Ernholder

By Hendrik E. Sadi

This is a seasonal book, starting with spring and returning to spring, during which, three boys, living in an orphanage home in southern Norway during the late 1940's, learn the value of work and play as they do chores on the farm that is part of the home and go to school. And when one of them is drawn to the character of an older, carefree, scheming boy who lives with his father outside the home, he, in more than one incident, finds himself duped by the boy, and schemes to get back at him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Mar 7, 2002
• ISBN: 9781469719603

Hendrik E. Sadi

The author was born in Norway, lived in the Middle East as a young teenager, and now presently lives in Westchester Country, New York State. He supports himself as a real estate broker, and writes in his spare time.

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Copyright © 2002 Hendrik E. Sadi.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-0-5952-1870-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4697-1960-3 (e)

iUniverse rev. date: 02/13/2024

CONTENTS

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The View From Bellvue

Spring

Summer

Autumn

Winter

Spring

About the Author

THE VIEW FROM BELLVUE

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That night of Nordic light, a child not even three months old lay in his sleeping bag on the floor of the newly built infirmary wing of the orphanage home at Bellvue and looked up at the stars in the window directly above him, moving his eyes in a universe he felt awed by while feeling nothing but the peace that was soon to put him to sleep.

But the peace was not long, when in the middle of the night, the stars and nightlight that had so attracted him before suddenly was ruptured by the manmade light and sound of someone trying to frighten him.

He woke and looked up at the night in the window again and saw the bright, flashing light of another light, and then the shadows moving across the glass while he heard, the sound of running boots making loud noises, he did not understand as he laid there in the bag, frightened now by the lightshow above him.

And, as he looked, he could see the strange balloon planes drifting off to his left, where the sound of Arnsfjord lay below the bluff-like rise of the land the home was built on. And from where on any day one could step out onto the small balcony of the old part of the orphanage home and look down and see the boats and ships moving in and out of Arnsfjord and pass the island of Karlstad on the other side.

He wondered what else the night would bring him, when suddenly he heard the loud sound of a bomb go off and saw the window above him shattered. And pieces of glass fell onto the floor of the infirmary he was sleeping on the floor with all the other children his age and older. Then he felt a hand pick him up and carry him out to the small kitchen in the infirmary, where he saw the other children of the orphanage home were kept quiet with milk and cookies.

A door led out onto the back courtyard, where not a hundred yards away, a large rock and earth formation of the land stood storing meat, cheese, milk, and other perishables inside.

Someone, among the grownups in the small kitchen, said to someone else to go outside and see if it was safe to cross the courtyard, he heard. And understood, even at his young age, that they were going to take him and the other children into the storage area he had come to see as a cave as he sat on the table, set back in front of the door, drinking his milk with the other children who had been put on the table with him.

So, the door was opened, and he could see into the night a quiet back courtyard that did not give him the light show he had seen in the window directly above him when he had been lying on the floor in the infirmary wing and looking up.

But a serene, peaceful spring day in 1940 in Arendal, Norway is what he saw and the man going out and never coming back.

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SPRING

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On that spring day in 1948, Rolf Ragnar, the son of a woodsman who lived on the western slope of Krenhedge Forest, came down the Breckberg mountain road with his schoolbooks, kicking the stones out of his path like a carefree figure, thinking about that place he did not want to go to. And when he came to that level place in the road near the bottom, he was stopped by the look of a young apple tree he saw in full bloom, there in the small orchard, with the branches of the spring flowers flowering in his eyes.

He could not help but walk over then and rest his foot on the stonewall outside like that man about town he thought he was as he took in all those flowers, moving his eyes from branch to branch without feeling that young tree reaching out to him at nine, when, from the branch he had his eyes on, a flower fell. And he looked at it, lying there on the ground, wondering whether he should go in and pick it up, keeping his foot still on the stone like that man about town, when his foot slipped off the stone.

