Holding his pocket watch with a trembling hand, Thor read the time. Just past ten. Nearly twelve hours since his last drink. Over two days since the boards had been delivered. Time enough for him to brace for what was to come and for Jorgan and him to finish closing up the shop.
Morning sun poured through the window as if to mock him and his pounding head. He sipped the glass of water Ida had brought him, but it did little for his parched throat. Bowing his head, he dragged a hand through his hair and gripped the back of his throbbing neck.
During the last delivery, they’d sold enough liquor to keep their customers happy for a few weeks. Beyond that . . . Thor didn’t want to think about it.
Now Jorgan was sealing over the last of the windows in the attic where Thor would keep himself. The light dimming, Thor glanced around. He didn’t like the way the room was beginning to box him in, but it was safest. With three more swings, Jorgan drove another nail flush. He gave the final wooden slat a firm tug. It didn’t budge.
Jorgan looked at him. “You doin’ okay?”
Thor nodded as much to reassure himself as his brother. These early hours, miserable as they felt, were just the beginning. He had a good four days of hell in front of him, and he was barely to the fiery gates.
Stomach in knots, Thor tried to remember what he’d sat down for. Oh . . . Aven.
Reaching under his bed, he dragged forward his box of odds and ends and lifted it beside him. He pulled out a tin with a hinged lid. Inside were trinkets he’d collected over the years. A small river rock he’d gathered on school holiday. Three Mohawk beads he and Jorgan had unearthed in the woods one spring. The eagle feather he’d found on the ridge with Da. Thor sifted through the rest of the items until he saw a glinting piece of metal. His mother’s thimble.
He turned the thimble that was smaller than even the tip of his pinkie. The smooth shape of it reminded him of things forever lost, so he wasted no time riffling through the box some more. He dug until he found an old leather pouch. Thor dumped out the contents, tucked the token inside, and tugged the drawstrings.
Jorgan thumped the box. Thor looked up, and though his brother’s mouth was moving, a wash of dizziness made it hard to understand.
“Haakon . . . wagon . . . time to . . .”
Running his fingers over his eyes, Thor rose. It was time to pick more berries. He quickly shook his head, but it did nothing to right the fogginess that hazed his mind. A final sip of water reminded him of why he was doing this. Of what he was trying to break free from.
Hammer in hand, Jorgan strode out and Thor followed. At Aven’s door, Thor bent and set the pouch in the same place he’d left the photo, then headed on until he was downstairs. Stepping out into the bright sunlight, he squinted—pain shot through his forehead. Thor stumbled and, holding up a hand to the sun, blinked to try and right his vision.
Jorgan looked worried. Haakon, just irritated.
Aven was already seated. Thor climbed into the back, in no mood to drive. He closed his eyes and lowered his face into his hands. The wagon lurched forward, teasing more nausea into his gut. His body knew what it wanted—had been so deeply conditioned that going about the most basic of tasks suddenly felt like pouring water into a sieve and expecting it to stay.
The wagon jostled and jolted over the road. Had it always been this rough? Thor’s misery grew with every quarter mile. When they stopped, he climbed down and dragged out pails.
Aven was chatting with Haakon. Thor carried several buckets into the deeps of the thicket where he could be alone, but he glanced back—unsure if he’d just seen Aven right. She was wearing an old pair of knickers that had to be Haakon’s from years ago and a white shirt covering her that hung to her knees. Cinched at the waist with a belt, the shirt was one of his. He could tell by the pencil lead stains in the chest pocket and the way it nearly drooped over one of her small shoulders.
Her copper hair was pulled up and back. Tied with a strip of cloth, it flounced down her neck in soft waves. Realizing he was watching her longer than was chaste, Thor turned away.
He plucked berries from the hedge until his fingers were stained purple, and thorny scrapes sent his irritation into new realms of unreasonable. Thor drew in a heavy breath that had been one of many. Stretching his neck from side to side, he tried to loosen the tension there.
After a long while, he felt a tug on his shirt. Turning back, he saw Jorgan motioning him over to where Aven had unwrapped Ida’s sandwiches for dinner. His stomach was still rolling, so Thor shook his head.
