Her thoughts drifted. The mist had descended again, making it so hard to distinguish what was real from what was imaginary. God, she hated the winter. Why did a blizzard have to blow up on Christmas Eve, of all days? Anna must be stuck at home. Unless Leó had harmed her somehow? The thought was so unbearable that Erla did her best to push it away. She had to make herself believe that Anna was safe and sound at home. It was sad to think of her there all alone, but she had always been so independent and self-contained, like her father. Erla hoped she’d at least treat herself to a good meal. A storm like this could last several days before it blew itself out.
Erla would just have to hang on until Anna could get through to the farm. The smoked lamb could wait. It would keep.
She had definitely bought Anna’s present, hadn’t she? And wrapped it up? Einar’s present was in the sitting room, she was sure of that. His book. And then there was her customary novel, her gift from Einar, of course; she couldn’t wait to get her hands on that.
If only she had a book to read now – and a little light of course – things wouldn’t seem quite so bleak. She didn’t need anything else, just to escape for a while, steal away from grim reality into a fictional world. Tomorrow was the twenty-fifth. She would have time to read then, though naturally she would steal a peek at her book tonight, as she always did.
She was so terribly cold. She couldn’t stop shivering, couldn’t stop her clenched teeth rattling. It was foolish to sit still like this. She should be pacing about to keep warm. And yet she stayed put, too afraid to relinquish her contact with the door, the one fixed point in the lightless world. She kept her eyes tight shut, but the silence was menacing. She had to focus on something positive. Again, she guided her thoughts back to those early years with Einar. She had been captivated the first time she set eyes on this place, thinking to herself: I want to live here for the rest of my life.
His parents had welcomed her with open arms. And she had felt at home with them right away, accepted as one of the family, taking part in all the chores, learning about the farm, the animals, enjoying the closeness to nature. Then winter had set in, that first winter, and she’d had a taste of the suffocating claustrophobia that would later come to dominate her existence, though she had tried to ignore it. She’d learned to distract herself by keeping busy, retreating into books and taking refuge with Einar, who knew the land, knew the weather, knew how to comfort her and reassure her that everything would be fine. He had always looked after her, all these years – decades now. Of course, she could never leave him, never abandon him to his fate.
Then, the following year, Anna had come along. Although it hadn’t been the plan to have children straight away, it had been a nice surprise and the little girl had immediately become the focus of her parents’ and grandparents’ existence. To begin with, Erla had pictured them always living there, but later she had grown increasingly determined to get Anna away, help her set up somewhere else. Though in that, alas, she had failed.
Erla could feel herself becoming drowsy but knew she mustn’t fall asleep, not here in the freezing cold. She might never wake up again. Had she been dozing? She was confused and opened her eyes, but there was no change, just another, much worse, almost tangible darkness. This wouldn’t do. She couldn’t feel her fingers or toes. She rose stiffly to her feet, deciding she must walk around the cellar to get her circulation going and prevent her thoughts from wandering but, above all, to keep herself awake. She took a few wary steps, keeping a hand on the wall, not daring to venture too far from the door.
She had the feeling that she was waiting for Einar. But she didn’t know why. Could he really have told her to wait down there? In the dark cellar?
She took a few more tentative steps and next minute something soft brushed against her face and she screamed, raising her hands to fight it off, feeling something moving, swinging against her. For an instant she was sure it was alive and screamed again, only to realize a moment later that it must be the brace of ptarmigan Einar had shot last week and hung down here in the cellar. But by then she was no longer sure where the door was, couldn’t feel the wall any more, was completely disorientated, couldn’t tell how long she’d been down there, couldn’t breathe. She was lost in the dark, shut in, a prisoner … She stood still for a moment, fighting the rising hysteria, then started moving again, too fast, only to bash her head against some unseen object. The pain was agonizing. She clasped her hands over her skull and felt, or thought she felt, blood oozing from the wound. Damn it.
She squatted down on the floor, closing her eyes again, emitting a low moaning. The world began to spin. She couldn’t catch hold of her thoughts. What in God’s name was she doing in here?
Where was Einar?
Why hadn’t he come?
And where was Anna?
Erla struggled to think what to do. Should she go out and search for her husband? He must be up in the house, in the sitting room. Or in the barn, perhaps. Maybe it was feeding time. Did he know she was in the cellar? Had she somehow locked herself in or could she get out if she wanted to? She was feeling so muddled that she wondered vaguely if she might be concussed.
Better to stay where she was for now. Keep her eyes closed, take
