Sons of Blackbird Mountain

by Joanne Bischof

  “You look fine, Thor. Right fine.”

  Ida closed her warm hands around his trembling fingers, squeezing her strength as if it were an offering. He was grateful to have it. For a few hours of sobriety at church, he would ignore his thirst. A battle until they got home and he could give in. Already he was thinking about those wagon wheels returning to the farm. Him twisting the metal lid off a jar . . .

  Thor gulped, his need like a leech that was never satisfied.

  With a heap of chatter that Thor didn’t catch, Haakon strode in and used the reflection of the window to comb his hair.

  “Did you bathe, Haakon?” Ida asked.

  A nod.

  “And did you use soap?”

  Haakon glanced at her. “We’re supposed to use soap?”

  Thor smiled, and Haakon winked at Ida even as she shooed him from her sight. His nerves settling, Thor stepped onto the porch. They were all waiting on Aven, but she was yet to appear. In the yard, Jorgan stood beside the wagon. The team was already hitched. Thor nodded his thanks before climbing up to the seat to take the reins. He sat there, squinting against the brightness of dawn, cursing the headache that was forming.

  At a flash of pale blue, he looked over to see Haakon helping Aven up to the wagon seat. She wore a dress that most definitely wasn’t for mourning. The same dusky shade as the mountains that hazed in the distance. Faint embroidery twisted up the snug bodice, accentuating the curve of her waist. She smelled sweet as spice cake as she settled next to him. Thor gulped again, and this time it had nothing to do with cider. Even Haakon seemed awed as he backed away.

  Aven gave Thor a small smile, her brown eyes bright. “Good day, Thor.” Freckles dotted her nose, and the rest of her skin was nearly as pale as the lace at her collar. A stark contrast to her ginger hair.

  He dipped his head in response. With his palms now damp, he ran one and then the other on his pants before adjusting his grip on the reins. The wagon jostled as Haakon and Jorgan climbed in. Miss Ida waved from the doorway and Aven waved back. Dressed in Sunday best herself, Ida would go with Cora to a small church they attended with former slaves and freeborns.

  As for Thor and his brothers, Ida made sure they went to the packed service in Eagle Rock at least once a month. Anything less and she would stop cooking again. Everything in the kitchen . . . slamming to a halt. During one of their rebellious stints a few winters back, she’d nearly starved them out until they finally got their sorry hides into a pew. They had decided never to test her again.

  They wouldn’t have gone this week, but Aven had inquired into church so they thought it right to take her.

  The wagon ambled along, and every minute of the drive was harder than the last as Thor’s thoughts raced between Aven and the cidery. Each a yearning he had to tamp down. Thoughts of the Lord would be his saving grace, so he tried to draw a scripture—any scripture—to mind as the drive wore on. He was still fumbling through a shaky remembrance of the Twenty-Third Psalm by the time the small, white chapel came into view.

  It would have been a fierce relief if the throbbing in his head wasn’t threatening to do him in. Thor squeezed the back of his neck and knew he had to be breathing hard when Aven slid him a worried look. She seemed about to touch his hand when he lifted it to tug the reins. The wagon slowed to a halt beside others. It took all his concentration to set the brake. Jorgan helped Aven down.

  Thor’s next steps were a blur—faces of people he knew hazy as usual as he walked toward the chapel. A deep breath in . . . then another one out. Amid the pain there was only one face he was able to distinguish from the rest. Peter Sorrel.

  The young man was deep in conversation with someone, but when Aven strode by on Jorgan’s arm, the youth’s mouth stilled midword. Peter tipped his head and watched her as if she were spun gold. The same as he’d done the other night when he’d been in his Klan covering. Thor kept nearer to Aven than he might have otherwise, and Peter went back to minding his own business.

  Inside the chapel, Jorgan motioned Aven toward the women’s sections where the female sort filled the benches that ran along the west and south walls. Along the east and north walls were benches of men and boys, each section four rows deep. Hesitantly, Aven drifted toward her own gender, and when she looked back over her shoulder, it was just Thor there.

  He gave her a reassuring nod.

