“Even more, to try and find them.” Pulling up the pouch from beneath his shirt, he lifted it off. “I’ve got a message out to the sheriff myself, but there’s no way to guarantee the Sorrels’ whereabouts.”
“You are trying?”
“I am.” He drifted across her path, smelling of the cidery and just a hint of the sea as though something on him was yet unwashed from his voyaging. “But for right now I’m gonna walk with you until you reach Thor. And when you do I’m gonna let you go.”
Standing so near to him, she realized he had scarcely aged. The freckles across his nose weren’t as distinct, and his beard made him appear as commanding as his husky voice, but it was the same face she’d known. All save his eyes, which told the story that his soul was older. Loosening the drawstrings of his pouch, he pulled out a single dry leaf and folded it in half and then half again. She’d witnessed him place such a concoction in his cheek once before—much as a man chewed tobacco. Aven didn’t know if this was the same.
Overhead, a blackbird swooped down with a cry. Haakon glanced up as it soared past, speaking as he did. The breeze crackled in the greenery of young saplings, nearly crowding out the hush of his words. “Sibby’s gonna come to you one day with something very important to say.” His gaze fell back to hers. “When that time comes, please believe her, Aven. Believe her with everything inside you.” His fingers fiddled with the folded leaf, which he returned to his pouch, looking frustrated as he did. He backed away, directing her around the bend in the trees where just beyond dwelled the spring. “If you don’t put a shred of stock in anything I say from this day forward, please put stock in this. For you and Fay and Ida, and those children . . . believe Sibby. Please.”
After another step away, he hesitated. “And Aven? I’m the furthest thing from a saint, but however it might have appeared with Sibby, I promise you I don’t dabble with married women.”
She gave a small nod, aching to trust him. As needful was to believe well of Sibby, who had showed them naught but a sweet nature over the years.
“In fact, there’s . . .” He wet his lips. “I mean, in Norway, there’s . . . Well, she’s . . .” His eyes searched the ground with as much ardency as he struggled with words. All at once, they widened as though he’d just realized something. With a sharp inhale, he took a step back, and the vulnerability that flooded his face emphasized a need to end the discussion. “You better head on.”
Not knowing what else to do or say, Aven whispered a thank-you and continued down the lane.
He didn’t follow, so it was when she reached the farthest reach of the bend that he called gently to her. “Do you see Thor?”
Aven assured him that she did.
Dipping his head, Haakon trudged back the way they’d come, and she waited the minute it took for his footsteps to fade into silence. So far off that she knew he wouldn’t linger. He’d said he wouldn’t, and somewhere deep inside she wanted to believe him.
Turning away, she continued on down the rutted lane. Such a lengthy venture it had been that her steps were now ginger and her breathing labored. Though her strength was renewed, ’twould be weeks yet before she was fully healed. While she looked forward to lengthy strolls, ’twas a uniting with Thor that outshone any other longing. Fay had confided that while the separation was difficult, and while the new child helped serve as a dear distraction, the time apart was most trying on a man, who hadn’t the sweet comfort of a babe in his arms most hours of the day.
When Aven neared the spring and better saw her husband, she dearly needed such a distraction.
He crouched down against the rocky crevice, his thick pants already soaked through from the spring, while his shirt and boots had been cast aside on a nearby rock. He bent lower for the swell of water that seeped from the stone, further wetting his torso and hair that, since her knowing him, had often been bound. She had a sense he always meant to be as tidy as possible, but whenever she caught him in this manner, her heart soared for the beautiful wildness that was her husband. The same wildness from her very first glimpse of him that day they’d met among hundreds of his apple trees.
Seeing her, Thor stood and swiped his hands through his hair, shoving it to lay back. His manner was easy, but his brow rose just enough to reveal surprise. She might have worried for the danger of others catching him unawares if it weren’t for the shotgun laying beside his things. He could reach it in a moment, of that there was no doubt, so she was glad that her presence required naught but a smile to ensure her safety.
