The Lucky Sheave

By Martin Calderwood

 

 

Glugh snickered as he slipped out of the barn dragging the curry comb toward the water trough just outside the barn door.  A couple of quick spins and the wide toothed ‘hair rake’ flew over the side of the trough with a satisfying crackling splash as it broke the thin layer of ice that coated the water.  He smiled broadly as he imagined the inconvenience the family would have as they came out and discovered the horse’s tails all tangled and the comb missing.  He knew it would not take them long to find the comb because the trough was his favorite place to toss things when he wanted to remind the family not to neglect him.  Being a Troll he  really enjoyed his weekly bowl of sweetened barley porridge and thick cream and when it wasn’t there he had no choice but to remind them of his presence.   At least this time he had left the two milk cows alone!

Still chuckling Glugh entered the barn turning only briefly to make certain he had not left a trace of his passing in the nights freshly fallen snow.  Walking almost invisibly through the dusky shadows he swiftly reached a rope that hung down from the rafters. It had been placed there to give the children a place to swing but for him it was a way to reach heights his four-inch stature  could not on its own without some major troll magic.  With only minimal effort he shot up the rope and crossed the rafters to the outer wall where he could observe the ‘fun’ below. 

Seated comfortably in the outer joist he turned and gazed briefly at his handy work.  The tails were  not only tangled they were each almost braided with straw and a couple burrs thrown in for good measure.  The distinct shuffle of footsteps told him that the old woman was coming so he turned smugly toward the door.  After a moment he could hear her muttering as she always did as she crossed barefoot the few dozen steps between the house and the barn.  The creak of the barn door admitted a burst of chilled air as he leaned forward to watch her reaction.

“Can’t rely on the young.”  she mumbled as she closed the door.  “Always forgetful they are.  Too excited for the start of Advent yesterday  and the coming Yule they are.   Let a little snow keep them from doing what they promised.”

Glugh looked down and took a deep breath.  The old woman was holding a steaming bowl of hot porridge placed on a plate along with a slice of fresh bread slathered in honey butter.

“Troll?  Glugh?!  I’m sorry, my grandson was to bring something to you last night but he.... he was cold and he is just a little boy so you must forgive him.”

The Troll listened quietly.  His stomach growled as the scent of the honey, porridge and warm bread reached his long, generous nose.  His mouth moistened in anticipation then he glanced over at the tails of the two horses then back at the old women who was setting the food on stool next to the door.

“I am trying to teach him.  His father is not helping but you know we want him to learn.  You know how the young are.  You remember how I was!” she paused looking around taking in the entire barn in a single sweep.  If she saw the tails she did not let on. 

Glugh remained silent and was only a little surprised when her gaze focused briefly on his hiding place.

“Now hurry down and enjoy this before it gets cold.” she said over her shoulder as she turned and opened the barn door.  “And fix those tails!” she added as the door closed behind her.

A gentle wave of his hand undid all of his morning’s efforts but he did not mind as he savored the first warm sweetness sliding down his throat.   She had always been an excellent cook and the crunch of the bread and the delicious porridge did wonders to his spirits.  He ate slowly knowing that he would be left undisturbed until he was finished.   When he had eaten his fill he shared the generous remnants with a shivering squirrel who lived in a nearby tree then fed some of the porridge to the barn cat who just happened to wander in from its nightly prowl.   The poor creature had yet to learn to stay where it was warm and Glugh knew that with beginnings like this the winter promised to be especially harsh.  Smiling, he watched the cat lick the last remnants from the bowl before it meandered away  to curl up in a snug corner of the barn the rest from its bone chilling adventures blissfully unaware its mentor watched from the shadows.

After leaving a few crumbs for the mice the small troll slipped out of the barn and made his way circuitously to the house.  Before leaving he checked on the chickens and made sure they were warm pausing briefly to blow on the small stove fire,  kept going to heat the coup and part of the barn, so the flame would last a little longer and use less wood.  From the coup he went and greeted the old dog then checked the sheep and goats in their pen.  Finding all secure he slipped unnoticed into the warm house.   In a few moments he was tucked snugly  in a high, secluded corner of the main room listening to the soft buzz of conversation below. 

The aromas of the season filled his nose and made him dozy.  Tangy spices and the scent of hot bread cooling warmed him as he sat watching.  The family had been up a couple of hours and he guessed that the Grandmother had been up even longer so she could work uninterrupted in the kitchen area.   He knew it would be several hours before the children, ages nine and eleven,  returned from school.  It would be longer until the husband came home from the tannery where he worked.  Glugh did not like the man.  He had become realistic in his thinking and did not encourage the old ways.   He was more excited about steam engines and other new gadgets than folk tales and faerie stories.   What made it worse was the fact that he was teaching  his children that trolls and other such imaginative trappings simply did not exist. 

The little troll drew in a deep drought of fragrant air and yearned for the days when the mother was a little girl and the grandma and her husband were new to this old house.  ‘Grandpa’ was a wise old man who knew how to care for the trolls in the area.  He had built his house just far enough away from the lively little village to be able have a large enough farm to support his family when the fishing was bad.

