Sons of Blackbird Mountain

by Joanne Bischof

  A moment later he went back up.

  Perhaps she should leave a trail of bread crumbs to coax him from his room.

  A few minutes later he came down, fastening the button of one of his sleeve cuffs. The shirt looked clean, and his hands were freshly scrubbed. There was a roughness about his tousled hair, yet it hung just tidy enough that she knew he kept after it. Thor stepped nearer, attention on the food, and the longer they stood there, on anything but her.

  Aven didn’t move until he braved a glance her way. She smiled, and he nodded a reserved greeting. Oh, she should stop torturing the poor man and just give him his supper. She hitched the iron door open and pulled out the pan of vegetables.

  He brought over a plate, and if the gentleness of his manner were words, she would have heard please.

  Aven forked tender ham in the center and smeared on sauce. Thor pulled a crusty piece of bread from the basket. After fetching the tea she had steeped for him, Aven touched his arm.

  Thor regarded the steamy drink, then frowned.

  Dandelion root, it was. A remedy to fortify his liver, and Cora had insisted he drink at least a cup a day. Though the tea was bitter, he brooked no argument as she settled the mug into his hand. He glanced from the table to where her own drink sat, then into the next room. He seemed uncertain of what to do with himself.

  Perhaps to make it easier for him. “Might I join you in the other room?” Dinner in hand, she added two ginger cookies to her tea saucer and balanced it all.

  He offered none of his usual tells except to step that way. Aven followed and perched on the edge of the sofa. Dotti was spread across the back of it, purring gently. Thor passed by and, with a pinch of fingers, turned the lantern up so the room brightened. He sat at one end of the chess table. The opposite chair he nudged back. A request for her to join him? When he glanced at her, Aven realized it was so.

  A pleasing notion at that. She moved there, wanting to offer a kindness in return. She thought to the reverend’s daughter and all the poor dear was missing—the presence of a fine partner. Aven drew Thor’s attention, then spoke. “It is my gain tonight . . . your company.”

  The side of his mouth tipped up.

  Aven turned her focus to her meal so as not to make him too nervous. A small space beside the board gave room for her plate and steaming drink. Taking up his fork, Thor speared a slice of meat. Aven nibbled the end of a ginger cookie as she eyed the chess pieces. They were disorderly, a match in progress, but Thor started to arrange everything back to the starting point. He ate another bite, then gestured with his fork toward the board. When she didn’t move, he dipped his head toward the game, then tapped her hand nearest it.

  When she still didn’t move, he took her hand and closed it around a playing piece. Ah. She was to go first. Aven scrunched her nose and tried to make sense of the right maneuver. On a whim, she chose where to set the figure down.

  Thor shook his head and put the piece back. Drawing his finger across the board, he showed that it was meant to travel a diagonal.

  “Perhaps this one, then.” Aven fetched a pawn since she knew what it was called. She slid it up a space, and his only reaction was to do the same with his own. Except he moved his two spaces and reached across the board to do the same with hers.

  “Thank you.”

  While he broke his bread in half, Aven thought on her next move. She shimmied the pawn forward two more squares, and he responded by pushing it back one.

  “That makes no sense!”

  A laugh glinted in his eyes as he ignored her outburst by moving a piece of his own. The clock on the mantel ticked nearer to seven o’clock, which meant that somewhere in town, instruments were just beginning to sound. Thor reached a thumb and forefinger into his shirt pocket and pulled out his notebook. His pencil was missing, so he fetched another from the desk. Seated again, he wrote, then slid the book forward. His large fingers bumped her own as she took it.

  I sorry not ask you go dance.

  A rush of warmth started in her chest, and she dipped her head to assuage his regret. A verbal answer nearly spilled forth, but thinking to preserve the companionable silence, she fetched the pencil. I am happy to sit here with you now.

  He nodded deeply as if to concur. Then his brow dug in. He slipped the pencil from her fingers. You like dancing.

  Aye, she adored it.

  His study of her face was thorough. Brown eyes settled. His chair creaked as he shifted. Gently he tapped the board, then wrote, You win, us share dance together.

