had taken his training. He dismounted, loaded the rifle, mounted again, and continued on his way. The horse was not much trouble. Cool autumn fog gave the forest a dreamlike aura. Another half-mile, and they came upon a fine stag, with a large body and magnificent antlers. It began to run. With no time to dismount, Amund raised the musket, drew aim, and fired. The stag bounded away, unharmed.
But the loud report spooked the horse. He reared up, pawing the air and whinnying. Amund dropped the rifle, grasping the saddle just in time to avoid being thrown. They bolted down the trail at full gallop. Amund hung on for dear life, shouting “Whoa! Whoa!” The reins had fallen out of reach; the horse only ran faster. “Whoa! Whoa!” he repeated, to no avail. A low-hanging branch slammed into the boy, sweeping him from the saddle, throwing him backwards to the ground. As he landed, he saw a thousand stars explode into a blinding white light. In another instant, all went black.
= = =
When Amund awoke, the only sound to be heard was the scolding of a crow. The boy blinked. A cool breeze rustled in the leaves above him as the fog drifted by in ragged puffs. His first thought was of the stillness and beauty. Gradually, vaguely, he remembered falling from the horse. He also recalled the ancient superstition, that a lone crow is an omen of death. But he felt no pain. He took stock of himself, and could feel nothing at all.
He tried to get up, but there was nothing there. It was as if he were conscious, but had no body. There were no arms, no legs, nothing but the leaves above him, and the bird’s harsh chatter.
Amund blinked again. Yes, at least his eyelids were there. But the rest of his body? He could not tell if it existed. He tried to shout, and a weak gurgling sound came from his throat. Tried a second time, and there was nothing. Terrified, he tried again to move, with no results whatever. He could not even turn his head.
It seemed as if time itself stood still as he lay, staring into the trees. He could see the crow, hopping from one branch to another, still cawing fiercely. Fog drifted by, hiding the bird for a moment. His face felt cold. Tears trickled across his temples into his hair. But aside from his face, there was no sensation of any kind. The bird flew off, and all was silent.
He lay there for an hour or two, drifting in and out of consciousness.  To Amund, it seemed a lifetime. When he would awake, only for a minute or so, it was as if a full day went by. Each time he drifted off, it seemed like a full night’s sleep.
At length the crow returned, cawing louder than ever. Another moment, and Amund heard footsteps approaching. The boy made one more attempt to shout; this time he managed a soft but clear, “Help!” The bird gave a final squawk as it flew away.
“What, then?” said a kindly man’s voice. In a moment, a robed figure appeared in Amund’s sight. “My soul,” said the man, “it is young Skurdal!” Seeing the boy’s head at an odd angle, his unmoving body, and the look of panic in his eyes, and recalling that the scolding of a crow had led him to the spot, he exclaimed, “Dear God, have mercy!” making the sign of the cross over him. “Can you speak?”
“Uhh … Fa … ther …” stammered the confused boy.
“No, no, only a poor beggar monk, but of course you do not remember me! I am Brother Isaak, traveling to Nidaros for my third pilgrimage. I was your humble guest five long years ago.”
Nidaros: Cathedral in the city of Trondheim. It is the shrine of the “saint-king,” Olaf II (995-1030), patron saint of Norway, and has remained one of northern Europe’s most popular pilgrimage destinations.
“Father … “ Amund persisted, “I have sinned …”
“I am only a brother, sir. I am normally not allowed to hear confession, but today will be the exception.” He sat down near the boy’s head, crossed himself, and said, “Tell me, my brother.”
Amund had second thoughts. “Oh … No …  I …”
“Listen to me, young brother. Do you feel like you are dying?”
The panic came back into his eyes. His only uncertainty was whether he was dying, or already dead.
“I fear it is true,” said the monk. “If you have sins to confess, there is little time.”
Amund paused. “Anna …”
“Ja, what about Anna? Go on.”
“I … took … Anna …”
“I understand. Did you take her against her will?”
“Ja.”
“I see. Is there anything else?”
“Anna … I … she … lied …”
“You lied to Anna?”
“No … she … young …” His voice faded. The boy was becoming more and more confused, not least over whose sins were whose.
The monk was hardly less confused. “Ja, you are young, my brother,  but you are righteous to confess your sins. Do you truly repent and are you heartily sorry for your offenses?”
But before Amund could answer, his eyes rolled back and he went unconscious.
Isaak intoned, “God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of His Son has reconciled the world to Himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; Through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” he concluded, crossing the boy and himself.
The monk was faced with a decision:  should he run for help? He dismissed the thought. The boy could die at any moment; Isaak must stay by his side. He began the last rights, taking a scrap of bread from his pocket. After blessing it with a prayer, he broke off a crumb, placing it on Amund’s lips. “The body of Christ,” he recited.