After absorbing the sight of her standing there, he smiled too. Looking past her shoulder, he surveyed the path behind her. Come alone, you? His pleasure faded to worry.
“Haakon walked me here.” She needn’t wonder if he was as surprised by that as she. ’Twas more than clear in the steady drive of his gaze that lifted past her and up the path. When his attention returned to Aven, she spoke. “He worried for my coming alone. I’m sorry to say that I was bent on finding you.”
Thor drew in a heavy breath and signed for her to take care. With having trusted Haakon? Or with risking such to be here now?
When he observed the bend in the trees again, she waited until his gaze returned to her. “He’s gone.”
Thor nodded soberly and with both hands mimicked the shape of plucking petals off a daisy.
“She’s well with Ida and Fay.”
Nodding at that, and as if determined to lay aside worries for this moment, he invited her to sit. Aven raised her hem from the dampened earth and treaded to the low boulder he’d gestured to. Thor wet his thick hands, then splashed water onto his face, rubbing well. The gush of the spring was mild at most, but safer a choice than his venturing to the pond alone. Aven sat beside his things and where moss grew in patches, making a comfortable perch. She pulled her knees up and tucked her skirt well around so that the hem touched the tops of her shoes.
Bending forward, Thor wet his hair one final time, and when he shoved it back again, the long dark strands hit the tops of his shoulders, where they dripped, pooling water along the dips and rises of his shoulders and chest. There was no towel in sight, so he swiped at the moisture and, coming around to her side, sat at a fair enough distance for her to stay dry.
Rather wishing he hadn’t, she inched closer. His face was tilted down, but the smile that formed there was unmistakable. His moustache lifted, and the sides of his eyes creased. How she longed to lean nearer and kiss that appled cheek, but she would wait until he sensed it safe.
For his initiating, she would wait. Just as when he’d first courted her.
As it was, his fingers grazed the lacey curve of her petticoat that peeked from beneath her skirt. He ran his thumb against the ivory threads where the lace brushed at her ankle. His gaze fell to the shotgun now at his side. Beside it rested an entire box of ammunition. Sunlight glinted off the strong planes of his torso, and she knew it would take much for him to ever be defeated. She’d witnessed his abilities against foes before, and while even those instances had him outnumbered, what if the odds tipped too far against him? If this amount of danger was indeed stalking him, it could come down with even mightier a blow than before.
He looked past her, studying the length of the ridgeline, and when his gaze locked with her own again, there lived in his eyes the same unease that Haakon had shone.
“Thor . . . ?” Aven touched his arm—risky perhaps, but there were greater ones afoot and she dearly needed him. “What are we to do?”
In a rush of comfort, he moved his arm around her, pulling her in to him. He tucked her head beneath his own as he always had, and she closed her eyes tight. He held her that way for what she wished was much longer. When he released her, it was to shape an answer as though to seal a resolve.
Send away. He pointed to her, then formed the letters of many names—all save his own, Haakon’s, and Jorgan’s.
Did they mean to place themselves in harm’s way for the family’s safety? While she longed for peace—most espe
cially for the children—to think of safety coming at so great a cost . . . “Thor . . . you are coming also?”
He indicated that he would follow, but as Aven peered up at him, she had a startling worry that of the two men she had spoken with this afternoon, Haakon wasn’t the one who had just lied to her.
TWENTY-NINE
SEATED ON A STURDY BENCH, HAAKON USED his foot to pump the treadle of the grinder. He lifted a bucket of water and poured it over the moving sandstone to wet the gritty surface and to keep shavings from getting into the wheel, which cranked toward him at so slow a rotation he needed to ramp up the speed.
But he could scarcely focus on the task, because her name was Kjersti.
It had come rushing back to him as he’d stood speaking with Aven and now he was holding on to it awful tight. Mrs. Kjersti Jönsson. He meant to remember that.
Gripping up the ax from the floor beside him, he pumped the treadle quicker, took careful hold on the back end of the iron head, and pressed the sharp edge to the turning sandstone. A grating sound filled the cidery as he tipped the head from side to side, pausing only to hold the bucket by its rim and splash more water onto the operation.
