Eva Johanne Stensrud

Book Three

The Guldberg Saga

Johanna’s Inheritance

Translated by: Isabel Algard

Chapter 1

Johanna quickly discovered Christian wasn’t alone.

At first she couldn’t comprehend what was happening before her eyes. He who she’d just longed for—the man she believed felt the same about her as she did for him, who’d given her such qualms of conscience—now stood before her with his arms wrapped around another woman.

The situation left no room for error.

Warm beams of light enveloped two forms leaning against the large, heavy desk. Christian was halfway sitting, halfway lying with both hands firmly gripping the upper arms of the dark-haired woman in front of him. Swelling breasts pressed against the frill of his white shirt. The woman’s thighs didn’t fully hide the bulge in the front of his dark pants.

She could tell by his expression Christian had noticed her the very moment she peeked through the crack in the door. Erna didn’t turned her head to look until she flung the door wide open.

Johanna’s first impulse was to run away, yet she stood there paralyzed. Then rage and despair erupted inside, making her sight blur. The rhythm and joyful sounds from upstairs felt like a scornful accompaniment to the beats of her aching heart.

How could it be so painful!

She fought the urge to collapse, forcing herself to take deep breaths, to stay and stand tall. She only barely managed.

Her voice was ice cold with anger when she finally spoke. She clenched her fists so it wouldn’t show how much her hands were shaking.

“I thought people would restrain themselves from bedroom activities at my father’s funeral.”

Christian pushed Erna away with an abrupt movement and stood up.

“This is not what you think, Johanna.”

Johanna’s gaze wandered down his figure. She started at the top with his light, ash-blonde hair and allowed her eyes to follow his beautiful body down to his slender hips and muscular thighs. Once her eyes arrived at his crotch, she noticed his erection was gone. She looked at Erna. With her mouth half-open, the lieutenant’s daughter moistened her lips. Her eyes flickered. She had something to be ashamed of, the tart!

Filled with contempt, Johanna stepped to one side, holding the door open.

“If the gentry will be so kind, may I suggest you go outside into the hay barn, instead of desecrating my father’s office?”

She could hear how high-pitched her voice sounded.

Erna slipped past her with her head bowed while frantically trying to straighten her clothes. Her white, jelly-like breasts shook and shivered as she moved. The sight was appalling.

Johanna let her disappear without saying another word. She then fixed her eyes on Christian.

“Out.”

“You have it wrong, Johanna. She followed me in here, ripped open her own bodice and—”

“Get out!”

“Can you please let me explain? I was thinking about you. I have been all night. When she walked in and pressed—”

“Leave, I say! Is Norwegian beyond your comprehension, you blasted Dane! Leave! Leave!”

She felt herself close to the breaking point—holding her breath, clenching her teeth and pressing her nails against her palms.

“I refuse to leave before you hear me out,” Christian insisted. “I want you. Only you! You must believe that at least. Nothing would have happened, I promise!”

Johanna grabbed the first thing she could find and launched it at him with extreme force. He ducked as the object whizzed past his head, shattering when it hit the wall.

When he stood back up, she could tell by the look on his face he thought she’d lost it completely. Once again it seemed as if he was about to speak. Her eyes searched for something else to throw. He moved closer and lifted his hand to protect himself. Breathing heavily, she stepped aside, glaring at him with a ferocious look in her eyes.

“I shall leave.” He stopped halfway out the door. “I shall explain everything once you become yourself again.”

In response, he got a quivering finger. Grey eyes stared at him like white-hot, burning ash.

Johanna slammed the door behind him and turned the key. She stood still for a while, catching her breath and letting her heart settle to its normal pace. Through the walls she could still hear joyful fiddle tunes and the sound of dancing feet on the wood floor.

Then everything crashed around her in slow, all-consuming motion. Her father was dead. Gunner was drunk and past out—as if he were dead, too. And now Christian…

The pain returned stronger than before. Christian had let her down. She tried to pull herself together, biting her bottom lip until she tasted blood in her mouth. Yet how could she say someone had let her down when nothing had been said or promised in the first place? She hadn’t given a single word of promise… In fact, how many times had she told him Gunner was the man she meant to marry? They weren’t bound to each other, Christian and her!

