(...continued)

Liv heaved a sigh of relief when Uddedalen finally came in sight. "Thank goodness for the level path between the farms," she told her brother-in-law Tarald and father-in-law Sveinung who greeted them in the farmyard. The skiers quickly shucked their skis and cloaks. "Halvor would have had to carry me on his back if we'd had any more climbing to do!"

Tarald's and Halvor's mother Åsne met them at the door with a brief smile. "Not that long ago, I sat at your birthing bedside, Liv! Come on in. She's doing as well as may be expected."

The men excused themselves and retreated to the barn.

"Siri, my dear, sweet daughter!" Liv cried as Åsne led her inside. "Oh, you look so pale and scared! Let me hold your hand. Tell me how it goes."

Liv felt her insides tighten with fear at each contraction poor Siri suffered, but like her mother before her, she wore a face of calm assurance and spoke with soothing words to support the laboring young wife. All through the night she and Åsne snuggled up on either side of Sigrid, keeping her warm and rousing to help through contractions, while the menfolk slept out in a loft's upper chamber.

Near dawn, after wrenching labor and one last upheaval, the baby found its way into the world. Sigrid sagged limp with weariness and relief, eyes round with wonder and red with lack of sleep, while her mother and mother-in-law cleaned the babe and changed the bedding.

"A fine young son," Åsne said as she swaddled the tiny boy.

Liv wiped tears from her cheeks and took a turn holding the babe for a moment. "Ja, a fine little bairn, my own little barnebarn." She could hardly keep from crying at the thrill, then tenderly placed the wailing infant in Sigrid's arms.

The young mother grinned wide as the breaking day as she cuddled the babe.

Liv wiped Siri's face, and combed her hair smooth again, and fluffed the pillows.

"My own, my sweet, my dearest," Siri cooed to her son. She looked up. "Call Tarald, please, call him now!"

Åsne barely cracked the door, and there was the anxious father. "I hear him! Her, him, whatever, I hear that crying!" He brushed past his smiling mother and went straight to Siri's bedside.

"A boy," Siri said, her eyes shining.

Tarald gazed wordless a long moment, and his breath sighing in the silence said it all. "Shall we?" Tarald asked his wife at last, in a voice that cracked with emotion.

"Ja, ja, let's do!"

Tarald turned and waved his father near, with brother Halvor close behind. "Far, you have a grandson, and we now give him your name. Stop crying, little Sveinung! See your family gathered all around!"

Liv put the knuckle of her little finger to the baby's cheek, and he turned, feeling with his lips and making little sniffly sobs. Her own cheeks ached with smiling as she whispered to her daughter, "He's hungry, poor little man! And you must be, as well, after your long labors. I'll start the childbirth porridge."