Counting by twos, Aven moved fourteen pint jars from the bottom shelf of the pantry to the kitchen table. She washed them with hot soapy water, boiled each one, then spread everything on towels to steam dry. Beside the pot of bubbling water sat another pot where Aven scooped out eight cups of sugar. She dumped in a pail of berries, then went out to the porch for another.
She startled at the sight of a young man standing at the base of the steps. Hat in hand, his brow was dewy as if he’d walked some ways to get there. His hair was flaxen and as closely shorn as a field after a scything. Eyes a light brown and unmistakably familiar. The young Sorrel man from church. One of the neighbors who had caused so much trouble for them.
She took a step back.
“Evenin’, ma’am.” His gaze drifted to the collapsed, charred wood crib, then back to her. Unlike before, he didn’t study her as closely and instead dropped his focus to her shoes. “I’m lookin for Mr. Thor.”
“He’s . . . uh . . . he’s in the middle of something. Will be for the rest of the day.”
“Oh, I see.” Though clearly disappointed, the young man’s eyes finally lifted to hers. “Might you tell him I came by? I was wonderin’ if he’s still hirin’ pickers for the harvest. I could use the work.”
Bending, Aven hefted up the bucket with both hands. “I will pass along your inquiry.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” He slid on his hat as he started away.
“Your name, sir?” She couldn’t recall what Haakon had called him.
He turned some. Gave a sad smile. “Peter, ma’am.”
She nodded and watched as he walked back down the road.
Haakon was standing at the stove when she returned to the kitchen, and it was a different kind of startling she felt this time. One that sent a surge of uncertainty straight through her heart. How did temptation and caution collide so boldly in Haakon’s presence?
“Was someone out there?” he asked, the first they’d spoken since the pond.
“His name was Peter.”
Haakon paced to the window. After a few moments he turned back to her. “Did he bother you?”
“No. He was looking for Thor. Inquiring about work.” And honest work, at that.
“Thor’s not gonna hire a Sorrel.”
“I assured him I would pass along the message.”
Haakon rubbed a thumb across his bottom lip, making no further response as he watched her. Aven lifted up the bucket of berries, rested it on the edge of the pot, and tipped them in.
“What are you doing? Thor needs those.”
She shot out a breath. My, if he wasn’t also trying to one’s patience. “Your brother is the one who asked me to do this. He’s worried they won’t keep.”
Haakon’s forehead pinched. “What are we gonna sell?”
“I’m not sure.” She reached for a long wooden spoon and tried to ignore how near he stepped to her.
“So we’re gonna live on jam now, huh? That’s just wonderful. First there’s you, Miss Warm-And-Then-Cold in the water. Then there’s a Sorrel knockin’ on the door. And if that’s not enough, I’m about a day away from gettin’ my face smashed in again by my brother.”
There was a time to stay quiet and let the hurting express what they needed to say. Perhaps something she’d learned in living life among the broken and the suffering. All crushed into place together by fate and circumstance. So soft came an answer. “I owe you an apology about that. The water, that is. I should not have reacted so hastily.”
“I don’t want an apology.” At a bump from upstairs, Haakon leaned toward the great room.
“Do you need to go up there?”
He listened a moment longer. “I don’t think so. Jorgan’s gonna sit with him for a few hours. Then I will.”
Aven turned to stir the berries. The juices were running now, soaking up the sugar. With Haakon having grown quiet, she thought on his other complaints. One in particular was alarming. “Did Thor hurt you? Some time ago?”
Haakon opened one side of the pie safe and pulled out a biscuit. The pastry flaked as he broke it in half. “I don’t wanna talk about Thor.”
“I’m talking about you.”
Vulnerability pulled Haakon’s gaze to hers. He set the biscuit on the counter and slid the butter dish near. “I was younger then, so I was smaller.” The lid clanged as he lifted it. “I’ll be fine now.” He opened a drawer, and when he failed in finding a butter knife, Aven handed him one she’d just washed.
He thanked her. Brow pinched, Haakon smeared butter onto the biscuit then, using a spoon, scooped out a dollop of the softening berries. He drizzled the fruit onto his biscuit, looking lost in thought. “It was a couple of years ago. Thor kinda lost his mind. He said later that it felt like somethin’ was crawlin’ on him. He just couldn’t handle it, I suppose.”
Haakon pressed the two pieces of biscuit together and licked his thumb. “I tried to hold him but couldn’t. He’d smashed my head into the window by the time Jorgan made it upstairs. Even Ida came runnin’, and Thor bumped her around more than he would have ever meant to. She’d tried to help Jorgan steady ’im. It’s why they boarded up the windows this time.”
