December 17
“Say what you will about Napoleon, but the man sure knew how to make cake!”
The former editor of the Dalen Daily , Arnstein Barke, laughed heartily at his own joke. And Thor Seter was never going to eat Napoleon cake again—at least that’s
what he would have sworn if someone had asked him at that very moment, after he’d consumed what felt like a pound of phyllo
pastry, vanilla cream with rum, and icing.
The pastry shop in Vrangsida was known throughout the valley for its enormous slices of cake, and this was where the retired
newspaperman had wanted to meet. After a few introductory remarks about the weather, the shop, and the history of Napoleon
cake, Thor had managed to steer the conversation over to the disappearance from 1962.
Arnstein Barke had to be about a hundred years old. He’d run the newspaper from after the war until the 1990s. Now he lived in Vrangsida across the river from Dalen, and he’d been thrilled when Thor called a few days earlier and said he needed the editor’s help.
Arnstein Barke had single-handedly maintained the Dalen Daily archives after the board no longer found it necessary to take care of such old matters. So when Thor had asked whether there
might be some copies dating back to 1962 in Barke’s collection, he’d enthusiastically confirmed that indeed there were. And
in exchange for a slice of Napoleon cake and repeated promises to be extremely careful, he said Thor could borrow all the
newspapers he needed.
“I remember that case well,” Barke said when he’d pushed the empty plate aside and took a sip from his third cup of coffee.
“Now let me tell you...”
***
It was still snowing. The mountaintops were now completely concealed behind gray clouds, the wind was howling, and the snow
had been coming down more and more heavily throughout the day. It packed itself in drifts around the cars in the parking lot,
and Ingrid was glad her own was safe in the garage.
She took a trip into the library, where she found John Wilkins and Pia P on the sofa by the fireplace. Dr. Wilkins had a cup
of coffee in front of him, and Pia was holding a cup of something that resembled herbal tea. She was dressed in a champagne-colored
pantsuit made from some kind of velvety fabric and looked shamefully good.
The doctor stood up courteously when Ingrid approached their table.
“Good afternoon, Miss Berg,” he said.
“Good afternoon,” Ingrid replied. “Please, sit. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just wanted to check in and see how your wife
is doing.”
“Thank you for asking. She’s doing better now,” Wilkins assured her, sitting back down. “But I’ve told her to stay in bed for a few days after the fainting and the . . . confusion she experienced. I’m quite concerned with getting her blood pressure properly regulated and don’t want her to exert herself too much.”
“You’ve clearly been having some pretty active days since you came to Norway,” Ingrid said. “I just hope you’ll let me know
if there’s anything the hotel can do to help.”
“Thank you again,” Dr. Wilkins said. “You’re really already doing everything right here. We’ve gotten delicious food up in
the room, and everyone is so thoughtful. Miss Seter has told me a lot about Norwegian Christmas traditions, and Miss Pihlstr?m
here”—he pronounced the name with a thick American accent, Peel-strohm —“is telling me about modern Norwegian culture.”
He took a sip of coffee. “I’m quite confident that Freya will be back on her feet soon. I don’t know exactly what triggered
the episode, but I’m sure that as long as she rests for a few days, she’ll be shipshape by Christmas Day.”
“I hope so,” Ingrid said.
She went up to her apartment to get started on some paperwork but couldn’t get Freya out of her head. Her concentration was
nonexistent; she wanted to talk to Freya herself to get a sense of what was going on. What was it about the picture that had
made her react this way? And why had she suddenly started singing that old Norwegian lullaby?
Ingrid paced back and forth, opened the kitchen cupboard, ate one caramel and then another. She picked up her phone, sat down,
and looked at the Instagram updates from Sunny and Pia P. Lots of likes, but would they ever manifest themselves in actual
profits?
Christmas Eve was only a week away! This was really the home stretch. It was lovely that snow had come before Christmas, but she hoped it wouldn’t snow so much that it would cause problems for transportation.
There was a knock at the door, and she stood up to open it.
Thor Seter’s cheeks were red from the cold, and his blue eyes shone eagerly as he stood in the hallway outside her apartment.
His blond curls were tousled as he pulled off his hat.
“Hi!” he said. “I picked up the kiddo from school today, too. I guess it’s kind of becoming a tradition.”
“How nice of you!” Ingrid said.
