Remembering something more, Thor searched the ground for any trace of brown rot. Gnats swarmed around, and he brushed one aside that tickled his neck. Finding a cluster of dark, wrinkled apples, he picked it up and held it over. He sliced a hand through the air for never, then made the motion of placing the diseased cluster into a crate.
Thor watched as Jorgan explained. “If you find any that have brown rot, be sure to pile them up separately so we can dispose of them away from the fields. Otherwise more apples’ll spoil.”
Satisfied, Thor gave a firm nod toward the nearest trees. The young men set to work. He meant to join them, but something irked at the back of his mind. Three additional hands weren’t as many as he’d hired the year before. Aven had told him that Peter Sorrel had inquired for a position, but Thor hadn’t taken him up on it.
Perhaps he should reconsider that . . .
For now, Thor glanced to the three families who stood waiting along the edge of the row. Little ones played about while strapping sons and wiry boys looked ready to work. Gangly daughters toted infant siblings on their hips. All would doubtless be at work by the end of the hour. If he knew one thing about folks in these parts, it was that even the tiniest of hands were taught to help. To the older children and adults, Thor offered canvas bags. They’d all just witnessed the explanation, so he assumed they knew what to do. Spread around them were buckets and pails of their own to cart home.
If this went well, more folks could be invited in the coming weeks, bringing Thor and his brothers closer to paying off the lease. Thor tried to ignore the twinge he felt at so many apples being taken away from the farm. Never could he recall a time that the bulk of the harvest hadn’t been pressed and fermented. It wasn’t just about liquor. Hard cider had been an art to him. The timely addition of ale yeast to the choicest juices had been something he’d taken great pride in. The one thing he was truly skilled at.
How many years had he stood in this very spot with Da? Being the one to accept a picking bag and place it over lean shoulders along with Jorgan and Haakon? Da would have guided their work, Ma and Ida would have fixed something fine in the kitchen, and they would have all gathered in the yard for a bonfire. A celebration for the first day of harvest. Pain struck at the memory because neither Ma nor Da would be there when a match was set to wood tonight.
At a little tug on the leg of his pants, Thor peered down to see a boy with two missing front teeth holding a bucket that was full. Thor smiled and, leading the boy by the shoulder, walked him to one of his family’s washtubs. With a gentle touch so as not to bruise the fruit, he showed the little fellow how to lower each one into place. The apples would need to be checked every week or so to watch for rot, but these folks would know that.
Just a few steps away from Jorgan, Fay was helping two other children, placing apples into their buckets with words of affirmation. Feeling an absence without Aven here, Thor glanced around for sight of her. Even as he did, he knew she was in the house helping Ida fix the evening meal. With many mouths to feed, he doubted he’d see Aven until dusk.
Taking up a bag, Thor slid the two straps over his shoulders and approached the nearest tree. Lift and break. Lift and break. He took the fruit two at a time, his hands moving in quick rhythm. He’d picked so many apples over his life, he could do this in his sleep. The skin of the Foxwhelp was a deep, speckled red, but if the flesh were tasted, it would be a few days short of perfectly sweet. The best storing apples were always picked a week shy of ripe. In a few days the trees would be further gleaned for first eaters. With proper care and a cool, dark place to pass the winter, this week’s harvest should keep through January.
Thor emptied his bag and went back for more. He hefted up a ladder, settled it against a sturdy branch, and climbed three rungs. A few paces off, Haakon was hard at work. The bag strapped to Haakon’s chest was already brimming, and he picked with swift authority. Leave it to the kid to rise to the occasion.
By the time the sun was high overhead, Haakon was hefting yet another filled crate into the wagon, and Tess was striding up the row. She bore a pail of water and a basket of tin cups. A striped scarf wound around her hair, covering it entirely. Cora’s daughter set her offering in the middle of the grassy lane and divvied up water for the workers. When she came his way, Thor downed his own share and thanked her with a touch to the arm.
Taking up her bucket with a slim, toffee-colored hand, Tess promised to return later with more.
