Sons of Blackbird Mountain

by Joanne Bischof

  “Oh, thank you.” Aven closed the door and stepped away. Seeing her effort, Haakon offered her his arm. She took it gratefully.

  Hands that were nearly as broad as Thor’s, circled together, chafing a rough sound between work-worn palms. Even Haakon’s shoulders seemed thicker and more spread. Had he grown over the summer? She’d believed him past such years, but when Aven tilted a second glance his way, she could no more deny that Haakon had developed a brawn to rival any man than she could deny how raptly he was watching her. His eyes were such a startling blue that even the sky overhead seemed the wrong color.

  “You’re walkin’ better,” he said as they crossed the farmyard.

  “Aye. Nearly mended.”

  “Will you walk with me tomorrow? If you’re able?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “There’s something I want to show you. Something that I could use your help with.” They reached the porch steps and Haakon released her arm. “Go for a walk with me tomorrow, Aven.”

  She laid a hand to the rail. Several responses came to mind, all springing up from her reservation of being alone with him. She meant not to lead him on or cause Thor any wondering about her attentions.

  “Please,” he added. “It’s just a short ways. I really do want to show you something, and I promise you’ll be back before you even realize you’re gone.”

  “Might you tell me what it is?”

  “That would ruin the surprise. Please. It’s not far. Jorgan and Thor and I spent a lot of time working on it. Usually in the winter or spring the last few years.”

  Jorgan walked across the porch and must have overheard, for in passing he said, “You haven’t seen it yet?”

  “Seen what?”

  But Jorgan had already entered the kitchen and was striding through. His manner was so untroubled that perhaps she need not worry. Perhaps she was overthinking this.

  Haakon gave an easy smile. “It’s a house, Aven. One my brothers and me have been fixin’ up over the years. Come with me, and bring your sewing basket. There’s a project I need your help with. Really.”

  Aven took each step higher and, with little pain, turned to Haakon and gave what she hoped was a sisterly smile. “If I’m able.” Dipping her head, she slipped into the house, feeling those brilliant eyes on her all the way.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Aven went down the following morning, basket in hand, keeping uncertainties in check. She was to assist Haakon with a trace of handiwork. That was all. Even Thor had thought it a fine idea if she wished it. It would be a relief from her recent idleness, and yet the thought of passing the morning with Haakon was an unsettling one. There had always been something very dangerous to her about Haakon Norgaard. He’d burrowed deep into her heart, but the tender place had never felt truly safe in his care.

  They met in the quiet of the kitchen, and it was by the fog of morning that they crossed the yard. Fog so thick she could scarcely make out the sight of Jorgan carrying a portion of hay to the horse barn. Ida limped gently toward the coop, basket in hand. In the distance stood the cidery. Tall and imposing—the massive door still fastened with its heavy bolt and lock for the night.

  Haakon offered Aven his arm again, but she assured him she was fine. When the lingering soreness in her ankle slowed her before even leaving the yard, he offered again. His flannel shirt was soft to her wrist as she accepted, but it was the steadiness just beneath that was jarring.

  The air in the thick of the woods hung cool and damp. Heavy with each breath she took. They passed the charred remains of what she now knew was their old chicken coop. The one Haakon had blown apart a few years back with a gunpowder concoction. She fought a smile as he assured her that all the inhabitants had been carefully relocated prior to the event.

  Her hand stayed snug to his arm as they continued on, and after a few more moments, the trees thinned, the land opening up into a quaint valley where white mist settled sleepy and low. At the far edge of the clearing stood a small cabin. Bent grasses rippled in the breeze, frosted still with dew. While the trees only rustled in the stirring of air, the smallest of saplings quaked and shuddered.

  Aven stepped forward as Haakon did. The cabin was aged. Some boards looked ancient while others had been replaced with bright, new cedar. A bird’s nest rested in the gable of the upper window. The frames, while showing their years, housed glass panes that had been recently wiped.

  “What is this place?”

