He climbed beneath the raised sash. Despite the light of day, the room was dim, all curtains drawn, including the one he had to get untangled from. Instinct nearly had him call for Thor, but he hadn’t been gone so long to forget what it was like searching for his Deaf brother.
Yet this was far from boyhood games or announcing that supper had come. Knowing that Thor was somewhere in here brought an eerie sensation as Haakon stepped across the room toward a stack of old crates. Haakon stomped several times to send a shudder through the floorboards as he used to do. It worked when Thor appeared, drawing a knife as he did. Any hope of this being a peaceful meeting vanished. Haakon hadn’t lost a knife fight in his life, which was why he’d never gone into one with Thor.
Hands up, Haakon took a step back. Thor’s grip on the birch handle was sure, but his eyes were glazed with fever.
There didn’t appear much space for reason, so Haakon chose his first words with care. “Everyone’s worried about you.”
Thor turned the handle in his palm.
Maybe a different approach. “Aven’s troubled that you haven’t eaten. I’ve come to help.”
Thor glanced to the open window then back.
“There’s food on the front doorstep. One of us needs to fetch it. I’ve come to do that, do you understand?” He had no idea if Thor could read what he was saying.
Sweat glistened on Thor’s brow, and he blinked in confusion.
Haakon took a step nearer to the stairs. “I’m going to bring it back up so you can eat.” Haakon pointed down the stairs, then made the sign for food, followed by the gesture that he would carry it back up here.
Brow digging in, Thor took a step forward. A rush of air escaped his lungs, and though he seemed to be fighting it, he sank down to one knee. The knife never left his grip, but while this was Haakon’s chance to wrench it loose, he didn’t move. Thor was strong, yes. Livid—for certain. But deep down, Haakon didn’t believe his brother would cut him. It was because of that long-remembered trust that he waited.
Still breathing hard, Thor finally sheathed his knife. His skin was yellowed, glistening with a fevered sweat, and if Haakon wasn’t mistaken, delirium was as rampant as everything else.
He made the sign for bed, then indicated to Thor that he needed to lie down. With a bed in the corner, Haakon finished by pointing that way.
In response, Thor shaped an oath declaring what he thought of Haakon’s concern.
Maybe he wasn’t so delirious after all.
“Well, the feeling’s mutual,” Haakon muttered as he moved closer to the stairs. If he could get down and unlock the door, he could reach the provisions. Thor needed water in him right quick. Dehydration only sped along sickness. Haakon had witnessed that too many times.
Thor looked about to collapse and, reaching out a hand, braced himself to the floor.
Determined to help, Haakon paced back to him, crouched, and reached under his brother’s arm. Thor slammed him away, and the effort cost them both. Haakon when he crashed into the wall and Thor when he doubled over. Having bitten his tongue, Haakon swallowed the taste of blood and wiped his mouth. When Thor pushed him away again, Haakon shoved his shoulder. It was enough to lift Thor’s gaze.
“Aven’s waitin’ on you. She needs you, and I’m the only one who can help you right now. So knock it off!”
He lifted Thor’s arm across his shoulder and gripped him around his side. A vulnerable place to put himself, but he didn’t think his brother had the strength to crush him just now. Haakon fought hard to rise and with a mountain of effort got Thor standing. His stance wobbled, and he was certain they would go down again, but Thor managed a step and then several more. Haakon led him over to the corner of the room where the bed stood only to see that the old rope frame was empty. No wonder Thor hadn’t wanted to do this.
Even as he chided himself, Haakon crouched and helped lower the poor man to a sit. Leaning his head against the wall, Thor looked up at the ceiling with fever-glazed eyes. The water. Haakon wanted to kick himself for not having fetched it sooner. Rushing down the stairs, he unbolted the door and was met with Aven, who looked as worried as he was starting to feel. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be standing here, facing her this way, but sometimes desperate times came knocking. The fact that she was anywhere near him of her own accord confirmed it.