Jorgan nodded his understanding.
It was all he could do not to hurl into the bushes right now. Bread with cheese was not what he wanted. What he wanted was a drink.
Thor glanced at his stained hands. They were sticky and the same color of the wine he made every year. His mouth went wet with longing, and when the sensation turned sour, he held the back of his hand to his mouth. Closing his eyes, he inhaled the muggy forest air and sent a prayer to God for help.
Sweat slid down his temple. Slicked his back. Caring less and less about berries, Thor headed for the pond. He paid no attention to the others as he strode down the hill. Breeze hit his skin as he stripped off his shirt. Boots went next, and then he plunged beneath the cool surface. After holding his breath as long as he dared, he surfaced into the bright light of day. Thor pressed his forehead against the base of the dock and heaved in air.
Time twisted and bent. Playing tricks on his mind because when he felt stable enough to climb out, Aven was walking down the dock to him. Her bare feet were pale as cream, and he felt sicker and more soiled the closer she came. She smiled, and it made no sense to him. How anything about this day could possibly be good. Thor checked his mood, telling himself that it was just his body punishing his mind.
“Would it be a good time for you to show me about swimming?”
Lowering his head, he pinched his eyes closed. He was stupid not to have told her. It was best if she stayed away from him just now.
Desperate to help her understand, he patted his chest in search of his notebook, but there was only slick skin. He looked at Aven, that eager expression of hers, and wished for the countless time that he could speak.
Instead, he watched as Haakon strode nearer. “I can show you what you want to learn, Aven.” He hopped down to the mucky soil and reached to help her.
She looked back at Thor with a trace of hurt. This would look like a snub to her. Made worse in the way he’d distanced himself the last two days.
Haakon spoke, bridging a gap to Aven that Thor couldn’t fill. “Besides . . . Thor can’t sign and swim with you at the same time, so it’d be confusing. Come with me.” He reached up for her again. “I’ll get ya sorted out.”
“I’m worried for Thor,” Aven said. The poor man looked pale.
“He’s not feelin’ too good.”
Thor climbed out of the pond and strode back along the length of the dock toward the grassy slope.
Sparking to heart was the memory of him across the table earlier in the week. Of his kindness and gentle ways. Yet, though he was becoming more and more dear, more a precious part of family to her, his addiction was a broken bridge between them. One that was nearly impossible for her to traverse. No matter how much she wanted to, she could not build it back up stone by stone. The work wasn’t hers to do because the choice wasn’t hers to make. If he wished it, she would be there to help him, but she’d learned firsthand that—as Cora had said—a man had to want it.
“Is there something that might help him?” she asked Haakon. Perhaps a drink of water or someone to sit by him. The longing arose to do those very things.
“Naw. He’d rather we just leave him alone. He’ll take it easy. Come on.”
Thor certainly looked like he wanted to be alone. Trying to loosen her worry for him, Aven let Haakon help her down.
He pointed toward a stand of reeds. “On the other side of that is another shallow. A pool of sorts.”
She shielded her eyes to better see it.
“We can get to it from the other side but would have to wade through a bunch of mud, and this will be easier. You won’t sink. You have my word. But . . .” The sun glinted on his bare shoulders as he looked down at her. “I’ll have to swim you over there.”
“Well . . .” Maybe this was all a bad idea.
Haakon waded farther out and turned to face her. Water sloshed against his pants. The sight of him made her think of every summer spent in the workhouse. There she had sat, bent over her sewing in the stifling air, dreaming of freedom.
And now it was right here. “Alright.” She stepped closer.
When he explained how to paddle and kick, she mimicked his movements.
Something in his face told her he was trying not to laugh. “I think we’re just gonna have to give it a go. Hopefully we’ll make it.”
“Haakon!”
“We’re not gonna drown. But I can see that’s exactly what you’re thinking. Take a deep breath.”
Aye. Deep breath. Aven reached up to touch the chain at her throat but felt nothing, since she’d tucked her mother’s necklace safely away for the day.
