Anna Hansdatter: Hunger In the Dale

At supper that evening, the atmosphere was festive. Roast lamb and fresh hot bread were served with fine ale, as good as Nels had ever tasted. Olav Erstad himself came to the servants’ dining house to offer a toast. “To Nels Poulsen, whose courage and quick thinking saved his team and his whole farm’s winter provisions, and rid the Hamar region of the most feared scoundrels seen there in years.”

“Hear, hear!” The servants raised their mugs and cheered. They passed him the “hero’s portion,” the largest and tenderest joint of meat.

Nels smiled and blushed, trying to conceal the inner conflict that still gnawed at him.

Just as they had at Stange, the servants fawned over him with genuine but exaggerated admiration. Nels tried his best to accept their favor graciously. After supper, he went to the dwelling-house to return Erstad’s pistol.

“No, no,” said Olav Erstad, “You had best keep it until you get home. You can send it back to me later.”

“Thank you kindly, sir, but surely there are no bandits here in the Dale. I feel much safer now that I am back on familiar ground.”

“Are you sure? You are most welcome to keep it with you.”

“Thank you anyway. It saved my life back there, to be sure, and I am most grateful to you. I will not need it any longer.” The truth was that Nels now hated the sight of the gun, the feel of it in his hands, the smell of it. He doubted whether he could kill again, even if his life depended on it.

In bed that night, exhausted but terrified of falling asleep, Nels wished again that things could be as they were, when his sleep was sound and he awoke fresh and rested each morning. Finally, he drifted off. He slept fitfully, but was surprised that his dreams, while disturbing, were less violent than before.

In the morning twilight, as Nels harnessed the team, a light snow began to fall. “Uh-oh, girls,” he whispered to the horses, “Let us hope that our luck holds for a few more days.”

(To be continued)

In nine more days, Nels reached Lillehammer. The weather was turning; rain showers became colder, driven by a bitter wind, mixing with wet snowflakes or stinging ice crystals. On a clear but chilly afternoon, Nels was approaching Erstad farm, when once again, Olav Erstad rode out to meet him.

“Well, now, Nels Poulsen,” said the farmer, “it seems you have made quite a name for yourself.”

“So, you have heard of my mishap?”

“Yes, indeed. The sheriff came by a few days ago to inquire about my pistol. He told me what happened at Stange. You are held in high regard there.”

“Yes, well …” Nels hesitated. Now that he had the respect and admiration that he always craved, it made him feel isolated and uncomfortable. In addition, he was still plagued by nightmares, and flashbacks of that horrible moment when he shot the bandit. If only it could be as before. He could not even pretend to boast or encourage the admirers, nor could he speak frankly about his demons and misgivings. “Well, thanks,” he said without further comment.

“We slaughtered two lambs today for Sunday’s Advent feast. You will stay with us until then?”

“I am sorry,” said Nels, “I must press on tomorrow. The snows will be here all too soon.”

“Well, then, we will roast one of the lambs tonight. Come ahead, now! I will alert the cook.” He turned and rode back toward the compound.

Nels pulled into the stable area and dismounted the wagon to unhitch. The teamster Knut and a stable-boy came running. “Welcome, Nels Poulsen, let us help you!” they said.

“It is all right, I can manage.”

“Ha! Manage, indeed! I should think so,” laughed Knut. “Ha, ha! What we mean is, it would be an honor to serve you.”

Nels smiled wryly, “All right, then, but I will stay with them for a while, too.” He handed the reins to the boy, as Knut unhitched the wagon.

“Did you really kill two bandits, sir?” asked the boy.

Nels took a deep breath to reply, but only nodded silently.

“That is wonderful!” the boy exclaimed.

“The hell!” Nels snapped.

The boy was cowed and confused. He stammered, “But … but … you saved the whole parish from them, did you not?”

“I saved my own life. I am glad of that, but the cost was very high.”

“Cost? What cost?”

“What is your name, boy?”

“David.”

“David, if I ask you to do something, will you do it?”

“I swear I will, anything.”

“Every night, David, get on your knees and pray that you never have to kill anyone.”

“What?” The boy had that very day prayed for the opposite.

“I know you cannot understand. Just do as you promised me.”

“Uh … well … all right. But why?”

“I cannot explain why. You must trust me.”

(To be continued)