FOURTEEN
AVEN’S FINGERS TREMBLED AS SHE SEARCHED along a row of Thor’s books in their bedroom. Finding the one she sought, she pulled it out, but her unsteady grip sent it tumbling to the floor. Sinking down, she reached for it even as her vision blurred. Her hands stilled, ceasing their chase for understanding. For sense of this . . .
That Haakon was home.
For years she had wondered if he was alive, and now the answer jarred her as unfettered relief against a wind-battered heart. How she wished she didn’t care, but the same man who had broken her trust had once been her friend.
She should seek naught but penance, but while that was the most needed of mendings if he were to linger, within her tromped a menagerie of emotions that she didn’t know how to give order to. Could restoration ever come to that man and her heart?
’Twas no wonder she’d left them under lock and key all this while.
Having retrieved the book, Aven laid it aside, then reached up again to where Thor’s thickest volumes resided on the uppermost shelf. She sought no particular text, but instead had freed the space to better reach what rested between the dusty titles. Rising as high as she could manage, she wedged two fingers into the empty spot and felt a pinch of the envelope Thor had tucked there long ago. Well from sight, as had been her request. Aven pulled it down now, aching for Thor beside her.
She grazed her thumb against the jagged envelope where he had slit it open, then freed the letter Haakon had sent them after his vanishing. ’Twas brief, a few roughly scratched lines on wrinkled paper, but each sentiment stirred her now as they had then. In her hand lay hint of his remorse and an appeal for forgiveness.
’Twas just like Haakon Norgaard to have sent such a note with no return address.
At a gentle knock on the door, Fay’s voice called through. “May I come in?”
Aven swiped at her eyes and lowered the letter. “Aye.”
The door creaked open, and Fay slipped around it. In her arms, Bjørn lay deep asleep. One of his pudgy wrists hung limp, and his blond curls were askew. “I thought you were up here.” Fay allowed a few moments for Aven to swipe once more beneath her eyes. “How are you faring?”
“Oh . . .” It was all she could say, and with tears pooling afresh, Aven returned the letter to its home.
Fay moved nearer and pulled Aven close in a one-armed hold. Bjørn nestled between them, warm, sleepy, and soft. Aven touched the back of his wee head for comfort.
“You brave dear,” Fay whispered.
Sniffing, Aven stepped back. She didn’t feel brave, but there was a solace in Fay’s manner that said otherwise.
“I don’t understand why he’s come,” Aven finally said.
“He told Jorgan that he’s been at sea. Something about the ice trade and Norway. It seems as though he’s sailed around the Atlantic many times.”
Haakon at sea all this while? Aven thought back to the last conversations they’d shared when he’d described his wish to see the world and, later, even pleaded for her to go with him.
“Has he no other family? No home?” Four years was a long time.
Fay shook her head. “I don’t believe so. Just here.”
Wonderings colliding into one another, and when Aven’s fingers began to worry themselves, she clasped them at her sides. She tried to think of what to say but could no sooner come up with a concise response than she could make sense of the truth that Haakon had returned.
“I’ve just spoken with Jorgan and came up to let you know what passed between them and Haakon,” Fay said. “I know not where to begin, Aven, or how to make this as gentle on you as possible. Would you most wish to hear of matters of business or matters of the heart? I will only say that which you wish to know of. While some urgency is at hand with Haakon’s presence now, there is no rush in these matters. Things need not be done according to his timing, and I believe we can all agree that it would be better for them not to.”
“I thank you.” More than she could express. Not knowing how to proceed or even what to say, Aven went with what felt safest. “What is the business that Haakon has come for?”
“He has admitted to returning for his land and cabin.”
With it his only inheritance, that surprised her not.
Fay brushed the side of her cheek against the top of Bjørn’s head. “Be it to live in or to sell away, I don’t know, but Jorgan was most adamant that Haakon’s right to making that decision is forfeited.”
Aven knew little of the arrangement between brothers for the sharing of this land, but she doubted they had official documents stating their agreements. She couldn’t begin to imagine how they would settle any disputes there.
