Thor stepped close enough to watch.
Peter drew out a rough sketch, shading in the area that was the secret storage space. “With this here portion, the boards are loose, and takin’ them down makes a doorway. Everythin’s in there and sealed up. Nobody can tell that it’s a false wall, not even standin’ beside it. No one knows this hidin’ spot is even there except the family.” Peter paused and wet his lips. He drew in a slow breath and nearly set the pencil down. He finished shading in the section that confined what Thor and his brothers and their future wives had of value.
Aven watched it all, her eyes calculating and her tender heart shining there. Thor signed to Jorgan to ask the women what they thought. It would be just like him and his brothers to act rashly, and this was no time for that.
When Jorgan relayed the request, Fay spoke, saying that she was glad Peter had come to help them. Aven agreed, though she wanted to know what Peter would do now that he’d crossed his family.
Peter set the pencil down. “I won’t be able to go back after this. Once they find out that I told you.” He pushed the paper toward Jorgan with clear resolve. “I been tired of bein’ told what to do and what to think for long enough.”
“Is that what you call it?” Cora asked.
Though Thor would never know her tone, he saw enough.
And in Peter, he saw a young man who’d been carrying around a heap of brokenness. “I’m only sorry I didn’t do somethin’ sooner. And as for—as for your boy . . .” He spoke without quite looking at Cora. “I didn’t hit him but a few times. Pa handed me the pistol, and they was all watchin’. They don’t like us goin’ soft on ’em. But I know that even those few strikes was enough to make me no different than my pa or any other body who acts in hatred, and I’m sorry.” He finally squared his gaze to Cora’s. “It’s not somethin’ I can undo or make amends for, but I’ve hated myself for it ever since. I’m sorry to your son and to you. If his pa was here, I’d be sorry to him too.”
Cora’s eyes narrowed. “And if it’s one of my girls walkin’ down the road the next time?”
“I’d take a beatin’ for them, ma’am.”
“How do I know?”
“Because I already have.”
The room drew still. Not a single mouth moved. Everyone stared at Peter, and though the bruising beneath his eyes had faded, it was suddenly impossible to forget. The cuts and scratches . . . his fat lip. How it wasn’t until recently that he could finally raise his right arm over his head.
Tess had said she’d been uneasy that night in the yard. Thor had since learned from Al that she’d heard footsteps—lots of them—and she’d hurried back inside, but not before hearing the beginnings of a ruckus in the dark.
Ida was the first to move. She stepped forward, took Peter’s hand in her floury one, and asked if he’d stay for supper. “Longer, if need be. That’s my vote.” With that, she turned and walked into the kitchen, mumbling something about a wedding cake to tend to.
Da used to tease her that she didn’t like folks seeing her cry.
Fay’s eyes were wide. Aven’s closed. A softness gentled Cora’s face. Her lashes grew damp, and she gave a small nod.
Peter’s gratitude was clear, yet worry was just as marked. This wasn’t the end for him. To turn one’s back on one’s family was no small thing. To turn one’s back on a Sorrel was another thing entirely. Thor thought of the little girl who’d been playing in the yard with Peter and of his other sisters and mother. How much would Peter be saying good-bye to?
Thor didn’t envy him. But he respected him for standing here.
What did Dorothe used to say? “The Lord will also be a refuge for the oppressed. A refuge in times of trouble.” That had to count for Peter too.
“They’re expectin’ ya,” Peter continued. “My pa and uncles are ready and waitin’ for a fight, and I can guarantee that they’ll give you hell. They got enough ammo to baste you boys good. ’Specially if you show up with a fire under your collars.”
“So what are we supposed to do?” Haakon asked.
Peter crossed to the window and stood there, hands in his pockets, surveying the land. When he finally turned, there was a steady resolve in his voice. “I have an idea, but y’all are gonna have to sit tight for a few days. If you can trust me, I think I know how to get it back. And how to put a stop to all of this for good.”