“Jorgan isn’t far,” Haakon added. “I’m a very good swimmer, but he’ll be nearby if you panic. Also, Thor’s a strong swimmer.” He pointed to where Thor sat in the grass above watching them. “And lastly, I’m gonna have to hold you around the waist.” Haakon wet his hands as he motioned for her to come nearer. “Don’t scream or hit me or do anything rash until we get to the other side. Then you can blush all you want.”
She wandered farther in. “No hitting. No screaming. I’ll even promise not to blush.”
He led them farther out until the water was up to her shoulders. Ripples broke against his chest. Thick mud oozed beneath her feet. Aven cringed, but then Haakon took her wrist and slid her arm across his shoulders. His skin was slick, and even as she blushed, he gripped her waist. She wedged her face near his shoulder so he wouldn’t see the color that had to be blooming in her cheeks.
“Ready?” His voice was suddenly very near.
When she nodded, he pushed off, tugging her gently with him. All at once there was nothing but water all around. Panic rattled her, and she floundered.
“You’re fine, I’ve got you.” He held her against his side. “Just hold on—”
Her elbow bumped his chest, and he grunted but didn’t lose his hold. With her free arm, she did as he had directed. ’Twas surely more hindrance than help. Still holding fast to her waist, he used his other arm to pull them through the water with strong strokes. His grip tightened as the water turned colder and murkier.
“It’ll . . . help if you . . . kick,” he panted.
She did, feeling like a falling fish. When they reached the little pool, he pushed her in front of him and Aven grabbed a handful of reeds, tugging herself into the shallow area. She slipped from the cold murkiness into sun-warmed water that was clearer and almost sandy. He pulled himself in behind her. She glanced back. Jorgan was still on the dock. Thor was nowhere to be seen.
“Was that so bad?” Haakon’s eyes were smiling, lashes dark and wet. “You’re breaking a promise. All you have to do is hit me and scream next.”
Aven pressed both hands to her cheeks to cool them. “You’re impossible.”
Never had a man moved with more ease as he settled beside her. “This is nice, isn’t it? You can sink down some if you want to. Just get comfortable with the water. Do you know how to hold your breath under the surface?”
“I’m afraid not.”
He took a deep inhale, then dunked under. Bubbles rose until he came back up, swiping his face.
Aven stepped back. “I think I’d prefer not to do that.”
“You’re gonna have to.”
“I don’t know that I want to learn how to swim anymore.”
“We’ve come too far for that kind of talk. Come on, I’ll show you.” He tugged her lower in the water, and while her knees bent, nothing else moved. “Aven, you’re stiff as a dead duck. Try to relax.” He shook her gently. “And you’re gonna have to get your hair wet, but . . .” Haakon twirled a hand above her head as if to mimic the tie-up she had fashioned. “You’re losin’ somethin’.”
“Oh.” Aven touched her hair to feel the strip of cloth falling loose.
“You might want to hold on to it.” He tapped his chest. “Maybe in that pocket.”
It didn’t feel proper to take her hair down, but he assured her it was common for swimming. Not wanting to lose the ribbon, she reached up, tugged it free, and pressed it into the damp pocket of Thor’s shirt. Using both hands, she shook the bundle of her hair loose. The ends hit the water and dampened.
Like the ebbing rays of a sunset, Haakon’s humor faded, his focus direct and quieted. Gone was the child in him, and in that place was a man. One a few months older than herself. Though youthful freckles lay scattered across his nose, she suddenly felt shadowed by him. A quick glimpse reminded her that his jaw was strong and square, and it took much effort to ignore the braw shape of his chest and shoulders.
Aven cleared her throat the same moment she realized that his hand was still at her waist. “Haakon?”
“Yes?”
“What are we to do now?”
“I—I . . .” He blinked quickly as if to come back from a faraway place. “I want you to practice going underwater. It’ll be handy to know how. Help you . . . uh . . . learn not to panic.” He seemed to be struggling for direction himself. “Pinch your nose if you want and hold your breath. Hold it for a few seconds, then come back up. I’ll go with you. Ready?” After a slow count to three, he heaved in a breath and vanished under the surface.
