In Saint Han's Wake

As June came about and the snow retreated to the mountaintops, the sun resided in the sky longer and longer, day-by-day. Sunsets lasted for hours as the sky changed from clear blue to brilliant shades of red, orange, and yellow.

Like every year, Mrs. Larsen hung her mid-summer curtains. They were thick and heavy and able to block out most of the sunlight. If she didn’t, the Larsens probably wouldn’t get any sleep at all.

Mr. Larsen spent these longer days working longer hours. On June twenty-fourth, the daylight would last almost twenty-four hours. Instead of working, Mr. Larsen planned to take part in yet another celebration; however, people would celebrate this holiday all across Norway.

Cargo ships cleared their decks of old, broken pallets as dockworkers used forklifts to stack them at the end of the pier. Many of Bergen’s citizens chipped in, forming teams of two to lug them down the beach.

Mr. Larsen operated the crane that lifted the pallets into place. When he placed the last of the pallets, the stack was almost twenty meters high.

“That’ll do it,” he said to the volunteers as everyone admired their work.

Then, he returned home. The wood stack sat on the beach through the long light of day and into the evening hours, when hardly anyone could tell what time it truly was.

Bente and her family spent the majority of the day inside. Bente played all of her violin lessons as she waited for the evening to come. After a while, she turned to reading. Then, she turned to sleep, burying her head beneath her pillow. It was just a couple of hours before midnight when her little brother stirred her from sleep.

“Come on, it’s Saint Han’s Eve.”

They joined their parents for coffee and a light dinner. Mrs. Larsen had cooked salmon patties and made a light cucumber salad. They quickly ate and soon they were on their way.

By the time they arrived at the wharf, the beach was already crowded. Fishing boats, sailboats, and private schooners filled the fjord like sardines in a tin can. A large food tent sat right beside the pier. Fishermen were serving boiled shrimp and baked herring. Most of Bergen’s citizens were there to celebrate the summer solstice.

People left the tent for the wood stack at the other end of the rocky beach. Mr. Larsen joined with the town’s mayor, Mr. Johansson as he announced the beginning of celebrations and lit the fire.

A wad of newspapers stuffed into the lowest layer of the wood stack caught fire first. After a few minutes, the flames spread through the pallets until the entire pile was ablaze.

While the fire grew, people gathered around, eating shrimp just the same way as the Larsens had done before the Krabbelag, peeling it and eating it right by the surf. This time, though, it was mostly boiled shrimp.

The fire’s heat was intense. The ring of people around the fire slowly spread out, backing away from the fire as it burned hotter and hotter.

“Pappa?”

“Yes, Bente?”

“Why is it called ‘Saint Han’s Eve’?”

“It’s a celebration of St. Han’s birthday,” said father.

“But I thought it was for the solstice.”

“It’s a celebration of that, too. Remember how I told you that Viking traditions are often mixed into our Christian holidays? Saint Han’s Eve is one of those celebrations, too. The summer solstice was important for the Viking calendar.”

“The Vikings had a calendar?”

“They used the sun, the moon, and the stars to keep track of time. Vikings did not count days or weeks, or months. Even Viking’s ages were represented by the number of winters that passed. They used the moon’s position in the sky to plant seeds and harvest crops. They also knew that fish were more active during full moons. Sailors used these same lights in the sky before anyone knew about magnetic poles.”

Bente reflected on the ways of the old Vikings as she watched a Norwegian passenger ship leaving the port.

The bonfire burned through the night although few remained much past midnight. That included both the Larsens and the Bergs.

“What do you say we go skiing next weekend?”

“We couldn’t possibly,” answered Mrs. Larsen.

“Why not?”

“It’s mid-summer.”

“There’s plenty of snow up in the hills,” observed Mrs. Berg.

“I ski all year long,” added Ingrid.

“I think there is too much sunlight.”

“That just means more time to ski,” replied Mrs. Berg.

Mrs. Larsen just nodded. She did not have a way out and she knew it.

“Alright, next weekend it is,” said Mrs. Berg.

Bente and Ingrid and Mrs. Berg were all filled with excitement. Mrs. Larsen wasn’t quite sure what she felt. She’d never been skiing. In fact, she’d hardly done any of the outdoor activities she probably should have. After all, she was a Norwegian – an ancient Scandinavian by her heritage – a mix of Danish and Swedish and Finish, and, of course, Norwegian.

She looked up at the violet-magenta sky and down at her daughter. Bente’s face glowed with anticipation. Mrs. Larsen pulled her daughter close to her and planted a kiss in Bente’s thick blonde hair.

“Alright,” agreed Mrs. Larsen, “next weekend it is.”

Bente walked hand-in-hand with her mother and her brother. That is, until little Erik grew too tired to walk and rode horsey back on Mr. Larsen’s shoulders. Meanwhile, Bente walked with her mother.

“Where are your flowers?” asked Mrs. Larsen.

“I almost forgot.”

Bente searched along the footpath on her way home. Just like every other young Norwegian girl, Bente made sure to pick seven different types of flowers and carried them home.

Bente immediately went to her room. Just as every little Norwegian girl did that night, she tucked the flowers under her pillow. It was believed the flowers would help her dream of her future husband.

She unfastened the heavy black drapes from her window and looked outside. The intensity of the light was growing now. She watched the ships coming and going in the mid-summer sun as it climbed over the mountains.

Bente read a book for a little while. Then, she just lay back in her bed and stared at the ceiling, daydreaming about the ancient Vikings and their festivals for the midnight sun. Then, as she stared into the distance, she daydreamed about her future husband.

Late into the morning, she finally went to bed. Then, she closed her eyes and just dreamed.

.

Two Musicians in the Garden

By the time the last of the ice and snow melted, the fresh ground water had completely nourished the trees and grass. The gray and white slate of winter had been thoroughly replaced by a luxurious shade of green. Winter’s last gasp came before May, and buds blossomed on the Linden trees and wild lupines throughout the fjord. Everyone in Bergen was more than ready for spring’s arrival.

It was early in the morning on the seventeenth and neither Erik nor Bente had school. They would not, however, be sleeping late. The sounds of cannon’s fire and snare drum cadences reverberated through the Larsen house. It was Constitution Day.

Bente sprang from her bed and rushed to Erik’s room.

“Up, up, up!” she commanded him.

Erik grabbed his pillow and wrapped it around his head as he tried going back to sleep.

“Come on, lazybones!”

“I’m too tired.”

“How could anyone possibly sleep through all this racket?”

Erik just growled and grumbled at his sister. Bente smelled her mother’s cooking downstairs and decided to leave Erik alone – at least for now.

“God Morgen, mamma!”

“Morgen, Bente!”

Mrs. Larsen stood over the stove, stirring a saucepot with her wooden spoon. The creamy white porridge bubbled gently as she stirred. Mrs. Larsen turned off the stove as soon as Bente came to her side and filled a bowl with the steaming hot porridge. She sprinkled sugar and cinnamon on top, followed by a pat of butter and cold milk.

“Rømmegrøt?” asked Bente.

Her mother nodded. “Where’s your brother?”

“He’s still sleeping.”

“With all this racket going on outside? I knew he was a heavy sleeper, but…”

“Where’s pappa?”

“He’s down the street, watching the bands playing.”

“Maybe I should go there,” said Bente.

“Maybe you should eat and shower and change into your Bunad first.”

Bente ate a bowl of the simple porridge and quickly followed it with a second bowl and finished her tall glass of sweet goat’s milk before heading upstairs.

Her mother went with her. There were two reasons for this. Firstly, she had to wake little Erik. Secondly, she had to place all of Erik and Bente’s Bunad on the children’s dressers.

Bente’s Bunad was a frilly, but simple white blouse and a blue velvet costume dress. Tne embroidered flowers trimmed the cuffs, breast, and necklines. Erik’s Bunad was a bit more complicated. He wore a frilly dress shirt with a dress tie. His blue velvet vest had brass buttons. His leggings went just past his knees where they met white knee-high socks. His plain black shoes had buckles across the top.

Bente put on her dress followed by a pair of red sneakers. She had been in the Children’s Parade many times. The children marched throughout Bergen. By the end of every Constitution Day her feet were tired and sore.

“Not this year,” she said proudly. She actually had the idea a long time ago, but never thought about it until the end of the day. As she tied her shoelaces, a knock came at her bedroom door.

“Are you ready?”

“Ja, mamma.”

Bente hurriedly flipped her dress tail over her sneakers and went downstairs. She was careful not to step too quickly or else her shoes would peek below the hemline of her dress.

A few minutes later, Erik came along. Mrs. Larsen had prepared him a cup of porridge and gave him a spoon.

“What’s this?”

“You were late, so you’ll have to eat on the run.”

Erik ate and drank his porridge as they hurried to the school. A mass of people was gathered, including Ingrid and her parents. Ingrid was waving two tiny Norwegian flags. She immediately handed one to Bente.

“Hey! Where’s mine?” asked Erik

Ingrid pointed the way to one of the adults who was handing out tiny flags. Erik took two and returned to his family, proudly waving his flags. Meanwhile, the tubas and trumpets played quite loudly as they seemed to battle with the practicing drum corps.

Just before ten in the morning, the children took their places while the parents picked a spot on the curb. The marching band led the way. Then, the oldest students followed, waving full-sized Norwegian flags back and forth. Then came the middle grade children, leading the chorus of children singers, which included Bente, Ingrid, and Erik.

"Ja, vi elsker dette landet!"

“Yes we love our country,” the chorus sang. It was the National Anthem.

The children paraded through Bergen’s streets, stopping by an old World War II cemetery, Bryggen, and a nursing home so the older folks could enjoy their patriotic songs on this most patriotic day.

