TWENTY-ONE
A TENDERNESS THROBBED LOW IN HER BELLY as Aven opened her linen fan to stir the air. Beside her on the pew, Fay reached around both sons and closed the finished hymnal. The shift offset Bjørn’s balance, and he squirmed as if this were his chance to escape his mother’s arms and perhaps the crowded church altogether. Across the way, Jorgan and Peter sat in the men’s section, which spanned two sides of the room, same as the women’s—each group joining to form a hollow square in the center. How Aven longed to look across the way and see her husband sitting there. She prayed the day would come. And soon.
When Bjørn fussed, Sigurd leaned over and whispered. “Stop wiggling, ciderkin.” From his pocket, he pulled out a tiny carving of a Viking ship. Its sides and dragon headpiece had been knifed with such detail it might have been found among the ancient ruins of Norway. One of the many wooden toys Jorgan had fashioned for his sons.
As Bjørn turned the vessel in his pudgy fingers, Sigurd patted the top of his head. “Dat’s a good wittle swash-buckwer.”
Aven and Fay exchanged smiles. Across from them, Peter looked amused. He straightened his posture, and there seemed to be a lightening in him. The poor man carried a burden with his menfolk’s return, standing—in truth—between two different worlds. One of blood and one of belief.
’Twas hard to recall that there had been a time that Peter’s presence filled her with fear. It seemed a million nights ago that he’d smashed his way into the Norgaard house, clad in a white robe and hood alongside his male kin, who had shattered windows and torched the wood crib to ashes. Peter had stood mere feet from Aven as well as Cora’s daughters—Tess and little Georgie—observing them through his slitted hood. An ominous foreboding far from the peace his presence brought now. He was a good man, Aven had since learned, and one who wanted nothing to do with his grandfather’s way of life. Instead, Peter showed a tenderness of soul and, if she wasn’t mistaken, had a protective way about Cora and her daughters. In particular Tess, with her sunny smile and fawn-wide eyes. A young woman he always seemed to watch as if waiting for her to need him.
The reverend rose to stand in the center of the square, opened a dense Bible, and began a reading in the fifteenth chapter of Luke. Uncomfortable, Aven shifted on the bench. A low pain in her womb slipped in and out of her awareness like an hourly sigh. Nay, now that she was thinking upon it, the tightness came much more often this morning.
To keep distracted, Aven took careful notes of the sermon, something she always did for Thor—a way to recall the teachings to him afterwards. So little could he see of the reverend’s speech as the clergyman addressed each side of the room that Thor missed much of the sermon. Yet he always sat here, somber and reverent, as if the sheer notion of being in God’s house was solace enough. With him ill, perhaps the notes would encourage him in like fashion. Perhaps she could beseech Jorgan to walk her over after the service, though she feared she’d not have the strength.
She wrote quickly, meaning them for Thor one way or another, and the reverend was just to the parable of the lost son when the door creaked open. A bright shaft of light fell across the center of the square, followed by a gust of breeze. A couple stole inside and closed the door. Aven recognized the fair-haired young woman as Sibby Sorrel. The lass had grown up on the neighboring farm and had just married. At sight of his sister and new brother-in-law, Peter gave a cordial nod.
Sibby took a place in the women’s section, slipping in like a mouse and looking to weigh as much. Her long, flaxen braid fell over one shoulder when she bent to tuck a wayward hymnal away. Across the room, Sibby’s husband joined the men’s section. Aven knew almost nothing about him. Only that he had a way of keeping his head down and eyes averted. As of now, his gaze lay fixed on the floor, lifting only to glimpse the reverend, who extended his own measure of study. The stranger’s dark hair hung to his shoulders, black and stringy beneath a faded hat that he promptly tugged from his head.
The reverend continued at an easy cadence. “‘And the younger of them said to his father, Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me. And he divided unto them his living. And not many days after the younger son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far country, and there—’”
Aven dropped her pencil when Bjørn pulled on her arm in an effort to squirm nearer. With naught but an inch of space in front of her round belly, she shifted over enough to wedge Bjørn on the bench beside her. Sigurd hopped down and fetched the pencil while Aven draped an arm around the younger tot, who kept busy fiddling with the button bracelet on her wrist. She wore it on such days as a diversion for tiny fingers during long church services.
