Aven made her way downstairs to find Jorgan and Haakon standing on one side of the kitchen table. Opposite them stood Thor. Looking as wind-tousled as a Viking returned from sea, Thor lifted a brace of hares onto the surface and turned one over. Home so soon? As nice a surprise as the day could have brought.
“You’re not gonna eat those, are you?” Haakon said. “We got a whole side of beef in the springhouse.”
Head down, Thor nodded. He signed something to Ida and she fetched a large tin pan. After rolling back the cuffs of his sleeves, Thor unsheathed his hunting knife and set a rabbit in the pan. He started on the first skin with easy strokes. The pelt began to fall away.
“How does he know how to do that so well?” Haakon asked Jorgan.
“ ’Cause Da used to hunt, numskull.”
“I know that, dimwit . . .” Haakon stepped to the other side, still watching. “But it was a long time ago.”
When Thor finished with the first pelt, he removed the innards. He did the same with the second rabbit and, upon finishing, took the meat out to the water pump and rinsed it all. When he returned, Ida asked if she should start a stew.
Thor made his sign for gratitude. He washed his knife, then his hands. Ida set a pot on the stove and slid her cutting board to the table. She placed one of the hares in the center.
“I’m not eating that.” Haakon started for the door.
Thor stopped him with a hand to the chest, motioning Haakon toward the great room. He gestured for Jorgan to go that way as well, even Aven. He signed to Ida, and she promised to be right there.
“ ’Twill make a fine meal, Haakon,” Aven said, walking beside the young man.
Haakon rolled his eyes, trudged around the sofa, and sat in the center. Jorgan kicked Haakon’s boot and Haakon scooted to one side. Jorgan motioned for Aven to sit as Thor shaped more of his words.
When he finished, Jorgan spoke. “Aven, he’s asked I explain for you.”
She crossed her ankles, curious as to what was happening. Thor waited until everyone was settled, then began in Sign. Some of the thoughts he shaped were intricate, sweeping motions. Others were rapid snaps or the pound of a fist to a palm. Jorgan spoke along with him.
“He’s saying he has an idea he wants to run by each of us. It has to do with the cider. I guess it’s been a decision a long time in the making.”
Ida slipped in, drying her hands on a clean cloth. The rocking chair creaked when she sat.
Thor shaped fluid letters with a single hand. The last resembled an L with his pointer finger and thumb both spread open.
“Sorrel,” Jorgan said softly. “It’s got somethin’ to do with them.”
Brows dug low, Thor tapped the side of his head, then closing his thumbs and pointer fingers together, pulled his hands down in front of him. Next he dragged a thumb forward beneath the center of his beard and finished by flicking his closed hands away from his body.
“He’s saying that—” Jorgan fell silent.
Haakon stood suddenly.
“What is it?” Aven asked.
Thor shaped those letters again. S-O-R-R-E-L. He made a face as if he was disgusted.
“He said he doesn’t want to sell to them.” Jorgan watched Thor explain more. “He’s . . . saying . . . that he doesn’t want to sell any of the liquor.” Jorgan blanched.
Haakon cursed. “I knew this was gonna happen.” He stepped around the back of the sofa as if needing the distance between him and the man addressing the room. “You don’t get to make that call.” Haakon jabbed a finger in Thor’s direction. “We break our backs at harvest for that money. I been deliverin’ for years. You don’t get to make that call.”
“And livin’ just fine for that,” Jorgan said. “Calm down.”
“Calm down? Calm down? There’s a gold mine in that shed.” Haakon pointed toward the cidery. “What’s he gonna do? Dump it all in the river? Oh, I got a better idea. Why don’t I just mix up some explosives and we send it sky high? It worked for that chicken coop. Why not do it to all of our savings?” Haakon picked up a book and hurled it across the room. It struck something off a side table, and everything clattered to the ground.
Ida tipped up her chin. “Haakon Norgaard, you pick that up.”
Haakon didn’t budge. “I’m sick of everybody acting like Thor runs the show. Just ’cause he’s cotton to somethin’ don’t make it the right thing.”
Thor held up both palms, then gestured straight at his younger brother.
