Eva Johanne Stensrud

Book One

The Guldberg Saga

The Mark

Translated by: Todd & Rikka Shuett

Prelude

The Flatlands August 1812

“I have nothin’ left.” Peter stared at Erik. “Everything I ever cared for is gone. And it’s your doin’.”

His mouth twitched as he took a step towards the horse and reached for its mane as if to yank it. Then he raised his rifle. Blood dripped from his lower lip, bitten while he’d been spitting words of blame.

The other man stood dumb, unable to comprehend what had transformed the most reliable worker on the farm into a ranting, raging madman.

The horse reared, its eyes black with fear. The gun jerked in Peter’s hands. The movement roused Erik. He reached out to grab it, but the other man was faster and took a quick step backwards.

Erik still couldn’t believe what was happening. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

“As if ya didn’t know.”

“I do not, Peter! For God’s sake…”

“Ya had everything. But that wasn’t enough, was it?” Peter’s voice sounded desperate.

What had prompted his anger? Erik tried to ease between him and the animal, raising his hand slowly, cautiously, as if to declare peace. He loved that horse. “Please, Peter, let us talk about this.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed as he slowly raised the gun, pointing it at the shiny head beside him.

“No!” Erik’s voice was a thin cry. “Please! You cannot do this!”

“Oh yes, I can!” Peter’s eyes glowed. “This is how betrayal feels.” He drew a deep breath and cocked the gun.

In desperation, Erik threw himself forward, knocking the gun from Peter’s hands onto the stone floor.

A second of breathless silence followed. Then a shot echoed through the barn.

Preparing ale in the brewery, Johanna was startled by the sound. She stood stiff, listening for more. “What was that?”

Hunting season was over. No animals were set to be slaughtered. Who would be shooting a gun? Then her insides grew cold. She dashed across the yard. Others had also heard the shot, but she beat them all to the stable.

She stared, not comprehending for several heartbeats, at the two men before she screamed….

Chapter 1

Two years earlier: September 1810

Harvesting season had come again and Johanna was working with the men in the yellow fields. Her limbs were sore from long hours of toil. From dawn till dusk, days blended together during harvesting. You just kept at it until the job was done no matter how loudly your body screamed for relief.

Johanna’s flushed, youthful skin, sweaty and filthy with dust, itched under her thick dress. She longed to bathe, and the temptation to tear off her clothes and head for the lake nearly overwhelmed her. She impatiently ripped off her woolen headscarf and let her blond hair flow down her back. Rake in hand, she moved her body side to side, working her way through the swaying wheat. She paused again as her eyes wandered over the colorful landscape of the Flatlands. The leaves were starting to turn, and yet the sun was stronger than expected this time of year.

Erik came up from behind and leaned his muscular figure against a pole. His eyes gazed at Johanna with kind regard.

“Are you trying to hide, daughter?” he said teasingly. “Is this work too much for you?”

Johanna returned the smile. She felt deep respect for this man. “The weather is too much, Father,” Johanna replied in an attempt to justify pausing her work, even if only for a minute. “This heat is too much!” In truth she only needed to loosen her hair and dry the sweat a bit.

“So, you prefer we have rain, I guess?”

Her father continued to tease her. He knew she did her best, and her best was more than good enough. She wasn’t known for being lazy. She actually enjoyed working in the fields, unlike her younger sister, Solveig, who cared only about the smoothness of her white skin and the sheen of her red hair.

Peter, one of the tenant farmers, approached her father, wearing the same jesting smile.

“Easier to rest if it’s rainin’, ain’t it?” Peter and Father made quite a pair, tenant and landlord. They were lifelong friends, standing side by side with loopy grins, both out to tease her. Johanna rolled her eyes as Peter turned to her father.

“Bet ya been chasin’ lads from her attic this summer!” A snicker followed the remark.

Erik shook his head dramatically, pretending to be worried about the matter.

“Those guys are too swift for me. Not a single one has been caught!”

The two men laughed while Johanna returned to work, hoping to prove herself against their insinuations. She could feel their eyes burning the back of her neck and blushed. She thanked God for the heat.

Pretending to scratch her back, she glanced over her shoulder. The men had sat down with their pipes. She sighed with relief. Their conversation had indeed taken an uncomfortable turn. Those kinds of questions will come soon enough, she thought. She definitely wouldn’t mind waiting a while longer to answer them.

She scouted other workers in the fields and saw many of them had followed her father’s example and were resting.

She didn’t notice Peter at her side until he spoke. “They’re near done on the island.”

In silence, they both watched cool water lap the rocky shore of Lake Mjoesa; the soft waves barely made a sound. Johanna felt the lake’s magnetic attraction, its coolness beckoning. She wanted the refreshing liquid to cover every inch of her body, to dive into the deep water without worrying about decency or privacy or any other rule that limited a woman’s life.