  Haakon slowed to a stop. “It’s part of the farm. An old caretaker’s cabin. My brothers and I drew straws a few summers back to decide who would get it and which two would share the main house.” Bending, he pushed two buckets up onto the porch, then dropped a dried paintbrush into the top one. “It was probably rigged because we can all agree that Thor and Jorgan would live peaceably together. There’s room for wives and children in the big house. But over time, that would get crowded with three families.”

  Aven struggled to make sense of what he was saying. The Norsemen of old lived in communal houses, all gathered with their kinsmen beneath a single roof. While those ancient days were swept away with time, she’d envisioned the Norgaards as the same—wives and children melting into the rhythm of the great house. Something about Haakon’s demeanor said that he had once had the same anticipation.

  He nabbed up a stick and tossed it away from the yard. “We just do little things now and again.” He pointed to the porch where a swing hung. “We fixed that last winter. And these . . .” After climbing the front steps, he tapped the nearest shutter. “These were under the porch. A coat of paint perked ’em right up.”

  She followed him down the length of the porch. Nearing the swing, she touched the cool metal chain that was rough with rust, and it creaked. “It’s a very fine house, Haakon.”

  “Thank you. Here, I’ll show you what I need your help with.” He edged around her and pressed past the door. “So in here”—his voice echoed within the empty room—“is where my problem lies.”

  Aven stepped in to find boards stacked off to the side and a broken chair resting in the corner. Curtains hung over the windows in haphazard fashion, and it was to these that Haakon led her.

  “This was Dorothe’s doing a few years back,” he said. “But when her health began to fail, I didn’t want to pester her with coming over here anymore. The problem is that they either need to all come down or all go up. Do you think you could finish them? Or if it’s best they come down, you can have the cloth if you want. I won’t need it.”

  Aven fingered a curtain. The rod it hung on was splintered, snagging the drapes so they didn’t slide smooth. “They’re in good shape, but it seems like a storm went through here.”

  “That was just me. I kept tripping over them. Probably best if they come down.”

  “You won’t want curtains?”

  He shrugged one shoulder.

  “I think these could be set to rights quite well. Maybe not so long, though?” She held up an end. “They could be trimmed back, which might suit you better.”

  “You wouldn’t mind?”

  “Not at all. Let’s see if we can get them down.”

  He reached overhead and lifted the wooden rod free from its pegs. With his thumbs, he shoved the snug fabric back and Aven gave a good tug. When they had that length of fabric freed, she folded it and Haakon pulled down more. He offered her a rod to work on.

  Sitting in the center of the floor, Aven began to inch the snug fabric from the splintered piece. She bent and folded the hem of the cloth, contemplating how short to make it.

  “Does this fashion suit you?” Doubtful, she held up the floral pattern. Elegant curves of red and brown were splayed upon an ivory background.

  “Not really. I was hoping it would fade some in the sun. I suppose it doesn’t matter so much. Curtains are more for the lady of the house, right? When this house has a lady . . . hopefully she’ll like them.”

  She hoped to bolster him. “There’s much to like about this place.”


  “It’s shaping up.” He settled beside her and tugged at the piece she was struggling with. “I don’t think I’ll live here for a while yet, though. We don’t want Thor to get lonesome all on his own up in the attic.”

  Sensing—and dearly hoping—that one day Thor wouldn’t have cause to be alone, Aven rose to her knees and fashioned what she needed to ask. What Haakon deserved to say. It hadn’t been so long ago when this man had held her in the water, his heart and words right there between them. “Are you happy, Haakon? Even with the way things are?”

  “You mean with my life or Thor’s life?” His brow furrowed as he focused on his task. Something about the look said drapes were the furthest thing from his mind. “I don’t plan to settle down for a while yet.” The bent rod grew straighter as he plied the thin wood between his hands. “If that’s what you mean. And as for happy . . . I think I will be.” He set the wooden rod aside, glancing around at the cabin walls. They seemed to tell stories that only he could hear. “When harvest is over, maybe I’ll get away for a spell.”

  She tried not to think of him leaving but had no right to ask him to stay. “You would be missed.”’ Twas a gentle truth. Surely that was alright to say.

  He gave her a small smile.