“No, no, it was no trouble at all. And I have something I wanted to talk to you about. If I’m not interrupting?”
“Not at all,” she assured him. “Come in! Do you want some coffee? I just made some.”
“I never say no to coffee,” Thor replied as he hung his jacket on the peg inside the door and unlaced his heavy winter boots.
“Even though I’ve already had more than my fair share today. Of Napoleon cake, too. I had a meeting with Arnstein Barke.”
“So you contacted him about the newspaper archive?” She glanced at the folder of loose clippings that was still lying on the
coffee table, as disjointed as pieces of an unfinished jigsaw puzzle.
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’ve done,” Thor said, settling down on the sofa. Now she saw he had a bag with him. Thor took
out a stack of newspapers and spread them out on the table.
She put the coffee cups on the table and sat down next to him.
“You’re not going to believe it,” he said and patted his hand on the pile on the table. “This is pretty special, this stuff
here. I thought I knew most things about this valley, but I’ve heard remarkably little about this particular case. Today,
I’ve learned a whole lot more.”
He carefully unfolded the first newspaper and laid it out on the coffee table.
They’d seen the masthead, Volkswagen ad, and headline before:
THE DALEN DAILY
Monday, March 5, 1962
YOUNG GIRL MISSING
The sheriff of Dalen and Innviken is searching for a young woman who went missing from her home without a trace two days ago.
See page 5.
This time, they actually had a page 5 to see, and the old paper crinkled as Thor turned the pages. But the information about
the case itself was limited.
“This doesn’t say much more than what was on the front page,” Ingrid said, a little disappointed. “A young girl is missing
and there are few clues.”
“Hang on!” Thor said, flipping through a couple of other papers in the pile. The front page that appeared two days later sent
a chill down Ingrid’s spine.
THE DALEN DAILY
Wednesday, March 7, 1962
YOUNG GIRL STILL MISSING
Family asks for help
The sheriff of Dalen and Innviken is looking for 19-year-old Charlotte Dalen of Dalen, who went missing from her home without a trace on Saturday. She was supposed to get married in Dalen Church but never showed up for the ceremony. Her family and fiancé Jarand Smedplass (29) fear that something has happened to her.
The article continued inside the paper:
In recent days, the sheriff and volunteer crews have combed the area looking for Charlotte Dalen, who disappeared without
a trace on Saturday when she didn’t show up for her own wedding. She did not take any luggage with her, and as far as the
family knows, has not contacted any relatives or friends in the district. A coat belonging to Miss Dalen was found near Styggfossen
on Tuesday, but otherwise there has been no trace of the young woman. Rain and wind have made the search more difficult. Parish
priest Tankred R?hmer says that Charlotte Dalen is a responsible young girl who has never previously gone missing or caused
concern for her family.
“So her name was Charlotte Dalen? Who was she?” Ingrid asked, puzzled.
“This is where it gets really strange,” Thor said. “The missing girl, Charlotte Dalen, was Hallgrim Dalen’s little sister!”
“What?! But Nana Borghild never said anything about that,” Ingrid said. “She only said that she knew her. She promised she’d
tell me more when we were interrupted the other day.”
“It’s strange she didn’t mention it,” Thor said. “They were around the same age, weren’t they? If Charlotte was . . . what does it say here . . . nineteen years old in 1962, then she was only two or three years younger than Borghild.”
“Yes. The fact that she’s never mentioned it before makes it even stranger.”
Arnstein Barke had confirmed what they already knew: that the young girl had never reappeared and that no body had ever been
found. It was an unsolved mystery, plain and simple. The local newspaper had of course followed up with several articles in
the time after the disappearance, and the case was even covered in the national media. It was rare for a young woman to disappear
like that—without a trace. But no one had come forward with any information, and gradually, the attention died down.
Charlotte had seemingly vanished into thin air. Or maybe into the waterfall.
“Do you think she actually threw herself in?” Ingrid asked. “Killed herself, I mean?”
“Yes, or it could have been an accident,” Thor suggested.
“But why would she have taken off her coat before she fell, in that case?” Ingrid asked. “And what was she doing up at Styggfossen
to begin with, instead of showing up at church on what should have been her wedding day?”
“They don’t state it outright, but this article seems to suggest that the groom-to-be was suspected of having something to
do with the disappearance,” Thor said, pointing at the newspaper he had in front of him.
