The Very Virile Viking

by Sandra Hill

  He kissed me! As if he has every right in the world to do so! I'd better he careful or he'll charm the pants off me… so to speak. Oh, God! "Uh…" Well, that was brilliant.

  Magnus smiled some more, as if he knew what she was thinking.

  He couldn't possibly.

  Could he?

  Behind him, Miguel was chuckling. On all sides the vineyard workers were grinning. To the right, Torolf commented to Jogeir, loudly enough for them to overhear, "Whoo-whoo! I guess Father's getting his knack back."

  "What knack?" she asked Magnus.

  "I have no idea," Magnus said, and shot Torolf a glare.

  Before she had a chance to pursue the subject, Miguel diverted her attention.

  "Magnus is a great student, Angela. He asks so many questions. Soon he will know more about the vines than I do," Miguel informed her, laughing jovially.

  Jow raised his lazy head from where he lay nearby, watching the boys work. He had just come back from the hard rigors of chasing the other children at play by the pond and attempting to catch a fish himself.

  She walked the aisles with Miguel and Magnus then, inspecting the vines. There were neuron probes to measure the amount of moisture in the plants, but nothing could take the place of hands-on examination.

  "The Norselands, where I live, are not good for grapes," Magnus said conversationally, as they walked. "It is too cold in the winter and the summer is too short. Still, I have wild grapes that I allow to grow in the fruit trees."

  "There are still some small vineyards in France that do it that way… the ancient way," Miguel said.

  "Miguel and I have been talking about all the similarities between grape growing and simple farming," Magnus informed her, even as he laced the fingers of her hand with his. She was too stunned by his audacity to pull away. Heck, who was she kidding? She didn't want to pull away. It felt so good.

  "Yet each man brings his own expertise and ways of doing things to the land. And each man is different. You have so many horseless machines and other marvels to lessen your work"—Magnus waved a hand to indicate the tractors and aerators beside the fields— "but in the end, 'tis the hand of man that makes all the difference. Without his hands, the land yields nothing."

  She glanced down at Magnus's hands, the one that was free, and the one still holding hers. They were big. And blunt. And callused. Short-nailed. Dirty today from hard work—honest dirt, her grandfather would have said.

  She thought they were beautiful.

  Magnus gazed off into the distance, as if caught in some old memory… probably of his own farmlands in Norway.

  Miguel leaned up to her ear then and whispered, just as he had the night before, "You picked good this time, little girl."

  She wanted to tell him once again that he was mistaken.

  But she didn't.

  The calm before the storm…

  Magnus had never felt more at peace in his entire life. And he had never felt more troubled.

  He was sitting at one end of the big kitchen table, and Grandma Rose was at the other end. Juanita and her husband, Miguel, sat on long benches across from each other near Grandma Rose. Angela sat on his right. All his children were in between, except for Lida, who was in a high chair at the corner between him and Angela.

  They had just finished a meal comprised of rigor-tone-he covered with a red sauce and big meatballs, which was delicious; a salad made up of greens covered with oil and vinegar, which was not so delicious (who ever heard of eating grass and weeds?); warm bread, fresh from the oven, covered with garlic and butter; and two double-layer chocolate cakes, which he and his children had devoured to the last crumb.

  He leaned back in his chair with contentment, gazing about him. Everyone appeared to be talking at once, but not in an unpleasant way.

  Storvald was ecstatic over the glass eye adornment that Grandma Rose had bought for him, after an examination by some eye healer at the mall—a large indoor marketplace. The object, which fit over the nose and looped behind the ears, was called eyeglasses, and Storvald pronounced them a miracle. He claimed not to care how he looked in them. His close-up vision was much improved, and that was all that mattered.

  Grandma Rose had also bought Storvald some paints. So now he could put color on his wood sculptures, as well. Dagny had gotten a water paint set, and she was already showing some talent using it. Kirsten had purchased a palette of face paints, which did not sit well with Magnus, who had asserted, "I am not raising a harlot here." But then Angela had explained that they were just pale lip glosses suitable for a young girl. At least Kirsten had not come home with a tattoo or a body ring.