The sermon continued in the reverend’s ardent voice. “‘And am no more worthy to be called thy son: make me as one of thy hired servants. And he arose, and came to his father. But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion.’”
Aven couldn’t help but think of Haakon. Not only his leaving but his longing for the inheritance that had once been set aside for him. A share of his father’s land.
The reverend expounded on the text with fervor. Equally as fervent was Bjørn’s complaint. Aven tried to ease him, but Bjørn stretched grumpily, nearly tumbling from the bench. Fay flashed him a stern look as she pulled him into her lap. He squealed, and after a sigh Fay carried him outside. With the service near an end, she wasn’t the only mother quieting a fussy babe out of doors.
Another low pain began, this one strong enough to garner all of Aven’s focus. When it passed, she felt no more in labor than she had before it began, but something told her this was just the start. She was just blowing out a soft breath when folks rose and their chatter clapped around the building, lifting high to the peaked roof and rafters. Aven viewed her notes, wishing she’d finished, but perhaps the story alone could be a comfort to Thor. Maybe . . . maybe even Haakon.
She folded it with care, trusting that the Lord would do His work—both in the hearts of those two men and in her own.
With the family gathering outside, Aven collected her shawl and with a few smiles to familiar faces joined Fay in the sun. Wind swept across the churchyard, stirring old leaves and new flowers. Jorgan paced across the lawn to where the boys were romping with others their age. To his sons’ dismay, they were herded toward the wagon. Perhaps Jorgan meant not to leave Thor and Haakon alone any longer than was necessary. She was grateful herself, for as another twinge came, she was more than ready for a lie down and a strong cup of tea. Aven whispered her suspicions to Fay, who nodded assuringly.
“Let’s get you home,” Fay whispered, sliding a comforting hand to Aven’s back.
Jorgan assisted his wife and sons into the back of the wagon, then helped Aven up to the front seat. The climb proved an effort, and when she was settled, Jorgan pushed her hem clear of the wheel and went around to the driver’s side.
Across the churchyard, Peter stood deep in conversation with his sister’s husband. The dark-haired man made no movement as he spoke, as if a statuesque appearance would make his presence less noticed. Peter spoke with much more passion. Whatever they discussed was a sensitive subject because even Sibby looked worried.
She had more than cause to with hounds having searched the hills surrounding both the Norgaard orchards and the Sorrel plantation. After speaking to the sheriff, Jorgan had announced over last night’s supper that the search was spread out for nearly twenty square miles—a vast amount of land to cover—and while the lawman’s efforts brought prospect, it had also afforded nothing other than weary dogs and empty trails.
Wind tugged at Aven’s shawl, and she tucked her hands snug against her skirt folds.
Peter exchanged a few more words with the man, bid his sister goodbye, then headed for the wagon.
“Thanks for waitin’.” He climbed into the back.
“Sorry to be in such a hurry.” Jorgan tapped the reins, and the wagon lurched into motion. “I don’t want to leave my brothers alone for t
oo long.”
Peter pulled up a knee, resting his forearm there. “I’m bettin’ my money on Thor. I say he’ll be the last one standin’.”
Jorgan chuckled. “I dunno. A buck says Haakon’s pretty scrappy.”
“Fellows,” Fay said with a touch of amusement. “Ought you to be placing bets on the Lord’s Day?” She shared a smile with Aven.
While the ride home was a breezy one, it was a refreshing kind of wind. One that brought in change and newness. Jorgan cradled the reins with an easy, one-handed grip, and Aven noticed that his other arm draped over the back of the bench seat to hold Fay’s fingers in his own. Aven smiled again. Now and again she felt the sober tightening in her womb, but each occurrence was so spaced out and manageable that she sensed the day would be a long, uneventful one.
When they reached the farm, Haakon was crossing the yard, aiming for the orchards. Behind him followed the doctor from Fincastle. The man called after Haakon, and they both halted in their tracks as the wagon approached.