After it was all said and done, Bente and Ingrid found Erik and escorted him back to their parents.

“That was wonderful!” said Mrs. Larsen.

“You must be tired!” added Mrs. Berg, “please do rest your weary feet.”

All three children crouched on the curb beside their parents. Bente’s red sneakers poked out conspicuously.

“You’re not supposed to wear those!” said Erik.

Ingrid tugged on the hem of her dress. She wore tennis shoes, too. Hers were white.

“Bente!” said mother.

“We’re just being festive you know, wearing the national colors.”

“Such a disgrace,” added Mrs. Berg.

All of the other girls, young and old, were wearing black buckle shoes. The girls were a ashamed. As they walked home, Erik limped as if his feet were swollen and sore. Finally, Mr. Larsen put Erik on his shoulders and gave him a piggyback ride. About halfway home, the road parted where the Larsens and Bergs would go their separate ways.

“We’re having lutefisk tonight and I have plenty for you and your children,” said Mrs. Berg, “would you like to join us?”

“That would be splendid,” said Mrs. Larsen..”

Bente, however, never really liked lutefisk. It was fish that had been dried and cured. Bente didn’t think it tasted like fish at all, but more like fish-jello-gone-bad. Maybe that was an accurate description.

The Larsens changed out of their holiday best and put on comfortable clothes. Late in the afternoon, they hiked the steep hill to the Berg house. Again, Mr. Larsen gave Erik a piggyback ride. Erik put his hands above his head as they reached the house, attempting to touch the archway. Mr. Larsen took Erik off his shoulders.

“You should be able to make it these last few steps.”

Erik looked around.

“Why is this house so different from ours?”

“It’s an old house,” said his father, “built about a century ago.”

“It’s called neo-classical,” interrupted Mr. Berg,

“What’s that mean?”

“During the early 1900s, it was a trend to build Norwegian buildings to resemble the ancient buildings of the Roman and Greek empires.”

“Why is our house different?”

“Over time, people’s tastes change.”

As Erik continued is investigation, Mr. Berg invited everyone inside. Mrs. Berg invited Bente to the kitchen. She helped Mrs. Berg mash the boiled pink potatoes, skin and all. Then, she added the potatoes to a dough mix to make potato bread. She formed small patties and put them on a cookie sheet before opening the oven door.

When she brought the baking pan of lutefisk out of the oven, Bente wrinkled her nose. Erik saw Bente’s reaction, so he wrinkled his nose, too.

“You don’t like Lutefisk?” asked Mrs. Berg.

“Not really.”

“I’ve also got some Swedish meatballs. They are just like the ones Mr. Berg’s mother makes.”

Bente smiled. She did like Swedish meatballs.

“Nonsense!” said Mrs. Larsen, “how can a Norwegian not like Norwegian fish?”

Bente shrugged her shoulders. Erik shrugged, too.

“Have you tried Lutefisk?”

Bente shook her head while Erik remained motionless. Mrs. Larsen put a serving on each of her children’s plates along with a piece of potato bread. She sliced the bread open, forming a doughy pocket. She inserted a few chunks of lutefisk into the pocket, forming a sort of lutefisk sandwich. She did this for Erik, too.

Both of her children cautiously took their first bites. Bente really did like it. So, too, did Erik. Still, Bente preferred the Swedish meatballs and ate two portions of them when she’d only finished off one helping of lutefisk.

After dinner, everyone went onto the Berg’s patio. A cluster of pine trees and tall hedges formed a fence around the backyard. Mrs. Berg had taken the time to carefully plant several flowerbeds, too. It always reminded Bente of a botanical garden.

Mrs. Berg set out the lawn chairs and then returned inside. She turned on the music and came outside. The two small speakers sitting at the edge of the patio played. Bassoons bounced lightly through a parade of eighth notes, counting out a soft, plodding opera. Violinists plucked their violin strings in perfect measure with the bassoons. Soon, cellos, clarinets, horns, and finally tympanis and cymbals joined in. It was a very familiar song for everyone.

“Erik, do you recognize this?”

Erik shook his head as the notes built to a crescendo.

“You know Edward Grieg, right?”

Erik shrugged.

“He is Norway’s most famous composer. This is ‘Hall of the Mountain King’. .It is one of his most famous works. He’s world-renowned.”

“Oh.”

“He grew up right here in Bergen…you know, ‘troldhaugen’.”

Erik nodded. Although he’d heard of troldhaugen, he did not know who or what it was. It was, in fact, Edvard Grieg’s home. The word troldhaugen meant troll-hill, but the house looked like an old two-story railroad house, where engineers and rail conductors could spend the night between runs. It, however, was just another house built by his own cousin.

His cousins, it seemed, had their business mixed with Mr. Grieg. Another cousin, Ole Bull (pronounced Ollie) was another Bergen native and another of Norway’s famous residents.

The music turned to a soft lilting violin concerto. Bente recognized it immediately.

“That’s Ole Bull,” she stated happily.

Mrs. Berg nodded.

“You can just tell. This is something he performed and wrote himself.”

Bente lay back in her chair, gazing upwards. As it got late, Bente peered up through the canopy of leaves. Shadows shifted slightly and slowly as the sun tracked across the sky until it reached the lowest point on the horizon.

“Bente,” interrupted her father, “it’s getting late and it’s time we got home.”

“Do I have to?” she asked her father.

“It’s been a long day.”

The Larsens and Bergs said their goodbyes and went their separate ways. This time, Mr. Larsen carried his daughter home, but she rode horsey-back not piggyback. When he tucked her into bed and kissed her gently on the cheek. She rustled slightly, half awake.

“Sweet dreams,” he said to his daughter.

“Sweet dreams, pappa.”

Bente dreamt of marching bands and Norwegian flags and violin concertos, too. Dreams sweet enough to make for a perfect night’s sleep.

.

Shadows and Light

As soon as Mr. Hagen excused class, the girls rushed home to the Larsen house. When they arrived, Bente realized she had forgotten something. Her mother realized it, too.

“Where’s your brother?”

“Umm.”

“Come quick!” said Ingrid.

“No,” said Mrs. Larsen, “we’ll get him together.”

A little boy sat alone on the swings, without a care in the world. He had waited so long that every other child had gone home and he was the only one left on the playground. When Bente and Ingrid ran out to get him, they noticed his fat little fingers, nearly numb from frostbite. His cheeks were flushed and red, too. Ingird gave him her mittens and ski cap.

“Better?”

“I think so.”

Bente tugged on one arm and Ingrid tugged on the other as they helped Erik toward the car. There was no amount of co-operation between the three children as they pulled in three different directions. Erik finally pulled loose from both Bente and Ingrid’s grip. He hurried to the safety and warmth of the car.

“Are you okay?” Mrs. Larsen asked her son.

Erik nodded as he hopped into the back seat with Ingrid. Meanwhile, Bente jumped into the front seat next to her mother.

“I can’t believe you forgot about your brother.”

“I was thinking about the Krabbelag.”

“You should’ve been thinking about your responsibilities first.”

Bente remained quiet as she sat beside her mother. Mr. and Mrs. Larsen had been thinking about the crab party, too. Mr. Larsen visited several of Bryggen’s merchants, purchasing seafood from the fishmonger and produce from the farmer’s market. He packed them into the back of his truck and returned to the house. Mrs. Larsen stopped by the store and picked up party supplies.

When they got back to the Larsen house, everyone took a load of paper and plastic goods inside.

“Would you girls like to help me get ready?”

“We were thinking of spending the night at Ingrid’s house,” saud Bente.

Mrs. Larsen sighed.

“We could help for a bit,” said Ingrid.

“I’m sorry, Ingrid,,” said mother, “I don’t think Bente will be able to stay at your house tonight. I’m really disappointed in the both of you.”

Now, both girls were quiet. Mrs. Larsen dropped Ingrid at home and explained the situation to Mrs. Berg. Afterwards, the Larsens returned home and prepared for the Krabbelag.

Saturday brought a cold blast of fresh winter air through Bergen. Still, it was May, which meant this may be the last chance for Bente’s ski trip. Her timing couldn’t be worse.

On Saturday, Bente went with her father and brother to the shore. They prepared the beach, clearing rocks and debris from the shoreline. Then, they formed a fire pit, digging a deep hole in the sand.

“Erik, get down in the hole,” said father.

“What?”

“We’re going to bury you up to your neck,” said Bente.

“I’m not going in there.”

“Don’t listen to your sister, Erik. We’re building a fire pit and I need you to move the rocks around for me.”

“Why?”

“When the rocks get hot we can use them to cook our crab pot.”

Mr. Larsen handed large boulders to his little son. Erik carefully layered the rocks across the bottom. Then, he piled brush and twigs on the rocks followed by thick logs. Mr. Larsen pulled him out of the hole and they stacked large boulders around the edges of the fire pit.

Mr. Larsen stopped by the house for a late lunch before heading back to the beach. Early in the evening, he lit the fire. Soon afterward, a fishing boat idled alongside the pier. A large net hung from two tall masts. The net dragged in the water behind the boat. It was a shrimp trawler.

Mr. Larsen walked out to the edge of the pier and greeted the fishermen while his two kids tagged along. The signboard on the back of the boat said ‘Hansen and Son.’

“God abend, Jurgen!” greeted one of the deckhands. It was Lars Hansen, the youngest of Herr Hansen’s sons.

God abend Lars! Du komst til Krabbelag?”

“Ja, Ja!” said Lars, “Min pappa kommer agso.”

Mr. Hansen, who had been down in the cabin, came up to greet Mr. Larsen and his children. He invited Mr. Larsen and the children down onto the trawler’s deck. He stood over a bucket full of shrimp prawn and live crabs. He picked through the shrimp, quickly snapping off the heads and removing the legs and shell. He then de-veined the shrimp and split it into two pieces to give to the children.