           Glugh recalled watching captivated as the little girl, their only child, had grown up to become a gentle young women who was wooed and won by a young man who had come to the village in search of adventure and a wife.  The two had married and decided to move in with her family until they could build a place of their own.  Her new husband opened the tannery after six months and he soon became moderately well known for his whaler boots and warm fur coats.  In this poor area of the world, however,  he mostly traded his creations for things his family needed to keep the ‘farm’ going.

 Over the next few years their hard work began pay off and the unified families had added two rooms to the house and built a new barn which included a special coup for the chickens.  Business and life seemed promising and Glugh regularly feasted because of  the old couple’s generosity.  It was also at this time that they obtained the two work horses that now stood waiting patiently in the barn unaware of their ‘near brush’ with a Troll’s prankishness.  Life back then seemed promising. 

            Grandpa continued fishing and ran the farm so his son-in-law could work his business.  When the first grandchild came along he took great delight in helping the boy learn to walk and to ride.  On the other hand the old man always appeared a little timid around the next child, his granddaughter as if he was afraid she would break   Still he could always make her laugh. 

Glugh paused in his memories as he recalled the day when the family learned that the grandfather had been lost at sea.  For over a year the family had mourned and parts of the farm had fallen into disrepair because the new head of the farm had to work at the tannery to bring in the money and goods the family needed. The women and children had worked hard and the garden, though small, had produced enough to sustain their needs and feed the animals.

The little troll recalled hoping that the man would keep up feeding and caring for him despite the troubles but to his consternation the man had gradually cut back the ‘troll silliness’ to once a week.  It was only by the efforts of the old women that the children had any connection with the tradition.  It was she who insisted that the old ways should be honored and it was for her sake that Glugh checked his mischievousness.   But still he could not let them get off free so things began to find their way to the watering trough while other pranks caused inconvenience and annoyance from time to time.  He smiled at her covert efforts to take care of his wants despite her son-in-law’s protests.   He even cut back on his mischief and fun because of her sometimes ingenuous efforts to keep him happy.

For the next two years the families’ fortunes continued to falter.  At the end of this past Summer the tannery burned taking a lot of damage.  Its rebuilding cost the family the last of its savings.  Then the wife had gotten sick and the garden suffered.  When she was finally healthy, a month later, she had tried to convince her husband that it had been Troll magic that had been the final antidote to her illness.  Of course the husband had not agreed and had stated that if the troll really cared for the family he would have helped with all the work rather than making the father and a few neighbors do double labor to keep the farm and the tannery active.

Despite all their efforts the farm deteriorated and an early winter was now upon them.  Only the neighbor’s help had allowed the grain and corn to be harvested and out of a sense honor the father had paid them all with new boots which had drained his supplies yet he and his wife knew it was the right thing to do after they had received so much help.  To add to their burden, Yule was fast approaching and though the families’ circumstances were promising to get better, they still had very little to spare. 

“The children have grown so much this year.” said Grandma one morning, a month before Yule, as she sorted the cloth she kept hidden in her room.  “Do you think we have enough?”

Mom looked at her mother and frowned.  “We can make something for each child but I am not sure we have enough for you and me.  As hard as they work, they deserve so much more but my husband needs new pants too so we will have to make due for now with what we can make.”

“What about you dear?”  Asked Grandma.  You have not had a new Bunad for many years and I do not think you have even changed yours since Father died.”

The Mom smiled sadly.  “I am fine.  I think I  may have enough to make a new vest for each of us this year if we are careful in our cutting.” 

Her mother nodded. “I have an idea for the excess stalks this year.  I am going to weave and tie some of the stalks to form a cane that we can hang on the tree.  So, if you would be so kind,  any strips of fabric you cut set them aside for me and I will use them.  I think I have just enough time to make a half dozen or so.   Two of them I will make especially lucky by tying to them a small cloth sack with some nuts and a coin and maybe a sweet if I can.   I plan to hide them so they are found with those hidden by the Julevenn.  The children can then hang them on the tree and remember the shepherds and flocks to whom we owe so much.  I will also make a Julebukk.”

“Perhaps you can just use one of their old socks instead of taking time to make a special sack.  That way they will know which one is who’s.”

That is a good idea but instead of using an old sock I think I will make tiny sock sacks.  It will be easy.  In fact, I think I will go out to the barn right now and start making my straw and stock selections before the best ones get fed to the animals or hung up for the birds.  I am certain Glugh should be finished by now.  In fact he is probably asleep in the house as we speak.”  She paused and glanced meaningfully at the Troll’s hiding place.

The little, pot bellied Troll opened one eye slightly startled at her comment then closed it letting a contented smile glide across his face.

“Why do you call him Glugh?”  asked the Mother.  “You always called him ‘little one’ or just ‘Troll’ until this year.”