  "Did you know that children in this country go to school from the time they are six years old—and earlier—till they are eighteen years old? Even girls," Kirsten pointed out.

  "Never!" Magnus exclaimed with disbelief. "What is there to learn for"—he did a quick mental calculation—"twelve years?"

  "Reading, writing, history, math, science… and much more," Angela told him, a puzzled frown on her face. "Surely there are similar education requirements in Norway. Aren't there?"

  "There are not," he declared scoffingly. "Unlike some men, I have no objection to women learning… even learning to read and write, but…" Magnus could see that not just Angela, but Grandma Rose, Juanita, and Miguel were staring at him incredulously.

  "We'd better hope Carmen doesn't bop in for a visit," Juanita said with a chuckle.

  "She'd whack him over the head with her NOW manual," Grandma Rose said, also with a chuckle.

  Magnus continued, despite their obvious scorn for his opinion on the subject. "What is there to learn from a teacher for all those years that cannot be learned from doing? Like managing a household or a farm. Fighting wars. Building ships. Forging weapons. Tell me, for it seems a mighty waste of time."

  "You've got to be kidding!" Angela said at his side, even as she attempted to mop up the tide of red sauce that Lida kept slathering on her face, the high chair, the floor, and everywhere about. "Have you ever been to college?"

  "I think not. Is it near the Rus lands? Or the Orphrey Islands? Methinks I heard of a place there by that name."

  Once again, she exclaimed, "You've got to be kidding!"

  Before he had a chance to react to Angela's comment, Torolf brought up an equally perplexing notion. "Do you know what I learned today, Faðir? In this vast country, they have only one all-king, which they call a press-a-dent. And, although there are many military troops—arm-he, knave-he, mare-eens—they all serve only one chieftain, Mist-her Bush."

  "Is this true?" Magnus asked Angela.

  She nodded, gazing upon him as if he'd grown two heads.

  "And the laws here! Whoo-ee!" Torolf continued. "People cannot purchase an ale or wine till they are twenty-one years old, even though they may drive on the highways at sixteen and serve in the military at eighteen."

  "Who told you such nonsense, Torolf?"

  "Juan Franklin. One of the vineyard workers. He is a student at You-See-Ell-Aye." His son was sipping at his third glass of iced tea as he spoke, a delicious beverage served in this country with many of the meals.

  "They can die for their chieftain, but they cannot have a cold mead at the end of the day? I cannot fathom such illogic."

  He turned to Angela, who was still gazing at him as if he'd grown two heads… actually, three heads now.

  "By the way, Juan invited me to a concert next week in Ell-Aye. Can I go?"

  Magnus was tired of always having to ask what certain words meant. Njal, who sat next to Torolf, saved him from the embarrassment by piping in, "What is a concert, lamebrain?" Apparently lamebrain was a new word he had learned… probably from that Bart Simpson character.

  "A performance put on by musicians, half-wit," Torolf answered, giving his brother a friendly jab in the shoulder. "In this case, No Doubt."

  "No doubt what?" Magnus asked.

  "No Doubt is the name of the musicians," Dagny explained.

&n
bsp; "I saw them on Em-Tee-Vee."

  "Are they the ones who sing 'Don't Speak'?" It was Kirsten speaking now.

  His children were watching entirely too much tell-a-vision.

  "Let me see if I understand you, Torolf. You want to go hear some musicians called No Doubt who want to preach you a song message of 'Don't Speak'?"

  "Exactly!" Torolf beamed at him.

  Magnus threw his hands up in surrender. "You people are demented."

  Lida threw her hands in the air, imitating him, which prompted everyone to laugh.

  Best he be careful what he did around the little imp.

  "One other thing," Torolf said to him.

  Uh-oh!

  "I would like to purchase a Hog."

  "A hog? A hog? I can hardly credit what I am hearing. Must be I have a buildup of wax in my ears. Are you not the same fellow who would have naught to do with the hogs back on our farmstead?"

