Torjus cut off the reaping song he'd been chanting while swinging the scythe. Hoofsteps thudded on the forest path beyond the hayfield at Homme farm. He shaded his eyes and watched the opening amid the wall of spruce trees.

A rider burst into the open. The sturdy little fjord horse carried a long-legged rider Torjus recognized at a glance. "Såmund!" he called, waving an arm.

"Uncle Torjus!" yelled his nephew from Åe farm. "Where is Morfar?"

"In the house."

"Come. Quick." Tall Såmund dismounted, let the reins fall free, ran to the cabin.

Torjus dropped the rake and ran. Something in his nephew's voice dragged shivers down his spine. He leaped over the step to the threshold, ducking the lintel, skidded to a halt.

Såmund was leading Old Halvor by the arm to his chair. "Sit, sit." The young man's face looked haggard, lips drawn tight, cheekbones etched sharp, eyes wide and raw.

"What—" Torjus began.

Såmund took his elbow, drew him to chair-side, gripped Halvor's weathered hand. "Mor and Egeleiv, up at the seter, the summer farm, tending the cattle. Mor was milking. Like she's done a thousand times. The cow must have had a sore teat. She kicked." Såmund gulped, couldn't go on.

Old Halvor gazed up at his grandson, eyes beginning to glisten.

"She's dead."

"The cow?" Halvor asked.

Tall Såmund shook his head. His voice croaked. "Mor. She's dead. Kicked in the head. Egeleiv saw it all. She was still screaming when I left. Far was holding Mor when I left."

"Åsne," Halvor breathed. "My dear sweet Åsne."

Torjus shook. He dragged over another chair, sank into it. "My dear sweet sister," he whispered. The world spun.

"Please come," Tall Såmund begged. "We need you. We need you both. You'll know what to do."

Halvor shook his head as if stunned by the kick of a temperamental beast. "I will come, but I don't know how to help. It doesn't matter how many times you live through this. It never gets any easier."

.

After Åsne's funeral at Brunkeberg Church, Old Halvor took a tender parting from his stepdaughters Anne and Margit who lived that side of the parish. Sigrid traveled part of the road home with him, then split off to Byggland.

Halvor and Torjus insisted that Aslak, silent in his grief, should stay overnight and leave the rest of their trek home until morning. Tone sent the Homme children to bed early. The older girls read stories to the young ones, their voices murmuring from the other room. Jon's face peered around the door jamb several times until Tone gave the seven-year-old a warning glare.

Tall Såmund and his sister Egeleiv sat on either side of their father near the corner fire, not touching, not speaking, each leaning on the others' presence. Halvor rested in his chair and stared at the flames. Torjus got out his fiddle, polished the wood, tuned the strings, played a lullaby and then a lament, wrapping all their sorrow in that thin keening wail to wind into the night.

BEHIND THE SCENES

No cause of death is given for Åsne, who was 55 when she died.

Såmund's 22-year-old sister Anne isn't listed in the probate records after Åsne's death. Did she die before now, or get married and move away?