“Yeah, what was his name again? Jarand Smedplass? I’ve never heard that name before,” Ingrid said. “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t
live in the village anymore, at least.”
“Maybe he moved away,” Thor replied. “Or died before our time. But anyway, when would he have managed to push the girl into the waterfall? Charlotte Dalen was at home the morning of the wedding. Her brother Hallgrim confirmed that to the police, it says here.”
“And this Smedplass was at the church when she was reported missing,” Ingrid said. “It seems like the suicide theory makes
the most sense, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, it looks that way. But you wouldn’t report stuff like that in the papers back then.”
“What does it take for someone to throw herself into Styggfossen instead of going to her own wedding?” Ingrid wondered.
“There’s something missing here,” Thor said. “What aren’t we seeing?”
“You can say that again!” Ingrid exclaimed. “The fact that Charlotte was the sister of Muskox Dalen makes me think that this
is more than just coincidence. Nana Borghild and Hallgrim don’t even acknowledge each other if they see each other in the
village, but they were actually friends once upon a time.”
“I had no idea!” Thor said.
“Yup. Wait a second,” Ingrid said. “Look!” Now it was her turn to show him something. She held out the brochure Sunny had
found and Thor took it from her.
“ Learn to waltz, swing, and folk dance every afternoon in the hotel’s dining room. Instructors: Borghild Berg and Hallgrim
Dalen ,” Thor read aloud, looking taken aback. “Are you joking?”
“Nope! You can see it with your own eyes. I have no idea what could have happened there, though. But speaking of Hallgrim, these old coincidences are particularly striking because I have a feeling someone is actually working against us in the village right now. And I can’t help thinking that Hallgrim Dalen has something to do with it.”
“Ingrid,” Thor said. He looked at her intently. Those blue eyes again... “I’ve been thinking the same thing. I talked to
the Muskox Calf because I got the feeling there was something he wanted to tell me.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Hallgrim is trying to keep me out of it. You know how he is. Threatening and suggesting that bad things can happen if
you dig around. But the Muskox Calf—well, I should probably call him Karl. Karl came to me with something on his mind, and
after a lot of prodding, I got a hint. He drew an X and an O on his plate.”
“ X and O ? As in XO Hotels?”
“Exactly. As in XO Hotels. Afterward, I did some googling and talked to a few people, and now I’m pretty sure I know how it
all fits together. Muskox Machinery works with XO Hotels.”
“Are you freaking kidding me?” Ingrid exclaimed. “That hotel chain contacts me all the time! I’ve even agreed to meet with
them after Christmas.”
Thor continued, “I’m sure that’s part of the plan. Muskox Machinery has gotten lots of jobs from XO for things like excavation
and development. So I’m sure the company will benefit if XO takes over here at Glitter Peak. There may be more, too. Maybe
Muskox Machinery has even been promised shares or some other kind of bonus if things go the way XO wants them to.”
So that was the missing piece falling into place.
“So Hallgrim Dalen and his clan have been trying to make things go poorly for the hotel because they’ll profit if we have
to sell?”
Despite what they say . . . Aslaug Slettebakken’s words from the other day when she and her husband came up for dinner to “have a look around” suddenly
made sense. Ingrid understood now. Hallgrim and Co. were trying to tarnish the hotel’s reputation.
“So they’re discouraging people from coming here?”
Thor nodded. “They want you to have as few guests as possible so your revenue base will suffer. You’ve mentioned sudden cancellations
that seemingly come for no apparent reason? I wouldn’t be surprised if they were sabotaging in other ways as well.” Thor grabbed
her hand, warm and eager. “But now that we know about it, we can stop them!” There was a twinkle in those light blue eyes.
Ingrid smiled. “It’s good I have you as an ally!”
“Yes, I’m happy to be one,” he assured her.
She let him hold her hand for a while. His hands were big and safe. She wanted to sit like that for a long time—maybe even
lean against him.
But she felt a growing sense of unease as well. Her body stiffened, as if warning her that the closeness that was about to
happen here was dangerous.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had any physical contact with Thor. In elementary school, maybe? She didn’t think
they’d even kissed or anything like that. Their “relationship” mostly consisted of them running off and looking for animal
tracks after school. When they graduated from high school and she moved away from the village, she must have given him a hug?