“Haakon has also expressed a wanting to try and make amends for his wrong to you. I’m not sure what his intentions are, but Jorgan sensed that penance was a sincere desire.”
Aven looked out the window where dark was falling. For so long that had been her hope, and now that it was here she felt a wash of trepidation in place of comfort. While she’d glimpsed him only a moment, ’twas enough to observe the workings of time. On the outside, at least. So different he appeared from the reckless youth who had wounded her, and while she longed for such change, it took a lot more than a toughened bearing to make a man.
Fay’s skirts swayed as she shifted to keep Bjørn asleep. “With there much yet to be discussed and decided, I’ve come to assure you that both Thor and Jorgan are adamant of Haakon keeping his distance as they assess the situation.”
Aven’s eyes blurred with tears again, and she could scarcely whisper her gratitude. “And what of this night?” Cradling a hand beneath her stomach, she felt afresh the long day and the coming need for rest. “Where will Haakon be?”
“That is why I’ve come to seek your input. Jorgan thought he might stay elsewhere—with Peter, perhaps, if Peter agreed. There’s also no reason Haakon can’t sleep in the woods.”
Aven considered the Sorrels who might also be out there.
“Or, if you were to agree, he might stay in the horse barn or the cidery. Tomorrow will be a new day, and different arrangements can be made. Sometimes a night’s sleep is best medicine for all, but not if your own peace is robbed by Haakon’s presence on the farm.”
“What of Thor?”
With a slow hand, Fay patted Bjørn’s diapered bottom. “He is resting.” Fay’s eyes glistened with wetness. Aven had seen firsthand how frail Thor had been this evening. She’d meant to sit with him, keep him company even if at a distance, but then Haakon had appeared. Her throat cinched tight with the grief of it all. More heightened than any fear of Haakon was a fear of Thor’s well-being—both in body and in spirit.
“Oh, Fay. I don’t know what to do.”
Reaching out, Fay squeezed Aven’s wrist. “Be assured that Thor is well and safe this night and that his rest will be as peaceful as it can be. Jorgan has assured him that you will be safe. As for Haakon, I’ll tell Jorgan to send him elsewhere for the night, and they can reconvene tomorrow.” Fay gave her a tender smile, then stepped toward the door. “I’ll be back to check on you in a bit. Ida’s fixing you some tea. Rest all you can.” She eyed Aven’s stomach as if knowing the weight of it ached at this late hour.
Aven glanced to the northernmost window where tarnished across the cider barn were the words the Sorrels had painted. A stark contrast to the weathered boards that could bear any tempest and the peace this farm had rested upon. And here Ida cared for this family without hesitation, dwelling in this land where danger stalked around these very buildings in the night.
With a chubby cheek pressed to his mother’s chest, Bjørn sighed in his sleep. Aven couldn’t help but think that Haakon’s dwelling near might keep these souls safer. She reached for Fay, halting her departure. “The cidery would be fine. For Haakon.”
“Are you certain?”
“Aye.” With dusk settling in, there seemed no cause to send Haakon off just now. He was well apart from her, and while she knew
not the cause of his return, she didn’t sense harm. ’Twas not tears of fright that had just spilled from her cheeks, but of a raw uncertainty and splayed-open soul. “Please tell Jorgan?”
“Of course. I’ll do so now.”
Aven thanked her, and when she was alone again, she drew the curtains over each window. The room was too quiet without Thor. The floorboards didn’t quake under his heavy steps, and her shoulder wasn’t warmed with the touch of his broad hand. He wasn’t here to pull her near to kiss, for she felt neither the strength of his arms nor the brush of his beard. Instead she was alone and the attic empty of his comfort.
Beside the bed sat the wooden cradle he had shouldered up from Fay and Jorgan’s bedroom when Bjørn outgrew it just a month ago. How many Norgaard offspring had this cradle held since being crafted decades ago for this very house? Five now, soon to be six. Haakon included.