“Go ahead,” urged their father.

Bente was quick to try the fresh shrimp. She had eaten prawn right at the pier before. Erik, however, was squeamish. Mr. Hansen tossed the shell into the water. Seagulls squawked as they swooped down and fought over the remains.

“It’s not going to bite,” said Lars.

Erik hesitantly placed the shrimp into his mouth. It tasted just like the shrimp he had at home, although it smelled like seawater. Maybe it was just the water around him. It didn’t matter. He spit it out into his hand.

“Ewww!” said Bente as she popped the bottom of his hand with her own, shooting the half-eaten prawn into the water. The seagulls fought extra hard for this morsel, diving into the water to grab it.

Bente and the men continued enjoying fresh prawn next to the pier while Erik watched. Afterwards, Mr. Larsen bought another bundle of shrimp and crabs from Mr. Hansen for the Krabbelag feast.

The Larsens fetched the cooking supplies from the truck and returned to the shore. Mr. Larsen lit the fire and prepared the crab pot. He filled it with alternating layers of rock, seaweed, shrimp, crabs, and vegetables.

As the crap pot simmered, people began to gather on the rocky shore. Just after noon, Mr. Hagen was among the first to arrive. He stood at the top of the beach, waving both hands in the air.

“God middag alle!”

“God middag, Herr Hagen!”

Bente ran to the spot where the rocks met the sandy beach while Mr. Hagen clambered down the rocks to the sandy shore.

“I am first?”

Bente nodded.

“Then maybe I can lend a hand.”

“Everything’s ready,” said Mr. Larsen, “we’re just waiting for people to arrive.”

Mr. Larsen pulled a wooden reclining chair next to the fire pit. Mr. Hagen sat down next to Mr. Larsen as Bente and Erik stood across from them.

“It’s beautiful out today, isn’t it?”

Mr. Larsen nodded.

“It reminds me of my history lesson next week.”

Bente groaned and Mr. Hagen paused.

“What are you teaching?”

“”World War II. These fjords were perfect safe harbors for the German U-boats. Anyone trying to attack had a very narrow point of attack. The mountain ranges also provided perfect cover for anti-aircraft guns when the British attacked, too.”

Everyone’s eyes followed the horizon, from mountain to sea. As Mr. Hagen continued speaking, Ingrid and her mother joined the party.

“What are we talking about?” asked Mrs. Berg.

“The Nazi invasion of Norway.”

“Ah,” said Mrs. Berg, “Norway was very important for the Nazis. My grandparents lived in Sweden and the Nazis invaded Norway to get to Sweden’s resources. War is a rich man’s game. Every war machine needs resources like iron and wood and petroleum to keep their Navy afloat and their Army afoot.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” said Mr. Hagen, “Both the Germans and British wanted to attack Norway.”

“What did Norway do to them?” asked Ingrid.

“Nothing,” said Mr. Hagen, “In fact, the Norwegians tried to stay Neutral. King Haakon took neither the side of the Germans or the Allies. King Haakon and the Norwegians tried to stay out of the war completely, but Norway was too important to both the British and the Nazis. The English Navy was going to invade Norway, but the Nazis beat them to it.”

“We just let the Nazis invade Norway?”

“Norway had been Neutral during both the first and second World Wars. They had a considerably smaller Navy than the Nazi Germany. Plus, when the Nazi ships sailed through the North Sea, the Norwegians weren’t sure whether the battleships were German or British, so many Norwegians did not put up a fight.”

“I thought we were on the side of the Allies,” said Bente.

“Yes and no. A famous Norwegian named Vidkun Quisling was the leader of the Norwegian Nazi party. He co-operated with the Germans during World War II.”

“Oh, I never liked Quisling,” said mother.

“Not many did. That’s why there was such a large resistance movement. Most Norwegians still supported Haakon. They were part of the Underground.”

“Why did they go underground?” said Erik.

“Not under the ground like a burrowing gopher, but in secret. The Norwegian Underground even used a special symbol of an H crossed by a 7. It stood for King Haakon VII. Unfortunately, the King had to go to exile, but his underground worked secretly against the Nazis.”

“Just like King Magnus of Sweden,” noted Bente.

“Exactly.”

Mr. Larsen used his camp shovel to clear the hot embers away from the fire pit. Then, he used a heavy hook to fish the crab pot from the fire. He removed the lid. The broth bubbled as the contents of the crab pot simmered. He carefully moved the Krabbelag from the cooking pot to a serving dish. After it cooled, people helped themselves to the feast.

As Mr. Larsen served the first helpings, a light dusting of snow began to fall. He tossed several large pine logs on the fire and continued dishing out the crab.

The resin inside the freshly cut pine logs cracked as the logs burned on the fire. A harsh wind gently blew the flames toward Bente and Ingrid, who were huddled around little Erik, doing their best to keep him warm.

Bente looked up at the falling snow and then over to Ingrid. She was pretty sure they were thinking the same thing: perfect skiing weather.

However, at least she got to attend the Krabbelag. And another thing, Erik was safe, too. Bente scruffed her little brother’s hair and kissed him on the cheek.

“Yuck!” said Erik as he wiped the kiss from his face.

“You’re lucky to have me,” said Bente with a smile.

After the Krabbelag, everyone helped clean up before they went their separate ways. Bente did, however, get to do one thing during her weekend of punishment; she stayed up late and watched Bergen Football with her brother and father.

.

Sometimes Swedes and Danes

Mrs. Larsen’s wishes for Bente’s forgetfulness would have to take a back seat to Ingrid’s wishes to go skiing and Mother Nature’s ability to make snow. Throughout the next five days, the only topic crossing Ingrid’s lips was the ski trip with Bente. This was in spite of Bente’s sole topic, her father’s crab party.

“Mr.; Hagen,” asked Bente, “What are you doing this next weekend?”

“Why do you ask?”

“My father is having his annual Krabbelag down on the wharf and I wanted to invite you.”

“I’d heard about it. I’ll be happy to join you.”

With that out of the way, Bente returned to her seat as Mr. Hagen returned to his history lesson.

“After the introduction of Christianity, many changes were in store for Scandinavia, especially during the 14^th Century. While that included Norway, most of the problems centered round Sweden’s King Magnus Eriksson.

King Magnus had two sons. The oldest was named Erik and the youngest was named Haakon. King Magnus also had two kingdoms – Norway and Sweden. Because of this, the two countries formed a personal union. The often acted as one country in political and military decisions.

King Magnus decided Erik would be King of Sweden after he passed, while Haakon would become King of the less powerful Norway.

As it turned out, the second son would become the first King. As soon as Haakon turned fifteen years old, a group of Norwegian councilmen decided that Magnus should appoint Haakon as King.

While Haakon was King, his father became regent, still overseeing many, if not all, of the royal decisions for his son.

Soon after Haakon became King of Norway, Erik waged war upon his own father in Sweden. Erik was partially successful, ruling over southern Sweden while King Magnus ruled over the Northern half.”

Mr. Hagen moved to the right side of the chalkboard and drew five white rectangles. Then, he etched different colored crosses inside each rectangle. He filled in the remaining parts of the rectangles with red, blue, and white. Before he was finished, the children already recognized all of the Scandinavian flags, whether it was Iceland, Finland, Denmark, Sweden, or Norway.

“Why don’t you just draw one flag?” asked Ingrid.

“I’m proving a point,” he said as he finished shading the flags in their respective colors.

“Who knows what the design in the center is called?”

Every child raised his or her hand.

“”The Nordic Cross,” said a student.

Mr. Hagen nodded.

“While Norway still enjoyed a peaceable Kingdom, the strife in Denmark and Sweden continued. King Valdemar of Denmark had attacked two territories in southern Sweden. Meanwhile, he was warring with nearby territories.

In addition to dealing with Valdemar, King Magnus of Sweden was trying to reduce the power of Swedish noblemen. Magnus put the noblemen in exile, forcing them out of Sweden.

As King Magnus’ power diminished, his own sons fought over the title of Swedish King. During this time, Erik died mysteriously, leaving Magnus and Haakon as dual kings. Kings Magnus and Haakon raised taxes to pay for the wars against Erik.

The noblemen went to Valdemar, pledging their armies in a fight against Magnus and Haakon. With support from German tribes, Valdemar defeated the father and son as King of Sweden.

As soon as Valdemar became King, he turned against the noblemen and merchants. The Swedes decided to fight Valdemar just as they had fought with King Magnus.

During this time, Albert of Mecklenburg was appointed as King of Sweden. Albert was married to Erik’s daughter. This made Albert the great grandson-in-law of the former King Magnus.

In 1375, however, King Valdemar died. The only rightful heir was his a boy named Olav, who was just five years old.

His grandfather was King Valdemar of Denmark. Even worse, Olav’s father was King Haakon of Norway. Olav was appointed King, but was King in name only. His mother Margaret became a regent, ruling the throne. Olav would not be allowed to hold real power until his fifteenth birthday.”

Bente raised her hand.

“If Magnus is Haakon’s father and Haakon is Olav’s father, wouldn’t King Magnus be Olav’s grandfather, too?”

Mr. Hagen nodded.

“How could Olav have families in different countries?”

“Kingdoms have always been decided by bloodlines. It was important for these royals to marry each other so they could keep more power. When a King dies, his oldest son takes his place. If there’s no son, then it’s the oldest grandson. If there’s no true son or grandson, it becomes decided by arranged marriages”

“It’s so confusing,” moped Ingrid.

“All of this intermarrying between kings and queens and princes and dukes set the stage for the way Scandinavia was run for the next four-hundred years. When Olav died, he was barely seventeen years old. At that point, Margaret became the Queen of Denmark. Instead of having the fights continue between the Norwegians, Swedes, and Danes, she formed the Kalmar Union, which united them.