But it felt like such a long time ago now.
Thor noticed that she was tensing up and let go of her hand.
“Sorry!” he said. “I didn’t mean to...”
She laughed. “No, no, it’s fine, I just . . .” She didn’t know what to say. She tried to think of something to get the conversation going again, to pretend that nothing had happened, but then she was suddenly very aware of Thor’s physical closeness. This large, adult version of his body was unfamiliar.
She sat quietly for a moment. Then she took his hand again.
Soap and wool. That’s what he smelled like. Clean and warm. Something loosened in her, melted inside of her. She carefully
moved closer to Thor, leaned her face against his shoulder, and breathed calmly. She felt the warmth of his body and his breath
in her hair. She kept her eyes closed. Ever so slowly—so she wouldn’t ruin the moment—she turned her face toward his throat.
His skin was warm and a little rough. Her lips—what was she doing now?—her lips searched upward. She heard him make a sound,
a kind of moan, as he turned his face to hers and their lips met.
***
When Ingrid and Thor came down the stairs, Ingrid felt as though everyone they passed could see that something had changed.
Aisha was standing behind the reception desk, flipping through some papers. Ingrid almost blushed when Aisha looked up and
met her gaze.
Thor hugged her by the door. For a long time. She freed herself as casually as she could. Thor moved his hands to her shoulders
and smiled almost a bit shyly.
“I’d better get back down to the sheep. Say hi to Nana Borghild from me. Maybe she can tell you a bit more about what was
in the newspapers?”
“Yeah, maybe,” Ingrid said. She’d practically forgotten all about the newspapers and Charlotte Dalen’s disappearance; now, all she could think about was the fact that she’d kissed Thor Seter.
“Drive carefully!” she said, walking toward the main door to check on how bad the snowstorm really was. But just as she opened
the door, she jerked and took a step backward.
“Oh my God!” she exclaimed. She couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw who was on the stairs.
Standing just a few feet away from her was a tall, handsome man with dark hair slicked back and a navy coat open over a white
shirt. The tall figure and sharp profile were unmistakable, despite the dim lighting.
“Preben! What the hell are you doing here?”
“Nice to see you too, Ingrid,” Preben Wexelsen replied, looking at her in that usual irritating way of his. “I came here because
there’s something I need to talk to you about.”
“You can’t just show up here like this,” she protested.
“I can’t?” he retorted. “This is a hotel, isn’t it? I thought you’d be happy to have guests.”
“Ingrid, is everything okay? Do you need help?” Thor asked. He looked worried.
Help? Was she supposed to need help here? What was he talking about? There wasn’t anyone who could help her with this. Ingrid was freezing. She wasn’t getting
enough oxygen, despite the fresh air flowing through the wide-open door. She took a couple of steps to the side and supported
herself on a chair. Her vision was blurring, and her hands felt numb. Then she pulled herself together and straightened up.
Preben had come into the foyer and stood there with his arms crossed.
Finally, she spoke. “Thank you, Thor. But this is something I need to deal with myself. I don’t need any help. Thank you for everything you’ve done so far. You head on home, and we’ll talk again soon.”
“Are you sure?” Thor asked.
“Yeah, it’s fine. I’ll call you.” She took Thor by the arm and practically shoved him out the door.
He looked at her in disbelief, and she felt guilty for being so brusque, but she had to deal with Preben Wexelsen on her own.
She chose to ignore Thor’s questioning look as the door shut behind him. She’d have to explain this to him later—if it was
possible to explain it at all. She didn’t even know why Preben had shown up. The warmth she’d experienced with Thor just a
few minutes ago had suddenly been replaced by cold and insecurity.
Preben was kicking the snow off his shiny, expensive, and most certainly handmade city shoes. Surely he realized that he wasn’t
welcome here. But that didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to leave voluntarily.
“I drove all the way from Oslo to talk to you,” he said. “And I have no intention of leaving Glitter Peak until I do.”
Ingrid looked at her watch—it was almost six. Preben wouldn’t be back down in Oslo before midnight if she kicked him to the
curb now. She could ask him to find some other accommodations at one of the chain hotels across the valley or closer to Lillehammer.
She glanced toward the reception desk, where Aisha was watching them. Did she realize who Preben was? She’d only met him once
before, in a completely different context...
Ingrid thought quickly. She had to find some excuse to get away so she could collect herself.
