Daughters of Northern Shores

by Joanne Bischof

  “I need to go now and help Mr. Peter with some work in the orchard.” Haakon slowed as they did and gave the sword back to its owner. “You boys run on up to the house, alright?”

  “Can we come?” Sigurd pleaded.

  This really wasn’t the best time, otherwise, he’d happily toss Bjørn up to his shoulders and march the little fellow there. Instead, Haakon looked to his brother for help.

  Jorgan called out to his sons. “Why don’t you run along and ask Aunt Aven how Tusenfryd is doing, then report back to Uncle Haakon around dinner time?”

  “Great idea!” Haakon seconded.

  Sigurd gave his father a salute and dashed off. His brother waddled after him, quick as those stout legs would allow. Sigurd dropped the sword near the porch among a pile of Bjørn’s wooden blocks before rushing up the steps. Bjørn fell but rose. He brushed little hands together and hurried on.

  “You said you were searchin’ for Peter?” Jorgan called when his sons had run inside. “He’ll be down at the compost heap.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And Haakon?”

  Having started off, Haakon angled back.

  Jorgan lowered the saddle some. “You doin’ alright?”

  Since his return, Haakon had been answering inquiries of Thor’s well-being, so it was strange for someone to ask after his own regard. Though he had a thousand fears and hopes and even stories bottled up inside, he didn’t know how to respond. The fact that Jorgan inquired now humbled him.

  “I’m well. Thanks.” A thin way to answer, but he decided not to uncover that mine.

  Looking skeptical, Jorgan steadied his grip on the saddle and watched him turn away.

  Haakon aimed toward the apple groves, over a hundred acres of them bathed in morning light. After a few dozen yards, he reached what had been his favorite tree as a boy. Ida had long ago implied that the gnarled McIntosh resembled a woman bent over as though to fetch water from a well. If Ida had known what such a comment would do to a bunch of lads who’d lost their mother, she might not have mused aloud so. As it was, Haakon used to come here as a child and sit in its branches, letting the curves of applewood hold him as a pair of arms might have. Then again, maybe it was the very reason Ida had sparked their imaginations. Knowing it would be a seed of comfort to hearts hungry for such.

  It had been years since he’d visited this spot, but as much as he wanted to pause and contemplate it, Haakon simply ran a hand along a rough branch as he walked. A blackbird flew from his path—as much a part of this land as the roots of Thor’s trees. Haakon breathed deep as he walked, drawing in air that was drenched in the scent of dried blossoms. A sight to behold as well.

  Was it difficult for Thor to walk here? For him to toil on this land that supplied the key to his very addiction? Haakon couldn’t begin to imagine how his brother had kicked the longing for a drink, but maybe that was it; maybe the desire wasn’t gone. Maybe Thor just understood that a man ought not to consume more than his share in this life. To not take more than what was right or fitting. The weight of such a thought trudged with Haakon down to the lower orchards where Peter stood in the back of the wagon, shoveling manure onto the compost pile.

  Haakon grabbed a spade from where it leaned against a tree. “Came to lend you a hand.” He rammed the blade into the muck and turned it.

  “Thanks.” Peter climbed up into Da’s old farm wagon and scraped out another load. Messy business, but Peter not only kept the horse stalls clean, he maintained several aspects of the farm including the compost heap that lived here at the far end of the Baldwin grove. It was honest work and labor Peter had a right to be proud of.

  The wagon had always had a few missing boards, but upon closer study, they’d been replaced. “Things are lookin’ real fine around here,” Haakon said.

  Peter scraped another scoop down. “I’m glad for the work.”

  “I know they’re glad for the help.”

  They labored in silence for a while, and Haakon paused only to roll back the cuffs of his shirt. After swiping sweat from his forehead, Peter paused also and rested gloved wrists on the top of his shovel handle. “So what did you really come here for?”

  Good gravy, Peter was sharp, especially since he’d let Haakon get plenty filthy before inquiring. “Uh . . . actually, I was wondering if there was any chance you can head into town for me tomorrow?” He could just as soon go himself—and a day in society would certainly clear his head—but something had him wanting to stay.

