Daughters of Northern Shores

by Joanne Bischof

  Aven crushed her chin to her chest and pushed with all she had to muster. She’d never been old enough to ask her mother about birthing, but as she bore down, she knew her mother would have told her that the pain would soon end. It would soon end. Aven groped the mattress as if to find her mother’s comforting touch and instead caught hold of Fay’s hand. These women who had walked with her and cried with her and now labored with her. Women she would never know had her own mother not sacrificed so much for her to survive. Had Aunt Dorothe not sent letters of hope across an ocean, bidding Aven come to America.

  And as Aven gave one final push, a new female came tumbling into her life. A beautiful, slick baby girl that Cora caught with a shout of joy. The only daughter to ever draw her first breath in this house.

  The midwife flipped the round infant over and made quick work of swiping her mouth clear of liquid. She patted the baby’s backside, causing her to wail with abandon. Cora’s face was awash with the same delight that surged through Aven. “Oh, yes, little darling. We hear you. We hear you!” Grinning, she turned Tusenfryd over and nestled her plump, wet form into Aven’s shaking arms.

  Then came Tess’s cry of delight as she nestled a blanket around the baby. “Oh, little Tusie! I think you’s tryin’ to get even your papa to hear you!”

  “She givin’ it her all,” Ida said, beaming. “But seein’ as she’ll need a bit of help, I’ll go tell him right now.” With pride shining in her face, she grabbed up the lantern, moved to the open window, and leaned down with the light. “It be a girl you have, Mr. Norgaard! An awful pretty one, and she givin’ her papa a right fine hello.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  THOR COULD FEEL IT NOW—THE CRUNCH OF snow beneath his boots. The motion of the sled over deep drifts. He would rosin the blades to ride smooth and tug the line sure and steady. And it would be there that he’d look back and see her bundled amid furs and thick, woolen blankets. A wee girl sitting in the crook of the sled he’d fashion from the softest of spruce. A hood of white fur cradling a round face and rosy cheeks. A little woodland nymph who knew him as Da. Eyes as bright as her mother’s and shining the same pleasure to be with him.

  Off on an adventure they’d go. On an outing. Her not feeling the cold because she was made for it—born and bred from ancestors of the mountains and of the ice. The tiny, white flakes would be her crowning joy. Evergreen boughs her places to hide and giggle. He could see her there in his mind, just old enough to waddle about in boots he’d fashion with the utmost care from the finest leathers and a wool coat, embroidered by her mother on autumn nights.

  He was a father. A protector. A friend.

  And he had a daughter.

  At someone shaking his shoulder, Thor sat up to the early light of morning, colliding into the stone wall that was Haakon. Having woken him, Haakon moved back and, with fingers spread open, tapped a thumb to his chest for Fine. Baby fine. Wife fine.

  Thor shot out a breath. Next came a rush of gratitude to his brother for knowing that assurance was the first thing he needed upon consciousness. Still kneeling on the porch beside him, Haakon continued. T-U-S-E-N-F-R-Y-D.

  Thor’s chest hitched at the first time her name was fingerspelled by another. Of all people, it was Haakon. “She’s here to see you.” He thumbed toward the window.

  Thor rose to find Fay standing at the glass. A smile lit her face, and her usually neat bun hung loose, wisps of it catching the air as she tipped her head down, telling a tale of last night that no words could. The ache to see Aven made it a battle to stand his ground outside this house, but all frustration quieted when Thor saw the tiniest, most perfect version of her in Fay’s arms. Bundled in a knitted blanket, Tusie was sound asleep, pink lips pressed in a milky pout.

  It took an awful lot to get him to make sound, but the moan that slid from his throat was impossible to halt. When sight of his daughter blurred, he swiped a sleeve over his eyes and stepped closer. She was stunning. Plump, pale, and looking as soft as anything he’d ever seen.

  Fay feathered her fingertips against Tusie’s tuft of light-brown hair. “It shines auburn in the sunlight.”

  Thor grinned. He bet it did. On instinct, he touched his palm to the glass.

