Aven went down the following morning, basket in hand, keeping uncertainties in check. She was to assist Haakon with a trace of handiwork. That was all. Even Thor had thought it a fine idea if she wished it. It would be a relief from her recent idleness, and yet the thought of passing the morning with Haakon was an unsettling one. There had always been something very dangerous to her about Haakon Norgaard. He’d burrowed deep into her heart, but the tender place had never felt truly safe in his care.
They met in the quiet of the kitchen, and it was by the fog of morning that they crossed the yard. Fog so thick she could scarcely make out the sight of Jorgan carrying a portion of hay to the horse barn. Ida limped gently toward the coop, basket in hand. In the distance stood the cidery. Tall and imposing—the massive door still fastened with its heavy bolt and lock for the night.
Haakon offered Aven his arm again, but she assured him she was fine. When the lingering soreness in her ankle slowed her before even leaving the yard, he offered again. His flannel shirt was soft to her wrist as she accepted, but it was the steadiness just beneath that was jarring.
The air in the thick of the woods hung cool and damp. Heavy with each breath she took. They passed the charred remains of what she now knew was their old chicken coop. The one Haakon had blown apart a few years back with a gunpowder concoction. She fought a smile as he assured her that all the inhabitants had been carefully relocated prior to the event.
Her hand stayed snug to his arm as they continued on, and after a few more moments, the trees thinned, the land opening up into a quaint valley where white mist settled sleepy and low. At the far edge of the clearing stood a small cabin. Bent grasses rippled in the breeze, frosted still with dew. While the trees only rustled in the stirring of air, the smallest of saplings quaked and shuddered.
Aven stepped forward as Haakon did. The cabin was aged. Some boards looked ancient while others had been replaced with bright, new cedar. A bird’s nest rested in the gable of the upper window. The frames, while showing their years, housed glass panes that had been recently wiped.
“What is this place?”
Haakon slowed to a stop. “It’s part of the farm. An old caretaker’s cabin. My brothers and I drew straws a few summers back to decide who would get it and which two would share the main house.” Bending, he pushed two buckets up onto the porch, then dropped a dried paintbrush into the top one. “It was probably rigged because we can all agree that Thor and Jorgan would live peaceably together. There’s room for wives and children in the big house. But over time, that would get crowded with three families.”
Aven struggled to make sense of what he was saying. The Norsemen of old lived in communal houses, all gathered with their kinsmen beneath a single roof. While those ancient days were swept away with time, she’d envisioned the Norgaards as the same—wives and children melting into the rhythm of the great house. Something about Haakon’s demeanor said that he had once had the same anticipation.
He nabbed up a stick and tossed it away from the yard. “We just do little things now and again.” He pointed to the porch where a swing hung. “We fixed that last winter. And these . . .” After climbing the front steps, he tapped the nearest shutter. “These were under the porch. A coat of paint perked ’em right up.”
She followed him down the length of the porch. Nearing the swing, she touched the cool metal chain that was rough with rust, and it creaked. “It’s a very fine house, Haakon.”
“Thank you. Here, I’ll show you what I need your help with.” He edged around her and pressed past the door. “So in here”—his voice echoed within the empty room—“is where my problem lies.”
Aven stepped in to find boards stacked off to the side and a broken chair resting in the corner. Curtains hung over the windows in haphazard fashion, and it was to these that Haakon led her.
“This was Dorothe’s doing a few years back,” he said. “But when her health began to fail, I didn’t want to pester her with coming over here anymore. The problem is that they either need to all come down or all go up. Do you think you could finish them? Or if it’s best they come down, you can have the cloth if you want. I won’t need it.”
Aven fingered a curtain. The rod it hung on was splintered, snagging the drapes so they didn’t slide smooth. “They’re in good shape, but it seems like a storm went through here.”
“That was just me. I kept tripping over them. Probably best if they come down.”
“You won’t want curtains?”
He shrugged one shoulder.
“I think these could be set to rights quite well. Maybe not so long, though?” She held up an end. “They could be trimmed back, which might suit you better.”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“Not at all. Let’s see if we can get them down.”
He reached overhead and lifted the wooden rod free from its pegs. With his thumbs, he shoved the snug fabric back and Aven gave a good tug. When they had that length of fabric freed, she folded it and Haakon pulled down more. He offered her a rod to work on.
Sitting in the center of the floor, Aven began to inch the snug fabric from the splintered piece. She bent and folded the hem of the cloth, contemplating how short to make it.
“Does this fashion suit you?” Doubtful, she held up the floral pattern. Elegant curves of red and brown were splayed upon an ivory background.
“Not really. I was hoping it would fade some in the sun. I suppose it doesn’t matter so much. Curtains are more for the lady of the house, right? When this house has a lady . . . hopefully she’ll like them.”
She hoped to bolster him. “There’s much to like about this place.”
“It’s shaping up.” He settled beside her and tugged at the piece she was struggling with. “I don’t think I’ll live here for a while yet, though. We don’t want Thor to get lonesome all on his own up in the attic.”
Sensing—and dearly hoping—that one day Thor wouldn’t have cause to be alone, Aven rose to her knees and fashioned what she needed to ask. What Haakon deserved to say. It hadn’t been so long ago when this man had held her in the water, his heart and words right there between them. “Are you happy, Haakon? Even with the way things are?”
“You mean with my life or Thor’s life?” His brow furrowed as he focused on his task. Something about the look said drapes were the furthest thing from his mind. “I don’t plan to settle down for a while yet.” The bent rod grew straighter as he plied the thin wood between his hands. “If that’s what you mean. And as for happy . . . I think I will be.” He set the wooden rod aside, glancing around at the cabin walls. They seemed to tell stories that only he could hear. “When harvest is over, maybe I’ll get away for a spell.”
She tried not to think of him leaving but had no right to ask him to stay. “You would be missed.”’ Twas a gentle truth. Surely that was alright to say.
He gave her a small smile.
With careful cuts of her scissors, Aven trimmed a portion from one of the panels. “Tell me . . . where would you go?”
“I dunno.” His boots shifted nearer to her—the leather worn but solid. The seams dusty. “I like the idea of going to a different state. Maybe up north. Or another idea . . . something I’ve often thought of is seeing the ocean. Maybe even setting sail somewhere.” Haakon reached into her sewing basket for a smaller pair of scissors and chopped off a thread. “If you’ve crossed the Atlantic, I should probably be able to handle it.”
She placed the trimmed cutting between them. “ ’Tis harder than it seems, I assure you.” Never would she forget the toss of the sea or the pitch of the ship. The exhausting days and terrifying nights. Of seasickness and worse. But also, there had been the sun on the water and hope in the air due to the direction that the sails were blowing them. To a new home. A new land.
“It would suit you.” She recalled the way he’d climbed up to the beam in the great room. How he’d balanced atop it to aim his gun. The way he never backed down from a standoff. How he faced life with little fear. ’Twas a grit that he had, and it would serve him well amid gale and storm. “However, you’d have to learn to listen to your superiors. I’ve never known a sailor to get by well otherwise.”
“I’ve had a lot of practice at that.”