Haakon tugged the crate in, and when she went to speak, he shut the door again. He didn’t mean to be rude but was afraid she’d push her way through to get to Thor. He wouldn’t put it past her, and seeing now how ill Thor was, Haakon bolted the latch for the sake of her and the baby. He hurried back up the stairs with the goods. After setting the box down, he knelt and pulled out a jar of water. In these hills, a quart of clear liquid could mean a number of things, so shaping a w with three fingers, he tapped it to his mouth so Thor would know that this was far from white whiskey. Thor gulped it down. Next Haakon pulled out a bowl of fried potatoes. They were cold now but plenty good. He fetched the fork and passed both over. With unsteady hands, Thor accepted the meal and managed a bite.
Remembering the others waiting, Haakon returned to the first floor, unbolted the door, and opened it to their stunned faces. “He’s still very alive.”
“Where is he?” Aven rushed forward.
“No!” Haakon nearly braced her back but Jorgan did it first. “You know what the doctor said.”
Grief flooded her face, and the moment it did, he knew he’d spoken out of line. He owed her an apology for that and so much more, but right now something was more urgent. “I need at least fifty feet of strong rope,” he said to Jorgan, who stood just behind her. “And as quick as you can, a straw tick.”
“What are you gonna do?” Jorgan’s brow plunged as he urged Aven farther away from the door. Or maybe just from him.
“I’m gonna fix the bed. I’m also gonna stay with him until he’s able to come home. We all know Thor won’t risk any of your lives for his, but we also know one thing for certain . . .” Haakon stepped back until he was on the inside of the threshold and finally gave in to a smirk at the lunacy of what he was about to do. “He won’t put up much of a fight over riskin’ mine.”
SIXTEEN
THE FEVER WAS SUBSIDING, BUT AS THOR had discovered over the last few days, it came and went with abandon. Now nausea staked a claim. He smoothed a hand over his abdomen, all his joints hurting at once. The doctor said that if his liver was indeed infected with the jaundice, these symptoms would subside. If his liver was instead failing, he’d have months of worsening pain, just as Da had, and then death. Had Thor really hoped for a different outcome? Had he dared to sidestep the odds? He was the one who had glutted his body with so much alcohol folks had probably placed bets on when he might die.
Thor shifted on the pallet. There was really no way to get comfortable, so he finally sank his head back into a pillow and closed his eyes.
Thoughts of Aven were his one comfort, so as he lay here, he said a prayer for her. If he knew anything about his wife, she was beside herself with worry. Perhaps he could rally enough today to pen a note, some way to offer her assurance. If she wrote him back, it would give him something to hold while he lay here.
Thor had neither paper nor pen, but he’d request some. At memory of who that someone would be, he opened his eyes. His wrist knocked into the rifle that was on the floor at his side, and his hand closed around it with the same agonizing slowness that he sat up with. Across the room, Haakon worked to unwind a length of rope, pausing at a knot.
Stiff, Thor settled against the wall.
His brother’s profile was lit by the sunrise spilling in from the window, and for a moment Thor thought they were on a ship. But the swaying he felt was only his faintness. The man across from him just fixing an old bed. Thor had never been to sea. Now or ever. This mountain was his home, and the only land he’d ever roamed had been the place where his heart had been its lightest . . . and its worst. This place where he had laughed with his brothers as a boy
and sat at his ma’s bare feet while she peeled apples—it was the same place where his mother had been surrendered to the earth and where Haakon had broken Aven’s heart.
The very man shifted and looked at Thor. Those weathered hands that were too much like his own slowed in their work. “You’re awake.”
It was just like Haakon to declare the obvious.
“You feelin’ alright?”
Blinking, Thor didn’t answer.
There was so much to be said between them. So much to be addressed and set to rights, and while Thor wished this moment could house those regrets and, of utmost importance, the justice that needed to be tended to for Aven’s behalf, he hadn’t the strength. All he had the strength for was to brace against the rising sun and the fact that it was Haakon’s silhouette against it. That it was Haakon here, in this room, and that this wasn’t a dream, as Thor had determined in his sleep.
This was real.
