Cora folded the rag again and rested the soft coolness to the back of his neck.
She’d cautioned him against quitting abruptly, and while he knew it was riskier, he’d failed at tapering off in years past. Something about being able to have even a little derailed him. Despite her worry—or because of it—Cora was here now.
Except he couldn’t shake the notion that if she truly wanted to be of use, she’d put something stronger than water in that glass. Unwanted irritation swarmed his mind. Thor pinched the bridge of his nose.
Thumb to the inside of his wrist, Cora held it there for a minute, then wrote another number. Al shifted his feet, looking as relaxed as a man could look in his position. He glanced to the boarded-up windows, then back to Thor. Worry drew Al’s dark brows together. For just reason. The need to tear something apart was putting a crease in Thor’s own brow.
Thor gripped the mattress harder when Cora slid the rag down his temple.
Slow breath in, slow breath out.
She wet the cloth again and pressed it to the other side of his face. A few droplets struck the top of his thigh, sinking through his pants where they seemed to sizzle against his skin. What was she putting on him? Confusion buzzed around the edge of his mind, and Thor jerked his head away. So sharply that Cora froze. Slowly, Al rose to his feet.
It took all of Thor’s strength not to move. Desperate was the urge to push something. Shove something. Break anything to be rid of this sensation. One that ached even into his bones.
God help him, he needed a drink.
Impatience throttling him from the inside out, Thor rose and paced. With a wave of his hand, he motioned them out.
Cora and Al exchanged glances, and she gathered things onto her tray.
Something in the back of his mind told him he should be more polite, but the thought was overwrought with a need to vomit. Ida had placed a bucket beside his bed for that very purpose. He’d be using it before the hour was out.
Thor grabbed up the glass on the table, took a sip, his face skewing at the taste of water. He set the glass aside so fast it tipped over. Liquid pooled across the desk. Furious, he clutched the glass and was about to chuck it against the wall when he stopped himself. Hand shaking, he dropped the cup on his bed and stepped away.
What was wrong with him?
At a tremor in the floor, he looked to see Haakon step in, Jorgan right behind.
Thor drew in a deep breath and hoped he appeared calmer than he felt.
Haakon sat on his own bed and bent to tie a shoelace. When he straightened, it seemed like something was on his mind. Haakon rubbed his hands together. Back and forth. And back and forth.
Sitting, Thor watched him.
Finally Haakon glanced from him to Jorgan. “We try not to keep secrets from one another, so I need to tell you both something.”
An itch at his arm, Thor rubbed it.
Haakon ran a hand down his face and must have spoken in that same instant because Jorgan jolted. The man stood straight as a pole, mouth falling a notch.
“You what?” Jorgan asked, eyes wide.
Thor darted a look back to his younger brother, who spoke again. “I kissed Aven.”
Thor blinked. Rubbed that itch in his arm again.
Haakon . . . did what?
“I’m sorry if that was a stupid thing to do,” Haakon added.
Jorgan looked like he wanted to throttle him.
Haakon? And Aven? Thor went to stand, but he couldn’t. God help him, he was going to stand. He must have managed because the room started spinning, and Haakon rose as well.
Jorgan made the sign for when?
“In the pond. By the dock. When we were all there.”
This had to be part of the delirium. It was already kicking in. There was no other way for it to make sense. This sadness that was overcoming him.
Jorgan’s gaze narrowed. “Is that what you were doing down there?”
Haakon nodded, and when he looked at Thor, something shifted in Haakon’s confidence. It was followed by a wary step back.
“What did she do?” Jorgan asked.
Haakon pointed down the hall to where Aven was, then pursed the fingertips on both hands, pressing them together. He tapped his chest next and made the sign for same.
She felt the same? Or kissed him back?
What did it matter?
Haakon squared his shoulders. “I also asked her to marry me. I didn’t do a good job of it, and I should tell her I’m sorry.” He looked at Thor. “But I also won’t take it back. She seemed surprised, but she didn’t decline either.”
Needing to be free of this room, Thor moved to push past Jorgan, ignoring the sight of Haakon trying to talk to him.
Jorgan stepped in his way. Hands to Thor’s chest, Jorgan braced him. “You need to stay here.”
Thor shook his head and went to push past again, but then Jorgan spoke her name.
Next he signed it. A-V-E-N.
The fight to leave waned. Arms limp at his sides, Thor watched his brother’s hand shape the letters again, more slowly, and Jorgan might as well have been shaping Thor’s ache for her. His sorrow.
Jorgan sent Haakon out, and as Thor watched his younger brother depart, he forced himself to step deeper into the room. Desperate for his jar of cider, he glanced around, but it wasn’t there. Jorgan closed the door and slid a chair in front of it to keep watch.
Palm to his forehead, Thor closed his eyes.
He needed that bucket now. He dragged it close as sickness churned his gut. Bending to await it, he tucked his hands in his lap. A-V-E-N. His fingers shook as he shaped the name his brother just had. Blinking at the floor, a wet heat dampened his lashes. Thor bowed his head and focused on breathing.
It took all the strength he had. Because now he’d loved two women in his life, and Haakon had taken them both.
TWELVE
Counting by twos, Aven moved fourteen pint jars from the bottom shelf of the pantry to the kitchen table. She washed them with hot soapy water, boiled each one, then spread everything on towels to steam dry. Beside the pot of bubbling water sat another pot where Aven scooped out eight cups of sugar. She dumped in a pail of berries, then went out to the porch for another.
She startled at the sight of a young man standing at the base of the steps. Hat in hand, his brow was dewy as if he’d walked some ways to get there. His hair was flaxen and as closely shorn as a field after a scything. Eyes a light brown and unmistakably familiar. The young Sorrel man from church. One of the neighbors who had caused so much trouble for them.
She took a step back.
“Evenin’, ma’am.” His gaze drifted to the collapsed, charred wood crib, then back to her. Unlike before, he didn’t study her as closely and instead dropped his focus to her shoes. “I’m lookin for Mr. Thor.”
“He’s . . . uh . . . he’s in the middle of something. Will be for the rest of the day.”
“Oh, I see.” Though clearly disappointed, the young man’s eyes finally lifted to hers. “Might you tell him I came by? I was wonderin’ if he’s still hirin’ pickers for the harvest. I could use the work.”
Bending, Aven hefted up the bucket with both hands. “I will pass along your inquiry.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” He slid on his hat as he started away.
“Your name, sir?” She couldn’t recall what Haakon had called him.
He turned some. Gave a sad smile. “Peter, ma’am.”
She nodded and watched as he walked back down the road.
Haakon was standing at the stove when she returned to the kitchen, and it was a different kind of startling she felt this time. One that sent a surge of uncertainty straight through her heart. How did temptation and caution collide so boldly in Haakon’s presence?
“Was someone out there?” he asked, the first they’d spoken since the pond.
“His name was Peter.”
Haakon paced to the window. After a few moments he turned back to her. “Did he bother you?”
“No. He was looking for Thor. Inquiring about work.” And honest work, at that.
“Thor’s not gonna hire a Sorrel.”