Thor stepped close enough to watch.
Peter drew out a rough sketch, shading in the area that was the secret storage space. “With this here portion, the boards are loose, and takin’ them down makes a doorway. Everythin’s in there and sealed up. Nobody can tell that it’s a false wall, not even standin’ beside it. No one knows this hidin’ spot is even there except the family.” Peter paused and wet his lips. He drew in a slow breath and nearly set the pencil down. He finished shading in the section that confined what Thor and his brothers and their future wives had of value.
Aven watched it all, her eyes calculating and her tender heart shining there. Thor signed to Jorgan to ask the women what they thought. It would be just like him and his brothers to act rashly, and this was no time for that.
When Jorgan relayed the request, Fay spoke, saying that she was glad Peter had come to help them. Aven agreed, though she wanted to know what Peter would do now that he’d crossed his family.
Peter set the pencil down. “I won’t be able to go back after this. Once they find out that I told you.” He pushed the paper toward Jorgan with clear resolve. “I been tired of bein’ told what to do and what to think for long enough.”
“Is that what you call it?” Cora asked.
Though Thor would never know her tone, he saw enough.
And in Peter, he saw a young man who’d been carrying around a heap of brokenness. “I’m only sorry I didn’t do somethin’ sooner. And as for—as for your boy . . .” He spoke without quite looking at Cora. “I didn’t hit him but a few times. Pa handed me the pistol, and they was all watchin’. They don’t like us goin’ soft on ’em. But I know that even those few strikes was enough to make me no different than my pa or any other body who acts in hatred, and I’m sorry.” He finally squared his gaze to Cora’s. “It’s not somethin’ I can undo or make amends for, but I’ve hated myself for it ever since. I’m sorry to your son and to you. If his pa was here, I’d be sorry to him too.”
Cora’s eyes narrowed. “And if it’s one of my girls walkin’ down the road the next time?”
“I’d take a beatin’ for them, ma’am.”
“How do I know?”
“Because I already have.”
The room drew still. Not a single mouth moved. Everyone stared at Peter, and though the bruising beneath his eyes had faded, it was suddenly impossible to forget. The cuts and scratches . . . his fat lip. How it wasn’t until recently that he could finally raise his right arm over his head.
Tess had said she’d been uneasy that night in the yard. Thor had since learned from Al that she’d heard footsteps—lots of them—and she’d hurried back inside, but not before hearing the beginnings of a ruckus in the dark.
Ida was the first to move. She stepped forward, took Peter’s hand in her floury one, and asked if he’d stay for supper. “Longer, if need be. That’s my vote.” With that, she turned and walked into the kitchen, mumbling something about a wedding cake to tend to.
Da used to tease her that she didn’t like folks seeing her cry.
Fay’s eyes were wide. Aven’s closed. A softness gentled Cora’s face. Her lashes grew damp, and she gave a small nod.
Peter’s gratitude was clear, yet worry was just as marked. This wasn’t the end for him. To turn one’s back on one’s family was no small thing. To turn one’s back on a Sorrel was another thing entirely. Thor thought of the little girl who’d been playing in the yard with Peter and of his other sisters and mother. How much would Peter be saying good-bye to?
Thor didn’t envy him. But he respected him for standing here.
What did Dorothe used to say? “The Lord will also be a refuge for the oppressed. A refuge in times of trouble.” That had to count for Peter too.
“They’re expectin’ ya,” Peter continued. “My pa and uncles are ready and waitin’ for a fight, and I can guarantee that they’ll give you hell. They got enough ammo to baste you boys good. ’Specially if you show up with a fire under your collars.”
“So what are we supposed to do?” Haakon asked.
Peter crossed to the window and stood there, hands in his pockets, surveying the land. When he finally turned, there was a steady resolve in his voice. “I have an idea, but y’all are gonna have to sit tight for a few days. If you can trust me, I think I know how to get it back. And how to put a stop to all of this for good.”
THIRTY-ONE
It was by candlelight that the men spoke in murmurs around the kitchen table that night. Though Aven wanted to join them, she went upstairs to tend to Fay. The poor lass was weathering this well, but matters of the heart often ran deeper than what met the eye. Especially when Fay’s husband-to-be was polishing gun barrels instead of his boots.
When Aven slipped into the bedroom, Fay turned from the dark window. “He means for the wedding to go on, but is it too much?” On the bed beside her was an open satchel, yet to be packed for her night away at Cora’s on the eve before the ceremony. “A marriage to happen in just four days’ time?”
“It is what’s best. You and Jorgan. Your plans and future should not be set aside because of the selfishness of these other men.” Aven took both of her hands and squeezed tight. “Take heart, dear one. You are on the right path, and Jorgan loves you fiercely. Life is too short to await calmer waters. Let us rejoice for what is to come. Jorgan is surely doing just that with this uniting with you. Even if his manner is somber, I’m certain the burden he bears over this is for the sake of you and your future. If this is a storm to be weathered, you will weather it more strongly together.”
Aven slipped a handkerchief from the top drawer of the dresser, and Fay used it to dry her cheeks.
“Thank you.” Fay dabbed at her eyes, then folded the kerchief tight in her hand. “I must look so silly. It’s not just the wedding that I’m crying over but a worry about everything else. Something feels unsettled. I’m scared for them and the trouble they could run into.”
Aye. She felt the same way. “Then we shall pray. The Lord does not test His children beyond what He thinks they can manage—with His strength. We will pray for the Lord’s strength now. To fall upon this place for what is to come.” Aven bowed her head, searching for the right words to begin with, but to her surprise, ’twas Fay who spoke.
This sweet child of missionaries. Come from so far into this place of sudden unrest. No stranger was Fay to such matters—of that, Aven had no doubt. For as the woman prayed, it was from a heart for a mighty God.
Aven held on to that prayer through a restless night, and she held on to it more as she sat at breakfast amid the subdued atmosphere. As the men conversed and debated, she tried to rest in the assurance that whether they chose to go after the liquor or not, God saw all and knew all. He saw them even now. If what they had was lost, then God would make a different way.
Though she knew Thor grieved the thievery as his brothers did, she sensed in some ways, he had wished the liquor away.
Was this a blessing in disguise? For it to be finally gone?