Chapter 1

Tore shivered as she opened the door to let out some of the smoke that had curled around the wood beams of the ceiling in a desperate attempt to hang on and choke the inhabitants. She waved her arms, trying to get the smoke to leave. She had burnt the stew...again. Her brothers constantly ribbed her cooking saying that it didn't matter how pretty she was, once a man tasted her food they would never look at her again. Tore frowned. She propped the door open with a log from the wood pile, and turned to scoop the charred and foul smelling remnants of meat and vegetables from the great iron pot that hung over the fire.

Tore grimaced. It smelled so bad, even the dogs wouldn't eat this! Tore went outside, and dug a hole in the snow and dumped the burned stew into it, careful to cover it up afterwards. Tore looked around to make sure that all of the other holes she had dug and covered up were still concealed. She didn't like being the brunt of the bad cooking jokes, but as the years went by, her skills in cooking never improved.

Nordahl, Tore's father, had often said that Tore spent far too much time play fighting with her brothers and not enough time learning to develop the more womanly skills such as cooking and weaving. Tore could hunt better than any man Nordahl had ever seen. Her skill with the bow was remarkable. His only unfulfilled wish in life was that Tore could've been born a man. She was far more skilled with the bow and knife than any of his three sons. She would've made him proud on the battlefield; but a battlefield was no place for a woman. So cook and clean she must.

Tore put new ingredients into the pot and tried hard to keep from day dreaming this time. She stirred the contents, trying hard to remember how her mother had done things when she was alive. Life seemed much simpler when her mother had been there to instruct her. She never burned food in her mother's pot. Now that it was her cooking pot, she was concerned for the health of her brothers and father. Her cooking had taken its toll, and she could see that they weren't as hearty as they should be.

Tore sighed. Father was right; she should concentrate more on domestic life. When she was busy with the household chores, she found herself fantasizing about sea voyages and fighting with iron battle-axes; but none of this would ever be for a woman. The meat began to sizzle in the pot, and Tore stirred more vigorously than before. She wouldn't let it burn this time!

Ubbe and Arne, inseparable as always, came panting into the house from the fierce cold of the outside. The foul reek caused by the earlier pot of stew had almost vacated the room. Arne smiled at Ubbe as he shook out his goatskin robe and tossed it onto his sleeping mat in the corner.

"How many pots of stew did you cook before this one, little sister?" Arne laughed loudly.

Tore flashed him an angry look.

"Ah, Arne! You've got the fire up in her now!" Ubbe said and pulled the long bench closer to the table as he sat down on it.

"What makes you think I didn't get it right the first time?" Tore ladled the stew into wood bowls and passed them to her brothers.

Both brothers laughed. "The smell!" Ubbe said looking at Arne, who nodded in agreement.

Nordahl came grumbling from behind a skin divider. He sat on the bench across from his sons and hacked a body-racking cough. His health continued to decline and Tore grew more worried with each hacking cough.

"What is that stench?" Nordahl rumbled. Arne smiled and nudged Ubbe in the ribs.

"Tore's trial run, father!"

Tore dipped the big wood ladle back into the pot and dished up a bowl full of stew for her father. She sat it in front of him on the table.

Nordahl sniffed at his bowl like a dog. "By the Gods, girl, I believe a man who eats your cooking and survives should go straight to the halls of Valhalla!" Nordahl took a bite of his stew. "Ah, but you are improving."

Tore smiled. She sat down next to her father and made a face at her younger brother, Ubbe. The brothers ate their stew hungrily, and didn't seem to notice that the bread was as hard as a rock on the outside, and rather sticky and wet in the center.

Tore hadn't realized how hungry she had been until she began to eat her own bowl of stew. In her attempts to make an edible meal, she had totally forgotten to eat her noon meal. The evening meal had taken her entire afternoon. There still was some weaving to be done, and some wood to be chopped. Her chores were endless. As soon as she completed one there was another waiting to be finished also. Tore sighed.

"What is it, sister?" Arne looked at her with a concerned look.

"Just tired." Tore smiled back and took a bite with her wooden spoon.

Copyright © 2005 Angeline Hawkes-Craig