Each country had its own kingdom, but the Kalmar Union often acted as one kingdom, ruled by a single king or queen. It wasn’t until King Gustav became King of Sweden that the Swedes broke from the Union. After that, Denmark and Norway formed a personal union that lasted for another 300 years.”

Most of the children’s eyes were on the window, looking outdoors when the week’s final bell rang.

“Alright, students, I can see that I’ve lost most of you, so we’ll wrap it up for today. We’ll be skipping through the chapters on the Hanseatic League until the end of the year. I want you all to read about King Haakon and the Great World Wars.”

“King Haakon was there, too?” asked Ingrid.

“It’s a different King Haakon, the seventh.” Mr. Hagen wrote the King’s name on the chalkboard. ‘King Haakon VII’.

“I’ll see some of you this weekend at the Krabbelag on the Wharf. The rest of you I’ll see on Monday.”

.

Sweeping Changes

By the time Monday morning came around, both Ingrid and Bente had all but forgotten about their conversation about wooden carvings. That was, until Mr. Hagen started his history lesson.

“God Morgen, klasse!”

“God Morgen, Herr Hagen!”

As he did most every morning, Mr. Hagen pulled down the screen for his Europe Map. He drew down the clear plastic overlay, too. He erased the old arrows leading south out of Norway. He replaced the southbound arrows with arrows leading northward from Turkey, Germany, France, British Isles.

“On Friday, we were talking about the Vikings. The Vikings included both traders and raiders who traveled throughout North America, Europe, and Asia. This raiding, in particular, brought rise to the arrival of the Church. First off…”

Bente raised her hand. Ingrid immediately raised her hand, too.

“Yes, Bente?”

“Did the Vikings go to Church?”

“That’s an interesting question. I’ll have to answer it with a yes and a no.”

“What?”

“The first Christians in Norway were missionaries from other places, like the British Isles and France. The first Vikings weren’t Christians but Pagans. They believed in gods like Odin and Freya. This was the period called the Dark Ages.”

“Is that because it was dark outside?” asked a student.

“Hardly,” said Mr. Hagen, “the dark ages were a time of great change. The light of the Roman Empire had been snuffed out by the different tribes of people living throughout Europe, including the Vikings from Scandinavia.”

Mr. Hagen went to the front of the classroom and drew large color-coded circles all over his map of Europe.

“There were also groups like the Ottomans of Turkey, the Angles and Saxons from Northern Germany, and the Franks from France. These groups had chieftains, just like the Vikings. As the tribes got larger, they formed petty, or small, kingdoms. The Norwegians did this, too. Remember King Olav?.”

“He was Saint Olav, right?”

“King Olav didn’t become a saint until much later. By the time he became king, these tribes had been battling for territory for hundreds of years. A large kingdom needed a large army. Churches had followers. When the King accepted the church, his people not only protected their church, but the king, too.”

Ingrid raised her hand.

“How was King Olav involved with all of this?”

“When Olav ruled, parts of Norway were bitterly divided between several chieftains. Even when Olav’s great grandfather Harald Fairhair ruled as the first King of Norway, his rule wasOlav knew that Christianity would unite Norway. The missionaries came to Norway to convert the Vikings to Christianity. King Olav saw this as a good thing. Even though the conversion to Christianity took several generations, some Vikings did go to church. King Olav proclaimed Christianity as the official religion of Norway. That’s one of the reasons he was later named a Saint.”

“Who built the stave churches?” asked Bente.

“There is evidence to suggest that most churches were built by Vikings, but churches existed in Europe before they existed in Scandinavia. The common European church was built slightly different. It was called a ‘post church’.

Just like Christianity in Norway, the Stave Churches were a two-group effort. The missionaries brought Christianity, which meant they needed churches. The Vikings may have modified the old post churches to suit their own tastes. Even now, you see the fire-breathing dragons spitting out either end of the roof.”

After school, neither Bente nor Ingrid gave much thought to their argument. After all, sometimes even the best of friends disagree. The sky spat big, wet snowflakes to the ground. Bente and Ingrid hurried to the Berg house.

The old three-story house sat high on a hill at the top end of a very long drive. Unlike most Norwegian buildings, its roof was flat. The large square structure, which had always reminded Bente of an ancient coliseum, was built a century earlier, between the two great wars. Large columns stood guard outside the front door.

Inside, Mrs. Larsen was at the kitchen table, conversing with Mrs. Berg.

“Hallo, dear-hearts!” greeted Mrs. Berg.

“Hallo, Mrs. Berg. Mother, what are you doing here?”

“I brought the Rosemaling dishes to Mrs. Berg and we’re having kaffe Jetost.”

“Would you children like some?” offered Mrs. Berg.

Bente and Ingrid nodded.

Mrs. Berg grabbed several blocks of cheese out of the regrigerator and pulled the cheese slicer across the top edge of the cheese. As she did, thin slices of cheese peeled through the thin slit. She smeared a thick layer of butter across several pieces of oat bread. Then, she carefully placed pieces of Jarlsberg, Nøkkelos, and Brunost cheeses on the bread. She put the open-faced sandwiches m in the toaster oven to brown.

“Would you like some chocolate?”

Both girls nodded. Mrs. Berg filled two tall mugs with hot chocolate while the bread finished toasting. As the girls enjoyed the sandwiches and hot chocolate, it warmed them from the inside out. When they finished, Ingrid excused herself, inviting Bente along.

The four-post bed occupied most of Ingrid’s room. It had a flat wooden canopy, heavy linens, and large pillows. Like most of Ingrid’s things, the bed was an antique. The posters that decorated all four walls, however, featured famous pop singers as well as outdoor mountain scenes. Unlike Bente, who spent most of her time indoors, Ingrid loved outdoor activities. There were even several pairs of skis leaned up against one corner. Bente went over and investigated them.

“My Telemarks,” said Ingrid.

“Your what?”

“My Telemark skis. They’re made for cross-country and slalom.”

“My mother calls her dishes Telemarks.”

“That’s because of the swoops in the vines and leaves. They look like the slalom tracks Telemark skiers leave in the snow.”

“Esses and Cees in the snow,” said Bente, “that makes perfect sense.”

“They were invented by a Norwegian skier. Up to that point, ski binders held the whole foot in one place. The new Telemark binding gave skiers more turning control.”

“I’ve seen Telemark turns. They’re very elegant.”

“You should come skiing with me sometime.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I have terrible balance.”

“We could start off easy, maybe go cross-country skiing.”

“I’m not sure I’d like it.”

“How would you know if you’ve never tried? Plus, I’m a really good skier. I’ll make sure you won’t get hurt.”

“We’ll see,” said Bente.

The two girls played in Ingrid’s bedroom until it was time to go. On the way home, Bente talked with her mother about Ingrid’s planned adventure.

“You don’t even like that sort of stuff,” said mother.

“Ingrid told me how much fun it is to ski.”

“And the falls,” added mother, “very dangerous.”

“Ingrid would be there. The Telemark skis are some of the safest out in the snow.”

“And the physical effort it takes just to ski.”

“Mamma…” pleaded Bente.

“Alright,” said her mother, “You can go skiing with Ingrid, but only if an adult goes with you.”

“How about you and Mrs. Berg?”

“Heavens no!” exclaimed Mrs. Larsen, “Could you see Mrs. Berg on a pair of skis?”

“Ingrid says her mother goes skiing all the time.”

“Well, if she could see, so can I.”

“Then I’ll tell Ingrid we’re going skiing.”

Mrs. Larsen exhaled loudly. She wasn’t quite sure how she got herself into a ski trip or how she could ever get out. For now, she remained quiet. Hopefully, Bente would completely forget about the whole thing.

.

A Change of Hands

By the time Monday morning came around, both Ingrid and Bente had all but forgotten about their conversation about wooden carvings. That was, until Mr. Hagen started his history lesson.

“God Morgen, klasse!”

“God Morgen, Herr Hagen!”

As he did most every morning, Mr. Hagen pulled down the screen for his Europe Map. He drew down the clear plastic overlay, too. He erased the old arrows leading south out of Norway. He replaced the southbound arrows with arrows leading northward from Turkey, Germany, France, British Isles.

“On Friday, we were talking about the Vikings. The Vikings included both traders and raiders who traveled throughout North America, Europe, and Asia. This raiding, in particular, brought rise to the arrival of the Church. First off…”

Bente raised her hand. Ingrid immediately raised her hand, too.

“Yes, Bente?”

“Did the Vikings go to Church?”

“That’s an interesting question. I’ll have to answer it with a yes and a no.”

“What?”

“The first Christians in Norway were missionaries from other places, like the British Isles and France. The first Vikings weren’t Christians but Pagans. They believed in gods like Odin and Freya. This was the period called the Dark Ages.”

“Is that because it was dark outside?” asked a student.

“Hardly,” said Mr. Hagen, “the dark ages were a time of great change. The light of the Roman Empire had been snuffed out by the different tribes of people living throughout Europe, including the Vikings from Scandinavia.”

Mr. Hagen went to the front of the classroom and drew large color-coded circles all over his map of Europe.

“There were also groups like the Ottomans of Turkey, the Angles and Saxons from Northern Germany, and the Franks from France. These groups had chieftains, just like the Vikings. As the tribes got larger, they formed petty, or small, kingdoms. The Norwegians did this, too. Remember King Olav?.”

“He was Saint Olav, right?”

“King Olav didn’t become a saint until much later. By the time he became king, these tribes had been battling for territory for hundreds of years. A large kingdom needed a large army. Churches had followers. When the King accepted the church, his people not only protected their church, but the king, too.”

Ingrid raised her hand.

“How was King Olav involved with all of this?”

