Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 28 - Ice and Fire

The apparition that must have caused Signe’s death.

Oh, it was too tragic; she refused to think of that now.

One day, while Belinda was cleaning the room that had once been Signe’s private apartment, she stopped to admire a very beautiful built-in closet-bed. There was something written above the bed, something that that had been etched into the carving.

Belinda traced the letters with her fingers. With some difficulty she managed to decipher the words: “But the greatest thing of all is love.”

“Oh, how beautiful,” she whispered to herself. “How very beautiful! I wonder who used to sleep in here, it looks very old.”

She found a small signature that had been scratched at the very bottom of the bed.

“What does it say?” she murmured. “Villemo Kalebsdatter Elistrand. I wonder who that could have been?”

Then she added, “But whoever you were, Villemo Kalebsdatter, then look down upon me now! I feel so lost in this beautiful house of yours.”

Suddenly she started and turned to look behind her. The room was completely empty, yet still it felt as though someone was there. Had she felt a friendly breath on her cheek?

Belinda remained standing motionless, but of course there was nobody in the room.

Her fingers moved instinctively across the flourishes of the woodwork, where she found a drawer that could barely be discerned amid all the ornamentation. She turned back to the bed and somewhat guiltily pulled out the drawer.

Inside lay a book bound in red leather. It looked quite new. Belinda opened it tentatively. Was it a diary?

“It’s Signe’s,” she cried out in astonishment.

It didn’t reveal much. The first entry had been made on the day of her wedding. Yes, Belinda vaguely recalled Signe receiving a diary as a present from some aunt or other.

She forgot all about time and place as she began to read. It was not that she was in the habit of snooping in other people’s belongings, she just didn’t give it much thought, and it wasn’t long before she was deeply absorbed in it.

The first entries were full of enthusiasm and joy. Herbert was both “handsome and wonderful” and this was followed by numerous exclamation marks.

“Now I am his!” it said. “And how blissful it is. I never dreamed that there was anything so wonderful in the world! Just imagine ... to be the one Herbert has chosen!”

Marital bliss. Household duties. Everything was pure joy.

Later, things were not going so smoothly.

It concerned Tilda, Belinda surmised. Signe made a couple of remarks hinting that there was a dragon in the house, about jealousy and malicious acts performed in secrecy. At first Belinda didn’t understand it at all, and she started to wonder if dragons actually existed. Her dragon-slayer, St George, somehow got mixed up in her thoughts as well, so that she got really confused until she read the words, “The nasty old black dragon Mrs T.A.”. Then Belinda realized what it was all about.

There were other things that weren’t so pleasant to read for someone who had cared for Signe. It became evident that her sister’s great admiration for her handsome husband was gradually starting to dwindle. A girl from the village had made some insinuations. This was just after Signe had, with the greatest joy, written in the diary that she was with child. That joy disappeared abruptly after her encounter with the village girl. No name was mentioned, but Signe wrote about mocking glances and telling insinuations. Belinda didn’t understand it at first, but one of the pages in the diary was completely crumpled and all the ink was blurred. Signe had been crying! It seemed that the strange girl had asked Signe where her husband had been the night before. And on Thursday. And over the weekend. And whether Signe was at all aware of how many women had held him in their embrace and shared moments of pleasure with him?

Belinda sniffled. She had to dry her eyes in order to read the last part, “Today Belinda came. Dearly beloved, sweet little Belinda, she mustn’t know anything! I’ve never really appreciated how precious Belinda is to us. What a loyal soul she is! Oh, why do we always laugh at the ones who do us no harm? We are the ones who are evil. Now I regret the way I always mocked her ...”

“Belinda!”

Mrs Tilda’s sharp voice was coming from the hall.

“Belinda! Where is that girl? Hasn’t she heard that our little angel has awakened? Must I really be the one who has to see to the child?”

Belinda jumped up and stood in confusion, with the book in her hands. Then she quickly put it back in its place and closed the drawer. She hadn’t had a chance to read the last two pages, but that couldn’t be helped. She quickly dried her tears and went out to the hall.

“Have you been in there all this time?” Mrs Tilda asked sharply. “What kind of a nanny are you?”

Belinda didn’t dare show her red-rimmed eyes and went on looking down. “I’m sorry! I don’t think Lovise has been awake very long, I didn’t hear her until now.”

Tilda did not deign to answer, but merely swept down the staircase, her black skirts rustling.

Mrs Tilda was expecting guests that evening. She and Herbert were part of a small circle of people who, with tremulous voices, sang devotional hymns in praise of Our Lord and each other. Mostly the latter. On those occasions they liked to show off little Lovise, which meant Belinda would have a little time off duty. This was a godsend to her. She needed to get out of the house, needed to think things through.

In the dusk, as the voices of the guests blended with the those of the hosts, Belinda would quietly leave the house and walk to the church. Those were her best evenings. The worst ones were those when Mrs Tilda had to go out. In fact they terrified Belinda, because then Herbert would become more bold and enter her room, which she didn’t want – she only wanted to escape him but didn’t know how.

But this evening she had a little breathing space.

Belinda walked very slowly along the road, her heart bleeding for Signe’s bitter fate.

When she reached the cemetery she slipped through the gate, which creaked as though it hadn’t been oiled for many years. It was still light enough for her to be able to discern the graves. It was late September but it didn’t quite feel like autumn yet.

Belinda was, in fact, a little scared of ghosts. But not at this moment. Right now, her only friend in the world lay within the walls of the old cemetery. If, that is, you could call someone who was dead a “friend in the world”.

She went straight to Signe’s grave, which was one of the most recent ones. On the way, she had to pass a few gravestones that were extremely old. It was too late in the day for her to be able to read their inscriptions, but she knew from her previous visit that they belonged to the mysterious Ice People. And that family had many graves in this cemetery.

She shuddered slightly. There were many stories about the Ice People circulating in the parish, that was what Signe had said. About big trolls and horrifying monsters. Nevertheless, the family was apparently popular. Except with Mrs Tilda, who had made a few sour comments about them.

Belinda stopped in front of Signe’s grave, which was situated right next to the wall. She should have brought some flowers with her, as the old ones looked withered.

It was so difficult to talk to Signe today. She couldn’t collect her thoughts, and her heart was breaking. She knelt down on the rustling leaves.

“Signe, dearest Signe,” she whimpered pitifully. “I should have been with you during your last days! You were so lonely. And now ... What am I to do, Signe, won’t you tell me? I am so unhappy and confused, I don’t understand any of what’s going on.”