Decency aside, no one could get away until the harvesting was over. Harvesting was always a gamble, a mad dash to save as much as possible from the temperamental weather gods. A frosty night could ruin an entire crop.

“We shall finish soon, Peter. Just give us a couple more days. We shall be in the clear then.” Erik had come up to them. All three looked over to the island.

“Two days? Who’s dreamin’ now, Erik! We need at least three, maybe four more days at your speed.”

The workers chuckled. Erik threw his scythe to the ground.

“My speed? You want to see how to really cut the fields. High time you learned how to work like a man!”

Peter’s face cracked into a broad grin. He grabbed the scythe; its long, sharp blade reflected the sun and flashed like lightning.

The men raced across the fields, cutting side-by-side, faster than ever. The rest had done them good, and a challenge always sparked her father’s energy. Johanna knew that. The morning had been cold, but now the sun made the fields unpleasantly hot. She silently cursed herself for having dressed so heavily that morning. Right now layers of woolen clothing threatened to suffocate her. Swiftly, she snuck her hand under her vest and opened several buttons on her blouse. No one would notice.

The men were soon far ahead of her. Normally she could keep up with her father, but with the way he was cutting now, it was no use trying.

Two wide rivers zigzagged through the fields of gold where Erik and Peter worked. Peter’s sparse blond hair fluttered up and down, rhythmically taking turns with Erik’s head of brown, brushy hair. As they moved into the distance, they looked like a pair of birds bobbing in an ocean of wheat, scavenging for food. They left everyone behind. Everyone, that was, except Annar, Peter’s son of sixteen summers. He kept the same pace, stuck between them, creating his own narrow path. But soon they left him behind as well. His back hunched and muscles flexed; his posture revealed he wasn’t pleased at being beaten by two older men.

As Johanna watched them all race through the fields, two shadows crossed the shorn stubble, struggling with a heavy load. It was Gjertrud, the cook, and Johanna’s sister, Solveig.

Gjertrud was a treasured servant at Great Guldberg in charge of the general household. She ensured the workers were fed and the rooms were neat and tidy. She had a few maids to boss around to accomplish this. How she’d managed to coerce Solveig into the fields with food and drink for the harvesters, Johanna could hardly guess. Solveig rarely went outdoors. The two of them were definitely different. While Johanna labored eagerly with the men in the fields, Solveig wouldn’t be caught dead with dirt under her nails.

Hopefully the food would put an end to the silly game between her father and Peter. It was better to cut it short before one of them keeled over from a heart attack. By now, all the workers had put down their scythes, watching Erik and Peter wear each other out. Her father was like a child again. It was hard to believe this playful man was the landlord himself.

“Drinks for everyone!” Johanna cried as loudly as she could, but the two men kept on reaping.

“I shall… cut… in front… of… your son!” Erik panted hard. He was just a step in front of Peter, angling slightly to the right, eating away at the top of Annar’s path.

Peter shouted at Erik, “I think my son deserves marryin’ when that time comes!”

Superstition held that anyone left on an island of uncut wheat would remain a bachelor forever. Johanna sighed. Life was filled with enough evil omens and bad luck without deliberately adding to them. Perhaps that was why Erik dropped his scythe and let Annar walk out of his misery when he reached halfway in front of him. Relieved, Johanna watched her father straighten his back and give up the fight. Peter took this as a sign of victory, even though Erik smiled triumphantly. Erik had, after all, held the lead when the game ended.

“I’d have beaten ya, Sheriff, but ya droppin’ dead in this heat just wouldn’t do, would it?”

Erik turned to Johanna for support. “Peter refuses to give in until he sees the last bit of life gush out of me.” He chuckled quietly and shook his head. “That man is hard-boiled. Standing in his way would not end well.”

Hunched over, Peter was still trying to catch his breath, hands on his knees. “Watch it now, Sheriff. Dare to win, dare to lose. It don’t take much to please the children!”

Chuckling spread across the fields. High spirits and good feelings surrounded Erik as his easy-going nature made people feel relaxed and appreciated. Still, he was firm enough in his orders and decisions for people to know what was expected of them. And no one contested his authority. Everyone knew their place; no one wanted to see the other side of Sheriff Guldberg. That side was hard and unpleasant, most often reserved for his law enforcement duties.

Johanna pushed her shoulders back and tried to straighten her sore body. Her corset was too tight; she’d become a woman during the summer. Her hips were wider, her bosom fuller. Everything had changed, even her way of thinking. Lately she found herself curious about things she’d never before given a thought. Her mind raced with questions, and she longed for answers.

