The wind howled in, spewing cold rain, but we were unaware of it.
"Close the door." It was a massive, strange voice. And though it seemed impossible, I knew at once the voice was coming from the white bear.
My sister Sonja swayed and looked like she might faint. I moved to her quickly, putting an arm around her shoulders. She was trembling.
Rose went to the door and shut it.
It was like a dream, gazing at the immense animal that had entered our home. Standing erect on all four feet, he was as tall as me, and water dripped off him onto the wooden floor. And I remembered water dripping off white fur from long ago.
I guessed from the moment he brushed by me that this was the white bear I had seen as a child, the one that had saved my sister Rose. If I had had any doubts, they were dispelled when I looked into those black eyes. It was the same bear. And I was filled with a terrible foreboding.
He gazed around the room, from one to the other of us. His eyes stayed longest on Rose. Then he turned to Father.
"If you will give me your youngest daughter..." The eerie huge voice echoed in the room. He spoke slowly, pausing between each word, as if the act of speaking was difficult, almost painful for him. "Then the one who lies near death will be made well again. And you will be no longer poor but wealthy, and will live in comfort and ease."
The silence in the room was punctuated only by the sounds of the storm outside and an occasional crackle from the hearth fire.
The white bear spoke again. "If you will give me your youngest daughter, then the one who lies near death will be..." And he repeated the words he had said before, again with the same painful slowness.
Mother had risen from her place beside Sara's bed. "You would make our Sara well?" she said in a near whisper. Her eyes burned with a look of desperate hope.
"Yes." It was a growl.
"How?"
"If you will give me your youngest daughter, then the one who lies near death..." And he seemed on the verge of saying it all over again.
But Father stepped forward. He looked like someone who had just gathered his wits after a blow. "Enough," he said loudly. "You shall not have Rose. Or any one of us."
The white bear turned to look at Father, and then swung his head in Rose's direction. "Do not decide now," he said, and this time he was speaking directly to her. "I will return in seven days. I will hear your answer then."
He turned and made his way to the door. And though I had seen Rose shut it securely, the door seemed to open of its own volition and the bear went through, disappearing into the night.
Father quickly crossed to the door and shut it with a slam.
We were all stunned and quiet. Had it not been for the large puddle of water in the middle of the room where the bear had been standing, I think that, except for Rose and Mother, none of us would have believed the thing had happened at all.
"Arne," said Mother.
"Father," came Rose's voice.
They spoke at the same time, but Father shook his head.
"We will not talk further of this," he said, his voice deep, with a dangerous, implacable tone. "It is madness and sorcery and we will not be part of it. Not for any wild promises or guarantees of riches."
"But Arne," my mother said. "Think of our Sara..."
"No!" he thundered. I couldn't recall ever hearing Father raise his voice to Mother before. It was almost as shocking as the talking white bear.
Mother, her face white and strained, said, "But we must honor his request. If we do not 'twould only bring the greatest ill fortune and calamity upon us all."
"Eugenia," Father said, and his face was taut with rage, "we will talk no further of this. Go to Sara. The cold air can have done her little good."
And Mother complied, but despite the frightening anger in Father, there was still that burning hopeful light in her eyes, and I knew she would not leave the matter as it stood.
I went for a shawl for Sonja, who was trembling, then I crossed to Rose. She had seated herself in a chair by the fire, and I sat beside her. She was not shivering, though her skin felt cold to the touch when I took her hand. And she, too, had an expression in her eyes that frightened me. It was not hope but excitement, mingled with traces of confusion and fear.
"What can it mean, Neddy?" she said in wonder.
I shook my head.
"When I was little, Mother told me stories about animals that could speak. I didn't believe her, not really, but now..."
I remained silent.
"Did you see how his fur glowed?"
"It was wet from the rain," I said abstractedly.
"A white bear," she breathed. "Just like the one I had as an imaginary companion when I was a child."
I leaned over to poke the fire.
"And did you see his eyes? Oh, Neddy, do you think he can be the same bear I saw the other day? I think it is." I shook my head, for some reason wanting to discourage the idea. But then Father came up, interrupting us. "There are still dishes to be cleaned, and I think then we had all better go to bed."
We both stood up, obediently. Then Father caught Rose's hand. "I will not let any wild beast take you, Rose," he said to her. "You know that. I will always keep you safe."
"But Father, what of Sara?"
"We will care for her. She will get better."
Rose shook her head. "We should at least have listened to..."
"No," Father broke in decisively.
Later, as we made our way to our beds, Rose whispered, "Why does the white bear want me, Neddy?"
I shook my head. I could not guess, except that somehow I felt sure it had something to do with the sadness in the animal's eyes. Some great need.
Rose
DURING THE DAYS THAT followed, I felt nervy, jangled. I jumped at the slightest noise and could not concentrate on anything for longer than a minute or two.
We were all on edge.
Father forbade any discussion of the white bear and his request. I could hear him quarreling about it at night with Mother. They tried to keep their voices low, but one night I could not help overhearing what they said.
"I will not sacrifice one daughter for another," Father said.
"'Tis not a matter of that," Mother replied. "And if we do nothing, Sara will surely die."
"What makes you so certain that this white bear will heal Sara?"
Mother spoke softly in reply and I could not make out the words.
But then Father cut into the low rumble of her voice. "Are you truly willing to put Rose's life in the hands of a wild creature of the north for a questionable promise of miracles? It is folly. If Rose goes with the white bear, we will surely never see her again. To barter her life for Sara's health—well, it is not even a matter for debate;"
As the seven days passed, Sara got no worse, but neither did she get better. The local healer said there was nothing more we could do other than continue the herbal infusions we had been giving her. We went about the business of readying ourselves for the move to neighbor Torsk's farm until such time as we would hear from Father's family.
I thought mostly of the white bear; I could think of little else. And I had made up my mind that despite my father's objections, I must accept the bear's offer.
I tried speaking about it with Neddy one afternoon as we folded our meager supply of linens into a trunk.
"I will go with the white bear," I blurted out.
Neddy looked at me with horror.
"I cannot stand by and let Sara die," I continued, my words spilling over one another in my haste to make Neddy understand, "not when there is something I can do to prevent it."
"Rose," Neddy implored, "you must not even consider it!"
"And the bear has said that he will take away this poverty into which we have sunk," I said, ignoring him. "Just think, Neddy, Father could make maps again. And you, you could go to Bergen and study with scholars, the way you have always dreamed."
"No!" Neddy said forcefully. "Even if the creature could bring such a thing to be, it would not be worth the price you must pay."