  Reaching into the blanket, Fay freed a tiny arm from its cocoon. After pressing her shoulder against the window, she lifted the baby’s hand so that it met the window. The baby’s fingers were folded in and so miniature that when Thor pressed the tip of his thumb to that very spot in the glass, he could see them no longer. Fay waved for his attention, and Thor watched her mouth.

  “She has brown eyes, and you should see these ears.” Angling some, Fay loosened the blanket to give Thor a better view of ears that were squished and pointed in the oddest of ways.

  He felt a chuckle slip from his chest. He touched the window again, aching to hold her.

  At a shadow beside him, he looked over to see Haakon observing the baby. Haakon’s eyes were fixed on her face like a ship set on the North Star. He placed fingertips to the glass, working his thumb back and forth as if wanting to touch one of those silken cheeks as well.

  Thor dropped his gaze back to his daughter, and his longing intensified. It was a hunger inside him, and by God’s grace one he had more time to savor. Still stunned that his and Aven’s child was here and safe, Thor inquired as to how much she had weighed. How much had Aven endured?

  Fay looked to Haakon for clarification, but Haakon was still staring at the baby.

  Thor tapped his brother’s arm to get his attention. Baby weight. Ask Fay.

  He felt the inquiry muffle against the glass as Haakon spoke it.

  Nodding, Fay answered them both. “Nine pounds, one ounce.”

  Thor shot out a breath. Though two pounds slighter than he had been, that was no small baby. Aven well?

  After Haakon’s assistance, Fay’s eyes shifted between them. “She’s doing very well. Cora’s taken good care of her, and the doctor has offered his aid as well. She’s resting, but she’s right as rain, Thor. Couldn’t have done any better or been any braver. She took good care of this one.” Fay’s blue eyes shone. “You should see them when they’re both sleeping. It’s hard to tell them apart when they’re nestled together that way.” She winked.

  Ardent was his longing to see such a thing, but this in itself was a gift beyond measure. Thor peered down at his daisy-petal some more, and when Tusie stirred in her sleep, tiny mouth working for milk, he gave Fay his sign for gratitude.

  She smiled. “I’ll get her tucked back in with her mama.”

  Thor nodded and didn’t so much as move as he watched Fay climb the lower steps and out of sight. He waited there, counting the moments until he knew Fay was in the attic—likely lowering Tusie into Aven’s arms. Thor pressed his forehead to the glass and closed his eyes to savor the notion. He stood that way for some moments, then remembering that he owed his brother a thank you, Thor lifted his head. It was Haakon who’d woken him and Haakon who had helped bridge the gap of understanding and assurance just now. Thor turned to express his gratitude, yet there was nothing beside him but an empty porch.

  Haakon wasn’t sure if he should walk hushed or simply charge up this hillside. Undecided, he called out to make his presence known as he ducked past the spring-loaded branches of oak saplings. Orville had said this would be the spot, confirmed when Haakon smelled chestnut wood smoke. A type of wood to burn when a body didn’t want to draw attention. The still for making moonshine had to be around here, and he aimed to find it. Seeing that baby had sealed something inside him. It was one of the fiercest torments and joys he’d ever known, and while he’d been unsure as to the final details of his plan with the moonshiner, the last piece had fallen into place while looking at her.

  He’d known for some time what needed to be done. He just hadn’t wanted to face it.

  It wasn’t until he’d stood on the other side of that window scarcely an hour ago, looking down upon one of the loveliest creatures he’d ever beheld, that h
e knew what the coming days would require of him. A depth of cunning and concentration to rival that of the great sea serpent. Did he have it in him? To see this through . . . he had to. There was nothing easy about what he was about to do in the days to come, but he had to be courageous enough to press on with the plan.

  Birds chirped in the green canopy of treetops. With it warm enough for copperheads and rattlesnakes, Haakon kept an eye out as he waded through waist-high weeds. Sticks snapped under his boots, which wasted any wondering of how best to walk. Orville had probably set up camp in this spot for that very reason. It took little effort to hear a person coming.

