The Foster Children of Time

Chapter Sixteen: Off to See the Witch

Chapter Sixteen

Vendela had been practically alone for almost two months now.  The last remaining hired husman who farmed his own small tract of the gard had left a fortnight ago, seeking his fortune oversees and consigning Vendela to the mercy of the Almighty.  Vendela had pleaded with him to stay, but refused the invitation to go with him.  She was not yet ready to leave everything she had ever known behind based upon some vague rumors of a better life in a new land.  And besides, she did not really trust the husman.  He was a surly fellow at best and quick to anger.  She had been the subject of his wrath more than once.  When he realized that Vendela would not follow him, he finally threw his hands up, simultaneously cursed her stubbornness and muttered a benediction on her behalf and disappeared into the snow. 

Vendela’s faith in the imminent return of her father was unshakeable, at least until the time the husman left and she was truly alone.  Every day she performed the same chores about the house and gard as if nothing had changed.  But it was clear that food, firewood, and time were running out.  A woman from a neighboring gard had been visiting from time to time to check in on Vendela and drop off some small provisions of cod or bread, but her visits were becoming increasingly infrequent as the winter wore on.  On one occasion a snare Vendela had set had caught a hare.  She skinned it and prepared it as she had seen her mother do years ago while she yet walked the earth.  The stringy meat sustained her for days.

To take her mind off the hunger, she would pore through the journals of her father, Finne.  She preferred to read the earlier ones, recounting his experiences in the war with the Swedes, who now claimed lordship over the entire country.  But her favorite part was reading about how Finne had met her mother Grete, their brief courtship and eventual marriage.  His later writings, following the death of her mother, were increasingly odd, confessional and agitated.  He wrote about mysterious powers at work, and some sort of shadow government few people discerned, more powerful than the Swedes or even the Russians.  It was difficult for her to understand, even though her reading level was very advanced for her tender years. 

Vendela’s father had spoken of days past before the war when the gard was prosperous and many husmen worked there, but every year there were fewer crops, fewer animals, and fewer husmen.  He had proudly refused offers to sell the land.  War and lean times came.  Infertile fields lay fallow.  The offers to purchase dried up with the crops. 

Finne had finally leftearly one chill morning, promising a swift return.  He would trek to a large neighboring kommune and offer what he still had of value from the days of the war in exchange for provisions that would sustain them through the remainder of the winter.  That was in December, and it was now early February.  Winter’s grip on the land would not be soon released. 

Vendela had finally resolved to attempt the march to the kommune in search of her father.  She was now thin and emaciated, and the cold felt like a literal weight seeking to crush her frail frame.  She would reach the kommune or die trying.  Then the stranger arrived.  He spoke with an accent.  He asked Vendela why she was alone.  He seemed shocked when she related to him how long she had been living alone.

“Can you take me to the kommune?” she asked him.

“Certainly.  If that is where you want to go.”

“My father must be dead.”

“I fear that is the case.”

“Sometimes I wish I had gone with the husman to the new land.”

“My dear, I can take you to a new world.”

“You can?”

“Yes.  But you must assure me that is where you want to go.”