Sons of Blackbird Mountain

by Joanne Bischof

  Ida limped in and dropped a folded lace cloth in its center. “And not a moment too soon.”

  With company due upon the hour, they had much to finish. Aven helped Ida spread the cloth, then Fay placed a large jar of autumn florals in its center. Feathery Yarrow, dainty Heart-of-the-earth, and pretty Nodding Ladies’ Tresses with their white bell-blossoms.

  The men brought in chairs—Jorgan setting them into place much quieter than Thor. When her husband passed by, Aven caught him by the shirt hem and, giving a gentle tug, nudged him nearer for a kiss. He smiled against her mouth, pulling away a moment later, ever reserved in front of others. When they were alone, well, that was another matter.

  Aven smiled even as she fluffed the flowers.

  Perhaps a little too cheerfully when Fay tapped her shoe. “And have you something to tell, missy?”

  “If you’re asking what I think you’re asking—I must answer no.” Though how Aven wished it were so. For some, eight weeks of wedded life would be cause for a baby to be coming. But for Aven, hope told her that such a wish would take time, if at all. She’d born no children to Benn, even amid two years of marriage. If she was meant to be a mother, it would happen in due course, and if it wasn’t to be, she would better love those who crossed her path.

  Fay leaned nearer to whisper, “I must confess that I was being coy in the yard.” Her blue eyes were full of both joy and worry over what Aven’s reaction might be. “It’s too soon to be certain. A few weeks at most. But I’m becoming quite convinced.”

  Aven stifled a gasp and nearly knocked over the vase to pull Fay into a hug. “ ’Tis a wonder and a secret I shall keep most carefully,” she whispered. To think . . . a baby in this house. Aven pulled back just as the men returned with more chairs.

  Jorgan smiled at his wife in a way that told the secret wasn’t one from him.

  Fay hurried to change the course of the conversation. “Perhaps we should splay out the desserts. They’re so pretty.”

  “Aye,” Aven answered as abruptly.

  Together, they fetched the sweets. Aven brought in the tart she’d baked that morning and set it on the small side table. Made with apples and dusted with sugar, ’twas a new recipe. The last of Thor’s cider was in the brown butter sauce that she drizzled on top.

  Cookies and doughnuts followed, both sprinkled with cinnamon and nutmeg. Last was the crowning glory. A pie made of pecans that Cora brought in. A hundred-year-old recipe, she declared, and it was a wonder to look at. Tess brought in freshly-baked rolls, Al two pitchers of creamy eggnog, and Georgie flounced in with her sunny smile. It faded some as they all sat, and the girl’s dark eyes seemed to take note that someone was still missing. Georgie didn’t say anything, though. She just looked up at her mother with a sorrowful appeal, and Cora squeezed her tiny hand.

  Aven felt a twinge in her throat and was grateful when Jorgan blessed the meal, drawing Georgie’s focus off of those who were gone. He prayed a thanks for the days that had passed. Prayed in trust for the days that would come. Most of all, he gave thanks for this day, for those gathered ‘round, and for the gift they all had been given from the Sorrel women.

  The deed to the farm.

  ’Twas a thanks that went beyond what words could say, so Aven and Fay had delivered a basket of doughnuts and another of cookies that morning. Jorgan had carried over the rest of their earnings that they’d saved to pay toward it. And Thor—well, Thor had given a gift of thanks that told the remaining Sorrels the trees were theirs for any need. To take all the apples they could possibly use, and for any need beyond that, to come calling. The arrangement was friendly, but there were Sorrels yet unaccounted for, and she knew it was the reason Thor watched the land with more care than ever. And why he slept with a rifle never farther than a reach away.

  When Jorgan finished his prayer, Ida stood to slice into her roast turkey. She served up thick helpings, and Fay followed along with steaming baked potatoes. To Georgie, she gave the smallest of all and a kiss on the wee girl’s head. Georgie smiled again then—sorrows forgotten for a little while.

