Hannah Kent - Burial Rites

They must have changed their minds. One morning I was shaken awake by Mamma, who looked at me with swollen eyes. I asked why she was crying, but she said nothing. She climbed into bed with Jóas and me, and I fell asleep against the hot curve of her body, until the caw of the house ravens woke me and I saw my belongings bundled in a sack on the floor.

That morning we started on foot and returned to the valley through an ill-tempered day full of spasms of snow. I thought I would faint from hunger. We stopped in the yard of Kornsá and before I could finish the whey given to me by the woman there, Mamma whispered in my ear, pressed a stone into my mitten and left with Jóas on her back.

I tried to follow her. I screamed. I didn’t want to be left behind. But as I ran I tripped and fell. When I got back on my feet my mother and brother had vanished, and all I could see were two ravens, their black feathers poisonous against the snow.

For a long time I thought those two birds were my Mamma and my brother. But they never answered my questions, even when I put the stone under my tongue. Years later I learnt that Mamma gave me a new half-sister, Helga, to the farmer at Kringla, and that Jóas was now a pauper, a child of the parish. But by that time I had convinced myself I no longer loved them. I thought I had found a better family, my foster-family: Inga and Björn, the tenants of Kornsá.

‘HOW DID YOU SLEEP, AGNES?’ Steina had found the woman out by the patch of lovage, where she was tossing the contents of the chamber pot in the ash pit.

‘You’ll get wet out here,’ Agnes said, without looking at her. She had been using a rock to flick out the stickier contents of the pot, and was now wiping it against the grass. ‘It’s going to rain.’

‘I don’t mind. I thought I’d keep you company.’ Steina lifted her shawl over her head. ‘There, dry as a mouse.’

Agnes glanced at her and gave a small smile.

‘Look, Agnes,’ Steina said. She pointed out towards the mouth of the valley where a mass of low grey clouds was surging in from the north.

Agnes put her hand out to the sky. ‘It’s getting worse. It will be bad for the hay.’

‘I know. Pabbi’s cross. He snapped at Lauga for burning his breakfast and he never does that to her.’

Agnes turned to face Steina. ‘Does he know you’re out here with me?’

‘I think so.’

‘I think you should go back inside,’ Agnes said.

‘And do what? Have Lauga blame me for building the fire up too high? No thank you. I’m happier outside anyway.’

‘Even in the rain?’

‘Even in the rain.’ Steina yawned and looked out at the field, its haycocks bundled into stacks to prevent the damp. ‘All that work for nothing.’

‘What do you mean for nothing? Come the next fine day we’ll get on and then it will be finished.’ Agnes glanced up at the croft. ‘I think you ought to return to your mother,’ she said.

‘Oh, she doesn’t mind.’

‘She does. She doesn’t like you being alone with me,’ Agnes said carefully.

‘You’ve been here for weeks and weeks now.’

‘Even so.’ Agnes began to walk slowly down to the river and Steina turned to keep pace with her.

‘Do you think the Reverend will come today?’

Agnes didn’t respond.

‘What does he talk to you about?’

‘That’s my business,’ she snapped.

‘What?’

‘I said that it’s my business. It has nothing to do with you or your family.’

Steina was taken aback, and paused in her step as Agnes marched on down the hill, holding the chamber pot stiffly at her side.

‘Have I put you out of temper?’ she asked.

Agnes stopped and turned to Steina. ‘How could a young woman like you put me out of temper?’

Steina bristled. ‘Because my family is holding you prisoner, and my father doesn’t want anyone to speak with you.’

‘He said that?’ Agnes asked.

‘He thinks we’re better off leaving you to your chores.’

‘He’s right.’

Steina caught up to Agnes and gently took her arm. ‘Lauga’s scared of you, you know. She’s been listening to Róslín and her lies. But I don’t believe a word that gossip says. I remember you from before. I remember how kind you were, giving us your food like that.’ Steina leaned in closer. ‘I don’t think you killed them,’ she whispered. Agnes’s body went rigid under her grip. ‘Maybe I can help you,’ Steina suggested quickly.

‘How?’ Agnes asked. ‘Would you help me escape?’

Steina let go of her arm. ‘I thought maybe a petition,’ she murmured.

‘A petition.’

Steina tried again. ‘An appeal, then. You know, like the one they’ve got up for Sigga.’

Agnes’s eyes flashed. ‘What?’

‘The appeal. Blöndal has got one up for the other one,’ Steina stammered.

‘The other who?’

‘Sigga… you know, the other Illugastadir maid. Fridrik’s sweetheart.’

Agnes’s face had grown pale. She slowly placed the chamber pot on the wet grass, then stepped towards Steina. ‘Blöndal has made an appeal for Sigrídur Gudmundsdóttir?’ she asked gravely.

Steina nodded, a little afraid. She glanced down to the rock that Agnes still held in her hand. ‘I heard Pabbi tell Mamma,’ she explained. ‘The District Officers were discussing it at Hvammur, with Blöndal. On the same day you arrived here.’

Agnes shook her head.

‘I thought you knew,’ Steina whispered.

Agnes’s eyes slipped from Steina’s and she swayed on her feet. ‘Blöndal?’ she muttered under her breath. Steina noticed that Agnes gripped the rock so hard her knuckles were white.

‘I’m sorry I told you.’

Agnes staggered backwards, and then continued walking unsteadily towards the river.

‘Maybe we can convince him to appeal to the King for you too!’ Steina called after her. ‘Tell them what really happened at Illugastadir!’

Agnes dropped to the ground by the riverbank, her skirts bulging around her. Steina, thinking she had fainted, ran towards her, but as she drew closer she saw that Agnes was staring blankly at the river. She was shivering. At that moment the dark clouds opened up, and the two women were engulfed in a sudden, freezing downpour.

‘Agnes!’ Steina called, wrapping her shawl more tightly about her head. ‘Get up! We have to get out of the weather.’ The sound of the rain drowned out her words.

Agnes didn’t respond. She watched the drops hit the fast-flowing river, breaking the surface so that the mountains’ reflection became wildly distorted. She still held the rock in her hand.

‘Agnes!’ Steina cried. ‘I’m sorry! I thought you knew!’ Her shawl was soaked, and she could feel her dress grow heavy with water. She hesitated by the riverbank, and then turned and began to run up the hill to the croft. The ground had become soggy, and she slipped in the mud. Halfway up the field she turned and saw that Agnes was still where she had left her. She called one more time, and then continued tripping up the muddy path to the farm.

‘Goodness, Steina! Where on God’s earth have you been?’ Margrét rushed down the corridor to scold her eldest daughter, who slammed the croft door behind her. ‘You look half drowned!’

‘It’s Agnes,’ Steina gasped, dropping her sodden shawl to the ground.

‘Did she hurt you? Oh my sweet Lord, protect us! I knew it.’ Margrét wrapped her arms around her daughter, who was shaking with cold, and drew her towards her.

‘No, Mamma!’ Steina yelled, pushing her mother away. ‘She needs help, she’s by the river!’

‘What happened?’ Lauga had stepped out of the kitchen. ‘Oh, Steina! You’ve muddied my shawl.’