Summer

A small boat rolled with the waves of the gloomy, rough sea. Water entered the hull, soaking the shoes of the oarsmen hard at work. The only passenger aboard was a young man of twenty. He was barefoot, fair-skinned with dark, fine hair tousled from the wind and soft, brown eyes. He had a slender frame and a boyish face.

The only cargo was at the young man's feet, a small trunk of all he could bring with him on the journey, which had been knocking against the left and the right of the boat. He sat facing the rowers, his head turned towards the coast. The setting sun highlighted the landscape he had once called home, the last time he would look upon it.

Soon he would be among the fjords and mountains of Norway, living a new life as a servant and groundskeeper.

A strong wave threw the boat off balance and the young man clung to the hull.

"Don't lose your valuables!" Said one of the men, his accent thick although he was speaking the passenger's native Danish. "It's all you've got now." He reminded grimly. He had a point—the young man hadn't even a pair of shoes; he hadn't had time to grab them when he was making his escape.

I can always get new ones. He'd told himself. But until he got the money, he'd be watching his steps.

When they arrived on the beach, it was dusk. The young man tossed the trunk into the sand and departed from the boat, which was anchored about twenty feet away. He shouted back to the oarsmen, "How far is it?"

One shouted back, "About two miles up the path! Go straight ahead towards the trees!"

The fair-faced man then gathered his belongings and drew a deep breath as he set upon his journey.

"Hey!" They shouted before he got too far away. He turned around at them. "I hope you will be happy here!" He said with a peculiar fondness. The young man had been planning this for eight months—it was natural that at least one of the rowers grew attached to him. This was the last time they'd be seeing each other. The young man nodded at them out of gratitude and went towards the steep path.

The trunk weighed him down. The path felt practically vertical. Being shoeless proved to be an advantage as he had better footing, but the ground was also rocky and painful. Even though night fell as he made headway, the June air was warm and he was sweating up a storm. He'd been at such a high elevation, making catching his breath difficult.

Soon, he was nowhere near the beach, but on an isolated path surrounded by forest. It gave him the eerie feeling that if he perished out here, no one would ever find him. It reminded him of back home.

But then a soft glow came into view and he saw the manor, illuminated by lanterns hanging from the walls. With nothing left to lose, he approached.

Rapping on the door, he waited for only a moment before a plump, older woman opened the door. She was shocked at the sight of a weary young man drenched in his own sweat, but he introduced himself. "Hello. Jackson Overland?" He was hoping she'd know what he was there for.

"The boy from Denmark?" She asked and he nodded. "I'm Gerda." She replied and allowed him to enter.

...

Jack took in the household that belonged to the wealthy Nordheim family. Impressively vast rooms with high ceilings and large windows that let in the moonlight. A large central fireplace dominated the parlor room.

He followed Gerda around the house as she explained, "I've worked with Herr Nordheim for over twenty-five years; he's a very cordial man." To his surprise, Jack found that she'd led him to the washroom, which had a perfect, cast-iron clawfoot bathtub. He could only dream of such a luxury back at home. "I'll let you wash up. When you're done, I'll show you your room."

"Thank you." He said, dying to jump into the bath.

Taking off his clothes, Jack turned on the tap and marveled at the clear running water. He cupped it in his hands and soaked his face, drank it. He then dipped his sore, flushed body into the water and leaned his head back until his ears were underwater. He knew he shouldn't indulge, but this was his reminder that this would be a better life for him. Before, he'd been frightened, unsure he'd make it here unscathed. Yet here he was, scrubbing himself with a bar of soap until he felt cleansed entirely of his past.

...

Gerda walked Jack to where he'd be sleeping. It was a small space, but satisfactory. He was grateful just to have his own room.

"Down the hall that way is the master bedroom, and the other is the madame's bedroom." She pointed to a shut door to Jack's left. He'd been told that they had a daughter; she was twenty-one years old and unmarried. That was the most detail Herr Nordheim had gone into about her. Jack surmised he'd get to know her at some point during his work there.

"Thank you," Jack said again. Truly, he was grateful just to be there.

"Rest up. Herr Nordheim will want to put you right to work."

Jack nodded and Gerda left to her own room downstairs. Jack was about to retreat into his own room, but noticed something odd. The bedroom door at the end of the hall was now open a crack. The moment Jack looked and was certain he caught a pair of eyes watching him, the door closed again.

Certain it was nothing more than the 'madame' getting a look at the new servant, he went inside and fell into his new bed. Sighing, he held the soft sheets close. He clutched the pillow like it was his only possession left.