“That’s his name.” said Grandma matter-of-factly.  “You know I have seen him twice but what I haven’t told you is last month I almost caught him as he was spooking the chickens the other day.  It was on the day we had to go to the town meeting and it went long and your husband wouldn’t let us ‘waste time’ feeding the barn cat.  I slipped out after you were all asleep and when I went to the barn I heard the chickens going crazy and I knew the troll was making certain they did not lay because we had not fed him.   It took a moment but I finally crept in and there he was running around the room making weird noises and the hens were all off their nests and very upset.  He was having so much fun he did not see me.  I was surprised that he is only a decimeter (4 inches) tall.  He has a fat belly and feathery black hair.  I was within arms reach when he turned and saw me.  I think we both froze for several seconds before he grinned at me and turned away.  I had to say something so I asked him his name. 

“Glugh!’  He almost shouted then dancing around on one foot  he repeated it three times.  “Glugh, Glugh Glugh.”  He laughed and magically vanished into the shadows. 

“I was laughing so hard and I went back picked up the bowl of mutton soup I had brought out and set it in the shadows.  As I was turning to leave I heard a loud slurp and a small burp.  I laughed all the way back to bed.  I think the hens laid the most they had ever done that morning.”

“I remember.” said mother grinning.  “I was able to give some to old Mrs. Olafson.”

Grandma nodded.  “Always share a Troll’s bounty.” she said quoting a family proverb.  “I have always known he was around but since I heard his name I just seem to know where he is.”

“Is he here now?” asked mother looking around skeptically.

“Of course.  Up in those shadows in the roof.  I need to make certain I give him an extra crust tonight. 

“Then how come I can’t see him?   Why do you get to see him and the kids and I don’t?”

Grandma shook her head.  “You have to believe and right now you don’t.  When you were a little girl you never doubted.”

“When I was a little girl.” she repeated.  “But now..”

“You have too many things to worry about.” said her mom.  “You should not discount the old ways like your husband.  It is not good for the farm and the children.”

“I don’t discount them, really,  but it is so hard to believe in something your dearest partner does not believe in.”

“I know but give him time.  We cannot forget our dear little house troll because if we do he will stop caring.”

“And we will have bad luck.  Do you think he burned the tannery?”

“No, that is not their way but troll luck can be fickle and it does sometimes spread beyond hearth and home.  Sometimes even the troll cannot control it once it is beyond his realm.  So be patient and keep working on him and I will keep encouraging the children

The mother nodded almost imperceptibly.  “If you say so.” was all she said.

           “ I’m going to the barn.  When I get back I’ll help you cut out the fabric.”

The next week of Advent passed peacefully with Grandma always managing to slip a spec of butter or a bowl of cream into the barn for Glugh.  Sadly her efforts to convince the children of the small Troll’s existence fell short as each time she pointed to the empty container they would echo their father by pointing at the cat or by telling her the rats enjoyed the feast because they didn’t leave a drop.  Frustrated Grandma would point out that they should not disbelieve the old ways so easily and that where the modern ways had their place there should always be a place for the values and folklore of one’s forefathers.  To make matters worse every time she thought she might get through to them her son-in-law seemed to take great delight in proving her wrong.  He even took them on a ‘troll hunt’ and naturally they found nothing.

Still the children seemed torn between pleasing their father and honoring their grandmother.  Their mother did little except to say when confronted with a desire for a clear-cut answer she would only say that the truth always came out and that they all would know it when they saw it.  Her husband naturally took this as supporting him but the children could not help but notice the gentle wink their grandmother gave when she met her daughter’s eye.   It was for this reason neither one argued when their grandmother asked them to take the treat to the barn for her. 

As Jule drew near, Advent ended, the weather grew colder than Grandma could ever recollect.  Arctic winds blew across the land bringing severe snow storms and conditions that slowed and disrupted life in the modest waterfront village.  The survival of the people and the animals took on a vital importance as nature’s behaviors went from inclement to hazardous. 

Glugh was unaffected by the temperature but he watched distressed as the family’s resources dwindled.  The wood pile they thought would last all winter began to disappear as they used more and more of the precious asset to warm not only themselves and their animals but their poorer neighbors as well.  The Father shut down the tannery except to provide warm covers and items many of the villagers needed.  In return the family ate a lot of fish.  The prickly smell of Lutefisk scented the air tinting the other aromas with its pungent odor.  Two or three nights in a row Glugh found leftovers on a small plate or in a bowl inside the barn door as if the family were in a hurry to pay tribute before retreating to the warmth of the home.  

In the mornings he would watch as the father would shovel and chip away the ice and snow so they could open the barn door while the oldest son would bring hot water to pour into the troughs to give the animals a drink once it was cooled by the ice he had not cracked out.

At night the little troll would blow on the fire and it would glow warmer and burn longer giving the animals some much needed heat.  He even did a little cleaning in the barn while the family, inside the house readied it for Yule visitors and the Julenissen as well.  Glugh wondered which of his gnomish associates would come this year as he gleefully untangle the mats on the cow’s bellies. 

In spite of all their best efforts a few of the chickens and one old rooster died over the icy cold days and nights.  This misfortune, however, was not wasted and the meat made for a fine change from the fish and elk that made up most of their fare.  The family even boiled the bones to make soup which they shared when they could.  Mother used the feathers to stuff a cloth sack  to make a pillow  for a sick neighbor and even the bones were saved or used after being boiled clean of all nutrients.  