All worked until far into the day when a quick break came for dinner pails to be emptied in the shade of heavy-laden branches. Thor sat with his brothers and ate what Ida had brought them. As Jorgan and Haakon chatted with those gathered round, Thor’s gaze drifted across his orchards. This year’s offering of Foxwhelp was a good one. Each tree weighted down and drooping. His other varieties had fared equally as well, so barring that an early storm didn’t come—or that the creek didn’t rise—they’d be in a good position to earn out the lease. Thor lifted his gaze toward the Sorrels’ farm, praying it would be so.
A fragile fog had rolled in, feathering the evening air with mist as Haakon wove a tale for the children gathered near him. Supper was soon to be served, and with mothers busy helping in the kitchen and fathers talking in the yard, the children lingered on the porch where Haakon’s voice had them all under his spell.
In the yard, Thor was piling up old boards in haphazard fashion. ’Twas a delight to see him for the first time that day. Aven stood in the doorway of the kitchen, pitcher of tea in hand, and though she was to still be filling glasses, she’d paused just long enough to hear the end of the story.
“But because the land was yet to have a name,” Haakon continued, “those who settled it argued about what these hills were to be called.”
Never far from him, Grete lay smashed against Haakon’s leg. Georgie’s little hands stroked the dog’s glossy coat.
“A carpenter who was tall for his weight thought it should be named for the light that streamed in from the west. A fisherman who had a habit of talking too slow insisted the region be named for the waters that flowed through it. But it was a farmer who had come from the farthest land of all, a Norseman who had traveled by the mercy of the sea, who remembered the tales of his homeland—of a god named Odin, and the many ravens who accompanied him. And so this land was named not for the sun, nor for the water, but for the blackbirds that were a force to be reckoned with.”
The children all blinked soundlessly, no one speaking until wee Georgie scrunched up one side of her face. “Did you just make that up?”
“Of course not. Did it sound made-up?” Haakon winked as he sipped from his glass of sweet tea.
Georgie wrapped her thin arms around his own and whispered for another story.
“Yet another?”
“Oh, please!” Georgie cried.
“Alright. One more.” He shifted her onto his other knee, looking sore from the day’s work. “But you have to help me, missy.”
As if jealous by how close Georgie had gotten to Haakon, Grete let out a snort. Georgie resumed her petting, but the dog kept a watchful eye on the pair.
Thor dragged a heavy branch nearer to the pile he’d been fashioning. The pickers who’d been helping him each gripped a portion. With a heave they clattered it onto the pile. Thor hefted up a jug of kerosene, drizzled it over the wood, and set the canister aside. He pulled a box of matches from his pocket.
The young men drew back. Thor struck a match and dropped it forward. The pile erupted into flames. He stepped aside, squinting against the heat that Aven felt even from where she stood. It pushed back the growing dusk with a warm glow. The menfolk drew nearer and women bustled out of the kitchen, bearing iron pans of round, flat potato lefse. Aven had assured Haakon that she would make the Norwegian flatbread for him, and she saw his look of gratitude as the pans passed by.
Aven was heading inside to fill the tea pitcher when Thor let out a shrill whistle. He motioned everyone to hedge in. Even Ida and Cor
a came away from their bubbling pots.
When all were gathered, Aven realized that few neighbors had ever visited this farm—these three brothers with their bold occupation. And now . . . to have families standing near. Soon to break bread with the Norgaard men and those they called kin. ’Twas no wonder that Thor bowed his head and others followed suit. Several men tugged off hats. Cora looped her arm through young Tess’s. Georgie pinched her eyes closed tight, gripping both of her hands around one of Haakon’s own.
Clearing his throat, Jorgan stepped forward. “Lord, we’re awful glad to be here this evening and for Your provision. We thank You for what You’ve given us and in particular for all the folks standing around. We also give thanks that You’ve delivered Thor to fine health. For walking with him, and with us. Amen.”
Aven opened her eyes to see that Thor was watching his brother. His nod of thanks was humble. Haakon watched as well, but a cool shadow filled his expression. As if he wasn’t as pleased as the others for Thor’s recovery. Oh, that Haakon’s spirit might be eased. Whatever it was that ailed him . . . settled and soothed.