At the dresser, Aven removed her nightgown and draped it over the footboard of the bed. ’Twas with an extra measure of care that she pulled each curtain snug. The room dimmer now, she worked free of her gown and pulled the nightgown overhead, then fastened each sleeve cuff snug. Now for prayers. They’d endlessly filled her heart, but in the hour since Haakon’s arrival, Aven’s heart had gone silent.
Holding the edge of the mattress, she knelt and sank lower to sit back on her calves. Resting this way, her womb forced down pressure, but in truth she’d felt the low ache even in standing. This babe wasn’t long in coming. Less than a month now. Would Thor be well for the birth? Would he know the face of his child? Would Haakon still be traipsing around in their lives? The answers to that were as far off as her husband, so Aven folded her hands and bowed her head, but in place of prayers, there were naught but tears.
FIFTEEN
SHE’D BEEN DRESSED IN BLACK THAT DAY. Widow’s black that reached from hem to throat. Like the feathers of a raven, the fabric of her mourning gown had caught the sun with a soft sheen as she’d walked the final steps onto Blackbird Mountain. A color so striking against her pale skin, even the crows had stilled to watch her. A beauty that might as well not have been real. That was the first true glimpse Haakon had ever had of Aven as he’d pushed his way past the kitchen door to see the woman who had sailed to them from the north.
There had never been a newcomer on this farm in all of their lives. And then there she’d come, just walking up to them, probably as uncertain of them as they were of her.
She was twenty-one, he’d learned that day. Same age as him, and he’d rather thought that a nice fit. Haakon had watched her from the kitchen porch while Thor stood across the yard, seven years older and, if Haakon wasn’t mistaken, a touch protective. He’d looked at Haakon then, and there was a knowing stretched between them so coarse and taut Jorgan might as well have had to duck under it to make introductions.
As much effort as Haakon had put into staying collected, he knew Thor had labored doubly hard. Because unlike Haakon’s inquisitive fascination, Thor had loved her in that moment. It was impossible not to know. Impossible to miss the way Thor used to slow in front of Aven’s photograph that hung on the wall in the great room. Her essence captured there in a small portrait beside Benn. Upon their cousin’s untimely death, Thor had taken the picture down and kept it. At least that’s what Haakon assumed when the photograph went missing.
Haakon had always imagined those memories long past spent, but being returned home, they were as vivid now as they’d been then.
The last cords of slumber falling away, Haakon stirred awake. He opened his eyes to blinding sunlight in the cidery and the creak of a rope swing. That made no sense because he never slept past dawn and the rope swing had been taken down years ago. Groggy, he rubbed his eyes and sat up to see that he was wrong on both accounts. Late-morning light flooded the building, and lashed to the center rafter hung a knotted rope. Riding it was Jorgan’s oldest boy.
The lad swung forward, arcing in a broad sweep the width of the massive workshop. The boy let go, landing in the low dregs of the haystack beside where Haakon had slept. The child crawled over and spoke in a lispy voice.
Haakon didn’t understand a word of it. “Huh?”
The boy inclined his focus toward the well-risen sun. “You swept too wong.”
He supposed he had. And he was mighty thankful for the place to have bunked down. At his brothers’ permission, Haakon had entered this sacred place the night before to the smell of apples and dried leaves, so heady it had been marched through these floors for decades, lingering in cracks and unswept corners along with the memories of countless harvests.
Unable to recall the name of this little ciderkin, Haakon inquired and was soon well informed. “How old are you, Sigurd?”
Sticking his tongue out in concentration, Sigurd held up four fingers, then worked hard to push one back down. Lean and long limbed, he resembled his da, though that little head of white-blond hair was definitely Fay’s. Another trait he had of his mother’s were those wide-set eyes. Noble and gentle beneath pale brows.
Reaching over, Haakon shook his hand, then, as Sigurd beamed at him, Haakon rose. He brushed straw from his thin cotton shirt and wool pants. He hadn’t meant to sleep this late but had stayed up keeping watch through the night. No one had asked him to, but he couldn’t help it. Not with what was written just outside.
