Finally she drew back and studied his haggard, whiskered face with concern. He must not have shaved since he’d left the hospital. His usually lustrous hair, which he normally tied back into a queue at his neck, was wild and matted, barely recognizable as being a pale blond color. He wore the same clothing he’d left with, blue jeans and a long-sleeved denim shirt, both of which were dirty and torn in places. Most ominous was the lethal sword that he wore in a scabbard attached to the wide leather belt at his waist. Had he used that sword on anyone or anything?
“Come in,” she ordered, as she realized he was shivering.
He hesitated. “Are you alone?”
She cocked her head in question. Apparently, despite his need for care, he was reluctant to enter her house unless she was alone. Then she understood. Her daughters—her twin daughters—that was whom he wanted to avoid. “I’m alone.”
His body relaxed visibly, and he stepped inside.
There was a loud hissing noise, and a white ball of fur hurled itself toward Joe. Maggie’s forehead creased with puzzlement and her hands went out instinctively to protect Joe. Rita wasn’t usually hostile. He put an arm over his face to defend himself, but Rita had already attached her front claws to his shirt and her back claws to the lower part of his anatomy. Her tail thickened, her body stiffened, and her fur stood on end. She even began to shed fur like mad.
“Don’t move,” Maggie cautioned Joe as she began to gently extricate Rita’s claws.
“Move?” Joe choked out. “I can scarce breathe for the proximity of the beast’s talons to my male parts. Be careful, lest you change my sex in a trice.”
She laughed as she lifted Rita away; whispered a firm rebuke in her cat’s face, which Maggie could swear wore a smirk, then scooted her away.
“What kind of wild creature was that?” he grumbled as she closed the door and led him toward her den. Rita followed after them, despite his frown. “Perchance it needs a taste of my sword, Bloodletter.” He patted the weapon at his side.
“A cat,” she answered. “Our pet cat, Rita. And don’t you dare pull out that sword, or hurt Rita. She was only being protective of me.”
“That is a cat?” The glower he gave the feline said it all. “Cats are pampered pets in the Eastern harems, but never have I seen a cat so fat. Are you sure it’s not a tiger…a white tiger? I have heard of such, though they are rare.”
Rita hissed her opinion of his derogatory remark.
“No, she’s just a cat…our own little kitty cat.”
He made a harrumphing sound at the word little. “You must have monster mice in this land to feed one that size.”
The idea of Rita being a mouser was so preposterous that it didn’t even warrant correcting. Maggie had obtained Rita as a kitten from a shelter more than ten years ago, and the animal had been spoiled from the get-go. Rita in the wild would be as much an anomaly as…well, Joe in a civilized setting.
“I do not like cats,” he declared, his upper lip curled with distaste.
Oh, so that’s the reason for Rita’s aggression.
Rita meowed something that probably translated to, I do not like you, either. Then she scurried away, no doubt fearing that her gourmet cat food and favorite table scraps would be cut off in favor of rodent fare.
But Joe had more important things to deal with than a cat. Already his mind had moved beyond the pesky feline. He sank down onto the big, upholstered sofa, then put his face in his hands. Concerned, she sat down beside him and put a hand on his arm.
“Joe, what’s wrong?”
“Everything.”
“Where have you been?”
“Everywhere.”
“Could you be a little more specific?”
He glanced up and smiled at her. It was such a sad smile, barely curving his lips, and never reaching his stormy gray eyes. “For three sennights, I have wandered the woods and inlets of Gal-vast-town Bay, trying to locate Thora, or my ship. ’Twas all for naught.”
“Where have you been staying?”
“Outdoors,” he answered, as if it were nothing to live and sleep outdoors. The weather was fair for November in Texas, but the nights were decidedly cool.
“Where did you eat? What did you eat?”
Her question seemed to surprise him. “Whatever was available.”
She was still confused. He had no money that she knew of. So restaurants were out of the question. Oh, no! He didn’t steal food, did he?
