“Hey! Squidlet!”
Jerking from his thoughts, Haakon turned to see a stocky sailor storming his way. It was the same one who’d been playing cards with the captain. “This ain’t a passenger ship!” The man flicked a dull-looking knife to Haakon, who caught it by the handle. “There’s potatoes to peel.”
The man strode off. After casting a glance up to the young man who was still busy in the rigging, Haakon followed. The ship struck a rolling wave and Haakon stumbled. “Shouldn’t I be helping with the sails? Hoisting them . . . or something?”
The man gave a gritty laugh. “You so much as touch one of my sails before I say and you’re gonna find out what life is like with just one hand.” Reaching an opening in the deck, he stomped down a steep set of stairs.
Haakon followed into the dim space just as the man told him to watch his head.
Smack! Haakon rubbed his forehead and ducked beneath the beam he’d walked into.
Belowdeck, the rocking of the ship intensified. Planks creaked and everything swayed. The air was stale and reeking. Haakon swallowed hard as nausea struck both his head and his stomach. Made worse at the way a large sailor with stringy hair was cutting the heads off of fish.
Haakon gritted his teeth to fight a sour taste—his idea of heaven suddenly a lot more like hell. Grimy benches sat shoved up against a rough table, and barrels and sacks were stacked in every available spot. The ship swayed again, and Haakon fought to keep his stomach from wringing itself out.
A bucket of potatoes was shoved into his grasp. He looked at them, then back to the sailor who plunged his knife into another fish. The man ripped out the guts and dropped the dripping mess into a rusted pail. Using the blade, the man pointed Haakon to one of the benches just as the sailor who had brought him here started back up the stairs.
“Are you sure this is my job?” Haakon asked.
“Yep.”
“How often will I have to do this?”
“Every day. Morning, noon, and night.”
“For how many days?”
The man turned and strutted back down until his ruddy nose was an inch away from Haakon’s. “Until I say you’re done.”
“How long will that take?”
“Only time will tell, Squidlet.”
“And what if I want to do something else?” The ship rocked and Haakon adjusted his stance, but his stomach was still moving in the other direction.
“Then I’ll inform the crew that they’ll be eating raw potatoes tonight. That will be thirteen hungry sailors who get the bad news that there’s a beardless tadpole on board who isn’t feeling too domestic just now.”
Haakon swallowed hard. “I’ll get to peelin’, sir.”
“I thought that’s what you’d say.” Stepping back, the man smiled, and to Haakon’s surprise, it wasn’t unkind. “Welcome aboard Le Grelotter. Work hard and do not irritate me. I’m your first mate and you will call me that. The captain you will call Captain or Shipmaster. He’s your Master Under God so long as you’re aboard, and if you even think about giving him the sass you just gave me, you’ll be peeling a lot more than potatoes.”
Haakon nodded.
“The ones in the bucket will do for a start. And while you’re at it, you can say thank you.” He nodded to the knife in Haakon’s hand. “There’s your ticket across this water, so gratitude would be sufficient.”
“Gratitude.”
The first mate started back up the steps. “A whole heap of it, I suggest.” Herring gulls swooped over the patch of blue sky, and Haakon squinted as the man climbed toward the sun. “The captain is not your mother, and I am most certainly not your friend. We did not have to let you on this ship. But because we did, you, little Squidlet, are about to see the world.”
EPILOGUE
BLACKBIRD MOUNTAIN, VIRGINIA
NOVEMBER 27, 1890
“This’ll do?” Jorgan asked.
He and Thor hefted the new table to the base of the porch. The men had spent a whole week fashioning it within the open space of the cidery, and just in time for the Thanksgiving feast. Made of clean pine, it was sanded and oiled to a silken sheen.
“Oh, it’s beautiful!” Aven hurried down the steps and smoothed a hand along it. “So fine!”
“And large enough for many,” Fay exclaimed.
Suddenly everyone focused on her. She held up her hands, face pinker than the plum sauce she’d spent half the morning making. “I have nothing to share.”
Jorgan chuckled, and Thor elbowed him.
After gripping one end of the table again, Jorgan nodded toward the house. “If one of you’ll prop the door open, we’ll get this inside.”
Fay hurried to do just that, and with much effort from the men, the table was brought into the great room. Furniture had already been moved about; the sofa nudged nearer to the fireplace—a need for such cold weather. Ida’s rocking chair had been slid to its side. The changes allowed for a table that would hold them all. A place where many family meals could be had.
Ida limped in and dropped a folded lace cloth in its center. “And not a moment too soon.”
With company due upon the hour, they had much to finish. Aven helped Ida spread the cloth, then Fay placed a large jar of autumn florals in its center. Feathery Yarrow, dainty Heart-of-the-earth, and pretty Nodding Ladies’ Tresses with their white bell-blossoms.
The men brought in chairs—Jorgan setting them into place much quieter than Thor. When her husband passed by, Aven caught him by the shirt hem and, giving a gentle tug, nudged him nearer for a kiss. He smiled against her mouth, pulling away a moment later, ever reserved in front of others. When they were alone, well, that was another matter.
Aven smiled even as she fluffed the flowers.
Perhaps a little too cheerfully when Fay tapped her shoe. “And have you something to tell, missy?”
“If you’re asking what I think you’re asking—I must answer no.” Though how Aven wished it were so. For some, eight weeks of wedded life would be cause for a baby to be coming. But for Aven, hope told her that such a wish would take time, if at all. She’d born no children to Benn, even amid two years of marriage. If she was meant to be a mother, it would happen in due course, and if it wasn’t to be, she would better love those who crossed her path.
Fay leaned nearer to whisper, “I must confess that I was being coy in the yard.” Her blue eyes were full of both joy and worry over what Aven’s reaction might be. “It’s too soon to be certain. A few weeks at most. But I’m becoming quite convinced.”
Aven stifled a gasp and nearly knocked over the vase to pull Fay into a hug. “ ’Tis a wonder and a secret I shall keep most carefully,” she whispered. To think . . . a baby in this house. Aven pulled back just as the men returned with more chairs.
Jorgan smiled at his wife in a way that told the secret wasn’t one from him.
Fay hurried to change the course of the conversation. “Perhaps we should splay out the desserts. They’re so pretty.”
“Aye,” Aven answered as abruptly.
Together, they fetched the sweets. Aven brought in the tart she’d baked that morning and set it on the small side table. Made with apples and dusted with sugar, ’twas a new recipe. The last of Thor’s cider was in the brown butter sauce that she drizzled on top.