  With careful cuts of her scissors, Aven trimmed a portion from one of the panels. “Tell me . . . where would you go?”

  “I dunno.” His boots shifted nearer to her—the leather worn but solid. The seams dusty. “I like the idea of going to a different state. Maybe up north. Or another idea . . . something I’ve often thought of is seeing the ocean. Maybe even setting sail somewhere.” Haakon reached into her sewing basket for a smaller pair of scissors and chopped off a thread. “If you’ve crossed the Atlantic, I should probably be able to handle it.”

  She placed the trimmed cutting between them. “ ’Tis harder than it seems, I assure you.” Never would she forget the toss of the sea or the pitch of the ship. The exhausting days and terrifying nights. Of seasickness and worse. But also, there had been the sun on the water and hope in the air due to the direction that the sails were blowing them. To a new home. A new land.

  “It would suit you.” She recalled the way he’d climbed up to the beam in the great room. How he’d balanced atop it to aim his gun. The way he never backed down from a standoff. How he faced life with little fear. ’Twas a grit that he had, and it would serve him well amid gale and storm. “However, you’d have to learn to listen to your superiors. I’ve never known a sailor to get by well otherwise.”

  “I’ve had a lot of practice at that.”

  “Without complaining, that is.”

  Haakon tossed the scissors back into the basket. “Hmm. Maybe I’ll just head north.”

  Aven pursed her lips to fight a smile. “I’ll take these with us.” She pulled more of the drapes near. “They’ll be easy to work on in my spare time.”

  “I appreciate that.” He took up the trimming she’d just cut and absently folded it around his hand. He seemed about to say more but footsteps pounded nearer.

  The door burst open with such a crash that they both jumped.

  “Haakon! Where are you?” Jorgan stalked into the room. He glanced between them and jerked his head back the way he came. “Come! Now. We’ve got trouble.”

  “What is it?” Haakon rose.

  “The liquor.”

  “What?”

  “It’s gone. Every jar.”

  THIRTY

  Thor stood in the cidery staring at empty shelves. Every level was picked clean, and judging by the state of the floor, not a single one had been dropped. Even the barrels were gone, and a nudge proved the only one lingering to be empty. Overhead, the white owl slept, and though the bird would have seen everything that happened by cover of night, Thor didn’t need a second guess to know who had done this.

  They all knew.

  But how had the Sorrels been so shrewd? While Thor would be the first to admit that he was useless for sounds in the night, it wasn’t like his brothers to miss an intrusion. Less likely would have been Grete.

  Thor lifted his head. Grete.

  Had he seen the dog this morning? Not as he’d come out of the house or even as he’d unbolted the cider shed. Always she was underfoot as he did that. Stepping back out, Thor squinted against the sun. He whistled and waited for Haakon’s sidekick to come running. After a minute, he whistled sharper.

  Nothing.

  Fear slid through him. Thor strode around the side of the barn where Jorgan was looking at the windows that had been removed. Panels of glass sat stacked off to the side, and someone had done a number on the wooden frame.

  You see G-R-E-T-E? Thor asked.

  Jorgan looked around, then shook his head. He cupped two hands around his mouth and called for her. When the dog didn’t appear, Jorgan arched his back, calling with greater intensity. Still nothing. Face drawn, Haakon rushed up to them.

  “Why isn’t she coming?” Haakon strode along the length of the barn, and judging by the way his shoulders heaved, he was hollering for her. Then Haakon slowed, peering up at the sky. Thor lifted his eyes to see a scattering of crows circle the center of the meadow. Their shadows wove in and out on the grasses where something had to be lying just below.

  Thor meant to move—do something, anything—but his feet and heart were suddenly leaden with dread. Haakon started into a run. The blackbirds scattered. Reaching the middle of the meadow, Haakon sank to his knees. Hands pressed to the ground, he bowed his head.

  A sting clamped Thor’s throat. He took a step forward even as Haakon shifted, checking what had to be Grete there. Bending lower, Haakon tilted his head to the side and listened. He held that way for a long while, then bolted upright. “She’s not dead!”