He must have sensed her thoughts. “Tsk-tsk, Mag-he. I am no thief. Nay, I snared rabbits and caught fish and cooked them over an open fire. Once, I even ate a snake. ’Twas tougher than shoe leather, but filling.”
A snake? She could barely keep herself from gagging. “Why didn’t you just come back to the hospital?”
“I could not. Time was of the essence, with winter approaching on the north seas. Besides, I knew that I would no longer be welcome at the Rainbow hospitium once I broke the contract.”
“And now what?”
He shrugged. “I am not sure. Well, one thing I am certain of is that I am trapped in this world till springtime. Even if I were able to locate Thora now, I misdoubt that longship travel on the Iceland route to Norway would be a wise choice.”
“But…” Maggie started to ask where he would stay, but decided she had more immediate concerns. “Listen, you’ve got to get out of those damp clothes and take a shower.”
“Are you implying that I am malodorous?”
“Let’s just say, Old Spice won’t be asking you to do any commercials. I assume they had no deodorants where you were.”
“Deodorants? Hah! I was lucky to be able to wash up in the bay with sand and water.”
“You’ll be lucky if you haven’t caught pneumonia.”
“New-mown-ya? The only thing I caught in that cold water was seaweed, puny pan fish, and one flounder.”
She laughed. She was just so glad to have him back. “While you’re shaving and cleaning up, I’ll throw your stuff in the washing machine. You look famished. By the time you’re through in the bathroom, and have eaten some dinner, the clothes should be dry.”
He lifted his eyebrows with interest. “You want me to disrobe? Right now? In front of you?”
“No, Mr. One-track Mind. You can throw your dirty clothes outside the bathroom. It’s nice to see you have a sense of humor about this, though.”
“I was not jesting.” His face was already serious, but now it turned even more serious as he regarded her with an uncertain expression on his face. He was usually so confident. “Was I wrong to come here?”
She hardly hesitated at all. “No, I’m glad you came. But how did you find my house?”
“Hattie gave me directions.”
“Hattie?”
“Hattie Lawrence.”
Warning bells started clanging inside Maggie’s already aching head. “The daughter of Rainbow Hospital’s owner?”
“Yea, the selfsame one.”
“But…how…when…I don’t understand.”
“She slipped me a card with her name and telephone number that day they visited the hospital. She said, ‘Call me sometime, sugar.’ So I did.”
Oh, my God! Hattie hit on a patient at the clinic. Hah! Is that any worse than me?
“I called her tonight and said that I was released from the hospital. A small mistruth,” he admitted unabashedly. “I told her I was in a phone booth with no book of numbers and could she please look up your address for me. She was very nice.”
I’ll bet she was. “How did you make a phone call without any money?”
“Oh, I used a phone card.”
Maggie was getting a splitting headache the size of Joe’s outrageous story. “You have a phone card?”
“Nay. John Lennon lent me his.”
“I hate to ask this, but where did you meet John Lennon? Don’t tell me he came riding in on a killer whale, too.” Or in a yellow submarine, she thought.
“Of course not.” He gave her a
n impatient frown that said she was being silly. “John Lennon is a homeless person who lives near the mission flophouse…leastways, that is what he called it. All he asked in return for my use of the phone card was for me to give peace a chance. Is that not an odd thing to say?”
“A homeless person with a phone card? And his name is John Lennon?”
“’Tis what I said, is it not?” he snapped churlishly. “And, by the by, once I get some coins, I would like to go back and thank him for his services. Mayhap you could even invite John to live at Rainbow Hospital. He thinks he is a beetle, you know. And since you already have Steve the seal and Chuck, who thinks he is every animal in the land, depending on the day of the week, why not a bug as well?” He smiled brightly at her, as if he’d made a brilliant suggestion.
Maggie had to smile, despite herself. Joe certainly put the fun in dysfunctional. But enough of this nonsense! She put her hands on Joe’s shoulders and pushed him toward the hallway. “Go!” she ordered. “Go, take a shower.”
