Daughters of Northern Shores

by Joanne Bischof

  The side of Cora’s mouth tipped up in a smile that bespoke a faith as bright as the sunshine streaming in. The shawl still in hand, she lay the soft folds over the footboard of the bed. “Overcoming such hurts ain’t so different than what that man be aimin’ to achieve out there.” Her eyes shifted to the window once more. “All that been painted there may soon be scoured off, but the grooves of their doin’ will remain. Those hollows will serve as a reminder that iniquity be possible. And the scraping away is what the restoring does. Our hearts ain’t so different than the side of that barn. And we not so different in the hands of our Maker.”

  NINETEEN

  STANDING BEHIND A STACK OF APPLE CRATES at the back end of the cidery, Haakon buttoned up the top half of his winter underwear. It felt mighty fine to his skin that was equally as clean. The distant barking of dogs broke the silence, but while he glimpsed a view of the surrounding hills through the windows, he could see neither the sheriff and his deputies nor the hounds that they’d loosed into the vast timberland of Blackbird Mountain.

  Haakon might have helped in the search for the Sorrel men, but he had a different kind of plan, and it hinged on staying as far from the sheriff as possible.

  He grabbed his pants and shook them out. Earlier, he’d unearthed the boxes of his old things from the cabin loft, and grubbier than was decent, he’d marched to the spring and drenched himself, thinking it a good way to scrub everything he had to his name—himself included. Now he bent lower behind the barrel and crammed one leg into place and then the second. The massive door slid aside just as he’d fastened the waistband of his pants, and Peter stepped in.

  After lifting a hand in greeting, Peter headed his way. So large was the cidery that the man’s footsteps echoed throughout the soaring space. As children, he and Peter had always been in the same school grade and often shared a bench and slate, but rarely had they gotten along. In fact, they’d only managed to tolerate one another just days before Haakon had left, which made it strange to step forward and extend a hand to Peter Sorrel for the first time in their lives. “Jorgan mentioned you’ve been working for the farm.”

  Peter swiped a hand down the front of his threadbare coveralls and accepted the shake. “Your folks are good people.” He looked so much like his father, Harlan, it was uncanny. If it weren’t for Peter’s lack of beard, Haakon would have gotten a start at sight of him standing there.

  Haakon reached for a cotton shirt, the white cloth having sat folded for years. When Peter waited there, he looked back to the farmhand. “Did you need something?”

  “Just wanted to let you know that I’m comin’ with you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You know exactly what I’m talkin’ about. You’ve been on the lookout for my pa and pawpaw, and wherever it is you’re goin’ tonight, I’m goin’ with you.”

  The hounds barked again, farther away this time.

  Haakon shook out the shirt. “How do you know I’m goin’ somewhere?”

  “’Cause it’s plain as day.”

  “It ain’t plain as day.”

  “It is to me.” Peter folded arms across his chest and leaned a shoulder against the nearest wall. Though his stance was easy, his face was all business. “Things are grim, and we both know it. Tess won’t wander ten paces from their cabin these days, and she’ll scarce let Georgie past the door.”

  Near to their own age, Tess had grown up like a sister to Haakon, and while Georgie was a fair deal younger, he cherished her the same. That Peter was outshining him in both regards spoke volumes.

  Peter continued. “Cora ain’t scared to wander out none, but she oughtta be. I guarantee you that PawPaw Jed and my pa are not alone. There’s half a dozen of them, or I don’t know my own kin. They done busted into one of the outbuildings up on the plantation yesterday, and still they’re on the loose. We both know those dogs won’t find nothin’. If Pa was a man to be found, he’d have been caught long ago. That sheriff’s gonna have to give up like all the others have.”

  Haakon conceded the point. Peter’s uncles and cousins who’d gone off with Jed and Harlan those years back hadn’t avoided the law all this while by being careless. Haakon swung his shirt on. It wasn’t lost to him that once upon a time, Peter had aided Jorgan in pulling Thor off of him. A man had to be strong, crazy, and loyal to wrestle back a furious god of thunder.

  He could use a man like that.

