Tímarit Þjóðræknisfélags Íslendinga - 01.01.1962, Qupperneq 79

ON THE EBBING TIDE
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the farm—on that they were agreed
—but their love for each other and
their joy in close companionship had
gradually waned and tumed to re-
serve, then indifference, and at last
rose up like a wall between them
which neither of them tried to break
down. He had always blamed it on
the difference in their dispositions.
He was domineering, ill-tempered,
industrious; she stubborn, obstinate
and taciturn. But, after all, were not
the real causes too much hard work,
too much fatigue, too much mon-
otony which gradually took the joy
out of life and destroyed all com-
panionship? Solveig had been a
cheerful, loving, beautiful woman.
She was still beautiful, but the joy
of life had left her. Wasn’t it his
fault that she had lost it? Taciturn,
serious, bossy and constantly work-
ing—Solveig was that now. Even
his mother, if she were alive, would
have thought Solveig had gone too
far in this, his mother who was
afraid Solveig was a frivolous,
worthless creature when he became
engaged to her in defiance of every-
thing and everyone. He then vowed
to give her a life of ease to his dying
day. But had he done that? Had he
always made life easy for her?
As he drove slowly homewards,
Ofeigur clearly saw, in his mind’s
eye, the events of the evening when
they pledged their troth. He saw
every detail of the drive they took
that evening. Very different it was
from this drive in every respect ex-
cept one—it was Christmas Eve.
Then his companions were youth,
love and hope—Solveig. Now death
rode with him.
That night long ago a Christmas
party was being held in the little
country schoolhouse—a great event
in those days. His younger brothers
and sisters were beside themselves
with joy of anticipation. He, too,
looked forward to the party, mostly
because Solveig was going with
them.
Solveig, who had come from Ice-
land in the spring, was at the time
employed as a domestic in their
home. She hadn’t been with the
family long when Ofeigur realized
that he wanted to marry her, al-
though she was but a poor lowly
servant girl. That is, he would marry
her, if only she would have him. But
she had always held herself aloof
when she so desired.
There was much hustle and bustle
getting ready to go. Ofeigur saw to
it that his brothers and sisters all
went in the large sleigh and that the
cutter, which had room for only two,
was reserved for himself and Sol-
veig, and he harnessed his favorite
horse to it.
It was a typical Manitoba Christ-
mas Eve, clear and cold, with starry
skies. The moon shone bright. A
dead calm reigned. The air was so
still and quiet that it almost seemed
as if the night were holding its
breath. But it was bitter cold. The
silvery white snowdrifts covered
everything, lying in crested waves
like stiffened waves of the oeean. In
some ways the prairies resemble the
ocean. Like it, they fill the soul with
a burning desire to set out to explore
the immense unknown. In the sum-
mer they make one sad, but in win-
ter they fill one with fear and dread,