“I have something I have to take care of,” she said shortly. “Aisha will find you a room, and we’ll talk later.”
Ingrid ignored Aisha’s searching expression, turned around, and walked up the stairs, her heart hammering in her chest.
First, there was this thing with Thor, which had come as such a surprise—and now Preben had suddenly shown up. She felt his
eyes on her back. She didn’t turn around.
She was sitting on the sofa in her apartment staring straight ahead when there was a knock at the door. She mumbled something,
and Nana Borghild opened the door and came in.
“So here’s where you’ve been hiding,” she said. “I was looking for you.”
“Preben is here!” Ingrid blurted out.
“What? Here?” Nana Borghild looked around as if Preben were hiding somewhere in the apartment. “No, Thor was the one who was
here, sweetie.”
Ingrid laughed humorlessly. “Yes, Thor was here! But now Preben is here, too.”
Her grandmother looked at her like she didn’t understand a word she was saying. “But why in heaven’s name is Preben here?” Borghild asked.
“I don’t know, Nana. He says there’s something he needs to talk about. I tried to get rid of him, but he won’t leave.”
“And where is he now?”
“Probably in his room. I asked Aisha to find one for him.”
“But then I suppose you have to talk to him?”
“Yes. Or no. I can’t. I don’t know. I don’t have time.”
“But you have time to hide in here?” Nana Borghild looked as though she immediately regretted saying that, as she changed her tone and said softly, “Ingrid, sweetie. Come to my apartment. We’ll have a bite to eat, and you can deal with Preben afterward. You know you’ll have to after he came all the way up here.” She stroked Ingrid’s cheek. “I’ll help you if I can, Ingrid. I know there’s a lot going on right now. But you can do it. We’ll figure it out together.”
They sat at the dining table in Borghild’s apartment and had some food brought up from the kitchen. Once Ingrid started eating,
she realized Maja’s meatballs and cabbage stew were exactly what she needed on a day like this, and she felt her vitality
coming back.
She told her grandmother about what Thor had found out.
“Hallgrim Dalen wants us to sell. He has a financial interest in a sale,” she said. “Muskox Machinery is collaborating with
XO Hotels.”
Borghild looked at Ingrid. “The financial interest explains a lot,” she said. “But there’s more than that—a lot more. And
there are things I need to tell you about now. Things from the past. Because no matter what happens with our finances and
XO’s takeover attempt, some things are going to come to light now, things that have been kept in the dark for a long time
and that I haven’t talked about before. Maybe I should have told you about these things already, but I’ve kept them to myself
because I made a promise. I’ve also stayed silent to protect the hotel—to protect you , Ingrid.”
Borghild took a deep breath and paused before continuing. “It’s not just about the money with Hallgrim, Ingrid. The reason he’s working against us, why he wants the hotel to fail. No, above all, it’s because of an old grudge. Bad blood. You know that Hallgrim Dalen and I aren’t on speaking terms, not anymore. But we were once. The thing is . . .” Nana Borghild cleared her throat. “The thing is, Hallgrim once hoped he’d be the one running Glitter Peak Lodge.”
Ingrid stared at her grandmother uncomprehendingly.
“What? Hallgrim? But... I mean... our family has always owned the hotel!”
Nana Borghild gave her a meaningful look.
“Yes. Exactly. So the only way he would have been able to take over the hotel is by marrying into the family.”
Ingrid was totally confused. What was her grandmother saying?
“Hallgrim Dalen wanted to... what? Marry... you?”
“Yes, is that so strange?” Her grandmother raised an eyebrow coquettishly. Her smile showed a glimpse of a much younger woman
before she grew serious again. “Yes. It was before... before we had a falling out, and before I married Christian, obviously.
Hallgrim has never forgiven me for that. He’s always wanted Glitter Peak to be his.”
Ingrid set her cutlery down on her plate. She thought about the dance lessons.
“Were you and Hallgrim Dalen... together ? I mean... were you engaged to him before you were engaged to Grandpa?”
“No, we were just friends—good friends. At least the way I saw it. This thing with marriage was just something Hallgrim had
come up with in his head.”
“Is that why you had a falling out? Because you wanted to marry Christian—Grandpa? It’s strange if Hallgrim can’t forgive
you after sixty years, when he himself has also gotten married and had children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.”