  Haakon righted his collar. “Fine. I’m not goin’ anywhere ’til dusk, so you’re gonna have to come back.”

  Though even taller than Haakon, the former Klansman stood a mite straighter. If Haakon was walking into trouble, he wouldn’t for one moment mind having the mountain-grown Sorrel at his side. “I can do that.”

  Haakon buttoned one sleeve cuff and then the other. “You got a soft spot for Tess.”

  “I live near their cabin and owe them a whole heap. They been kind to me, so I care about their safety. All of them, not just Tess.”

  “If you say so.”

  Peter was sober, making the fact that he hadn’t denied it all the more honorable. While words were potent, a man’s caring ran through deeper waters. It dwelled right there in what he was willing to do. Haakon knew all too well that Peter had once taken a beating for Tess. A way to protect her from his own kin. If anyone was ready to face an uncertain future against Jed and Harlan, it was Peter.

  Haakon belted his knife sheath around his hip. “Come an hour before dark.”

  “I’ll be here.” Peter ran a rough hand up and down his forearm, chafing at an old scar. “I also came to tell you that my sister . . . Sibby . . . She’s married.”

  “Is she?”

  “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  Haakon grinned. “I’m not disappointed.” Though he had a few fond memories of Sibby Sorrel. While little more than a handful of secret interludes, and rather innocent ones at that, it was best he and she had gone their separate ways. Their last names would never have gotten along.

  “She was sweet on you, ya know. Sulked for months after you were gone.”

  Haakon shoved the crate of clothes aside. “She’s better off, I’m sure.”

  “She is,” Peter quipped with a slanted smirk. “Married to a moonshiner over on the other side of the crest. Got twenty acres of rough land, but it don’t matter ’cause he don’t farm none. Makes whiskey that even Thor would’ve taken a likin’ to.”

  “That good?”

  “Real good. He’s a right straight shot too. That’s where I wanna take you.”

  “I don’t know that it would be the best time for—”

  “No, you don’t understand. Sibby’s fella, he seen my pawpaw. Two nights ago.”

  Jed? “What about your sister?”

  “She weren’t there. Jed don’t know she got married, so he didn’t know who he was buyin’ from. Orville’s his name. Decent fella, and he thinks Jed’ll be back in a night or two.”

  “You sure.”

  “More than sure.”

  “Sheriff know?”

  Peter shook his head. “It’d blow the whole point—sending a slew o’ lawmen up there with a pack of dogs.”

  It sure-fired would. Best to keep it to themselves for now. The sheriff knew how to manage himself, and while Haakon respected that, he also needed the same leeway to handle this in a different fashion. One that didn’t announce itself all over these hills.

  “Pa might even be with him,” Peter added. “He wasn’t last time. Pawpaw Jed made mention that he was laid up for some reason.”

  “Jed?”

  The haystack near, Peter fetched a short piece. “No, my pa.” He slid it into the side of his mouth.

  Well, whatever ailed Harlan Sorrel, he’d be on his feet again soon. There wasn’t much that could get a man like that down. “So you think they’ll be at this fella’s still?”

  “Supposed to be.”

  Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner? Pirates . . . They always went whe
re the treasure was. And he’d learned aboard ship that pirates weren’t just for fairy tales. He need only look into Jed Sorrel’s unpatched eye to know that the man was made of darker stuff than most. The war general’s two-fingered hand was as much of an iron fist as any other leader’s, maybe even more so.

  The Sorrel patriarch had a reason to be angry. Not only had he lost his livelihood in the War, he’d lost pieces of himself in battle as well as control of over thirty slaves, including Cora and Ida. Really, he’d lost control of this mountain. It had slackened further when Thor refused to sell his hard cider to them, then, when Jed had stolen nearly a thousand dollars’ worth of brew, it was good and gone when Haakon snuck into their barn and blew it to blazes.

  “He’ll want to get even with me,” Haakon said. “And I don’t want that comin’ down on my brothers.”

  Peter turned the straw and slid the end back in his mouth. “I don’t think he cares a lick about you.”

  “But I’m the one who blew up his barn.”