At last, he was somewhere safe.

He was too exhausted to enjoy the moment—he fell asleep almost immediately.

...

"Jackson."

He jerked awake at the call of his name, narrowly forgetting he wasn't back at the awful place he'd come from. He turned to see Gerda at the door. "Herr and Fru Nordheim are waiting in the parlor room. They want to meet you. Be downstairs in ten minutes."

Disoriented, Jack processed her words and rolled out of bed. Half-asleep, he went to the bathroom and cleaned himself up before getting dressed in more appropriate clothes for working. Even after a fairly decent night's rest, he still looked so tired—his brown eyes had dark lines and were relatively bloodshot. He supposed they'd go away after a few more days of being here, but he hoped he didn't give off a bad first impression.

Once he was freshly groomed and dressed, he felt somewhat embarrassed that he'd have to introduce himself without any shoes on. He hoped it wouldn't be a big deal.

Walking downstairs, he found that the parlor room was still empty. He glanced at the clock and saw it was 7:28. Not the earliest he'd been woken up. Too anxious to sit, he walked around the room, noting the decor and furnishings. There was a gorgeous pipe organ built into one of the walls; the first one Jack had ever seen in his life.

Above the fireplace was a family portrait. Herr and Fru Nordheim along with their rather sullen daughter. It was clearly an old picture because she looked no older than fifteen in the photo.

He heard footsteps. Jack turned towards the doorway and straightened his back as erect as it would go. Gerda led Agnarr and Iduna Nordheim into the parlor. They were in their fifties, had clothes more expensive than Jack's entire home had been worth, and pristine posture. He felt so small beneath them and felt scrutinized as they scanned him up and down.

"Jackson?" Agnarr inquired. Jack nodded. The man grinned, then pointed to the table. "Sit, please."

Jack took a seat at the table with them as Gerda left to bring their tea.

"I saw you noticed—the old family photo. We used to take a new one every year. As you can see, we've been slacking."

Nervously, Jack nodded. When Gerda served them their drinks, Iduna and Agnarr sipped wantonly while Jack struggled just to take a lick. His hands were trembling even though this was someone he'd spent months writing to already. "I—I'm grateful to be here, Sir."

Iduna swallowed, "Our daughter should be down to greet you soon. She said she wasn't feeling well this morning."

Agnarr snorted, "Not feeling well. She's just mad at me." Jack tried not to wince, since he knew getting into family business wasn't a good look. To his surprise, the man turned to him and said, "We had an argument shortly before your arrival last night—nothing to do with you, of course. I'm sure she'll love having a new face around."

Nervously tapping his cup, Jack asked, "Could I ask... what is your daughter's name?"

"Elsa."

Iduna set her cup down on the tray so Gerda could collect it, "She's very well-mannered; this isn't normal behavior for her." Jack blankly nodded.

"Was the journey here rough?" Agnarr inquired.

"Oh, no." Jack fibbed.

"Good. I was worried about the weather when you said you'd have to travel by rowboat." Gerda returned to the table with a stew and some bread. Jack assumed it was for Agnarr, but found the man was staring at him and nodding at the bowl. "Go on." He implored.

Was this actually happening? Trying as hard as he could to not look like a glutton he pulled the stew closer and began to help himself. It was delicious, and he hadn't eaten in almost two days.

"Was it hard getting away?" Iduna asked while Jack was still mid-chew.

He swallowed and wiped his mouth with a napkin, delaying his answer. "No." He replied succinctly. Truly, he didn't want to speak about it just yet. Iduna and Agnarr already knew most of the grisly details of his old home.

"Well, we're glad you made it here all right. There'll be a lot of work to do."

"That's good," Jack answered.

"Gerda," Iduna called, "go upstairs and see if Elsa's ready to come down." The woman hastily obeyed. Jack sat quietly, waiting for someone to say something.

"What happened to your shoes?" Agnarr asked. Jack had been waiting for that.

"Oh, I... the one pair I had broke... and when I was leaving I didn't think to—"

Agnarr waved his hand, "Never mind that. I'm sure we can find a pair that'll fit you." Jack nodded right as Gerda returned down the stairs.

She was shaking her head, "She doesn't want breakfast."

Agnarr sighed. Jack's curiosity about her only doubled. "I suppose you can have your introductions later." Agnarr stood up, as did Jack. Agnarr noticed this. "Antsy to work, are you?" He chuckled. Really, Jack was just so afraid of being kicked out he wanted to seem as trained and obedient as possible. "Come on, let me show you what you'll be doing."

Like the trained dog he knew he would have to be, Jack followed.