Chapter VII
Thekitchen at Gilje was completely given over to Christmas preparations.
There was a cold draught from the porch, an odor in the air of mace, ginger, and cloves—a roar of chopping-knives, and dull rumbling and beating so that the floor shook from the wooden mortar, where Great-Ola himself was stationed with a white apron and a napkin around his head.
At the head of the long kitchen table Ma was sitting, with a darning-needle and linen thread, sewing collared beef, while some of the crofter women and Thea, white as angels, were scraping meat for the fine meat-balls.
There, on the kitchen bench, with bloody, murderous arms, sat Thinka, who had recently returned home, stuffing sausages over a large trough. It went with great skill through the filler, and she fastened up the ends with wooden skewers, and struggled with one dark, disagreeable, gigantic leech after another, while their brothers or sisters were boiling in the mighty kettle, around which the flames crackled and floated off in the open fireplace.
The captain had come into the kitchen, and stood surveying the field of battle with a sort of pleasure. There were many kinds of agreeable prospects here for the thoughts to dwell upon, and samples of the finished products were continuallybeing sent up to the office for him to give his opinion on.
"I'll show you how you should chop, girls," he said sportively, and took the knives from Torbjörg.
The two chopping-knives in his hands went up and down in the chopping-tray so furiously that they could hardly be distinguished, and awakened unmistakable admiration in the whole kitchen, while all paused in bewilderment at the masterpiece.
It is true, it continued for only two or three minutes, while Torbjörg and Aslak must stand with linen towels on their heads and chop all day.
But victory is still victory, and when the captain afterwards went into the sitting-room, humming contentedly, it was not without a little amused recollection of his strategy,—for, "yes, upon my soul," he could feel that his arms ached afterwards, nevertheless. And he rubbed them two or three times before he tied a napkin around his neck and seated himself at the table in order to do justice to the warm blood-pudding, with raisins and butter on it, which Thinka brought in to him.
"A little mustard, Thinka."
Thinka's quiet figure glided to the corner cupboard after the desired article.
"The plate might have been warmer for this kind of thing—it really ought to be almost burning hot for the raisins and butter."
The always handy Thinka was out by the chimney in a moment with a plate. She came in again with it in a napkin; it could not be held in any other way.
"Just pour it all over on to this plate, father, and then you will see."
One of the happy domestic traits which Thinka had disclosed since her return home was a wonderful knack of managing her father; there was hardly any trace of peevishness any longer.
Thinka's quiet, agreeable pliancy and cool, even poise spread comfort in the house. The captain knew that he only needed to put her on the track of some good idea or other in the way of food, and something always came of it. She was so handy, while, when Ma yielded, it was always done so clumsily and with difficulty, just as if she creaked on being moved, so to speak, that he became fretful, and began to dispute in spite of it, notwithstanding she knew very well he could not bear it.
A very great deal had been done since Monday morning, and to-morrow evening it was to be hoped they would be ready. Two cows, a heifer, and a hog, that was no little slaughtering—besides the sheep carcasses.
"The sheriff—the sheriff's horse is in the yard," was suddenly reported in the twilight into the bustle of the kitchen.
The sheriff! It was lightning that struck.
"Hurry up to the office and get your father down to receive him, Jörgen," said Ma, composing herself. "You will have to take off the towels and then stop pounding, Great-Ola, exasperating as it is."
"They smell it when the pudding smokes in the kettle, I think," exclaimed Marit, in her lively mountain dialect. "Isn't it the second year he has come here just at the time of the Christmas slaughtering? So they are rid of the menfolk lying in the way at home among themselves."
"Your tongue wags, Marit," said Ma, reprovingly. "The sheriff certainly does not find it any too pleasant at home since he lost his wife, poor man."
But it was dreadfully unfortunate that he came just now—excessively unfortunate. She must keep her ground; it wouldn't do to stop things out here now. The captain came hastily out into the kitchen. "The sheriff will stay here till to-morrow—it can't be helped, Ma. I will take care of him, if we only get a little something to eat."
"Yes, that is easy to say, Jäger—just as all of us have our hands full."
"Some minced meat—fried meat-balls—a little blood-pudding. That is easy enough. I told him that he would have slaughter-time fare—and then, Thinka," he nodded to her, "a little toddy as soon as possible."
Thinka had already started; she only stopped a moment at her bureau upstairs.
She was naturally so unassuming, and was not accustomed to feel embarrassed. Therefore she brought in the toddy tray like the wind, stopping only to put a clean blue apron on; and, after having spoken to the sheriff, went to the cupboard after rum and arrack, and to the tobacco table after some lighters, which she put down by the tray for the gentlemen before she vanished out through the kitchen door again.
"You must wash your hands, Torbjörg, and put things to rights in the guest-chamber; and then we must send a messenger for Anne Vaelta to help us, little as she is fit for. Jörgen, hurry!" came from Ma, who saw herself more and more deprived of her most needed forces.
Great-Ola had put up the sheriff's horse, and now stood pounding again at the mortar in his white surplice—thump, thump, thump, thump.