She licked the blood away. It didn’t make any difference. Christian was as dead to her as her father. He had to be, from now on. She’d learned a valuable lesson tonight—she’d allowed it go too far. She would’ve jeopardized her honor, sacrificed everything on the altar of lust. Longing would have prevailed over reason. Tonight she would’ve given herself to him as shamelessly as Solveig had given herself to the tenant farmer’s son, Annar.

Thank God she’d been saved from herself!

And yet she couldn’t believe how much it hurt her.

She crossed her arms, squeezing them tight. Her whole body shook as if it was freezing cold. She was alone in the world. Alone with the responsibility. Alone in every respect.

Her eyes fell on a garment hanging on a hook behind the door. It was her father’s leather vest. She slowly reached to unhook it. For a moment she stared at the vest before gently placing it against her cheek. The scent of her father—a mix of tobacco, horse and man—was a shock to her senses. Her legs started trembling and she fell to her knees, her face against the worn chair. She then began to cry, holding on to the chair, body shivering and shaking. Her teeth bit into its leather seat while she beat her fists bloody against the hardwood floor, sobbing and cursing the whole time.

A stream of emotions started tearing her apart—pulling her over a foaming, frothing waterfall, breaking through a barrier of rock-hard self-control. Wave after wave crashed over her hitting with such force she thought she’d almost suffocate. When she opened her mouth to gasp for air, she felt herself sink to the bottom. Deep water surrounded her, filling every part of her being. She gasped in grief, anger and despair. She groaned and twisted in pain before throwing herself onto the floor.

Later she couldn’t remember much from the rest of the night. She only had a vague memory she finally managed to stand, her stomach racked with heavy cramps from such deep, painful sobbing. Her legs still shook uncontrollably, just barely holding her up.

Still she’d been able to drag herself upstairs and into her own room. It was a miracle she didn’t run into anyone. Safely inside, she’d washed herself with cold water, rinsing blood from her face and hands. She’d then pulled off her sweaty clothes and plunged into bed, completely exhausted.

She woke up feeling empty. When she placed her feet on the cold floor, her whole body ached. Her knuckles felt sore and bruised as did her knees. Her back hurt, shooting pain up her neck when she tried to stretch.

Christian’s pleading face appeared before her, but she pushed the image aside. She didn’t want to think or feel anything.

The face in the mirror was pale and hollow-cheeked. Dark grey, dismal eyes stared back at her as she braided her hair with habitual movements. She felt a sharp sting inside her bottom lip where she’d bitten herself. She put on her work clothes. Thank God there were plenty of chores to keep her busy.

Her knees protested as she started downstairs, making her clench her teeth.

Gjertrud was the only one up already when she entered the kitchen. Stine, the maid, still rummaged inside her chamber. Gjertrud was stirring a pot of steaming hot, barley porridge and was about to pour milk into it as she glanced up. Johanna’s appearance startled her.

“Oh dear, look at ya! What’s happened?”

Johanna reached for the jug of soft whey-cheese and poured some in a glass.

“I got no sleep last night. Nothing more.”

She emptied the glass in one big gulp then wiped her mouth with her sleeve.

Gjertrud stared at her.

“None a us did! With all the ruckus they kicked up last night! Ain’t too long ago it finally got quiet in the hall.”

“At least we have quiet now.”

“That won’t last long! I’m sure they’ll be back at it in a few hours.”

Gjertrud was probably right. The funeral feast would last for another day. She, however, was done with the festivities, she thought bitterly. She’d honor her father better though hard work. She wouldn’t have to think then either.

Johanna opened the drawer where they kept the crispbread wafers, grabbed a handful and placed them on the table. She reached for butter and cheese next, broke the crispbread into smaller pieces and pulled a knife from her belt. She then spread the butter and cut cheese slices for the bread.

