Though he knew not a word that was spoken, Thor paced but feet away from the leader, gaze pegged to the hooded face that inclined to each of his brothers in turn. Bold as brass, Thor was, but when his eyes met Jorgan’s, vulnerability lifted the center of his brow.
“We—who are but humble regulators—must appease the call to protect property and preserve law and sanctity. For those who observe this, it would be wise to salute the powers and the superiority that is to be deemed with reverence. A notice to be heeded afore the blood is spilled and dried.” The man folded the paper as slowly as he’d opened it and slid it away.
It was silent for several moments, then Haakon called down, “Write that all by yourself, did you?”
Jorgan shot him a warning look.
Suddenly one of the cloaked men shifted toward Aven, angling his hooded face to peer down at her. The white cloth hiding his identity fluttered in the breeze from the open door, stirring the lifeless slits for eyes. Head tipping, he adjusted his stance as if trying to see her better. The man drew nearer, and suddenly Haakon was shouting down.
“Take so much as a step closer, Peter Sorrel, and I’ll blow your boots off.”
The looming figure looked up to where Haakon was still crouched against the wall in the nook of the ceiling.
The beam creaked when Haakon shifted to set his aim. “Or do you think we don’t know you’re the only clod with feet that big in twenty miles?”
The man chuckled darkly and looked back to Aven for such a long while that her blood chilled. Kneeling, he drew himself closer to them, casting his attention upon the little girl who was sobbing now. He reached into his robe, then lifted a gloved hand, seeming about to give her something. Ida pulled the child closer. If looks could kill, she would have put him six feet under.
Finally he rose, dropped a tangle of small spools onto the floor beside the child, and stepped away, then ducked into the night. The other two followed. On their way out, one knocked several photos from the wall, sending them to shatter to the ground. A moment later there was a mighty crash as the table was flipped over along with everything upon it.
When silence settled, no one moved.
Finally, Thor stepped across crackling glass and closed the door. He stood at the window for several moments as if to gauge the severity of the fire. Thor watched it without alarm, his calm affirming that the danger wasn’t spreading.
“They’re headin’ off.” Haakon clicked the hammer of his gun free. He slung the strap over his shoulder before lowering himself back to the desk where he landed with a thud on its top.
The little girl was quieting, her cries nearly hiccups now. “They’s the ones who hurt Al. They’s the ones.”
“Shh . . .” Soft as moonlight, Ida rocked her. “They ain’t gonna hurt him no more. No more.” Ida tried to reach for a nearby blanket but couldn’t.
Desperate to help, Aven rose, but even as she did, Jorgan bid them all to stay as close and out of sight as possible until morning. “We’ve time enough to deal with the mess come sunrise.”
Sunrise. She ached for it.
Ida’s sister fetched blankets from a cupboard, and Aven helped her make a pallet on the floor. Soon, Ida had the child nestled down, stroking that small head of ebony hair. Aven learned that the little one’s name was Georgie. Her older sister introduced herself as Tess. Their brother, Al, sat on the floor watching the windows.
When each of them was settled, several blankets lay unclaimed. Aven looked around for Thor. She fetched a wool plaid to offer him, but he was nowhere in sight.
Haakon strode over to where the child slumbered and touched the tip of her nose, then smoothed her shoulder. An affection that might as well have run blood deep. He checked Tess next and Aven as well, giving the pretty-faced lass a gentle squeeze of the arm and to Aven, the brush of his fingertips just below her jaw. “You got a nasty scuff there.”
“Aye. And elsewhere.”
He smiled as if having witnessed her and Thor’s tussle. She was glad he hadn’t. She looked into Haakon’s blue eyes, but all she could think of was the shattering in Thor’s own. The way he’d made those motions—his plea for her to know she was safe with him. Throat as parched as the hour she’d walked here, Aven struggled to swallow.
Haakon went back to the windows and spoke in murmurs with Jorgan.
Beyond that, the chiming of the grandfather clock signaled the late hour. Bruises now staking their claim, Aven ached with every shift on the floorboards, but never had a place to sleep felt so safe. Never with Benn, and certainly not in the workhouse sleeping quarters. The manor where she had lived as a girl with her mother was a blur of memories—like dried leaves crumbled under time. Each precious, but more brittle with every year passed.
Now she was here, and for these people, this place, she was grateful.
Al grabbed a squat, flat pillow from the sofa and lay on the floor. His gun rested beside him, and though he kept a keen angle to that kitchen door, he seemed at peace.
Her own eyelids heavy, Aven closed them. In the stillness she listened to the gentle whistle of the wind. The comforting sound of footsteps as the Norgaard men bedded down. Barely noticing the quietest of the lot settle in beside her as she drifted off to sleep.
SIX
Always would Aven remember the hour she’d learned of Benn’s death. She’d been out for the evening buying fish, only to return to their flat and a door that wouldn’t open. It took the help of the landlord and his bag of tools before they were able to whittle away the lock, and when they did, Aven stepped into a world that was never the same.
A hot rush slamming her chest, she jolted awake.
Morning was dawning as threads of golden light. Beside her, chest to the floor, Thor lay with no pillow. He had a leg bent up and an arm draped against his face as if to block the day. By the way that broad back was slowly rising and lowering, he was well asleep. Had he truly just passed the night beside her? His nearness confirmed it, but if she was to stay on this farm, she’d do well to look upon these men as brothers. She let her gaze skim back to the nearest one.
The thought would be easier than the doing.
Aven rose and with ginger steps headed to the kitchen. The table had been set to rights hours before, but a vase lay shattered. The air smelled of charred wood and a glance out the window showed the burned wood crib no longer aflame. Tiny puffs of smoke tinged the air from the blackened boards.
All was silent, so it was with soft strokes that she used the broom to work shards into a pile. After filling the dustpan, and with Jorgan’s insistence they all stay near, she fetched a pail from the pantry for the broken pieces. Was this manner of upheaval a common occurrence in these parts? She’d witnessed hatred before, but never in such a precise display. Like soldiers, those men had been. Out to patrol upon this mountain. And now, somewhere out there, women were stirring from slumber after passing the night beside the cloaked men who had stood here under a half-wane moon.
Aven set pan and pail aside and strode to the window, her heart waging a battle. It longed to drift back to that shed and treat Thor differently. But the wish snagged in the treetops because time and actions could not be undone. Only was there the grace of a new day. And just as Ida and Cora deserved a better world for them and their family, those dear women surely sought a better one for Thor and his own distinctions. One where he was seen for his humanness just as they deserved to be.
At the sound of uneven footsteps, Aven turned to see Ida reaching for an apron. Ida gave a sad smile, then set about fishing potatoes from the bin in the pantry. Aven hung up the broom and dustpan. Cora stepped in and, with a soft hymn on her lips, slid a heavy pan onto the stove. Tess joined them and pulled plates from a cupboard. All a gentle rhythm of care and kindness.