was about to quickly invent some sort of explanation for this crazy meeting and usher her out, when she pulled a soft brown derby from atop her stack of papers, placed it on her head, and walked briskly to stand behind Dorit’s old chair.
“Fru Ofelia Dagmundsdottir submitting transfer papers,” she said, placing a small pile of crumpled sheets onto the table.
What the —? Transfer papers?
It made no sense on several levels, the obvious one being that it sure didn’t look like her head was bugging her. And documents for a swarm of old gals who used hand signals, not ballots, to decide the fate of hovering souls? And transferring from where? She told me she was from North Dakota.
Ofelia looked to Hulda’s empty seat. “Your first chair. It’s vacant?”
Grim rose from her own chair and walked to where Ofelia stood. “Fru Hulda, our Owl, is not well.” She lifted Ofelia’s papers from the tabletop. “Katla, as second chair, would you like to check these, or should I?”
And what exactly would I be checking for? Spelling and punctuation errors? Watermarks against the light?
“If you’d be so kind, Fru Grimilla?” I said.
Grim rifled through the pages quickly. I watched Ofelia as she stood patiently behind Dorit’s place. She would be, besides me, the youngest member of this group. Even Grim, well into her sixties, was spry for this lot. I also remarked that her sister, Paulina, owner of the used bookstore, was not among our ranks, though she seemed slightly older than Ofelia. Interesting. As was so much about the Storks.
Grim straightened the papers against the table and handed them to me. “Everything appears to be in order. Until our book is returned, we cannot formally enter Fru Ofelia. Until that time, Katla, you may welcome her to our group.”
Luckily I remembered how Hulda had welcomed me. “
Velkominn, vinur.
Welcome friend.”
“Velkominn, vinur,”
the Storks chorused in reply.
Ofelia turned her chair, which now bore the chiseled images of turkeys, to face the table and seated herself. So Ofelia would be our Turkey. It at least explained that little wattle under her chin.
All eyes turned to me. I had, after all, called the meeting. “Fru Maria,” I said to one of the cortege members. “Would you be so kind as to update us on Fru Hulda’s condition?”
“I believe it would be best if I updated the group,” Grim interrupted.
When and how did Grim come by this “update”?
Grim sat up straight and placed her clasped hands on the table. “Fru Hulda is extremely sick, but in a safe place. She is unresponsive — in a coma of unknown origin. Praise be that she is being cared for, but the situation is very, very troubling. It can only be assumed that Hulda was attacked.”
The room erupted in gasps and squawks and cries of alarm.
“What can we do?” Birta asked.
“I fear for all of our safety,” Svana said.
I needed to calm everyone down and bring some sort of order to the meeting. “Sisters, let’s discuss this rationally.”
“Would it not be helpful,” Ofelia interrupted, “to begin by repeating Fru Hulda’s last words that fateful night?”
Hmmm. I didn’t remember saying that Hulda had spoken, nor was Ofelia present the night of the attack. Besides, to term them “last words” was definitely
not cool.
“Before she fell ill, Fru Hulda said, ‘Enemy in our midst.’ This only days after one of our former sisters had her Stork affiliation terminated and had warned us all that we’d ‘be sorry,’” Grim said.
Sure.
Now
Grim wants to be helpful.
“What about Dorit?” I asked, trying to remain in charge. “Does anyone know anything about her state of mind?” I asked.
The room was so quiet I could hear the flare of the candlewicks.
Finally, Fru Svana spoke up: “The family has moved without a word to anyone.”
That couldn’t be a good sign. Granted, there couldn’t be many happy memories for them here, but the timing was suspicious.
“Fru Svana,
“Fru Ofelia Dagmundsdottir submitting transfer papers,” she said, placing a small pile of crumpled sheets onto the table.
What the —? Transfer papers?
It made no sense on several levels, the obvious one being that it sure didn’t look like her head was bugging her. And documents for a swarm of old gals who used hand signals, not ballots, to decide the fate of hovering souls? And transferring from where? She told me she was from North Dakota.
Ofelia looked to Hulda’s empty seat. “Your first chair. It’s vacant?”
Grim rose from her own chair and walked to where Ofelia stood. “Fru Hulda, our Owl, is not well.” She lifted Ofelia’s papers from the tabletop. “Katla, as second chair, would you like to check these, or should I?”
And what exactly would I be checking for? Spelling and punctuation errors? Watermarks against the light?
“If you’d be so kind, Fru Grimilla?” I said.
Grim rifled through the pages quickly. I watched Ofelia as she stood patiently behind Dorit’s place. She would be, besides me, the youngest member of this group. Even Grim, well into her sixties, was spry for this lot. I also remarked that her sister, Paulina, owner of the used bookstore, was not among our ranks, though she seemed slightly older than Ofelia. Interesting. As was so much about the Storks.
Grim straightened the papers against the table and handed them to me. “Everything appears to be in order. Until our book is returned, we cannot formally enter Fru Ofelia. Until that time, Katla, you may welcome her to our group.”
Luckily I remembered how Hulda had welcomed me. “
Velkominn, vinur.
Welcome friend.”
“Velkominn, vinur,”
the Storks chorused in reply.
Ofelia turned her chair, which now bore the chiseled images of turkeys, to face the table and seated herself. So Ofelia would be our Turkey. It at least explained that little wattle under her chin.
All eyes turned to me. I had, after all, called the meeting. “Fru Maria,” I said to one of the cortege members. “Would you be so kind as to update us on Fru Hulda’s condition?”
“I believe it would be best if I updated the group,” Grim interrupted.
When and how did Grim come by this “update”?
Grim sat up straight and placed her clasped hands on the table. “Fru Hulda is extremely sick, but in a safe place. She is unresponsive — in a coma of unknown origin. Praise be that she is being cared for, but the situation is very, very troubling. It can only be assumed that Hulda was attacked.”
The room erupted in gasps and squawks and cries of alarm.
“What can we do?” Birta asked.
“I fear for all of our safety,” Svana said.
I needed to calm everyone down and bring some sort of order to the meeting. “Sisters, let’s discuss this rationally.”
“Would it not be helpful,” Ofelia interrupted, “to begin by repeating Fru Hulda’s last words that fateful night?”
Hmmm. I didn’t remember saying that Hulda had spoken, nor was Ofelia present the night of the attack. Besides, to term them “last words” was definitely
not cool.
“Before she fell ill, Fru Hulda said, ‘Enemy in our midst.’ This only days after one of our former sisters had her Stork affiliation terminated and had warned us all that we’d ‘be sorry,’” Grim said.
Sure.
Now
Grim wants to be helpful.
“What about Dorit?” I asked, trying to remain in charge. “Does anyone know anything about her state of mind?” I asked.
The room was so quiet I could hear the flare of the candlewicks.
Finally, Fru Svana spoke up: “The family has moved without a word to anyone.”
That couldn’t be a good sign. Granted, there couldn’t be many happy memories for them here, but the timing was suspicious.
“Fru Svana,
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