DALEN FARM (JUSUREID COTTAGE):

On her way home from a hot day of berry-picking, Gunnhild found her stepmother pacing the path, out of sight of the cabin. Merry Margit's eyes brightened when she saw Gunnhild's pail filled to brimming with cloudberries. "Give me half, quick," Margit said, voice low, holding out a bowl.

Gunnhild poured berries. "Do you have a buyer?" she asked.

Margit shook her head. "To send up to Åe farm. Don't tell your father. You know how he'd fume that every gift means money lost, even at a time like this."

"Like this?"

"Bad news came this morning. Longlegs Halvor stopped in on his way up to Åe. He said his sister-in-law took to childbed, but it went badly. Neither she nor the baby survived."

Gunnhild clutched her berry pail to her chest. Her knees went weak. She had seen Aslaug Siskin a few days past at Homme farm when kin had gathered for a bonfire. Tall Såmund had leaned over to murmur in his wife's ear, placing one hand gently on her rounded belly. Smiles had passed between them. Their eight-year-old daughter Åsne had snuggled up and added her hand, giggling to feel the baby move.

How quickly joy can turn to dust and grief.

"Who will care for the little ones?" Gunnhild whispered.

"Såmund's sister, Egeleiv, I hear, though she has her own family to tend."

Gunnhild flinched at the thought of the empty cradle at Åe farm. At the thought of five motherless children, learning to shoulder all the household tasks once their aunt had to go home again. At the thought of Tall Såmund's grief.

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BREKKE FARM:

Tired of his acquaintances calling him an old bachelor farmer, Ornery Olav surprised everyone by deciding to marry. Even more astounding, the object of his stiff affections agreed. The barren widow, Fru Hansdotter -- twenty years his senior and good friend of his mother Guro -- became the wife of the heir of Brekke. The match ensured Olav years of good cooking, and no whining, sniveling, disobedient children underfoot.

The first time old Fru Hansdotter set to making flatbread in the cabin at Brekke, the crone shot accusing glances at Birgit, who was trying to look uninterested, carding wool near the door. "Fetch a pot of butter," the bakstekjerring snapped.

Birgit dutifully went out to a storage loft, but soon returned. "The shelf is empty. I could have sworn—"

"I'll need butter later. Go to the seter and fetch a fresh pot."

Birgit blinked at her new sister-in-law. "All the way up to the summer farm?"

"You heard me. Off with you." Olav's wife crossed her arms and glared, eyes hot as coals, until Birgit obeyed.

Of course, the baking was done by the time Birgit returned. And so it happened every flatbread-baking day. The miserly woman kept all her skills to herself.

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BEHIND THE SCENES

For readers new to the saga, here are some definitions of Norwegian words:

bakste-kjerring: a baker-wife, a woman skilled at making flatbread, a staple of life in the mountains. (Yearning to leave home and support herself, Birgit had earlier asked Fru Hansdotter to teach her the valuable skill of flatbread baking, but the old hag refused out of pettiness.)

loft: a storage building built on stubby stilts, with an overhanging upper story that usually served as guest quarters

seter: a summer farm higher up in the mountains, near good grazing lands; often including a dairy shed

molte: cloudberries, a tasty wild berry highly valued by country folk; city folk might join them in berry-picking outings, a celebration of summer