Thor didn’t move.
He just watched the young deer lower his face to the ground, sniff, and look back up. Wind stirred the grasses between them, rippling the dried meadow as waves. All glittering and hot this September day. Thor touched the trigger, let the pad of his finger find its place, but still he didn’t raise the rifle. Part of him wanted to aim and fire, but more of him wanted that stag to take a step back. Turn away and bound down the hillside. What that creature did was out of his control, so Thor controlled what he could.
He pulled his hand away and just savored the few minutes he had of watching the young deer. When it was gone, Thor’s senses kicked in and part of him regretted letting such a prize get away.
A small part of him.
The springhouse was filled with meats, and it was a kill he needn’t make. Really, he’d come here to get away—hunting being an excuse. If he trudged home empty-handed, that was alright by him.
Thor hauled his pack near and dug inside. Ida had packed him some bread and jerky. The bread had been sliced down the middle and slathered with blackberry jam. Aven’s jam. Thor licked his thumb clean, getting the first taste.
Leave it to Ida to meddle even from afar.
Famished, he went to take a bite when something else in the distance caught his eye. Two blonde heads bobbed into view, a pair of women climbing the hillside. They strolled slowly, burdened by heavy-looking baskets. A second glance showed the baskets loaded with apples. It took a few seconds for his brain to lock and load on that.
Apples.
If their direction was true, they’d come from his orchards. Thor stood. He’d left Jorgan working on the chicken coop, and with Haakon’s mind who-knew-where, it would have been easy for the women to slip along the far acreage and glean what they wished.
With the women nearer, the one in front spotted him. Her feet slowed to a standstill so abruptly the woman behind her nearly stumbled. In moments, they were both looking at him. The second went to walk on again, but the first stopped her as if willing to face whatever consequence was coming. Having no idea what he was about to do or how to express it, Thor headed toward them. The gun he left behind.
He ran his hands together, nerves rising. He wasn’t good with strangers. Trying to communicate with them was rarely successful because people put little effort into understanding him. The first woman watched him—both boldness and worry traced across her features. He approached unhurriedly so as to send no alarm. Thor gave a friendly nod.
She dipped her head warily in return. With fine lines around her eyes and mouth and threads of silver lightening her already-pale hair, she looked to be in her fifties. The one behind her was just as tall and slender, but only a few years past girlhood. Hair as fair as the rest of her kinfolk.
Sorrel women. He’d bet anything on it.
And now that he was thinking about it, the young one was called Sibby. Probably short for something fancier, but he didn’t know. A speaking man would greet her mother as Mrs. Sorrel, the head of the female roost. There were other daughters as well, and wives who had married into the family. Lots of children. Enough to take up several pews if they all were in church, which was rare.
As if knowing that caught was caught, Mrs. Sorrel set the basket at her feet. Thor stepped close enough to glimpse inside. Easily three or four dozen apples in the one. How long had they been stealing from him? He knelt and dragged the basket nearer. It was his right to confiscate it, but all he could think of were the children. The skinny beanpoles from the toddling stage and on up. Children who likely didn’t know that the fruit they’d be eating was a few weeks shy of ripe.
He glanced at Sibby and knew hunger when he saw it. The Sorrel men weren’t using their income on family provisions. Certain he knew where it was being funneled left Thor with a rock in his gut. Not that selling the Sorrels liquor had been his intent, but turning a blind eye had been a choice all the same.
With a tip of his head, Thor motioned for the ladies to follow him. He walked to his pack, set the basket aside, and dug among his things. He found a second sandwich that Ida had made and handed both over.
The older woman glanced from the offering, then to his face. Anger sparked in her blue-gray eyes. “What’s that gonna cost?” She shifted some in front of her grown daughter.
It was just like a woman who did without to believe that everything had a cost. He wouldn’t even dream of touching her daughter and hated the notion of her having assumed otherwise. Thor shook his head.
He shook his head once more as he handed over what Ida had made. When Mrs. Sorrel didn’t take them, he set the wrapped meals on top of the apples and hefted up the basket again. Mouth set firmly, Sibby watched with eyes that looked older than her years. Thor couldn’t begin to guess all that she’d seen or experienced. On her left wrist were small bruises in the shape of fingerprints. Her mother bore bruises of similar fashion on one side of her neck.
Thor motioned for them to follow. They did, at a distance.
The climb took all he had left. When he reached the top ridge, he was panting again. The Sorrel farm was just on the other side of those trees, so the women wouldn’t have much farther to go. Rarely did Thor ever come here. Not to the home of the men who marched into their yard bearing torches. The ones who’d been brutal with Al and would likely not stop there. Thor glanced to Sibby again. Was she the one Al had smiled at?
After striding a few yards nearer to the stand of trees, Thor set the basket down. The women lagged behind. Sibby stumbled, spilling her basket. Thor hurried to help her. He picked up the fruit and placed each one with as much care as if for his own use. Wide-eyed, she watched him. He lifted the basket, settling it in her grasp again, then made the sign for more by tapping the pinched fingers of both hands together.
She shook her head. Trying again, Thor knelt. He grabbed a stick and wrote the word. Both women read it. He pointed to the apples. When they still looked uncertain, he pressed both of his palms to his chest, then held them out to try and show the act of giving. It’s what Da would have done. Was it not Da who had taught them to look after those who were less fortunate?
To Thor’s shame, he and his brothers hadn’t given much thought to the Sorrel women and children. So it was with humility now that Thor made the gesture again, pointing to the apples, then to the word he’d written in the dirt.
Mrs. Sorrel’s forehead crinkled in surprise, and he knew she understood.
Thor gave a small smile. If he was too friendly it would just frighten them, so he stepped away. A touch at his arm halted him. The older woman was holding out a small box of matches. She spoke, but he hadn’t been watching. Touching his lips, he rolled his finger forward—hoping she’d repeat herself.
“I found these in the grass.” Though they were no longer of high society, her speech looked genteel, words shaped with the slow, delicate cadence of a Southern belle. “Are they yours?”
He accepted the box. Dipping his head in gratitude, he started off. Downhill was easier than the walk up, so he made quick time. He didn’t glance back until he got to his pack again, and when he did, the women were gone.
Thor sat and pulled his things near, then fetched his pipe. He stuck the end in his mouth, struck a match, and lit the tobacco. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, then shook the flame out. He had fire again, so he could get through for a day or two fine. If he picked off a rabbit or small game, he’d have supper, and while he was finally in the mood for some hunting, that would have to wait. He needed to get back to the farm—and the sooner, the better—because he finally knew what he was going to do. He was going to pay the Sorrel men a visit.
But first, he had to break some bad news to his brothers.
TWENTY