  Spotting a bench with enough room for him and his brothers, Thor worked his way there, inching past the crush of men that smelled like sweat and sun-dried clothing. A few were clean shaven and the air bore the woodsy scent of lathering soap. Thor sat, and his brothers settled on each side of him.

  It was a noisy operation, church. Thor had decided that long ago in the way people leaned near to speak to one another. Mouths moved rapidly and hands flailed in nonsensical ways. Animated eyes often spoke more than words themselves. All of it an energy of life and movement. People glad to see one another after driving for miles to gather under this roof as one body.

  Thor observed as usual. Rarely did anyone try and talk to him. It had been this way as long as he could remember.

  When folks settled and drew still, he looked to the preacher, who stood facing the women. Not knowing what was being said, Thor let his gaze lift to the diamond-shaped window high up in the wall. His focus didn’t lower until the whole congregation shifted forward to grab hymnals from beneath the benches. Doing the same, Thor handed the leather-bound book to Haakon, who found the hymn that had been called out. Across the page were written shape-notes, but they meant nothing to Thor. It had something to do with pitch. Whatever that meant.

  Feeling like a fist was pounding against his skull, Thor rubbed at his temple. His mouth was parched as sand. He squeezed his eyes tight and tried not to dislike church as much as usual.

  Book in hand, a man rose and moved to the center of the square. The gentleman bent his arm at the elbow and lowered his hand down and up. Everyone followed suit. A way of beating time together that was visual. As a child, Thor had always liked how a manual form of communication could keep a room of people together. It didn’t impress him as much now. All around, mouths began to move. It filled the air with a mellow vibration. Normally Thor watched the room in general to follow along, but today he just watched Aven.

  She didn’t seem to know what to do as she glanced around. Her attention fell to the book when the woman beside her held it nearer. Aven spoke a thank-you and began singing with all the others. Judging by the way her mouth opened and closed, the song was solemn and slow. Thor watched her lips as long as he dared. When she stole a glance his way again, he dropped his attention to the page Haakon braced open.

  With everyone lifting and lowering their right hand, Thor decided it was best to do the same. Elbow at his waist, he raised his hand as everyone else did, then lowered it a beat later. Haakon and Jorgan were singing along, their forearms moving in time with everyone else’s. The way Haakon was heaving in breaths, he had to be one of the loudest voices. Probably trying to make up for his behavior since last they’d sat here.

  At an elbow from Jorgan, Thor turned the page. His brother nodded his thanks.

  Thor didn’t dare look at Aven again. Instead, he focused on the words to the hymn.

  People said God lived here. Lived in these songs of praise, but Thor knew it only in the text printed and bound. He had different favorites from his brothers and even Ida. They seemed to prefer the ones most often sung. Those that stirred the congregation to sing loudest—deepening the tremble in the benches. But Thor best liked the songs where struggles were clear in the writing. The printed pleas of those who had petitioned for help to a high King.

  Those hymns he understood.

  When a few more songs had drawn to a close, Thor shifted on the hard bench and watched the preacher best he could. With parishioners spread on every side of the building, the man stood before each section in turn. A quarter of a sermon. That’s what Thor always got, and he tried to make it be enough, but with so much
of the teaching missed, he never fully understood the lessons. He tried to be grateful for the parts that were preached in his direction, but he missed more than he wished.

  Thor bounced his foot. It must have been loud because Haakon hit him in the leg. Thor stopped. He broke his intent not to glance at Aven, and when he did, she was watching the preacher with such a thoughtful expression that the sermon made a sound he had never heard before.

  Thor was still looking at her when heads tilted forward in prayer. The closing, then. Thor bowed his head and closed his eyes. The world went blank. He always wanted to watch the preacher to see what was said. That didn’t seem proper, though, so with his mouth watering for something strong and wet, he said a desperate prayer all his own, hoping it would be sufficient. He stayed that way for a long time, the plea driving a sting to his throat.

  Suddenly Jorgan thumped a fist on Thor’s knee. Thor raised his head to see that folks were standing and talking again. It was over.

  He could have a drink soon.