“When Olav ruled, parts of Norway were bitterly divided between several chieftains. Even when Olav’s great grandfather Harald Fairhair ruled as the first King of Norway, his rule wasOlav knew that Christianity would unite Norway. The missionaries came to Norway to convert the Vikings to Christianity. King Olav saw this as a good thing. Even though the conversion to Christianity took several generations, some Vikings did go to church. King Olav proclaimed Christianity as the official religion of Norway. That’s one of the reasons he was later named a Saint.”

“Who built the stave churches?” asked Bente.

“There is evidence to suggest that most churches were built by Vikings, but churches existed in Europe before they existed in Scandinavia. The common European church was built slightly different. It was called a ‘post church’.

Just like Christianity in Norway, the Stave Churches were a two-group effort. The missionaries brought Christianity, which meant they needed churches. The Vikings may have modified the old post churches to suit their own tastes. Even now, you see the fire-breathing dragons spitting out either end of the roof.”

After school, neither Bente nor Ingrid gave much thought to their argument. After all, sometimes even the best of friends disagree. The sky spat big, wet snowflakes to the ground. Bente and Ingrid hurried to the Berg house. Inside, Mrs. Larsen was at the kitchen table, conversing with Mrs. Berg.

“Hallo, dearhearts!” greeted Mrs. Berg.

“Hallo, Mrs. Berg. Mother, what are you doing here?”

“I brought the Rosemaling dishes to Mrs. Berg and we’re having Jetost and Gouda.”

“Would you children like some?” offered Mrs. Berg.

Bente and Ingrid nodded.

Mrs. Berg poured two cups of hot chocolate for the girls

+++++++++++++

1: Changing Hands of Power

2: Cross Country Skiing / Telemark

3:Norwegian Snacks (Jetost and Gouda, Lefsa)

.

The Church Rose

Saturday brought the same old routine to the Larsen house. Mr. Larsen had taken the day off from work to kick the soccer ball around with Erik, fix a lunch for the two of them, and then sit in front of the television all evening to watch Bergen Football. Bente would be spending the day at church with her mother.

Today, however, was different in a few ways. First off, there was the swap meet.

“Bente! Hurry! We don’t want to be late!”

Every spring, people from church gathered with baked goods and craft items to swap. Whether they traded goods or simply sold them, it didn’t matter. The real focus was on the church family.

Bente scurried downstairs, careful not to stumble on the way down. Her fingers curled around the top of the handrail, gliding over the smooth wooden banister. Her mother handed her an armful of painted baskets and cookie pans.

“All this?”

“I’ve been busy all winter,” said mother.

“Do you need any help?” said father.

“I think we’ve got it.”

Bente and her mother packed the trunk and went to church. Instead of walking over the hill, they drove around it, parking in the lot next to the old stave church. The lot was full. The church was busy.

“What do you have, dear?” asked Mrs. Berg.

“Painted dishes and cake pans.”

“Ooh! Let me see.”

Bente carefully lifted the box lid to reveal the dishes inside. Each dish was embellished with swirling floral designs. Long stemmed tulips slalomed in S-shaped curls on the plate. Their long pink and yellow petals intertwined at the center.

“I’ll be sure to stop by with some of my cookies,” said Mrs. Berg.

“Where’s Ingrid?” asked Bente.

“She’s watching our table. It’s crowded in there, so I came outside for a bit of fresh air and to grab move cookies from the truck.”

“See you inside,” said mother. Then, they parted ways.

Bente followed her mother into the old stave church and headed for the meeting hall. Its atrium was dark but lofty. Tables formed four long aisles, like an ancient Viking dining hall. These tables, however, were not filled with Viking feasts, but handicrafts, cookies, and other baked goods.

“Let’s set up over here,” directed mother.

Before they finished placing their goods on the table, they had a crowd.

“How much for this cake tin?” asked one lady.

“How about these dishes?” asked her daughter.

“Are you selling this basket?” asked yet another.

Mrs. Larsen set the prices and made the deals. Meanwhile, Bente simply tried to keep pace. By the top of the hour, they had sold everything they brought.

“That was quick!” exclaimed Bente.

“It always is.”

“What do we do now?”

“Now, we’re free to browse.”

They ventured up and down the aisles until Bente ran into a familiar face. It was her friend and choir mate Ingrid. Meanwhile, Mrs. Berg was selling cookies.

“What are you doing?” asked Ingrid.

“We sold all our stuff, soe we’re just looking around.”

“Mrs. Larsen,” interrupted Mrs. Berg, “Did you save me some dishes?”

“I completely forgot, but I’ll make a set especially for you.”

“That would be nice. Here are some of my delicious krumkaker so you don’t forget!”

Mrs. Berg carefully picked the best of her baked goods from the display plate. The krumkraker, with their soft, flaky cones and crème-filled centers, looked scrumptious.

“Do you want one?” Mrs. Berg asked Bente.

Bente nodded enthusiastically.

“Me, too?” asked Mrs. Larsen.

“But of course.”

Bente took a large bite from the cone, gobbling up nearly the whole thing. The cream filling balanced perfectly with the crispy outer shell.

“Bente! Be polite!”

Bente wiped her mouth and then took tiny nibbles, just like her mother. She couldn’t understand how her mother could be so patient. It was so sugary sweet. It was perfectly yummy.

“Mamma, can I go looking around with Bente?” asked Ingrid.

“If it is okay with Mrs. Larsen.”

Bente’s mom nodded. The girls immediately disappeared into the crowd.

“Be back when it closes!” Mrs. Berg shouted after the children. She and Mrs. Larsen stayed at the table and chatted while the girls ventured around the swap meet.

There were baked goods of every kind, from krumkaker to sweet lefse flatbread to biscuits. One lady had pans of lutefisk. Most, however, had handicrafts like Mrs. Larsen’s painted pans.

Shopping wasn’t quite as fun as it could’ve been. They had no money. If they couldn’t shop, they decided they’d go looking other places. They ventured from the meeting hall to the chapel.

“Hallo!” called Bente. Her voice echoed through the rafters.

Ingrid wrapped her arms around her shoulders as a light draft blew through the empty chapel and across her face.

“It’s so cold in here,”

“Just like when the Vikings went to church here.”.

“Vikings didn’t go to church!” said Ingrid.

“They did so. Ask Mr. Hagen, he’ll tell you.”

Ingrid thought about it as she traipsed through the aisles. She traced her hand over the old wooden handrails at the end of each pew. The oak endplates that covered the sides of each pew were carved. Vines curled in S-shapes. A single rose blossom sat in the center.

“Rosemaling,” said Bente.

“What?”

“Those designs. They’re called Rosemaling. Norwegian craftsmen have been doing that since the Vikings first started going to church.”

“Oh, Bente!” said Ingrid.

“They built these old stave churches, just like they built their ships. They also did these designs. That’s why my mother paints her cake pans like that. Her mother taught her how to do it. One day, I’m sure I’ll know how to do it, too.”

As church people filtered out of the meeting hall, some entered the chapel. Ingrid and Bente returned to Mrs. Berg’s selling table. All of her krumkraker were gone.

“Aww,” said Ingrid, “I was hoping I could…”

Mrs. Berg reached under the table. She presented a small plate.

“I put some aside for us,” said Mrs. Berg.

The girls ate the cookies as they headed towards the parking lot.

”We’re not going to church?” asked Bente.

“We’ll go tomorrow.”

“Goody. I’m very tired.”

They said their goodbyes to the Bergs and returned home. Mr. Larsen and Erik were crashed on the couch, with snacks and drinks littering the floor.

“Get up, lazybones!” Bente said to father.

“Who won?” she asked.

“We fell asleep.”

“Too bad. Maybe we can find something else.”

Bente dug a few chips out of the bag and snacked with her father as they watched Norway’s capital team, Oslo. Meanwhile, Mrs. Larsen went to the attic and returned with fresh cookie tins. She washed and dried them before settling down beside them.

“What do you think they’ll like, Bente?”

‘Paint some Rosemaling.”

“Mrs. Berg really liked the Telemark plates. I think I’ll do that instead.”

Mrs. Larsen stopped periodically to let everyone judger her progress. She finished just before halftime. They watched highlights from the Bergen game during halftime.

“I ran into Mrs. Berg today,” said Mrs. Larsen.

“How is she?” asked Mr. Larsen.

“It has been awhile since we’ve spent time with them.”

“It sure has,” said Mr. Larsen, “there’s a crab feast next weekend. Maybe I should tell Mr. Berg he and his family are invited. I see him almost every day. It’d be a good chance to catch up.”

And so it was all set. Bente’s father would talk to Ingrid’s father and they’d hang out at the crab feast next weekend. Bente couldn’t wait to tell Ingrid the news when she saw her at school.

.

Son of a Son of a Sailor

The week passed by, much to Bente and her classmate’s surprise, all too fast. Bente thought it was amazing, since Mr. Hagen had spent the entire week talking about Barbarians and drawing on his plastic map overlay. His lectures on the Migration Period – where different nomadic tribes traveled throughout Europe, including Scandinavia – included color-coded arrows running all over Europe.

By the time Friday came, Mr. Hagen turned his attention to the Vikings.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it is time to go to the Faroe Islands and then on to Vinland.”

As Mr. Hagen unreeled the projector screen from the hanger over the chalkboard, the class perked up. Many of them knew they’d be talking about Scandinavian longboats again.

“Are we going to talk about Erik the Red?”

“All in good time, Bente. We have other boats to sail first.”

Mr. Hagen moved the slide projector into place and motioned for a student to turn off the lights. He flipped a switch and the projector threw a pcitre of an old Viking ship on the screen. The children cheered.