  "Oh, Faðir, not that kind of hog. The Hog I refer to is also called a moat-or-sigh-call. It is a horseless vehicle, like a car, except it has only two wheels, and it goes at excessive speeds."

  "Nay."

  "Nay?"

  "You heard me, boy. 'Twas bad enough when you talked me into that Saracen stallion last year and broke your leg. I will not countenance your 'galloping' off on a moat-or-sigh-call."

  "I never get what I want."

  Magnus raised his eyebrows in a manner that indicated the subject was closed, and if it was not, Torolf was going to lose some of what he had already gained, like No Doubt.

  "If Torolf gets a moat-or-sigh-call, I want Roller-blades," Njal injected.

  "I would be content with a bye-sigh-call," Hamr said.

  "Can I have a pony?" It was Dagny speaking now.

  "See what you started, Torolf? No one is getting anything, and that is that."

  All of the children glared at Torolf, except for Lida, who drooled red spittle down her chin.

  Grandma Rose must have decided to change the subject, for she asked him, "How do you like the purchases I made today, Magnus?"

  He smiled at the old lady, who had been so kind to him and his family since their arrival. "Wonderful. Did I give you enough money?"

  "Oh, yes, although we may have to make another trip in a few days."

  "Can I go? Can I go?" all his children chimed in.

  "Goo? Goo?" a red-faced Lida asked, too. She had a marvelous new stroll-her device, which would make such a trip possible, not that the little one knew that. She would be just as happy riding his shoulders.

  He and all of his children were now wearing den-ham braies, which he had to admit felt comfortable. On top, their attire varied from tea-sherts to tanking-tops to soft fabric sherts that tucked inside the braies. Lida's garment was also den-ham but it was something called a coverall. Around her neck was a cloth mantle called a bib, which caught all the baby's slop and drool.

  The most amazing thing to him was the fastening devices they used in this land. Zip-hers, they were called. He did not think he would ever be able to explain their workings to his sewing women back in the Norselands. Buttons, on the other hand, were such a simple concept that he wondered why people had not thought of them earlier or why news of them had not spread from this country to his.

  And that was the problem.

  This land—Ah-mare-ee-ca—was more than strange to him. In the back of his mind an uneasiness kept niggling at him. Something was wrong, and he could not figure out what it was.

  It was not apprehension at discovering a new, possibly dangerous land. Vikings, and adventurers from other countries, had been discovering new lands since the beginning of time, though he did not think they had discovered lands so fully populated. He was willing to accept that he had come across an already settled country that no one knew about. Somehow his longship had gone so far off course as to enter territory never seen before.

  But all the marvels that this land held… they did not just boggle the mind—they were unbelievable. Impossible, really.

  Magnus had never been a fanciful man. He'd always disdained the old Norse legends of enchanted isles beyond Greenland and the unknown places north of the Rus lands, but if this Ah-mare-ee-ca did not count as an enchanted isle, he did not know what would.

  That was the problem he had to puzzle out.

  Was this journey a dream? Or was it real?

  Was it permanent? Or would they suddenly awaken back on his longship off the shore of Vinland?

  Why had he been called here by the elderly woman?

  What exactly was his destiny?

  And where did Angela fit into this madness?

  Chapter Eight

  Still calm, but picking up steam…

  Angela swung back and forth slowly on the old swing near the pond, watching her guests with newfound admiration and progressing alarm.

  She admired Magnus for the way he cared for his children. While loudly protesting what a bother they all were, he calmly kept them in line and taught them good life lessons. Right now he was lying on his back in the newly mown grass near the pond with a barefooted Lida waddling around him. Lida was picking wildflowers, which she kept carrying back to him one at a time. Each of them he praised as if they were precious objects and she were the most talented girl in the world.

  Lida had learned a new trick—kissing. Every time someone said the word kiss, she would cheerily place a slobbery smack on lips or cheek or whatever skin surface she could reach. Right now Magnus was saying kiss every couple of moments, which would cause Lida to halt in her busy tracks, turn around, waddle back, give a smiling kiss, then continue on her merry way.