“Yeah, well, a third of what’s in that shop is mine.” Stomping out, Haakon opened the kitchen door and slammed it behind him.
Jorgan exchanged a glance with Thor. Wind whistled over the roof. Hanging rose vines clattered against the window. Thor stared out the far window. Though he was silent, whatever weighed on his mind and heart was anything but. Aven watched him and, in that moment, knew that if she were there in that shed again, with him beckoning her to come to him, she would go to him in a heartbeat.
Thor looked at her and was just reaching for his notebook when the sound of splintering wood drew Aven’s attention toward the cider barn. Jorgan did the same. Thor followed suit.
Jorgan swiped two fingers in front of his eyes in a sign that made Thor sober even further. Thor headed that way and Aven trailed them out onto the porch. At the cidery, Haakon was prying one of the boards off the door. He threw it aside, dug an iron rod behind the next board, and snapped another free.
Jorgan called for Haakon to stop, but Thor placed a hand on his shoulder. Another squeeze and Thor felt his resolve settle. Holding on to the sensation, he headed to the horse barn. He ducked inside, opened up a lidded box, and rummaged for the largest of the pry bars. The iron rod in hand, he headed back to the cidery.
Thor set the tool between the door and the next board. He pulled the same moment his brother did. The board crashed to the ground. Haakon glanced at him. Wedging the iron rod in again, Thor nodded and waited for Haakon to place his tool. The breeze shook Thor’s shirt, pressing it about his waist. Haakon’s own lined tight to the shape of his shoulders in the pull of the wind. Together, they tugged down. Nails tapped the dirt. They freed the next board and then the next. All the way down until there was a pile of broken wood around them.
Thor knelt and took up a long splinter of wood. Shoving it beneath the door, he searched for the feel of the key. He finally skidded it out into the sunlight. Thor rose and braced a hand to the door. It was time.
Haakon nearly reached for the door latch when he motioned for Thor to take the lead.
How many times had Thor entered this building? Beyond count. He pressed the key into the iron lock, turned it with a click, then shimmied the padlock free. After sliding the heavy door aside, he entered the soaring space that felt as still and hollow as a cave. Having been bound up for over two weeks, the aroma of cider struck him like a speeding train. Thor sucked in a breath. His brothers exchanged glances.
Stepping farther in, he looked from the rows of glass jars to the carefully aligned barrels with their chalk markings. Thor walked the length of his workbench, not touching a thing. When he reached the end, he paused before the blue ribbons, seeing Da’s more than his own.
The floor shuddered. Thor looked over to see that it was Haakon who had stomped.
“What are we gonna do?” Haakon asked. “The debt . . .”
Thor hadn’t figured that out yet, but there had to be another way.
Hands in his pockets, Jorgan strode the length of the vast barn. He motioned to the product and faced Thor before speaking. “This all holds a high price, Thor.”
Aven sought his attention. “I’ve an idea.” She moved to a shelf and pulled down a dusty jar that seemed heftier in her small grasp. “There are recipes that call for flavored liquors. Jams and jellies. Even sauces.”
He arched an eyebrow.
She hurried to continue as if sensing his skepticism. “You see, when liquor is cooked, it loses its potency. Becoming delicate enough for eve
n the littlest of children to eat.”
Haakon leaned against the workbench. “So you suggest we boil out what Thor has spent years perfecting so it can be baby food?”
“Exactly. Wait, no.”
Thor smiled. Curious, he rolled a hand forward for her to say more.
“In Norway I spent time helping the baker who leased his upstairs flat. He made different glazes with mead. Since it has a honey flavor, he drizzled it onto ginger cookies and almond cakes. Once he even made a mead sauce to pour over a pork roast. ’Twas marvelous.”
Moving to the workbench, Thor shuffled around for something to write on. Finding an invoice, he folded it on the blank side. Next he nabbed a pencil. This you make? Know how make?
Aven nodded quickly, her eyes bright. “It’s not hard. If these recipes were to be made and jarred, you could sell them in place of hard drink. Perhaps even set up a farm stand closer to the road to procure income. People would come.”