  The meal was a merry affair and they took their time with it, letting the clock tick away its reminder that change would blow in with every passing season, while they feasted and celebrated what it meant to be family and for the freedoms of this land. The latter was not always easy to come by, but an effort they’d never give up on.

  When dusk crept in, Jorgan stood. “If you’ll all follow Thor and me outside, we’ve got somethin’ to show you.”

  Napkins were tossed aside, and Georgie hopped up to grab one more cookie before running out into the evening air. The breeze was crisp, so Aven pulled snug a shawl and clung even tighter to Ida’s arm that looped around hers. Tess kept sweet company with Grete as they strode up ahead. Al fetched a stick and gave a good fling. Grete bounded to reclaim it.

  Cora and Fay walked side by side, and at the gentle manner that Cora was speaking—and Fay listening with shining eyes—Aven had a hunch that a secret was being unearthed by a faithful midwife.

  Jorgan and Thor led them all the way down to the end of the lane. To the place where Aven had once stood, letter in hand, reading the sign.

  Norgaard. Blackbird Mountain.

  And yet she saw in that instant that the sign was gone. In its place was a new one. Thor touched her waist, gently drawing her around so she could read it.

  Norgaard Family Orchard.

  His other hand joined the first until his arms circled her from behind. Aven leaned her head back even as he bowed his own to kiss her shoulder. “ ’Tis a fine name for this place.” Pride and gratitude surged through her that she was a part of it.

  She clasped her hands over his, holding tight. His fingers grazed the button bracelet around her wrist. No ring she wore yet, so this gentle circle that he’d fashioned was one she savored in its stead. Ida blew a bit of dust from the freshly carved letters, then smoothed the edge of her apron over it.

  Aven smiled, but rising up was a different sensation. She had tried to ignore it all day. And really, for weeks now. She’d been handing all worry and all wonder to the Lord—as was right—but in this moment, He seemed to be handing it back.

  For her to feel it.

  Because there was a piece of her that wouldn’t die away. One that couldn’t imagine going through this life without ever seeing Haakon Norgaard again. The notion pinched at her heart, reminding her she had a reason to despise him. A right to wish him far away from here. But if there was one thing she knew of him that day, it was that a broken man had walked with her to that cabin. A broken man had closed the door.

  And a broken man had thought she would be able to fix what wasn’t hers to repair.

  It was God’s. Haakon needed a tending-to that only the Lord could complete.

  Eyes growing wet all over again, Aven swiped at them, grateful for the dimming light. No one seemed to pay her damp cheeks any heed. The others stepped away, returning to the glow of the house. Thor took her hand in his while they walked. He held it safe and secure as though his spirit was wandering its own complicated path. One not much different from her own.

  While he was often quiet, she’d come to know his thoughts in the hours they spent cuddled up, a candle burning beside them as Thor wrote his words to paper. Aven always read with care, answering with pencil in like fashion, and together, they carved away his silence.

  She saved each slip of paper, for in them lay his desires. His hopes. Even his worries. His wishes for her, and how he meant to care for her in return. Though she’d once thought him a shy man, he wasn’t shy in that place. Nay, there was a boldness to Thor Norgaard, and it was a guiding light in the weeks that had passed and would continue to be one in the years to come.

  She clutched tight to his hand as they walked the same road they had months ago. Except this time, instead of him trailing behind as a stranger, he was at her side as both husband and friend. Even those months back . . . on that hot summer day . . . he’d been there
for her in the same tender way. His love had simply borne a different shape. One of quiet protection. Of patience.

  How thankful she was for the man beside her. Tempests would still come and the waters would not always be calm, but she was beholden to this place—where body and heart knew the love of a husband so sure and so strong that even the coming winds of winter seemed to fall at bay.

  Aven breathed the cold air in deep.

  And as for Haakon . . .

