Aven shifted away. So tight was her hold on the boards that her knuckles went white. “Haakon, no.”
A quick call from Jorgan accentuated her plea. Haakon shot his gaze up the dock where footsteps approached.
“Please go away,” she said in a rush.
He heaved out a sigh but pulled himself around the side of the dock, then started up the bank.
Aven clung there. Water swirled all around. How to move from this spot? To her relief, Jorgan looked over the edge and spotted her.
“Haakon!” he called over his shoulder. “You just left her here!”
“Sorry!” Haakon snapped back.
Jorgan reached for Aven’s hand. He helped her along until her feet struck soil.
The world spun as she climbed to the top of the bank. Aven wiped gritty hands on the wet knickers and fought the urge to sink to the grass. Haakon heaved himself into the wagon and sat as far from Thor as possible.
When Aven climbed up to the seat, she nearly stumbled. Thor gripped her wrist, steadying her. His unbound hair was dried from the sun, but the shadows under his eyes had deepened.
A regret she couldn’t make sense of tightened her throat. She thanked him weakly and, settling onto the narrow bench, wished she could become smaller.
Nay, wiser.
ELEVEN
Aven plaited her damp hair into a braid as she left her room. Upon their return from the pond, Jorgan had asked her to meet him on the porch. So while he and Haakon unhitched the team, she’d gone upstairs to change. Best that she couldn’t see the horse barn from her room for she couldn’t bear to look upon Haakon just now. Her mind still stirred from his words. The tenderness his kiss had borne. Oh, what had she done?
With Jorgan awaiting her, there was no time to sit and ponder it.
Downstairs, she pushed out onto the front porch that ran the length of the house. Jorgan sat on the swing, slowly turning his hat in his hands, gaze on the floor. The swing creaked when she took the place beside him.
“You may have noticed that Thor’s under the weather,” he said.
“Aye.”
“He hasn’t had anything to drink today, so he’s runnin’ a little dry.”
Thor hadn’t drank today?
“He’s doin’ it on purpose.” Jorgan used his hat to point toward the cider shop.
Aven saw afresh the boards that had been nailed over the door and windows. Was that the reason behind the board-up? She had thought they meant to prevent robbers. Never had she imagined it was to keep Thor out. “Is he going to be alright?”
“He should be. But the worst of it is gonna take about a week. The next few days will be hardest. He’s already feelin’ it.”
Such a challenging choice this was for Thor. Was he truly trying to turn his back on the bottle? Hope stirred in the farthest reaches of her heart. “What can I do?”
Hitching one leg up, Jorgan rested that ankle on his knee. He gripped the top of his boot with both hands. “Just keep doin’ what you’re doin’. You’re always a help, and we’re grateful. More than we tell you.” With his other foot he nudged the swing forward and back. “Aven, he’s gonna be real sick. He’s gonna be angry and hassled. He’s afraid of these days ’cause of how it went last time.”
Last time?
“When the terrors kick in, it’s different for Thor than for most people. Without being able to hear, reading signs or lips is gonna be real hard for him when he’s sick.”
She never would have thought of that. There was so much of Thor she didn’t understand. A grace that Jorgan was explaining it to her now. Yet gratitude was trampled beneath her sorrow for Thor and all that he faced. All that he lived with.
“Because of that, there’ll be almost no reasoning with him. There will be no use explaining much to him or giving words of comfort. We have to keep him as calm as we can and keep him—and others—safe.”
She looked back to the boards across the shop door.
“Cora’s with him now, keepin’ an eye on him. Al’s here too. For more manpower.”
She was scared to ask what for. Thor’s size and strength were answer enough.
“It’s real important that you don’t go up to the attic.”
“I understand.”
“Thor made me ask you to promise.”
Did he? “I promise. Please tell me what I can do.”
He gave her a brotherly smile—muted and protective. “Just seein’ after him from down here will be enough. We’ll take up his meals and such and be with him through all hours. We’ll all be stretched pretty thin. You as well.”
To inquire into their past with this felt so personal, but it also felt necessary. “May I ask what went wrong the last time?”
Settling his boots to the porch, Jorgan stilled the swing. “No matter what you hear, or see, or how bad it might seem for us—Haakon or Al or even Cora—I need you to stay downstairs.” He looked at her, and she realized that was the only answer he was going to give.
“I promise I will. You have my word.”
It was an oven up here. Gripping the edge of the mattress, Thor bowed his head. Sweat spread along his skin. It made his shirt cling to his back and abdomen. He gave a few quick tugs to try and cool himself down. Even the water he sipped seemed hot. He was tired of drinking it, but Cora had insisted he have at least a few glasses a day. At the rate salty stickiness was beading on his skin, he was going to need it. Using his sleeve, Thor wiped the side of his face.
Cora had taken his pulse, and with worry in her pinched mouth, she wrote down the number before stepping out. She had cause for concern. The way his heart kept speeding up and slowing down was making him uncomfortable. Thor pressed a hand to his chest as someone passed through the doorway.
Cora set a tray on the bed beside him. Next she dipped a rag into a bowl of clear water, wrung it out, and smoothed a cool compress to his forehead. He closed his eyes.
When she rinsed the rag again, he watched her chocolate-brown hands. They were strong and weathered. Shaped by years of doctoring hurts and bringing babies safely from their mother’s wombs.
She’d been there the day he was born. Helping him into this world where they say he squalled with such abandon, the neighbors heard. His cord was so thick, it had taken Cora several tries to sever it. She’d weighed him on the farm scale, and with him two ounces over eleven pounds, Ma shed tears of pride and exhaustion, and Da was so proud, he joked that he was going to take Thor to the county fair for the blue ribbon.
Cora often told him the story when he was a boy. It always ended there.
Because then she’d passed Thor into the arms of a mother who wouldn’t know it was the last infant she would raise. Or that seven years later when Haakon came along, a bout of seizing would pull her into the dark. Taking her from this life just hours after Haakon’s first cries had made her smile.
Cora pulled a small device from her bag and pressed it to Thor’s chest, listening through the other end. He tried to hold still. After a few moments, Cora put her tool away. The rag was still near, and she dipped it into the bowl again. Her lean fingers glistened when she twisted it. After a few more brushes of the cool compress to his skin, she gently touched his arm where the stitches still were. A small pair of scissors glinted as Cora took them out of her medic bag. They occupied her palm unthreateningly as her eyebrows lifted in question.
Thor gave a single nod and to his relief, the stitches came out a lot easier than they went in. She spread fresh ointment over the healing scar and bandaged it snug.
Anxiousness rising, Thor shifted his boots and looked across the room to where Al sat on the other bed. The young man was somber as he watched Thor. Earlier, they’d all agreed not to let Cora in the attic without another man near, and Thor was grateful. He’d already hurt Ida the last time he attempted this, bruising her thin form when she rushed to help during the terrors. When it came to the two women who’d raised him, he couldn’t stomach the notion of bringing them harm. Or any other woman.
He tried not to think of Aven and was relieved that she’d made her promise to Jorgan.