Was something the matter? Was it Thor? Aven gripped the seat as Jorgan slowed the team with a strong tug of the reins. Haakon circled the wagon bed, and she spoke before he’d reached her side.
“Where is Thor?”
Haakon blinked quickly—visibly jarred. “He’s uh . . . He’s fine. Thor’s just fine.”
The doctor reached them, the brisk breeze whipping the side of his tailored coat. “I was able to give your husband a favorable diagnosis, Mrs. Norgaard. I expect him to be recovered before long, and already he’s showed a marked improvement.”
Gripping tighter to the wagon seat, Aven closed her eyes and bowed her head. Relief made her every limb warm with release—all fear over losing Thor gone as quick as it had come knocking, making her nearly tremble with the rush of it.
The doctor spoke on, and while she could scarcely comprehend anything beyond joy unfurled, she listened with care for want of Thor’s whereabouts. “While I’m here, I would also like to check you and your child. Your brother-in-law was just heading off to retrieve your midwife for the same purpose.”
“Is there concern?”
“Let’s get you down.” Dr. Abramson reached up to assist her, but while Aven accepted his grip, she couldn’t move from the seat. A new tightening was taking hold of her womb. “Sir—” She let out a low breath. “I just need a moment.”
“Are you in pain?” the doctor asked.
“Aye. Only slightly, but ’tis more frequent than in days past.”
He looked to Haakon, and with a sure nod, Haakon stepped forward and spoke to Jorgan. The next moments were a blur as Fay and the boys climbed down. Haakon stepped nearer as the doctor gave him space. With a mark of regret, Haakon reached up, looping a sturdy hand around Aven’s waist as though to lift her down. She wavered from his touch, but the doctor spoke.
“He’ll bring you no harm, Mrs. Norgaard. It would be impossible for him to.”
Haakon’s eyes held a longing for that to have been true. “He’s speaking of the illness,” he said, as though unable to accept such a generous statement to be latched to his name. He stepped aside and called for Jorgan.
“Something I can explain in more detail during my exam,” the doctor added.
Jorgan came to her side, and overwhelmed, Aven slid an arm about his neck. He lifted her from the wagon. Wind gusted against them, all but tugging her twisted bun loose of its pins. Jorgan braced her to his chest and she went weightless, her heart anything but. He lowered her to her feet, not pulling away until she was steady.
Aven spoke against the shield that was his shoulder. “I need Thor.” If she could only see him. Some way to harness a final dose of courage for what was to come.
“I’ll get him.” Haakon started that way.
After steadying her, Jorgan reached for the bridle of the nearest mare, promising that he would hurry in getting Cora. He drove away, the horses breaking into a run as the wheels clattered down the lane to Cora’s nearby home. Fay stepped to the doorway of the kitchen with Bjørn in her arms and a promise to return straightaway. Sigurd raced along behind her.
Aven turned to the doctor, aching for answers. “What is happening? You said Thor is recovering. Is something else the matter?”
“I’m quite certain his recovery is sure and steady. But we need to tend to you and your baby. One of the reasons I’ve sought your midwife’s aid.” He adjusted his grip on his handled bag. “While I wish I could declare it simply a routine examination, it’s a matter of more urgency.” With gentle calm, he relayed what he’d announced to Thor: that her life and the babe’s life were at risk from the epidemic of jaundice—even more than Thor’s own had ever been.
Aven heard the words but knew not where to place them. She wanted to bundle them up and toss them far and away and let the peace of his earlier news wrap her up in safety and rest. But this? “What—what do we do? I don’t feel unwell. What of the baby?” The words came tumbling out, each more panicked than the ones before.
“I’m greatly relieved to hear it.” He went on to describe Thor’s symptoms in detail, and as he described the obstacles her husband had been enduring, none of the discomforts or symptoms were familiar to her own body. A marked relief and one she announced with utmost certainty. But . . . “What of the baby?” she echoed.
“I’d like to have a listen to its heartbeat. Though your midwife will have more ability there, so if we can await her arrival, I believe it will—”
“Can you not check now?” her plea was urgent.