"Are you out of your senses out here? Don't you think?" said the captain, bouncing in; he spoke in a low voice, but for that reason the more passionately. "Aren't you going to mangle, too? Then the sheriff would get a thundering with a vengeance, both over his head and under his feet. It shakes the floor."
A look of despair came over Ma's face; in the sudden, dark, wild glance of her eye there almostshone rebellion—now he was beginning to drive her too far—But it ended in a resigned, "You can take the mortar with you out on the stone floor of the porch, Great-Ola."
And Thinka had to attend to the work of putting things in order and carrying in the supper, so that it was only necessary for Ma to sit there a little while, as they were eating, though she was on pins and needles, it is true; but she must act as if there was nothing the matter.
When Ma came in, there was a little formal talk in the beginning between her and the sheriff about the heavy loss he had suffered. She had not met him since he lost his wife, three months ago. It was lonesome for him now that he had only his sister, Miss Gülcke, with him. Both Viggo and Baldrian, which was a short name for Baltazar, were at the Latin school, and would not come home again till next year, when Viggo would enter the university.
The sheriff winked a little, and made a mournful gesture as if he wanted to convey an idea of sadly wiping one eyelash, but no more. He had given an exhibition of grief within nearly every threshold in the district by this time, and here he was in the house of people of too much common sense not to excuse him from any more protracted outburst just before a spread table with hot plates.
It developed into a rather long session at the table—with ever stronger compliments, as oftenas there was opportunity during the meal-time to catch a glimpse of the hostess, for every new dish that Thinka brought in smoking deliciously straight from the pan—actually a slaughtering feast—with a fine bottle of old ale in addition—for the new Christmas brew was too fresh as yet—and two or three good drams brought in just at the right time.
The sheriff also understood very well what was going on in the house, and how the hostess and Thinka were managing it.
The grown-up daughter cleared off the table and took care of everything so handily and comfortably without any bother and fuss—and so considerately. They had their pipes and a glass of toddy by their side again there on the sofa, with a fresh steaming pitcher, before they were aware of it.
The small inquisitive eyes of Sheriff Gülcke stood far apart; they looked into two corners at once, while his round, bald head shone on the one he talked to. He sat looking at the blond, rather slender young lady, with the delicate, light complexion, who busied herself so silently and gracefully.
"You are a fortunate man, you are, Captain," he said, speaking into the air.
"Have a little taste, Sheriff," said the captain consolingly, and they touched glasses.
"Nay, you who have a house full of comfort can talk—cushions about you in every corner—soyou can export to the city—But I, you see,"—his eyes became moist—"sit there in my office over the records. I was very much coddled, you know—oh, well, don't let us talk about it. I must have my punishment for one thing and another, I suppose, as well as others.
"Isn't it true, Miss Kathinka," he asked when she came in, "it is a bad sheriff who wholly unbidden falls straight down upon you in slaughtering-time? But you must lend him a little home comfort, since it is all over with such things at his own home.
"Bless me, I had almost forgotten it," he exclaimed eagerly, and hastened, with his pipe in his mouth, to his document case, which hung on a chair near the door. "I have the second volume ofThe Last of the Mohicansfor you from Bine Scharfenberg, and was to get—nay, what was it? It is on a memorandum—A Capricious Woman, by Emilie Carlén."
He took it out eagerly and handed it over to her, not without a certain gallantry.
"Now you must not forget to give it to me to-morrow morning, Miss Kathinka," he said threateningly, "or else you will make me very unhappy down at Bine Scharfenberg's. It won't do to offend her, you know."
Even while the sheriff was speaking, Thinka's eye glided eagerly over the first lines—only tomake sure about the continuation—and in a twinkling she was down again from her room with the read-through book by Carlén and the first volume of the Mohicans done up in paper and tied with a bit of thread.
"You are as prompt as a man of business, Miss Thinka," he said jokingly, as with a sort of slow carefulness he put the package into his case; his two small eyes shone tenderly upon her.
Notwithstanding there had been slaughtering and hubbub ever since early in the morning, Thinka must still, after she had gone to bed, allow herself to peep a little in the entertaining book.
It was one chapter, and one more, and still one more, with ever weakening determination to end with the next.
Still at two o'clock in the morning she lay with her candlestick behind her on the pillow, and steadily readThe Last of the Mohicans, with all the vicissitudes of the pursuits and dangers of the noble Uncas.
Ma wondered, it is true, that so many of the slender tallow candles were needed this winter.
The sheriff must have a little warm breakfast before going away in the morning.
And now he took leave, and thanked them for the hours that had been so agreeable and cheering, although he came so inconveniently—oh, madame, he knew he came at an inconvenient time. "Although now you have certainly got a right handin household matters. Yes, Miss Thinka, I have tested you; one does not have the eye of a policeman for nothing.
"Invisible, and yet always at hand, like a quiet spirit in the house—is not that the best that can be said of a woman?" he asked, complimenting her fervently, when he had got his scarf around his fur coat, and went down to the sleigh with beaming eyes and a little grayish stubble of beard—for he had not shaved himself to-day.
