THE LOST VIKING SAGA

Olaf’s wife, Freda, walked slowly across the field that bordered the home Olaf had built for them. She had been overseeing the rebuilding of the church and was wearily returning home to complete the work that needed to be done before the sun went down. The harvest was almost done which meant a feverish effort to make ready for the onset of winter would soon begin. As she neared the doorway that faced toward the fjord, she heard a shout arise from along the shoreline. Freda looked up and saw several of the workers running toward the water. Gazing farther out to determine the cause of their agitation, she spied a ship, black as the night, but with a familiar shape. With frenzied rowing she could see the oarsmen gaining rapidly on the landing area. What sort of visitors could these be so late in the evening? A dread that they were raiders caused gooseflesh to rise upon her skin. Her unease was brief as it soon departed when she saw a familiar figure leap into the water and swim with great effort for the shore. She ran, lifting her skirts to increase her speed. As she neared the water’s edge, a smiling, Olaf, tears streaming down his face, burst out of the water onto land, gathered her into his arms, and held her close.

“I am home, Freda,” he said sobbing into her hair. “I am home.”