The Trial of Sören Qvist

Nine

93 Nine anna did not know when the dancing stopped and the last guests departed. She woke once and noticed that everything was still, but the pallor which showed through the crack between the shutters was not that of morning. then she slept again, and woke late. there were voices in the kitchen. She heard the chain clink as someone ran a bucket down the well, and she heard the jingling of harness as a team was led out to the fields. She lay still for a few minutes longer, stretching herself under the light warm covering of the feather quilt. then she reached up and unfastened her nightcap, dropped it on the floor beside her, and spread out her hair on the pillow, running her fingers through it to loosen the coils. the room was dim. the sun never reached this corner of the house until late afternoon, but there was already an indication that the day would be warm. She stirred a little and the folds of linen fell about her body softly like waves of lukewarm water. remembrance of the day before returned to her, of her surprise to find it so simple and natural a thing to be kissing tryg many times. She remembered the smell of his face, healthy and warm, and how large and secure his shoulder had seemed as she hung upon it. if anyone had asked 94 Janet Lewis her the day before yesterday what she had expected it would be like to be betrothed, she would not have known what to answer, except, perhaps, that she expected it to be different from anything she had hitherto known. But this morning it all seemed familiar, very safe, very pleasant, and altogether natural. She yawned, and pushed back the down quilt, and, drowsily, got out of bed. white as a withe of peeled willow, small and very slender , touched with gold, naked in the half-light, she moved across the brick floor, swaying slightly as if she were still half asleep. it was certainly going to be a warm day, for she felt no inclination to put on her clothes in a hurry. She picked up a white linen smock and slipped it over her head, drawing the long golden-red hair out of the gathered neck and spreading it loose on her shoulders. She shook out a linen petticoat and stepped into it, tying it tight about her waist. then followed two colored skirts of camlet, one yellow and one green; then a russet bodice, fastening tight about the waist. the pressure of her hands on her waist as she adjusted the bodice reminded her of the hands of tryg, last night, and she smiled, her head on one side, and stood a moment, dreaming. She pushed back the wooden shutters and stood beside the window as she combed and braided her hair, looking out across the morning meadows. the voices in the kitchen were many, and unfamiliar. She thought that they were probably those of the ragged strangers to whom she had served the drinks the evening before. the parson kept so many guests— beggars or travelers—that, at certain seasons of the year when work on the farms was slack, the servants’ room was as frequented as an inn. She bound the braids about her head, but 95 T H E T R I A L O F S Ö R E N Q V I S T did not put on a cap, and went barefoot into the kitchen for a cup of milk. there were four strangers in the kitchen, three of whom she remembered from the night before; the fourth was the young man whom she had seen with Morten Bruus in front of the inn. vibeke and Kirsten had given them beer and bread and salt fish, and were sitting gossiping. very little work had been done, apparently. vibeke rose and fetched her young mistress bread and cheese, saying over her shoulder as she went to the food chest, “here is niels Bruus who is going to work for us.” one of the strangers said, “aye, mistress, we have been trying to persuade him to go along with us to the wars, but he will not, the poltroon.” “i will stay and work for Parson,” said niels, as he had already affirmed half a dozen times that morning. “i will be an honest man and...