Chapter 1
It was not a pleasurable time for anyone in Sweden that year, nor had it been for some time, what with the crops failing year after year. Those that could find a way were heading for the promise of the New World. For Nathalie Aronsund it was a particular trial, for within the space of a fortnight, she had lost both her mother and father. As she trudged back from the cemetery through the slush of early spring, her mind cried out in anguish at the gross injustice of it all.
Why me? her thoughts kept repeating over and over. What can I do? How can I exist?
The men trudging grimly ahead of her were bickering over this same problem.
"I think it is wrong," the oldest whispered. "We owe the good reverend and his wife something better than this."
"Ja, but there will never be another parson to come to us unless we honor the wishes of our only benefactor. Without him, there would not be a krona left in the collection plate. How then could we accomplish any good?"
"Besides," sided his friend, "what do we really have against Arne Bjornson or his wife? Nothing but a lot of gossip! No one has ever produced a single shred of substantial evidence. I say if he is willing to take the child as a ward, let us be glad of it. I will be honest with you. There is not a scrap of bread left over at my table to feed an extra mouth."
"It is settled then?" the old man asked. "We accept the offer of the Bjomsons to take the child as a ward?"
The men nodded and trudged in silence. The funeral had been a drab one, what with the season being too early for flowers. Not even a crocus had popped through the slush. The entire village had attended and many had been deeply grieved over the demise of the good parson. Coming so soon after the death of his wife, there was not even a suitable casket for the man who had done so much for his village.
As the elders turned to re-enter the church, the old man stopped to look up at the huge gray manor house that hung over the village, clinging precariously to the gray granite cliffs. Somber clouds hung like a pall over the high dreary walls. The old man shuddered and then hurried into the church.
The girl had shown much restraint and dignity for one so young. At sixteen, she had already acquired some of her father's best traits. Her long pale blonde hair was primly knotted and tucked beneath the cheerless black bonnet. Although she was small and fine boned, like her mother, she had the long methodical plodding steps of her father and her feet were perennially shod in shapeless black brogans. The bodice of her black mourning gown was shapelessly loose and her skirts hung drearily, without the many starched petticoats favored by other girls of her age. The delicacy of her features was overshadowed by the pinched, puritanical expression, and even her mother had more than once called her the old-maid type. On this day, her back was ramrod stiff as usual but her shoulders drooped at the terrible burden she carried within herself. As she was passing the church, Elder Gustav Thorvaldsen stopped her and could not help noting the swollen condition of her eyes.
"We will keep you only a moment," he promised. "The elders wish to speak with you."
She nodded gravely and turned in. The men were in her father's office, standing about uncomfortably. She looked around but none met her eyes, all seemingly intent upon studying the worn flooring.
"Yes?" she said impatiently when none would take the initiative.
At that moment, the old man hurried into the room and the others seemed greatly relieved.
"I am sorry, my dear. I am finding it impossible to fill even half of your father's shoes," he said.
Nathalie nodded.
"Ja, Papa Henrik, there always seemed much to do."
"Ja, well, that is the way of it. But," he said, forcing a more optimistic tone than he felt, "I have good news for you, my dear. The honorable Arne Bjornson and his wife, Sara, have magnanimously expressed an interest in your concern. They have agreed to take you as their ward. Quite a jump up in the world, is it not? I hope you will not forget all of your common friends."
Nathalie stared at the old man as the words sank into her brain. She felt nothing. Oh, most certainly, she knew about the great manor house and the checks that arrived each month to make it possible for the church to continue. She had seen the big square-boned man riding on his stallion in the hills, and always he was followed by eight or ten of the huge great Danes he kept. She had seen his tall, angular wife visiting the dressmaker or picking out her vegetables at the farmer's stand. She could not recall having ever spoken to either of them. They did not attend services and she could not imagine how they had even learned of her existence.
There had been one time, she remembered, not too long ago, when she had almost been spoken to. She had been in the fields so it must have been last fall, and he had ridden past within a hundred yards of her. One of the monstrous dogs bad bounded up to her and, loving animals as she did, she had forgotten all caution and reached out to pet the huge beast. He had immediately whined and rubbed up against her. She had not realized the man had stopped and ridden back to investigate until he laughed.
"Too bad, Duke," he had snorted. "She does not seem to frighten easily."
Nathalie felt at home with animals. She had smiled at the sight of the friendly beast but at the sound of the man, she stiffened, acknowledging his presence with a curt nod.
He had said no more but laughed and whistled to the dogs. Then he was gone. The girl was ashamed that she had not spoken to the church's most benevolent donor. It was simply that she could never speak easily with people, most especially strangers, and this one far above her station, at that!
And now they had agreed to take her as ward. In such a great house, there was sure to be a library with more books than she had ever seen-and the animals. There would be plenty of them about. The only obstacle she would have to face was people, and she fully knew that she would have that mountain to climb wherever she was sent.
"I thank you," she said, "and please thank the Bjornsons. I shall gather my things and be ready by mid-afternoon."
The old man sighed. "It is just as well. Better not to stay alone in the parsonage. If Gustav will give me the loan of his buggy, I will take you up myself."
Gustav quickly agreed.
"I have very little," the girl admitted.
"But everything that belonged to your mother and father belongs to you now, Nathalie," the old man reminded her.
She looked up at him and her eyes welled up with tears in spite of herself.
"They had nothing, either," she told him.
The elders shook their heads. They all well knew that it was so, for the good Reverend Aronsund had given everything that he had to the people.
And we repay him like this, the old man thought sadly, delivering his only child to a den of wolves.