Father also helped butcher the village animals that would be used by the people for their Yule feasts.  Being a tanner he drew the task and was paid with the hides of the two cows and three pigs provided by the village.  Local hunters contributed three large bull elk and a pair of cows found a several kilometers from the village in a low hilly area.   For their efforts were given the hides which father gratefully make into coats for the men’s families.  All the men helped in the cutting and distributing of the meat.  The also distributed the tallow that would be used to make candles for Yule and beyond.

“Is the door to the barn clear?” asked Grandma after supper one evening two days before Yule.  “I would like to take some of this fine soup out to Glugh.”

The father glared at her but said nothing for several seconds perhaps thinking that she still had projects to do before the Yule.   Finally he spoke.

“It is deathly cold out their ‘mother’.”  He said firmly.  “I can go get what you need so you can work on it in here while the children sleep.”  He looked meaningfully at the children’s room.  “Besides, don’t you have those ‘beltestakk’ to finish for the Bunads?”

Grandma’s eyes glared briefly at her son-in law then her gaze turned to her daughter who shrugged. 

“He’s right.  It is too cold to go out.   Stay in and we can put the silk on the leather piece and attach the silver ornaments.  In the morning we will go to the barn and stoke the fire and I will help you finish your barley sheaves.  We’ll tell the children we are getting the grain ready to put out on the tree for the birds.  I will have them work on the other decorations inside where it is warm.  As for the troll, just give him a double portion tomorrow or in the morning.  He will forgive you not coming out this time of night.”

As she spake she pulled out the finely tanned leather belt and some fine jacquard ribbons in several bright colors. 

“It’s so nice to have a hard working tanner for a husband especially one who knows how to trade for the finer things of life.”  She smiled warmly as he sat across the room beaming.

Grandma picked up her heavy wool scarf and wrapped it firmly around her.  “I won’t be long.” she said smiling, “Remember ‘A neglected Troll is an unhappy Troll’ and I would not want an unhappy Troll around Yule.”

She smiled and reached in and retrieved a small cloth sack from her yarn bag.  “Candy.” she said conspiratorially, “now each of the children will have candy, nuts and a coin in their little socks for Yule.  I shant be long.  I just want to pack the socks and come back.”   She paused and winked at her daughter.  “Unless I get otherwise distracted.   You two need to get to bed.”

The father rose and opened the door shaking his head as the old woman stepped carefully into the night carrying soup, candy, and whatever else she had in her arms.  Grandma was sure he closed the door a little harder than he intended out of displeasure for her actions.

Mother looked at her husband and shook her head.  “Why don’t you believe?” she asked softly.

For several moments he remained silent as if he were trying to formulate the best possible answer to be done with the question forever.  “Trolls are fictional things created by people to explain what they could not explain any other way but look at what is going on around you.  We can now travel more in a day than a man on a horse could go in three days before.  We have new and exciting methods of doing my work and the world is changing.  We are not as isolated as we were before.  Science is explaining things all around us.  We don’t need the myths and the like to explain our world anymore.  Trolls are not needed anymore.”

Mother frowned and looked toward the room where the children slept.

“I once believed, you know that, but look around you.  We are growing up as a people.  We will grow faster with each new discovery or explanation we find.  It would be nice and perhaps fun to still believe that Trolls tangle the tales of horses, hide things in water troughs, bring good luck, cause toothaches and such but it just is not so.   The mountains are mountains created by God and not some old stupid Troll turned to stone. It is just all to fantastic to even consider.”

“So there is no use for trolls and our heritage?” asked the mother.

Her husband sighed.   “I guess deep down the little child in me still wants to believe but I have grown up and that is that, I have ‘put away childish things’.  Trolls can still be used to teach morals and ideas but the Bible is better for that too.  Troll stories are all so gruesome with heads being cut off or guts being spilled.  Do we need to teach our kids using violence and stupidity? Besides if you believe your mother Trolls are not the stupid creatures of myth but smart and wise caretakers of the world.  Where she got that notion is anybodies guess. If I want symbolism, I will stay with what we have during Yule.   Now come on, let’s get to bed.  We have a long Yule eve day tomorrow and there is church and food preparation and everything and so we best get our rest now.”  He paused and added with a smile as he put his arm around her.  “And besides, the children will be bouncing around so much tomorrow night that we may never get them to bed and on Yule.....”

            A persistent tugging on the heavy quilt brought the mother to a groggy state somewhere between sleep and wakefulness.

“Who’s pulling on my blanket?” she mumbled sluggishly.

“Glugh!”

“What do you ...Glugh!?”  She sat up in bed.  “What’s wrong?”

“Come.” said the raspy voice at the foot of the bed.

“What?” she asked cleaning out her ear with a finger.

“Fast!  Come fast.  Now!”

Without thinking she pushed hard on her husband causing him to groan.

“Something is wrong.  Glugh wants me to follow him!”