Gjertrud still had her eyes fixed on her.

“Ya need to get some food in ya. Ya’ve gotten skinnier lately.”

Johanna kept busy trying to chew.

Gjertrud sighed.

“But I’ll stay outta it.”

She returned to stirring the pot with sudden jerky movements. Johanna put one last piece in her mouth and licked her fingers clean before standing up.

“I need to check things in the stable.”

“Well…”

Gjertrud seemed curt and annoyed, but Johanna didn’t have time to soften her up. She needed to get out of the house before Christian came downstairs. She couldn’t stand the thought of seeing him.

“Breakfast’s in half an hour.”

That meant it was already five-thirty.

“You shall have to get Solveig working on the wool then, Gjertrud. When it pleases the miss to get up, that is.”

“I’ll git her up!”

Gjertrud stirred so hard porridge spilled over the edge and sizzled when it hit the hot stove. The smell of burnt milk spread across the room.

She noticed Gunner was gone when she walked through the dark hallway. Light from the kitchen flickered on the throw rug that had covered him the night before. The bench was empty. He’d probably found his way home, one way or the other.

She unhooked a headscarf with blue and white stripes, placed it on her head and tied it tightly under her chin. She then grabbed a loose-fitting shirt and pulled it over her head on top of her other shirt.

It had gotten chillier outside. She spotted white patches of frost here and there through the twilight in the farmyard. Over by the hay barn, a flock of geese were just waking up. The angry gander stretched his long neck and prepared to ruffle his feathers, but calmed down when he recognized her. A couple of his wives strutted cautiously around, gently searching the ground with their yellow beaks. There wasn’t a sound inside the henhouse. The rooster wouldn’t crow until it got brighter out.

Even had already started his daily chores in the stable. He nodded when she entered, but didn’t say a word. Johanna grabbed a pitchfork and started shoveling manure.

She avoided talking to anyone for the rest of the day, as much as possible. Every time Christian appeared, she took another route or pretended he wasn’t there. She refused to meet his desperate eyes.

Why should she waste her thoughts and feelings on such an untrustworthy person? He’d proven himself unfaithful. One minute he’d sent her lustful looks; the next moment he’d buried his face between another woman’s breasts. How could anyone trust a man like that, she thought to herself.

Her bitterness tasted like gall.

At lunch she sat with her back to him and kept busy talking to others. She felt his eyes on her, burning her shoulder blades, but pretended not to notice.

Back inside the stable she climbed to the loft and fetched a cover that had a tear in it. She sat by the opening, letting her legs hang down, while putting the rough cover on her lap. She poked a thick needle near the edge of the tear. Her thoughts wouldn’t give her peace.

Who knew what kind of life he’d lived in the big world? She’d already learned women found him attractive. And not just worthy of a look, she thought to herself harshly. Many would no doubt rub their breasts and far worse things in his pretty face! She felt herself blush with shame. She certainly was one to judge. She who’d been ready to throw herself into his arms! Angry tears started running down her cheeks making it impossible to see what she was doing. She blinked and sniffled.

“Are ya cryin’ ‘bout yer father?”

She jumped up. The weak voice came from somewhere behind her. She turned around, catching sight of little Hans’ feeble figure. She could barely make him out sitting on a pile of rugs, even though Even had made sure the skinny boy had warm clothes to wear.

“It ain’t gonna do ya no good. They’re never comin’ back.”

The small, pointy face could’ve belonged to an old man. Johanna wiped her tears and gave the pauper a kind look.

“You may be right, little Hans. But people are made this way. We still have to cry some all the same.”

His face looked so precocious some sadness left her.

“Cry as much as ya like. I cry a little sometimes, too.”

She stood up. This poor boy had more reason to be sad than her. His whole family was dead, each and every one of them.

“Have you been inside for lunch?”

He didn’t answer her question, just stared at what she held in her hands.

“I think ya’ve stitched it funny, Miss Johanna.”

She lifted the cover and discovered she’d stitched it to her woolen skirt.