Sons of Blackbird Mountain

by Joanne Bischof

  Settled on the wagon seat, Aven straightened the skirt of her mourning dress. Beside her, Haakon drove in easy silence. She reached up to hold Dorothe’s wide-brimmed straw hat into place, grateful for the shade on her Irish skin, and glanced back to where Jorgan and Thor sat in the bed of the wagon, legs stretched out, boots crossed. Thor had an arm draped over the sideboard and seemed more interested in where they had been than where they were going. A rifle sat beside him, his hand resting atop it.

  From the east came the smoke of a distant cook fire and from the south, the hum of bees in a thicket. The wagon ambled down the road, dipping through a low creek. When it turned at the nearest bend, Aven glimpsed a glittering pond where a dock cut into the water. Beyond that, fields of dried grasses stood still in the heat.

  The dog plodded along beside the wagon, her brown head glistened in the sun. Aven had learned that her short fur was as silky as it looked. Jorgan had introduced her as Grete. While the dog often followed anyone around the farmyard, the hound seemed to favor Haakon best. Always there underfoot as he went about his day, or laying near whenever he was still.

  Haakon broke the silence, asking Aven if she knew where they were.

  She smiled. “Somewhere in Virginia.”

  Haakon chuckled. “Botetourt County. Not too far out of Eagle Rock—one of the finest little towns there is. There’s a checker tournament every other Friday night at the old schoolhouse. And you just missed the monthly quiltin’ bee.” He winked, then shifted the reins to a single hand. “And, of course, you’re on our land. Well, it’s sort of our land.”

  “We’re still on your farm?” They’d driven for some time now.

  “Yep. It’s just over three hundred acres. ’Bout a third of it’s orchards, then there’s some cabins to the east. Most of ’em are pretty run-down, but there’s one near the west side of the farm that we been fixin’ up. Just a stone’s throw from the house, really. We’ll show it to you sometime.”

  He pointed in the other direction. “Over this way is where Cora and her family stay in a cabin that her husband made real nice before he passed.” Haakon pointed in another direction. “Up that way is the Sorrel farm. The men who were here the other night.”

  Aven shielded her eyes to look that way, but before she could focus on the distant hills and woodlands, Haakon pointed in a new direction.

  “Some other neighbors around too, but we get along real peaceable. There’s a couple of ponds here and there. Other than that, just fields and forest.” He leaned a touch nearer. “Da used to say that a long time ago, the god Thor was in a fight with three giants. Thor, Odin’s son that is, not my brother. Though I suppose that’s possible as well.”

  Aven smiled again.

  “As the story goes, the giants were a force of destruction so fierce that they meant to turn the land to ruin.” He pointed eastward, voice soft for her. “But Thor fought valiantly and in the last blow, he brought his hammer down with such might that it not only scattered the giants, it shaped that valley.”

  “ ’Tis so vast.”

  “Yeah. I wandered it once when I was a kid. But I got lost, and Da found me two days later. He dragged me home and made me spend the rest of the week diggin’ a well near the river. Told me that’s what a man looks like when he’s a fool.” His blue eyes shone a fondness that the hard lesson learned was a dear memory now.

  Aven could nearly imagine their father—as braw and bristly as these sturdy Norwegians—pulling them onto his knee for tales and guiding them through life as best he could.

  “And how did your family come to be here in Virginia? Dorothe made mention that she left when the potato famine reached Norway. Did your parents arrive then as well?”

  “Naw. They came sometime later, just before Jorgan was born. Dorothe was in North Dakota at the time and came to live with them here. Help jostle babies and that sort of thing.”

  “ ’Twould seem she had her hands full with it.”

  He smiled.

  The horses clomped down through a wooded grove. Cheery birds called out to one another as they flitted from limb to limb. The road narrowed, and with a command to the horses, Haakon slowed the wagon. When the wheels stilled, he hopped down and helped Aven do the same.

  “Thank you,” she said as she righted her skirts.

  Thor unloaded buckets. His brothers set to helping, and before Aven could even reach for one, Thor was handing her a pail. He motioned her forward and she followed him.