THIRTY-ONE
It was by candlelight that the men spoke in murmurs around the kitchen table that night. Though Aven wanted to join them, she went upstairs to tend to Fay. The poor lass was weathering this well, but matters of the heart often ran deeper than what met the eye. Especially when Fay’s husband-to-be was polishing gun barrels instead of his boots.
When Aven slipped into the bedroom, Fay turned from the dark window. “He means for the wedding to go on, but is it too much?” On the bed beside her was an open satchel, yet to be packed for her night away at Cora’s on the eve before the ceremony. “A marriage to happen in just four days’ time?”
“It is what’s best. You and Jorgan. Your plans and future should not be set aside because of the selfishness of these other men.” Aven took both of her hands and squeezed tight. “Take heart, dear one. You are on the right path, and Jorgan loves you fiercely. Life is too short to await calmer waters. Let us rejoice for what is to come. Jorgan is surely doing just that with this uniting with you. Even if his manner is somber, I’m certain the burden he bears over this is for the sake of you and your future. If this is a storm to be weathered, you will weather it more strongly together.”
Aven slipped a handkerchief from the top drawer of the dresser, and Fay used it to dry her cheeks.
“Thank you.” Fay dabbed at her eyes, then folded the kerchief tight in her hand. “I must look so silly. It’s not just the wedding that I’m crying over but a worry about everything else. Something feels unsettled. I’m scared for them and the trouble they could run into.”
Aye. She felt the same way. “Then we shall pray. The Lord does not test His children beyond what He thinks they can manage—with His strength. We will pray for the Lord’s strength now. To fall upon this place for what is to come.” Aven bowed her head, searching for the right words to begin with, but to her surprise, ’twas Fay who spoke.
This sweet child of missionaries. Come from so far into this place of sudden unrest. No stranger was Fay to such matters—of that, Aven had no doubt. For as the woman prayed, it was from a heart for a mighty God.
Aven held on to that prayer through a restless night, and she held on to it more as she sat at breakfast amid the subdued atmosphere. As the men conversed and debated, she tried to rest in the assurance that whether they chose to go after the liquor or not, God saw all and knew all. He saw them even now. If what they had was lost, then God would make a different way.
Though she knew Thor grieved the thievery as his brothers did, she sensed in some ways, he had wished the liquor away.
Was this a blessing in disguise? For it to be finally gone?
Thor pulled Aven’s hand into his own, holding it secure in his lap beneath the table. The gesture grounded her, making her wish that he would find peace with whatever outcome prevailed. Though Jorgan and Haakon had unearthed a few hidden jars, even placing them in the kitchen, Aven trusted that the cider no longer held Thor captive as it once had. In fact, he’d scarcely given it a second glance. A stout effort on his part. Made more reassuring in his gentle calm and sober patience even amid this storm. He reached not for a drink but instead seemed to turn to wisdom and something that looked a lot like deepening faith. Aven grazed her thumb against his own, and he lifted her hand to kiss the back of it.
Haakon, who had been finishing the last of his breakfast, looked on. A sea of emotions wet his eyes to a sheen. When he glanced at Thor, it was the closest thing to a good-bye that Aven had ever seen between them. Haakon rammed his chair in, then strode out. Still recovering, Grete stayed in her spot behind the door. Jorgan stopped his youngest br
other with a hand to the chest.
Haakon halted and gave Jorgan a muted smile. “Would you like me to help you and Thor patch up the cidery, or should I see to the chores?” Never had he asked to be helpful in such an outright way.
Even Jorgan seemed surprised. “The chores. Thanks.”
Haakon nodded and headed out. Going their own direction, Thor and Jorgan did the same, but not before Jorgan pressed a kiss to Fay’s cheek. With his hand cupping her head, he promised her everything would be just fine.
Aven stacked and rinsed the breakfast dishes as Ida showed Fay the cake recipes from their tin box.
“The vanilla-almond we tried the other night is a right favorite, but there’s other kinds we ought to try.” Ida shuffled through the small cards.