Just then, he heard hoofbeats approaching. Hurriedly, he added, “May the Lord Jesus protect you and lead you to eternal life.”
= = =
Anna was harvesting potatoes when the horse arrived at Skurdalshaugen, reins dangling, saddle empty. “Oh, dear God!” she exclaimed, “It is Julia Skurdal’s horse. Julia has been hurt!” Julia was two years younger than Anna. They did not know each other well, but the governess used to let them play together on Sundays.
“Here, boy. Good boy, come on,” but the animal would not let her approach. It retreated as she advanced, step for step. Anna was not keen on horses. Like most husmenn, her family never had the luxury of owning one, so she had never learned to ride. She had, however, observed Nels’ calm, gentle way of speaking to them. “Come on, boy, good boy, is your name Prince?”
At the sound of his name the horse pricked up his ears. Anna picked up a potato, wiped it clean, and held it out toward him. He showed no interest.  She slipped into the root-cellar and came back with a turnip. Enamored by this menu up-grade, the stallion slowly approached her.
“Well, now! Not hungry enough to eat potatoes, I see. Would that we could all afford to be so particular.” Despite her sarcasm, Anna spoke in sweet, soft tones, and soon caught the horse, at the price of their precious turnip.
Anna led him down the hill, thinking of her childhood occasions with Julia. In the early years, she almost thought of Julia as a little sister, but as time went by she was disabused of such notions. She was seldom invited inside the dwelling-house. Julia’s parents, while kind enough, were aloof and condescending. The class distinction between them disallowed any close friendship. As Julia grew up, she became a product of her class, with proper disdain for her inferiors, and Anna a product of hers, with suspicion and animosity toward those above her.
When Anna arrived at the compound, she was surprised when Julia came running from the dwelling-house door.
“Prince!” she cried. “Oh my God, you’ve thrown him!”
“Thrown him?” said Anna. “I thought it was you!”
“Amund  rode him hunting. The idiots at the stable let him. They should have stopped him. No one but me can ride Prince, he hates anyone else. Even with me, he spooks easily, and he has never heard a gunshot close-up. They knew that and they let him go anyway. I have to find my brother.” She mounted the horse.  “Anna … Oh, God, Anna, if they have let him get hurt, how can I ever forgive them?”
Anna thought of Nels, working at the stable.“Miss Julia,” she reminded her, “it is the servants who must do as the master wishes, not the other way around.”
Julia frowned darkly, turned the horse and galloped off into the fog.
Anna’s thoughts suddenly turned to Amund, and his assault of her just weeks earlier. She could not help hoping that he now felt as much pain as he had inflicted on her. Immediately, she was seized by a wave of guilt, accompanied by a bout of morning-sickness, reminding her of the life within her that was possibly from him. She fell to her knees, retching.
Julia quickly picked up her brother’s trail, and soon spied their father’s musket lying in the forest path. A short way further, she found Amund with the monk, who was still praying and signing crosses over the wounded boy. She leapt from her horse and ran to them.
Amund opened his eyes slightly and whispered, “Julia …”
“Amund! Oh, my dear brother!” Weeping, she knelt, reaching out to embrace him.
Brother Isaak held her back. “Please, Miss Julia, you must not take hold of him nor move him at all.” He whispered into her ear, “His neck is broken. Bend close, kiss him gently, but do not move his head.”
“Oh, no! Oh God, please, no!” She leaned forward and softly kissed his cheek. His eyes were again closed. She sat up and looked at the monk. “Who are you? And how do you know my name?”
“I am Brother Isaak. Your father generously welcomed me five years ago, on my previous pilgrimage. I was on my way to your farm today, when I found your brother here.”
“Why did you not run for help?”
“I must remain with him, lest he die alone. The time is near.”
“Well, I shall not let him lie here to die. I will ride to the farm for help.”
“All right. Bring a wagon with a thick bed of straw, blankets, and three men. If he still lives, he must be moved with the utmost care.”
“Julia …” Amund whispered again.
“Ja, ja, dear brother, what is it?” She leaned close to him.
“Tell … Anna …”
“Anna? What shall I tell Anna?”
“Tell Anna I … I am …” Once again, his eyes rolled back. Julia mounted her horse and raced away, but the boy had breathed his last.
Julia galloped straight to the dwelling-house. As she passed the stables, she shouted, “A wagon, a wagon!”
Syne Skurdal ran to meet her daughter. “Dear Lord, child, what did you find?”
“Amund has broken his neck. He is alive, there is a priest there with him. We must bring the wagon, and three men. Hurry!”