  “I ‘spose so. What for?”

  “I need to get a couple messages to folks. One in Eagle Rock and another over in Grayson County.” Part of his evolving plan with the Sorrel men and one he hoped would work. Time to end this wild goose chase with Harlan Sorrel once and for all. “’Bout how long do you think that would take? For a message to Grayson.”

  “By mail? Maybe a week or two.”

  He didn’t have that long. At sea, mail was difficult to get delivered due to danger, carelessness, and the changing of course. Letters often passed from vessel to vessel, sometimes traveling the world over before making it to where they were meant to go. If they didn’t get lost before then. The mail system at sea was like a spider web of connection, risk, and loss, all woven together by sailors desperate for word to and from home.

  The more determined a body was to get something somewhere, the more likely it made it. Which got him thinking about Cora’s son. If anyone was invested in the whereabouts of the Sorrels, it would be Al, whose own mother and sisters were in danger. “Where’s Al livin’ these days?”

  “Over on some balds down in Montgomery. Works on a cattle farm about a day’s ride from here. Cora and the girls are plannin’ a visit next month, I think.”

  “Would you say it’s about another few days’ ride from there to Whitetop Mountain?”

  “Where?”

  “Grayson County.”

  “Yeah, I’d say so.”

  “If I hire you a horse, could you get a message straight to Al tomorrow? If I do your work here?”

  “You wanna do my work tomorrow?”

  “I’ll do it the next day, too, while you’re riding back. If you could just get a note to Al, I think he can help us. With your pawpaw and all. The other message is for the sheriff.”

  “You don’t need to hire me a horse. I already got one.” Peter skidded his square shovel across the boards of the wagon, causing the last of the muck to fall. “I’ll have to check with Jorgan, but I don’t think either of us will mind you shovelin’ manure.”

  Haakon smiled. “It’s a deal. If I pay you extra, can you leave this afternoon? I know that would mean riding through the night—”

  “I don’t need you to pay me. If it’s important to the cause, I’ll do it.”

  This was a good man. “It’s extremely important.” The fact that Peter didn’t inquire about the contents of the messages made the gesture more humbling. A trust and a faith that Haakon didn’t deserve. With Peter’s willingness, he was tempted to send him all the way to Whitetop Mountain, but Peter needed to get back. He was a good shot and kept careful watch over Cora and her girls, which was needed more than ever right now. Haakon promised to look in on them during Peter’s two days away.

  “I wouldn’t go elseways, so thank you,” Peter said. “Do you want to talk to Jorgan, or should I?”

  Regretfully, the time would come for Jorgan to witness the inner workings of his mind, but that day wasn’t today. “I’ll do it.” It would take a little extra explaining to appease his brother right now. “I’ll talk to him then come back and let you head off. I’ll have those messages written up too. If you could also stop in at the bank in Eagle Rock and change some coin for me, I’ll bring that as well.” Haakon didn’t mean to fuel a fire beneath this all, but he wasn’t going to make it many more days without proper sleep. If he could land a face-to-face meeting with the Sorrel men, then he could arrange a treaty of sorts. Surely they were the kind of men who could be reasoned with. Haakon j
ust needed to offer the right prize . . .

  And he knew exactly what it was they wanted.

  After Haakon explained all that, Peter gave a sure nod and tossed his shovel down before hopping to the ground himself. Haakon shook his hand, then started back toward the farmyard with a renewed hope that this might just work after all. While no man should crave violence, and while he certainly didn’t now, sometimes the choices of one man had a way of forcing another’s hand.

  If the messages he crafted got where they needed to go, things could fall into place. Or . . . this whole plan could crumble by week’s end. He was relying on many others right now, and it meant an awful lot of risk. Too much of his plan hinged on those messages arriving and the fact that he not miss Jed and Harlan in passing tonight should they arrive at the still. And now that he was thinking about it, he had a little something that Sibby Sorrel could aid him with. A way to ease this burden just a little bit more . . . if she was willing. He needed to find her, but right now too many eyes were watching him, so it would all just have to wait until dark.

