The Icelandic Canadian - 01.12.2008, Síða 36

34
THE ICELANDIC CANADIAN
Vol. 62 #1
you? This man you are praying for is
Helga’s husband; not yours. And Helga is
your friend. Why do you pray that he
come back to you?” Gretchen’s bewildered
mind answered falteringly, “Why
...because he is my friend. Because I like
him.” “Because you like him!” the voice
mocked. “Be honest with yourself,
Gretchen. You mean, because you—“
“No! Don’t say it! I won’t listen to you! It
isn’t true!” Gretchen put trembling hands
over her ears while her eyes grew wide with
sudden comprehension. But the jeering
voice went on relentlessly. “Be honest,
Gretchen. You love Gunnar, Helga’s hus-
band! You have loved him for weeks.”
Gretchen’s mind raced back over the
weeks just passed. She thought of Gunnar’s
home-coming smile, his deep , kind voice,
his gentleness. She remembered the
warmth that came like sunshine to her
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when she saw him come in at night. How
blind she had been, how stupid not to have
realized sooner! But what of Helga? Had
she noticed, Gretchen wondered.
She whirled to find Helga watching her
with dark pain in her eyes. Helga looked at
the white face of her friend; looked and
knew that the slender thread had broken,
the sword had fallen. With a muffled sob
she reached blindly for an old coat of
Gunnar’s that was hanging by the door,
clutched it around her shoulders and fled
into the storm.
Gretchen stared at the swinging door
and the rain that ventured in to collect in
pools on the wooden floor. Some remote
part of her mind insisted warningly,
“Helga shouldn’t be out in this. Go after
her. Hurry! She may come to harm.”
Gretchen came to with a start and raced
outside. She saw Helga, a dim shadow in
the rain, at the top of the cliff, where the
path wound down to the shore. “Helga!
Helga! Come back!” The wind tore the
words from her lips and flung them back in
her face. The figure ahead hurried out of
sight over the rim. Gretchen ran with fear
choking the sobs 1 her throat. She did not
see Helga when she started down the nar-
row, treacherous path but she heard her
scream.
She found her around the first curve
where she had slipped in her haste and
heaviness on the rain-wet, greasy way.
Slipped and fallen over the edge of the steep
path and down among the crowding black
boulders below. She was moaning faintly
when Gretchen scrambled down to where
she lay. The rain and the wind struck cruel-
ly at the tortured face. Gretchen knelt
down beside her, tears lost in the rain on
her cheeks. Helga looked up at her and
smiled mistily. “It’s all right, Gretchen.
Don’t cry. I’m not hurt. At least,” and she
shifted her body slightly, “I don’t think I
am.” Gretchen gripped Helga’s arm and
helped her to her feet, steadying her when
she swayed. Helga straightened up cau-
tiously. She took a slow step and a gasp of
pain came from her tight lips. She moved
again, moaned and slid to the ground. Her
eyes were closed and her breath was com-
ing quickly, unevenly. The blue veins in her