“God, I love it when you go Valkyrieish on me. Mayhap it is my destiny to be saddled with a pushy wench.”
“I am not pushy. I am not a wench. I am not your Valkyrie. And, most definitely, I am not your destiny.”
But Maggie wasn’t so sure about that last.
A short time later, while Joe showered noisily in the bathroom down the hall, Maggie heated up the Texas chili she’d made the girls for dinner, along with a loaf of warm sourdough bread. She glanced out the kitchen window and noticed something important…the first star of the night. Could it possibly be shining brighter than ever before? And that constellation over there…surely it wasn’t configured in the shape of a whale, just as the girls had noticed many weeks ago.
No! It’s just my imagination.
Still…
“Thank you, God,” she whispered.
“Look at him. Look how handsome he is, even asleep.”
“Shhhh. Mom told us to stay away…not to disturb him.”
“He’s so big. No wonder he ate the entire pot of chili Mom made for our dinner, and a whole loaf of homemade bread.”
“I’ve always wanted a big father.”
“Me, too.”
“He looks a little bit like Kevin Sorbo…that guy who used to play Hercules on TV.”
“I think he looks more like Ricky Martin.”
“I think he looks better than both of them.”
“I think he looks like…a dad.”
There was a long sigh then. Actually, two long sighs at the same time.
As Jorund emerged slowly from a deep sleep, he heard voices discussing him. Whoever they were, they must be pay-shuns of the hospital if they actually thought he resembled that Greek man of strength, Hercules. Right now Jorund felt weaker than dragon piss. And had someone really said that he resembled that infuriating singer with the magic hips, Ricky Martin? Jorund would never swing his hips like that in public…or in private, either. It was not manly, in his opinion.
He cracked both eyes open to mere slits, then shot bolt upright, which caused him to almost fall off the piece of cushiony furniture called a sofa, where he had fallen asleep after a most satisfying shower and dinner. He’d been talking with Mag-he about what he would do next when his eyes had drooped shut.
He had not wanted to be here when her daughters returned. But it was too late now. Two young girls with blond braids and silver jewelry on their teeth were staring at him. Twins.
“Go away,” he said in a growl.
They looked fearful, but stood their ground.
“We’ve been praying for you every night,” one of them said.
“Me? Why would you pray for me?”
“Mom said you were lost, and we prayed that she would find you. Mom drove around the bay lots of times, trying to find you.”
“She did?” But Jorund had forgotten himself. He wanted naught to do with these urchins who reminded him so much of his own daughters. “Did I not tell you to go away?”
“Where should we go? This is our house.”
“Can you not go to another chamber?”
“We want to watch TV. This is the TV room.”
“Where’s your mother?”
“Taking a bubble bath.”
Now that conjured up some interesting pictures.
“She’s using the lilac bath salts I bought her last Christmas,” one of the twins informed him with total irrelevance. At least, he thought it was totally irrelevant till the other twin inquired, “Do you like lilacs?”
“I like lilacs fine,” he snapped. Just for the meanness of it, he added a loud growl, like a grizzly bear.
The girls just giggled. They actually giggled at his fierceness.
Just as his own daughters would have done.
In misery, he informed them, “You are breaking my heart. Can you not see how painful it is for me to be around you two?”
“You don’t like us?” they both asked in unison, their voices squeaky with hurt.
“’Tis not you that I mislike, particularly. I have trouble being around young girls.” To his surprise, he noticed that his right hand had been lying over his heart protectively the whole time he spoke. Why did I divulge that? ’Tis none of my concern if their feelings get hurt at the least little jab. Oh, holy Thor, why do they not go away?
The twins exchanged worried glances with each other, then some whispered words he could not hear. They appeared ready to depart. Finally he seemed to have gotten through to them. But why were they approaching the sofa where he still sat?
