"What reasons, Mother?" I said finally.

She hesitated before speaking. "The words of a sJjebne-soke. She prophesied that..."

"That what?" I pressed, pulling away from her.

"That any north child I had would die." She finished reluctantly, her words coming fast, "Crushed by an avalanche of snow and ice."

"I see."

"No, it is I who sees what utter foolishness it was to believe her words. Why, only last week I heard that Agneta Guthbjorg had a baby girl instead of the boy that same skjebne-soke foretold."

"Well, I'm certainly glad to hear it," I said dryly. We exchanged smiles.

We resumed our walk to the farmhouse. "I wish your father would return," Mother said wistfully. "Neddy may have told you that there is a distance between us of late. I think that seeing you home and safe would help heal that distance."

"I would like to see it healed," I said.

We walked for a few moments in silence.

"May I..." She paused. "...ask about your life these past months? Are you comfortable? Do you get enough to eat? You look so thin."

"Only because I grew homesick. But it is not so bad there, Mother. I do have plenty to eat."

"And the white bear? Does he live with you, where you are?"

"He does. Mother, I cannot talk about this. I made a promise."

She gazed at me closely, as if trying to read how safe I really was.

"The white bear is good to me," I said.

"What manner of place do you live in?"

"It is a comfortable place. I call it a castle, but it reminds me more of a large hunting lodge, like the ones the wealthy people in Andalsnes keep in the mountains."

"Are there servants?"

"Yes, of a sort. I rarely see them."

"How do you spend your time?"

"I weave. And sew. There is a loom there, a very nice one." The words were completely inadequate when I thought of that magnificent loom. "I made this dress," I added, gesturing at the gray dress I wore but thinking of the three gowns that were folded in the leather wallet, which I had left at the castle.

"It is very fine, Rose. I'm glad you have a loom," Mother said. "And the white bear, do you see him every day?"

"Usually," I said shortly. I tried to quicken my pace a little, but Mother's arm linked in mine made it difficult; she would not be hurried.

"What are your sleeping arrangements? Do you have a comfortable bed?"

I stiffened, hoping Mother had not noticed. "Very comfortable" was all I said.

I spotted Neddy coming from Father's new workshop and breathed a great sigh of relief. Pulling my arm from Mother's, I energetically waved at Neddy, calling out to him.

I thought I detected a little frown on my mother's face as Neddy joined us. She wants to know more, I thought. The white bear was right.

And the white bear was right about something else as well. At dinner that night each member of the family, except Mother and Neddy, said a little piece about how my leaving with the white bear had had nothing to do with Sara's getting well and the reversal of the family's fortunes. It was Harald Soren who was responsible—as well as Father and his talent at mapmaking. The appearance of the white bear, his request and my departure with him, were nothing more than a coincidence. Even Sara said she thought it was nonsense that a white bear, albeit a talking one, could have cured her. It was the doctor and the medicine that had cured her. And therefore, they said unanimously, I must not think of going back. I must stay home, where I belonged.

I turned to Mother. "What do you think? Was it a coincidence?"

Mother set a pitcher of sweet cream on the table, for pouring over our bowls of fresh strawberries, then sat down. She looked me in the eye. "No, I for one do not believe it was a coincidence. I think our good fortune was in part because we granted the white bear's request. But, Rose, I also believe that by having done so, you may consider your obligation fulfilled."

"The white bear asked me to return. And I gave my promise."

"I don't understand ... Sikram Ralatt expressly said..." Mother looked puzzled. "In that case, though it pains me beyond words to say so, I believe you must return."

"Oh, Mother!" cried Sara.

"How could you, Mother?!" Sonja said.

I listened to the chorus of protest and disappointment from my family, then said, as brightly as I could, "There's still heaps of time. Let's not worry about partings now. Are there any more strawberries, Mother?"

Neddy

I SENSED THAT MOTHER'S words caused Rose pain. Or maybe it was that they caused me pain. I could not believe that once again Mother was choosing superstition over her daughter. Ironically, Rose and Mother were of the same opinion—that she must return with the white bear—but they came to it from very different directions. For Rose it was a matter of keeping a promise. For Mother ... Well, she did not want to transgress on any of her foolish superstitions. If only Father had been there....

Every day we watched for him and every day he did not return. We tried to excuse Rose from doing any chores around the farm, but she insisted on doing her share. In private she told me that she actually missed doing chores, and described her makeshift laundry room as providing the only chance she had to do her own work. She actually let slip many little details of this nature, and gradually I felt I'd gained a piecemeal, sketchy picture of her life at the castle.

"You, sound almost as if you are fond of the bear," I said one day, after Rose had described a typical afternoon spent weaving and telling stories.

She looked a little startled. "I don't know. Yes, I guess I am, in a way. Sometimes I feel sorry for him. Not pity—he would hate that—but when I see in his eyes the nonanimal part of him trying so hard to hang on, to keep a tiny grasp ... Oh, it probably doesn't make any sense to you."

"You feel compassion for him."

"Yes." She got a faraway look in her eyes. "Like when he shivers—" She stopped with a guilty look.

"Shivers?"

"At night. You see—" She stopped again. "You must promise to tell no one," she said, very serious. "Especially Mother."

I promised.

"I have this feeling I should not speak of what happens in the castle at night, though he never told me not to, not specifically ... But I find it so confusing, and strange. Talking it over with you might help me." And then she told me of her nightly visitor, of the darkness that couldn't be lit. Of the nightshirt she had made for him. And lastly of her suspicions that it was actually the white bear that slept beside her.

"Sometimes I can hardly stand not knowing. I want to reach over and feel his face. Or its face. But I daren't. I tried different lamps, even making my own flint. But nothing worked. I think it must be an enchantment of some kind, Neddy. What do you think?"

I didn't know what to say. Her tale sounded fantastic, like one of the stories I used to tell Rose when she was little. I shook my head. Then I was struck by a thought.

"Is that why you're going back, Rose? To break the spell?" I asked.

Rose laughed. "It sounds so ridiculous when you say it like that. Anyway, it's not that. It's more like I feel there's something I ought to be doing that I'm not. And if I did whatever it is, I could help the white bear."