“Yer dreamin’.” stammered her husband trying to roll over.

“No, you have to follow me!” she said punching him again as she got out of bed and slipped into her warm shoes.

The husband heaved himself up and stood wobbly on the floor feeling for his footwear.   His wife pulled on a housecoat and took a step forward.

A shuffle of small footsteps across the floor followed by an urgent ‘fast’ spurred the woman on as the door seemed to magically open before her.  She did not question but pursued the pitter-pattering sounds of running feet  to the front door which like the other flew open admitting a swirl of cold and snow that chilled the room as the fire blew and threatened to go out.

The man stood dumbfounded as his wife took three or four steps into the storm urged on by another cry of  “Come!”  A cry that this time he could not dismiss as the wind.

Reluctantly he followed as his wife moved toward the darkened barn.  Her scream brought him to full alertness even more than the cold.

“Mother!”

It took several minutes for the couple to carry the unconscious woman into the house where they placed her on the floor near the fire.   Blood still seeped slowly through the hair on the back of her head mostly congealed now by cold and time.  Outside by the trough a dark stain testified that she had fallen, striking her head probably as a result of the wind catching the heavy barn door and throwing her off balance.   After several minutes of cleaning and checking they sent the eldest son to call for the village physiker who arrived just as the woman moaned and began to wake up.  After a careful examination the family was told to keep her warm and to wake her every hour or two if they could.  She then gave them some herbs for her to chew on to ease the pain and went her way wishing the family the best on this day before Yule.

Throughout the day members of the family took turns sitting with their beloved elder thus allowing the others a chance to prepare for the evening and coming day’s activities.  Even father took his turn which gave the children a chance to add their touch to the outdoor tree ‘decorations’.  It pleased him that the children took such delight in providing for the birds and other small creatures during this harsh time of year. 

 Hardest to move from her watchful perch was the mother who sat worriedly watching her mother sleep fitfully.  She did take time to help her husband decorate the Yule tree but her teary eyes told them all it was not the same without Grandma.

 The family watched silently as she would dab the aging brow with cool water to keep the fever away.  Someone was ready on those few occasions when the woman awoke to help as needed but for the most part they waited.  Twice the mother changed the wrap and cleansed the wound with warm water and once Grandma even took a little broth.

At noon, father hauled in the Yule Log that would burn and bring warmth for the Yule festivities.  His son watched the careful preparations and promised that he would assist this year because he was now strong enough to help tend to this holiday ritual.

It was late in the afternoon that the mother recalled that they had not marked the barn door with the cross so, she hustled her husband out to the barn while she followed to retrieve the things her mother had made for decoration.  She stifled a shudder as she passed the snow packed area where her mother had fallen, striking her head on the heavy wooden trough.  Once inside she quickly closed the barn door and moved to an empty bin and after lifting the lid removed a large cloth bag tied with a small piece of braided cloth rope.  With trembling hands she opened the bag and carefully removed the largest of the contents, a goat with long curved horns, beaded black eyes stitched to look intently at the holder and dark cloth wrapped ‘hooves’.  It was tied at tail, neck, and torso with simple dark cloth.  At the knees and just above the ‘hooves’ were thin and tightly tied strips of yellow silk like cloth that blended faintly with the straw.  The long curved horns, perhaps four decameters long if straight were tied with bright red strips that somehow shaped the straw into its arched form.  Around the neck a small silver pinecone hung attached by a bright blue ribbon.  The highly detailed pinecone had come to the family three years ago as payment for a pair of boots father had made for a traveling sexton, named Stromness, who had been caught in the early winter without decent footwear.  At first Father had refused payment from one of God’s servants but the young sexton had insisted on giving something and finally they agreed on the charm that had mysteriously appeared in his offering box a few cities ago..                 Other bright ribbons of cloth adorned the mythical creature giving it a festive yet somehow sinister look that was designed to scare off the ghosts and spirits thought to roam the country side this time of year.  For a moment she gazed into the deep black eyes thinking of her mother then quietly set the beast down. 

“What do you think, Glugh?” she asked petting the straw creature.  “You could ride this beast if it were alive.”  She added with a smile as she reached into the bag and rummaged around.  “My mother made something for you.” 

She pulled a small cloth sock out and eyed its bright colorful decor of ribbons and cloth woven into the simple bag.  It was tied like the larger sack but with a small yarn rope and attached to a curved straw cane with a bright red strip of cloth left over from the bunads that now waited in her room to be given to the children on the evening before church.    Small twigs of evergreen tied with white ribbon and mistletoe adorned the beginning of the curve. 

“I think it is perfectly proportioned for you.”  she said placing the sack into a shadowy area behind her.  “She even made you your own lucky barley sheave with some very nice kernels and it looks like she even put an almond on it and a piece of candy!   I hope you enjoy them.  I know she wants you to and so do I.” she added firmly.