“Mom always says a hug is the best medicine for a breaking heart,” one twin told him, already reaching out her skinny arms toward him.
“No!” he cried out.
But the other twin had an even more horrifying idea. “Can I sit on your lap?”
“No!” he repeated in an anguished cry.
Short seconds later, Jorund Ericsson, the most barbarous Viking in all Vestfold, wept silently into the hair of two little girls who sat on each of his knees, arms wrapped around his shoulders, faces pressed into his neck. Oh, the little-girl smell of their skin was so familiar to him he could scarce breathe.
And then…oh, he should have been surprised—but he was not—when a strange voice in his head made a click-click-clicking noise and a whalelike grinding. To Jorund, it seemed to say, Now you know why you are here, Viking. Now you know.
“Mommy, please don’t send him away,” Beth begged from her bed, where Maggie had just tucked her in. “It’s the magic of killer whales and God and wishing stars—all these things—that sent him to us. I just know it.”
“There’s no such thing as magic,” Maggie chided her gently. “You’re old enough to know that.”
“Even from God?” Beth argued. “You mean there’s no such thing as miracles?” Beth blinked innocently at her.
Oh, that was a low blow. “Of course there are miracles. Joe hardly qualifies as a miracle, though.” Or does he?
“Can’t you just believe in dreams come true, Mommy? Just a teeny-tiny bit?” Suzy added from her twin bed.
“But, honey—”
“You always told us anything is possible if you pray hard enough.” It was Beth who addressed her now, and it was hard for Maggie to counter that argument, especially when she was quoting Maggie’s own words.
“But sometimes the answer God gives us is no,” she reminded them.
“And sometimes it’s yes,” they both exclaimed in unison, bright smiles on their faces.
Maggie would have liked to contradict her daughters—to tell them that reality had to be faced, that Joe was very likely a mere blip on the screen of their lives, not a permanent fixture-not to be depended on. But she couldn’t get the image of Joe out of her mind…Joe holding Suzy and Beth on his lap…Joe weeping silently over them…Joe putting aside his own grief to comfort her precious darlings.
Needless to say, in the end it took Maggie an exceptionally long time to get the girls to sleep that night. They were j
ust so excited.
Maggie was excited, too, but for different, more personal, and very alarming reasons. That prompted her ten P.M. call to Harry at his home.
“Joe is here,” she informed Harry without preamble.
“Is he all right?” was Harry’s first question. His second was, “Are you all right?”
God bless Harry’s good heart. No recriminations. No ranting or raving about unwise psychologists or ungrateful patients. Just a genuine concern for the well-being of all concerned.
“We’re fine,” she assured him.
“You know he can’t return to the clinic.”
“I know. And he does, too. Harry, this is going to sound crazy, but—”
He laughed softly. “Odd word to come from a psychologist.”
She laughed, too, but there was a hysterical tone to her laughter.
Harry must have noticed, because his voice was serious when he prompted, “You were saying?”
“I was about to say that, despite all the appearances to the contrary, I don’t think Joe is mentally ill.”
“Are you sure that isn’t just wishful thinking?”
Maggie sighed. So her feelings toward Joe were apparent to others. “That may play some part, but my gut instinct is that there is some other reason for all these things he claims. To tell you the truth, I’ve felt that way from the beginning, and I just can’t get rid of this sense I have that there’s something more to Joe’s story…something beyond the explanations of science and logic.”
“Maggie, Maggie, Maggie. The man says he’s a tenth-century Viking who was delivered to this land by a killer whale.”
“I know.”
“And you believe that?”
“I’m not sure what I believe. I just know that he’s not insane, or deranged, or mentally ill.”
There was a long pause while Harry digested all that she’d said. They both knew there were cases that defied all the textbooks, that sometimes instinct was the best measure…but would he accept what she said now?
“Okay,” he agreed finally. “What happens next?”
Sandra Hill - [Vikings II 02] Page 15