Only in rare moments could he recall her face now, and even more distant was the recollection of her voice that came to him when he least expected it. When both faded in full, he would have nothing to remember her by. Perhaps then this dogging on his spirit would cease, and thoughts of the woman from the north would plague him no more.
Brow furrowed, Haakon leaned the weapon against the nearest wall, unsheathed his knife, and tried to concentrate solely on the challenge before him. When the hinge on the treadle stiffened, he rose in search of oil. Growing stronger was the longing for the wife that Fay had nudged him to consider. Not a woman in his memory or in a distant land, but one who was here. A wife to live beside him. Perhaps even on this very farm. A few pretty faces from town flitted to mind, but he swiped each one away because they paled in comparison to the one belonging to the name now sinking deep into his heart.
After all that Kjersti had loved and lost, he wouldn’t begin to imagine their friendship had been as potent for her. To say nothing of the way he’d been living his life with the loosest of morals. Her hand was more than he deserved, and she had to have known that. Likely she’d married again by now. Few men could overlook such a woman, and he’d be a fool to assume she would wait for an aimless sailor who had left her as abruptly as he’d come.
Frustration mounting, Haakon nabbed a can of oil from beneath Thor’s workbench. He uncapped it and dabbed grease onto the hinge with his finger. After wiping his skin clean on the side of his pants, he sat again and sharpened the opposite side of his knife. When that was good and done, he bettered two more blades. These knives were rarely kept on him, but he’d have each one well concealed on his person before hiking back to the moonshine still tonight.
But a few hours ago, Sibby had come by inviting the women and children to the Sorrel mansion for tea in two days. From what Haakon had witnessed of Fay and Aven’s recounting of it, the invitation had been graciously accepted. Perhaps Aven was heeding his urging after all. He desperately hoped so. This was the beginning of the end, and he needed her to trust Sibby in full for it to go as planned.
He worked until the dim air marked the time a plate would be ready for him from the kitchen. Cora and the girls were staying over for supper. Peter, too, but none of them would think much of Haakon taking a plate and heading off as he’d gotten accustomed to doing. In fact the added distraction to the family would help him slip out of here unnoticed.
After angling his blade up and down one more time against the stone, Haakon ran the base of his thumb over the warm, sharp steel. Satisfied, he let the wheel still. It was with a strange sense of calm that he folded the last knife, pocketed it, and rose. Having brought his pack along, he set it on Thor’s workbench and through the nearest window spotted Jorgan and Sigurd heading for the house. Supper would be ready, and while Haakon wasn’t in the mood to eat, it would be best to get something in his stomach before he headed off.
He rifled through his pack and fished out the letter he’d written. One he meant to leave in his absence. Should he not return, it would be found come morning. At the latest, in a day or two when someone visited the workbench. Except the trouble with having stuffed the letter into his pack earlier was that he’d also found the six coca leaves he’d stitched inside the canvas while still at sea. Six new coca leaves that were now in his pouch where they belonged.
At the sound of footsteps, he spotted Cora entering the cidery. She carried a plate in hand and a cup in the other. Both she set on the workbench at his elbow while she eyed the letter in his hand. Haakon checked his watch and absently thanked her for the meal. When Cora pushed the plate closer to him, he lowered the letter to the wooden surface that was roughened and stained with a few decades worth of cidermaking. He drank a gulp of sweet tea, then checked his pocket watch once more.
“Have you got somewhere to be, Haakon?”
He looked at her properly but didn’t answer.
“If you’s in a hurry, I can walk with you.”
To deny that he was going somewhere would be a lie, so he dragged the plate closer, forked into the slice of meat pie, and crammed the bite in his mouth. He chewed quickly, then chased it with another drink of tea. “You better get on back to the house, Miss Cora.”
“Nonsense. If you got somewhere to go, I’ll walk with you.”