As she removed the remaining cane-shaped decorations from the bag, she listened intently for sounds in the shadows.  She noted, with joy, that there were five canes about 25 to 30 cm at the top of the curve which meant one for each of them.  To each was attached the handmade sock-shaped bag that contained the candy, some nuts and the coin, tucked in the toe, coins that Grandma had saved for this special occasion.   Inside also were two whole almond nuts that were to be placed in the porridge of each child because Grandma felt it was unfair for only one to get the ‘lucky treat’.   After a few moments she put things back into the bag and gazed out into the dark.

“I’m worried Glugh.” She said as tears welled up in her eyes. “ Mom is really hurt.  I don’t know if she will recover.  And now I’m talking to a myth.”

A scratching sound whispered from the shadows.

“Glugh?”

The woman spun around in time to see a small form ease back and vanish.  The Troll’s distinctly described pot belly and long nose caught in the flicker of the lantern light seemed to linger briefly before dissolving into the darkness.  For a moment she sat silent then a big grin formed on her face and plucking the bag from the ground she ran to the house to tell her family just as the evening bell rang calling the people to church.

Breathlessly she set the Julebukk on the table before gently tossing the bag onto the bed.  Her husband, seeing her distress, paused in the putting on of his coat to cover the bag with a blanket.  He then moved quickly to his wife’s side.

“I saw him!”  She exclaimed as she motioned for her children, who had just entered the room, to turn around for inspection.

“Saw who?” asked the daughter excitedly.

“Glugh!  Our house-troll!  He was in the barn when I got the Julebukk!”

Her husband looked skyward and then gave her that ‘We’ll talk about this later!’ look.  “We had better hurry.  The minister likes to get things started on time so we can all get home before the Nissen arrives.”

“Didja really see him?” asked the son skeptically.

“I did.  Now hurry up.  You don’t want to be late.”

“Did Grandma make the Bokk?”  Asked the daughter.

“Yes.” said the mother softly. “And I’ll leave him right here to watch the house while you are gone and I finish up and tend to Grandma.  No spirits will get me.”  As she spoke she raised her hand and wriggled them wildly before reaching out and tickling her.  She giggled and backed quickly away.

Her husband snorted and threw a glance at the straw goat before opening the door and scurrying the kids out the door.  “Come along.” was all he said as he closed the door behind him.

Mother watched them disappear into the night toward the church a few hundred meters down the shoreline.  When they were out of site she walked into her mother’s room and checked her.  Finding her hot she bathed her once again with cool water and while she worked she told of her experience with Glugh.  The details seemed to cause a stir and for a moment the stricken women opened her eyes and gave her daughter’s hand a squeeze before closing her eyes again. 

“Everything will be fine.” she assured her mother.

Her mother’s flickered open briefly.  “Ask Glugh.” she whispered softly.  Moments later she was once again asleep.

Mother adjusted the blanket and caressed the aged brow.  She then bent over and kissed her mother and quietly left the room.

With a heavy heart she quietly hid the five sock sacks and put some finishing touches on the tree before checking the food and setting the table.

“Ask Glugh!”

The words came strong to her mind as if they were spoken out loud.

“Ask Glugh!”

Suddenly mother’s eyes flew open.  “Ask Glugh!” she said aloud as she grabbed her coat and all but flew to the barn.

“Glugh!” she called as she pushed through the heavy doors.  “Glugh!  Can you help my mother?  I know you can.  She is hurt.  Her head is hurt.  Will you help her?  If you will I would be very grateful!”

She waited in silence for a few minutes listening to the animals and the creaky sounds of a barn in winter.

“I know my husband does not believe and my children are doubtful but you know my mother.  She is a true believer!  If she gets well the children will accept you and you will be taken care of after we are gone.”

Again she waited in silence then quietly she turned and left just as the church bell chimed announcing the end of the Yule Eve Service.   She now knew that all she could do was wait.

With candles gleaming in the window and a cheery fire warming the home the family finally pushed away from the table.  They had chosen to eat well knowing that Grandma would be very upset if all the cook’s week long efforts were wasted or unappreciated.  Everyone knew that the sin of ingratitude was one thing Grandma would not tolerate, so little remained of the Yule eve feast.  All that remained untouched was the plate set for the Julenissen, a plate full of  diamond-shaped cookies.

As mother began to clear the dishes she admonished her children to come away from the window and help clean up.  Father peeked in to check on his mother-in-law while the children hurriedly cleaned the table.  The last plate had barely been removed and Father was just sitting down when a knock came at the door.

“Now who could that be?” asked father rising slowly building the suspense.

“Are there any good children here?” came a slightly high pitched but strong voice outside the door.

The children pushed passed their father and threw open the door.

In the entrance way stood a short bearded man with a red pointed cap.  He wore a blue tunic that was just barely visible under the heavy red and whit coat.  Next to him sat a tan leathery bag synched tight by a green rope. 

Father gazed down at the diminutive man and nodded.  “Yes, there are two very good children here.  I will go find them.”  He joked.

The Nissen smiled broadly revealing a set of slightly irregular teeth as he opened his sack.

“Then let them step forward for I will reward them for their goodness.”