  Aven struggled to conceal her shock. More so her delight. “A wager, then?” She tried to appear composed.

  He nodded.

  “And what if you are the victor?” As that would be the outcome.

  He made a show of scrutinizing her, then wrote, I win, you chocolate cream make. He thumbed toward the kitchen.

  She laughed and extended a hand “It’s a deal.”

  He shook it.

  Thor leaned back in his chair. She waited for him to make a move, and her mind was far too much on her braw opponent because he finally took the notepad and held it over.

  Not my turn.

  Oh. She slid another piece forward.

  He moved a pawn and she matched the step, hoping it looked like she knew how this game was played. With a thud, he took that carved figure with one of his own and set the captive aside.

  Drat. Aching to win, Aven poured every effort into the match. Thor did as well, though his strategy was more oft rewarded. Bit by bit her side of the board cleared away of white pieces. Occasionally he guided her in claiming one of his own.

  Aven reached for a who-knew-what and scuttled it two squares forward, but he stopped her, tapping a different square entirely.

  “You’re not setting me up for failure, now?”

  He shook his head.

  She moved the castle thing he’d tapped, only to realize that her queen was now protected. Aven threw him a smile. His own mouth lifted. Thor’s supper sat neglected beside him, her tea long forgotten. Dotti wandered over and looped herself around Thor’s boot and then Aven’s ankle. Aven reached down and pulled the kitten into her lap.

  Thor took up the black queen. She watched in dismay as he used it to claim her important-looking pointy piece.

  “Rats!” She quickly slid a pawn forward as if that would do anything to help.

  Thor chuckled and it was the deep, free sound she’d come to yearn for. While she was lost in the savoring of it, he took one of her horse fellows.

  “You are an overcompetitive ogre.”

  He smirked and, after two more turns, gained as many pieces. His decisions had been swift and sure, but when she moved her queen to the opposite end of the board, making him pause to ponder for a full minute, she did a little victory dance in her chair. Poor Dotti went tumbling. Though his focus on the board never wavered, Thor’s eyes shone his amusement.

  Gently he sobered and tapped the side of the table twice. Confused, she shook her head.

  Thor grabbed his notebook. Check.

  He glanced to the edge of the board and she eyed that very spot. Her king was in a precarious position to his queen. She moved it aside one square, but that seemed trivial. With the turn now Thor’s, her loss was all but sealed. Aven’s shoulders sank.

  Elbows to the rests, Thor leaned back in his chair. He steepled his fingers and pressed them to his mouth. Those steady brown eyes looked from the cornered king . . . to Aven . . . then back. He breathed in gently as his focus shifted around the board. The end would be swift. Yet he continued to study the game spread before them. Was he searching for an alternate move? Surely he wasn’t considering losing.

  The longer he scrutinized the match, the more she dared to wonder.

  “Are you at a moral impasse, Mr. Norgaard?”

  The side of his mouth tipped up. He held out a raised finger as if to tell her to be quiet.

  Which really wasn’t fair, all things considered.

  With a soft gru
nt he touched the black queen, turned her in a slow circle, and amidst the pounding of Aven’s heart . . . took her king.

  Aven forced herself to guard against disappointment. “Well done.”

  He showed no gratification in his victory. Instead, he placed her king with the other captives. His large thumb adjusted the board that was already straight. He glanced around again, looking anywhere but at her. Gaze falling to his meal, he didn’t seem hungry anymore. He pressed his hands to his thighs and rubbed them back and forth as if to chafe away rising nerves. Slowly he rose.

  What was he doing?

  He stepped away from the table and motioned for her to stand.

  Wait. He didn’t mean to . . . he didn’t mean to dance?

  Her head rushed with warmth when he took her hand, guiding her to her feet. At first he held on without moving, as if forcing himself to decide. Then with a bend of his wrist he brought her nearer to him. He moved her other hand to his shoulder. Instead of raising their arms for a waltz, though, he turned his wrist, cupping their hands against his chest. Next he pressed a gentle hold to her lower back.

  Heavens.

