Aven walked the length of the workbench, awing at the sight of dozens of blue ribbons tacked to the wall. The ribbons grew larger and more prominent as the years drew closer to the present. The man was skilled indeed.
“Folks pay well for it, and he keeps us in a good livin’. Maybe too good, because we want for nothin’, and I don’t know that it was the best way for Haakon to grow up. But that’s already done and dusted, I suppose.”
Aven lifted a sheet of paper—noting the rows of square writing and the tidy sums that ran the length of the page.
“Careful where you set that down again. Thor’s meticulous. This is his entire world.” He smirked, and she took care to set it just as she’d found it.
“His world . . . ,” she repeated.
“Yes’m. He couldn’t go to school in these parts, so he was Da’s shadow here since he was just yea high. It runs in his blood the same.”
’Twould explain why the man smelled headier than a pint of ale.
Did they all drink it? Or just Thor?
When she inquired, Jorgan cleared his throat. “I have a share now and again. Same with Haakon. Thor, as you know, is something else entirely. For as much as he consumes, he handles it well. Always has. The man could walk into a room fully stewed and most wouldn’t even know it. If it weren’t for the scent, that is.”
Did he mean that as a comfort? “I only inquire because I was married to someone who didn’t handle it so well.”
Understanding dawned in Jorgan’s face. ’Twas a sobering expression. One of surprise, as if he hadn’t known of Benn’s addiction. Why would he know? A man’s love of the bottle wasn’t a pleasantry passed in letters to distant family. Uncertainty clamoring against all ease, Aven stared out the dingy window to where Ida toted along a basket of clean laundry. If the good woman saw something in these men . . .
Jorgan nudged a tarp aside with his boot, and Aven caught the subtle wink of more glass jars. “Thor. He’s wanted—in the past—to cut back. Maybe he’ll try again now.”
A twinge of curiosity arose as to why he would.
“You’ll see wagonloads comin’ and goin’ plenty. Now and again we get some trouble if we bump in with the wrong sort, but we’ll keep a close eye out for you. It’ll help us if you stay near to the house.” He beheld her as if needing her agreement.
“I will.”
“Folks don’t usually cross us, but there’s rough men in these parts. Some bolder than others. We may have trouble comin’ now that Thor’s hired some Negro boys for the harvest. There’s men around who don’t take too kindly to that. Things are about to get stirred up again. Please don’t wander from the farm without one of us.”
Was he telling her all of this to allow her to decide whether to stay or not? She glanced around the barn. A chill creeping up her arm, Aven ran a hand there. “I promise.”
Jorgan motioned her back out into the sun and seemed to search for softer musings. “I’ll be marryin’ soon . . . by summer’s end. Fay.” His eyes went alight with the name. “She’ll be around before long, so there’ll be one more woman in the house. I think you’ll like her.” He fell in step with Aven as they neared Ida at the wash line. “If you’re here, of course. For now, write up any inquiries for work if you’d like, and I’ll see them mailed off.”
Aven slowed to a stop just on the other side of the hanging clothes. “I thank you.” And in the meantime, she’d do all she could to earn her keep.
FOUR
With an early supper roasting in the oven, Aven climbed atop a stool and smoothed a rag along the mantel. A cobweb in the mounted antlers overhead needed swiping, but she’d need a ladder and didn’t know where to look for one. She climbed down from the stool and dusted the dark-red bricks of the hearth. The rug beneath her feet was charred in places, as if something had caught flame where it wasn’t supposed to. Aven swept lingering ashes into a pan, glad for the kerchief over her hair that caught most of the dust. Feeling a tickle on the end of her nose, she smudged it clean with her fingertips.
The great room befit its name—spanning from the snug kitchen to make up the rest of the first floor. Furniture stood here and there in clusters as though to hold all the lives this house was once filled with. So many hands for much work. And now? The farm seemed quiet and still, the men going about tasks she didn’t fully understand. There were no chickens about. No plow or livestock. Just the pair of mares. Though Ida kept a small kitchen garden, there was little more to tend to other than the orchards, and Aven had yet to see anyone other than Thor walk its rows.
The keeper of the trees . . . and now she knew . . . the maker of the liquor. From what Jorgan had later explained, Haakon saw it all delivered and paid for. Jorgan himself kept the farm running—doing improvements and maintenance so all other things went smoothly. A steady experience that kept everything else looked after, including his family.
Beyond that, the men conducted themselves with care and discretion. A tie of brotherhood she understood little about.
When the fireplace was tidied, Aven moved to the small chess table beside it. The playing pieces rested in odd places, a game unfinished. Rag in hand, she dusted around the board carefully, noting circular stains in the wood from beverage cups. Or mason jars.
Something told her that was Thor’s seat.
She swept beneath the table, gathering up pipe ash and two burnt matches. Ida was out at the clothesline, and smelling the aroma of baking bread, Aven went to check the loaves they’d kneaded together. She peeked in on the six pans in the large oven, the tops still pale in color. Aven closed the iron door and latched it since a few more minutes would do the trick.
In Norway, Farfar ?berg had taught her all he could about baking in the few years she’d lived above his shop. The grandfatherly man would have reminded her not to rush the bread with her constant peeking.
She smiled.
With the supper hour drawing near, Aven checked the roast she’d placed to simmer hours ago. It was tender to the touch, juices rich and bubbling. Earlier Ida had shown her the springhouse and the meats available. They’d stood together in the small stone hut wedged into the hillside. Cold water flowed down its center, and built up on stones were shelves that held crocks of butter, meats, and fancy cheeses. A side of beef. Links of sausages and strips of bacon. Not so much as a hint of wild game, and the speckled eggs Ida had taken from a crate were purchased from a neighbor. As was the milk.
Jorgan mentioned they lived richly. Aven was beginning to sense what he meant.
When the loaves were out and steaming on the table, Ida came in. With a spoon in hand, the housekeeper limped back onto the porch and clattered it around an iron triangle hanging from the eaves. The men came in hungry and none too happy about Ida’s insistence on washed hands and faces.
Aven took sides easily, nudging Haakon’s grubby hand away when he reached for a pinch of tender meat. “ ’Tis the least you could do for a hot meal, aye?”
Spoon still in hand, Ida chuckled. “I’m gonna like having you around.”
Out they went, washing at the pump while Ida filled plates with tender roast and garden vegetables. Haakon returned, wet from the shoulders up as though he had poor aim. Jorgan used a rag to dry his slick hands and forearms. Thor stepped in last. His damp hair was as dark as old leather. He pushed it back as he stepped to the stove, inching around Aven as if uncertain how to be in the same room as her.
Aven wished for something to say to him. Some way to say it. But after her blunder at breakfast and how it had harshened his mood, she stayed silent.
With the other men already served, Aven fetched a filled plate for Thor. When she offered over the meal, he seemed confused about the serving. But he dipped his head in a silent thank-you and took the plate in a hand that no longer trembled with need. Though his manner was gentle, she sensed he was as filled with hard drink as Jorgan had alluded to. So different from this morning, when he’d appeared almost desperate for it. As disheartening a trade-off as she knew.