Mother of Light: A Novel, page 1
MOTHER OF LIGHT
A NOVEL
Elin de Ruyter
This is a work of fiction. Any references to herbal remedies, medicines and/or midwifery techniques are not meant to be considered as a substitute for professional advice. They are not to be considered as viable treatments.
MOTHER OF LIGHT Copyright © 2023 by Elin de Ruyter. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information address Ylfa Press: deruyterelin@gmail.com
Cover design by 100covers.com
Interior design by Elin de Ruyter
Map and Illustrations by Chaim Holtjer
First edition: July 2023
ISBN 978-0-6457659-1-5 (paperback)
ISBN 978-0-6457659-0-8 (ebook)
www.elinderuyter.com
Contents
Dedication
. Chapter
Glossary
Major Characters
Map
Prologue
PART ONE
1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8
9. Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
11. Chapter 11
12. Chapter 12
13. Chapter 13
14. Chapter 14
15. Chapter 15
16. Chapter 16
17. Chapter 17
18. Chapter 18
19. Chapter 19
PART TWO
20. Chapter 20
21. Chapter 21
22. Chapter 22
23. Chapter 23
24. Chapter 24
25. Chapter 25
26. Chapter 26
27. Chapter 27
28. Chapter 28
29. Chapter 29
30. Chapter 30
31. Chapter 31
32. Chapter 32
33. Chapter 33
34. Chapter 34
35. Chapter 35
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Acknowledgements
About The Author
To my great-great-grandmother,
Guðrún Þórðardóttir,
and the Icelandic midwives whose
true stories inspired this one
Mother of Light is the literal translation
of the Icelandic word for midwife, ljósmóðir.
Glossary
Icelandic Words
Afi—Grandfather
Amma—Grandmother
Andskotinn—Icelandic swear word—‘the devil’
Askur—A type of Icelandic wooden bowl, with a lid— it was used for all meals
Baðstofa—Living room; also functioned as a place to eat and sleep and where people undertook various household activities
Búr—Food cellar, pantry
Góðan daginn—Greeting: good morning/good day
Hreppstjóri—Local district councillor
Húsfreyja—The head mistress of a household—she would manage a household
Já—Yes
Kauptíð—Trading season—held at a merchant town
Blessuð og sæl—Greeting to a woman: may you come blessed and well
Mamma—Mother
Nei—No
Pabbi—Father
Peysuföt—Traditional Icelandic clothes worn by women
Séra—Title for a priest
Sixareen—a six-oared timber rowing boat
Skyr—A type of Icelandic cheese, more the consistency of yogurt—made from milk
Slátur—Slaughter, the term used for blood sausage, liver sausage, scorched sheep’s head and sheep’s head jam
Sæll/Sæl—Greeting, hello
Torfbær (turf croft)—An abode constructed of stone, timber and earth, typically with a grass roof and stone outer walls; the inside is framed with timber
Pronunciation of some Icelandic Names
Þ—This letter is pronounced as th as in thorn
ð—This letter is pronounced as th as in bath
æ—This letter is pronounced as I as in my
Major Characters
with pronunciations
Suðureyri
Household 1
Albert Jónsson, hreppstjóri, farmer and fisherman, 31
Kristín (Krissa) Ólafsdóttir, húsfreyja, his wife, 41
Valdís (Dísa) [dee-sa] Þorðardóttir, her daughter, 10
