Daughters of Northern Shores

by Joanne Bischof

  Cora smiled up at him. “You ran the whole way there and was the first one in the water.”

  His eyes stung at the memory.

  “Albert waded in after you, and once he’d dunked you down and lifted you up for your new breath, there were tears in your da’s eyes and a smile on your face like no other.”

  Haakon blinked away a building sheen all his own.

  “And you wanna know somethin’?”

  Desperately.

  “Your da and I . . . We done had this same talk. All them years ago it was him standin’ here instead of you. He promised he’d get you boys back to church, and up until the very end, he did.”

  Haakon’s chest throbbed with the hope that his father had made his peace with the Lord before his death.

  “Much like with him, there always been a zeal about you, Haakon Norgaard. Once upon a time it was for somethin’ good. What might you say it be now?”

  If he were honest . . . “I’m not sure.”

  Stepping nearer, she touched his heart, and if she felt the pouch beneath his shirt, she gave him only a gentle smile. “I been prayin’ since the day you was born that you’d have a zeal for all that was good, and I’ll be prayin’ for you this night.”

  Not knowing what to say, he searched her face that was as loving and sincere as the day he first remembered her.

  “I’ll head on back now.” Reaching up, she cupped the side of his face. “You keep yesself safe now, child, and know that wherever you go, I’ll be prayin’ always. So long as I have breath.”

  Unable to speak, he gave a nod. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she turned away. With dangers about, Haakon watched until she was safely to the house. When she’d stepped onto the porch, he turned away and continued up the hillside. He climbed higher, and his breathing picked up, as did his nerves. It was a good thing he’d eaten only a little. His stomach wouldn’t have handled it.

  When he was a good distance from the farm, Haakon slowed to a stop, placed his hands on his waist, and tilted his head to the sky. Just sighting a few more early stars before closing his eyes. He searched his heart, and though a prayer was there, his words felt insufficient. Instead, he lifted the small pouch from beneath his shirt and loosened the strings. Practiced fingers pulled out the newly discovered coca. He had them all now—lined up in his hand like small soldiers for a battle. But what side they fought for, he didn’t know.

  His pouch still open, Haakon removed the torn Bible page and, with light dimming, unfolded it. Dark was falling quickly so he read with the same haste. A desperation that had been living in him for weeks now, and truthfully, years.

  Really, his whole life.

  With two sides of printed scriptures on the single sheet, he didn’t know which part Tate meant for him, so he absorbed the cluster of psalms in a few blinks, searching for anything that caught his eye. “And as the flame setteth the mountains on fire; so persecute them with thy tempest, and make them afraid with thy storm.”

  He had no idea what that meant.

  But he’d also known the might of God amid a raging sea. He knew a fear of being lost. Haakon squinted in the dim light, and something else caught his eye. “Blessed is the man whose strength is in thee.” Desperate for more, he turned the page over, skimming to nowhere in particular. Night was falling and he could scarcely read. “For a day in thy courts is better than a thousand. I had rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God, than dwell in the tents of wickedness.”

  His eyes lifted up the hill, and though he could see no more of the text, the final words he’d glimpsed moved like an echo through him. “For the Lord God is a sun and shield.”

  An ache pinched the back of his throat. A shield. He needed it. They all did. If he was truly to do this, a hammer was about to fall on their land, beginning this night with his very own life. The sunlit verse fresh in mind, Haakon folded the page in the dark.

  He tucked it away, as well as all the leaves, grateful for the moon that cast its glow along the path. It carved out the way up and the way down, and though the direction was yet for the choosing, this had to be done. It had been less frightening to walk with Cora by his side, but he had her prayers, and that was more a comfort than any numbing he could leech into his body.

  Reminding him that it hadn’t been so long ago that he’d stood on the cusp of another dark night. That one holding not many lives in the balance—only his own—as he’d climbed atop the railing of Le Grelotter. He’d been at sea scarcely a year, and it had taken much less time to discover that there wasn’t a woman beautiful enough or a drink deep enough to drown out what he’d been running from. Not even the coca he’d sampled had brought him enough relief, and so it was with a rush of despair and a plea for peace that Haakon had launched himself over the edge and into the frigid Norwegian Sea. It was the worst choice he could have possibly made, and for God to have waded with him to another sunrise was a mercy like no other.

