For Aven herself—just as the softest place of her desire had become Benn’s, he’d taken himself from this life. Such realities had taught her that a woman’s heart was best bundled up and hidden away. But ’twas a path that brought little hope. Surely even Ida dared to dream. And if Aven knew anything about the aspiration inside her, ’twas that her mother would have as well.
And now? This new life? Her own courage to love was small yet, just spreading its blossoms toward the sun. She’d meant to keep such yearning safe. Tucked in the dark and coiled tight. But for weeks now, and without a single spoken word, Thor Norgaard had been its unfurling.
TWENTY-FIVE
“Oh aye, the ivory ribbon is bonny.” Having pinned up Fay’s hair, Aven arranged the bow above the blonde twists. With one last hairpin, she secured it. “Jorgan won’t know what to do with himself.” Aven winked as she edged in front of Fay to adjust the strap on the delicate chemise Aven had lent her.
After Fay’s confession to dressing plainly for all of her twenty-nine years, Aven had jumped at the task of upending that. Even if just for an evening. Earlier that afternoon Fay had shown her the nicest frock from her trunk, a dress as modest and humble as the woman herself. A dark-blue wool with black velvet trim that harkened back to wartime fashions. With Fay’s displeasure scarcely concealed, Aven had assured her that they could spruce the tired garment up.
Aven picked up the dress from the bedstead and draped it over Fay’s head, careful not to muss her hair. Fay helped tug it down. Cropping the long sleeves had allowed Fay’s slim, delicate arms to show, and Aven had created sleek darts in place of outdated gathers. The trimmings from the sleeves had been just enough fabric to fashion flounces that brought a happy blush to Fay’s cheeks as the finishing touch.
“It’s an utter shame that you won’t be coming.” Fay’s soft, blue eyes further declared the sentiment. “Are you sure you don’t want to come along?”
“I’m sure. Aside from not having a ticket, this is an occasion for partners.”
“Perhaps if Thor were to go with you. He certainly has a ticket.” Fay winked.
Aven helped her settle the capped sleeves into place. “He was quite the champion in learning to waltz, but I fear he was miserable. A quiet evening at home will be much more to his taste.” A true answer, aye, despite her hopes that he might have asked her. She could have posed the notion herself but had never rallied enough courage.
Ida’s voice came through the closed door. “Jorgan’s asking after Fay.”
Aven swung open the door and gestured toward the very woman with a dramatic hand. “Have ye ever seen anything so lovely?”
Ida clapped. “Oh, if you ain’t a sight in full feather!”
Not used to such attention, Fay pressed palms to her cheeks as if to cool their warmth.
To think of the hours to come and the delight Fay and Jorgan would share. Aven only hoped Haakon was as eager for the event, but when they went downstairs where he stood in the open doorway, ’twas clear that he was not as pleased as his oldest brother. He glanced from Aven to the ceiling where Thor had tucked himself away in the attic.
Was their staying behind the reason for Haakon’s misgivings? Aven tried to shrug off the wondering. She’d do best not to fret over his frequent shifts in temperament. Haakon had been paired with a young lady who would no doubt shower him with admiration this night. Perhaps good medicine for the young buck who seemed to sink into his darker moods more often of late. With one last glance at Aven, Haakon followed Jorgan and Fay to the wagon. She and Ida wished them a fine evening and soon, they were gone.
Ida’s sigh was as melancholy as a lone bird’s song. Aven looped her arm through Ida’s and gave a tender squeeze. They stood there, watching the dust settle and dark draw nearer.
Finally Ida kissed Aven’s cheek. “ ’Spose I’ll turn in.”
“So early?”
Ida peeked in on the supper keeping warm in the oven. “I’m awful tired tonight.” She closed the iron door and proceeded toward her room, not looking the least bit tired.
“What should I do about Thor’s supper?” Aven asked. “He’s made himself scarce.”
“Oh, he’ll make himself unscarce.” Ida opened the door that led to her bedroom at the back of the kitchen. “But he can fend for himself. You enjoy your evening as you wish.” The way she said it brought the word meddlesome to mind.
Aven smirked as the woman left. Hungry herself, Aven set about filling a plate. She brewed two cups of tea amid the chirping of crickets. A check into the pie safe showed a plate of cookies. She slid them out and onto the table. Next she tested the roasted vegetables, giving the pan a swift jostle before closing the oven door again. She heard Thor stepping down from the attic. The creaking of boards stilled when he paused.
A moment later he went back up.
Perhaps she should leave a trail of bread crumbs to coax him from his room.
A few minutes later he came down, fastening the button of one of his sleeve cuffs. The shirt looked clean, and his hands were freshly scrubbed. There was a roughness about his tousled hair, yet it hung just tidy enough that she knew he kept after it. Thor stepped nearer, attention on the food, and the longer they stood there, on anything but her.
Aven didn’t move until he braved a glance her way. She smiled, and he nodded a reserved greeting. Oh, she should stop torturing the poor man and just give him his supper. She hitched the iron door open and pulled out the pan of vegetables.
He brought over a plate, and if the gentleness of his manner were words, she would have heard please.
Aven forked tender ham in the center and smeared on sauce. Thor pulled a crusty piece of bread from the basket. After fetching the tea she had steeped for him, Aven touched his arm.
Thor regarded the steamy drink, then frowned.
Dandelion root, it was. A remedy to fortify his liver, and Cora had insisted he drink at least a cup a day. Though the tea was bitter, he brooked no argument as she settled the mug into his hand. He glanced from the table to where her own drink sat, then into the next room. He seemed uncertain of what to do with himself.
Perhaps to make it easier for him. “Might I join you in the other room?” Dinner in hand, she added two ginger cookies to her tea saucer and balanced it all.
He offered none of his usual tells except to step that way. Aven followed and perched on the edge of the sofa. Dotti was spread across the back of it, purring gently. Thor passed by and, with a pinch of fingers, turned the lantern up so the room brightened. He sat at one end of the chess table. The opposite chair he nudged back. A request for her to join him? When he glanced at her, Aven realized it was so.
A pleasing notion at that. She moved there, wanting to offer a kindness in return. She thought to the reverend’s daughter and all the poor dear was missing—the presence of a fine partner. Aven drew Thor’s attention, then spoke. “It is my gain tonight . . . your company.”
The side of his mouth tipped up.
Aven turned her focus to her meal so as not to make him too nervous. A small space beside the board gave room for her plate and steaming drink. Taking up his fork, Thor speared a slice of meat. Aven nibbled the end of a ginger cookie as she eyed the chess pieces. They were disorderly, a match in progress, but Thor started to arrange everything back to the starting point. He ate another bite, then gestured with his fork toward the board. When she didn’t move, he dipped his head toward the game, then tapped her hand nearest it.
When she still didn’t move, he took her hand and closed it around a playing piece. Ah. She was to go first. Aven scrunched her nose and tried to make sense of the right maneuver. On a whim, she chose where to set the figure down.
Thor shook his head and put the piece back. Drawing his finger across the board, he showed that it was meant to travel a diagonal.
“Perhaps this one, then.” Aven fetched a pawn since she knew what it was called. She slid it up a space, and his only reaction was to do the same with his own. Except he moved his two spaces and reached across the board to do the same with hers.
“Thank you.”