“During the time of the Migration period, the Vandals and Goths and other tribal nomads of Europe were fighting against the Roman Empire. Like all people, they simply wanted a suitable place to live. Of course, that included the Norsemen.”

Mr. Hagen clicked the slide projector. The portrait of a horn-helmed Viking posed proudly, his hair and beard covered his neck and shoulders. His twin ponytails were braided and adorned with leather straps and jeweled beads. His bronze breastplate gleamed brightly as it hung over his war dress. He held his sword and shield at his side.

“Who knows who this is?”

The classroom was silent.

“It’s supposed to be Naddoddr, the great-grandfather of the Vinland.”

“What do you mean, supposed to be? It looks like an ancient Viking,” said a student.

Mr. Hagen clicked the slide projector. A pencil sketch showed a statue, clad in only wool and cotton long dress, covered in leather armor with a simple leather helmet. The only thing the same as the first drawing was his long beard and hair, still ornamented with beads.

“This is what scholars think he actually looked like. The Viking warrior often wore simple things they could easily make and carry. The ancient Vikings raised sheep and cattle. Making armor from cattle is surely easier than building the many tools the blacksmith would need to cast bronze armor. Plus, Vikings couldn’t call carry large pieces of battle armor and carry massive amounts of treasure in their small ships. Even the sturdy longboat would sink.”

Bente raised her hand.

“You said Naddodr was the grand-father of Vinland. How can that be?”

“He was the first in the long line of Viking Explorers. Who was the first explorer to discover America?”

“All the children raised their hands.”

“Leif Erikson,” answered a student.

“You’re somewhat correct,” said Mr. Hagen, “although some credit Christopher Columbus in 1492, we all know that Leif Erikson and a band of Viking explorers founded Vinland – in Newfoundland – half a millennium earlier, around the year 992.”

“How is Leif Erikson related to Naddo…”

“Naddoddr,” corrected Mr. Hagen, “He lived in the Faroe Islands, to the west of Norway just across the North Sea. He was the great grand-father of Thorvald Asvaldson. Thorvald’s son was Erik Thorvaldson, or Erik the Red. Erik’s son was Leif Erikson. Each son journeyed farther west than the father. In this way, Naddoddr was the great-grandfather of Vinland.”

Mr. Hagen flipped through the slides of the various fathers and sons, describing each one’s achievements built upon each other.

“Naddodr found Iceland,” stammered Mr. Hagen. Then, he stopped to correct himself.

“Let me clarify. Naddoddr wasn’t exploring when he found Iceland. He had been to Norway and was returning to his home in the Faroe Islands. Back then, the Vikings used star charts to find their way across vast seas and oceans. When Naddoddr returned home, it was dark and cloudy. He got lost. That is how he found Iceland.”

“What about Erik the Red?”

“Yes…some years later, Erik’s father Thorvald had been banished from Norway. Thorvald and his family journeyed to Iceland. After Erik became an explorer, just like his ancestors, he journeyed to Greenland. Although many people credit him as the founder of the giant island-country of Greenland, the is a written record which clearly states that he was one of many Vikings who sailed through the North Atlantic to Greenland.”

The next slide showed several color-coded arrows traveling right to left on a very old map of Norway, Iceland, Greenland, and North America.

Bente raised her hand.

“Mr. Hagen, why is there a sea serpent drawn in the middle of the map?”

“Back in that time, as you know, there were myths about the sea. In fact, the main source for this information is a book called the Icelandic Saga.”

Mr. Hagen turned off the projector and turned on the overhead lights. He drew a simple diagram on the chalkboard. A small collection of grave-shaped stones stood at the top of a grassy hill. He then drew one of his famous arrows. This bright yellow chalk line led to a square. Inside the square, he drew a single oblong stone. He then drew ancient letters, known as runes, on the stone.

“The Icelandic Saga is a mix of history and myth. Vikings gathered around bonfires. They shared stories. These included the stories of their Viking raids and trading caravans.”

Mr. Hagen then pointed to the map of the vast North Atlantic Ocean.

“They also included stories about the Viking explorers. Some Viking Explorers did not meet a happy end. Although Viking Longboats were seaworthy, some still sank. The Ocean was a wild wilderness of water. In fact, when Erik the Red first ventured to Greenland, he took 25 ships. Only 14 made it the whole way to Greenland. Fascinating, if not factual, stories explained some of the Viking disappearances and deaths. This was part of the Viking storytelling tradition. Eventually, as Vikings developed writing, like the runes on my rock tablet, the stories were literally written in stone.”

Mr. Hagen moved on to through the slides of Greenland’s settlement towns. There were longhouses, built directly into the ground.

“Just like they did in Norway and Iceland, the Vikings built longhouses. These houses sheltered as much as an entire village worth of people in one place. Grassy mounds protected the Vikings from Greenland’s harsh Arctic winters. The slides showed the few thatched houses, shaped much like the buildings of Bryggen, plain and sturdy with steep A-shaped roofs.

“Because of Erik the Red, these stories of a new land reached Iceland. Many Icelanders, and even Norwegians, immigrated to Greenland.”

Mr. Hagen moved through slides of overhead diagrams of the longoats. He then showed pictures of burial mounds of a similar boat-like shape.

“The Vikings truly loved their ships. Many chieftains were given a Viking funeral.”

“I know all about that,” said Bente, “that’s where the chieftain was placed inside his boat after his death and set to sea. Then, his Bondi would use flaming arrows to set it on fire. The ship would burn and the chieftain would be buried with his boat in the sea.”

“That’s part of it, but really, most chieftains were simply buried in their boats as if it was a coffin. The boat would be placed into the ground with the chieftain inside. Then, they would form a burial mound for the chieftain, in the shape of the ship. Standing stones, like the runic stone tablet I’ve drawn here, mark the boundaries of these gravesites.”

“There’s a cemetery just like that outside Bergen,” noted a student.

Mr. Hagen nodded.

“These burial mounds are called stone ships. They are a very important part of Norwegian heritage,” said father.

“I still think the Viking funeral at sea sounds better,” said the student..

“Again,” stated Mr. Hagen, “that is just the movies and television. Vikings are not all about hand axes and raiding parties. Some are just like you and me.”

“With longer beards,” said Bente as she pinched her bare chin.

“I suppose you’re right,” said Mr. Hagen.

He looked up at the clock. Finally, the week was over.

“All right, I’ll see everyone on Monday, when we talk about the arrival of the National Church.”

Students stuffed their backpacks and put on their winter clothing. Outside, winds had started to howl. Bente fetched Erik from class. They ran home. Bente looked out at the snowstorm.

“We’d better call our mother.”

Mrs. Larsen showed up at school some time later. The children ran out to meet her, shielding their eyes and face from the harsh wind. Mrs. Hagen turned the heat to high.

“Buckle up,” she said to her children.

After a long week at school, Bente was ready for the weekend. Erik was, too.

“I’ve got a stockpot full of fish chowser at home. Who’s hungry?”

Both children raised their hands.

Then, Mrs. Larsen carefully navigated the car through the blinding snow. Even though it was a familiar course, Mrs. Larsen patiently drove through Bergen’s city streets. Unlike the treacherous North Atlantic, Mrs. Larsen followed familiar streets up and around the edge of the fjord. When they finally made onto their very own street, Bente and her brother breathed a sigh of relief. The faint outline of their house stood in the distance. Finally, they were home.

.

Land of the Longboats

Bente’s morning began bright and early, as she rose with the sun. After a brisk shower, she returned to her room and dressed. She pulled a bright pink turtleneck over her head, followed by her favorite gray knotted-wool ski sweater. Its thick, coarse hairs did itch at her neck, but it always kept her warm and toasty.

When she arrived downstairs, she found her mother and father sitting at the kitchen table. Father was getting ready for work while mother was eating toast and purple jam. Bente toasted a few pieces of bread and joined them.

“May I have the grape jelly?”

“It’s juniper berry jam,” said her mother.

“Oh. Do we have any grape jelly?”

Mrs. Larsen shook her head. Bente reluctantly spread the jam on her her toast. Unlike the sweetness of grape jelly, juniper berry jam was tart.. Even after a few bites, the sharp taste stung the tip of her tongue. On the second piece, she opted only for butter, sprinkling it lightly with sugar and cinnamon.

“Do you need a ride to school?” asked father.

“It all depends on Erik. Where is he?”

“I hear the shower. He should be down at any time.”

At twenty ‘til, Bente toasted two pieces of bread and prepared them with cinnamon and sugar. At fifteen ‘til, Erik rumbled downstairs. He pulled on his galoshes and tugged on his slicker, a waterproof, weatherproof raincoat. Bente picked up his backpack and handed him his breakfast.

“I need something to drink.”

“Here,” said mother as she handed him her glass of milk.

“I can still take you to school,” offered father.

“We’ll be fine,” said Bente.

Erik quickly ate and drank before they rushed out the door. He ran along as Bente strode quickly down the city sidewalks, through the village, and up to the playground behind the Barneskole.

The old building was three stories high. It had a cottage-style roof with four chimneys evenly spaced over four bay windows that overlooked the playground.

Bente shooed Erik along, handing him his backpack as he went. Chilren were lined up by their grade. Erik went to the first grade line. Bente joined her classmates in the fourth grade line. Just as she did, the school bell rang. They all filed in, youngest to oldest. Erik waved to his sister as he disappeared into the large red building. Soon, Bente followed.

Mr. Hagen, Bente’s fourth grade teacher, waited at his desk while the children filed in. They took off their hats and coats and placed them upon the coat hooks at the back of the room. There were twelve large lab tables sitting in four files of three. Bente sat in the back row, directly in front of Mr. Hagen’s desk.

“Alright, children, quiet down. We have a lot to discuss today. Let’s start with the Goths.”

A collective groan came from the class.

