Anna Hansdatter: Hunger In the Dale

Else and Anna became closest friends after they learned that they both had been assaulted by Amund Skurdal. On her time off from the dairy, Else came often to Anna’s hut with a few vegetables and the latest gossip. They rarely talked of their shared misfortune; even so, it formed a strong bond between them.

One morning, Else came with a large bag of newly-sheared wool and four hand carders. “Dear Anna,” she said, “Missus Skurdal sent me with these. She thought that you and your mother could help with the carding.”

“Well, I guess I can help,” Anna replied, “but I doubt if Ma can do much. Besides, carding is a small job, compared to the spinning.”

“That is just it,” said Else. “Missus said that Nels is bringing a new spinning wheel. Maybe she will rent the old one to you, for a share of the yarn.”

Anna was dubious. “Else, I have never spun with a wheel.”

“It is not so hard. I tried it yesterday. I did not do very well, but I think it will be quick to learn. You could come to the wool-house and try it.”

“All right. But …” Anna’s voice became uncertain, “how can we know when Nels will return? It is almost Advent, and there is still no word from him. Else, I am so worried!”

Anna sat down in front of her mother. “Look, Ma, Else brought us some wool to card. Do you want to help?” Ingeborg smiled blankly. “Here,” Anna continued, “take these.” She held out two of the carders. Her mother looked at them quizzically, but did not respond.

“Never mind,” said Anna, “Else and I can do it.”

The two girls carded the wool, drawing the oily fleece between the wiry boards of the carders, until the fibers were parallel in a long, neat ribbon. Else was slower at first, but soon picked up Anna’s sure, quick rhythm. After a few minutes, the lanolin in the sheep’s wool began to sooth and soften the girls’ hands.

“Ooh!” said Else.

Anna smiled, “You have never carded before?”

“Only goat’s wool. It does not feel good like this.”

“This must have been a fine shearing. Usually the missus and the housemaids get it all. That is why their hands look so clean and nice, even the maids.”

“Not the milkmaids,” said Else. “My hands are rough as a cow’s tongue. Just think, Anna, if you had a spinning wheel, you would be handling this wool all the time.”

“I think you are dreaming,” Anna said. “Mister is so hateful toward us, why would they do us such a favor?”

“It is not impossible. Remember, he already relented about your wedding.”

“I only hope Nels gets home in time, and safely. I think that Mister hopes otherwise. He has never sent a wagon all the way to Oslo before.”

“I pray for him every day, morning and night,” said Else. “Nels is very clever. He will return soon, I am sure of it.”

“Thank you, dear Else.” Anna’s eyes grew moist. “Thank you. But he should have been here already. It could snow any day now.” In fact, there had already been a few light snowfalls, but none had yet accumulated on the ground.

When the carding was finished, they carefully folded the long ribbon of wool into the bag. Else put on her cloak. Anna took the younger girl into her arms and they embraced warmly. To her surprise, Anna felt her desire rising, as it did when she held Nels. She kissed Else on the mouth. They held their embrace a long while, until suddenly, Anna pulled away, confused and embarrassed.

Trying to conceal her unease, she held Else at arms length and looked into her eyes. “Thank you for coming, dear Else. I will come to the wool-house tomorrow, if I can find someone to stay here with Ma. Please come visit whenever you can.”

Else took her leave. As if on cue, a cold drizzle began to fall, mixed with snowflakes.

(Continued)

In the dwelling-house, the priest’s wife cleaned the cut on Nels’ arm and wrapped it in clean white cloth. She handed the damaged garments to the housemaid. “Clean these,” she said, “and see if you can mend them.” The maid hurried off.

“You are very kind,” said Nels. “What parish is this?”

“Stange,” she replied.

The sheriff and two deputies arrived on horseback, and the undertaker, in a buggy. After a brief inspection of the wagon, they transferred the body to the buggy, which the undertaker drove away. Nels put on a gardener’s jacket and went out to meet them, the priest still helping him walk.

The sheriff was holding the pistol. “Is this the weapon?”

“Yes, sir,” said Nels.

“Let me see your passport.”

“It is in the house, in my coat pocket.”

“Best we talk inside anyway. Pastor Hansen, will you make a record?”

“Of course,” said the priest. They went inside. The priest took out his notebook, pen, and ink. Nels handed his documents to the sheriff.

“Dismiss the servants, please, Pastor. Your wife will not want to hear this, either.”

His wife spoke up, “Even though I would prefer not to hear it, it is my duty to know and bear witness to what is said, since this is a matter of public safety.”

“My wife will stay,” said the priest. The servants were dismissed.

The sheriff’s reading skills were poor. Squinting at the passport, he spoke haltingly. “’Nels Poulsen, teamster, Peder Skurdal, Froen parish. Lillihammer, Oslo and … ‘ Pastor, will you read the rest of this?” He handed him the documents.

“… return with freight on board.” The priest then read aloud the bill of lading.

“Now, Nels Poulsen, are you traveling alone?” began the sheriff.

“Yes, sir.”

“What is wrong with your leg?”

“It was injured in an accident several years ago.”

“Yet you drive alone such a distance. No helper, no bodyguard?”

“No, sir.”

“These are dangerous times. The horses were stolen from Sandvik farm last week. The scoundrels killed a man to get them.”

“Yes, sir.” Nels gulped.

“About this gun,” the sheriff continued, “Whose is it?”

“A relative of my employer, Mister Olav Erstad of Lillehammer, loaned it to me for the journey.”

“You have documentation of this?”

“No, sir.”

“Your passport says nothing about armaments. I will have to hold you until the magistrate reviews the case.”

“Look here, sheriff,” said the priest, “This man brought us the bandits you have been seeking for seven days. Brought them to our doorstep. Now you suspect him of stealing the weapon that made it possible?”

“I do not make the laws, Pastor Hansen. I merely try to enforce them.”

“Judging by events, you need all the help you can get from men like this.”

“He has killed a man, by his own confession, with an undocumented weapon. His fate is not for me to decide.”

“If you insist on detaining him, he will be my prisoner. I will hold him until the magistrate can be summoned. Nels Poulsen, do I have your word that you will not flee?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So be it. Sheriff, you have my word on this matter.”

“As you wish, Pastor.” The sheriff took his leave.

(Continued)