Magnus
Page 32
"Is it so?" My son responded, as pride in his self-possession welled up in my chest. He was not rude to us, or snappy, he just assumed he had as much right to speak, and to an opinion, as we did. "There is little glory here available to young men? They have warriors here. In fact it would seem to me that they have many more kinds of men – and women – here than we have in the North, Ivar. Do you know that Sophie's daughter is teaching me to read? Already I can read some of the books she gives me, even if I am slow. And when I can read, I can go to college. Or I can –"
"College?" I asked, shaking my head at the idea of a Northern would-be Jarl sitting in a college classroom. "I – what? Magnus, you think of college?"
"College," he replied, shrugging. "Or the military – if it is what I think. Or perhaps I will marry next week and father twenty children. Or spend my time gardening, or building, or traveling. In the North I will be Jarl. I won't be anything else but a Jarl, because there is nothing else for me to be but a Jarl. In this place, I can do with my life what my heart leads me to do. Is it not exactly as you said, Mother? Both of you stand here before me, do you not? In this place? Have you not made your choices?"
"We have," I said. "We have. I just – Magnus, I worry that you're too young. I worry that you'll regret it if you don't take up your role as the Jarl –"
"My role? My role as the Jarl? I'm not even the son of the Jarl, Mother. The only thing that will make me Jarl if I return to the North will be the lies of a dead man. I could go on right now, listing what I might make of my life if I stay here but there is only one reason I truly need."
"And what is that?" I asked, as Ivar bowed his head slightly, seeming to know already what my son was going to say.
"It's you, Mother. Sometimes I hear you speak of my life as if it's this – this separate thing. As if the threads of our lives had not begun to weave themselves together even when I was in your belly! You brought me into this world – you and my father – you gave me this life you speak of almost as if you believe yourself to be a weight around my neck. What son would I be, what kind of man would I be, if I left my own mother alone, after seeing how many winters she had already spent alone?"
"No," I started, because I wanted to give Magnus every chance without the worry of disappointing me hanging over his head. "No, I don't want this to be about me. This has to be –"
"But it is about you!" He cried, cupping my face in his hands and kissing my cheeks, one after the other. "What kind of place is this that family is not the most important thing there is in life, and the first thing to which a man owes his duty? I want to be with you, Mother. I want to be here, with you. As I have heard you say – I am not a dull-wit. I am strong, and I am not easily afraid. Do you think I cannot make a good life for myself here, with you? Do you think one of those pretty girls at the grocery store will not have me as her husband?"
I laughed, and then kept smiling even as my laughter turned to tears for all that had gone before that moment – and all that would come after it.
"Do you know that I used to work at that grocery store?" I asked, as my son wiped a tear off my cheek.
"Yes," he replied softly. "Yes, I know."
Epilogue
Heather
And so the child I had given birth to more than twenty years before came back to me. He came back with his father's crooked smile on his lips and his father's courageous heart. And he came back with my stubbornness, and my refusal to accept anything just because someone told me it was 'as it was.' Within six months of his arrival in River Falls he was reading well, and studying the history of the place where his father and I had lived together – the Kingdom of the East Angles.
He missed his home, of course. Ivar helped with that, as did I. But whenever I fretted – which was often – Magnus would come to me with his that big grin on his face and give me a huge bear-hug and reassure me that his home was wherever I was.
There were girls, too. Oh, so many girls. Tall girls, short girls, giggly blonde girls and a particular fiery redhead, American girls, a Mexican girl, a French girl, shy girls, all kinds of girls. Not that I could blame them – Magnus was as handsome and good-hearted as his father – and if anything even more gregarious.
Almost three years after he showed up at the end of my driveway, we hosted a dinner at my country house. The occasion was my son's acceptance into a graduate history program at an Ivy League university. He started at the local adult education college, but it had soon become clear that his talent for history was rare and special, and that's when the offers had started to pour in from prestigious institutions with very famous names. We had a party when he settled on one in particular, and invited everyone we knew.
A Northern feast – or as close as we could manage to replicate one – was prepared. Ivar, a keen hunter, brought the venison, and Ashley and Freya picked root vegetables from my garden to make a stew. Just before the meal was served, Sophie found me in the kitchen, standing in the doorway and gazing happily out over the table where everyone was seated.
"You must be so proud," she said, putting her arm around my shoulders. "Look at him – he's such a star. And humble with it, too, so no one can hate him for being handsome and smart and good at everything."
I nodded, unable to respond right away because the emotions – pride, happiness, contentment – were thick in my throat.
Everyone came to that party. Sophie, Ivar, Ashley, Freya, Sophie's mother, Maria, Maria's handsome new boyfriend, Maria's grandmother and various other people who had been included in our group over the years. Not everyone knew why we were eating venison, or why some of the people at the table were catching each other's eyes and giving each other little looks of recognition and remembering, but everyone knew they were loved, and that we were all a family.
It was much later that night that I found myself in the doorway once more, having just carried a stack of dishes away to make room for more wine and coffee. Magnus was surrounded by a rapt audience – as he often was, wherever he went. I couldn't even hear what he was saying, but I could see the laughing faces around him as he joked and told tales of faraway lands and times.
It was in that moment that he looked up, just momentarily, and caught my eye. And when he did, I saw that he was happy. The son of my love was happy, and so I was happy, and so proud. We held each others' gaze for a few seconds, not needing words, not needing anything except to see the joy on each other's faces. Magnus' father's presence was all around us, built into the walls of the house that his golden dagger bought, etched into the angles of his son's face and forever written into the book of my heart.
And then Ashley tugged at his sleeve and Magnus turned back to her, to continue telling his story.
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Other Books in the 'Mists of Albion' Series
The 'Mists of Albion' Series
Eirik: Mists of Albion Book 1
Ragnar: Mists of Albion Book 2
Ivar: Mists of Albion Book 3
Other Books by Joanna Bell:
How To Catch A Cowboy: A Small Town Montana Romance
(also available in paperback)
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