“Who’d watch the stand?”
“You could,” she answered Haakon. Her hands moved in excitement as she spoke again to Thor. “Different recipes could be distributed to local shops, or beyond the area. Sold at the county fair. With some experimentation, I think we could come up with a great many . . .”
Her words blurred, so quick she spoke. Thor tapped her arm, touched his mouth, and gestured slowly with his hands, hoping she’d understand.
“Sorry.” She gulped a swallow. While her speech wasn’t as rushed, her eagerness was as vibrant as ever. “We could create many more concoctions. Dressings to pour over greens. Perhaps a sauce to be drizzled on ice cream or custard. Maybe the cider could be baked into breads. If these items could be sold—who knows what may come of it.”
Thor felt a smile lift one side of his mouth. How he loved her.
Haakon straightened. “And what’s gonna pay the rent while you’re in the kitchen making apple-cider bread?”
“Sell the coming harvest as it is.” She peered between them all. “Sell it by the bushel load. Folks around here could use apples in their larder. Set a price for them to pick their own share, saving you the labor.”
“They’re cider apples,” Haakon cut in. “Most are poor eatin’.”
“Then press those to sell the cider fresh.” She looked back to Thor. “Why ferment it?”
He wrote quickly. Go bad, not ferment.
Her countenance fell as she took the paper from him. Stepping nearer, he wrote more, gripping her wrist to steady the folded page. Maybe possible.
“Truly?”
It meant using different methods, but if kept cool and sold off in short fashion, it could be done. He’d just never put any effort to that way because the payoff was significantly less per acre.
Jorgan pulled a stool closer and straddled it. “I like the idea, but fresh cider won’t make half as much, and we’ve got the lease to think about.”
In a twirl of her patchwork skirt, Aven left. Thor turned to his brothers. Lacking answers, he expressed as much. Jorgan confirmed his understanding.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Haakon said.
Thor pointed to himself, then hooking a finger struck it down for need. He signed time, then tapped a finger to the side of his skull. He just needed a chance to think . . . if Haakon could be patient for once in his life.
Aven rushed back in. Her cheeks were pink and her hair windblown. She hurried all the way up to Thor, lifted his hand, and opened his fingers. Shock rushed through him even as he peered down at her freckled nose and rounded ears. He dropped his gaze lower to see her pressing a flash of gold into his palm. A thick coin.
He tilted it to the light of the window. It was a twenty kroner. Norwegian gold. Why was she giving it to him? It was worth way too much to her. Shaking his head, Thor went to hand it back, but she closed his fingers around the coin again. The rough grooves of the coat of arms pressed into his skin.
“Yours.” She glanced to Haakon and Jorgan, then back to Thor. “All of yours.”
TWENTY-ONE
Through the bedroom window, Aven spotted Thor walking eastward. He had been scarce the last two days. Ever since the cidery had been opened. He seemed to want to keep busy anywhere but on the farm, and she didn’t blame him.
But even when he was around, his eye had been so hard to catch that there had been no chance to even smile a greeting. ’Twas the weight of the world on his shoulders. She could see it in his dogged stride even now. If that weren’t enough, over breakfast Haakon had mentioned the upcoming dance, emphasizing Thor’s need to learn his right foot from his left. No wonder the poor man made himself scarce.
At her feet Dotti was lapping up a dish of cream. Across the nightstand was spread a mess of papers. Lists of recipes Aven was imagining. Though in the midst of jotting notes for cider marmalade, she rose, stepped over the kitten, and closed the door. Aven hurried downstairs before Thor vanished as he had done the day before and the day before that.
She didn’t begin running until she’d rounded the corner of the house to see him nearly gone from sight. She hurried down a shallow hill. Oblivious, Thor trudged onward.
When he glanced to the side, it must have brought her into his line of vision because he slowed and looked back. His eyes widened.
She slackened her pace to a stroll. “May I walk with you awhile?”
He nodded, then took the lead and pushed a branch aside for her. His hair was unbound, the dark twists of it clean but tousled as usual. Each of his steps was loud. No care taken for quiet placement. Aven followed behind, feeling both lost and safe. Liking each in equal measure.