Halldóra (Dóra) [doe-ra] Albertsdóttir, their daughter, 6
Þorlaug (Tobba) Þorleifsdóttir, Krissa’s mother, 62
Þorleifur (Leifi) [lay-fee] Þorkelsson, Tobba’s father, 85
Einar [ay-nar] Sveinsson, farmhand and fisherman, Albert’s brother, 26
Árni [our-knee] Valdimarsson, farmhand and fisherman, 45
Guðrún (Rúna) [roo-na] Sigurðardóttir, workmaid, 23
Ingibjörg (Inga) Maríasdóttir, workmaid, 19
Sólveig [soul-vay] (Veiga, Solla) Pétursdóttir, midwife from Reykjavik, 24
Household 2
Björn [be-yearn] Jóhannesson, farmer and fisherman, 45
Rannveig [run-vay] Þórarinsson, húsfreyja, his wife 43
Jóhannes (Jói) [yo-air] Björnsson, their son, 18
Sigríður (Sigga) Björnsdóttir, their son, 15
Þórarinn (Tóti) [toe-tear] Björnsson 14
Margrét Björnsdóttir, their daughter, 6
Helgi [hel-gear] Sigurðsson, Rúna’s brother, farmhand and fisherman, 26
Hansína [hun-see-na] Ketilsdóttir, workmaid, 15
Þorsteinn (Steinn) [stain] Bjarnason, fosterchild, 9
Botn
Jakob [ya-cob] Jónsson, farmer and fisherman, brother of Albert, 29
María [mar-ee-a] Gestsdottir, húsfreyja, his wife, 28
Fríða [free-the] Jóhannsdottir, her daughter, 8
Ásta [ow-sta] Jakobsdóttir, their daughter, 3
Hans Bjarnason, farmhand, 15
Gestur [guest-her] Jóhannesson, María’s father, 65
Hulda [hool-da] Geirsdóttir, workmaid, 17
Keflavík
Elisabét (Elsa) Magnúsdóttir, húsfreyja, mother of Helgi and Rúna, 54
Magnús [mag-noose] Sigurðsson, farm manager and fisherman, her son, 30
Elías [elle-ee-us] Sigurðsson, farmhand and fisherman, her son, 16
Águstína (Stína) [stee-na] Örnolfsdóttir, workmaid, 15
Salbjörg [sal-be-yorg] Hallgrímsdóttir, workmaid, sister of Elsa, 48
Steindór [stain-door] Jensson, son of Salbjörg, 10
Tómas [toe-mass] Erlendsson, farmhand and fisherman, 52
Bær
Eiríkur [ay-rick-her] Bjarnason, farmer and fisherman, 58
Jósefína [yosef-ee-na]Sveinsdóttir, húsfreyja, his wife, 56
Hafsteinn [half-stain] Eiríksson, farmhand and fisherman, their son, 29
Gróa [grow-wa] Magnúsdóttir, midwife, mother of Eiríkur, 84
Halldóra [hal-door-ra] Jónsdóttir, workmaid, 23
Vatnadal Upper
Grímur [gree-mur] Halldórsson, former hreppstjóri, farmer and fisherman, 65
Katla [cut-la] Hansdóttir, húsfreyja, his wife, 60
Hallveig [hal-vay] Grímsdóttir, work maid, their daughter, widowed, 38
Geir [gayr] Sturlason, farmhand, son of Hallveig, 13
Vatnadal - Hraunakot
Júlíus [yule-ee-us] Halldórsson, farmer and fisherman, 60
Björg [be-yorg] Tómasdóttir, húsfreyja, his wife, 31
Herdís [hair-deese] Júlíusdóttir, their daughter, 9
Anna María Júlíusdóttir, their daughter, 7
Tómas Júlíusson, their son, 5
Kalli [cull-air] Júlíusson, their son, 3
Júlíus Júlíusson, their son, 2
Soffía Júlíusdóttir, their daughter, 13 months
Gilsbrekka
Bjarni [be-yarn-air] Hannesson, farmer and fisherman, 32
Arína [a-ree-na] Jóhannesdóttir, húsfreyja, his wife, 37
Jóhannes [yo-hun-ness] Pallsson, her son, 14
Hannes [hun-ness] Bjarnsson, their son, 2
Map
Please visit elinderuyter.com for a zoomed in version of the map
Prologue
December 1880
Njarðvík, South Iceland
People always leave. That was a truth Sólveig had learned long ago.
