Fists pound the table in disagreement, silencing her.
‘I do not accept that. Any one of us can bring danger unwittingly. The point is that today the Falks’ hired men know for certain that the amount we carry in our phials leads to death.’
This new truth sits heavily on them.
‘If the child survives the birth, it will be the first amongst us,’ another woman, Pála, says. ‘And therefore, will be another danger to us all.’
‘Dangerous, but also very important to us,’ Stefán reminds them. ‘We must contemplate how to keep Elísabet safe until the birth – and afterwards. Tomorrow morning, after sunrise, we meet again.’
At his house, Stefán pauses a moment before he knocks on the wall of his second sleeping room. Elísabet rests, propped up by eiderdown cushions, her eyes closed, her thick lashes damp with tears. Margrét works quietly as she collects the remnants of a meal of dried fish, butter, and a bowl of whey. She nods to Stefán before she leaves and tells him that Elísabet is awake.
‘You must be very tired. I’ll be brief,’ Stefán says.
Her brow wrinkles at hearing his voice: it reminds her of the horrific events of the day. She cannot forget her husband’s face in its grotesque death mask.
‘Elísabet. You and your child will always be cared for and protected.’
‘For how long, Stefán?’
‘Forever.’
Elísabet looks him straight in the eye and calls upon her strength to say what has been so hard, so maddeningly difficult to admit.
‘The meaning of “forever” has changed.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Before sunrise the roof holes of the huts emit swirls of smoke. Elísabet wakes to the sloshing of hot water in a wide basin. Margrét negotiates the doorway, a cloth draped over her shoulder and soap in her pocket. Elísabet’s clothing has been brushed, her shoes cleaned.
The warm water soothes her and she takes her time, gently moving the cloth over her belly, which seems heavier than yesterday. Her back aches and she wonders at the fact that she is hungry. She dresses, grateful for the patience Margrét has shown in removing the tendrils of grass and the dirt smudges from her skirt.
Now Margrét prepares a bowl of fish and cheese in the small, raised kitchen while Elísabet paces near her.
‘There you are,’ Margrét says to Stefán when he appears, the morning mist beading his jacket. ‘You look as if you too need a hearty breakfast.’
‘I’ve eaten, Margrét. Thank you.’
‘You haven’t slept.’ Elísabet notices his weary, grey eyes.
He pulls a chair to the fire and waits for Margrét to leave the hut.
‘I feel that I am responsible for the death of your husband.’
She slowly picks at her bowl of food. ‘How so?’
‘You and Jón were the first people who did not join us. Both of you convinced me that you could live alone. You were a new breed of survivalists, I thought. Yet, you are the youngest among us and I made the terrible error of … I should have been more persuasive. And now, with your pregnancy … if you had been living here with us we could have …’
‘No. You cannot tell a man who is soon to become a father what is best for his child. Jón would never have listened to anyone else. We never expected a child – he was fiercely proud.’
Stefán cannot suppress a deep sigh.
‘What is it?’ Elísabet asks.
‘I ask that you listen to me – someone you hardly know – and heed my advice. You are right. I have not slept for thinking of any other way to keep your child safe. What we have, who we are now, is as dangerous as it is miraculous. But, Elísabet, I …’ Stefán stops. ‘Goddamn, I cannot do this.’
‘What? What is it that you cannot say?’
‘We must take great care to protect your baby, to hide the child …’
‘Yes, of course. I’m not an imbecile, I’m aware …’
‘No. You do not understand. Your baby will not be safe in this country.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘Your sister, in England … Koldís?’
Elísabet stiffens. ‘How do you know of her?’
‘When I realized my mistake … when I was unsuccessful with my plea for you to join us, I made an effort to protect you both. It involved asking questions about your families.’
Elísabet stands abruptly, her chair falls over with a loud crash.
‘Jón’s father and mine will come to collect my husband’s body.’ Her tone is harsh, her words clipped. ‘If you will please allow me to borrow a horse, I promise they will return it. Thank you for your kindness.’
‘Elísabet … wait. Please trust me when I say that I have no other motive than to keep you and your child safe. I can think of only one way, one choice that gives you and your baby a chance of escaping the fate of your husband.’
‘Why? Why are you and your community safe and I am not? Why is it that my husband, who is – who was – an intelligent and practical man, is dead and not one of you?’
‘For many reasons! We have been evolving, changing our habits for years now. You have no idea yet what it is truly like to live as we do.’ He lowers his voice. ‘I am sorry, that sounded harsh.’
Elísabet knows he’s right. Jón insisted they remain isolated from this farmstead and its people. He never really believed that what had happened to them was actually real. A new wave of fear washes over her. Feeling unsteady, she sits again just as the clang of the bell that signals meetings peels out a call.
Margrét comes again and informs Stefán that everyone is assembled.
‘I’ll leave you for now, Elísabet. If you need anything, Margrét will be here for you. Call upon her.’
The community of men and women are seated in the meeting hut. Under their feet, hidden beneath the table where they are now gathered, the entrance to the tunnel is narrow. One must crawl head first, forcing a delay
