Reaching under his bed, he dragged forward his box of odds and ends and lifted it beside him. He pulled out a tin with a hinged lid. Inside were trinkets he’d collected over the years. A small river rock he’d gathered on school holiday. Three Mohawk beads he and Jorgan had unearthed in the woods one spring. The eagle feather he’d found on the ridge with Da. Thor sifted through the rest of the items until he saw a glinting piece of metal. His mother’s thimble.
He turned the thimble that was smaller than even the tip of his pinkie. The smooth shape of it reminded him of things forever lost, so he wasted no time riffling through the box some more. He dug until he found an old leather pouch. Thor dumped out the contents, tucked the token inside, and tugged the drawstrings.
Jorgan thumped the box. Thor looked up, and though his brother’s mouth was moving, a wash of dizziness made it hard to understand.
“Haakon . . . wagon . . . time to . . .”
Running his fingers over his eyes, Thor rose. It was time to pick more berries. He quickly shook his head, but it did nothing to right the fogginess that hazed his mind. A final sip of water reminded him of why he was doing this. Of what he was trying to break free from.
Hammer in hand, Jorgan strode out and Thor followed. At Aven’s door, Thor bent and set the pouch in the same place he’d left the photo, then headed on until he was downstairs. Stepping out into the bright sunlight, he squinted—pain shot through his forehead. Thor stumbled and, holding up a hand to the sun, blinked to try and right his vision.
Jorgan looked worried. Haakon, just irritated.
Aven was already seated. Thor climbed into the back, in no mood to drive. He closed his eyes and lowered his face into his hands. The wagon lurched forward, teasing more nausea into his gut. His body knew what it wanted—had been so deeply conditioned that going about the most basic of tasks suddenly felt like pouring water into a sieve and expecting it to stay.
The wagon jostled and jolted over the road. Had it always been this rough? Thor’s misery grew with every quarter mile. When they stopped, he climbed down and dragged out pails.
Aven was chatting with Haakon. Thor carried several buckets into the deeps of the thicket where he could be alone, but he glanced back—unsure if he’d just seen Aven right. She was wearing an old pair of knickers that had to be Haakon’s from years ago and a white shirt covering her that hung to her knees. Cinched at the waist with a belt, the shirt was one of his. He could tell by the pencil lead stains in the chest pocket and the way it nearly drooped over one of her small shoulders.
Her copper hair was pulled up and back. Tied with a strip of cloth, it flounced down her neck in soft waves. Realizing he was watching her longer than was chaste, Thor turned away.
He plucked berries from the hedge until his fingers were stained purple, and thorny scrapes sent his irritation into new realms of unreasonable. Thor drew in a heavy breath that had been one of many. Stretching his neck from side to side, he tried to loosen the tension there.
After a long while, he felt a tug on his shirt. Turning back, he saw Jorgan motioning him over to where Aven had unwrapped Ida’s sandwiches for dinner. His stomach was still rolling, so Thor shook his head.
Jorgan nodded his understanding.
It was all he could do not to hurl into the bushes right now. Bread with cheese was not what he wanted. What he wanted was a drink.
Thor glanced at his stained hands. They were sticky and the same color of the wine he made every year. His mouth went wet with longing, and when the sensation turned sour, he held the back of his hand to his mouth. Closing his eyes, he inhaled the muggy forest air and sent a prayer to God for help.
Sweat slid down his temple. Slicked his back. Caring less and less about berries, Thor headed for the pond. He paid no attention to the others as he strode down the hill. Breeze hit his skin as he stripped off his shirt. Boots went next, and then he plunged beneath the cool surface. After holding his breath as long as he dared, he surfaced into the bright light of day. Thor pressed his forehead against the base of the dock and heaved in air.
Time twisted and bent. Playing tricks on his mind because when he felt stable enough to climb out, Aven was walking down the dock to him. Her bare feet were pale as cream, and he felt sicker and more soiled the closer she came. She smiled, and it made no sense to him. How anything about this day could possibly be good. Thor checked his mood, telling himself that it was just his body punishing his mind.
“Would it be a good time for you to show me about swimming?”
Lowering his head, he pinched his eyes closed. He was stupid not to have told her. It was best if she stayed away from him just now.
Desperate to help her understand, he patted his chest in search of his notebook, but there was only slick skin. He looked at Aven, that eager expression of hers, and wished for the countless time that he could speak.
Instead, he watched as Haakon strode nearer. “I can show you what you want to learn, Aven.” He hopped down to the mucky soil and reached to help her.
She looked back at Thor with a trace of hurt. This would look like a snub to her. Made worse in the way he’d distanced himself the last two days.
Haakon spoke, bridging a gap to Aven that Thor couldn’t fill. “Besides . . . Thor can’t sign and swim with you at the same time, so it’d be confusing. Come with me.” He reached up for her again. “I’ll get ya sorted out.”
“I’m worried for Thor,” Aven said. The poor man looked pale.
“He’s not feelin’ too good.”
Thor climbed out of the pond and strode back along the length of the dock toward the grassy slope.
Sparking to heart was the memory of him across the table earlier in the week. Of his kindness and gentle ways. Yet, though he was becoming more and more dear, more a precious part of family to her, his addiction was a broken bridge between them. One that was nearly impossible for her to traverse. No matter how much she wanted to, she could not build it back up stone by stone. The work wasn’t hers to do because the choice wasn’t hers to make. If he wished it, she would be there to help him, but she’d learned firsthand that—as Cora had said—a man had to want it.
“Is there something that might help him?” she asked Haakon. Perhaps a drink of water or someone to sit by him. The longing arose to do those very things.
“Naw. He’d rather we just leave him alone. He’ll take it easy. Come on.”
Thor certainly looked like he wanted to be alone. Trying to loosen her worry for him, Aven let Haakon help her down.
He pointed toward a stand of reeds. “On the other side of that is another shallow. A pool of sorts.”
She shielded her eyes to better see it.
“We can get to it from the other side but would have to wade through a bunch of mud, and this will be easier. You won’t sink. You have my word. But . . .” The sun glinted on his bare shoulders as he looked down at her. “I’ll have to swim you over there.”
“Well . . .” Maybe this was all a bad idea.
Haakon waded farther out and turned to face her. Water sloshed against his pants. The sight of him made her think of every summer spent in the workhouse. There she had sat, bent over her sewing in the stifling air, dreaming of freedom.
And now it was right here. “Alright.” She stepped closer.
When he explained how to paddle and kick, she mimicked his movements.
Something in his face told her he was trying not to laugh. “I think we’re just gonna have to give it a go. Hopefully we’ll make it.”
“Haakon!”
“We’re not gonna drown. But I can see that’s exactly what you’re thinking. Take a deep breath.”
Aye. Deep breath. Aven reached up to touch the chain at her throat but felt nothing, since she’d tucked her mother’s necklace safely away for the day.
“Jorgan isn’t far,” Haakon added. “I’m a very good swimmer, but he’ll be nearby if you panic. Also, Thor’s a strong swimmer.” He pointed to where Thor sat in the grass above watching them. “And lastly, I’m gonna have to hold you around the waist.” Haakon wet his hands as he motioned for her to come nearer. “Don’t scream or hit me or do anything rash until we get to the other side. Then you can blush all you want.”