Birth and death lingered together in the dimly lit croft made from earth and stone. The scent of blood filled her nostrils, astringent and metallic, and with it came an almost paralysing dread. She approached the bed in the corner of the room. The small window above it rattled against the gasping wind, or was it a soul trying to escape? She shuddered at the thought.
The sight before Sólveig tore at her, the unfairness of it all. Her sister’s still form lay on the narrow cot before her, her long blonde braids limp and lustreless against the waxy hue of her skin. A newborn baby was nestled in the crook of her arm, its tiny face bruised and blue. She hadn’t even known Fía was with child.
“There was nothing we could do for them,” the house mistress said behind her. There was no emotion behind the words, as if she were talking about something so mundane as making the evening meal. And Sólveig wanted to scream at her. But she didn’t.
“It should never have happen
No doctor. No midwife. Just a man who thought he knew how to deliver babies. And now her sister was gone.
PART ONE
Better to have little light than much darkness.
Betra er lítið ljós en mikið myrkur.
—Old Icelandic proverb
1
September 1881
Ísafjörður, Northwest Iceland
She arrived with the autumn wind, trailing the postman, his son and his dog.
Two weeks it had taken her to get here. Sólveig had walked, ridden and rowed, traversed mountain heaths and crossed precarious fjords, wearing through three pairs of her sheep skin shoes to take up her new posting in the merchant town of Ísafjörður, but now the doctor was telling her he was posting her elsewhere.
“You want me to go to Suðureyri? I’m sorry, I don’t quite understand. Is this not where I’m to practice midwifery?”
Doctor Þorvaldur, a greying man in his mid-forties sighed deeply and rubbed a hand through his short neatly trimmed beard.
“Já, it was initially, but we’re short of midwives in the Westfjörds and the Suðureyri district don’t have a learned midwife of their own. I’ve decided to post you there. It’s in the next fjord—not too far.”
“The next fjord?” She sighed, trying to quell the disappointment she felt at the prospect of more walking. Her tattered feet ached at the mere thought of it.
They sat in his office, a small room furnished as a doctor’s clinic, a shelf full of leather-bound books against one wall, a cabinet with vials of powders and liquids of varying colours, a cot for patients, an examination table and a timber desk by a large square window, lending the room natural light.
“We’re trying to make positive changes here, Sólveig,” he continued, his tone taking on an edge of exasperation. “Some of the old midwives just don’t uphold to proper hygiene, and there are the new laws. We need trained midwives. You’ll stay with Albert and his wife in their household. He is hreppstjóri for Suðureyri, the local district councillor. They’re a respectable family, and you’ll be well cared for in their household.”
“I haven’t delivered a child, Doctor. I was assured I would have more training before heading out on my own.”
“Eh!” He waved his hand in the air as if her concerns were of little matter. “You’ve completed your three months of training. You passed your exams, so you’re more than adequately equipped. You’ll charge three kronur per delivery and receive escort to and from births, as required by law, and the district shall pay you fifty kronur per annum.” He stood, reaching for a brown leather bag, then peered into it and closed it once more with apparent satisfaction. “Now, my dear, I’ve got a broken leg to set in Hnífsdalur, so I must take my leave. You have everything you need for your practise—medicine vials, scissors, bands, enema syringes, tubes and the like?”
“Já, I believe so. I was given some vials by Doctor Jónas in Reykjavík.” Sólveig stood too, indicating her own case near the door.
“When you need more, come see me again. I have a supply here.”
A turmoil of uncertainty ran through her. This was too rushed. “And if complications should arise?”
“I’m the only trained doctor for the whole of the Westfjörds, Sólveig.” He swept his hand in dramatic exclamation. “It takes me days just to travel to some of the farms in my district. I need all the help I can get. These women are relying on you. Of course, I’m here if any major difficulties arise, but I find that most labours—well, they progress quite adequately if the woman tends to follow the body’s natural cues. You’ll find that the ladies of the household will be able to assist you also, but you’ll know this already.” He winked, giving her no room for rebuttal, and called down the hallway: “Þórunn.”