  “Start anywhere you want,” Haakon called out, pointing to the thick and thorny brambles that spread every which way.

  At the nearest bush she freed a plump berry that was so warm and moist, juice dripped from it. So tempted was she to pop it in her mouth that she gave in. Heavens, that was good. The next berry slipped from the stem just as easily, and she placed it in the pail. The brothers set to picking. Handful after handful, they all gleaned. Never had Aven seen berries so hearty and plentiful. In mere minutes her bucket was brimming.

  With the air stifling, she ruffled the hem of her skirt, stirring a breeze against her stockinged legs. Sweat dampened the black fabric of her dress to her chest. Since the men had long since shoved back shirtsleeves and loosened collars, she unfastened the lace at her own throat. Aven fanned her neck, grateful when a slight breeze moved through the woods.

  Underbrush crunched as Thor stepped nearer. He worked quick and steady, large fingers freeing berries with practiced ease. His eyes were focused on his task, and he breathed louder than the others. Aven smiled at the endearing way.

  Thor lifted a prickled branch and loosened a cluster of fruit. There seemed a rightness to this work for him. A sureness and satisfaction. Perhaps it was the way he took the lead, his brothers heeding his wordless commands. The men’s focus was such and the quantity of buckets so ample, Aven sensed this was no casual picking. Doubtless, Thor would be concocting something a lot stouter than jam in that shop of his.

  She tried to ignore the sorrow such a notion lent as she lowered a handful of berries to the top of her mounded pail. She’d agreed to help so here she was, but to think of the tender fruit becoming hard drink upended the gratification of the task. Especially with memories of Benn and the hold the bottle had had on him. The sorrow it had spread over their lives.

  Haakon carried over two buckets, giving her the one that was already half full.

  With her mind having slipped to life in Norway, ’twas no surprise that her gratitude came out as, “Tusen takk.”

  Haakon looked at her. “Huh?”

  Straightening, Aven used the back of her wrist to swipe her damp forehead. “Do you not speak Norwegian?”

  “Not really.” He stepped around her, and when her skirt snagged on a thorn, he bent to free it. “I can say our names like I was born there.” He stood. “Yurgan,” he pronounced for Jorgan. “Then there’s the mighty and loud and sometimes clumsy Tur.” Last, he spoke his own name, just as it was said in Norway for the kings of centuries past. “Hohkun. I can also say potato lefse. But that’s it.”

  Aven chuckled.

  “Da spoke it well but not often. Little that I remember. Thor, he reads and writes it, but I never took to it. Just seemed a waste of time.”

  “And what of your mother?” She knew nothing of their parents except from the glimpses she’d gotten of the photographs in the great room; it seemed Haakon had his father’s light eyes and locks while Thor had their mother’s dark hair. “Did she speak it with you? There’s a lullaby that comes to mind . . .”

  “Not to me.” Gaze to the ground, he kicked aside a cluster of branches with his sturdy boot. “You’d have to ask Thor or Jorgan. It shouldn’t surprise me that you speak it.” He cleared his throat as if trying to rally himself. “You lived there for a few years?”

  “Nearly four. I only know a little.”

  “What was it like? For you and Benn?” He yanked at a green shoot harder than necessary.

  “Like?” she asked weakly.

  He shrug
ged as if it were easier for them to wade into her deep waters than his own. “Where did you live?”

  “In a fishing village called Henningsvaer. Benn was a boat builder.” Aven slid the bucket between them with hands as smeared purple as Haakon’s own. “We leased a flat above a bake shop. I have eaten many a potato lefse.”

  Now it was his turn to chuckle. She was glad, as it seemed to tip his mood back to the happier sort. His nose and cheeks, lightly freckled, retained a touch of boyhood, but when he rose to stand beside her, she saw afresh that he was as grown a man as the others.

  “You’ll make it for me sometime?” Haakon asked.

  “Would you like me to?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Then I shall.”

  He smiled again and it was the dangerous sort, for with such a handsome face, ’twas a captivating concoction. But he sobered as he carried both buckets off, and Aven remembered the twinge he’d shown at mention of his mother.