“A priest? How on earth …”
“His name is Brother Isaak. He said you know him,” she said, as they ran to the stables. Evan was already harnessing the team. Julia repeated the instructions from the monk. “A thick bed of straw, blankets, and three men.”
“Yes, miss,” said Evan.
“Where is Nels Poulsen?” asked Syne.
“At Lower farm hauling timbers, Ma’am.”
“Oh … all right,”said Syne, disappointed that her most trusted driver was away. “Kris, fetch another man to help us. Quickly!” The boy ran to the barracks.
“Mother, really!” Julia said. “It was Nels who let Amund go hunting on Prince!”
“Is that true?”
“Ma’am,” said Evan, “Kris swore to me that both he and Nels tried their best to warn him against it. Mister Amund absolutely insisted.”
“We shall see about that later. Hurry up with the harness!”
As the wagon rolled out of the compound at a trot, Syne Skurdal questioned the stable-boy keenly. “Now, Kris, tell me exactly what happened at the stable this morning.”
The servant told her word-for-word what was said, including the epithets Amund had used, “stable-muck,” and “crippled ox-driver,” and “give you a thumping.” Syne was shocked that her son used such language; the family placed great importance on politeness and respect, even toward their servants. She did not quite believe the stable-boy.
By the time the wagon arrived, Amund’s body was cold and stiff. The monk was  kneeling by him, still praying and reciting Psalms. He looked up at the entourage and said sadly, “He is gone, God rest his soul.”
Julia and her mother threw themselves upon the body, weeping bitterly. At length, they got up and embraced each other, but did not stop wailing.
Brother Isaak prayed out loud, “All-powerful and merciful God, we commend to you, Amund, your servant. In your mercy and love, blot out all the sins he has committed through human weakness. In this world he has died: let him live with you for ever.”
The men removed their hats and bowed their heads; the women’s wailing gave way to quiet sobs. The monk continued,
“Into your hands, O Lord
we humbly entrust our brother Amund.
In his life you embraced him with your tender love;
deliver him now from every evil
and bid him enter eternal rest.
“The old order has passed away:
welcome him then into paradise,
where there will be no sorrow, no weeping nor pain,
but the fullness of peace and joy
with your Son and the Holy Spirit
for ever and ever, amen”
“Amen,” repeated the bystanders.
“Ma’am,” said Evan, “shall we put him in the wagon now?” Syne nodded, still sobbing.
They drove to the farm in silence, except for bouts of weeping. There, the body was carried into the dwelling-house, laid on a bed, washed, and dressed in clean clothes. Anna had returned to Skurdalshaugen, but she heard the commotion below when the wagon arrived. She was curious and apprehensive, but resisted the impulse to run to the compound.
A few minutes later, one of the milkmaids came running, shouting, “Mister Amund is dead, Mister Amund is dead!” At that, all the husmenn emerged from their huts and fields, walking toward the compound. Anna went along with them. The servants were lined up at the door, entering in groups of two or three to pay their respects. A few whispers could occasionally be heard, but for the most part, no one spoke. It was another half-hour before Anna’s turn came, along with two other peasants.
Anna entered the room, along with her companions. When she saw Amund’s body, she trembled and blushed. Julia and her mother were sitting beside the bed. The three young peasants paid their brief respects, and began to leave.
“Anna,” said Julia, “stay here a moment. You others, go ahead.” Anna came back to the bedside. Julia continued, “Amund spoke of you in his last moments.”
Anna went pale, trembling harder. Struggling to remain calm, she said nothing, but gave Julia a questioning look.
“He wanted me to tell you something, but he passed out before he could say what it was. That was when I rode to the farm for help. When we got back, he was dead. Do you know what it was he had to tell you?”
Anna shrugged, still trembling. She looked again at the corpse, as if asking the boy to tell her this thing himself. After a moment, she bolted from the room, sobbing, and ran toward her hut, her insides in a tight knot.
= = =
When Nels returned to South Skurdal, he joined the people still waiting at the door to view the body. When his turn came, Syne Skurdal took him aside. “Nels, come here. Let us speak privately for a moment.” They went into a side room. “How is it, Nels, that my son rode to his death on a horse that we all know is nervous and easily spooked?”
“We tried everything to dissuade him, Ma’am,” Nels replied, “and I am sorry for your loss. Both Kris and I warned him of exactly the danger you describe. Mister Amund would have none of it. He steadfastly demanded that very horse, using language I should not repeat in your company.”
“I insist that you tell me exactly what he said.”
“Forgive me, Ma’am; he said he would not take orders from a ’stable-muck’ and a ‘crippled ox-driver.’ And he threatened to beat Kris if he did not obey.”