  Feeling like a wretch, Thor rose and made his way out of the pew, wedging past people until he could stand in the sun. Some gave him wary glances, and he did his best to avert his gaze. Judging by the whispers he saw and the way the congregation inched around him, he made people uncomfortable. It had ingrained in him a habit to keep to the far end of the churchyard. The place he usually waited until his brothers were done visiting; Jorgan with businessmen and farmers, Haakon with girls.

  Even now Haakon was speaking to a pair of young women. They were talking and laughing in the shade of the building. When they looked Thor’s way, he could tell he was being looped into their conversation. But why? Especially since they were being rather open about it.

  Neck vise-tight, Thor gripped it and tried to loosen the muscles, but his body was crying out for what he was denying it. He wanted to go home.

  Right now.

  Tired of waiting, he strode to the wagon and smoothed a hand up the younger mare’s side. He unfastened both of their feed bags and tossed the sacks into the back. By the time he was finished, his brothers and Aven were climbing up. To his relief, Jorgan drove.

  The light hurt his eyes, so Thor lowered his head and focused on breathing instead of watching the miles roll by.

  Haakon kicked his boot, then held up two small pieces of paper. “This one’s yours.”

  What that?

  “It’s a ticket. To a dance comin’ up.”

  Eyebrows raised, Thor pointed to himself. Haakon nodded.

  “We both have them. It was a fund-raiser for some women’s guild, and there’s gonna be a raffle too. Or a bazaar. I’m not sure, but I entered us last time I was in town and forgot to tell you. Cost a dollar apiece but I figured it’s for a good cause. Jorgan has one too, but they paired him with Fay. Which doesn’t seem fair seein’ as she’s not even in town yet.” Haakon handed one of the tickets over. “It’s a partner dance, and the guild women paired you with Alice Vogel.” Haakon grinned.

  The reverend’s daughter? Not understanding, Thor was glad when Aven looked back and spoke to Haakon, gleaning more details. On Thor’s behalf, he sensed, but the comfort was thin because his skin was on fire. He was to go to a dance? And his partner was already chosen?

  Haakon was a dead man.

  When the wagon slowed to a stop in the farmyard, Thor shoved the ticket to his brother’s chest and hopped down. All he wanted right now was his cider shed. He’d deal with Haakon later. But his brother jumped over the side and passed him. Hands up peaceably, Haakon turned and walked backward.

  Not slowing, Thor smacked him in the side of the head, moving past his brother. Covering his ear, Haakon grimaced and ducked away. Thor stormed off, but Haakon clipped his boot.

  Thor’s stumble only swung him around, and he grabbed hold of his brother and rammed him into the ground. He pressed the side of Haakon’s head into the dirt so the kid squirmed.

  Haakon gripped Thor’s arm, digging hard to try and be free. Thor ignored the pain.

  He was good at that.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Jorgan jump down. Not in the mood to be outnumbered, Thor shoved Haakon away. After rising, Thor strode off and didn’t look back to see the disapproving look Jorgan would have for him. Or the utter horror from Aven. He just aimed for his shop, stepped inside, and slammed the door.

  He took up a jar of cider and flung it at the wall. It shattered. The amber wetness glistened down the boards to the floor. Wasteful, but he unfortunately had more than plenty. He loosened the lid on a second jar and gulped down desperate swallows. The liquor didn’t burn as it had when he was a boy. Now it was a sickening comfort. One he couldn’t even get through a morning without.

  Drinking more, Thor felt a sob rise from his throat. It escaped and he nearly choked. He spat out the mouthful to heave a breath. With the back of his hand he wiped his beard.

  I hate you. The three words he used to sign to Haakon whenever the baby was sitting there on his blanket, the house void of their mother’s presence. Thor would sign that wretched oath to young Haakon when no one was looking. At first it was an honest confession. Some way to make sense of why Thor had come home from boarding school to find that his mother wasn’t warm and wrapping her arms around him but buried beneath a cross near the woods. Leaving in her place a newborn who flailed his arms and stretched his mouth wide, squalling for a mother who wasn’t coming back for any of them.

  As time wore on, those three words had been a painful release. Until the day a one-year-old Haakon had peered up at him, and with innocent eyes and dimpled hands, he flicked little fingers in Thor’s direction, trying to mimic the shape of hate. The baby babbled and cooed like it was a game.