Aven didn’t realize the wooden spoon was dripping in her hand until Haakon took it and set it aside.
Pushing back the short hair at his temple, he ran his pinkie along the jagged white line of a scar. Then he bent his ear forward, showing that the back side was marred. “And this”—he pointed to his nose— “was broke in two places.” Haakon chomped a bite, then a second. He mumbled around the mouthful. “Thor’s really strong. And when he’s scared, it’s like herdin’ a spooked bull.”
Fresh to mind was the way Thor had pulled her from the shed. How hard she’d fought back and how iron his grip had been. Their fall and his crushing weight. How, no matter the ways she’d fought back, he’d dragged her up from the ground like she was a rag doll.
Aven lifted her gaze to the ceiling, and something else tugged at her heart. The memory of him helping her down the bank. Of him sitting across the table from her. His ideas and his books. His words written—the gentle sound of his voice when he put it to paper or shaped it with his hands. The look in his eyes as if he had so much he wanted to say to her but didn’t know how.
“He watches you, you know.” Haakon leaned back against the wooden countertop.
“He watches many people,” she countered, not liking how close he’d gotten to the truth. “It’s how he knows what’s being said.”
Haakon shook his head. “It’s different.”
At a thump at the door, she was grateful for the need to walk over and open it. ’Twas Ida standing there. At least she was quite certain it was Ida. The gray-haired woman carried a mound of blankets and pillows so tall it nearly toppled. Aven took some.
“These for makin’ up beds,” Ida said.
“Where do you want them?”
“Jus’ downstairs. Cora can sleep on the sofa. Al won’t mind the floor none.”
Aven followed Ida that way. With the jam needing to stew, she set about helping to tuck and fold blankets and slide cases onto pillows. By the time they finished, the light was so dim that Ida checked the kerosene in the lantern. At the desk there, she slid an envelope from her apron pocket. “Cora fetched the mail in town last she was there. Brought it just now. Somethin’ came for you, Aven.”
Aven thanked her and slipped the envelope into her skirt pocket.
Ida pulled out a second envelope and placed it on the desk. “And this for Jorgan. A letter from his Fay.” She winked.
Haakon strode past, snatching it from the wooden surface. At the window he pressed it to the glass, but there wasn’t enough light to illuminate the papers inside.
“Haakon Norgaard.” Ida put her hands on her hips. “I’m gonna swat you.”
He sniffed the envelope, then handed it back. “You’re no fun.”
“And you need to go get some sleep. ’S gonna be a long night.” Ida limped around the great room, plucking up odds and ends of the brothers’ messes.
Haakon grabbed one of the pillows and carried it out to the front porch. He smashed it against an arm of the swing and settled in. His legs dangled over the other end, and folding his arms, he closed his eyes. The sunset beyond was vibrant streaks of rose and gold. A gentle breeze stirred, and a soft rustling came from the orchard where countless leaves trembled.
Back in the kitchen, Aven checked her pots. She stirred the thick, bubbly goodness and added a splash more water. Ida had put up pectin early in the summer—made from the baby apples that had been thinned from the orchard—so Aven dipped into the crock and ladled out enough syrup to thicken the jam.
With time left for it to cook and with the letter now on her mind, Aven slipped upstairs. In her room she pulled the envelope out and tore off the end. She unfolded the pages and read. It was an answer to the inquiries for employ that Jorgan had helped her post. Mentioned within the folds was a sewing position in a place called Lexington. A victory, aye, but reading on, Aven gleaned that it was almost forty miles away. So short a span in light of the ocean she had crossed, but now that this family had become her own, forty miles felt as far. Visiting would need to be sparse, if at all.
Aven read on. The employment offered room and board. Such a luxury. And with a modest wage as well, ’twas a blessing beyond all hope. Yet sorrow crept in at the thought of such a distance. Aven slid the letter away. There would be time enough in the coming days to form a response.
For now, she adjusted the loose ties of her apron, steadied uncertainties, and forced her mind back to the tasks at hand. She slipped out and turned to close the door when something at her foot caught her attention. Nestled into the shadow of the doorjamb lay a small leather pouch. When had that arrived? In the same spot the wedding photograph had been, no less.
Aven picked it up. She loosened the drawstrings and, peering inside, spotted a glint of metal.
’Twas a wee thimble.
She pressed it to her fingertip. A perfect fit. There was only one man who would think to give her this. She slid the token back in the pouch where it would be safe and, glancing up toward the attic door, whispered a prayer of strength for the man who was suffering behind it.