Though Aven could see Fay’s gratitude, the woman insisted Ida not go to such trouble.
“Nonsense. How often do we have a weddin’ in this house? I been waitin’ thirty-two years for this day, so we’s makin’ as many cakes as this oven’ll hold.”
Fay smiled, and it was a sweet addition to the morning. As the pair of them set to mixing together a new batter, Aven slipped upstairs to steady her hands and heart in the way she knew best. She pulled out her sewing basket and drew the first of Haakon’s curtains near. The chore was a simple one: a straight hem and nothing more. By the end of an hour, the first set was finished. Completing the second was just as simple, and soon she laid the finished panels aside.
The smell of baking cake sugared the air, spurring her to tuck the finished items into a basket and carry it all down. Ida was at the table beating together a thick bowl of icing. The faithful woman had a gift for infusing normalcy into this day and these wedding plans. That at such an hour as this, the difference between chocolate and lemon cream was fine medicine indeed.
Fork in hand, Aven helped them sample. Her favorite was most certainly the lemon with the blackberry filling, and while Fay nibbled an entire slice of that one, she noted that the vanilla-almond from the day before was the reason she couldn’t decide.
“Then how about I make a tier of each?”
“You’re a wonder, Ida.” Aven set her plate in the washbin, rinsed her sticky fingers, then dried them on her patchwork skirt. Remembering her basket and the finished curtains, Aven fetched them. She slipped out the door, promising to be right back.
She walked through the thin stretch of woodland that separated the great house from Haakon’s cabin. ’Twas not a far journey—a few minutes at most. Heady in the air was the scent of pine and a lingering sweetness from the kitchen. Aven stepped clear of the woods and into the wind that swept across the meadow. It whipped at her hair in a gust so crisp that she could have been traversing the clifftops of Norway.
“You are lost, Aven.”
She turned to see him stride nearer. The shape of him, the sound of him, all beholden to the two distant lands that had formed him. The breeze tugged at his shirt, crushing it to his chest and shoulders, outlining a strength that shadowed her when he stopped at her side.
“Do I seem so?” Lost in thought, perhaps.
But he wasn’t looking at her as if that was what he’d meant.
“I brought two of the window coverings—all finished.”
“Thank you, Aven. I’ll walk with you.” He took the basket, carrying it for her. “Did Thor not ask you to stay close to the house?”
“He did. But I didn’t think this so far.”
He fell in step beside her. When his hand bumped hers, he gave her a wider berth. Aven dragged the hem of her skirt up from the forest floor. Leaves clung to the edge of the petticoat, and the white lace was a stark contrast to the black of her stockings and boots.
At the cabin, he unlocked the door. She hadn’t thought of that—the likelihood of it being barred. Good, after all, that he’d joined her. Haakon pushed it open, allowing her to step in first. As he closed the door, she moved to the front windows. He placed the basket between them, and she shook out the first curtain. When Haakon fetched a wooden rod, they threaded the fabric onto it. He reached up and set the long dowel back on its wooden pegs. The ivory sleeves of his winter underwear were snug to his forearms, and the plaid shirt he wore atop it had been folded back to his elbows.
She righted the curtains, closing them at first to check the size, then drawing them open to demonstrate how they would lay. “Nice?”
“Very nice.”
“’Twas so simple, I’ll have the others done by week’s end.”
“How did you find the time?”
She unfolded the second panel. “I haven’t the burden you bear right now. You and your brothers. I have my usual tasks. And beyond that . . .” She handed him the curtain and he began to string it on. “Other ways that might help.”
“Other ways . . .” His eyes flitted to hers, then dropped the length of her before looking back to her handiwork.
Fingers that were strong and weathered by work inched the cloth into place. Silence rested between them, and it was just the play of light through the glass, of dancing dust motes and his gentle breathing as he finished the simple task. Always supple his efforts were. Even each step—so quiet.
How different it was standing with Haakon than with Thor. Thor’s movements rumbled like the earth, but he was able to bear just as much. Haakon was agile as a breeze, yet as difficult to corral.