  At the washtub, Haakon dumped out the berries, then asked Thor if they could be done. Thor’s back was to him as he picked from a brimming patch. Haakon nabbed a small stone and hurled it at Thor’s boots. Thor flinched, then looked over, a shadow darkening his face.

  “We done now?” Haakon asked sharply.

  Oh, she’d struck a sharp chord indeed.

  Ignoring his brother, Thor turned back to his work.

  Jorgan spoke to Haakon. “Why did you have to do that?”

  “Sorry. Can we go swimming now?”

  Jorgan didn’t speak. Hefting up a pail, Thor carried it to the washtub and dumped it in. He took his time. When he finished, he strode to Haakon and gripped a meaty hand to the back of his brother’s neck. Thor gave a firm squeeze. Haakon lowered his head. A stern affection that seemed to put Haakon in his place, but when the young man nodded, it also bound the rift between them.

  Thor stepped back and loosened the bottom button of his white cotton shirt. Followed by the next. His answer, then.

  Suddenly nervous, Aven averted her gaze. The temptation for swimming was beyond bearable. No wonder Haakon had all but pleaded for it. Having grown up within the walls of the manor, she didn’t know how such a diversion was done. Never had she been allowed to wander far from the grounds. She was certainly not allowed to play with the master’s children. Was swimming something that was segregated between the sexes? She sensed it to be so, but it mattered not, really. Buoyancy was something she’d never learned.

  Aven headed toward the wagon. She would wait in the shade and rest her feet until the men had their fun. Yet at a quick whistle, she turned to see Thor motioning her toward the pond. He meant for her to follow?

  Confused, she shook her head, but he motioned again before turning away. Thor strode to the edge of the water where he pulled off his boots. His socks went next, then the last buttons of his shirt.

  Aven didn’t realize she was staring until Jorgan strode past her. “Don’t worry. I told them to be on their best behavior. Come on.”

  Thor pulled his shirt free and tossed it aside. He started toward the dock, back strong and solid beneath the late-afternoon sun. She’d heard many a tale of the Vikings of old—but never did a man rush those stories to mind so vividly as Thor Norgaard. Shed of everything but his wool trousers as well, Jorgan spoke something to his brother. Thor’s accompanying laugh was so deep and free, Aven couldn’t help but savor it. ’Twas unlike any sound she’d ever heard.

  Though she had no intention of shedding an ounce of her wardrobe, to dip her feet in the water would be sweet relief. With damp soil paving the way to the pond, Aven paused to unlace her boots and peel off her stockings. The cool earth was an instant reward.

  She glanced around for sight of Haakon but saw nothing other than woodlands stirring in the soft breeze.

  Sinking its roots deep beneath the pond was a mighty tree. A long rope dangled from one of the aged branches. Jorgan jogged down the dock, gripped the rope, and swung out over the water where he splashed beneath the surface.

  Grinning, Thor pulled the rope back again. After a steadying breath, he ran down the dock just as Jorgan had done. In a burst, he launched himself off the edge. Gripping tight the rope, he arced out over the water. He swung his legs up, head down, then let go, flipping backward into the pond with a mighty splash.

  So this was swimming.

  Aven treaded down the grassy slope where a short drop-off separated her from reaching the water. She looked around for an easy way down but saw none, and her attempts to scale the little cliff would no doubt send her tumbling. She settled on the grass instead. The distance was just as well, for she felt unstable surrounded by water and the wildness of their play.

  After a contented sigh, Aven nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of Haakon whooping down the hillside behind her. He yanked off his boots and socks as he raced toward the dock. His shirt was last and that he flung carelessly behind him before launching off the edge of the platform in a front flip that landed in a splash so huge, Aven ducked against the stray droplets. He came up for air, only to be dunked back down by Jorgan. The dog ambled in the shallows, head cocked as she hunted for something slippery.

  At a different sloshing, Aven looked over to see Thor wading into the shallows. His dark pants were soaked through. He waved Aven nearer and she shook her head. He beckoned her closer again, this time with a quick whistle.

  “I’m afraid I don’t swim.”

  Unless, perhaps, he was asking something else?