  If she ever stood before him again, she knew not what she would say, but there was the gift of time. God was giving it, that she knew. For how long or for how far, that she didn’t. Come tomorrow or come years from now, she would say to that man—the one who had once been her friend—that no, she didn’t hate him. Hate wasn’t hers to bear justly and if she tried, it would leave her wrecked upon the rocks she hoped to navigate safely around. So instead, she would seek to forgive Haakon. Perhaps in time she would come to even pray for him. While such notions felt steeper than this mountain had been to climb, she longed for both, and as they walked toward home, she trusted in the Lord, who would provide the way.

  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  It began the week I met the young Deaf man and his sister at summer camp. I knew very little Sign Language beyond the alphabet, and when I first observed this sibling pair communicating, I was fascinated. In an auditorium holding hundreds of teenagers, this quiet brother sat watching as his sister translated the worship music and preaching. Her hands shaped sweeping words, and I longed to know how to shape them too. More importantly, how to understand the people behind this language. During that week, both brother and sister showed me some of these words, and it became a comradery and a tradition that I looked forward to every summer.

  Years after those camp adventures, after I had taken several semesters of Sign Language, I pulled up a blank document and wrote down a title for a new Appalachian romance—Sons of Blackbird Mountain.

  Beyond those four words I knew nothing of the tale. I knew not who would walk its pages or where the journey might lead, but it seemed destined to hold the taste of summer because just like that, so rose the treehouse in the woods with its white flag flickering on the breeze. I heard the thundering footsteps of Thor, the contagious laughter of Haakon, and the calm, steady wisdom of Jorgan. Ida’s smile beamed from where she sat in her rocking chair, and thousands of trees rose up from the earth, branches twisting into place, filling the air with the fragrance of ripening fruit. Viking legends whispered in on the wind even as the days of boyhood faded into memory.

  Then I saw Aven trudging up the hillside with her carpetbag in hand where she first met the man who watched—instead of heard—what she was saying.

  So began the journey of writing a character that challenged me in heart-deep ways as a writer. When it came to writing a man who had almost no traditional dialogue, each scene offered new and intriguing challenges. As a writer, I considered alternate ways to get his voice onto the page. Thor’s humble, unassuming ways made it an absolute pleasure to think outside the box, and in truth, he rather showed me the way.

  To do his character justice, I expanded my study of ASL beyond the modern courses I’d taken and began an investigation of the Deaf in the nineteenth century. This included documented testimonies of students who were taught Oralism, to the history of Deaf education in the late 1800s. All of this led me to an 1883 memoir written by Alexander Graham Bell, whose life’s work not only involved the invention of the telephone but, as the son of a Deaf woman, a zeal to teach the Deaf to read lips and speak. Bell’s methods and opinions remain controversial to this day. Some students responded well to the teachings and rigorous lessons, while those who didn’t were known as oral failures. This was one of the reasons Thor was up in the oak tree that day, longing for home, his words rooted only in his hands when his Da came to fetch him. It was a tragic day that propelled Thor into a new realm of pain: one he tried to allay with a jar of cider only to discover the emptiness was unquenchable.

  For some of us, our pain is similar to Thor’s. In other ways, we’re not so different than Aven as she climbed up that mountain, holding onto a budding hope. Isn’t it just like the promise of God to not give us one without the other?

  Oh the joy that lies around the bend if we open our hearts, deepen our trust, and jump into the brave unknowns knowing God awaits. My heart fills with hope as I imagine the young sailor who still yearns to do the same. His journey has just begun, and I hope you’ll join me and the rest of the cast as it unfolds in the sequel to Sons of Blackbird Mountain. Oh yes, friends, there is more to come! More romance, more redemption, and a new unfolding of the bond between brothers.

  Thank you for spending time with me and the Norgaard family in these pages. I would be honored for you to visit me (and this bunch of colorful characters!) at www.joannebischof.com, where I stay connected with readers on upcoming books, faith, and the writing life.

  Thank you for being a part of it,

  Joanne

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  1.New beginnings are everywhere in the story. Which new beginning is most relatable to your own life?