“This is one of the most important parts of Norwegian history.”

The children obediently opened their textbooks while he went to the chalkboard. He pulled down the map of Europe and then pulled down the plastic overlay.

Meanwhile, Bente daydreamed. She looked at images of Vikings and longboats across the top of Mr. Hagen’s chalkboard. The Vikings had horned helmets and wolf-pelt vests, just like the ones her father had talked about the Vikings not having them.

Bente raised her hand.

“Yes, Bente?”

“I have a question about Vikings.”

“Yes?”

“Your pictures…my father says those are true the true Vikings. The true Vikings were farmers and fishermen. Is that true?”

“It is and it isn’t. Farmers played a very important part in all of Europe’s changing landscape. As people’s learned to farm, they became settlers. At the same time, they were discovering metalwork. They created tools like metal shoves and rakes.”

“If they were farmers, why did they become raiders?”

“As with all things involving money, people don’t always play by the same rules. Some Vikings became raiders and invaders. These invaders, of course, became more famous than the hundreds of trading farmers of their day.”

Mrs Hagen went over to the bookshelf and picked up a crucifix – the common Christian cross and twisted it in her hand.

“This is when it all happened.”

“What?”

“Late in the Eighth Century of the Common Era, in 793, the Vikings arrived at a monastery in the British Isles. They arrived on a longboat called a ‘Man o’ War’. The monks were in awe of these great sea vessels.”

“What did the monks do?”

“What could the monks do? They didn’t have weapons of any kind. They were a quiet people, like the most peaceful of priests – devoted only to their God.”

“Did the Vikings trade with them?”

“Not at all. They raided the island, taking everything they could. They also massacred the monks and ransacked their monastery, taking everything of any value. Before that, very few people knew the Vikings.”

“And after that?”

“After that, everyone knew about the Vikings. Back then, there were very little people who could read or write. The monks, on the other hand, were the ones who wrote books. The monks thought it was an outrage to have their monastery plundered and burnt to the ground.”

“They were awful.”

“Some were awful, but there are also some Vikings that did good, too. The ancient explorers like Eric the Red and Leif Ericson took their Viking ships across the Atlantic to the New World – discovering Vinland, which is now part of North America.”

“Weren’t they Vikings, too?”

“Of course they were. The word has become associated with one people, but they were an advanced society. Those longboats used ideas that shipbuilders still use and marvel at today.”

“Like?”

“Like the way it was constructed. The Norse laid out a keel – that’s this bottom rib of the ship. Then they added clinkers. That’s the long planks that run along beside the keel, from bow to stern.”

“What’s so special about that?”

“The keel helped the ship go in a straight line. This was all fastened together with rivets instead of nails. The rivets, tiny metal bolts, were inserted into the joints while still hot. Then, the ends were struck with a sledge. This created a molded nail that was secure on both sides of the ship.”

Mr. Hagen sketched three views of a longboat on the chalkboard: one from above and one from the side.”

“See the shape of longboats? They’re long and narrow,. That allows the boat skim over the water. That also allowed the boats to go right up to the shore, just like a canoe. They’re magnificent things, really, these wave-walkers.”

The children, including the always-inquisitive Bente, were left speechless. Mr. Hagen looked down at his textbook. He’d spend well over an hour talking about Vikings and longboats. He had fallen further behind in his lesson. He picked up an eraser and wiped the board clean.

“Let’s get back to the Goths. Their rise in historical importance came seventeen centuries ago, around 244 of the Common Era. A horde of barbarians called the Huns, came from China and Mongolia in the east. Led by a warrior named Atilla, the Huns plundered the Goth villages, just like the attacks in Viking tales.”

“China? Isn’t that far away for Norwegian history?”

“Bente, you have to learn that all things are connected, especially when it comes to history. At that time, the Goths were simple peasant farmers. They fled west into the Roman Empire. When they crossed the Danube River, the Emperor Valens allowed them safe passage. The Goths thought they were saved. However, the Emperor had different plans. He put the Goths in Roman farming prison camps. The Goths thought that they were farming for themselves. The Romans, however, took all the crops for themselves. Goths were forced to eat their hunting dogs and watch the old, young, and weak die.”

“That’s awful.”

“The Goths thought so, too. They became raiders, just like some of the barbaric Vikings did 400 years later. The Goths finally attacked the Romans near a city called Adrianople, in present day Turkey. The Goths overwhelmed the Romans, massacring them. After that decisive battle, many of the former farmers were now barbarians. There was a migration period – where these different barbaric tribes fought for territory and loot.”

Bente raised her hand.

“Yes, dear?”

What does this have to do with the Vikings?”

“Even though the Goths beat the Roman Army, they had no land. The new Roman emperor knew this, so he promised land in exchange for their military services. Unfortunately, this was another lie. Eventually, the Goths rose again against Rome. Meanwhile, the Huns who had devastated the Goths were now attacking the Romans, too. Eventually, the Goths split into two large tribes. One of those tribes invaded Italy. The other tribe, known as the Ostrogoths, migrated north and west, into Scandinavia. There are even thoughts that the Goths originated in Denmark, where I grew up.”

”So, maybe you’re an Ostrogoth,” suggested Bente.

“Who knows? Maybe I am. Like I said, when it comes to history, we’re all related.”

.

Hunters and Farmers, too

When Bente and her father returned home, her little brother Erik and her mother were watching Bergen Football on television. It was nothing unusual to see her brother watching football. He loved playing it every chance he could. He even dribbled the football along the sidewalk with his feet as he went to and from school. It didn’t matter whether the snow had been shoveled away or not.

Seeing her mother watch football, however, was something else. Bente figured her mother would be upstairs, hand painting fancy designs on cake pans and cookie tins to sell at church. However, Mrs. Larsen sat right beside Erik, cheering on Bergen.

“Bergen!” exclaimed Mr. Larsen “I forgot there was a match today!”

He immediately sat down on the couch between Erik and mother. Bente, however, headed upstairs.

“Come sit with us and watch football.”

Bente shook her head.

“Bente doesn’t like football,” said Erik, “she’d rather play the violin or read paperbacks in her bedroom.”

“Before you go to your room,” interrupted mother, “I want you to wash the dishes and put them away.”

“But I went out with father today.”

“As long as you’re living under this roof, you’ll do your duty and do your chores, no matter where you went.”

Bente sighed, but minded her mother. She headed upstairs immediately after she was finished. However, she did not practice violin or read, as her brother expected.

Instead, she lay atop her bed, turned to one side, and stared out the window. She daydreamed about ancient Norsemen, sailing across the North Sea.

Even late at night, the merchant ships and cruise ships ventured into and out of the fjord. The fjords, those slender fingers of land and sea that intertwined, stretched all along Norway’s massive coastline.

Bente had always known that view outside her window, but she’d never really thought of it like tonight. Sure, she’d daydreamed about riding out to sea, but she never really considered how important shipping was to Bergen, or for that matter, all of Norway.

She headed downstairs. She still had no intention of watching the Bergen Football Club. Instead, she had questions that needed answered. She grabbed a tiny bottle off the mantle and carefully wiped it clean. A tiny model of a Viking ship was trapped inside.

“You say these tiny boats were the same boats Vikings used?”

Mr. Larsen nodded.

“They’re called longboats, right?”

Mr. Larsen nodded again. “At their largest, they were only about twenty meters long and three or four meters wide. These were the longboats you’ve seen in museums.”

“Twenty meters? That’s not very long for a long ship. That’s only ten people lined up, head to toe.”

“The biggest longboats only carried about twenty crew and one chieftain.”

“That doesn’t sound like a longboat at all.”

“They were called longboats because by the time they were used in Viking raids, they were long and narrow. They looked nothing like any of the other seafaring boats. The narrow longboats allowed the Vikings to travel quickly over long distances.”

“Your model boat is flat and wide.”

“That’s because the ship in the bottle you’re holding is a farmer’s longboat.”

“What do you mean?”

“Vikings had different boats for different purposes. The first Vikings weren’t savage brutes. They were farmers, living on the fjords all along the coast. They were merchants and traders just like today. They traded crops like potatoes, barley, or wheat.”

“They didn’t have corn or peas?”

“The rocky soil has always been thin and sandy in this part of Europe, which makes it difficult to farm. There were only a few crops farmers could grow. Landowners would divide their land into strips. Each strip of land was given to a farmer, known as a cotter or a serf. The cotter acted as a servant to the landowner. The cotter tended crops for the landowners. In exchange, the cotters lived in a cottage on their strip of land.”

“How did the landowners become so powerful if they didn’t do any farming?”

“Landowners used boats to trade their harvested crops with landowners from other places. The further they traveled, the more goods they found. The flat-bottom longboats were perfect for holding lots of cargo. Eventually, they reached all parts of Scandinavia, from Norway to Sweden to Denmark to Finland. The brought the things they traded back home and sold these goods to the other villagers.”

“One landowner did all that?”

Mr. Larsen shook his head. “Sometimes, the cotters would help by rowing the boat and working the rigging for the landowners. The landowners were the captains of their longboats.”

“Was Grandpapa a Viking?”

“He was not.”

“He’s Norwegian, though, right?”

“Yes and no?”

“Yes and no? Which one is it?”

“Both. His grandparents were mountain people called Sami. They lived in a region of Norway called Finnmark, just north of the Arctic Circle.”

“Were they farmers, too?”

“They were nomads. The mountains were too rocky to use for farming so the Sami had to hunt reindeer. These nomads traveled over vast stretches of land hunting reindeer. Wherever the reindeer went, the Sami people followed. It was a grueling lifestyle. Eventually, they resorted to herding reindeer and mountain goats. This brought some of the Sami to the rivers where they traded with the farmer-Vikings. Eventually, some Sami, like my great-grandparents, moved into the lowlands and fjords.”