  With his eyes down, he tapped his chest, then shaped letters slow enough that she understood. L-E-A-D. He touched his chest once more. Aven nodded, and he drew them near enough together that the buttons of his shirt grazed her bodice. His head bowed beside hers, the dark twists of his hair brushing her raised arm. The hand behind her waist was sure and strong.

  They stood there, unmoving. Then with no warning other than his thumb pressing more firmly against her waist, he moved them from side to side. So subtly, her feet scarcely traveled.

  His eyes were closed. A slight pinch creased his forehead—the concentration there so intense, she couldn’t look elsewhere. They moved in the smallest of ways, but a sweeping ballroom dance would have been less grand. She traced her gaze past the faint scar over his left eyebrow, down to the ears that let no sound past, then to his mouth that was softly set. Floorboards creaked when his boots shifted his weight. She moved her feet the tiniest measure to follow.

  Thor’s face dipped lower beside hers. His beard to her cheek was more silken than she’d imagined. His mouth was so near to her own that with the slightest shift, she would satisfy the yearning that was pulling at her every nerve.

  Were they even moving anymore?

  The rising and lowering of his chest was steady until her hand slid to his neck, grazing the skin. It was then that his breathing changed. Neck bowing as if weakened. When his eyes pinched tighter closed, she feared she’d frightened him.

  Loosening her touch, Aven stepped aside.

  He adjusted the collar of his shirt, and for one horrible instant she sensed he was about to walk away. Instead, he closed the gap between them, touched his thumb to her jaw, and lowered his sweet, silent mouth to her own. In a scuff of boots, Thor drew nearer. He slid a hand behind her head and kissed her more boldly than she had ever anticipated.

  The chess table jostled when his leg bumped it, but he steadied the rattling surface with one hand even as he held her with the other. His mouth never left her own, and Aven laced her fingers into his to ease any worry about keeping everything righted.

  The table suddenly forgotten, he drew himself closer in a way that was both tender and sure. Her back bumped against the wall, and he braced himself with a hand to the boards. She slid her touch from his waist to his shoulder and the strength there. His breath against her own hastened, no worry to appear composed as a hearing man might. An uninhibited sound that sent a puddle of warmth straight through her.

  Aven slipped an arm around his neck. Rising up onto the toes of her shoes, she leaned into him. The motion sent them off-balance and the table skidded again, this time sending the game stand and all its pieces toppling to the floor.

  Though he couldn’t have just heard Ida’s bedroom door open, Thor pulled away. The sudden loss of him would have been her undoing if it weren’t for the need to think quickly. Aven pointed toward the sound of footsteps. Thor fetched up the table, then signed to her in earnest—a handful of words, only two of which she grasped. The very same phrase he’d used near the tree house.

  “Please . . . I don’t understand.” A tightness of tears came, for she wanted to know his thoughts as much as she wanted to know him.

  But Thor sank down to gather up the spilled game just as Ida poked her head into the great room.

  “Everything alright?” Ida raised a lantern.

  “Oh, aye,” Aven squeaked, certain Ida was peering in on something more telling than a chess match gone awry. She knelt to help. “Just a wee . . . stumble.”

  Thor set the board where it belonged, then added two handfuls of pieces, letting them clank haphazardly in the center. Stepping sideways, he fetched three more, then placed them with the others. His hair tumbled against his face, and he shoved it back. Nodding a rushed farewell, he turned for the stairs, nearly tripping them both as he did. He steadied Aven beside the bricks of the hearth before heading off, his gait so determined there would be no coaxing him back.

  Aven’s skin felt as hot as the glow from Ida’s lantern. “I’m so sorry it woke you.” Such a crash it had been. She was surprised Cora hadn’t come running.

  Ida watched Thor go. “Just feared that somethin’ had gone amiss. That’s the second time this week the pair of ya upended furniture.” Her growing amusement was scarcely concealed.

  Aven tamped down all embarrassment and forced herself to weave around the sofa to where the housekeeper stood. “Might you tell me what this is to mean?” With hands that were still atremble, she recreated the motion that Thor had made, shaping the first symbol and then the second by closing her hands into fists and pressing her knuckles together.