Shocked once more, but now satisfied that her servants were telling the truth, the mistress put her face in her hands and began weeping again.
= = =
Peder Skurdal arrived home that evening to find his first and only son lying dead, attended by Syne, Julia, and the beggar-monk Isaak. The farmer was beside himself with grief and rage. When he learned the circumstances of the accident, it only made things worse.
“I told him never to take my rifle out, unless I am with him.”
“He stole away without my seeing him,” said Syne. I did not even know he had the rifle, until Julia went to the stables. They told her he had gone hunting, on Prince.”
“The deadliest mistake of all. Who let him take Prince?”
“It was Nels and Kris,” Julia said. “They should be hanged.”
Before Skurdal could reply, Brother Isaak interrupted. “Just a moment. Those are your servants, are they not?”
“Damn right they are,” said Peder, “And if the law will not let me hang them, I will thrash them within an inch of their lives, and drive them from this farm forever. Drive them from the parish, if I can.”
Isaak persisted, “As your servants, are they not bound, in your absence, to obey your first-born son, who has passed his Confirmation?”
“Not to help him commit suicide! They are responsible for his death, and they shall pay.”
“Brother, I do not agree,” said the monk. “Your wife interviewed them, I believe. Afterwards, she spoke no more against them.”
“Syne, what do you say?” asked Peder.
Syne had been sobbing intermittently, but now tried hard to compose herself. She was successful for only a moment. “They both swore that Amund was absolutely demanding. They said he threatened and cursed them when they resisted.”
“Of course they would say that. They would swear anything to save their own skins.”
“But I spoke with them separately. They both told me the exact words he used to berate them. And they were the same words I had heard Amund use before, and forbidden him to repeat, ’stable-muck,’ and ‘cripple.’”
Peder paused. He had heard his son use the words too, and punished him for it. Grasping at straws, he said, “That does not prove anything. They could have heard him say that long ago, and made up the story together after he left.”
“I believe they spoke the truth,” replied his wife, breaking again into sobs. “But my son is dead, my son is dead!”
The farmer himself began to weep, and continued for a long time.
= = =
Amund was buried two days later, in the Sødorp churchyard. Scattered along the route were fir branches, and the broken tops of little fir trees, to symbolize a young life cut short. The priest led the procession, carrying a cross. Nels drove a borrowed carriage carrying the casket, drawn by the handsome stallion team. Peder, Syne, and Julia rode behind in the family’s own carriage, while all the servants and husmenn followed on foot, singing Psalms led by Brother Isaak, who carried another cross.
When they reached the churchyard, the pall-bearers unloaded the coffin beside the freshly dug grave. The family stepped from the second carriage, as the other mourners gathered around. Brother Isaak burned incense. The priest began with prayer.
“Let us pray, dear brothers and sisters, for our brother Amund Pedersen Skurdal, whom the Lord has called forth from this world ….”
Nels, having parked and secured the carriage, slipped quietly into the crowd. Anna caught his eye and held it for a moment, then returned her gaze to the coffin. The priest intoned the scripture readings.
“But the souls of the just are in the hand of God,
and no torment shall touch them.
They seemed, in the view of the foolish, to be dead;
and their passing away was thought an affliction
and their going forth from us, utter destruction.”
Anna looked across the grave and noticed Julia Skurdal, staring at her. The priest continued,
“But the wicked shall receive a punishment to match their thoughts,
since they neglected justice and forsook the LORD.
For he who despises wisdom and instruction is doomed.
Vain is their hope, fruitless are their labors, and worthless are their works.”
Julia directed her icy stare at Nels, while Anna stared at the casket, and the open grave.
After more prayers and Psalms, the casket was lowered. The priest threw in the first handful of soil, chanting,
“From clay you shaped me,
With flesh you clothed me,
Redeemer, raise me on the last day.”
Amund’s parents threw in handfuls of dirt. The crowd began to disperse.
= = =
On her way home from the burial, Anna slipped away from the crowd at the back trail to Skurdalshaugen. Halfway up the hill, she felt a strange pain in her lower back. It started almost in her stomach, and quickly spread up and down her spine. She had stopped walking when an intense cramp brought her to her knees. She put her head to the ground, which brought no relief. After a moment, when the cramp began to abate, she stood and continued up the hill. Just as she reached the hut, another cramp stopped her in her tracks. She bent over, sweating and groaning. When this second cramp relaxed, Anna felt something warm, trickling down her leg. She looked down. Across her foot ran a small stream of bright red blood. Confused and frightened, she hurried inside.