  Thor broke into a jog, and Jorgan followed. Haakon scooped up the dog, stumbling as he righted her weight. “She’s breathin’, but barely. Somethin’s wrong with her.”

  “Cora might know what to do,” Jorgan said before running off.

  Haakon walked toward the house, Grete limp in his arms. Thor tugged the door open, and Haakon swiveled into the kitchen so quickly that he bumped into the table, sending Ida’s cake pans clattering into one another. He carried Grete into the next room and laid her on the sofa.

  Aven moved in beside them. “What happened?”

  Fay was right behind her. No one relayed the story—Thor because he wasn’t able to and Haakon because this was his pup. The one he’d gotten for his birthday years back. The one that Cora had tied with a ribbon and plopped into his lap. Grete had flounced about. Chubby and licking him like she’d finally found her way home.

  Aven moved to the window, pushing the drapes aside for more light. Fay’s long, blonde braid brushed the dog’s paw as she leaned down to kiss the top of Grete’s head. No one seemed to know what to do, which made it more than a relief when Cora arrived. She set her medic bag beside the sofa, knelt, and took her time examining the dog.

  Finally Cora wiped the back of her wrist across her forehead. “I don’t know what this is.” Snapping open her bag, she pulled out an amber bottle and shook it. Uncapping the vial, she lowered it beneath Grete’s nose. The lifting and lowering of the dog’s ribs was so subtle, so sparse, that it was almost as if she were gone. “They gave her somethin’, that’s for sure. All I can think of might be tansy. But I never seen it sedate like this.”

  Suddenly everyone looked to the entryway. Thor followed suit and saw the last person he expected to be standing there. Peter.

  Quite certain Peter had addressed them, Thor snapped for Jorgan’s help.

  Jorgan ran a thumb beneath his chin for not, followed by T-A-N-S-Y.

  Peter stepped closer. “It was from a bottle that my pa took from a cabinet.” He reached into his pocket and held it over. “He told me to douse the dog’s supper with it. Said that it would stop her heart, so I just put a tiny bit in.”

  Cora took the vial and turned it. Thor read Laudanum on the label. Opium. />
  In three steps, Haakon shoved him. “You traitor!”

  Peter’s head smacked the wall when Haakon shoved again.

  “If I hadn’t done it, they would have killed her!” Peter yanked Haakon’s hands away. “Be glad for that.” He tugged his shirt back to rights, flashed Haakon a glare but nothing more.

  Peter’s eyes briefly flitted to Cora, and catching her cool, stony gaze, he swallowed hard. From the kitchen Ida watched, her expression much as her sister’s. Flour dusted the woman’s hands that hung limp at her sides. The only hint that she’d had wedding cakes on her mind.

  Cora set aside the jar. “If it be opium he gave her, she’ll be back to her old self before long.”

  Peter nodded. “And I know where your cider is.” He seemed to take care so as not to look at Al’s mother again. As if the sheer weight of being in the same room as her was the worst of it all.

  “Why didn’t you do something to stop them?” Jorgan asked. “Why didn’t you tell us so we could?”

  Haakon spoke as well, but Thor missed it.

  “Because soon as I started workin’ here, they kept me out of their discussions. Always they were behind closed doors. I knew somethin’ was stewin’, so I looked around your shop to see how secure it was. It seemed solid, so I doubted they could get in.” He braved a small step nearer. “But then last night I knew what they were up to. When talk came of doin’ away with the dog, I offered to handle it myself. I swear, that’s how it went.”

  Thor bumped Jorgan in the arm and signed a question for Peter.

  Jorgan spoke. “He asked why.”

  “Why? ’Cause it ain’t right. What they’re doin’ ain’t right.”

  Everyone looked to where Aven was standing, but by the time Thor did as well, he missed what she’d said. He wished he knew her opinion even as he looked back to Peter. This was all going faster than he could manage. Moving to the other side of the room, Thor faced them all so he would see more of what was being spoken.

  Peter swallowed hard. “They have your liquor stacked in the back end of our barn. It’s all behind a dummy wall that hid provisions during the war.” When Peter asked for something to draw it up with, Jorgan brought him paper and a pencil.