“It’s not just that,” Nana Borghild said. “There’s even more behind it. That newspaper story you asked me about the other day, the one about the disappearance? That’s what it’s really all about. It’s about Charlotte Dalen.”
***
Ingrid shut the door behind her. She was lost in her thoughts. She’d never known—or thought about—so much when it came to
her grandmother’s life. Ingrid had never known her grandfather; he’d died before she was born. She hadn’t had parents who
could describe him, either. Grandpa Christian had been black-and-white pictures in old photo albums and a name that was fondly
mentioned in anecdotes, a part of the history of Glitter Peak Lodge, just like the furniture and the carvings and the stuffed
bear.
Ingrid had never thought about it before—the reason Nana Borghild had chosen her grandfather, and that he might not have been
her first love. It occurred to Ingrid that it wasn’t the sort of thing you think about that much. Family and history simply
were what they were, and the course of events seemed like the only option.
But now, she realized that the story could have played out quite differently.
And how will my story play out from here? she thought. She’d spent so much effort trying to push away the memories of what had happened, but now her own past had shown
up at the hotel, and she couldn’t put it off any longer. She had to go and listen to what Preben had to say—even though he
was associated with so much pain that it felt as though her heart was stopping just at the thought of it.
She didn’t want to be with him in the hotel, that’s for sure. He didn’t belong here.
“You’d better put your coat on,” she said when she was standing outside his door. She was already dressed in a down jacket
and hat. “We’re going on a walk, and you can tell me what’s so important.”
“A walk? Now?” Preben looked taken aback, but she just waved him along and walked toward the stairs without saying another
word. Preben didn’t say anything else either but grabbed his coat and scarf and hurried after her.
A thought suddenly struck her. Could the fact that Preben was suddenly here have something to do with everything else that
was happening? Did he perhaps have contacts in one of the hotel chains that kept asking her about a buyout? Was he going to
sweet-talk or threaten her? Make her an offer she couldn’t refuse?
There wasn’t anyone at the reception desk, and fortunately, they didn’t run into anyone in the foyer, either. Most people
were probably in the dining room or the bar right now. She strode out onto the stairs and across the parking lot, and he followed.
It had snowed so much that it was difficult to walk, but she didn’t care. It wasn’t her problem if Preben ruined his fancy
city shoes. The snow made it brighter, so the terrain was easy to see. She trotted toward the familiar path she knew like
the back of her hand and didn’t stop before she reached Troll Rock.
Preben stopped beside her.
She turned to him and looked up—he was one of the few people she knew who was so tall she had to lift her gaze to look him in the eye—but he just stood there, staring at the landscape. She did the same. The dark heather moor, the scree, the mountains beyond, Heaven’s Horn rising majestically among a few stars twinkling in the sky.
After a while, Ingrid was the one to break the silence. “I’m curious about what it is you want, Preben,” she said. “After
what happened, and after we haven’t spoken in over a year and a half... you show up here, in the middle of the Christmas
rush? These are the most important days of the whole year for the hotel. What could possibly be so urgent?”
She could hear her own pulse, feel it throbbing beneath her skin. The mere fact that Preben was so near had put her on full
alert.
That’s how close she’d once been to this man. Yes, she’d even thought she loved him. But now all she felt was anger. Anger
and fear.
When he didn’t answer right away, she started walking back down the path.
Preben was right behind her. She was tempted to shake him off; he’d need some time to find his way back to the hotel if she
took the shortcut that wasn’t so easy to see from the main path, especially now that it was so dark. She knew it wouldn’t
be dangerous for him. He’d survived worse conditions before—much worse.
But what was she going to gain from that? He was here now, and he wasn’t going to leave her alone. Her stoic side got the
upper hand once again: she had to face him. She stopped abruptly.
Preben raised both hands defensively. “I drove all the way from Oslo to see you. Can’t we go back to the hotel and talk in
peace and quiet? I came because there’s something I have to discuss with you.”
“But what if I don’t want to talk to you ?”
“Ingrid. I think you’re going to want to talk about this. We probably should have talked before. I know you’ve been...
angry with me after the accident.”
She didn’t say anything.