  From nearby rushed a creek, a necessity for making corn liquor. Haakon pushed past a bramble of weeds, and all at once he saw the still. It wasn’t much more than a turnip boiler, old barrels, and copper piping, all banked with clay and rocks—but it smelled the way a good still did from sweet corn mash and the chestnut smoke that trickled through the rickety pipe. Empty sacks from sugar and ground corn were piled up on one side, and opposite that sat a rough mound of gathered wood. A low tent was barred across the entrance by a clothesline where two dingy socks hung drying. Compared to this operation, his and his brothers’ liquor business had been downright stately, yet all a man needed to make a living was right here.

  At the click of a rifle, Haakon froze. Orville wouldn’t shoot without good reason, so he didn’t move as the shadowed man stepped from the weeds, gun aimed.

  Suddenly the firearm lowered and its marksman cursed. “You wanna let me know next time you plan on comin’ up here in the middle of the day?”

  Lowering his hands, Haakon strode through more tall weeds. “See, I got me an idea.”

  “I bet you do.” Orville sat and settled his firearm beside him on a low, flat stone.

  Certain that was enough of a welcome, Haakon pushed his way into the clearing that spread beside the creek. Water weeds and branch lettuce grew in thick patches, which likened a choice spot for setting up such an outfit. Clean, cold water was the first step in good corn whiskey. Haakon had little experience with moonshine, but he knew enough about liquor to see why Orville’s drink kept growing in popularity.

  “You know . . . You wouldn’t have to be so all-fired tense if you learned to pay taxes.” Haakon sat on a squat log. He eyed Orville’s rifle, and if he wasn’t mistaken it was from the War. Judging by the scope, designed to take out officers during the War at an immense distance. Good thing Orville didn’t have an eager trigger finger.

  “You sound just like Sibby. I swear she’s half sheriff sometimes.” Orville smiled a fondness for his wife, then wedged a dried weed into the fire and used it to light a tobacco pipe.

  The man looked to be about twenty. His beard was so thin that Haakon could see through to his neck, which bore the same pockmarks that pitted his cheeks. His eyes were like a ground squirrel’s—dark and narrow. Sibby was quite fine to look at, and Haakon might have questioned why she’d ended up with such a misfit, but since meeting Orville, Haakon had learned that he was both savvy and good-natured. Even patient. No doubt a breath of fresh air for a Sorrel girl.

  A crate sat half filled with jars, and Orville puffed smoke as he finished filling it. When he did, he held over a remaining quart.

  Haakon accepted it with a nod of thanks. “Why were you in church the other day?”

  “Same reason you woulda been.” Orville sucked in a long drag before speaking around his pipe. “Didn’t know it’d be so noteworthy.”

  “It got around. You should be more careful.”

  “Well, Sibby was wantin’ to go, and she asked me to come along.” Using the bottom of a tattered boot, Orville pushed the crate aside.

  It had been awhile since he’d had a proper drink, so Haakon unscrewed the cap and took a swig. Like Thor, he’d never taken to the coarse taste of moonshine, but this was awful smooth. He took a second drink, then held the clear liquid up to the light. “That’s some fine whiskey.”

  “This was a good run. Got me another one to make right after.”

  “Business that good, huh?”

  “Someone had to pick up when you boys shut down.” He smirked as though grateful for all the business they’d inadvertently sent his way. He carried the crate to the back of a wagon just as Haakon had done over a thousand times outside the cidery. It had always been his job to ensure deliveries, and he’d rather liked that side of the business. Dangerous work, but that’s why Thor had often ridden shotgun.

  When Orville sat again, he stirred a pot of beans that steamed atop the makeshift furnace of the copper still.

  “Sibby’s pawpaw won’t be here tonight if that’s what you came for.” Orville slid his pipe from his lips long enough to taste from the wooden spoon. “The general was here last night, and I don’t expect him to return for a couple days. The only way I made sure he’d be back was by sellin’ him no more’n four quarts again. He didn’t like that much, and I ain’t gonna be able to keep that up.”

  “Next time he comes, send somebody for me,” Haakon said.

  “I ain’t got no one to send. And this ain’t a fetchin’ service.”

  “No, but if we can pull this off, I’ll pay you well.”

  “How well?”

  Haakon had learned better than to consult the pouch around his neck in times like these, so he’d already counted out several coins that were now in his pocket. He pulled three out and set them on the rock beside the moonshiner. Not exactly US currency, but gold was gold. A mighty fine sum, and an amount he was reckless to offer up, but if he was going to do this, he had to go all in.