Haakon had dragged the bedstead away from the wall to fashion a mattress support from rope. Bent over the century-old footboard, he pushed an end of rope through a hole in one of the side rails and pulled yard after yard of line through. Rather like weaving, he pushed the end into the next hole and continued the pattern. Thor watched, and if he wasn’t mistaken, the job was being done wrong. Not in the mood to extend advice, he just waited. Haakon would figure it out eventually.
All at once, Haakon stood and went downstairs. He came back up a minute later with a steaming tin cup. A kettle must have sounded. Haakon set the offering next to Thor, then fingerspelled C-O-R-A. That’s all that needed to be explained. It would be herbs of the midwife’s bringing. Thor closed a hand around the hot tin and sipped. It was a rough swallow, but if Cora advised it, he’d get the brew down.
Even more bitter to swallow was Haakon’s presence, but for the sake of others, maybe it was best that he was here under this roof. There couldn’t be a better way to keep an eye on him, uncomfortable as this hour, and those to follow, would be. Was there hope at the end of that? Was there hope even now? Thor had no idea.
Haakon made several more lengths of webbing, then examined his handiwork. He scratched the back of his head and looked over at Thor. “I think I’m doin’ this the hard way.”
At least they agreed on something.
He unlaced his efforts and looking at Thor again, spoke. “I’ve got a few things jotted down on that slip there.” He tipped his head toward a scrap of paper with a pencil beside it. “If there’s somethin’ you want, just list it, and Jorgan will make sure it gets here.”
Not sure how to respond to that, Thor picked up the paper and studied the items Haakon had already written. There was much he needed but little that could be remedied by way of paper and pencil. With Haakon’s focus back on the bedstead, Thor rapped a knuckle on the floor to get his brother’s attention. When Haakon paused, Thor motioned the pattern, showing that the frame needed to be woven the long way first.
“Oh.” Haakon tried the method and made progress. He stepped in and out of the maple frame as he formed the pattern. When he skidded the bed sideways, vibrations rattled the floor. Haakon pressed the fibrous end of the rope through another hole and pulled the length hand over hand until it was snug. Again and again he did this, working in a manner that sanctioned his time aboard a ship. He plied the line with ease, shaping it and tucking the rest out of his way with swift authority. A telltale sign of carving out survival.
When the long lengths were finished, Haakon turned the piece of furniture to fashion the shorter portions.
Thor wondered what his younger brother might have done and seen in the years passed. What continents had he visited? How close had he come to death and what commissions had filled his months and days? Had things been different between them, Thor might have hunted down a story or two, but not now. What he needed instead was to address the ghost of trouble still in this very house.
Haakon stood and pressed on the slack webbing. It required a rope key but they didn’t have one. The kid searched the room until he found a small piece of wood that had long ago snapped from the edge of the nearest windowsill. Sitting, he braced his dusty boot against a leg of the bed, wedged the wood inside one of the loops of rope, and tugged hard. The interior line tightened as the outside slackened. He braced the tension with his free hand, and stepped around the bed where he created stiffness on the opposite side. Time after time he did this until the slack was gone from the middle and there was more rope to tie off. Haakon pressed on the center section again. Tight as a spring.
“I’m gonna go check on that straw tick.” He tossed the wood back into the corner, then brushed at his hands. “You know, before I haul it up, are you sure you don’t want to be down on the first floor? It’d be a lot easier.”
Thor just stared at him.
Haakon explained the same sentiment in Sign.
Right. He’d caught that.
“I ain’t carryin’ a privy pot up and down the stairs for you.”
Again Thor stared at him, except this time it was to clarify just how much he cared.
Shoulders lowering, Haakon coiled up the remaining rope. He blew out a slow sigh, taking his time with the task. Finally, he spoke. “Look, Thor. I’m really sorry. I’m sorry for everything.”
About time. But was it enough? Thor shaped the letters of Aven’s name, then motioned between him and Haakon. Did his brother understand?
Did he understand?
Haakon knelt back. “Thor . . . I’m really sorry about what I did.” He lowered his head and scratched the top of it again. His mouth moved, but whatever he said was lost at this angle. Thor tapped the wall for help. Haakon lifted his face and repeated himself. “I don’t even know how to say how much.”
