How many times had Thor entered this building? Beyond count. He pressed the key into the iron lock, turned it with a click, then shimmied the padlock free. After sliding the heavy door aside, he entered the soaring space that felt as still and hollow as a cave. Having been bound up for over two weeks, the aroma of cider struck him like a speeding train. Thor sucked in a breath. His brothers exchanged glances.
Stepping farther in, he looked from the rows of glass jars to the carefully aligned barrels with their chalk markings. Thor walked the length of his workbench, not touching a thing. When he reached the end, he paused before the blue ribbons, seeing Da’s more than his own.
The floor shuddered. Thor looked over to see that it was Haakon who had stomped.
“What are we gonna do?” Haakon asked. “The debt . . .”
Thor hadn’t figured that out yet, but there had to be another way.
Hands in his pockets, Jorgan strode the length of the vast barn. He motioned to the product and faced Thor before speaking. “This all holds a high price, Thor.”
Aven sought his attention. “I’ve an idea.” She moved to a shelf and pulled down a dusty jar that seemed heftier in her small grasp. “There are recipes that call for flavored liquors. Jams and jellies. Even sauces.”
He arched an eyebrow.
She hurried to continue as if sensing his skepticism. “You see, when liquor is cooked, it loses its potency. Becoming delicate enough for even the littlest of children to eat.”
Haakon leaned against the workbench. “So you suggest we boil out what Thor has spent years perfecting so it can be baby food?”
“Exactly. Wait, no.”
Thor smiled. Curious, he rolled a hand forward for her to say more.
“In Norway I spent time helping the baker who leased his upstairs flat. He made different glazes with mead. Since it has a honey flavor, he drizzled it onto ginger cookies and almond cakes. Once he even made a mead sauce to pour over a pork roast. ’Twas marvelous.”
Moving to the workbench, Thor shuffled around for something to write on. Finding an invoice, he folded it on the blank side. Next he nabbed a pencil. This you make? Know how make?
Aven nodded quickly, her eyes bright. “It’s not hard. If these recipes were to be made and jarred, you could sell them in place of hard drink. Perhaps even set up a farm stand closer to the road to procure income. People would come.”
“Who’d watch the stand?”
“You could,” she answered Haakon. Her hands moved in excitement as she spoke again to Thor. “Different recipes could be distributed to local shops, or beyond the area. Sold at the county fair. With some experimentation, I think we could come up with a great many . . .”
Her words blurred, so quick she spoke. Thor tapped her arm, touched his mouth, and gestured slowly with his hands, hoping she’d understand.
“Sorry.” She gulped a swallow. While her speech wasn’t as rushed, her eagerness was as vibrant as ever. “We could create many more concoctions. Dressings to pour over greens. Perhaps a sauce to be drizzled on ice cream or custard. Maybe the cider could be baked into breads. If these items could be sold—who knows what may come of it.”
Thor felt a smile lift one side of his mouth. How he loved her.
Haakon straightened. “And what’s gonna pay the rent while you’re in the kitchen making apple-cider bread?”
“Sell the coming harvest as it is.” She peered between them all. “Sell it by the bushel load. Folks around here could use apples in their larder. Set a price for them to pick their own share, saving you the labor.”
“They’re cider apples,” Haakon cut in. “Most are poor eatin’.”
“Then press those to sell the cider fresh.” She looked back to Thor. “Why ferment it?”
He wrote quickly. Go bad, not ferment.
Her countenance fell as she took the paper from him. Stepping nearer, he wrote more, gripping her wrist to steady the folded page. Maybe possible.
“Truly?”
It meant using different methods, but if kept cool and sold off in short fashion, it could be done. He’d just never put any effort to that way because the payoff was significantly less per acre.
Jorgan pulled a stool closer and straddled it. “I like the idea, but fresh cider won’t make half as much, and we’ve got the lease to think about.”
In a twirl of her patchwork skirt, Aven left. Thor turned to his brothers. Lacking answers, he expressed as much. Jorgan confirmed his understanding.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Haakon said.
Thor pointed to himself, then hooking a finger struck it down for need. He signed time, then tapped a finger to the side of his skull. He just needed a chance to think . . . if Haakon could be patient for once in his life.
Aven rushed back in. Her cheeks were pink and her hair windblown. She hurried all the way up to Thor, lifted his hand, and opened his fingers. Shock rushed through him even as he peered down at her freckled nose and rounded ears. He dropped his gaze lower to see her pressing a flash of gold into his palm. A thick coin.
He tilted it to the light of the window. It was a twenty kroner. Norwegian gold. Why was she giving it to him? It was worth way too much to her. Shaking his head, Thor went to hand it back, but she closed his fingers around the coin again. The rough grooves of the coat of arms pressed into his skin.
“Yours.” She glanced to Haakon and Jorgan, then back to Thor. “All of yours.”
TWENTY-ONE
Through the bedroom window, Aven spotted Thor walking eastward. He had been scarce the last two days. Ever since the cidery had been opened. He seemed to want to keep busy anywhere but on the farm, and she didn’t blame him.
But even when he was around, his eye had been so hard to catch that there had been no chance to even smile a greeting. ’Twas the weight of the world on his shoulders. She could see it in his dogged stride even now. If that weren’t enough, over breakfast Haakon had mentioned the upcoming dance, emphasizing Thor’s need to learn his right foot from his left. No wonder the poor man made himself scarce.
At her feet Dotti was lapping up a dish of cream. Across the nightstand was spread a mess of papers. Lists of recipes Aven was imagining. Though in the midst of jotting notes for cider marmalade, she rose, stepped over the kitten, and closed the door. Aven hurried downstairs before Thor vanished as he had done the day before and the day before that.
She didn’t begin running until she’d rounded the corner of the house to see him nearly gone from sight. She hurried down a shallow hill. Oblivious, Thor trudged onward.
When he glanced to the side, it must have brought her into his line of vision because he slowed and looked back. His eyes widened.
She slackened her pace to a stroll. “May I walk with you awhile?”
He nodded, then took the lead and pushed a branch aside for her. His hair was unbound, the dark twists of it clean but tousled as usual. Each of his steps was loud. No care taken for quiet placement. Aven followed behind, feeling both lost and safe. Liking each in equal measure.
At a fallen log, he climbed over, then reached back to assist her. Her fingers vanished inside his, and never had she felt so steady as that single, blessed step. He released her and pointed up into a sprawling tree. Shielding her eyes from the peeking sun, she saw what looked like a tree house. An adventurously run-down one.
“This is where you are headed?”
He nodded.
Weathered boards had been nailed up the trunk as a makeshift ladder and looked nearly as aged as the tree itself. Thor climbed the first rung and, giving a small bounce, used his weight to test each one. At the top, he motioned for her to follow.
Aven called up, “Are you planning on being there awhile?”
He pinched two fingers close together to show just a little.
“Perhaps I’ll wait for you to finish.”