  Time to say another one of those prayers. The kind he’d muttered when the sails had finally filled with wind off the coast of Africa. He didn’t mean to test the Lord again, and he certainly hadn’t earned any favors, but this hope wasn’t for him, so he’d pray that God might understand.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  THE ROCKING CHAIR CREAKED AS AVEN EASED it back and forth, keeping the baby content. The chair had been Ida’s domain for a good many decades, and now it was happily lent to nursing mothers. Aven was grateful for the smooth, soft wood and the gentle haven on quiet afternoons. With the boys asleep upstairs, Fay and Ida moved around the first floor with quiet efficiency, though in truth, they’d much more earned the rest than Aven, so boisterous the lads had been that morning.

  Near the light of the open window, Fay saw to the last of the week’s ironing. Beside her, Ida folded and stacked, keeping a household of laundry in careful order. For all the weeks he’d been home, Haakon hadn’t brought them so much as a scrap of laundry to scrub even though Fay inquired each wash day. This morning Fay had marched over, demanding he let them help. He’d finally consented, and so his own things were freshly dried and awaiting him.

  Fay ironed two more shirts and had just pressed Thor’s last pair of trousers when Tusenfryd fell asleep—tummy full of milk and thickening cheeks declaring her fondness for it. Aven righted her bodice, a juggling act with her daughter snug on one arm. Made easier when Ida stepped in and scooped up the infant.

  “Would you mind keeping her while I see along Thor’s things?” Aven asked. It had been too long since she’d been able to visit with him at the cabin, and while the doctor was allowing him to return home soon, the thought of stealing a few moments with him was as tempting as the warm sunshine outside. She couldn’t have been more thankful for these days abed with Tusenfryd, but now that strength was returning and a comfortable rhythm of feeding and caring for her daughter had been discovered, a short excursion to see Tusie’s papa was sweet on her mind and heart.

  Ida pulled up Tusie’s knit blanket from the arm of the rocking chair and bundled it around the baby’s little nightgown.

  Fay watched the gesture with a sweet smile. “Off you go, Aven. You’ll not be getting her back for a few hours, even if you were to plead.”

  Ida chuckled and seconded that notion. “Enjoy you a stroll. We got this one well in arms.”

  Aven retrieved Thor’s stack of clothing, then, recalling Haakon’s belongings, fetched that low pile as well. She carried it all out the door, clutching the soft bundles close. Haakon was working in the orchard for the day. Peter off on an errand. She didn’t see Jorgan about, so with no one to walk with her, Aven took stock of the narrow stretch of trees that separated the two plots of land. Seeing naught but birds and squirrels, she edged nearer. To continue on alone would go against the creed Thor had asked her to agree to. Aven was just about to turn away when she heard voices through the glen. A man and a woman’s. It took but a glimpse through the leafy branches to see the source. Haakon. And Sibby Sorrel.

  Aven knew not her married name, only that the young woman stood beside Haakon, who tipped his head near and spoke in a hushed manner. ’Twas such an intimate sight that Sibby’s bare feet only amplified their familiarity. Haakon’s suspenders hung around his hips, and his shirt was disheveled. Like spun gold Sibby’s hair was, and it hung nearly as long and loose as the amber dress she wore.

  After nodding to Haakon’s soft words, Sibby squeezed his hand.

  Aven looked away, glancing back as he withdrew a fold of money. Upon receiving the offering, Peter’s sister rose to her tiptoes and kissed his bristly cheek. Lowering back down, Sibby gave him a sad smile, then turned away. Haakon stroked a hand down his beard as he watched her go.

  Before Aven could think to move—before she could take a step forward or, better yet, a step away—Haakon turned the way of the grove, spotting her. His hand slid behind his neck, which he arched back in a manner fraught with tension. Though shock heated both limb and lung, Aven knew she couldn’t very well remain here holding laundry forever.

  She crossed through the trees, and he approached the cabin porch as she did. Aven kept all focus on the folded items as she reached up and pushed them beneath the banister. “For Thor.” Her voice sounded fragile, as though it might crack. “And some is yours.”