Slowly, Thor nodded. He’d thought through this moment for nearly every day that Haakon had been gone. For nearly every night that Thor had lain beside his wife, determined to keep her safe and prayerful for her to find peace. All the while wondering that if Haakon were to come back—and if he were able to truly prove himself—that healing might come in the fullest sense. Was such a thing possible?
Speak A-V-E-N, you?
Pulling out his knife, Haakon spliced off the loose end of the rope. “Not unless you and she were agreed.”
A-V-E-N agree? Yes. But only if she did. Thor pointed to himself. I ask.
Haakon turned the scrap of curling rope in his hands, and it was surely easier to make sense of than all of this. “Thank you.” He gave a small smile, but while Thor felt the first risings of hope, there was an undercurrent of worry there as well. One that reminded him just how unpredictable his brother could be. To what degree these days, Thor didn’t know, but he was bound and determined to be the one to find out.
SEVENTEEN
HAAKON WOKE IN THE BARN ONCE MORE, cross with himself for oversleeping again and so exhausted still that he wouldn’t have noticed the little ciderkin standing there had the three-year-old not reminded him that he’d swept wong again.
Rising, Haakon scrubbed at his face with dry, calloused hands and wished for a swig of rum. He’d settle for coffee, but wasn’t sure how to go about it. He was just going to have to down some water and hardtack and be grateful for it.
He longed to sleep longer, but the sun was more than risen. Once again, he’d stayed up into the night, keeping watch over the farm and scanning the distant hills for any signs of a campfire. The Sorrels were out there. He just knew it. Not only because Jorgan had informed him of their recent activity but because Haakon had seen his own share of evidence on his walk up this mountain. Less than a stone’s throw away from the farm he’d found the cold dregs of a campfire, broken jars that still smelled of moonshine, and one drained bottle of morphine. He mightn’t assume that Sorrel business if it weren’t for the number and size of the bootprints in the dirt. Few men ran in packs so fearsome, and even fewer knew how to inject pain medication right into their veins.
Though Haakon had spotted no dangers to the farm last night
, he sensed he was missing something. The realization that Jed and Harlan were somewhere in these wilds pestered him in a way he couldn’t shake. Tomorrow night he’d try a different approach.
He’d outsmarted Jed and his men once and aimed to do it again.
Through the window, Haakon saw the kitchen door open. Fay came out and fetched a pail of water from the pump. Before she returned to the house, it opened again as Jorgan headed off to the horse barn for the morning chores. Though Sigurd bounded into the entry of the cidery to wave at his parents, neither of them seemed concerned for Sigurd to be in here with him. The boy must have known to keep his distance since he always lingered off a ways.
Kneeling in the straw, Haakon fished out the bundle that was the last of his hardtack. He broke it in half again before realizing he couldn’t offer any over. Not now that he had been in close contact with Thor. Beside him, Sigurd climbed atop one of Thor’s old wine barrels and sat. Long since emptied, blackberry stains tinted the wood in drips down the front. A barn cat crept out from behind the barrel with a stretch. The boy went to hold the scrawny bundle but wasn’t quick enough.
Haakon looked around, wishing again for Grete. For so many years, his dog had kept pace beside him, never far from his feet. Now this place was empty of her, and he regretted again having not said goodbye. That the little boy sat at his side softened, for a spell, the sharpness of the loss.
With a heavy sigh, Haakon brushed at his hands as he rose. “Tell me, ciderkin, you have a brother, right?”
Sigurd nodded. “He dust a baby. Da says he walks wike he dwank too much. He dwinks a wot of milk.”
“I’m sure he does.” Haakon chuckled. “What’s his name?”
“Bjørn.”
“That’s a fine name. Like yours.”
“Aunt Avie’s baby gonna be Jarle. Same as Granda.”
The purring kitten returned and rubbed against his pants leg. Haakon bent to scruff it between the ears. “And if it’s a girl?”
Daughters of Northern Shores Page 14
