ÅKRE FARM:

Gunnhild clung tighter to new husband's arm. "Are you sure about this?" she whispered. "I feel like an intruder. Like a usurper."

Tall Såmund patted her hand as they walked through the twilight. "My in-laws loved their daughter dearly and miss her terribly – ja, it is true. But you see, now all they have left of her is her children. Our children. Their grandchildren. And the young ones suffer even more than their elders from grief."

Silver dangles jingled around the brim of the bridal hat as Gunnhild looked around the courtyard at Åkre farm – the home of Såmund's first wife. How many times she had come to the Åkre's spacious loft for dances and wedding festivities, but it all looked different now that it was her own wedding to celebrate.

He squeezed her hand. "My in-laws are glad you've come into their grandchildren's lives. You'll see. They're open-hearted folk."

Before the doors of the large loft, Gunnhild took a deep breath, drew upright, and nodded, setting the dangles to tinkling again.

They stepped inside.

From the rafters overhead came children's giggles and a shower of summer flowers – snow-like daisies and the little purple pansies called Stepmother Blossom.

Gunnhild broke away from Såmund and whirled in the flurry, laughing up at the youngsters. When she swung back to her husband, there stood his mother-in-law, waiting with a wide smile to greet his new bride.

Two fiddlers took turns at the bow that night. Besides the more accomplished musician, Jon from Homme played a few of the even-paced telegangar dances. Birgit's brother Sveinung Saddlemaker of Brekke, now employed at Byggland, served as kjøgemester while his wife tended their one-year-old son and gossiped with the other young mothers.

"So you got your firstborn son, heir of an estate, just like you foretold," Jon of Homme said at Gunnhild's elbow, grinning wide.

She turned, surprised, then bit her lip, blushing. "I'm ashamed I was so flip back then," she whispered. "Såmund is a wonderful man, and I'd marry him even if he was only a seventh son leasing a subfarm." She raised her voice a notch. "And look at the fine brood of children I get, five of them, without even having to go through the pains of childbirth!"

Såmund beamed.

Gunnhild's three brothers from Huvestad took turns dancing her around the loft. She was glad to see her brother Bjørgulv looking fit and happy in spite of his troubles. The farm was doing well enough, but over the last decade only one of his seven children had survived infancy – a boy named after his morfar Halvor the Haughty.

She partnered another number with her half-brother Red Knut, at eight just a year older than his nephew at Huvestad. Then she took a spin with Tarjei, the only full sibling still living under their father's leaky roof.

Såmund the Former Sawyer waved her away when she gave him an inquiring glance. Nothing but doom and gloom fell from his mouth these days, and Gunnhild had made him promise not to say a word during the celebration. She knew he was already mourning the further blow to his lifestyle from the loss of the profits from her needlework.

"Pay him no heed," said her stepmother. Worry lines now creased deeper than laugh lines on Merry Margit's face. "He has only himself to blame. Go on. Enjoy yourself!" She gave Gunnhild a gentle push back in Tall Såmund's direction.

"Too late," Gunnhild said with a smile. "I've already lost him to another woman!"

Her husband had swooped up her two-year-old half-sister and now whirled her around the room, the little girl shrieking with laughter. Her thirteen-year-old half-sister Aslaug stood with arms folded and toe tapping the floor. "I was supposed to be next."

.

BEHIND THE SCENES

kjøgemester: master of ceremonies, quick-witted stand-up comedian, keeper of the peace when a gathering turns rowdy

morfar: "mother-father" -- maternal grandfather