He hefted a crate out before the wagon had even come to a complete stop. While there was no great rush with dusk ending the workday, he meant to check on Aven again.
Inside the shop, Peter stood stock-still, scrutinizing the vast interior. The shelves loaded with jars. Filled casks. Peter’s gaze shifted to the many windows as he assessed something. Thor set the crate down harder than he should have. Peter looked at him and headed back out.
When the wagon was empty, Thor bid a good evening to the pickers and headed for the house. He cast a second glance at Peter, who walked down the road with a weary, dogged stride. What Thor wouldn’t give to know what would be said among the Sorrels tonight. He tried not to think about it as he climbed the stairs, forcing himself to trust his gut with the boy. If the Sorrels meant to cause trouble, they’d manage no matter what he did. They always had.
In the kitchen, Thor started for the stairs, but Ida signaled that Aven was asleep. Thor came back and accepted the plate of supper Ida handed him. He was so tired, he scarcely noticed what it was. It was good, though, and it filled a void he hadn’t realized was clawing for attention. He meant to ask Ida something, but only when no one else was around.
By the time he finished eating, the kitchen was empty and night had fallen. Time had passed like a thief. Had he fallen asleep where he sat? His plate was gone, the dishes washed, and a twinge in his neck confirmed that he’d sat that way for too long. Thor stood and stretched his neck from side to side.
He ached for his bed, but with this rare chance to catch Ida alone, he knocked softly on the housekeeper’s door. The floor barely shuddered with her light footsteps. He and his brothers had never been inside Ida’s room. They made it a point to give her strict privacy, and it had always been that way. Her room was a world they scarcely knew, but when she opened her door, Thor glimpsed a brown-and-black quilt on the wall, a tintype of a dark-skinned soldier on the nightstand, and an open Bible on the bed.
The Lord had smiled down on them the day she’d come here.
“Figured I’d just letcha sleep.” Ida tugged the strap of her robe snug. “Thought I’d find ya in the same spot come mornin’. Y’all did a right fine job today. With all of it.”
He offered his thanks in return for everything she did, day in and day out. Would now be the time to ask for more? He pointed to himself, then shaped need help with question. He pointed toward Aven’s room and fingerspelled her name. How best to phrase this? Learn speak question, me. For Aven he would try. Just four words—surely it couldn’t be impossible. You teach? With nervous hands he conveyed what that question would be. The one a man rightly took a knee to speak.
Ida’s eyes glistened with joy. Leaning forward, she squeezed his hand, and there was a pride in her face that humbled him. “You come find me this time tomorrow and we’ll start the first word.”
With one arm, he pulled her near and squeezed her thin frame tight. She patted his chest and he left her to rest. Upstairs, he was just passing the middle room when Fay stepped into the hallway. She bore a small basin filled with water in the crook of her arm and a flickering candle.
“She’s asleep now,” Fay said to him with ease, which was rare for someone he didn’t know well. He liked that about her.
Thor nodded his appreciation and headed to the attic stairs. He followed them up to find a faint glow from a candle, though Haakon was nowhere in sight. Seeing an open window, Thor looked out to find his brother sitting on the far edge of the roof. Just as they’d often done as boys.
Gripping the window frame, Thor pulled himself through. A spark flashed as Haakon struck a match. He lit the end of a pipe that Thor hadn’t noticed. It was with several quick puffs that Haakon drew in smoke and blew it back out. Exhausted, Thor settled down on the shingles and thought some about what he needed to say. After Haakon’s confession of his tenderness for Aven some time back and Thor’s request to Ida just now, it was only right Thor give the same clarity.
The words knotted in his mind when he thought of stating them, so Thor went with the simplest approach. He shaped Aven’s name, grateful for the moon that was almost full. It lit his hand enough for Haakon to see. Before Thor could finish, Haakon looked away.
Thor thumped his brother’s arm because he needed to know this. Love A-V-E-N. Thor finished by touching his chest. It was both a desire for her and a decision to care for her. Sliding his hands together, he signed fervent so Haakon would understand just how much.
After a few moments, Haakon freed his pipe and offered it over. Thor declined. Was that it? Or did his brother need a chance to ponder? Not wanting to rush him, Thor waited as Haakon peered overhead. With a raised hand, he seemed to be counting the stars. Haakon stopped at just three. The row that made up the story of Odin’s wife.
Da had told them that in this country the same stars shaped a belt that belonged to the hunter Orion. While he’d always taught them to put faith not in the Viking gods but in the God who had cast every star across the sky, Da had still woven the fables for them. His way of teaching them of their ancestors. And Da had often pointed out that line of three to them, perhaps because his own wife was as distant.
Thor knew some of that sharp longing. Having wanted a wife for a good many years, it had become harder and harder to be alone. While he wouldn’t deny that young ladies had occasionally caught his eye in years past, it was Aven whom he sought to give his life to. It was more than taking a wife for love and comfort. It was about leading, cherishing, and protecting her. A great responsibility and one he felt the Lord equipping him for. He struggled to express that to his brother, but when he finished, Thor knew Haakon had followed along, even in the dark.
“So will you take Aven as your wife now?” Haakon asked.
Thor certainly wanted to. But he was still gauging how best to proceed with her. When he signed that, Haakon seemed surprised.
“She hasn’t accepted yet, then? I mean, not officially?”
No.
Haakon tapped his pipe against the roof, then used the heel of his boot to tamp away the ash. He rose to a crouch, bracing himself with a hand. “Best of luck with it, Thor. Truly.”
Not certain of what to make of that, Thor nodded, then watched as Haakon skidded to the edge of the roof. He climbed down to the banister of the porch below as they had so often done. And just like as children, Haakon was gone into the night.
TWENTY-EIGHT
A fire crackled in the hearth each evening. A welcome addition to the cool of nightfall and a reminder that winter was not far behind autumn. Though the crisp evenings beckoned for them, Haakon didn’t tell his fables anymore. Instead, he was more and more distant. Usually pulling a chair into the corner where he kept busy oiling his boots or untangling fishing line. He made little conversation except for that which had to do with the harvest.
Rarely did he ever sit completely still. There was a restlessness within him, and it seemed to be growing day by day. A distance that Aven felt in all ways but one, because it was there that she often felt him watching her when he thought, perhaps, that she didn’t notice.
By the start of the new week, the swelling in her ankle was much lessened. While the bruising had mellowed, it still smarted to walk on, so she took ginger steps wherever she went. To be up and about was blessed relief, even if Fay and Ida insisted she not do much.
The two women had seen to the laundry, so Aven tucked the folded items away. She was just in the attic putting Thor’s and Haakon’s things where they went when a clatter sounded from outside. Aven moved to the window. There in the sunny yard, Jorgan and Thor were greasing the mighty screw.