Sons of Blackbird Mountain

by Joanne Bischof

  Taking her hand, Thor led her to the outskirts of it all. To his surprise, the steps weren’t as difficult when a swell of people were doing them all at once. He turned her under his arm enough times that she looked breathless with delight. She beamed up at him. Would one dance satisfy her? He wished it wasn’t such a struggle for him. It seemed she could do this all the way until dawn.

  But the decision need not be made, for as the bow still pulled slow across the fiddle, other instruments were set away. A gentle sound, he imagined. Guests began to bid farewell. Contented and waving toward the wagons that would bear them home.

  By the light of the moon, Jorgan bid a good night and took his bride inside. To sidestep an awkwardness on the stair, Thor waited a few minutes, then led Aven out of the evening air.

  The kitchen was dark. Strange without Ida in it, but she had already seen to every last detail. The remaining fixings of supper were tucked away to make life around here rather easy, and she’d made plans to stay with her sister for the week.

  Aven’s shoes were dainty beside his on the stair, and he tried to take temperate steps so as not to “thunder about,” as Dorothe used to say. In the attic, Thor closed the door. Aven clasped her hands together, not straying from where she stood in front of it. Was she anxious of him?

  With sunset having come and gone, the light was dim, but not so dim that he couldn’t see enough to light a candle. The single flame was sparse, so he tipped the match to one more. Thor glanced at Aven, hoping she wouldn’t mind. He needed something to see her by. To know what she was thinking or wanting or wishing to say. Otherwise it would be dark, and she would be lost to him. Perhaps a pleasure for her in time, when he was surer, but for now, he hoped this would be alright.

  Rubbing his hands together, he tried to think of what would be the right thing to do next.

  Aven’s red hair was coming loose of its pins, or was she working it free? She lowered another slip of metal and set it aside. Of her own doing, then. Piece by piece, her coiled hair tumbled. The color striking against her pale neck. Overcome, he watched until she finished.

  He hadn’t thought enough of this through. Not formally as Jorgan would have, who had weeks to prepare. The curtains weren’t even drawn, so Thor moved to do that. As soon as he finished with the last window, he feared he might appear too eager. Perhaps they should make conversation for a while. Give Aven time to acclimate to being in this room alone with him. Of him as her husband.

  He reached for a chair, thinking to draw it near for her, but when she touched his hand—stopping him—she didn’t seem the slightest bit interested in conversation. Not of the talking variety. Instead, he came to realize a language that he understood much better. One of action instead of words, and as the moon made its arc in the night sky, she was his undoing with it.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Thor was still asleep. Lying on his stomach just as she’d found him the morning in the great room when he’d slumbered beside her. Only then, he’d been a man she scarcely knew. Now the broad back that rose and fell was hers to touch. Aven wanted to slide her hand there. Feel his skin and strength all over again. But with this her first morning at his side, she feared she would startle him. Eyes still closed, his world was silent and dark. If she didn’t take care, he’d be in for a jolt that he wasn’t ready for.

  She nestled in as gently as she could. Chilled, Aven tried to ignore the cold, but as Thor slept on, she braved a careful tug on the blankets, pulling them gingerly toward her chin.

  Not gentle enough when he lurched upright.

  A flash of silver filled his hand as he pulled a knife from beneath his pillow.

  With a screech, she tumbled over the side of the bed, glad to have tugged a quilt with her, for it softened her fall. She bundled the blanket up around herself, and suddenly Thor was leaning across the bed to look down.

  “Did you forget I was here?” Aven asked.

  The side of his mouth lifted, and all at once there was a world of understanding in his eyes. So sparse sleep had been that if he’d forgotten about her, it had only been in that still place of dawn between dreaming and waking.

  “Perhaps we can agree that I didn’t sneak up on you?”

  He reached over the edge of the bed, pulling her and the bundle of bedding back up. The knife he closed before sliding it from sight. In what she knew as the word sorry, he circled a fist around his chest. Thor settled back in when she laid to face him. He worked his thick arm beneath her and pulled her near. As tender an apology as she could feel. Perhaps startling him hadn’t been such a bad thing after all. His eyes closed again, and his fingers began to play with a twist of her hair.

