The Icelandic Canadian - 01.12.2008, Side 37

Vol. 62 #1
THE ICELANDIC CANADIAN
35
white temples throbbed in time with her
pounding heart.
Gretchen stared around wildly. She
must get Helga in out of the storm! It had
to be done, somehow. She bent over the
unconscious woman and tried in vain to lift
her but she was far too heavy for
Gretchen’s slender strength. In desperation
she dragged the still form up on to the path
and toward the house, resolutely closing
her ears to the pitiful moans that came from
the twisted lips.
After what seemed hours of effort,
spent and exhausted with aching muscles
and shaking limbs, she reached the house
with her helpless burden. With a final,
heart-breaking effort she pulled Helga
inside and shut out the rain. The bed was
out of the question. She spread a blanket on
the floor, stripped the wet clothing from
the limp figure and piled feather ticks
around and over her. There was agony in
the still white face and the shallow, labored
breathing frightened Gretchen.
Helga should have a doctor at once,
but, Dear God, how could she get one?
Oh, if only Gunnar were here! Somebody,
anybody, to go for help. There was Dr.
Bjornsson across the fjord, a scant quarter
of a mile by water. Six miles by foot, the
long way around. And the only boat on the
beach, a tiny rowboat!
Gretchen gazed out unseeingly. Helga
her friend, the one who had nursed her and
given her back her life. Helga, the wife of
Gunnar, whom she herself loved. Helga,
who was soon to be the mother of his child,
dying perhaps while she stood idly by and
did nothing. A low anguished moan sound-
ed in the stillness; lingered in the room.
Gretchen moved swiftly and put on a
heavy jacket. She leaned over and gently
touched Helga’s forehead, burning hot
now under her cool fingers. Then she went
out and down the path to the sea.
Lights twinkled from across the fjord
but the houses themselves were lost in the
mist. The little boat lay high on the beach.
She turned it over and pushed it down to
the water’s edge. Her manner was sure and
steady. There was no hesitation in her
actions. She waded out a little way, pushing
the boat ahead of her. When it was afloat,
she climbed in, seated herself and picked up
the oars.
Three times the sea rejected her small
craft, gathering it up contemptuously and
throwing it back to the land. Gretchen
tried again and this time the waves picked
the boat up and closed themselves around it
till it creaked and trembled with the strain.
Gretchen was amazed at the strength and
fury of the sea and the wind. She bent low
over the oars while the salt spray drenched
and blinded her. She was in a small, shifting
world a world of gray-green waters that
tumbled her backward and forward, bear-
ing her up to their roaming heights and
crashing her down to their angry depths.
Her mind and her body grew numb. She
felt nothing and heard nothing but a long
continuous roar of thunder in her ears. She
rowed like a mechanical doll that had not
yet reached the end of its winding.
It was the wind that carried her for-
ward now, the sea wind of the open fjord.
Dully she realized that she did not know
just where she was going. Realized too that
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