From his bag the Nissen removed a painted wooden fishing boat that looked similar to the ones made by the old wood carver who lived near the dock.  With a flourish he bowed and extended it toward the little girl who’s eyes opened wide in disbelief.

The old Nissen chuckled as if realizing his mistake and turned and handed it to the boy who clutched it gratefully.  The old elf then turned to the girl who could barely keep her excitement in check as she bounced first on one foot then the other.

The Nissen made and exaggerated and slow show of rummaging through his bag.

“Are you sure she was a good girl?” he asked after several long agonizing moments. 

Father nodded solemnly.  “Most of the time she is a very good girl.”

Barely able to contain his own merriment at his teasing the ancient one reached in and pulled out a bundle of three paint brushes and a bag containing 5 small jars of paint.

The Nissen’s eyes twinkled as the little girl squealed with delight and hugged the gift close to her.

From the door of her mother’s room the mother watched her daughter and son with a feeling of pride at how good they really were.   She smiled gently as the little girl suddenly remembered her manners as she ran to the table and exchange her gift for the plate of ‘poor man’s cookies’ left there.

“These are for you!” she announced handing him the plate.  “I helped make them myself!

The old figure smiled and reached up with one gloved hand and took one of the cookies from the plate.  Without hesitation he took a bite and he smiled adding to the twinkle in his eyes.

For a moment all was silent except for the crackling of the fire and the soft sound of his chewing.

“Delicious.” he announced taking a second cookie..  “But each of you must now have one too.”

Without further invitation each child snatched one of the cookies and took a big bite..  They then handed one to each of their parents and set one aside for Grandma.  The Nissen carefully tucked the two remaining ones in his coat pocket.

“May you have good fortune throughout the year.”  He said with a simple bow then looking up at the mother he smiled.  “And may your fondest wish soon be granted.”

The mother could not stop several tears from racing down her cheek.  “Thank you.” she mouthed.

The Nissen then bowed low and vanished into the night.  The children grabbed at their coats then looked at their parents imploringly.

“Just a few homes.” said Father softly.  “We were the first ones this year so try not to get in the way as you go.  And save some room for tomorrow’s dinner.”

The children nodded and after tugging on their heavy boots and gloves the raced after the old figure to see their friends and share the spirit of the Yule.  Mother stood briefly by the open door and looked up into the sky.   To her delight for the first time in days showed stars as icy diamonds on deep black cloth.  With a smile and a sigh she pushed the door into place.

She had no sooner closed and the sounds of the children’s laughter faded from their ears when the door once more opened as if by magic.  Father rose from his chair where he had sat down to smoke his pipe but he stopped short and watched agape as a small dark fuzzy haired figure just ten centimeters tall strode into the room as if he owned it.  Behind him the door closed of its own accord.

Mother too opened her mouth but she was able to choke out a whispered: “Glugh?”

The little Troll smiled a toothy grin.  “See Grandmother.” he announced boldly waving the straw barley stock cane.  The cane somehow appeared more solid and sturdy than she remembered.

The couple watched as the Troll, without another word, walked passed the stunned husband into the bedroom.  Using his cane he hooked a crinkle in the blanket and was atop the bed moving up the body to the head which rested on a soft pillow.

After a few moments study the Troll frowned.  “Bad, very bad.  I get fixed!”

Glugh took a deep breath and made a whistling, grunting almost pig like sound for several seconds.  When he finished he started walking toward the edge of the bed.

For a second or two every sound in the house seemed to fade from the crackle of the fire to the labored breathing of the injured woman.   Life seemed to slow when suddenly the door burst open as if kicked.  A cold burst of air chilled the room as a tall dark figure in a green scarf stalked into the room her heavy steps vibrating the floor and walls of the house.  Like Glugh she had a large nose and dark straggly hair that looked as soft as down yet as bristly as a scrub brush.

Her eyes were deep like a decanter of dark fire and she resonated with ancient power and life.  Ignoring all others in the room, as if their very presence made her uncomfortable she traversed the room in a pair of quick steps and entered the bedroom.  Mother and Father turned to watch her to scared and flabbergasted to react.  On the floor next to the bed stood Glugh, now a full meter tall.  The house troll was gently holding the old woman’s hand as his other had caressed the hair out of her eyes.

The father’s mouth dropped further as the old hag silently ran her hand up and down the woman’s face millimeters from the surface.  He tried to speak, to shout, to rejoice but could do nothing but take his wife’s hand and watch.  The Troll Hag looked at Glugh and nodded then reached into a small sack she had attached to her belt and removed what appeared to be a wad of dank green moss, twigs and barley stocks.  The father managed a gasp as the Troll roughly lifted the old lady and after licking the mixture stuck it on the wound.  She then proceeded to take a few small white flowers from somewhere else and as she lay the woman down flat sprinkled them on the face and eyes.

After several seconds the strange troll turned to Glugh and spoke two words.  “You want?”

Glugh nodded and placed his hand into the hand of the Troll Healer.  Moving in small concentric spirals, the joined hands moved over the placid face without disturbing a petal on any of the flowers.   Mother was not certain but she later mentioned that under the hands there seemed to be a soft glimmer or light like that of a dying ember that lit the elderly veneer as it passed over.  At the crown of the forehead they paused and held still for a moment then without warning the old hag made a loud popping sound with her mouth that made both humans jump.  