“My father and his family lived along the coast,” said Mrs. Larsen, “They used longboats to navigate rivers like personal highways. Since my family lived near the coast, many of my relatives were fishermen, too. ”

“I thought the Vikings traveled great distances on their longboats.”

“Eventually, they became great explorers, but at first, Vikings only explored the many fjords, looking for items to trade. The word ‘Viking’ means ‘to travel on the river’. They weren’t much different from the traders at Bryggen.”

“I thought that Vikings drank large pitchers of ale, carried battle axes, and wore horned helmets and wolf pelts.”

“That’s a very romantic idea, but it’s not very practical.”

“What do you mean?”

“The first Vikings wanted what everyone else wanted – good food and a good home. There were some exceptions, of course, but it wasn’t practical to travel around being a pirate.”

“But we talk about Viking raiders at school.”

“Before there were Viking raiders, there were Viking traders. Think about it. The biggest longboats only carry nineteen men. If they lost several of their crew, how would the few remaining Vikings be able to travel? It’s much more likely that there were more Vikings that traded than there were that invaded.”

Bente carefully replaced the bottled ship on the mantle above the fireplace. She poured herself a glass of cold milk and chugged it rather quickly. As she sat it on the table, she imagined a group of farmer Vikings coming home from a long trip to Sea. She lifted the glass up in the air, making an imaginary toast. Then, she took the glass to the kitchen sink and rinsed it out before returning to her bedroom.

A row of dim orange-yellow lights lit the opposite side of the bay as Bente peered out her window. The cabin lights of merchant ships skimmed above the surface of the cold, black water of the inlet, with deckhands walking the length of the ships as they slowly cruised along.

Bente imagined the fishermen and farmers traveling through the fjords. Then, she imagined Vikings with horned helmets pulling on oars as they fought the treacherous sea. Either way, it left Bente with a little smile as she closed her eyes and dreamed of the cold North Sea.

.

The Old Trader's Wharf

Sunday morning found many of Bente’s friends and their families at church. Meanwhile the Larsens were preparing for a very busy day. It all began with her mamma, who was busy cooking breakfast.

As Bente strolled downstairs, mamma greeted her.

“Hallo, my sweet. Can you do me the favor of waking your father and brother?”

“Ja, mamma.”

Bente returned upstairs and rustled her father from bed.

“Good morning, lazybones. It’s time to get up.”

“Good morning, Bente. Something smells very good. What is your mother cooking?”

“Smoked salmon sandwiches.”

“Then I had better hurry before it is all gone.”

Bente kissed her father lightly upon the cheek and went to her brother Erik's room. He was fast asleep. She gently nudged him, but he did not move. She grabbed him by an arm and tugged him out of his covers.

"Get up! Get up! Get up, lazybones!"

"I'm up! I'm up!"

"Good. Breakfast is almost ready. Get cleaned up and get downstairs."

Bente returned downstairs as father and brother prepared themselves for a long day.”

“It smells just fantastic,” said father as he joined Bente at the kitchen table.

Mrs. Larsen pulled the smoked salmon casserole from the oven. It was piping hot. Mrs. Larsen cut it into squares. The Jarlsberger cheese oozed over the sides of the spatula as Mrs. Larsen carefully scooped each slice onto a piece of grovbrød. Bente picked up the first sandwich just as her mother completed it.

"Ah-ah," exclaimed Mrs. Larsen, "wait for your little brother."

"But it'll get cold."

Mrs. Larsen went to the foot of the stairs.

“Erik!”

“Coming, mamma!"

Within moments, Erik rumbled down the stairs and joined everyone at the kitchen table. Everyone dug in as soon as Erik sat down, eager to enjoy a family favorite.

Ingredients spilled out of the sandwich and onto Bente’s plate as she took her first bite. The grovbrød's nutty whole-grain goodness perfectly accompanied the saltiness of the smoked salmon casserole.

"Bente, what are your plans for the day?" asked father.

"Maybe I will practice my violin and watch television."

"Nonsense," said her father, "you're coming with me to Bryggen.

Bente shrugged.

“What bout me? I want to go, too,” said Erik.

“Papa will be busy today. You will stay with me.”

Bente had been to Bryggen a hundred times before. Mr. Larsen talked to businessmen all along the wharf while she quietly stood next to him and acted pleasant. She found it quite dull and boring.

“I can stay home and babysit,” offered Bente.

“You are going with your father. You need to get out of the house anyway. Some fresh air from the North Sea always does a body good.”

Bente did not argue with her mother. Her father always found it quite enjoyable to have Bente along while he toured the docks, stopping by the stores and talking to merchants.

“Okay, I’ll go.”

“Good!” exclaimed her father, “We will have a good time. I promise you.”

Bente smiled politely as she took her dirty dishes to the sink and rinsed them. Afterwards, she put on some outdoor clothes and tagged along with her father, leaving Erik and mamma behind.

The road from the Larsen house to the wharf was nearly empty, since it was very early in the morning. The sky was slowly changing from midnight blue to early morning violet. Bente rolled down her window part of the way. A chill breeze blew across her face.

“What will we be doing today?”

“You go with me all the time. You don’t know?”

Bente shrugged.

“All sorts of things. I have to visit the fishmonger first. He’ll tell me the size of today’s catch. Then, I visit several shipmasters. They let me know how much space they have for cargo in their ships. They also tell me what kind of cargo they can ship. I organize the sale of that space to the fishmonger and other businessmen.”

Mr. Larsen pulled into a large warehouse.

“Hold my hand, dear.”

Bente walked hand-in-hand with her father across the warehouse floor. Forklifts zipped back and forth, moving large crates from one place to another. The action was very brisk.

The warehouse foreman and fishmonger greeted Mr. Larsen and Bente. The fishmonger pointed to several areas near the dock. Rows of crates sat in rows, waiting to be loaded into cargo ships.

“It’s a big load today,” said Mr. Larsen.

“It sure is,” said the fishmonger, “biggest of the season.”

“I’ll have to make some calls, but we can offload this by the end of the morning.”

“Good. We’ll get everything ready.”

Mr. Larsen shook hands with the men before returning to his car while Bente followed closely behind. They drove out to the service road and zoomed to the far end of the pier, farthest from the sea.

One of the cargo ships accepted a full load of pine and spruce as Mr. Larsen parked his car. Bente recognized the bright blue ship cargo ship with bright white letters “MOELVEN”. It was the same timber supplier her father had worked for before his ship-brokering job.

“God Morgen, Bente!”

“God Morgen, Mr. Bratvold.”

Bente had known Mr. Bratvold as long as she could remember. Mr. Bratvold was Moelven’s ship dock foreman, responsible for making sure the ships were loaded safely and correctly.

“Henrik, trenger 45000 kubikkmeter lasterom for fisk.”

“Ja, ja. Jeg har neg lasterom.”

Mr. Larsen asked for 45,000 cubic meters of cargo space for fish and Mr. Bratvold had it and plenty more. Mr. Larsen patted Mr. Bratvold on the back as he thanked him. Now, Mr. Larsen would return to the fishmonger and give him the good news.

“Father, why don’t you just call these men and save time?”

“I could, dear, but part of my job is also to make sure the customers are happy. I visit them personally because they are friends and colleagues. My personal relationships are important for my job and my company.”

Bente went with her father back to visit the fishmonger. They talked and laughed with the fishmonger for quite some time. Bente didn’t mind, though. She knew it was her father’s job.

“What now?” asked Bente.

“One last stop.”

Mr. Larsen visited an oil exporter. He shipped oil and oil products overseas. In return, he needed equipment for his oil wells. This had to come from other countries, like China, Japan, and the United States. Mr. Larsen organized that, too.

Afterwards, they visited the shops of Bryggen.

Bryggen faced the bay. Beautiful wooden houses sat so close together, they might as well be hand-in-hand. Each house was four-stories high, had a pointed roof, and was painted its own distinct color. Inside the shops, merchants sold imported goods. They were from all over the world, too. Bente stopped in front of a picture window. Ceramic toy dolls stood in the window. Bente pressed hr hands to the glass and peered inside.

“Can we go here?”

Mr. Larsen nodded.

There were stacking Matryoshka dolls from Russia, princess dolls from Paraguay, Chinese porcelain dolls from Beijing, and Barbie dolls, too.

“Which one would you like?”

“There are so many. I want them all.”

“How about we just choose one?” said father.

“May I have a princess doll?”

Father nodded. Bente took off her mittens and held the doll in two hands. She combed her fingers through the princess’ long black hair. Bente loved that the most, since her hair was strawberry blonde and most of her friends were either redheaded or blonde.

“Are you hungry?”

“I guess,” said Bente.

“Then let us sit for lunch.”

“Okay.”

Giant stockfish, nearly three meters long, hung from boughs at the edge of the pier. One of the chefs was drying and curing them for meal plates. Bente and her father passed the curing rack and went into one of the merchant houses. Inside, there was a restaurant.

“Hello, sir, may I take your order?”

“I think we’ll just have two lutefisk sandwiches and two glasses of milk.”

Bente and her father relaxed inside the comfy restaurant on the wharf, watching shippers work briskly while tourists and locals mingled lazily on all along the wharf.

“So, did you have a good time?” asked father.

Bente nodded.

“I think we shall do this again soon.”

“Fine by me,” said Bente.

“I can hardly wait,” said father.

Bente did truly enjoy her day with father. Until then, she never truly knew what his work was all about. She just watched, but never truly observed. On the way home, Bente rested her head against the passenger’s side window. It was cold to the touch. Bente exhaled softly as she watched the ships coming and going from Bryggen.

And, as far as her returning to Bryggen sometime soon, Bente could hardly wait, either.

.