A short time later, a neighbor-woman peeked in the door. “Oh, hello, Anna. I didn’t know you were home already. Just checking on your Ma.” Ingeborg was sitting quietly by the hearth, as usual.
“Thank you, Marit, Ma is fine. Please come in.” After a brief exchange of small-talk, Anna said, “Marit, I must ask you something.” She blushed and hesitated, “Please, please, tell no one.” Her neighbor nodded. Anna explained what had just happened to her, the back pain, cramps, and bleeding. “It is something like my period, only so much worse.”
“How long since your last period?” asked the older woman.
“Eight weeks.”
“I see. Is it possible you are with child?”
Anna nodded, blushing.
“I am afraid, then, the child is lost.”
Anna choked back a sob. “Ja … I thought so.” A tear escaped her, then several. They embraced.
“I am sorry, dear Anna. Do not despair, I lost my first child, then had three healthy ones and one stillborn. Both of my daughters lost their first child, too.”
Anna swallowed hard, stifling another sob. “I am sorry,” she said.
That evening, as Anna prepared her mother for bed, Ingeborg uttered her first and only word in a week. “Sorry,” she whispered.
“Ma! Ma! You are still there!” but her mother was again silent, smiling vacantly.
Anna felt utterly alone. How would Nels take this news? He had been so delighted at the prospect of a child. But now, Nels was in danger of the master’s wrath, and she along with him, and her child. But now, the child, whether it was Nels’ or Amund’s, was no longer in danger.  Anna wept.
= = =
After returning the carriage to a neighboring farm, Nels was grooming the horses when Peder Skurdal came to the stables. “There can be no wedding at Skurdal this autumn,” he said.
Nels took a deep breath, nodding. “Yes, sir.”
“My son is dead, practically by your own hand!”
Nels objected, “No, sir, I swear by Almighty God! Mister Amund spoke as the master of the house. He threatened to beat Kris if he did not obey.”
“Beat him! No servant here has been beaten since my father died. But I myself am of a powerful mind to beat the two of you bloody, and set the dogs on you, over what has happened.”
“Please, sir, we did everything we could.”
“The damned monk talked me out of it. But I am giving you some journeys. You are still our best driver, and that will keep you out of my sight. You leave early tomorrow for Lillehammer with the small wagon and two mares.”
“Yes, sir,” said Nels, his heart sinking.
That evening, as men loaded the wagon with sacks of grain, Nels limped up to Skurdalshaugen to tell Anna the bad news. Not only would their wedding be postponed by months, but he would be away for long periods, unable to help her with the potatoes and the goats. More and more of Anna’s own time was taken up with caring for her mother.
When Nels knocked at the door, Anna opened it only a crack. “You cannot come in,” she said, sniffling.
“What now?” said Nels. “Anna, we must talk. I have something important to tell you.”
“I have something to tell you, too. I have lost the baby.”
“Oh, no! Are you all right?”
“I am still bleeding. That is why you cannot come in. And there is pain.”
“Anna, I am not leaving this door until we can talk, and I can hold you in my arms.”
At this, Anna sobbed. “Wait there,” she said. A moment later she emerged, tears staining her face, walking strangely. They sat on the stoop with their arms around each other.
After a while, Nels spoke, nearly in tears himself. “I am sorry, dear Anna, sorry for our loss. There is more ill news, I am afraid.  The boss will not allow our wedding during the mourning period.”
“Oh, no!” gasped Anna, but relaxed a little when she remembered she was no longer with child.
Nels did not grasp this coincidence, nor the nuance of Anna’s ambivalence. “On top of that, he is sending me on long journeys to keep me away from home. I leave tomorrow, God only knows when I will return, or for how long. That will leave you and your Ma pretty much on your own.”
Anna put on her bravest face. “I expect we will manage. But will your leg be able to stand the work?”
“I hope so. Better than being beaten and driven from the farm, anyway. He still blames me for the boy’s death.”
Anna said nothing. Neither of them were sorry that Amund was dead, and if Nels did bear any culpability, Anna did not want to know. She kissed him and held him close, until an intense cramp seized her. “Ohhh,” she moaned, bending over slightly.
“Anna, are you all right?” Nels looked worriedly at her face.
Anna nodded, still wincing. “I have to go in now. Return safely, my promised,” she said, her voice trembling. “We will marry then, and have many children.”
Nels helped her stand up, they kissed again, and she awkwardly slipped inside.
Nels limped back to the barracks, confused as always at the emotions of this woman, wanting her as always, frustrated as usual.  Anna, despite her bravado, and her neighbor’s reassurance, fretted whether she could ever bear a child, or if this miscarriage was punishment for her past sins, or an omen of the future, or both.