“Of course. I can try if you wish it. Let’s get you into the house.”
“No. Right now, please.” Aven pulled her shawl clear, clutching the folds in nervous hands.
With a look of compassion, the doctor nodded. “Of course. Let’s see what we can do.” He set his black bag on the ground, snapped it open, and pulled out a funneled ear scope much like Cora’s own. He bent at the waist, pressing the tool to one side of her womb and then to the other. He moved the fluted end to the top of her stomach and with his eyes closed listened intently. “Ma’am, I assure you that your midwife will be much more able to locate the position of the baby’s heart than myself. I can keep trying but fear bringing you more worry.”
“Aven!”
At the call of her name, she saw Haakon and Thor crossing through the grove. Thor’s steps were slow, and he had an arm braced over Haakon’s back, his brother supporting him with each stride. Lifting up the hem of her skirt, Aven hurried that way—feeling more like she was wading across a river than stepping over solid ground. A current pushed against her, one of growing pain and fear.
Haakon ducked as Thor pulled his arm loose. “He was already comin’ this way.”
Reaching Thor, Aven longed to take hold of his hands. Instead, she fisted the fabric of her skirt as she spoke. “Thor, I believe the baby may be coming soon.” She gripped the underside of her womb where the last ache had come and gone. As for the baby . . .
Her chin trembled. She hadn’t felt it stirring today but hadn’t thought to pay such heed.
Thor stepped nearer and lowered himself to kneel in the dirt. Before she could react, he touched her waist, something he hadn’t done since last they’d last lain abed, his arm circled about her as they slept. Their child had been smaller then and he stronger. Now, having longed for such nearness, she didn’t move. ’Twas a taste of heaven amid an hour far from such peace.
Thor bowed his head and firmed his grip. With a deep sigh, he touched his forehead to the front of her belly—his skin against the thin layers of her clothing. He stayed that way for such a long time that tears filled her eyes. He was praying.
Aven gripped his shoulder, her fingers just grazing the ends of his unbound hair as Haakon brought over a chair, asking her to sit. Thor rose to one knee, staying close to her side. Not even the doctor urged him away, and she was grateful.
Stethoscope still in hand, the doctor knelt down. He pressed the long, narrow tube to the underside of Aven’s b
elly. Closing his eyes, he listened. After what seemed an eternity, he rose and moved around to her other side, where he continued his search. Aven’s own heart was a gallop in her chest, and she swallowed back tears. This was taking so long.
Concentration pulled the doctor’s brow tight, eyes squeezed to thin slants. Finally, his face eased, and he regarded Aven with a smile so beautiful it might as well have been a wing from heaven wrapping around her.
“That’s a good, strong heartbeat.” He listened again and confirmed his assessment. “The beat is quick, though I believe that’s normal.” He grinned again.
At the clatter of the wagon, he angled aside, and within moments, Cora was rushing over. The midwife hunched down, taking the doctor’s ear scope and pressing it into place at the same spot he had. Her smile was a slow rising of the sun and just as assuring.
“Ain’t no mistake. That a fine beat. And from what Jorgan said, you’s in labor.” She felt the side of Aven’s belly as a new pain tightened it. “A right good labor, and as happy as that little one be in there, I think someone’s aimin’ to meet Mama and Papa now.”
TWENTY-TWO
HAAKON WISHED HE COULD SAY THAT HE didn’t know how hard women fought to bring babies into this world, but he hadn’t traveled the globe halfway over without witnessing a few things in his travels. Throw in his mother’s own death, and his hands could scarcely hold the jar of beans he was trying to unlatch for Thor.
With the very man seated on the porch in near despair, Haakon braced the jar to his middle and forced the lid off. He set the makings of supper aside and went back out to fetch the rest of the freshly delivered goods. Just inches from the crate sat Thor, who hadn’t moved in hours. Haakon toted the box inside and set it on the old table. As much as he was fighting panic, he still had a job to do and that was to see Thor through the next hours. He could do nothing for Aven, but he could ensure that Thor wasn’t alone.
Daughters of Northern Shores Page 18