  At the sight of his disappointment, she remembered Cora’s urging for him to be heard. For that reason Aven rose and paced to the edge of the slope. The earth plunged to the low bank where he stood, his chest just a touch higher than the ledge itself.

  “I’m listening,” she said with a smile.

  Thor smiled back.

  Aven knew not his age—only that he was somewhere between Jorgan’s thirty-two and Haakon’s twenty-one. She pondered the mystery as he stepped nearer and patted the earth where he likely meant for her to stand. The stitched gash in his upper arm seemed to be healing nicely. She nearly apologized again but instead asked, “Is it safe for you to be swimming with such a wound?” She knew little of infection but wondered if this was wise.

  Thor shaped a response to Jorgan who spoke for him.

  “Said it’s gonna take a lot more than pond water to kill him.”

  Thor patted a hand to the earth again and this time motioned for her to sit. Next he reached up and touched his shoulders, indicating she was to hold on there. Her hesitation must have been clear for he didn’t quite look at her as he took her wrists and pulled them nearer until her hands brushed the droplets of water beaded on his skin. With her palms to his firm shoulders, he gripped her waist.

  Remembering the trust that had been hinted at, Aven let him pull her off the ledge. His strength—that which had frightened her only days ago—made her feel safe now. Her feet hit the ground, and his touch fell away as her own did.

  Though only a few paces wide, the beach was enough for her to walk on. She stepped forward until cool water splashed at her toes. She thanked Thor, and he nodded before trudging back into the water. Alone again, Aven waded in so that her ankles were wet. Minnows gathered about her feet. They rippled and twirled above the loamy soil. She was all but lost in the decadence of the cool water when she glanced back toward the wagon and the loaded harvest. Though whatever they intended to make wouldn’t have been a temptation to Benn, the bounty brought a twinge of sorrow.

  Liquor wasn’t so much a matter of conscience but a still-raw hurting from her past. Would the men understand if she expressed that? Perhaps she could use the berries she had picked to make into jams and jellies.

  With Haakon climbing onto the dock, Aven thought to investigate. “What will you do with so much ripe fruit?”

  “Do you want to swim?” he said instead as he clambered up.

  “No, thank you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I canno
t swim.”

  “You can’t swim?” Haakon came around and started down the slope. “What kind of person can’t swim?”

  “This one, apparently.”

  “How did you sail on a ship?”

  “I prayed it wouldn’t sink.”

  With a wince, he skidded to a stop beside her. “Aren’t ya hot?”

  “See now.” Lifting her hem, she inched forward until the wet coolness churned around her feet again. “This keeps me cool.”

  “Oh, aye.” He sat and leaned back on his hands. “Ye look quite cool, lass.”

  Aven gathered up the hem of her skirt, keeping it modest as best she could. “It must be blessedly refreshing to be a man.”

  He squinted over at her. “It’d be more refreshing without my clothes on.”

  “Haakon,” Jorgan snapped from where he was just gripping the dock.

  “Well, it’s true. I hate swimmin’ in my pants.”

  “I’m sorry, Aven,” Jorgan called over.

  Unoffended, she angled back to the young man beside her. “Has there ever been a thought, Mr. Norgaard, that you have not voiced?”

  Haakon’s brow deepened. His expression immersed in matters that looked far beyond this place, this moment. He glanced out to the horizon where the sun was sleepy and low, then to Thor, who was pulling himself up the side of the dock. “As a matter of fact, Mrs. Norgaard . . .” Haakon’s blue eyes moved back to hers, and when he spoke, she realized he hadn’t yet answered her question about the berries. “All the time.”

  EIGHT

  Thor tried to fasten his sleeve cuff as he strode down the hallway. His fingers were shaking, and while whiskey would help, he made it a point not to drink on Sunday mornings. For that reason his fingers were still struggling when he reached the bottom of the stairs.

  Ida intervened. She secured both cuffs, and he tipped his chin up when she reached to tidy his collar. His hair was tied in a knot at the nape of his neck, which seemed to satisfy her as she made no complaints. Even his beard passed inspection. He knew well enough to trim it before standing in front of her.