And he felt his feet then taking him into the orchard and pick up the flower and stand by that young tree he had seen so full in bloom on the road and caress the petals with his small fingers while he felt a wind stirring quietly in the branches, he thought too gentle to be only a breeze.

But it grew into the wind he saw suddenly whirling down from the place he had just come from and blew all the flowers off the tree as he stood there in the orchard, holding onto the one he had picked up from the ground.

And when he saw the ground laid so white with the spring flowers, he turned with the grin that had come to his square built face and walked out of the orchard with the one he had put in his button hole, and playfully kicked a stone down the dirt road as he headed towards that place he did not want to go to with his schoolbooks, as May Day bloomed with the flowers of youth under a sky that had turned blue.

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By the time Torvald Sarensen was eight years old, he had formed a strong friendship with Finn Pedersen, and Ernhald Harlsen, who everyone thought of as little Ernhald because of his size. They were always together, it seemed. Why, even Lars Turvald, the foreman of the home at Bellevue, would comment about that, seeing the three together so often.

Yes, they are like one those...always so, he would say.

And together they were that spring day up on the playground of their school at recess time, eating their sandwich and drinking their soda that had been in their schoolbacks, along with their books and pencils and pens, as they had walked the long winding seacoast road to get to that morning, throwing stones into the Arnsfjord sound.

It was at least a milelong walk on a dirt road they would often play that dangerous game in the wintertime when the snow had just been plowed, leaving an inch or so of hard snow on the surface, by running after cars and trucks and be dragged along on their winter shoes for just that joy of being dragged on the seacoast road like a sled.

It was the last bite from his sandwich that had Torvald getting up from where he had been sitting with Finn and little Ernhald. And he walked over to the iron railing that stood guarding the playground that had been built onto the high rise of the land in back of the school, and which one had to walk up the steep hill on the outside or up the school stairs inside to get to.

When he came to the railing, he put his hands on top and looked down at the other children playing below on the steep hillside and saw someone he secretly admired for his carefree, grownup way. So, he turned and walked back to Finn and little Ernhald and told them.

Rolf is coming up now.

Yes, Rolf Ragnar they saw climbing up the steep hillside to the playground with a grin on his face.

So, there you all are, he had to say, walking over to them like a sailor, rocking from side to side, they had often observed; and the grin they saw still on his face when Finn asked him.

And what are you grinning about?

Did you find some money? little Ernhald had to ask him.

No, not money yet...But maybe later, Rolf told them in a mysterious voice before little Ernhald said.

And how will you get that?

Come and find out, he just said and walked over to the iron railing in that sailor’s way again and put his hands on the large iron pipe, as Torvald had, and looked down at the other school children playing on the steep hillside leading up to the playground and suddenly said in a low, whispiring voice.

There is Mr. Knudsen coming up with our math test.

The three boys, who had followed him over to the railing, looked down then and saw the balding head of the heavyset math teacher bobbing about in the bright sunlight as he made his way up the steep hillside when Rolf challenged them with his money.

See...He will soon be under us, and I bet you with these three øres I have that I can pass water over his head, he said, and looked at them quick like; with that grin still on his face, they saw when little Ernhald asked him.

What is passing water?

But Finn and Torvald knew, and laughed about little Ernhald’s innocent question, and accepted Rolf’s challenge. And when Bret Knudsen was directly under them, Rolf quickly unbuttoned his pants and did not pass water over his math teacher’s head, but hit him on top of his shinningbaldspot, to little Ernhald’s amazement.

When the teacher felt the water hit his head, he first looked up at the clear blue sky and shook his head in disbelief, thinking of all things that it might have been a bird that had done this, before he saw little Ernhald smiling down at him from the playground, and knew. And he shook his fist at him and tried to rush up after the little boy.

But Torvald and Finn had already grabbed their friend and hid him when their math teacher came up to the playground, panting from being so overweight.

Where is that little devil who did this?...Where?...Where? he shouted at them, pointing to his bald wet head, when Rolf suddenly said for them all.

There was a little boy we saw running into the school sir. What did he do? he even asked him and saw how red his math teacher’s face had become while he leaned back against the iron railing, grinning at him.