  “I think he’s owin’ that to somebody else. Somebody who put you up to it.”

  “Who?”

  “Who else but the one who wouldn’t sell to them in the first place? Who stopped makin’ it altogether.”

  “Your grandpop’s after Thor?”

  “Seems that way. It’s why they broke in here and stole all his stock in the first place. To teach Thor a lesson, wouldn’t you think?”

  Overwhelmed, Haakon rubbed his forehead with the heel of his palm, barely noticing the way Peter’s attention shifted to the house. Haakon leaned that way and through the open doorway saw Aven stepping onto the porch with a basket.

  Haakon swiped his Yellowboy rifle along with the box of ammo. “Come back tonight.” He was already halfway to the open door. “I’ll be ready.”

  Aven was probably searching for Jorgan to escort her Thor’s way, and not wanting to make her uneasy or insinuate that he could do the task, Haakon kept his head down and aimed straight for the stretch of trees that blocked his cabin from view. Pulling out his pouch, he freed a coca leaf, dusted it with powder, and crammed the folded square far back into his cheek. A small enough portion that he could talk around it with ease, and while the leaves were brittle now, making them less palatable, by hour’s end all these troubles would be easier to manage.

  At the cabin, Thor sat on the porch steps as downtrodden as Haakon had ever seen with his face tilted down and his forehead braced with a hand. Haakon hadn’t given much thought as to what was ailing Thor, and while he had a hunch it was a result of too much drink in years past, the doctor seemed to think otherwise. Haakon had meant to inquire more but supposed it really didn’t matter so long as he did what he’d promised to do for his brother. As for catching something rough, it was too late to worry now.

  There was no way to get Thor’s attention like this, so Haakon stepped wide in a way that sent his shadow into his brother’s line of sight. Thor lifted his head.

  “You alright?”

  Thor signed a response as if Haakon were the last person in the world he wanted to reply to. Breakfast not stay down.

  Glad he’d missed it. “There’s not a mess upstairs is there?”

  Thor shook his head. He wet his lips, and his skin was as sallow as ever. Never, not even in Thor’s most saturated days with alcohol, had Haakon seen him this bad off.

  “You sure you don’t want me to move the bed downstairs? It would be a lot easier on you.”

  When Thor looked away, that was answer enough.

  “Stubborn ox,” Haakon muttered. Leaning the rifle against the banister, he stomped into the cabin. Time to make some sense of the mess on this lower level. If he had it tidied up, then maybe his brother would see reason. Haakon picked up a broken chair and, with the door still open, tossed the heap past where the porch swing used to hang and over the far railing. He did the same with a rusted-out pail and some old paint cloths. All reminded him of a distant time, so he tried to turn his mind from that as he gutted the place of rubbish and cobwebs.

  It worked fine until he shoved back an empty barrel where ruddy droplets stained the floor, windowsill, and lowest panes of glass. Long since dried with time. Haakon didn’t need to look any closer to know the sight of his own blood. Even now the back of his skull throbbed at memory of colliding into this window from the violent storm that had been Thor.

  So this was why his brother didn’t want to stay downstairs. How had Haakon not noticed? Because Thor was more observant—always seeing what others missed. At some point Haakon was going to need soap and a rag. A little patience and an iron will. To his shame, it wouldn’t be today. His stomach churned, and determined for Thor to be the only one to lose his breakfast, Haakon stepped out and further away from the past, certain beyond doubt that a hundred barn walls would be easier to scrub clean than his own wretchedness.

  Outside, Thor struggled to rise.

  Haakon tapped his shoulder. Stairs. Need help you? he signed the language. How natural it returned.

  Thor shook his head and lumbered back inside. His steps were slow and heavy, and Haakon listened as they grew higher. In a minute it was silent.

  Haakon turned to rid the cabin of more debris, but in passing the door again, the lock drew his attention. Dropping to a crouch, he fingered the keyhole. The brass was scarred and dented. It had to be from a metal tool of some sort, and a bold effort at that. But why was someone picking the lock? Haakon studied it more closely only to realize the gut-churning answer.

