Something that was a matter of heart. One not inside this envelope.
Reaching up, Aven touched her necklace. The chain boasted neither charm nor jewels, but the delicate weaving of the metal threads was pretty all the same. It held little value to most. She’d learned that the day her mother had tried to sell it for food for them both. The peddler she offered it to had turned his nose up at what was only thin steel, declaring it so weightless, he’d not give a halfpenny for it. So her mother slid it back on and took Aven’s hand. Farther along the road they’d traveled until they’d finally reached the workhouse.
When her mother had died there only weeks later, Aven unclasped the chain from her mother’s neck with the bravest and most frightened hands a girl her age could possess.
She didn’t realize how quiet she’d grown until Jorgan spoke. “How long do you have to decide?”
“ ’Twould be proper to reply within the week so they’re not left to wonder.”
When she set the envelope back on the wooden surface, he rose. “We can mail off your answer on our next deliveries. Or deliver you straight to Lexington ourselves should you decide to go. Haakon could take you in. Or I, or even Thor.”
Aven nodded, but a sting tightened her throat.
Jorgan was the only one who knew of the opportunity, and she didn’t know how to mention it to anyone else. She thought of Thor. Tried to imagine how she would express leaving. He would have a sign for it, but the shape was one she didn’t want to try and make. Nor did she wish to imagine him being the one who drove her away from this place. For him to be the one to lift her things from the wagon and bid the last good-bye in his own silent way.
Jorgan stepped to the door. “None of us want to see you go. I know that’s not fair to say—what with this chance you got—but it’s the truth.”
“I thank you for that. But I wonder . . . if this is the place for me.”
Jorgan leaned a shoulder against the jamb. “Can I ask whatever happened with Haakon? With what he asked you.”
“You know about that?”
He nodded.
Aven drew in a slow breath. “Haakon is dear.” And charming at that. “But I’ve been a wife before.” She understood both the blessings and trials that came with marriage. While she wished to wed again, it was not a decision to make quickly. “I’ve known Haakon for only a few weeks. Longer, granted, than I had known Benn, but the situation is different. I’m sorry to tell you that I married your cousin because he offered to feed me. To take me away from the workhouse—where the infirm and insane and unwanted are left to work for survival inside stone walls.” Where children often lacked shoes and had only meager meals that came twice a day. Sleeping atop lice-infested bedding and even for that they were thankful.
“I was a child when I went there, and my mother died within its walls. ’Tis a miracle I came out in anything other than a coffin.”
Jorgan’s face was drawn with sorrow.
Never had she told them how fragile she was upon Benn finding her. “That life is now a world away, and I don’t wish to marry for necessity again. But for love, like Fay and yourself.”
A resolve filled Jorgan’s face as if he knew the man who would offer her such. “Take your time in answering Haakon. It will be good for him to be patient, and more importantly, it’s only fair to you.” Rain still pattering on the roof, Jorgan looked up to the ceiling, then thanked her afresh for her advice.
When he was gone and with her mind no longer on reading, Aven pulled her sewing near. The black mourning gown was almost transformed into a swimming costume. Only a few more stitches on the waistband to complete it. She threaded a needle as the charcoal sky churned outside. Tipping her work nearer to the window gave enough light to see the stitches. When she reached the end of her thread, she knotted it and took up the spool to cut more.
Would she sew garments for perfect strangers once more?
Her gaze drifted to the letter, but at the sound of heavy footsteps in the hall, she looked over to see Thor step into view wearing a coat and floppy hat pulled low. Her heart lightened at the sight of him, and gone were any thoughts of workhouse walls or marriages of convenience. In its place was a delight she couldn’t ignore.
Looking drenched through, he motioned for her to come to him. Aven stood and stepped to the doorway. Dew was gathered in his beard and he ran a hand there, his other braced to his chest as if clutching something just beneath. A smile lit his eyes, but he made no move for his notepad. He didn’t even try and shape any of his words. Did he want something?
Aven was about to ask when he tipped his head down, sending drips to fall from the brim of his hat. It was strange—standing so near to him and not smelling cider. Instead, it was the musky scent of rain and the richness of the woods that filled her senses. She hoped he could stay fast to this course of sobriety. ’Twas further than Benn had ever gotten, so Aven wasn’t sure what to make of it or what to expect. But she did know what to pray for and that she would continue to do so.
Thor unbuttoned the top of his coat and pulled one side away. There came a soft mewling sound. He angled his body so she could see a tiny face of gray fluff. Peeking out of the front of his shirt, the kitten mewled again. Aven gasped.
Thor reached down and lifted the tiny bundle free. Its little claws clasped into his large hand and he hissed in a breath. Giggling, Aven reached to help him. She took the kitten and eased its paw free from his skin. Thor winced, then sucked the tip of his knuckle.
“Wherever did you find this?”
He pointed back the way he’d come, then gestured the shape of a pointed roof. Perhaps the barn or an outbuilding. With two fingers he made the curving stroke of a cat’s whiskers at his cheek, then he rounded his hand in front of her stomach as if to indicate a pregnant mother. Last, he held up five fingers, touching each one in turn before pointing to the gray kitten again.
“Five of them?”
He nodded.
“And this one?”
He pointed at her.
“For me?”
He smiled gently.
“Is it old enough to be away from its mother?” She nestled the warm bundle closer against her chest. It seemed too tiny to be weaned.
He made a gesture she didn’t understand. As if realizing as much, he reached in for his notebook and pencil. His brow furrowed as he wrote on a page that was wrinkled from the damp. Mother gone.
“Oh no. And the other kittens?”
Cora have.
Never could they be better looked after. “Will you show me how to care for this one?”
Touching her at the elbow, he led her into the hallway. When he released her, she followed him. In the kitchen he pulled off his sopping coat and dropped it on the table. Next his wet hat. Since all would be best hung up, Aven went to take them. Thor shook his head.
“There’ll be a puddle on the table.” She reached for the drenched items again, but he flicked the side of her hand. Next he took up the jug of milk and placed it in her grasp. His way of saying the coat could wait? Well . . . “You don’t need to be such a brute about it.”
Smiling, he fetched a clean spoon, then tossed it with a clatter on the table. He took the milk from her and set the jug down with a thud. He motioned to the stove, and she helped him find a pan. Setting it to heat, Aven drizzled milk in.
Thor tapped her arm. She turned to see him holding over his notebook. Need clean cloth.
She stepped into the pantry to fetch a piece of cheesecloth. The kitten was warm and mewling in her grasp all the while. The near little life, the tiny heartbeat thrumming against her palm was such a burst of joy that Aven scarcely wanted to let it go. She did, though, when Thor reached to take it.