  2.Aven came to the farm believing that Thor, Jorgan, and Haakon were children. Would you say this was an accidental miscommunication or an intentional misinforming on Dorothe’s part? If Dorothe was matchmaking, what do you think her motives were and do you believe she had a particular brother in mind for Aven?

  3.Each of the Norgaard men has much in common with his brothers, yet each is distinct in his own way. What similarities do you see in them? What differences? What role do you think their birth order and upbringing served in the way their personalities developed?

  4.Aven first learns that Thor is Deaf while we are in her point-of-view. If we were in Thor’s head during that scene, what do you think he might have been thinking? Most Deaf Americans in the 1800s lived in rural areas, separated by distance, with little communication with people around them. What do you think life was like for a person such as Thor in these days?

  5.By looking at Aven’s history together, how was she shaped by her past? Her mother taught her sewing and love, her time at the workhouse taught her determination and compassion, while Farfar Øberg showed her lessons of baking and kindness. How did each of these elements come to play in the molding of who she was in this story?

  6.As a freedwoman working for wages, why do you think Ida chose to live in a room off of the kitchen instead of living with her blood-relatives, Cora and the children? What do you think were her reasons for becoming such an integrated part of the Norgaard family? Why do you think the Norgaards cherished her so, seeing her less as a housekeeper and more as a member of the family?

  7.When Aven offers the brothers her twenty Kroner, she is giving her most costly possession. What does this say about her character? In what ways did Farfar Øberg lead by example when he first pressed it into her hand? Has there been a time in your life when you received an act of kindness that breathed hope into your heart?

  8.The 1870s were known as the dark ages for the Deaf due to the frequent banning of Sign in Deaf schools. Young students such as Thor who were unsuccessful with Oralism were known as “oral failures.” What do you think a label such as this would mean to a person? In what ways did Thor overcome the idea of failure? How did reading his story change your viewpoint on the Deaf? If you are Deaf, what sorts of connections did you make with Thor? Did this book offer you new insights into the thoughts and behaviors of hearing people?

  9.Why did the Norgaard brothers value their Viking heritage as they did? Having been raised primarily by their father, Jarle, what role did this serve in their reverence for the Viking tales of old? How did such a heritage shape them as men living in the wilds of Appalachia?

  10.What sort of lessons do you think await Haakon at sea? Do you foresee him maturing during his time aboard ship? How do you see his character being challenged?

  11.What’s a book club chat without a wee bit of fun? If you were s
itting in that church in Eagle Rock, Virginia, and you noticed the Norgaard men come in, what is the first thing you would whisper to the woman beside you?

  12.With the second Blackbird Mountain novel just around the bend, what sort of lessons, changes, or adventures do you imagine might await the cast?

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Never has my mailbox been more filled with cards, greetings, packages, and notes of encouragement. Never have people so tenderly offered up words of hope and wisdom. That yes, this mountain can be climbed and that my children and I are not alone. To every dear soul who has bolstered us along this journey these last few years, truly making the writing of the Blackbird Mountain novels possible, you have my utmost gratitude.

  A sincere, heartfelt thanks for being the light along the road and for filling our sails with wind of the sweetest kind. You lent me the courage and strength to finish this book and never have I seen God’s people move in a more wondrous way than you have moved in our lives.

  Much like with Aven, thank you for being the letters beneath my pillow and the ones who took my hand, pressed your kindness and wisdom into it, and helped me to rise.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Joanne Bischof is an ACFW Carol Award and ECPA Christy Award–winning author. She writes deeply layered fiction that tugs at the heartstrings. She was honored to receive the San Diego Christian Writers Guild Novel of the Year Award in 2014 and in 2015 was named Author of the Year by the Mount Hermon conference. Joanne’s 2016 novel, The Lady and the Lionheart, received an extraordinary 5 Star TOP PICK! from RT Book Reviews, among other critical acclaim. She lives in the mountains of Southern California with her three children.

  Visit her online at JoanneBischof.com

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  Instagram: @JoanneBischof