That was why Haakon was sprinting just now.
Though he’d meant to be on time, he’d spent the morning lost in the giant port city that boasted so many inlets; dozens upon dozens of ships had sailed across its waters already that day. He ducked beneath a traveling trunk that was being hefted onto a wagon, then skidded around a pair of mules that waited a lot more patiently than he for the train roaring past. When the caboose dashed by, opening up the road, Haakon ran across the tracks and closer to the wharf that he hoped was the right one.
That’s when he saw the ship. The same one the captain had described. Le Grelotter was painted in fine lettering along some of her boards, and sailors shouted commands to one another as they hoisted lines. The great anchor dripped as it rose. Haakon ran faster.
In his pack was a letter for home, but the chance to mail it off vanished.
He raced ahead, nearly crashing into a cart loaded with sacks. The cart owner shouted at him in French and he shouted back in English, finally skidding to a halt at the bow of the ship where he jumped aboard, panting. The urge to drop to his knees was so overwhelming that he gripped the wooden railing to steady his shaking legs. He’d scarcely caught a breath when someone yelled at him to move.
He ducked as a rope was tossed from one man to another. Haakon turned, searching for a face he might recognize.
“You’ll fare better if you stop looking so lost.”
The voice came from a young man striding toward him. Tall and broad of shoulder, the man was suntanned as if having sailed across the Atlantic more than a few times. He scrutinized Haakon through thin-framed spectacles. This one hadn’t been in the pub. “You the greenhorn?”
“I’m sorry?”
“You the new one?”
“I think so.”
The stranger stepped around wooden crates that kept clucking chickens. Brown hair askew, he crunched the last of a green apple before pitching the core over the side. “Come with me. And thank you, because I just won a bet on whether or not you’d show.”
“I got lost.” Remembering the letter in his pack, Haakon pulled it out. “Is there any place to leave this? I need to get it to my family.”
With a sigh, the man snatched it, jogged back the length of the ship, and called to a group of workers on the dock. With a flick of his wrist, he flung the envelope to someone who caught it.
The fellow strode back to Haakon. “That was addressed, right?”
“Um . . . yeah. It’ll get where it needs to go?”
“Possibly.”
Gripping him by the shoulder, the young man aimed Haakon forward. Haakon glanced back for sight of his letter, but it was as gone from view as the person who had caught it. He supposed there wasn’t much need to worry. What he’d written wasn’t profound. Just a few simple lines to say that he was leaving and that he was sorry. That felt like a weak way to do it. Insufficient in light of what he’d done to Aven, but he couldn’t fight the urge to at least try, and maybe one day he would know how to do better.
“Name’s Tate Kennedy,” the young man said. “I was told you’re looking for Norway.”
“Yes.”
“That’s where I’m bound, so I’ll show you the way.” He smiled as he extended a hand, and Haakon shook it, grateful. “What brings you aboard our fine vessel?” Tate grabbed a length of rope, pulled it taut, and knotted it around a metal hoop that was secured to a part of the ship Haakon had no name for.
“I . . . uh . . . needed to get away.” Haakon ducked when another coil of rope went unfurling past.
The man tugged his knot tight, then moved to form another. He panted as he worked. With a snap of canvas, a sail unfurled overhead. Haakon peered up as more men tugged lines that hoisted it higher and higher and higher. It snapped in the wind and he watched, awestruck.
“What do I do?” he called out.
“Stash your kit belowdeck, and we’ll find the first mate. He’ll get you a task.”
“How do I do that?” Haakon didn’t even know how to get belowdeck.
Tate chuckled. “Lemme finish this, then I’ll show you.” He moved to climb a stretch of netting, and Haakon backed out of the way.
The surface of the water rolled and glittered. Seagulls swooped. A pelican dove for a catch. Otters bobbed on their backs, turning their whiskered faces to the ship as it dipped and creaked over the surface spraying back seawater. The mist of it hit Haakon’s face, and he knew it was just the beginning, this calm, welcoming sea.
Sails continued to rise and ropes slithered into place, all mixed with languages he didn’t understand. Save for one he knew as a memory. A whisper. Norwegian. Two men shouted commands to one another in it as they worked. The burliest of the pair tossed Haakon a line and showed him where to coil it. The man’s thick hands moved in quick precision as he fastened a knot that Haakon didn’t understand but wished to.
The stranger’s hair was pulled back with a leather cord, and his sun-bleached shirt was strained around strong arms. He worked silently with Haakon, motioning to a second line. Haakon knew enough of gesturing to grasp what was being asked. Unfurling the rope, Haakon twisted it around the next iron clip.
The bearded man stepped in again and, without words, reshaped the knot to his liking. When the large man gave a friendly nod, Haakon touched fingertips to his mouth, then lowered his hand in the sign for thank you.
The suddenness of it startled him. What was he doing?
This man wasn’t Deaf. Haakon stepped away, but all he could think of now was Thor and how they had done that same exchange ten thousand times in the past.
Haakon turned to try and lose the memory of his brother.
More desperate was the need when thoughts of Thor brought forward the vision of Aven’s smiling face. Sharper to his soul, her tears. He glanced out over the bay, glad for her sake that there would be an entire sea between them. When it came to his wanting of her, he feared nothing else would suffice. They were married—Aven and Thor. That he knew, for he’d watched from the hillside where no one would see. Grete had been at his side.
Aven was free of him now. She would have her peace.
He could only hope that God would do him the same favor.
Were there any reaches of this sea that were far enough away to escape this guilt? Were there tropical beaches so distant? Icy fjords deep enough to pull him in and tuck him away? Haakon wasn’t sure, but he meant to find out.
Sunlight glistened on the water as the ship gained speed—air whipping by so fast that Haakon almost closed his eyes as he breathed in the scent of freedom, holding tight for what was to come. Wind gusted so powerfully, it was nearly deafening, but over that rose the steady shouts and commands of a herd of seamen all working as one.
Behind, the Virginia port grew smaller and smaller and up ahead, the Atlantic spread out before them—vast and bold. Stunning to behold, but suddenly all Haakon could see were the hills and meadows of home. All he could feel were cool pond water and the prick of blackberry brambles under the hot sun. Could only hear Thor moving about in the great room, loud as an ox as he settled at his chess table. An unfinished game waiting between them.
Haakon cast a glance back to land. Though he knew he couldn’t see home, he strained his eyes all the same, wishing for sight of the mountains where the blackbirds flew. Where Thor had taught him to swim, and in return, he’d taught Thor how to whistle. The place where walls had often trembled with their brawls. Both in play and in anger.
Where Da had told stories of the kings of old.
The place where everything began and the place where everything had changed.
Haakon blinked quickly to push the past where it needed to stay. The ship sailed ahead with such speed that gusts pounded the sails. It was a freeing feeling, the past growing farther and farther behind. The strength of canvas and wood bringing the future nearer. Freedom. He would stalk it until he found it, and even if it was never meant to be his, he would try all the same.