He continued, “You think it didn’t have as big an effect on me as it did on you. But it did. My life was turned upside down
too, Ingrid. We lost a friend, you pulled away from me, and everything we’d built together fell apart. We weren’t just doing
it for ourselves, Ingrid. We had so many plans. And that’s why I’m here. Because an opportunity has come up that I wanted
to talk to you about face-to-face. If we can’t set things right, maybe we can...” He hesitated. “I’ve been working on figuring
out how to contribute for a long time. Maybe it’s an attempt to make amends for what happened. And now I think I may have
found a way. I’ve been working with Brother Giovanni’s fellow monks on setting up a relief organization in Nepal, a foundation
that will continue the environmental and social work that he—well, the three of us, really—were so passionate about. And now
I need your help—your involvement. Because the representatives from the organization that wants to sponsor us are in Oslo
now, and they want to get moving with the planning before the new year!”
***
Sunny was sitting at the kitchen table when Ingrid came in. She was completely shaken up after her conversation with Preben.
She had to sleep on what he’d suggested—but first, she was making the rounds to check on the staff.
Sunny was also going to bed soon. She was tired after so many long workdays, and it showed, Ingrid thought; even the normally fresh-faced Sunny was showing signs of dark circles under her eyes.
Alfred came in to grab a sandwich. Earlier today, he’d been down to the forest to take a look at the big spruce he’d chosen
for this year’s Christmas tree. It was going to be magnificent, he assured them.
It was late before Ingrid finally made her way back to her own apartment. Her sofa cushions were in disarray, and seeing them
made her think of Thor—that she’d sat there and kissed him just a few hours ago. What in the world had gotten into her? But
her body tingled when she thought of his big hands, his blue eyes...
And Preben. They’d agreed to talk more tomorrow. She’d decided that he had to get the chance to present the proposal properly
after he’d come all the way up here to talk to her. His plans had come as a total surprise. While she had thought he’d left
everything that had happened behind and was just surfing along in his successful life, in reality, he’d been working hard
on setting up a foundation—a way of making amends. For a little while, she wondered whether he was there for personal reasons.
To try to win her back, perhaps. She’d been relieved when it turned out that he wanted to propose a professional collaboration;
but was the relief mixed with a bit of disappointment, too? Was she hoping, deep down, that he wanted to try again—if only
so she would have the chance to say no?
Everything was spinning around in her head, jumbling with what Nana Borghild had told her. That Hallgrim Dalen had been disappointed not to marry Borghild and run Glitter Peak Lodge. And that for some reason, he also blamed Borghild for his sister’s disappearance. Or was it the other way around? Was Borghild the one who blamed Hallgrim? There must be a misunderstanding, she thought as she was dozing off. But—a misunderstanding that had lasted for sixty years?
***
December 1961
Charlotte walked up the freshly shoveled walkway and looked up at the trees looming over her with their dark branches. When
she knocked on the door of the vicarage, she expected the maid, Ellen, to answer, but it was Reverend R?hmer himself standing
in the doorway.
“Good evening, Charlotte,” he said. “Come in, come in.”
She looked around. Was it just the two of them here?
“My wife has traveled to Lillehammer,” he said, holding out a hand to take her coat. “She’s happy to get away a little. So
I gave the maid the day off. Now the two of us can have a conversation undisturbed.”
She’d come to unburden herself. She’d been weighing sharing her secret back and forth. It was unheard of, this thing she was
carrying around. She hadn’t even known that it was possible. She’d heard of men who were like that—who loved other men. But
women?
She shuddered at the thought of what people would think if they found out. She imagined the gossip in the village. Sick , people would say. Unnatural.
And yet—it felt so right. She woke up every day full of joy and anticipation. She wanted to thank God for this love. How could
it possibly be sinful?
Perhaps the priest would be able to help her with the confusion. Reverend R?hmer had spoken so beautifully about love in church last Sunday. For love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God. She’d been moved and thought that if there was anyone who could understand what she was struggling with, it must be him. And he’d always been kind to her, ever since confirmation classes.
They sat in the living room. He offered coffee and cookies, and then a glass of sweet wine. He put the carafe on the table.
“Go on, have a bit more. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
She told him, and he listened sympathetically. He sat beside her on the sofa and poured her another glass. He came closer,
and she felt a hand on her knee. He moved it up a bit.
What was he doing?
When she started to cry, he lifted his arm and put it around her shoulders. “There, there. Come here, Charlotte, my dear.
I think I know what it takes to help girls like you.”