  “That first one is with.” Ida set the lantern at her bare feet to repeat the second gesture. “Together, it means stay with.”

  That’s what he had been asking? Aven stay with Thor?

  “Thank you so much, Miss Ida!” Aven whirled away, hurried up the stairs, and slipped into her room long enough to fetch the letter that had come from Lexington, then rushed up toward the attic. With no light, she nearly stumbled in the dark.

  Would knocking be pointless? She couldn’t bear to let morning come without him knowing she understood. Aven rapped knuckles against the wood. Might he see the shudder? When that failed, she rattled the knob, praying that would be more noticeable. After a few more jostles, she heard heavy footfalls and the door opened.

  TWENTY-SIX

  It took all his composure to peer down at Aven—to see her eyes wide and her stuttering words that didn’t make a shred of sense—and not pull her near again. A single candle flickered behind him, and he’d already tugged his suspenders from his shoulders. Thor clamped a hand on the knob to keep himself in place.

  Looking as startled as he felt, she was panting from her climb up the stairs. At last Aven managed to string words together that were decipherable. “Did that make any sense?”

  He shook his head.

  Some kind of envelope was in her grasp. Closing her eyes, she exhaled with, “Yes.” She tucked the envelope to her side and clumsily shaped his request as he had, first her name, then stay and with. Last, she formed a T and slid it beneath her chin, the very spot he’d held her so tenderly just moments ago. Had Ida helped her understand? Thor strode down a step, then a few more until he was low enough to look directly at Aven. She appeared taken aback, as if expecting him to do something rash. He wasn’t going to do anything—but he sure was thinking about it.

  Right now he needed to ensure that she hadn’t believed his request for her to stay with him was of a dishonorable nature. Though he doubted that was why she was here, he had to make it clear that he wasn’t trying to lure her farther up these stairs.

  His notebook was on the chess table, so Thor took her hand, hoping his own was steady. Dipping his head, he pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist, then placed her palm flush to his heart. He held it there, f
irm beneath both of his hands, and hoped that said what he couldn’t. That he wasn’t asking her to stay with him now, this hour or even this night, but that he was asking her to stay with him in this life.

  Aven rose onto her tiptoes to press the softest kiss to the side of his face, and he knew she understood. She pulled a letter from the envelope and offered it over. It was the job offer from Lexington. The one that meant to bear her far away from here. Before he could finish reading, she pinched the paper in her fingers and tore it in two.

  Thor smiled.

  Doing the same, she backed away. At her room Aven spoke a good night and he nodded, wishing her the same. She slipped from sight, and he returned to the attic. Though he’d never felt so peaceful, sleep was hard to come by that night.

  When Thor woke, it was to daylight and a kind of contentment that had lingered even through his sleep. He rose from bed, grabbed a work shirt and his boots, and leaving Haakon to sleep longer, headed down. He stepped softly past Jorgan’s room. Best not to wake either of his brothers. While he didn’t mind learning how their night had gone, it would be harder to explain Aven’s and his chess game.

  Outside, autumn’s chill hung in the air and the orchards beckoned, the acreage needing to be gleaned like a mother in need of her nursing babe. Which made it a relief to see the lads already at work in the distance. Except for the first time, Al wasn’t with them. Thor pulled on his boots and laced them up. He finished with his shirt and, still cold, fetched a flannel from the peg behind the kitchen door. He slid it on as he started down the road. When he reached the workers, he wrote Al? in the dust with a stick.

  Jacob spoke up. “I guess somethin’ spooked Tess in the night when she was out fetching water. Al said he’d be along soon but that he wanted to stay around to make sure that everything was fine. Promised he’d be here before it got too late. We told him we’d make up for it.”

  Thor shook his head so they wouldn’t worry and gave Jacob’s shoulder a squeeze of thanks. Before the sun got much higher, he meant to help the pickers, but for now there was a different kind of task to be done. With dawn just brightening the horizon, Thor headed east, striding up the hillside that marked the entrance to the Sorrel farm.