“Them cups ain’t gonna fill themselves, Ms. Norgaard.” Ida hustled back to the kitchen, and Aven trailed her. Even the women who had toiled in the orchard all day came to assist. Ida instructed several to dish out stew as Fay slid another pan of warm flatbreads from the oven. Aven accepted three filled bowls and wove her way through the crowded kitchen.
Earlier she’d diced carrots, celery, and sausage, but it was by Ida’s own hand that nearly a dozen herbs and spices had been sprinkled into the stew pot. Aven inhaled the fragrance of seasonings so warm they hailed of exotic lands. Tess followed at her side with a plate of butter, a jar of honey, and that sunny smile she always wore.
“Might you tell me one more time what this is called?” Aven whispered.
Tess leaned nearer. “Be jambalaya, Miss Aven. And in ten minutes it still be jambalaya.”
They laughed and together passed out their offerings, then fetched more helpings, not stopping until every set of hands had a hot meal and the large pot was ready to dish out seconds.
Keen on having a taste, Aven carried her own supper down the stairs. People were gathered all around on benches and spread-out blankets. On the outskirts of it all sat Thor. He’d found a spot on a bench alone. Aven went that way, and not wanting to disturb his peace, she perched on the opposite edge. He glanced at her, holding her gaze only moments before his own dropped, as it often did.
It felt strange, the length of an entire bench between them. She wished to move nearer. To find how his day had gone. If he was pleased with the start of the harvest and to know if he bore any worries or wants of mind. She wished to know them, to offer whatever help or insight that came. ’Twas a knitting together of hearts and lives that she wished with Thor. And in that moment, she could no more ignore how much she cared for him than she could deny that he’d been filling her heart and her prayers with a growing affection. There was love within her—both an offering and a need—and it was for him.
Suddenly overcome, Aven dropped her attention to her meal. Thor reached forward to heft a piece of wood into the fire. The moment he rose, the bench tipped toward her and she hit the ground hard.
Before she could make sense of what had just happened, Al stood and Thor stepped over and bent to circle an arm around her waist. When she was on her feet, he signed a thought, then glanced to Jorgan on the other side of the fire.
Jorgan lifted his glass of tea. “Said you’d do well to sit closer to him next time.”
Aye. “ ’Twould have been wiser.”
Thor picked up the tumbled bench and set it right-side up. He tried to smile at her, but she couldn’t bear such smiles just now. Nor the way his sturdy, familiar hand touched her arm as if to steady her. Both of their bowls had fallen, the food spoiled in the dirt. Aven gathered everything up as best she could, discarded the mess, and with her face hot and Thor seeming worried after her, she carried the dishes back to the house.
She meant to scrub everything anew and bring him a fresh helping, but when she entered, Fay was blessedly there.
“Is something amiss, Aven? You’re flushed.”
“Would you mind bringing Thorald another meal?” The use of his formal name might have sounded aloof, but it felt anything but.
“Not at all.” Fay was clearly the wiser of it.
Aven set the dishes on the table and sought refuge in the dark of the empty great room. The dirt she brushed from her skirt, then swiped a wrist over her forehead. Pain pulsed through the small of her back, and as much as the hurt of the fall already pestered, more startling was a different kind of blooming. One that had been growing from a seed so sweetly, so tenderly, that she’d tried to protect it as friendship in fear of more anguish.
She’d given her heart to a drinking man once. And yet, was Thor still such a man? His efforts were hard wrought and admirable, but his sobriety was yet in its infancy and the pull of the bottle an ardent one.
Was it wrong to long for Thor? To wish for the place right beside him?
She’d learned that to give oneself to a man meant the impending loss of him. Had that not been her own mother’s reality? And dear Ida . . . never reunited with the man she loved.
For Aven herself—just as the softest place of her desire had become Benn’s, he’d taken himself from this life. Such realities had taught her that a woman’s heart was best bundled up and hidden away. But ’twas a path that brought little hope. Surely even Ida dared to dream. And if Aven knew anything about the aspiration inside her, ’twas that her mother would have as well.
