War and tumult raged on the continent, but Liv paid it no mind. Across the North Sea in France, the revolting middle class pulled down the monarchy (executing the king), demolished all Catholic institutions (slaughtering priests), even tore apart the calendar (mandating 10-day weeks and resetting the year to 1). But in Kviteseid parish, Liv's only son was getting married.

Sixty-five-year-old Halvor walked alongside the children's cart where the path was wide enough. Liv, seventy-five, rode with the little ones. Her knees wouldn't last the day-long trek by foot. She told the youngsters stories to while away the time.

Also in the wagon rode Aslaug Thimble, the young mother from Dalen – Såmund the Sawyer's wife – who was expecting her third child.

"I've got two mormors," three-year-old Gunnhild jabbered from her mother's side. "Mormor Liv who lives close by, and Mormor Gunnhild who lives in the valley. We got the same name."

Liv laughed. "I'm proud to be like a grandmother to you, Gunnhild. Let's see, what is the actual connection? Your farfar Knut the Sawyer is the brother of my son-in-law Aslak. Plus, your oldemar Egeleiv was my cousin."

Gunnhild thought a moment, then declared, "That's too confusing, Mormor Liv. May I please have some more flatbread?"

"Ja, you may. What good manners you have." Liv fished out another crust for the child. "Your oldemar Egeleiv made the best wedding kling from flatbread and butter. I wish mine turned out half as well."

Aslaug Thimble shifted position, one hand on her heavy belly. "On the way home, I think I'll get out and walk and see if my babe will come the sooner. I'm ready to put this load aside."

"An evening of dancing will certainly help," Liv said.

"Hah! Like this, I can't whirl without spinning off balance!"

A boy came running along the wedding procession. "Morfar, Mormor, there you are!" called out eleven-year-old Tall Såmund from Åe. Aslak and Åsne's older son wore his best vest with shiny brass buttons. "Why didn't you wait for us?"

Morfar Halvor slapped a hand on his grandson's shoulder. "We knew you'd catch up. Where's my namesake?"

Tall Såmund rolled his eyes. "Little Halvor found a frog."

Halvor's and Liv's daughter Åsne had borne Aslak five children, though their firstborn, Egeleiv, had not survived to her tenth year. They gave their youngest daughter her sister's name to carry on her memory.

"Hey, isn't there a fiddler?" Tall Såmund demanded. "Far said there'd be a fiddler playing all along the way to Brunkeberg."

Gunnhild spoke up, eager to repeat what she'd heard. "The fiddler is waiting for us in Borkedal."

"Borkedal?" Tall Såmund guffawed. "Morgedal, silly!" He ran back along the path.

Gunnhild crossed her arms and scowled. "I don't like Tall Såmund. He doesn't have good manners like me."

"Tell us another story, Fru Såmundsdotter," Gunnhild's big brother begged Liv.

"How about the tale of a boat that sails over mountains and dales?" Liv suggested. "Imagine if we had Freyr's magical ship Skidbladnir! It's big enough for all your family and friends, yet it would fold up small enough to go in your apron pocket, Gunnhild. We'd skim over the ridge and down to the churchyard before you could say Shortshanks!"

.

BEHIND THE SCENES

Mormor is mother's mother, and Farfar is father's father. Simple enough so far.

Morfar is mother's father, and Farmor is father's mother. But you could just as well say bestefar and bestemor, a generic grandfather and grandmother.

What the English call a great-grandfather, the Norse call oldefar; and oldemor is a great-grandmother.

To go back further generations, the Norse add the prefix of tipp-, the same way an American would say great- ... except it's a generation further back! Tipp-oldefar is great-great-grandfather. Tipp-tipp-oldemor means great-great-great-grandmother.

Are we confused yet?

In coming chapters, keep an eye on Gunnhild and Tall Såmund. (Tall Såmund of Åe farm is the cousin of Gunnhild's father, Såmund the Sawyer of Dalen farm.)