2
The snow continued to fall during the dark of day. Marja, drenched in sweat, lay in her deathbed. Not yet twenty, she was given a poor prognosis by the doctor who saw her.
Few survive the typhoid fever the doctor told her. Why even England’s Prince Albert died from this plague he said. You are young, but who will nurse you? You have no family that can take you in. Elina Jonsdottir and Pall Magnusson, who’ve given you a home for nearly your entire life, are burdened with nursing their own children’s battle with the fever. They have little time to spare for you.
He looked into her eyes, a sad expression on his face as he thought of this young woman wasted by the same disease that raced through so many in the district.
Sighing as he gathered his medical instruments, he looked back at Marja. I’ll speak to the Reeve he told her. There may be something that can be done for you, my girl. He closed his bag and gave her a final glance. He began to speak, thought better of it and turned to lift the blanket that served as the door keeping Marja’s contagion trapped with her and away from the rest of the family.
After the doctor left, Bena, the farm cat, slipped underneath the blanket and into the room. With one quick move she jumped up onto the bed and walked across Marja’s blanket to stare into Marja’s face with her big green eyes. “Merow,” she purred and Marja weakly lifted her hand up to stroke Bena’s fur.
“Oh, my old friend, you’ve come to take care of me,” she said as she stroked the cat. Bena promptly sat down on Marja’s chest and curled her tail. Marja smiled wanly at the cat before lowering her head back to the bed.
Marja stared up at the turf ceiling of the house, dimly lit by the candle that Elina had lit for the doctor. How many years had she lived with Elina and Pall? The doctor had told the truth, her whole life. Her whole known life, at least. Her mother had given her up to the Reeve when she was five years old. The Reeve had found a family that could take her in and in return she would eventually be able to help with the farm. Marja’s mother was given a cooking position on another farm and would be able to keep Marja’s older sister, Sigridur. Marja could still feel the sting of her mother’s teary embrace as they said their good-byes and the little five-year old girl was lead away from her family, her small hand in the giant mitten of the Reeve’s grip. You’ll get used to it the Reeve said as they trudged down the path, and you’ll be better off.
As Marja lay there, she thought of the warmth of that last hug from her mother. That final kiss and how cold and wet her cheek felt after as she walked with the Reeve away from her family and into a mysterious future. Looking back over her shoulder, she watched her mother, all her possessions in a sack over her shoulder, turn away, wiping at her face, as she walked slowly in the other direction, down the rocky path leading to her new life as a servant. The same new life she had to accept on behalf of her daughter. Marja stared hard at the knot in the ceiling beam a few feet above her head, fighting back the lump swelling in her throat. She blinked her eyes and hot liquid coursed down her cheeks.
She opened her eyes and stared again at the low ceiling. The doctor was right. Despite working her entire life for Elina and Pall, whom she thought of as parents, she knew they had their own family to worry about. Marja was a pauper who had a home and a bed only through Elina and Pall’s kindness and her ability to work. Now she was a pauper with a debilitating disease, unable to work. Bedridden.
Elina and Pall were now straining to care for her, their own sick children, and also do her work during her illness. They wouldn’t be able to carry this double burden for long and Marja knew it. The doctor had said he had great faith that she would recover, but it takes many months to fully gain back your health he said, adding that he would talk to the Reeve about her situation.
Pall and Elina can’t support another dependent that long. We’ll need to make a new arrangement he said.
A new arrangement thought Marja. I’ve spent my entire known life on this farm. Elina has become my mother, Pall my father. Their children my brothers and sisters. Not yet twenty and I lose my family a second time.
Marja wondered what possible arrangement the Reeve could manage for her. She knew of many other families in the district that were giving up their children because they couldn’t afford them.
This same sad story was taking place throughout the Icelandic countryside and not just in Reykjadal. Since her mother had given her up fifteen years ago, little had changed. Farms were still failing, families destitute. The Reeve was as busy as ever sending a father to one farm, the mother to another, the children to several other farms.
The only thing that has changed she thought, is me. I am no longer a child, but an adult who should leave my childhood home to make my way in the world, but instead I lay in this sickbed.
Bena, woke from her sleep, jumped off the bed and slipped under the door-blanket into the kitchen.
With great effort, Marja lifted her head off the bed, and struggled to hold herself up on her elbows. She turned her head to look down at her lumpy bed. The sweaty imprint of her body had made on the sheet was surrounded by tufts of her hair. It’s already happening she thought ruefully. The doctor had warned her she would begin losing her hair. She now thought he must have been describing only what he had already seen.
Feeling suddenly weak, Marja quickly lowered herself back onto the bed. Her teeth began to chatter and she pulled her blanket up tight to her chin, eventually warmed and fell into a deep sleep.