"Pleasant man, the sheriff. His heart is in the right place," said the captain when, enlivened and rubbing his hands from the cold, he came in again into the sitting-room.
But father became ill after all the rich food at the slaughtering-time.
The army doctor advised him to drink water and exercise a good deal; a toddy spree now and then would not do him any harm.
And it did not improve the rush of blood to his head that Christmas came so soon after.
Father was depressed, but was reluctant to be bled, except the customary twice a year, in the spring and autumn.
After the little party for Buchholtz, the judge's chief clerk, on Thursday, he was much worse. He went about unhappy, and saw loss and neglect and erroneous reckonings in all quarters.
There was no help for it, a messenger must go now after the parish clerk, Öjseth.
Besides his clerical duties, he taught the youth, vaccinated, and let blood.
What he was good for in the first named direction shall be left unsaid; but in the last it could safely be said that he had very much, nay, barrels, of the blood of the district on his conscience, and not least that of the full-blooded captain, whom he had bled regularly now for a series of years.
The effect was magnificent. After the sultry and oppressive stormy and pessimistic mood, which filled, so to speak, every groove in the house and oppressed all faces, even down to Pasop—a brilliant fair weather, jokes with Thinka, and wild plans that the family should go down in the summer and see the manoeuvres.
It was at the point of complete good humor that Ma resolutely seized the opportunity to speak about Jörgen's going to school—all that Aunt Alette had offered of board and lodging, and what she thought could be managed otherwise.
There was a reckoning and studying, with demonstration and counter-demonstration, down to the finest details of the cost of existence in the city.
The captain represented the items of expenditure and the debit side in the form of indignant questions and conjectures for every single one, as to whether she wanted to ruin him, and Ma stubbornlyand persistently defended the credit side, while she went over and went over again all the items to be deducted.
When, time after time, things whirled round and round in the continual repetition, so that she got confused, there were bad hours before she succeeded in righting herself in the storm.
The captain must be accustomed to it slowly, until it penetrated so far into him that he began to see and think. But, like a persistent, untiring cruiser, she always had the goal before her eyes and drew near to it imperceptibly.
"This ready money"—it was for Ma to touch a sore, which nevertheless must be opened. The result was that the captain allowed himself to be convinced, and now became himself the most zealous for the plan.
Jörgen was examined in all directions. He was obliged to sit in the office, and the captain subjected him to the cramming process.
*****
"That's as old as the hills," read the captain. "If you swing a hen round and put her down backwards with a chalk mark in front of her beak, she will lie perfectly still; will not dare to move. She certainly believes it is a string that holds her. I have tried it ever so many times—that you may safely tell her, Thinka."
"But why does Inger-Johanna write that?" asked Ma, rather seriously.
"Oh, oh,—for nothing—only so—"
Thinka had yesterday received her own letter, enclosed in that to her parents; it was a letter in regard to Ma's approaching birthday, which was under discussion between the sisters. And Inger-Johanna had given her a lecture in it, something almost inciting her to rebellion and to stick to her flame there in the west, if there really was any fire in it. That about the hen and the chalk mark was something at second-hand from Grip. Women could be made to believe everything possible, and gladly suffered death when they got such a chalk mark before their beaks!
That might be true enough, Thinka thought. But now, when all were so against it, and she saw how it would distress her father and mother, then—she sighed and had a lump in her throat—the chalk mark was really thicker than she could manage, nevertheless.
Inger-Johanna's letter had made her very heavy hearted. She felt so unhappy that she could have cried, if any one only looked at her; and as Ma did that several times during the day, she probably went about a little red-eyed.
At night she readArwed Gyllenstjerna, by Van der Velde, so that the bitter tears flowed.
Her sister's letter also contained something onher own account, which was not meant for her father and mother.
For you see, Thinka, when you have gone through balls here as I have, you do not any longer skip about blindly with all the lights in your eyes. You know a little by yourself; one way or another, there ought to be something in the manner of the person. Oh, this ball chat! I say, as Grip does: I am tired, tired, tired of it. Aunt isn't any longer so eager that I shall be there, though many times more eager than I.
There I am now looked upon as haughty and critical and whatever else it is, only because I will not continually find something to talk away about! Aunt now thinks that I have got a certain coldness of my own in my "too lively nature," a reserved calm, which is imposing and piquant—that is what she wants, I suppose! In all probability just like the ice in the steaming hot pudding among the Chinese, which we read about, you remember, in theBee.
Aunt has so many whims this winter. Now we two must talk nothing but French together! But that she should write to Captain Rönnow that I was so perfect in it, I did not like at all; I have no desire to figure as a school-girl before him when he returns; neither is my pronunciation so "sweet," as she says!
I really don't understand her any longer. If therewas any one who could and ought to defend Grip at this time, it should be she; but instead of that, she attacks him whenever she can.
He has begun to keep a free Sunday-school or lecture for those who choose to come, in a hall out on Storgaden. It is something, you know, which creates a sensation. And aunt shrugs her shoulders, and looks forward to the time when he will vanish out of good society, although she has always been the first to interest herself in him and to say that he came with something new. It is extremely mean of her, I think.