  His own was quiet. “He’s not here. He’s at the spring.”

  “I—I thought you were down in the orchard.”

  “I was. Just came up here for a spell. Peter’s back, but I’m going to head down and help him finish the chores.”

  Aven clasped her hands together. She wasn’t Haakon’s keeper, and she certainly wasn’t Sibby’s either. But when she thought on Sibby’s husband—the man with the dark hair and roughened face—her heart hurt.

  “Haakon . . . ,” she whispered.

  “That wasn’t how it looked.”

  “No? May I ask what it was, then?”

  He swallowed and, looking past her to open timberland, gave no response.

  She should have known that would be his answer. Was there ever any shortage on heartache? First there’d been the loss of her mother within the workhouse walls. A death that had been sudden and real. Then, just as Aven had dared to open her heart again, Benn had crushed it when he’d changed her from bride to widow. Last of all, it had been buried in deep by Haakon. When it came to the end of her naïveté, death and the devil might have dug the hole, but it was Haakon who had placed the stone.

  “Is there not enough grief in the world yet that you need to be adding more?” she asked.

  “It’s not what you think. I promise.”

  “Then tell me what I should be thinking.”

  “Will you believe me?”

  Silence was all she could offer.

  “That’s what I figured.”

  Aven turned away, this time in the direction of the spring. With Jorgan’s insistence that none of the women or children wander off alone, ’twas no surprise when Haakon kept pace at her side.

  Ignoring him, Aven tried to quicken her steps but was weak yet and nearly faltered. Haakon seemed about to steady her but kept his distance. It was a shorter jaunt to reach the spring by a pathway that ran along the back side of the cidery, so she followed its ambling course through thick woods. Haakon was silent beside her. Birds darted from their path, and more than once he pushed wayward branches out of her way.

  “Can you please leave me alone,” she whispered.

  “Not until you reach the spring.”

  “I can make it there on my own.”

  His eyes shifted to the east where unkempt acreage grew thick and shadowed. “You don’t know what’s in those woods.”

  “Jorgan explained it.”

  As if just now realizing his suspenders were out of order, he tugged up one and then the other. “Not well enough or you wouldn’t be here.” When the path narrowed, he led the way, an
d she saw the handle of a revolver holstered at the back of his waist.

  Aven slowed, knowing he was right. ’Twas foolish of her to head off alone—no matter her upset. “Will you please tell me, then?” Jorgan had mentioned there was danger due to Jed’s and Harlan’s whereabouts, but not in great detail.

  Haakon started on and she followed. “Jed Sorrel is wanted for three accounts of murder. Harlan two. In addition to that, they’re both wanted for assault many times over.” He stepped over a dry-rotted log, then waited as she managed on her own. “Some of the cases involved women in a way that I won’t even describe.” His gaze dropped to the lace of her petticoat, which she tugged away from the rough bark. “So when we tell you you’re not safe in these woods, you’re not safe.” His hand moved back to the waistband of his pants where he pulled his shirt over the handle of the revolver to better conceal it.

  If he wanted to frighten her, it had worked. If he wanted to ensure her heart was broken for those who had been harmed by Sorrel men, the cracking was now complete. Aven heaved in a breath, wishing for a way to lay her own battle down when so much was at stake for so many. When others had lost much more than she. For that alone she slowed and faced Haakon again.

  Though he came no nearer, his voice was as soft as it must have been for Sibby. “Remember when Peter first started working for us? The day after he was throttled by his kin?”

  Aven nodded slowly, recalling Peter’s deep bruises.

  “That’s just the start of what they can do. Aven, there are sheriffs after them in every county from Botetourt to Clark. Did Jorgan tell you that?”

  He very well might have, but she’d been so caught up in Thor’s illness . . .

  “Good and well that the sheriff aims to help, but we all know there’s not much the law can do up here. It’s too vast. Too untamed. A man could vanish here if he wanted to. We all know it’s not so simple, so we’re going to do everything we can to keep you all safe.”

  Her heart lurched at the sincerity in his eyes. ’Twas so different than the Haakon she’d known when last they had stood in this wilderness alone.