The doctor’s wife, a refined middle-aged woman whom Sólveig had met upon her arrival, entered the room. She was short and buxom, clothed in a dark-blue Danish-style dress with a high neckline, flowing skirts and long sleeves.
“Please see to it that Sólveig receives some coffee before she heads out with Albert.” The doctor reached out to her again, taking her hand in half a shake. “You must forgive me, duty calls. Good day to you and best of luck.” He pushed a stiff black crowned hat onto his head, tipped the brim at her in farewell and fled out the door.
A man, tall and broad of shoulder paced at the side of the doctor’s timber house. He sported a short beard and was dressed smartly in a dark grey suit, his brass-coloured hair mostly hidden beneath the black hat marking his status as hreppstjóri, though she thought him more like a sea captain in it.
“Albert?” she ventured, making her way towards him. He turned at the sound of her voice, pulling the hat off his head.
“You’ll be the midwife, then?” Sky-blue eyes took stock of her, and she was suddenly all too aware of how tattered, and travel worn she must look before him, a man of status.
“Sólveig Pétursdóttir.” She nodded in greeting. “And you’re the councillor?”
“Albert Jónsson of Suðureyri.” He bowed curtly, in a formal manner, then straightened himself. “I wasn’t expecting one so young—I’ll say that.”
His comment took her by surprise. “I’m twenty-four, not too young, I think.” The man was surely not much older himself, she wanted to add, but instead, she pulled her shoulders back, steadying her resolve, ready to face whatever objections he thought he had with her age and inexperience.
“Ah, I can see that I’ve offended you. Don’t take it to heart, girl. Most midwives I know are aged old women with broods of ten to twelve children—not young and so easy on the eyes.” His held hers, a glint of humour dancing in them, and she couldn’t help but think that he was teasing her.
“Well, I’ll have you know, the laws have changed. Women no longer need to be married nor have children of their own to become a midwife.”
“Já, and we’re happy to have you, Sólveig.” He placed his hat back onto his head. “You’ve come a fair journey, I hear, and if all is well, we’ll make haste for home.”
Tied to a post at the side of the doctor’s house, a blue roan coloured beast stomped its hooves impatiently. The horse was loaded heavily with supplies: a couple of large sacks, and an assortment of ropes and tools. Albert’s gaze followed hers to the horse, and he raised his brows in question.
“To be carried by your horse, my feet would be forever grateful.” Sólveig was weary to the bone of travel, but it appeared that she must make this one last leg of the journey to reach her destination.
“These mountains aren’t good for riding, I’m afraid. The trail’s too steep and narrow, but she can take those.” He indicated the sack of clothes she carried over one shoulder and the medical bag in her hand, her life’s belongings and she passed them gladly to him, watching as he fastened them to the horse. “It’s four hours of hard walking,” he stated casually over his shoulder. “You think you’ll manage it?”
“Já.” Sólveig sighed. After all, what was four more hours of walking? She had little choice in the matter, like many things in life. She drew deep, searching for that bit of extra courage, that mental energy more than anything else, to tackle another mountain. But she knew this would all be worth it in the end. Her destination may have changed, but her role, her duty in society was still the same. Women would give birth and she would go where she was needed.
They left behind the small town nestled in the fjord between mountains. The tang of salt sat sharp in the air, blown straight from the sea along with the smell of fish, carried over from the drying racks they passed along the coastline. Sólveig’s black woollen skirt fluttered about her ankles, and she tugged at the ends of the knitted grey shawl she wore, pulling it tighter around her for warmth. The bumpy dirt track narrowed into a path only wide enough to walk in single file, a path that snaked through a valley and ascended the side of a mountain, the very same mountain she had descended only an hour earlier with the postman. When they reached the top, there was more room to walk by Albert’s side, but Sólveig stayed back a bit, unsure and subdued in the presence of this man, this stranger she followed blindly towards what seemed like the edge of the world.
