Chapter 29
Bard didn't go to work the next day. He muttered something about not wanting to reopen the wound on his side, but as Freja watched him sit and stare broodingly into the fire, she suspected that it was more because he didn't want to be seen by his friends in the state that he was in.
His face, that morning, was frightening and near unrecognisable. It was purple and swollen in different places where he'd obviously been hit, and peppered with little cuts where the skin had split. Bain had stared in horror when he'd seen, and Sigrid had begun to cry. Freja kept them occupied in a different corner of the room as Bard sat unmoving by the fire.
She had questions, hundreds of them. She wanted to know where he'd gone after he'd come home drunk last night. She wanted to know who had hurt him so badly, or if, like she suspected, he'd somehow done it to himself. She wanted to know what had brought him back, and wanted to tell him that whatever it was, she was grateful for it.
Those were the easy questions, the ones she dwelled on to avoid thinking about the others. Had he really killed her father? Was there really a way for them to continue living together if it was true? How was it possible that he knew? And, worst of all – had he known all along?
But he didn't speak, and she didn't ask. He hadn't spoken since the night before, and because she didn't want to risk a confrontation while the children were there, she let him be. Sometimes she could feel his eyes on her, but she didn't look up.
'I don't want to make bread,' Bain scowled, his hands covered in flour. 'I want to go out!'
'It's far too cold to go out, my sweet,' Freja said, kneading her dough with practised hands. 'It's the very middle of winter. And besides, you'll be grateful you made the bread when you're clamouring for food later.'
'I think I'm hungry now,' Bain said thoughtfully.
'No, you aren't,' Freja replied. 'You just ate your lunch.'
'Then I think… I think I'm sick.'
'No, you aren't.'
'Yes, I am, Ma, I promise!' he said, patting his stomach and putting flour all over his woollen shirt. 'I have a sore tummy!'
Freja sighed and put her hands on her hips in mock distress. 'Well then, you'll have to miss out on dinner! And likely breakfast too. We can't waste our food on sick little boys.'
She could see Bain's mind working as he balanced the options, and then he put on a thoughtful face. 'Well… I only had a sore tummy this morning, but it's getting better now.'
'Thank goodness,' Freja said, putting a hand to her heart. 'Now that you're all better, will you knead this dough for me?'
She put the lump in front of him and he began to poke at it as she went back to her own, much larger lump.
'Why doesn't Sigrid have to do jobs like me?'
'Because she's a baby. You didn't have to do jobs when you were a baby.'
'Yes, I did,' Bain replied petulantly. 'You don't know, because you weren't there when I was born. I had to do them all the time.'
Freja shot him a dangerous look. 'Are you going to make the bread, Bain?' she said. 'Or are you going to make me cross?'
'Make the bread,' he muttered, poking at the dough again.
'Good,' she said, attacking her own lump of dough with a vengeance. Bain flicked some flour into the air, and Sigrid sneezed and then gurgled. Freja laughed, but then felt the prickle on her neck that meant Bard was looking over at her. Her smile faded, and she went back to work. The silence was short.
'Can you tell a story?' Bain asked.
'Can you say please?' she retorted.
'Please Ma, can you tell a story? The one about how all the Dwarves will come back and everyone will be rich?'
She hesitated. 'That's Da's story. I don't know that one.'
Bain wilted. 'But I want that one.'
She sighed. 'What about the story of the greedy Dwarf?'
'Yes!' he exclaimed, clapping his hands and sending puffs of flour up again.
'Once upon a time, deep in the tunnels of the Lonely Mountain, there lived a Dwarf who thought he ought to be a king,' Freja began, but as she spoke there was a loud knock at the door.
For a second she stood there staring at it, almost hoping that whoever it was would go away. But the knock came again, and Bain hopped off his stool with alacrity. 'I'll get it!'
'No!' Freja said, glancing over at Bard. He was looking over at her, and she could see that he didn't know who it was either. Her heart began to pound, and she turned back to Bain. 'I want you to go and sit with Da, and be very quiet.'
He seemed to sense the seriousness in her tone, and he went over obediently and climbed into the free armchair.
'Is it the Master coming to throw us all in the Lake?' he asked Bard in a whisper.
Freja wiped her hands on her apron, took a deep breath and pulled the door open. It was Hans.
'Good afternoon, Mistress Freja,' he said politely, but she could see his eyes flicking back to scan the room behind her. She stepped closer and subtly pulled the door a little more closed.
'Good afternoon, Hans,' she replied. 'Are you back from the Lake early today?'
'I never went out today, actually,' he said. 'I was wondering… is Bard in?'
'I'm afraid not,' she lied. 'He left for work this morning, and I suspect he'll be back once the sun's gone down as usual.'
Hans looked uncomfortable. 'See, Freja, I know that's not true,' he said. She blushed, but held her ground as he went on. 'I don't mean harm. I just want to speak to him quickly, that's all.'
Despite herself, Freja glanced back at Bard. He had risen from his chair and was standing by it.
'Who is it?' he mouthed.
'I'm not sure that it's the best idea,' Freja said reluctantly, turning back to Hans. 'I'm sorry.'
'Of course,' he said, but he didn't sound at all sure. 'If you're decided…'
Uncertain that she was doing the right thing, Freja turned back to Bard and mouthed Hans. His bruised face lightened with realisation and he made his way over.
'Hans, wait!' he called gruffly.
Hans looked up, and Freja opened the door wider again so that they could see each other. 'Bard,' he said. 'I was just… what in the bloody world happened to you?'
'It's nothing,' Bard said quickly. 'My own fault.'
'Right…' Hans said, looking entirely unconvinced, but he let it drop. 'Listen, about what happened yesterday at the Lake –'
'I know,' Bard said, cutting him off. 'We'll talk about it. But not now.'
'Of course,' Hans replied, looking slightly relieved. 'Listen, I haven't been down to the boat today. I don't know if he has, but I think it best we keep our distance until this is resolved.'
'Agreed,' Bard said. 'I'll come by, then. Sometime soon.'
Hans nodded. 'Until then,' he said.
'Until then.'
Hans dipped his head toward Freja. 'Always a pleasure, Mistress,' he said, and turned and descended the steps. Freja slowly shut the door behind him, biting her lip.
She knew that Bard had promised to tell her what was going on with Hans once he'd sorted it out, but she had the nagging feeling that it was something to do with her, and perhaps even with her father. She'd agreed that night not to ask questions, but she couldn't do it any longer. She couldn't continue the façade that everything was alright, even for the sake of the little ones.
She made up her mind to speak and turned to face Bard, opening her mouth, but he cut her off with a nod.
'Yes. We should talk about it,' he said gruffly. 'All of it. I won't deny you the right to know.'
I write to you on the first day of 2021 – doesn't the world look brighter already? Since this is a very transitional chapter, the next, much more meaty chapter will be coming in the next couple of days instead of a week. If you can maintain your New Year's resolution until then, you're already halfway there!
Yours,
S