  The last thing he’d seen in his mind before striking the hull and nearly blacking out was the face of his mother. The very first person he’d wounded.

  She’d have been fifty-four this year. Her dark hair would have been laced with silver, and she’d have had more children to her name. But instead it was Haakon and Haakon alone to stand here now on this stretch of mountainside—his mother in his heart and his father’s courage sliding up his backbone, making it firmer even as his spirit softened with loss and longing.

  She’d have loved Tusie. Haakon didn’t have to remember anything of Kristin Norgaard to know that. She’d have fussed and cooed over her granddaughter, making much of every sound and wiggle from the babe. Though all secondhand, memories of his mother rooted in deep, and though brand new, a hope for Tusie’s future watered it all until there was a rise of determination in his chest that wouldn’t be pulled free. No matter how afraid he was.

  For his mother and Tusie he would do this. For all the others including the good woman who had walked with him to this hillside, he would press onward. He prayed for strength, pleading to God to rally it inside him as he climbed by memory. And he prayed to God to forgive him for the selfish choice he’d made that long-ago night. He was called to do better with the life granted him, and while he was certainly walking into danger, he meant to leave it alive. If God would but grant him another mercy. Should the outcome be dire, he prayed that God would welcome him to peace.

  The moon bloomed nearly full, but so tangled were these woods that the glow wasn’t enough to ensure his footing. Haakon winced as a ripping at his forearm told him he’d stumbled into a blackberry bramble. He pulled the thorny branch free of his skin and sleeve, then veered to the left, finally hearing the call of the creek that would lead to Orville’s camp.

  He almost tripped on more briars but managed to stay upright as he clamored as quietly as possible from the thorny patch. Once clear of it, he walked until the water gurgled down into a quiet pool and in the distance glowed a low campfire. Millions of stars shone down now just as they had done at sea, yet the shadows that stretched long weren’t those of masts but spindly trees. And he had no map for this. No guiding course save truth.

  THIRTY

  SO AS NOT TO STARTLE ONE ANOTHER AGAIN, Haakon and Orville had arranged a signal last they spoke. Picking up two dry sticks, Haakon snapped them in quick succession, then waited. In the distance, two more twigs snapped one after the other. Safe to go forward. He waded through more weeds and into the clearing. Face lit by the light of the fire, Orville’s eyes were small as glass beads while he watched Haakon draw near. The man’s stringy hair fell against his face as he lowered his head to scoop stew from a wooden bowl to his mouth.

  “Thought you’d be here about this time.” Orville gauged Haakon around a strand of hair as he chewed. He raised his bowl a smidge. “Want some? Sibby made it.”

  “No . . . thanks.”

  “You look like you’re about to bolt.”

  Mouth dry, he gulped. “Do I?”

  “If Jed shows,
he won’t be here for a good hour, so you might as well get settled. And for Pete’s sake, breathe natural.” Orville passed over a quart of moonshine.

  Haakon accepted it and, not wanting to take any handouts, flipped a half dollar into Orville’s hand. He would have unscrewed the lid but was too nauseated for anything other than a gulp of air.

  Orville tucked the coin in the band of his hat. Taking up his fork again, he stabbed a bite of meat. “You thinkin’ of changin’ your mind? Ain’t too late, I suppose.”

  “No.” Haakon rubbed at his forehead with the heel of his palm. “I just need to sit for a minute.”

  “Well, ya got plenty of ’em. Did you get word from the sheriff?”

  “Peter brought it just this morning. We’re all clear.” Tucked deep in Haakon’s pack back home was the sheriff’s assurance that neither Haakon nor his men-at-arms would see the inside of a jail cell over the rumble that was about to rock this mountain.

  “Good.”

  Haakon set the jar on the ground beside him, and while Orville ate, he considered their plan. When the void in his stomach became too much to bear, he accepted the tin can of stew Orville passed him. Orville dumped more into his own bowl, scraping the pot clean with a fork. The moonshiner stayed quiet, so when Haakon heard a steady rustling, he surveyed the dark slope.