  Orville studied one of the ornate coins as he spoke. “I still can’t send for you. Sibby used to keep me company here, but now that her pawpaw’s around, she steers clear.”

  “Don’t worry about that. Just keep Jed here long as you can next time, and I’ll think of a way to keep up on his whereabouts.”

  “And what if you don’t show up?” Orville asked.

  “Then sell him as much as you want, even if he doesn’t come back. I promise I’ll be here.”

  “Like you meant to be here last night?”

  “Somethin’ came up.” He decided not to mention the birthing or why he’d needed to stick around. It was hard to explain what it was like living alongside Thor. Haakon had responsibilities that few people could comprehend, and the danger of this budding plan made him uneasy to bring talk of Aven into it. “I promise I won’t miss the next time.”

  He explained the development of his idea while Orville scraped a plate clean of beans. Though the moonshiner didn’t seem certain the plan could be pulled off, he didn’t argue against it either, and finally he pocketed the coins.

  Orville pushed his hat farther back on his head. “To be truthful, when Peter told me you’d need my help, I didn’t have you pegged as that sort.”

  Was that relief? Or worry? “Well . . . next time Jed comes, I’ll be here waiting, and I’ll tell him what he needs to know. Harlan, too, if he comes.” Haakon couldn’t believe he was saying such a thing, but the time had come. Just as it had come for the sea serpent who wanted more than to hold the seas at bay. Haakon wanted more from this life too. He thought of his brother, and if it was a fight with the mighty Thor that Jed and Harlan wanted, it was a fight they were going to get.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  LEANING BACK AGAINST THE PORCH SWING, Aven closed her eyes. Tusenfryd was asleep in her arms, her two-day-old daughter curled up tight as though still in the womb. A cloudy sky loomed overhead, so Aven nudged up the baby’s blanket to cover her well. Though the late May day was mild, she had quite a mind to keep those wrinkled little feet and hands as warm as could be. There was no need to set the swing in motion. Just sitting here, still and quiet, holding her daughter, was all the comfort she needed. All that was missing was Thor.

  Instead, she saw Haakon. He walked with a long stick in hand. The only shirt he wore beneath his suspenders was that of his winter underwear, and around the waist of his dar
k pants wrapped a low-hanging belt that held a long knife sheath with a blade as ominous. Behind him Sigurd skipped along and Bjørn waddled on chubby legs, struggling to keep up.

  “This way, ciderkins.” Haakon led them to the center of the yard. “Let’s put an end to the questions once and for all. This . . .” He dragged a tip of the stick through the dirt. “Is how big a whale is. Let’s say . . . an orca, though we can go bigger if you want to talk blue whales.” Dragging the stick beside him, he made a long curve across the yard, then shaped another section before returning the way he’d come. “An orca can rip a seal to shreds in seconds.” At the end, he fashioned a lopsided tail. An artist he was not, but the boys stood captivated.

  Aven watched as well. Clouds shifted overhead, painting the ground in dappled shades of sun and shadow.

  “There.” Haakon tipped his head to the side and studied his efforts. He stepped to the center of the drawing and added a flipper, then crossed to the top to make a long, curving fin. “That should do it. Who wants to get eaten first?”

  Sigurd jumped up and down, pleading for it to be him, while Bjørn waddled forward as volunteer. Using the stick, Haakon rigged it just beneath Bjørn’s pinned diaper and hefted the toddler up from the ground. Aven gasped, but Bjørn just laughed. Haakon carried his nephew that way until he carefully deposited him in the center of the whale.

  “You, too, Sigurd. In you go.”

  Sigurd hopped over the drawn line and stood inside the whale, where he lay down on his back and stretched his body out straight. “I been eaten by a whale!” he cried in delight.

  Never one to be left behind, Bjørn followed suit and, once he was sprawled in the dirt, tried to babble the same.

  Aven had to smile.

  Fay stepped onto the porch and gave her a cup of tea. Aven thanked her sister-in-law. While Aven was managing to get around, the birth had taken its toll on her body, which made Fay and Ida’s thoughtful care all the more cherished.