He shook his head. He was going where she couldn’t. “You need to go back to the house.”
“Well, it too fine an evening for a body to be walkin’ by themselves, so at least let me accompany you to the edge of the yard.”
He’d learned long ago that there was no sense in arguing with this woman when she was bent on an idea, so Haakon scooped one more bite into his mouth and nodded. “To the end of the yard, then.”
After patting his knife sheath and his left pocket to verify the contents, he stepped away from his toiling. He was as ready as he would ever be. Cora moved to his side and looped her hand around his arm.
Her smile was gentle. “I ain’t walked out with a man in far too long.”
“Then you ought to more,” he said distractedly, glancing back to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything.
“Maybe I shall.”
Her head rose no higher than his shoulder, but there had once been a time when he’d been small enough to run into her arms. Small enough to show her the cuts and bruises on his knees and for her to pull him onto her lap for a hug and a trace of her healing salves.
The late evening air was cooler than that in the cidery, and as they edged around the back end of the building, he spotted the first star overhead.
“The last man I walked out with was my Albert,” Cora said as they strolled beneath it. “Did I ever tell you that we met over a row of potatoes? Just two days after he been sold to Jed Sorrel. I was sixteen and he just a couple years past that.”
“No, ma’am, I didn’t know that.”
“Did I ever tell you how long I was a slave for?”
Haakon shook his head. It would have begun upon her birth, but he’d never done the math.
“Nearly twenty years, child.” She lifted the hem of her homespun skirt as they passed over thickening grasses. “Nearly twenty long years.”
His chest rose with grief at the thought of it. “I’m awful sorry.”
She gave his arm a slight squeeze. “That was all them years of me belonging to another. Of Mr. Sorrel ownin’ me and my loved ones by law and liberty. But you know what?”
Their pace slackened as she released his arm. The air around them was dimming, and this was where she’d promised to go no farther.
“I was more free for every one of them years than you is this very night.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean the bondage you keep yesself in. The freedom that marks a soul from the inside out ain’t got a cost that you
can pay. It been done paid long ago for you and for me by a man on a cross. And still ya ain’t takin’ hold of it. You’s less free standin’ on this hill as a white man than my Albert ever was kneelin’ over another man’s potatoes.”
Haakon slowed to a stop.
“Instead, you’s choosin’ to be a slave. You’s walkin through a swamp, cryin’ out in pain, and freedom be right there on the road.” Stepping closer, she squinted up at him. “Have you sought the Lord’s forgiveness for what you did them years back with Aven? Maybe even for other ways you put your own wants above what was right?”
He wasn’t sure. He had apologized to Aven—but while there was so much he regretted, he’d never sought the Lord’s forgiveness. Not directly.
When he stayed quiet, she nodded slowly. “That’s what I suspected. If you’s wantin’ a fresh start, Haakon, then you gotta step into it. It right there . . . and that sweet Aven, she done helped pave the way, but it was the good Lord who cut the road to be walked. So why ain’t you takin’ it? Why ain’t you enjoying the freedom—and a right fine view—from that higher road?”
He swallowed hard.
“I’ve a sense it be due to you not wantin’ to be owin’ to anyone. Not even to a Mastuh as good as the one who died for the savin’ of others. But what you ain’t seein’ is that you’s livin’ by a different mastuh. You be ‘yes, sir’n’ a mastuh of your own makin’. One that can’t offer a shred’a hope and one that sure can’t set you free. Not now and not ever.” Cora reached up and brushed a coil of graying hair away from her forehead. “Do you remember the day my Albert walked with you down to the pond?”
The day Cora’s husband had led him to those murky waters where, with Da watching on with pride, Albert had lowered Haakon beneath the surface with a prayer. Having been baptized as infants, Jorgan and Thor watched from the shore, but upon their mother’s death, Da had never taken Haakon to church. Not until it was some years later, and it was Albert who had offered to see Haakon baptized—“If the boy wants it,” Albert had said.
Daughters of Northern Shores Page 24