She wished it were Thor beside her. That it was Thor lowering a glance to her. That it was he who had come here. But wherever life took her, for the rest of her days and years, it would always be this moment—this hour—that she would regret having stood in this place with his brother.
“Can I ask you a question?” Haakon lifted the final rod into place on the front windows. “Are you gonna marry Thor?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Because he hasn’t asked me.”
He swiped his hands on the sides of his pants. “If he were to.”
“What does that matter to you?”
“It matters a lot.”
Something about him was making her uneasy. It wasn’t his words, for those were rarely guarded. It was the tender way he watched her. The nearness in which he stood. “Despite the fact that it’s not your concern, I’ll tell you that I would marry Thor. And I hope—with everything in me—to be able to.”
“And yet you’re gonna sit around and twiddle your thumbs for him, aren’t you?” Haakon absently nudged the basket aside with his boot. “It’s that way with everyone around here. Jorgan and Fay—waiting an eternity to get to one another. Then Ida, who is waiting on a ghost. Da did the same.” He looked at her. “I don’t understand it. And so I’m asking you, Aven”—he took her hand—“to come with me.”
Had she heard him right? He ran the back of his finger down her arm, and it was softer than any words he might have spoken.
“I’m sorry, Haakon.” She turned away, but he stepped backward and into her path.
“I wake up thinkin’ about you, and I go to bed at night thinkin’ about you.” His eyes searched hers as if trying to find a hidden place where she felt the same. “And believe it or not, all day in between I’m thinkin’ after you.”
She moved away. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I do know!” He followed in one easy stride. “But then there’s Thor in the way, and I went through hell for him. We all did. And you know what happened? He beat us all to a pulp, then everybody started actin’ like he’s Saint Thor.”
She swerved toward the door and nearly had hold of the knob when he moved in front of it.
Aven tried to weave around him again, but he blocked the way. “You want to know what’s really rotten?” He stepped so near that she shoved against his chest. He caught her hand again. “Havin’ everybody act like it’s the end of the world every time I have a birthday. Can’t hardly conjure up a smile ’cause, dang it, Haakon was born.”
Tears stinging her eyes, Aven tugged free.
“And if I hadn’t been, Ma would still be here. Ida’s always tryin’ to rally everybody and poor Cora gets a puppy one year, and I know what she’s about and what they’re all about and I’m sick of it.”
“Open that door.”
“What makes it worse is that you don’t see me.”
“I do see you! But you can’t treat people this way just because you’re unhappy.”
“I’m not unhappy.” He stepped forward, forcing her to take a step back.
The same way she’d taught Thor to lead, but this wasn’t Thor and she wasn’t safe.
Haakon didn’t stop until she was in the corner. She shoved against him but was no match for how solid he was. “Move aside, Haakon. Right now.”
“I’m not unhappy,” he said again. He lowered his head, voice terribly soft and so near that she felt its rumble. “ ’Cause there you came. Just walkin’ up to the farm. And you’re so perfect . . . and so dad-blasted soft.” He kissed her shoulder, and she cringed away. Yet there was no place for her to go. His hand gently gripped the side of her neck—thumb grazing her jaw. His eyes on hers were earnest.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, and he moved to kiss her.
She jerked back. “Haakon—”
He only followed. Holding the back of her head, he pressed his mouth to hers. Squirming, she tried to break away. He pulled himself nearer, and his hold tightened. A torment came from within him. An anguish. Whatever brokenness he’d been carrying, now both of theirs to bear.
Aven shoved his chest as hard as she could. It pressed him free enough for her to gasp a breath. “Haakon, stop!” His attempt to draw closer only wedged her into the corner. She shrank away, but he followed, bringing them to the floor. He knelt there—pinning her into place as he did. A wet heat slammed her eyes.
“Get off of me!” Jerking her knee into his leg did nothing, so she screamed. She cried out for Thor. Then again, hoping her voice might reach through the stand of trees. She hit Haakon again, but he caught her wrist.
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