Jorgan had told him yesterday that it was Sorrel doing, so it was beneath the stars that Haakon sat outside of the cider barn with a rifle across his lap, listening for anything out of the ordinary. A habit he’d learned at sea and one as hard to break. He’d picked the lock on the gun cabinet to discover that his Winchester was gone. He’d ask about that soon but had helped himself to one of the less impressive firearms left to appease robbers such as him.
Starving, Haakon pulled a square of hardtack from his pack. It was the last thing in the world he wanted to eat, but he wasn’t about to knock on the kitchen door to inquire about meals. The shelves running the length of the longest wall that had once housed hard drink were now covered in jars of goods, from what looked like apple pie filling to jugs of vinegar. His mouth watered at sight of apple butter, but he didn’t dare touch one and instead snapped the hardtack in half and handed some over.
“Here.”
Sigurd nibbled the pallid biscuit with delight.
“You’ll get over the taste real quick.”
At a sudden scuff, Haakon looked over to see Jorgan trudging in. Jorgan bent to survey the dark recess beneath the workbench. Sigurd raced over and wrapped slender arms around his da’s neck in a hug. After a friendly pat to Sigurd’s back, Jorgan urged him to run along and find his ma.
“Somethin’ wrong?” Haakon asked.
Without speaking, Jorgan stood and continued his search.
“I’m sorry about Sigurd just now. I didn’t know he had come in here.” Perhaps he shouldn’t have spoken to the boy without Jorgan’s knowing.
“It’s not that.” Jorgan shoved aside an empty barrel. “It’s Thor.”
“What about him?” Haakon hadn’t asked, and Jorgan certainly hadn’t confided.
Jorgan took so long in responding that Haakon almost asked again. “Aven brought over his breakfast this morning to find that he hadn’t touched his supper. It’s all still outside the door. We’ve waited two hours since, and he hasn’t appeared.”
Aven would be beside herself.
Haakon rose. “What’s wrong with him?”
“It’s a sickness. One the doctor is trying to figure out—but all we know right now is that it’s best Thor stay where he is, alone.”
Haakon doubted that idea had gone over well with the family. More pressing, with Thor’s lack of hearing, there’d be no amount of knocking that could draw his attention. “Did you try ramming the door?”
Though Jorgan didn’t answer, Haakon knew enough of his brother that the door would have already been rammed within an inch of its life. That amount of force tremoring through a wall always drew Thor’s focus. If he could have
come down, he would have. No one missed meals unless they had to or were out of their mind. At the state he’d seen Thor in yesterday, either could be the culprit.
“Thor’s got the door locked, but an upper window is ajar.” Finding a ladder, Jorgan dragged it out into the open.
“You don’t need a ladder.” Haakon tossed his pack aside and started out. A huddle of crows scattered from his path.
“What are you doing?”
“Showing you that you don’t need a ladder,” he called back. He expected Jorgan to stop him and would have halted had he been asked to, but Jorgan seemed more worried about Thor than him.
Haakon had scarcely reached the cabin’s yard when he spotted Aven gauging the open loft window. She turned, and he nearly stopped dead in his tracks but instead strode well around her. Behind him, Jorgan was gaining ground with the ladder in tow. Haakon passed by Aven and her eyes widened. He surveyed the structure, then sidestepped along the edge of the porch, walking on the outside of the railing, which he gripped for balance.
“What are you doing?” Jorgan called.
“Making sure Thor’s alright.”
The logs of the cabin were each a foot in width, and with the chinking scraped flush between them, there were no places for a foothold. A big jump up let Haakon grab hold of the first-floor eaves. His grip threatening to slip, he swung a leg up. Jorgan tried to call him back, but it was too late. Haakon leaned forward onto a forearm and heaved himself higher until his chest pressed to the shingles, and then his whole torso. He dragged himself farther up and managed to stand.
After several steps, his footing slipped with the sharp slope. Aven gasped. Old leaves and pine needles tumbled, but to his relief—and probably her disappointment—he didn’t fall. Using an old drainage pipe for leverage, Haakon steadied himself along the side of the house and would have a few bruises to show for this, but it was a fine trade-off considering he was now a reach from the open window.
Daughters of Northern Shores Page 13