  The first thing Thor had taught him.

  Eyes clamped closed now, Thor guzzled from the glass rim, but it did nothing to wash away the sight of those little hands or the feeling of crushing Haakon to the dusty ground. Of the pain in Haakon’s face as Thor braced him in place with all his strength.

  A slit of light broke through the dimness, and Thor looked over to see Jorgan step around the giant door. Hands in his pockets, Jorgan strode nearer, looking first to Thor, then to the splattered cider along the far wall. Last to the broken glass just below. If he’d heard the crash, Jorgan didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to say anything. Thor’s guilt was sufficient, and Jorgan’s companionable silence only deepened it.

  Thor set the jar aside and twisted the lid back on. The quart was nearly empty—and this was the strongest proof he made. He’d be walking lopsided by dinner time.

  Jorgan tugged the shop stool near and sat. “He looks up to you, you know.”

  Thor shook his head.

  “You don’t see it, maybe, but it’s true.”

  Well, he need stop.

  Jorgan glanced out the dingy window to the yard where the scuffle was still marked in the dirt. Hands flat to the workbench, Thor lowered his head. Stared at the floor and the way a thousand glinting jars sent flecks of golden sunlight across it.

  Head still bowed, the light spilling in from the window was hot on his hair. His mind was growing fuzzy as the pain subsided, but he felt worse, not better. Thor searched for a way to express what was clawing inside him. Just as it had been for years.

  Finally, he looked at Jorgan and pointed to himself. I need make different.

  Jorgan’s brow furrowed, and Thor searched for a way to explain it better. What was the English for what he meant? He pointed to himself again, then hooked his fingers toward one another and twisted them the other way. I change. He added a hard must at the end to try and make Jorgan understand his desperation.

  Jorgan’s surprise was evident. “What are you gonna do?”

  Thor thought hard and deep of how he wanted—with everything inside him—to wake up in the morning without his first thought being his first sip. How he wanted to drink coffee with nothing else but cream. To be around Aven and not wrestle a headache so fierce that it threatened to break him. Wo
rse yet was knowing that he couldn’t care for anyone in the state he was in. Let alone her.

  “You thinkin’ of tryin’ again?”

  Yes. Thor had already placed an order for the boards and nails he’d need to seal this place up. When he finished confessing that, his brother’s jaw had fallen an inch.

  Justifiably so. For many reasons. The last being that it was how they made their living. Thor didn’t know how to kick this need for alcohol while still keeping the cidery open. When he relayed that to his brother, Jorgan nodded slowly.

  Rubbing at his beard, Jorgan studied the shelves of cider as if calculating. Finally he looked at Thor. “We’ve always gotten by and we always will. How about you not worry about the earnings for a spell? Lord knows you’ve carried it long enough. Haakon and I will see to things until you’re on the other side. Then we can talk it through some more. If you want to do this, it needs to be done.”

  The assurance was more freeing than Thor could express. If Jorgan was willing to face the uncertainties, Thor would rest in that.

  No tell Aven. Please. Thor didn’t want her to know until he’d committed. Until nails were pounded into place, and he couldn’t change his mind. Sealing things up wasn’t something he’d thought to do with his failed attempt five years ago. One that ended so badly it nearly cost them Haakon and had left Ida on the bruising end of Thor’s madness. They couldn’t risk that again.

  And now with Aven here . . .

  Doubts threatened to smother him, but when Jorgan gave a sturdy nod, it felt like a shield going up. One that blocked Thor’s nightmares of once again hurting others as the liquor lashed out for being neglected inside him.

  “Alright.” At the crinkle of Jorgan’s eyes, there was a smile blooming somewhere in his beard.

  It gave Thor hope. A deeper faith that maybe he could do this. That he could beat back the demons he’d let torment him for far too long.

  Jorgan reached out and gripped Thor’s shoulder, then leaned closer so their foreheads nearly touched—a way for Thor to know just how sincerely he meant the movement of his mouth. “You can be free of this. And I’ll do whatever you need me to do to help.”