Burial Rites

by Hannah Kent

Blöndal,

Illugastadir

now!” The little flock of children leave, one emitting a violent sneeze. They seem disappointed. Not so their mother. The Róslín woman turns to Margrét and grabs her by the shoulder. “You invite us all with her here!” “Where else would she be?” Margrét glances over at the other woman, Ingibjörg, and I see a glimmer of conspiracy in their eyes. “At Hvammur for the day! Locked up in the storeroom!” Róslín shouts. Her face is flushed; she’s enjoying her tantrum. “You are working yourself into a frenzy, Róslín. You’ll bring about your time.”

“Thórbjörg