At the moment, however, she was simply tired. Thank God tomorrow was Sunday, the day of rest. All the Guldberg family would attend Sunday Mass. Harvesting would have to wait until the holy day was over.

Plenty of work also remained after the harvest—spinning, weaving, cooking, and cleaning. Every day had its list of chores. Johanna had a hand in all of them, preparing for the day when she’d take over the farm. She had to prove herself worthy of her inheritance and her father’s trust.

Everyone did his or her best to contribute to the running of the farm. Everyone that is, except Solveig and Johanna’s stepmother, Mille. Not that she wanted to be in their shoes, Johanna mused. Silk dresses held no interest for her. Toiling in the fields, she felt she belonged to the nature and beauty of the outdoors. She never enjoyed being in the kitchen. She felt closed in and wanted out.

Tonight, she’d go to the yearly autumn dance. The thought made a tingling sensation rush across her skin. A bath would be prepared for her, and she had a dress already picked out. She wanted to look good; Gunner would be at the dance, waiting for her. She gently rubbed her hands. Would he ask her to marry him tonight? She bit her lower lip and felt heat tickling her back.

Just a few more hours and she’d find out.

Solveig and Gjertrud had taken their time reaching the workers. Gjertrud wheezed heavily while Solveig, who’d been dancing over the fields like a butterfly, laughed and moved about in her girlish way. Except Solveig wasn’t really a girl anymore, but a young woman. “Like me,” Johanna thought. She looked around and noticed how the men’s faces lit up as they gawked at Solveig. Their eyes seemed to glow as they watched her throw her head back and laugh with her mouth wide open, revealing her little pink tongue while her red curly hair danced around her heart-shaped face. Solveig was quite beautiful. Beautiful and shameless.

Johanna squinted at her in a warning fashion, wishing her sister would notice and moderate her behavior. She didn’t. Johanna quickly turned to their father and saw, with relief, he was engaged in a conversation with one of his tenants and had yet to notice Solveig’s appalling game.

Someone else, however, had noticed. Peter’s son Annar looked like a forsaken ram standing across from her sister, grinning foolishly, unable to take his eyes off her. At that moment, Johanna was relieved her father hadn’t noticed as she suddenly realized something was going on.

Johanna couldn’t hear what was said, but while the two talked together, Solveig gave Annar her white linen handkerchief, the one with her initials embroidered on it. Annar stepped to the side, sat down and rested a few feet away from the other workers.

While he dried sweat off his face and neck, Johanna noticed how much he’d changed during the summer. His face had lost its childish innocence; his skin was no longer smooth. Instead, his chin and jaw line had taken on a darkish shade. His shoulders were broad, and his posture had become that of a man’s.

Solveig and Annar hadn’t taken their eyes off each other while Johanna stared long and hard at them. She ached to move, to speak, to do something to vent her irritation, and barely managed to keep her mouth shut.

Solveig and her mother had probably spent all day doing a whole lot of nothing, she fumed. Mille, like Solveig, never helped out on the farm. Her father’s second wife descended from Danish royalty, and he’d never expected her to come outside for anything other than gardening. She spent hours and hours in the garden, a rather useless activity, just for show really. It produced nothing that would sustain the starving or the poor. Mille was simply from a different world. Johanna knew, however, that her father loved her, and that was what counted.

Solveig was cut from the same cloth as Mille; she seemed to have nothing of their father in her.

Johanna gritted her teeth. This embarrassing display between the two youngsters was more than she could handle. She found herself walking over to Solveig, quickly, without a sound. Her sister didn’t notice until she spoke.

“What have you been doing all day?”

Solveig turned her head towards Johanna. Her long eyelashes fluttered.

“Just lying around, as usual, I bet,” Johanna continued.

“I spent time with mother.” Solveig’s eyes regarded Johanna with disdain.

Johanna swallowed her anger and turned away. This was neither the time nor place to confront her. She glanced at Annar and saw he’d shuffled away after noticing the sneer on her face. She was, after all, his employer’s daughter. Annar knew better than to obstruct her way when she wore an expression like that. He emptied the ladle Solveig had given him then moved to Gjertrud for a refill.

Johanna closed her eyes, lost in unpleasant thoughts.

Annar and Solveig had been best friends since they were children. They’d built boats and sailed them down streams, made mud art, and played hide and seek in the barn. No one had ever considered separating them because of their social status.

Solveig was the youngest daughter of one of the most powerful men in the area, while Annar’s father was a tenant, a dutiful but poor worker who rented a small piece of land along with a scanty hut. He could use the rented land as he saw fit, as long as he helped Erik with the harvest and other daily work on the Guldberg farm.

Johanna turned again to look at Annar.

