Toomber's Cottage, Rossby, Norway
Summer 1658
I was not there the day the gravedigger injured his foot, but the account was passed on even decades later...
It was a misty day when the air was full of water but did not let go enough to make it rain. Toomber was preparing new graves in the cemetery. He was always a step ahead of the dying. A ready grave meant quick business to him. He had visited the Laursen family that same morning because they had a sickly child. Surely, they would want a grave ready in case the child passed on within the next few days? Then he had crossed the marsh to speak with an elderly couple who lived in the woods close to the abbey. He had convinced them it would be disastrous if they died, and no one would bury them. "Buy in advance," he'd said. "Buy while you can still pay."
When he next awoke, it took him a while to recollect what had happened. His first thought was that there would be no breaking up earth in the cemetery for the rest of that day. That made him irritated, and he tried to sit up. He looked around the room and saw her standing by the table.
"Wretched woman!" he grunted, but all his strength was gone. He fell back onto the straw-stuffed mattress.