Standing atop the press, Haakon turned the long, wooden arm that twisted everything into motion. Grete paced around the contraption, tail aflutter with excitement. Haakon called to his brothers for more lard. They slathered on fresh handfuls until the wooden pillar was well streaked.
The handle of the scratter hadn’t stopped being cranked all morning, and now the pickers lugged over bucket after bucket of ground pulp. There would be fresh cider by days end, if not in mere moments.
Thor set a slatted, wooden frame onto the base of the press and spread cheesecloth over it. The lads layered on pulp. Once covered, that cloth was wrapped up and another frame set over it to repeat the process. Not wanting to miss the grand moment, Aven headed down. Her steps were hindered but she gripped tight the handrail, and sweet victory came when she stepped outside and the crisp air wrapped her in a delicious gust.
Thor replaced Haakon atop the frame of the press. He turned the rod just as his brother had done—one side at a time—cranking the wooden bar around and around. The rotations bore down on the screw, compressing the pulp-filled slats. A few bees buzzed around the press, eager for the sweetness. Thor grunted and tugged the screw a rotation lower. Juice squeezed from the frame. It ran down a spout that filled buckets as quickly as the other men could swap them out. At the grinder, Al turned the handle while Fay and Jorgan dropped in bucketfuls of wet apples. It all ran with such precision that Cora and Ida were able to sit back and observe. If Cora was bothered by Peter’s presence, she didn’t let on.
Tugging her shawl snug, Aven joined the women on the porch steps. The rod continued to pivot as Thor’s grunts grew more strained. Using his shoulder, he wiped at his forehead, clasped the rod, and turned it again. He did that only once more, then let out two sharp whistles. Jorgan climbed up to stand opposite him and gripped the free end of the rod. Together, they cranked it with double the force. Juice gushed from the press. Tess and Georgie strode down from where they had been in the garden. In Tess’s lean hands was a basket of green cabbage heads. She set it on the steps beside the women, and Aven watched as they all began peeling off leaves. Ida fetched a board and knife and showed Aven how to cut the stout leaves into shreds.
“What is this for?” Aven asked as she worked.
“Tangy cabbage.” Then louder, “Soon as Thorald brings us some of that fine cider.”
Thor spotted Ida but his brow furrowed. Ida waved a cabbage leaf overhead. He grinned. He hopped down, fetched up two buckets, and carried them over. One he gave to Ida and the other he set on the steps. After pacing into the house, he returned with an armful of jars and placed them in a long row across the middle step. He counted them, then tallied all who were around and went back for one more jar.
Gripping up the bucket, he sloshed cider nearly everywhere but into the glasses. Thor shook his wet hand and offered a jar first to Ida, then to Cora. He made sure that everyone had one before taking the last for himself. Grete crawled forward to lick at the damp step.
Thor clanked a jar with his brothers, then with all the others. Last, he tapped his own to Aven’s, gave her a wink, and using his glass, mimicked a drinking motion. There was an expectancy in his eyes as he waited.
Aven sipped and it was heavenly. “Ohhhh, that’s good.” Tangy and sweet—the product of a year’s worth of work. As she had been on a ship bound for America, he had stood among his trees as the new spring buds unfolded into promise. And here she was by God’s grace. Able to share in it today.
He shaped several words to her.
Ida helped. “Said that Dorothe used to sit here with us and do this very thing.” She dropped a handful of cut cabbage into the bowl.
Aven’s heart warmed at the thought.
Thor took a hearty gulp, and Aven felt a sudden twinge at the memories of him with more potent brews in hand. With such a claim difficult to conquer, his temptation would surely linger. In fact, she was certain it did, and she respected him all the more because it was a daily choice he was making to overcome.
Cora took another drink. “Best yet, y’all. Best yet.”
Thor’s head dipped in thanks. Even Al and the lads looked proud. Peter drank his cider, peering at the juice in between each sip as if to make sense of how something could be so good.
Over the course of the morning, the next buckets were poured into jugs and sealed. Fay stood at a makeshift table that had been set up in the shade of the house. With a damp rag, she wiped each finished jug and Jorgan carried them two at a time to the cidery.
While Ida minded her pot of steaming cider and cabbage, Aven tidied up scraps of the leaves from the porch. She filled her apron with the trimmings and carried them all to the new chicken coop. One that was now inhabited thanks to Jorgan’s recent visit to a neighboring farm. Despite every effort not to limp, Aven’s steps felt far from graceful. After nudging the coop door ajar, she tossed in the offering. The chickens startled, then began pecking at the thin, green trimmings.
Haakon strode up behind her. “Ida’s askin’ for you.”
“Oh, thank you.” Aven closed the door and stepped away. Seeing her effort, Haakon offered her his arm. She took it gratefully.
Hands that were nearly as broad as Thor’s, circled together, chafing a rough sound between work-worn palms. Even Haakon’s shoulders seemed thicker and more spread. Had he grown over the summer? She’d believed him past such years, but when Aven tilted a second glance his way, she could no more deny that Haakon had developed a brawn to rival any man than she could deny how raptly he was watching her. His eyes were such a startling blue that even the sky overhead seemed the wrong color.
“You’re walkin’ better,” he said as they crossed the farmyard.
“Aye. Nearly mended.”
“Will you walk with me tomorrow? If you’re able?”
“I’m sorry?”
“There’s something I want to show you. Something that I could use your help with.” They reached the porch steps and Haakon released her arm. “Go for a walk with me tomorrow, Aven.”
She laid a hand to the rail. Several responses came to mind, all springing up from her reservation of being alone with him. She meant not to lead him on or cause Thor any wondering about her attentions.
“Please,” he added. “It’s just a short ways. I really do want to show you something, and I promise you’ll be back before you even realize you’re gone.”
“Might you tell me what it is?”
“That would ruin the surprise. Please. It’s not far. Jorgan and Thor and I spent a lot of time working on it. Usually in the winter or spring the last few years.”
Jorgan walked across the porch and must have overheard, for in passing he said, “You haven’t seen it yet?”
“Seen what?”
But Jorgan had already entered the kitchen and was striding through. His manner was so untroubled that perhaps she need not worry. Perhaps she was overthinking this.
Haakon gave an easy smile. “It’s a house, Aven. One my brothers and me have been fixin’ up over the years. Come with me, and bring your sewing basket. There’s a project I need your help with. Really.”
Aven took each step higher and, with little pain, turned to Haakon and gave what she hoped was a sisterly smile. “If I’m able.” Dipping her head, she slipped into the house, feeling those brilliant eyes on her all the way.
TWENTY-NINE