Little boy running away, eh? Well, all right, just don’t stand there. Follow me then! Mr. Knudsen told the three boys, who followed him into the school for the math test they were about to have that day.

Little Ernhald then snuck down to the playground on the steep hillside from behind the tree Torvald and Finn, had hid him, and swung on the wooden bar with some of the other school kids.

After school, the three boys went back on the seacoast road with Rolf and laughed about what Rolf had done to their math teacher as they threw stones into the Arnsfjord sound and headed back to the home at Bellevue; where Rolf lived not far away on the western slope of Krenhedge Forest with his father, above Sven Christiansen’s farm.

When they came to the small marketplace in Ernholder, where the steep Lansford Road led up to the home, they stopped. And the three boys sat on the steps of Mr. Eriksen’s store and looked at the tobacco shop on the other side of the road, wishing for some chocolate bars.

Yes, they could taste such a thing again watering their mouths, remembering the times when they had the money and had gone into the store where they had seen the grownups go and buy tobacco and liquor, while Rolf stood in the middle of the road looking about.

Like that man about town with his hands in his pockets, Gustav Eriksen saw from the open doorway to his store, shaking his head when he remembered those missing items from his shelves after Rolf had been in and looked around for something for his father, he would often tell him. And he tried to tell him that when he came from behind the counter and caught him putting a jar of jam inside his coat and stopped him by the door and asked him.

So, what is it you couldn’t find to buy for your father today, Rolf?

Huh? the stunned boy of nine came back with, hiding still the jar of jam inside his coat.

Perhaps some jam, was it? Mr. Eriksen said and removed the jar from his coa; a heavyset, goodnatured man, the boys had heard the grownups call Gus enough times.

But those three other boys, sitting there on his stone step looking at the tobacco store, did not steal from him, the store man knew, thinking about those boxes of groceries he had waiting on the floor by the door to be delivered, and called to them.

Torvald, Finn, and you too Ernhald, there are some øres here for you boys, he only had to say, avoiding Rolf’s hurt look.

And they rushed up the steps, knowing what it was he was asking them to do, and carried the boxes of groceries to two houses, not five minutes away from the store, taking the seacoast road down towards their school. And when they came back for their money and counted it, little Ernhald mentioned those chocolate bars they had wanted so bad and was already halfway across the road to the tobacco store, when Torvald stopped him and told him it was Mr. Turvald they must see then.

But don’t we have time for that? that eight-year-old small boy still had to ask.

No, he says we are to see him right after school, and we have been here too long now, Torvald said about something that little boy knew he could not argue about, standing there in the middle of the road, wishing it was otherwise.

And he reluctantly stepped out of the seacoastroad and walked up the steep Lansford Road with Finn and Torvald, disappointed it was not to the tobacco store, he was going with his two friends, feeling the money he had just made jingling in his pocket. While Rolf sat on the steps of the market store sulking with his thoughts.

Why, that store man only thinks of them when he wants those groceries to be delivered? he said to himself, remembering the øres he had seen them walk away with.

And he sat like that and thought in that way without remembering about that jar of jam when the three boys were at the big iron gates by the home, having taken a shortcut up to them from the steep Lansford Road.

They walked up to the home, after swinging on them a few times, feeling their schoolpacks moving on their back, and went to their room that bedded eight boys in single steel spring iron beds. In the next room, where the doors were always open and you could see all the way down to the iron gates, another eight boys slept. They laid their schoolpacks down on their beds then and took a quick peak into the room and saw the iron gates and the big oak tree growing close to the home, noticing the buds on it and felt the spring day in them.

They left their room then and went outside and hurried over to the back courtyard of the home and down to the barn, where Lars Turvald was busy putting new shoes on Ternan, the horse. When he saw them there in the courtyard, coming down, he stopped and greeted them in the way he always did, they heard.

So, I suppose it’s from school you are coming now? he said.

Yes, they told him, it was where they had been with their books.

"And what are