  No one but the Sorrels would have cause to try, and since this hadn’t been here yesterday, the gouges could only be from the night before. Pulse rising, Haakon stood and moved to the nearest window where the outside sill was battered as well. Some kind of tool had been used to try and loosen the frame from the wall. Why hadn’t they just broken the glass? It wasn’t as though Thor would have heard.

  Haakon stilled. They thought Thor wasn’t alone.

  That meant they knew Haakon had come back. It also meant they didn’t realize he was bedding down in the cider barn. If they knew that there was no one to hear a break-in, Thor might have already been a goner. While his brother was a sure shot and fast draw, this would have been many men against one, and so long as they walked gentle, they’d have taken him by surprise.

  Haakon knelt again and surveyed the Sorrels’ handiwork. He needed to warn Thor and Jorgan. Of equal importance, he was going to need to stay here now.

  At sound of someone coming, he turned to see Peter striding this way, Aven at his side. Haakon dropped his hand from the battered lock and rose. He crossed the porch, meeting them both in the yard. Peter stayed back, and Haakon gave him a cordial nod. He didn’t know if Peter had come along to guard Aven from the Sorrels or from him, but on both accounts it was justified.

  Aven freed her arm from the basket handle, holding the woven wicker down beside her patchwork skirt. Scarcely as tall as his shoulder, and far along with child, she was womanly and fragile. Every curve of her would be tempting to men on the lookout for vulnerability. Haakon glanced back to where he’d left his rifle and longed to fetch it. She shouldn’t have come here.

  The eyes that turned to him were hopeful. “Is Thor awake?”

  He checked his warring concerns. “I can go up and find out.” Turning, he kept pace with her toward the cabin and was all the more glad for Peter’s watchful eye.

  “How is he today?” Aven asked.

  “He’s still pretty beat.”

  “Has the doctor come yet?”

  “Not yet. If much more time goes by, I can ride out with a message for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  At the cabin, she slowed beneath an upstairs window as though to call out. How easy that would be for her. To simply call her husband’s name so he would come, or tap a pebble to the window. But that’s not how it worked with Thor.

  “Listen, Aven. I don’t think you should come here anymore. Not even with Peter. It’s not safe.”

  Her glan
ce to Haakon was wary.

  Should he explain his suspicions? Or would he only cause unnecessary fear? It seemed best she be well informed, but he needed to sort through some uncertainties first. Besides, she already knew this farm was surrounded. No sense in reminding her one more time. Haakon considered Peter, and while he trusted the farmhand, something was still making him uneasy. It would be better that she not come here at all, guardian or not.

  “Haakon?” Aven asked. “About Thor . . .”

  Oh, right. “I’ll go check.” Haakon strode to the porch, crossed in three long strides, and ducked inside. He stormed up the stairs, took note of his brother’s status, and went back down, this time grabbing the rifle before returning to the yard.

  Aven’s eyes widened with anticipation, making his words taste bitter.

  “He’s out cold still. I could wake him, but he was fit to be tied last time I did.”

  The hope flitted away, replaced by hurt at what would seem like a snub from her husband. Eyes downcast, she handed over the basket, then from her skirt pocket withdrew a sealed envelope. “This is from Washington, DC,” Aven said softly. “It came by post this morning.”

  Haakon accepted both. “I’ll see that he gets it. And Aven. It would be best if you stayed with Jorgan. Stayed close. Even better than Peter.” He feared that with Peter’s past with his family, that posed its own kind of risk. By denouncing his loyalty to the Klan, Peter had a mark on his back about the same size as Thor’s. Haakon had his own kind of target. But not Jorgan.

  “I will,” she said, and he could see that she meant it. Still looking crestfallen, she cast one more look toward the cabin, then turned away. As she left, her head tilted toward the graying sky. To summon a few more hours of strength from heaven?

  She needed to stop coming here and knew not what she was up against. Knew not what the men in these parts were capable of or how far they would go for the revenge. What she’d endured with him? It was but a tip of the iceberg to the terrors she could face. As for turning her away, he’d done it for her and the baby’s sake. Even for Thor.