Although he’d grown up to be quite attractive, Annar wasn’t a proper match for either of Erik’s daughters. It was expected he’d marry the daughter of another tenant. Annar’s wife would have to work hard.

That was no life for Solveig.

Johanna shook her head. She examined her hands, then her fingernails. They were short and uneven. Dirt wedged underneath them, and her hands were a mosaic of cuts and scratches. The contrast to her sister’s hands was striking; Solveig’s fingers were as white as ivory. Sometimes it felt as if the two of them lived in two different worlds.

The difference between Solveig and Annar was equally striking. The workers’ sun-damaged skin, rough-lined faces, and dry red eyes made Solveig appear like an exotic princess while Annar looked more like a gypsy than a prince. His hair was long and ragged. Under his bangs, his eyes were as green as forest moss and as intense as a midsummer night’s bonfire.

Solveig and Gjertrud picked up their buckets and ladles to return to the farm. As the workers prepared for the last hours of work before the weekend, Johanna’s father approached her. His face looked grey compared to Annar’s, she observed. Erik was also sunburned, but Johanna still sensed something pale beneath his healthy, rugged appearance. And yet his heart had handled the race with Peter, hadn’t it? Johanna fought to quell a growing sense of worry.

She inspected her father’s every move as he rolled up his sleeves and picked up his scythe. His arms looked strong and muscular; his otherwise white complexion quite tanned. She cast the worrisome thoughts out of her mind and told herself it must be her imagination. Maybe it was dust that caused his pale complexion.

“We should be grateful and praise the Lord for the warm weather He sends us,” said her father. “Remember, Johanna, the strain of this heat is nothing. Just think of all the people who would starve if we failed to get the harvest done in time.”

He cleared his throat as if to continue. Johanna cringed. She felt he was leading up to something else, something of importance. She waited, but her father clearly hesitated. He shifted his grip on the scythe and swung it a couple of times as if to warn her he wasn’t finished. She blinked nervously and wet her lower lip with her tongue.

“Have you had visitors at night?”

There it was: the inevitable question. The one she’d both waited for and dreaded.

Most farm girls had nightly visitors; there was nothing revolutionary in that. Still, embarrassment colored her cheeks. She didn’t feel comfortable having this conversation. What girl would? If her mother had still been alive, Johanna would have talked to her about such matters. Johanna could talk to Mille, of course, but she didn’t feel that close to her, even though she was the only mother Johanna had ever known. Mille was cast from a different mold.

Her father looked at her, awaiting an answer.

“I do have visitors from time to time.”

Her father didn’t find the answer adequate. He analyzed her expression. ”Who?”

“Gunner Brattbakk, mostly.” Her answer came quickly and she felt relieved his name was finally out. “You know Gunner.”

Mats, Gunner’s father, had been Erik’s friend as long as she could remember.

“I certainly do.”

The hard look in his eyes and absence of warmth in his voice disconcerted Johanna. She’d imagined his reaction hundreds of times and had figured he would be pleased the son of his best friend was interested in her. Instead, her father seemed burdened by her answer. He stood silently in front of her, more authoritarian than she’d ever seen him. He tested the sharpness of his scythe’s blade, feeling it with his hands as he looked at her, stern and somber.

“You have time still.”

A deep crease appeared between his eyebrows. She remembered being scared of it as a little girl, but hadn’t noticed it for several years. Until now.

“I trust you not to bring shame upon your family.”

Confusion followed his remark. She hadn’t done nothing inappropriate. Her honor was intact. His remark lacked justification. She bit her lip but said nothing.

“There are girls whose crowns sit uneasily come their wedding day.”

Her cheeks burned. She felt wrongfully accused and wanted to tell him there were others who needed this lecture more. Yet he merely nodded to her, pursed his lips, and turned to continue working again.

She stood still for a few seconds, fighting an impulse to run after him and vent her indignation. It was no use trying to protest, she warned herself. He would simply shrug his shoulders and tell her to get back to work.

She pulled herself together and directed her attention back to the problem she’d just discovered.

She probably wouldn’t have told him about Solveig even if he had continued the conversation, she deliberated. The last thing she wanted was to cause her father grief. What if she’d interpreted the signals between Annar and Solveig wrongly?

Mille was another matter. Johanna would definitely mention it to her. After all, Solveig was Mille’s responsibility.

As for herself, Johanna had nothing to hide. In just a few hours she’d be at the dance, in Gunner’s arms, twirling around the dance floor. All of a sudden she felt lighthearted.

She looked up. Right in front of her strode Annar, his shirt stretched tight across his chest. A flock of birds landed right behind her in the fields seeking refuge from wind that suddenly swept through the straw.

Johanna shivered.