At a fallen log, he climbed over, then reached back to assist her. Her fingers vanished inside his, and never had she felt so steady as that single, blessed step. He released her and pointed up into a sprawling tree. Shielding her eyes from the peeking sun, she saw what looked like a tree house. An adventurously run-down one.
“This is where you are headed?”
He nodded.
Weathered boards had been nailed up the trunk as a makeshift ladder and looked nearly as aged as the tree itself. Thor climbed the first rung and, giving a small bounce, used his weight to test each one. At the top, he motioned for her to follow.
Aven called up, “Are you planning on being there awhile?”
He pinched two fingers close together to show just a little.
“Perhaps I’ll wait for you to finish.”
He vanished from the edge. No longer could she see him, but the platform overhead creaked as he walked across it. Then everything went silent. A few minutes passed and not even a sound came from above. What was he doing?
Aven tapped her foot. Then the other. She paced to the tree and started on the bottom board. Shimmying her foot into place, she climbed atop that one and then several more. She was just scaling the next when the fear of falling pinned her into place. This had to be much easier in britches than petticoats. Panic pricked her insides, but then Thor was reaching down. He looped an arm around her waist and helped her brave the highest rung.
Leaves and branches fanned out in all directions. Just overhead, the tattered remains of a white flag moved limp on the breeze. Birds flittered from perch to perch. Aven nearly gasped at the sudden pleasure of it all. When she was safely on the platform, Thor pressed her beside the tree trunk. She knelt against it. Three names were roughly carved into the bark. In the silence that followed, she traced the middle one.
Thor sat in the center of the platform, screwdriver in hand. All the boards were nailed into place—all save the one he was focused on. He had already loosened three of the screws and was just finishing the last. After setting the hand tool aside, he pressed on one end of the board so the other edge lifted. He worked his finger just beneath and took off the board entirely.
Stilling, he glanced at her.
“ ’Tis your hiding spot?”
In answer, he took her hand and pressed it over her eyes.
She parted two fingers to peek thro
ugh. “Does this mean we are in cahoots?”
When he flicked her leg, she righted the covering, but not before glimpsing the grin that had lit his face. She was smiling herself.
A few bumps and thuds sounded and one strange little rattle, then she heard the board slide into place. Thor tapped her arm and she lowered her hand. He slid the screws back to their holes and fetched his tool. Beside him now sat a medium-sized jar. It kept coins—pennies and nickels mostly. Perhaps his from childhood.
A tiny pile of buttons rested beside the blue-tinted glass. It took a few tries for Thor’s fingers to grip a string lying there, but when he managed, he held it up for her to see that the buttons were strung. Aven smiled. More so when he tied the ends together, pulled her wrist nearer, and slid it on.
“Thank you.” She grazed a fingertip along the colorful buttons. “A fine collection of things you have.”
He dipped his head shyly, using that chance to reach for the screwdriver. He twisted it, securing each corner of the board, then shoved the handle end into his back pocket. He stood and helped Aven to her feet. Scrutinizing the homespun ladder that led to the ground, he seemed to wonder how to get her out of the tree house. She wondered the same.
The jar clanked as he set it near the edge. Then Thor started down. He had only taken a few steps when he inched himself to the side and motioned for her to come down as well. She gripped the nearest branch and lowered her foot to the top board. Thor’s hand slid around her waist, his touch gentle but sure. Aven pulled her skirts out of the way and climbed down another. He stayed beside her, taking care to always be a rung lower, and in no time they were on solid ground again.
He squinted sheepishly, then climbed back up and fetched the jar.
Aven giggled as he returned.
They fell in step together and started back the way they’d come. The air was crisper now than when she’d rushed off. Aven folded her arms as they walked. Occasionally Thor glanced at her as if wondering what she might have to say. Not wanting his efforts to be wasted, Aven spoke of the first recipe she had tried.
“ ’Twas a batch of cider jelly. I made it this morning, and it didn’t set right as I used too little pectin. I’ll try again this evening. Perhaps you can sample a taste when it’s done and tell me what you think.”
Sons of Blackbird Mountain Page 17