“Done.  She rest now.”  And in a handful of strides the hag was out the door before any words of gratitude or shock could be uttered.  All that remained was the slightly pungent aroma of wet, musty earth.

The couple turned back toward their stricken parent and saw a  ten-centimeter tall Troll slip under the bed carrying his barley stock cane as if it were a precious treasure.  Father finally managed to close his mouth.

“Tell Glugh you’re sorry you doubted him.”  Prompted the mother as she sat down next to her mother.

“Ummmm–Glugh?  I am so sorry I doubted you and your kind.  I.....”

From under the bed a small voice seemed to penetrate the air.  “Old, new all the same.  You understand.  You have great secret of Troll life.”

The words faded replaced by a deep silence broken only by the crackle of the fire.  Father put his hand out and rested it on his wife’s shoulder and for a moment a gentle peace settled on the household.  For a moment the spirit of the old and new blended in the home as it should always be but as it is rarely realized.   

Grandma’s breathing seemed to grow easier as the time whispered by.

A sudden surge of energy charged the room as the main door burst            open admitting a score or so children from the village.  Their joyous eruption of annual cheer all but tore the couple from their troll-stunned revery.

“Mother!  Father!”  The children’s voices reverberated together.  “We have Yule Bread and goat cheese and apples!”

Their voices were downed out by the babel of children’s excited voices all of which were inspired by the Julenissen’s almost miraculous departure.

Snippets of things like  “One moment he was there and the next he was gone.”  “And then Anders said” and “Could not believe the taste of that cream and sugar” told the couple of the evening procession from house to house where each good child received a gift and joined the parade until they came back to the first home for a final treat before retiring home to bed.

While Father listened, he quietly passed out small leather waist pouches for the boys and leather shoulder bags for the girls.  In each was a small candle made earlier in the month by Grandmother.  While the children admired and enjoyed the bags mother passed out a short bread type treat and a cookie which most of the children ate on the spot.  One or two carefully placed one or both of the items in their leather pouch for perhaps a midnight treat. 

After about a half an hour the evening festivities began to slow and almost as if they received a mystical call the children left as they had arrived, in mass.  The only difference was that they were a lot less energetic but they were no less noisy.  Father waited by the door until the voices faded then with a final glance into the clear cold sky he closed and secured it for the night

Even though she said nothing Mother was sure she heard him whisper “Thank You.” before the door closed.  She watched him walk over to the fire and bank it for the night adding a bit more wood to keep the warmth alive before sitting down to catch his breath.  Smiling she sent the children into their room to prepare for bed then went in to check on her mother.

 When she came back she quietly reported that her mother had apparently slept through the entire event.  Her husband nodded but remained contemplative.   He was still quiet as the children came out ready for evening prayers and bed.   It was obvious to her that he was still deep in thought so she motioned for them to sit down and remain still. 

 After a few moments he seemed to reach a decision.

“Children.” he said softly.  “I have been wrong.  Troll magic and Trolls are very real.”

“What?” chorused the children together.

“You saw Glugh?” squealed the little girl as she realized what was being said.

In hushed tones Father related the events of the evening concluding that “even father’s can learn new things.”

For several minutes only the occasional crackle in the fire place broke the silence.  Occasionally one or both of the children would glance toward the bedroom door wherein the Grandmother rested. 

Finally the boy spoke.  “I want to see him!”

Father looked at mother.  “Perhaps someday.” he said with a smile “but now if you do not go to bed Yule will never get here.”

“But,” started the daughter, “we don’t want to go to bed.”

The son nodded his agreement.  “You told us that the future was exciting and that we don’t need trolls anymore.  Now you say you saw a troll!”  

“I did see a Troll.  I saw two Trolls and I witnessed something I cannot explain.  As I said, I have learned something tonight.   I learned the value of bringing the past and the future together.  I now believe you cannot have one without the other.”

“If we do not find a way to see the future with the eyes of the past we will not learn how to live in the present.” added Mother.

“And, “ came a voice from behind, “it is time for bed.  You know the old Troll saying; “To all things be a time.”

For a second everyone was silent before they turned and saw Grandma standing in the doorway of her bedroom. 

Before anyone could say anything she continued.  “It sounds like I missed quite an evening.”

Hugs and tears of joy and delight followed before Father, trying to remain stoic, gently helped her to the cushioned seat near the fire.

“Mother,” he said softly, “you are not going to believe it.”

Grandmother’s eyes twinkled.  “Try me.” she said holding up a carefully created sheave that had been stripped of its ‘fruit’.  “This was by my head when I woke up and there was an unusual musty smell of Troll.  I can only guess that we owe our Troll friends a debt of gratitude.”

“I am already preparing an extra large bowl of porridge that I will put out for her tonight. I have added extra honey to the bowl.” said Mother smiling.  “And I will take out full loaf of Christmas bread for them as well.”