  “You hear that?”

  “Right on time,” Orville said, then more softly, warned Haakon to keep a level head. “None of this is gonna work if you panic now.”

  Haakon blew out a slow breath and with it forced aside fear. He inhaled determination, because walking toward the campfire were six men. No white robes. No pointed hoods. Just gruff faces and gritty clothing. The man in the center was burdened with an uneven gait, and even in the moonlight Haakon made out a crippled hand. No need to count the fingers. It was none other than Jed Sorrel. His gray hair had thinned with age, but it was the same man through and through. The old general limped on a leg as stiff as wood. His bum knee had to cause a great deal of pain, but Jed didn’t so much as grimace. Behind him lumbered a taller brute. Broad of shoulder, thick in arm, and with a glare fixed right on Haakon. A smirk lifted one side of the man’s wiry blond mustache.

  Harlan.

  The very reason Thor had been so ill and why Aven and Tusie had been in danger. Haakon gripped the rough log beneath him as tension heated his back.

  Finally Jed spoke. “Looks like we got company.” A tattered patch covered his missing eye.

  One of his men pulled forward a pistol, and Harlan hitched a long-barreled rifle up over a shoulder that was just as daunting. Haakon doubted that was how they usually approached Orville’s camp.

  When they all stopped a dozen yards from the crackling fire, Orville waved them forward. “He won’t cause no harm. Just sold him some whiskey’s all.” When the Sorrels didn’t move, Orville tipped up a bewildered expression that was worth its weight in gold. Exactly how much it had cost. “Y’all know each other?”

  Jed’s eyes narrowed, distrust flickering in those dark depths. All the men regarded the general, who finally spoke. “Your brother around?”

  “No, sir,” Haakon said. “But I’d like to speak to you about that.”

  “Sir?” Jed spat. “Sir?” The aged general limped forward. The snap of twigs cracked underfoot, echoing through the smoky air. Jed’s hands grappled with his firearm, knuckles taut around the short barrel as he lowered a fierce glare on Haakon. “You done blown up my barn and nearly kill one of my granddaughters, and now you’re sittin’ here jaunty-like callin’ me sir?” He came all the way up to Haakon, stuck his face in Haakon’s own, and spoke. “Don’t you ‘no, sir’ me ever again.”

  Since politeness wasn’t an option, Haakon went with, “If you like.”

  The back of Jed’s fist smacked a burn across Haakon’s face. Pain throttled his skull, and grateful it hadn’t been the handle of the pistol, Haakon angled away to spit out a shot of blood. All of Jed’s men had guns drawn now. Four were aimed at Haakon, the other at Orville, who suddenly held his bowl of rabbit stew midbite.

  Jed’s single eye bore into Haakon’s, breath rank with sour drink. “How about you only speak if asked a question.”

  Haakon said nothing as Jed took two hitching steps back. The general called for one of his men to bring him something to sit on, and a massive stump was hefted over by none other than Harlan. Finished, Harlan planted a wide stance behind his father, solid as a grizzly and just as mean. So slight that Haakon might have missed it, Harlan rubbed his side—just as Thor had done when in pain. And like Thor, Harlan looked to be mending from whatever illness he’d harbored and passed along. A man couldn’t lift a log that heavy without being near to full strength again.

  A few retorts came to mind about the stunt Harlan had pulled, but they would all be on Thor’s behalf, so Haakon silenced each one.

  Sitting, Jed hitched his injured leg out in front of him, the sole of his shoe nearly worn through. “Now. Why don’t one of you explain to me why we have so much company tonight?” His gaze drilled into Haakon before sliding over to Orville. “And I suggest it be you.”

  Choking down his bite of stew, Orville set the bowl aside. “He came to buy some moonshine.”

  Jed signaled to a cohort, who cocked the pistol aimed at Orville.

  “And he came to tell you something.” Orville pulled his hat off as though reverence would help. That Harlan seemed oblivious to the fact that Orville had eloped with his daughter was why Orville was still alive just now. A bold risk by the moonshiner, which bespoke his fidelity to this cause.