  Aven tapped him so he’d look at her. “You’ll be keeping the knife under the pillow, then?”

  He nodded sleepily.

  She poked him this time. “Since I’m going to be around rather often, ’twould be better in the drawer, perhaps?”

  He looked up at the ceiling for a few moments, then reached over her. The drawer opened and closed. In lying back down, he kissed the far side of her neck. Then the tip of her nose.

  “Thank you, husband.” And apparently the apology was continuing. Aven giggled.

  He moved the kiss to just below her ear, and it was some time later that she finally coaxed them both from this place with the promise of breakfast. One so late that it might as well be deemed teatime. ’Twould be easy to linger longer, for it was his nearness she craved and nothing more, but if she didn’t eat something, she would faint away. More selfish, she meant to keep his strength up. After checking the button on the waist of her skirt, Aven whispered that to him in the hall, and with his eyes on her mouth, she was rewarded with one of his gentle laughs.

  She tiptoed past Jorgan and Fay’s room thinking not to disturb them.

  To her surprise, the kitchen was already bustling as Fay pulled a steaming kettle from the stove to fill two mugs and Jorgan stirred a sizzling pan of sweet meats. It seemed they weren’t the only ones who had forgotten about breakfast. There followed a few moments of smiles and attempts at small talk, but finally, they all had to laugh. Thor rustled his brother’s hair, signing what looked like an impish little phrase.

  “Yeah, well, you slept through church too,” Jorgan said with a grin.

  Chuckling, Aven went to fix two more cups of coffee. A moment later, Jorgan and Thor stepped out onto the porch. She carried the cups out to find the mood much shifted, everyone quieted and watching the near end of the road. She lifted her gaze to see Peter striding close, a limp in his normally strong gait.

  Thor stepped out to meet him. Jorgan followed. Even from where she stood, Aven could see a nasty gash across Peter’s ear and a fresh bruise along his jaw. He was staying in one of the old cabins on the farm. Not too far from where Cora lived. Had he wandered back home? Or had his family come to find him?

  Peter didn’t speak until he’d come to the edge of the porch. “Ammo’s gone missin’, and they think you done it. I told ’em you didn’t.”

  Aven looked to her husband. He circled Peter, tipping his head some as he considered Peter’s injuries. She’d seen Thor angered before, but this was different. He was collected, but underneath was an enmity for who had done this that she could feel from where she stood.

  Looking at Aven, there was a hint of regret in Thor’s eyes as he gestured a request for a compress for Peter.

  She minded not a bit. “Certainly.” Aven stepped away, but not before hearing what Peter said next.

  “Pa and the boys’r talkin’ of comin’ this way. Somethin’ tells me this ain’t the time for that, but they’ll be comin’ all the same. Prob’ly tonight.”

  There was no sense waiting around like sitting ducks. It helped that Thor’s desire to head out matched Jorgan’s own. Before leaving to see the women along to Cora’s, Thor chose two pistols, checking that they were loaded. He set the safety on each and tucked the first pistol snug at his back in the waistband of his pants. It was a cold day, so his plaid
coat covered it well. Jorgan had the other. He could tell by the lump beneath Peter’s shirt that he was armed as well.

  Peter said little as they took the road. Grete trailed them, sniffing the ground as if on the trail of something she didn’t like. Once to Cora’s, they relinquished Fay and Aven to stay with Ida and the others. Aven’s eyes were wet, and sensing her fears, Thor pulled her to him and held her as tight as he could.

  With only a few moments to spare, Jorgan explained what was going on. It was safer for Al to stay, and there couldn’t have been a better man to aid the women. Grete they pushed into the house, then fastened the door snug.

  Peter finally spoke. Explaining a few things as they headed to the Sorrel farm. How many men there were. Who was the best shot. Just how angry Jed was.

  They’d taken mere steps up to the old mansion when men poured out of the house. Six . . . seven . . . eight. Two hopped over the railing and another climbed out a side window. The wind shifted, fluttering the white cloaks and hoods on the clothes line. A taunt.

  With Peter’s father speaking, Thor shifted to better see him. “. . . so tell your little brother to stay off our land.”

