The Quisling Orchid by Ossiah Dominic

Author:Ossiah, Dominic [Ossiah, Dominic]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
ISBN: 9780956882998
Publisher: Starstream Media Limited
Published: 2016-01-18T16:00:00+00:00

* * *

As the sun climbed above the mountain peak and the morning wore on, Fólkvangr turned out in its entirety. They exchanged goods and talked at great length about the invasion, the Resistance, and Norway’s place in the world when the war was over.

Some expressed fear there would be little left of Norway for its place in the world to matter.

And though Mrs Tufte had strictly forbidden it, the villagers were wishing Freya a happy birthday and furtively pressing coins and small gifts into her hands.

‘Are you crying, Doctor Lomen?’ asked Freya.

The Doctor coughed gruffly and smoothed the teardrops from his magnificent moustache. ‘No, child. Why would you say such a thing?’

‘Your voice,’ said Freya. ‘I must be mistaken.’

‘Indeed you are,’ said the doctor and coughed again.

‘But if you were crying,’ she said, ‘what would you be crying about?’

‘Well, if I were crying – and it is important you understand that I am not – then I would be crying for you, my child.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yes.’ The doctor looked about him nervously. ‘Fólkvangr was a grey place before you came to us. Since your arrival, I have noted a marked decline in rheumatism, bad backs, unpleasant and unexplained inflammations… When you came you brought us colour, young Freya, and something to care for beyond ourselves. And if I were crying Freya – which I am not – then it would be because you cannot see the joy you have wrought in our small corner of the mountain. Ah! Now who is crying!’ He took a handkerchief from his jacket and dabbed gently around Freya’s eyes. ‘I have something for you,’ he said, pressing five coins into her hands and closing her fingers around them. ‘Don’t tell Mrs Tufte.’

‘I think she already knows.’

Doctor Lomen looked to where Mrs Tufte sat, glaring at him. ‘Ah.’

‘But thank you.’

To his surprise, Freya threw arms about his neck and embraced him with a strength he wouldn’t have believed possible in one so pale and slight. He returned the gesture, gently pressing his fingers against the glands in her neck to check for any signs of swelling.

‘I am well, Doctor Lomen!’

‘Can never be too careful,’ said the doctor. ‘Fólkvangr is a martyr to spring flu.’ He tapped her on the nose, and Freya opened her mouth so he could place a lump of sugar on her tongue.

‘Good girl,’ he said. ‘And remember, plenty of water and fish whenever you find it.’

‘I will, Doctor Lomen.’

Before he left he said, ‘I have children, you know.’

‘I don’t think I knew that.’

‘Sons, five of them. Stout of leg, good hearts. They’re fighting in the Resistance near Trondheim.’

‘You should never tell me such things, sir. What if I am taken?’

‘You will not be taken,’ he said firmly. ‘Fólkvangr will not permit it.’

‘Then I wish your sons well, and I thank them, for they are also fighting for me.’

‘Yes, yes, I suppose they are.’ He turned and walked back towards a stand trading in clay pots. ‘I have no daughter though,’ he said, ‘which I must speak to Mrs Lomen about.

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