  Jed’s expression never wavered in a stillness not so different than the quiet before a storm. “That so?”

  “Yes,” Haakon said. Everyone looked at him. Well . . . it had been a question. “I came to talk to you about Thor. And a deal you might wanna strike.” He licked the inside of his lip, resisting the urge to spit out the taste of blood.

  “Just seemed a good night for a parley, huh?”

  Haakon nodded. No sense in pretending.

  “Your brother what brought you back to these parts?” Jed asked, and Haakon could see that he wasn’t going to buy an ounce of this easily.

  “Somewhat. I came back for my land—what my father left me. Thor’s been holding it hostage, so . . .”

  “Can’t handle your own fight,” Jed finished.

  He could handle them just fine, which was why he was sitting here sorely outnumbered. “I was just thinkin’ that maybe we could come to an understanding that pleased everyone. Unless I’m mistakin’ that you boys have been after Thor.”

  Challenge for challenge. Like honey to a hive with men like these.

  He could practically feel Cora’s hand to his cheek, pleading for him to be careful.

  So quiet the Sorrels were that the air might as well have drained from the hollow. A stoic kind of calm that was their way of inducing fear. A control they had strived for decades to incite.

  It took all of Haakon’s determination to keep it from working. He wasn’t afraid of the Sorrels, not for himself, but he knew what they were capable of and didn’t want to invite danger onto the farm until it was good and time. Because of that, he needed to be downright clear. “Thor’s staying at the cabin on my land. He’s been unwell so is alone unless I’m there.” They already knew that, but Haakon didn’t want to let on. “I come and go, but tomorrow night I’m headin’ off well before light. Let’s say by two in the morning. Thor keeps a few firearms near, but I’ll make sure they’re cleared away before I go.”

  Orville didn’t so much as move as he spoke, and Harlan’s gaze on the man was just as steady.

  Pulse racing, Haakon continued. “There’s a key to the door, and I’ll leave it in the chinking on the top of the jamb.” He rose, aiming to walk out of here like he owned the place.

  Harlan blinked at him, and the rest of Jed’s men stared with the same blank scrutiny.

  Needing to tip the scales farther his way, Haakon added, “As y
ou know, Thor can’t hear a thing, so getting in unnoticed is easier than it seems. Really,” he examined each of Peter’s kin in turn, “It’s downright simple.”

  Jed shifted and when silence stretched on, Orville rose, fetched two jars of moonshine, and passed them over. Firelight glinted on the glass offerings. Harlan’s study of him mellowed, and he accepted one.

  “And why would you do such a thing?” Having spoken for the first time, Harlan’s voice was deeper than the well he’d probably crawled out of.

  “Let’s just say it’s time some justice was served.” Haakon watched as Harlan unscrewed the metal lid. “As you know, Thor’s the one standing in the way of our liquor production. If he wasn’t around, I don’t see why someone else couldn’t start that up again while ensuring that distribution was . . . better spread.” Someone who knew the ins and outs of it all, even Thor’s production methods. Haakon had worked at his brother’s side for as long as he could recall, which was an advantage few possessed.

  They all understood that Jorgan was too good to betray Thor. But as for Haakon . . .

  These men knew firsthand that he had risked his neck for lesser things.

  “And in exchange?” Jed said coolly as he filled the jar cap with moonshine. He laid the metal ring on the ground between his feet.

  Orville rose and dropped in a pinch of gunpowder to verify the proof.

  “There’s a lot of women and children on our land, and they’d need to stay awful safe,” Haakon said.

  “Sacrificing one ram for the whole flock?” Harlan pulled a brass match safe from his pocket and with his thumb flipped open the hinged lid. “Right shame, your terms, ’cause I rather fancied them ewes of yours.” He struck the match and stepping around his father, lowered it to the dish of whiskey. The gunpowder sizzled and flamed. “That fair-haired one got somethin’ to her. Though the one belonging to your tongue-tied brother is awful fine as well. A little feisty, but that’s its own kind of nice.” He winked.