  Haakon?

  They’d seen him?

  Jorgan had a heck of a poker face, and Thor hoped he did as well. Jorgan took his time in answering. “We ain’t got a thing that’s yours. You’re welcome to a search, though. Come now if you want. A good place to start”—Jorgan casually shifted his stance—“would be the cidery. You know how to find it, I imagine.”

  Sorrels exchanged glances.

  An odd scent tinged the air. Thor inhaled deeply. There. A smell that wasn’t right. One that tainted his awareness even above the stink of their sweat and his cider on their breath. Thor’s sense of smell was sharper than others, so he signed to Jorgan to see if his brother noticed it as well.

  Jorgan shook his head.

  Thor fingerspelled S-U-L-F-U-R.

  His brother gave a slight nod.

  The men watched, looking both puzzled and irritated. Thor’s focus on them fractured when a little girl bounded from around the back of the house. About as young as Georgie, her ears were large and round where they poked through her straw-blonde hair. She was the only movement on the farm. Her faded red dress bounced above her bare ankles as she skipped along in the direction of the massive barn.

  No one paid her much mind, and even Thor’s attention was short-lived when every head whipped to the east. He followed suit. Nothing showed out of the ordinary, which meant they’d heard something. Then he saw it: a tumble of leaves and dirt down the steep hillside . . . running boots . . . then a man—Haakon.

  Haakon barreled down the slope, using his hands for balance as he skidded around a fallen log. His face was panicked, and he was shouting something, gaze locked on the little girl. Haakon smashed through branches at the base of the hill and charged toward the child who had slowed just in front of the barn door.

  Her small hand seized the latch. Haakon stumbled again, righting his stance just as he reached her. He grabbed her up and ran straight for the Sorrels.

  The girl’s eyes pinched tight, mouth open in a scream. Still Haakon raced forward.

  Several charged him, but Haakon slammed past, shoving the crying girl into Thor’s arms.

  Thor grabbed her, and his brother’s face was so close. Greenish bruises flanking eyes that were wet with grief. Despair and shock crashed through Thor’s numbness, and even if he wanted to put words to the thousand things that needed to be said, there wasn’t time.

  Collar open, Haakon’s chest heaved, glistening with sweat and dirt. His gaze tore from Thor’s as he turned. Slipped. Caught himself. And ran back the way he’d come. He had stolen but steps when the earth shook. A heat exploding into the air as timbers of the great barn shattered outward.

  The men crouched, Thor included. He hovered over the girl, using one arm to wrap her head as another section of the barn blew. Then another. Suddenly, the earth shook again as the whole building came apart in one great ball of fire.

  Thor draped the girl best he could, and another man pulled her beneath him. His arms free, Thor wrapped his own head even as he worked to help shield the child. His skin stung through his clothes.

  As quick as it had seared, the air cooled enough for them to unfold. A cloud of black smoke billowed from the barn, chased skyward by angry fames. Sorrel men struggled to their feet. Mouths moved in shouts.

  The missing ammunition. The smell of sulfur. A potent explosive. Something Haakon knew how to do.

  The nearest man lifted the girl to her feet and sent her running for the house. If this had been Haakon’s plan, he must have been watching from the hilltop, hidden from sight. He’d blown his cover for the child. A great price when Jed pulled a gun from his hip.

  The man set aim on Haakon and fired.

  Thor lunged for the general, slamming into the wall of Sorrels that surrounded him. Thor fought to get forward but couldn’t reach Jed as the gun fired again. The bullet hit just feet below Haakon, who was clamoring up the base of the hill.

  The heat from the fire slicked Thor’s skin with sweat as men shoved him to the ground. Thor kicked and swung, but still they slammed him down. He couldn’t find Jorgan.

  Jed’s gun jerked again . . . shot hitting wide. At the steepest part of the slope, Haakon ducked against the off spray and struggled to climb higher. Dirt spilled from beneath his boots, waterfalling down the hill. Another gun reeled, its bullet ripping through a sapling.

  Desperate, Thor pummeled the nearest man, striking with all he had to get free. Haakon was nearly to the top now, but Jed’s aim was surer and surer with each trigger pull.