  To give Magnus credit, he was a good father. She admired the work ethic of his children. Dagny was inside helping Juanita clean up the kitchen. Afterward the cook had promised to show the young girl how to make homemade pizzas… "better than Domino's."

  Kirsten was with Grandma, pruning and spraying her prize collection of one hundred species of rosebushes. Grandma—God bless her soul!—had sneaked off to have a cigarette in the potting shed, but Kirsten had found her there and urged her to show her the roses. Grandma might kick the habit yet… and all because of these children.

  Torolf was having great fun mowing the lawns with a tractor, under Juan's tutelage. The wildflowers that were permitted to grow in the grass got cut off in the process, which was a shame, but they would soon grow back.

  Njal and Hamr had been given the ignominious task of picking up Jow's poop in the lawn with small trowels and buckets before Torolf's mowing. Jow had helped them, running to each of the piles and barking loudly. The two rascals had been given that job as punishment because Magnus had caught them smoking one of Grandma's cigarettes that afternoon.

  Now, the poop patrol completed, the two boys— along with Storvald and Jogeir—were playing in the shallow pond, doing more splashing than swimming.

  She eased off the swing and went over to stand beside Magnus. His hands were crossed behind his neck. His feet were bare and planted firmly in the grass, his knees raised. He wore a plain black T-shirt and blue jeans. His hair, which appeared dark blond today in the sun, was held back off his face with a rubber band.

  "Do you like what you see?" Magnus asked, turning his head on his hands to look at her.

  Oh, yeah! "I was just checking out your new duds. You've adapted to our attire already. Are you sure you haven't worn jeans and T-shirts before?" She forced herself to look at his face, and not his tight jeans. All those muscles and bulges. Jeesh!

  He arched his eyebrows at her, not fooled by her diversionary tactics. "Are you staring at my big ears?"

  Nope. It's that other big part that draws my attention, honey. "No, I'm not staring at your ears. For heaven's sake, why would I?"

  "They are my one shortcoming," he confessed dolefully.

  He was actually serious. The fool!

  "From the time I was a youthling, my brothers teased me about my big ears. Do you mind overmuch?"

  "Actually, I thin
k they're rather endearing."

  "Endearing ears? I like that," he said, and winked at her.

  Good Lord, is my heart really pumping so fast just because of a wink? Well, not any wink. I must remember how much I dislike this brute. I must, must, must.

  "Why do you have your hand over your heart?" he inquired in a too-silky voice.

  He knew. The brute knew what effect he had on her.

  Then she recalled something else he'd said. "Your big ears are your only shortcoming? My, my! You can't say that you suffer a humility problem, can you?"

  "Are you making jest of me, m'lady?" he asked, and, quick as a wink, he grabbed her ankle and pulled her down beside him, hard on her rump, then flat on her back.

  "Good work, Father," Hamr yelled from the pond.

  "Go dunk your head, Hamr," his father yelled back.

  "Jogeir gave me a wedgie in the pond," Njal complained.

  "What is a wedgie?" Magnus wanted to know.

  "I did not," Jogeir said, and shoved Njal underwater, which caused Njal to pull him under, too. They both came up laughing.

  Shaking her head at all the unfamiliar commotion, Angela raised herself on her elbows. Lida noticed her just then and rushed up like a tiny Energizer bunny, gurgling, "Goo, goo, goo," and handed her a bunch of dandelions mixed with pink daisies, all smushed together.

  "Oh, Lida, how pretty!" she cooed. "Can I give you a thank-you kiss?"

  The precious darling leaned her cheek forward for the thank-you kiss, a trick Magnus had been teaching her today—probably to remind Angela of his own thank-you kiss the night before.

  She gave him a quick sideways glance. Uh-oh! She saw the gleam in his eyes, the way his gaze lingered on her lips, then made a slow perusal of her body down to her breasts, then back to her lips again. Yep, he's remembering the same thing I am.

  No way was she waiting for him to bring it up. "Darrell called a bit ago. He wants to know if you've had a chance to read the script he express-mailed to you today."