And now? This new life? Her own courage to love was small yet, just spreading its blossoms toward the sun. She’d meant to keep such yearning safe. Tucked in the dark and coiled tight. But for weeks now, and without a single spoken word, Thor Norgaard had been its unfurling.
TWENTY-FIVE
“Oh aye, the ivory ribbon is bonny.” Having pinned up Fay’s hair, Aven arranged the bow above the blonde twists. With one last hairpin, she secured it. “Jorgan won’t know what to do with himself.” Aven winked as she edged in front of Fay to adjust the strap on the delicate chemise Aven had lent her.
After Fay’s confession to dressing plainly for all of her twenty-nine years, Aven had jumped at the task of upending that. Even if just for an evening. Earlier that afternoon Fay had shown her the nicest frock from her trunk, a dress as modest and humble as the woman herself. A dark-blue wool with black velvet trim that harkened back to wartime fashions. With Fay’s displeasure scarcely concealed, Aven had assured her that they could spruce the tired garment up.
Aven picked up the dress from the bedstead and draped it over Fay’s head, careful not to muss her hair. Fay helped tug it down. Cropping the long sleeves had allowed Fay’s slim, delicate arms to show, and Aven had created sleek darts in place of outdated gathers. The trimmings from the sleeves had been just enough fabric to fashion flounces that brought a happy blush to Fay’s cheeks as the finishing touch.
“It’s an utter shame that you won’t be coming.” Fay’s soft, blue eyes further declared the sentiment. “Are you sure you don’t want to come along?”
“I’m sure. Aside from not having a ticket, this is an occasion for partners.”
“Perhaps if Thor were to go with you. He certainly has a ticket.” Fay winked.
Aven helped her settle the capped sleeves into place. “He was quite the champion in learning to waltz, but I fear he was miserable. A quiet evening at home will be much more to his taste.” A true answer, aye, despite her hopes that he might have asked her. She could have posed the notion herself but had never rallied enough courage.
Ida’s voice came through the closed door. “Jorgan’s asking after Fay.”
Aven swung open the door and gestured toward the very woman with a dramatic hand. “Have ye ever seen anything so lovely?”
Ida clapped. “Oh, if you ain’t a sight in full feather!”
Not u
sed to such attention, Fay pressed palms to her cheeks as if to cool their warmth.
To think of the hours to come and the delight Fay and Jorgan would share. Aven only hoped Haakon was as eager for the event, but when they went downstairs where he stood in the open doorway, ’twas clear that he was not as pleased as his oldest brother. He glanced from Aven to the ceiling where Thor had tucked himself away in the attic.
Was their staying behind the reason for Haakon’s misgivings? Aven tried to shrug off the wondering. She’d do best not to fret over his frequent shifts in temperament. Haakon had been paired with a young lady who would no doubt shower him with admiration this night. Perhaps good medicine for the young buck who seemed to sink into his darker moods more often of late. With one last glance at Aven, Haakon followed Jorgan and Fay to the wagon. She and Ida wished them a fine evening and soon, they were gone.
Ida’s sigh was as melancholy as a lone bird’s song. Aven looped her arm through Ida’s and gave a tender squeeze. They stood there, watching the dust settle and dark draw nearer.
Finally Ida kissed Aven’s cheek. “ ’Spose I’ll turn in.”
“So early?”
Ida peeked in on the supper keeping warm in the oven. “I’m awful tired tonight.” She closed the iron door and proceeded toward her room, not looking the least bit tired.
“What should I do about Thor’s supper?” Aven asked. “He’s made himself scarce.”
“Oh, he’ll make himself unscarce.” Ida opened the door that led to her bedroom at the back of the kitchen. “But he can fend for himself. You enjoy your evening as you wish.” The way she said it brought the word meddlesome to mind.
Aven smirked as the woman left. Hungry herself, Aven set about filling a plate. She brewed two cups of tea amid the chirping of crickets. A check into the pie safe showed a plate of cookies. She slid them out and onto the table. Next she tested the roasted vegetables, giving the pan a swift jostle before closing the oven door again. She heard Thor stepping down from the attic. The creaking of boards stilled when he paused.
Sons of Blackbird Mountain Page 20