  A tree limb shattered with the next shot. Haakon stumbled. Thor’s heart tearing in two as his brother hit the ground. Someone reached for the pistol at his back, and Thor turned to sock the man in the shoulder.

  Haakon scrambled up and kept running.

  Thor thrashed with everything he had. He kicked a man in the gut and elbowed another in the face. It gave him way to break free enough to scramble to his feet. He reached Jed as the man was pulling the trigger on the final round. Thor grabbed the hot barrel, jerking it up.

  The bullet should have swept high, but Haakon stumbled.

  Dropped.

  A cry choked Thor of air. Another man drew a gun, and more shots pierced through branches and leaves, shooting bark and dirt. Thor freed his pistol, cocked it, and pressed it to the Sorrel’s head. The man stopped firing, and the gun fell limp on the crook of his finger. Reaching over, Thor took the firearm, aimed it to the western sky, and emptied it. Smoke stung his mouth, filled the air. Tinted blue by liquor, flames ate at the barn.

  Jorgan rose to his feet, spitting out blood. Peter was still down, but he was moving. Sorrel men were down as well, some struggling to rise. No more guns fired—the traces of ammo gone as all the rest.

  Desperate for Haakon, Thor surveyed the hillside but couldn’t see anything in the thickening smoke. The wind shifted, pushing the smoke aside, only for the sky to darken again. Thor ran forward. A burn in his chest tugged at his pulse. Then a figure moved amid the smoke.

  Haakon was scampering higher, gait hunched, but not that of a wounded man. One of a man trying to stay alive. Haakon cast them one last look, then bolted into a run.

  Thor sank to his knees at a wrenching behind his ribs. His heart wasn’t made for this.

  A wagon barreled down the road at full speed. Beyond that, neighbor men were running. All coming to help. Thor didn’t care if they were here to aid him and Jorgan or to put out the fire. All he saw was Haakon.

  There comes a time in a body’s life when they learn their name. But Thor learned his twice. His brothers did too. Two fingers pressed together in an H—arcing across one’s eyes—that was Haakon. Thor had spent hours coming up with it for Haakon’s third birthday and could still recall the joy on the kid’s face when he’d taught it to him. Little Haakon smiling up at him as if there were a newness t
o the world. A gift Thor could give among Da’s brokenness.

  At first glance, the motion meant eyes so blue that people spoke of them, but anyone who knew Haakon would note the line of indignation often found between his brows. Or the laughter that sparked there, able to charge the very air. Thor had meant to never use that name again. Not ever. But with Haakon climbing the crest—disappearing amid the thick plume of smoke—his hand shook with the desire to form a good-bye.

  Ida didn’t let the men say much as their cuts and bruises were tended to, but once Jorgan, Peter, and Thor were patched up as well as they could be, each of the men told the story a little differently.

  First Aven listened with the others as Jorgan described how men had come from all over the area, seeing the smoke. The Sorrels had pleaded for aid in putting out the fire but not so much as a person volunteered. Instead, a freedman from Ida’s church said that should the Sorrels wish for help in rebuilding it, they would be there to aid them. As much a kindness as it was a challenge.

  The way Peter relayed it, his ma and the other women had come out of the house. That not all the ammunition had been consumed. While no more shots were fired, a rifle in the hands of Mrs. Sorrel made it evident that she meant to aim it at no one other than her Jed.

  Outnumbered, the general had limped off then, taking some of his men with him, and even a few women had followed. The other men had divided away, stating that they didn’t want to be part of the unrest anymore. Mrs. Sorrel allowed those she trusted to stay.

  Thor explained it last. Slowly, by paper, describing that both stories were true and that there was more yet. That he believed Haakon had blown the barn to free them all from the burden of the liquor. Though Thor didn’t put as many words to it, Aven knew what that meant. That for his brothers, Haakon had given up his share of the profits he had so desperately wanted. Thor also relayed his sense that Haakon bore regrets. It was only a glimpse Thor had gotten, but the way he described it silenced any further conversation from Aven. She didn’t know what to make of all this, but it landed in her heart in that lonesome place called bitter and sweet.