Aven watched him flounder under the water.
Finally he popped back up, dripping and insolent. “Aven! What are you doing?” He swiped water from his face.
“I wasn’t ready.” A terrible student she was. ’Twas best that Thor was spared. “Perhaps if we go slower.” She rubbed balmy water up her arms, then moved her feet to get used to the feel of the grit beneath. Rarely had she waded into a creek, let alone swam in a pond. There wasn’t much water play at the Limerick Workhouse, save for rain puddles for the orphans and a birdbath near the laundry quarters for feathered visitors. Never in her adult life, until her wedding day to Benn, had she been outside its walls.
But this wasn’t Benn. This was Haakon. And he looked like summer and a heady dose of freedom. A kind unlike she’d ever known.
Haakon nudged himself around her. Water swirled between them when he stopped. He mentioned trying a different approach. “You alright?”
“Oh, yes.” She touched her temple.
Jorgan called out, “Haakon, we gotta go.” He thumbed over his shoulder. “Thor’s not doin’ so well.”
Aven looked around for Thor, but the effort was halted when Haakon took hold of her waist again, coaxing her toward the reeds and the dock just beyond. “Can I ask you a question of a personal nature?” He parted the thick grasses and she followed him. “Do you think you’ll ever marry someone again?”
Though his inquiry struck the deepest longings of her heart, she tried to keep her answer light. “I’d like to think so.”
Circling his arm around her, he pulled them nearer to the cool pond. Her arm looped around his neck. “If you ever do . . . ,” he began softly. Those stunning blue eyes locked with her own as he eased them into deeper water. “Do you think it could be me?”
“Haakon!” Her flounder nearly sank them both.
Sputtering, he tugged her higher above the surface and gave her a reproachful look. But her cry had already echoed across the pond.
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” she whispered. Kicking her feet only seemed to mar his rhythm.
Needing to distance herself from him, Aven’s arms moved of their own accord, but she was as buoyant as a stone until he braced her against his side again. Nerves rising, she kicked wrong, paddled wrong, and even seemed to be breathing wrong.
Alarm twisted inside her. “I feel I’m going under.”
His fingers dug to grip her shirt as if he worried the same. To her relief, though, his voice was calm. “We’ll be there in just a moment. You’re gonna have to trust me. Please calm down.”
She did as he asked, and he worked them through the water, slow and steady.
Water sloshed as they neared the dock. She reached out to grab a piece of the under framing. Haakon moved her closer against it, beseeching her to look at him. At the sound of her name and the way he spoke it, Aven faced him. His arm rose above her head, hand gripping a board to hold them in place. Without warning he pressed his mouth to hers. Warm and quick and tender.
Her breath caught. Though having hungered to be kissed for years, she’d set such fancies aside for sheer need to survive from day to day. She’d given no heed to the void, doing all she could to ignore the ache of loneliness until this moment when Haakon’s tenderness sang through her. So near was he, so gentle and real, that she indulged in the tiniest taste—kissing him back for the briefest, most sweetest of seconds.
The sound of satisfaction rose from his throat, breaking her from her trance.
What was she doing? Pushing him away sent her slipping beneath the surface without his hold. Water rushed overhead, murky and cold. He grabbed her and pulled her back up. She gasped and coughed and with his help managed to grip the dock. With the back of a shaking hand, she swiped across her mouth.
Ripples lapped against his chest as he leaned to kiss her again.
Aven shifted away. So tight was her hold on the boards that her knuckles went white. “Haakon, no.”
A quick call from Jorgan accentuated her plea. Haakon shot his gaze up the dock where footsteps approached.
“Please go away,” she said in a rush.
He heaved out a sigh but pulled himself around the side of the dock, then started up the bank.
Aven clung there. Water swirled all around. How to move from this spot? To her relief, Jorgan looked over the edge and spotted her.
“Haakon!” he called over his shoulder. “You just left her here!”
“Sorry!” Haakon snapped back.
Jorgan reached for Aven’s hand. He helped her along until her feet struck soil.
The world spun as she climbed to the top of the bank. Aven wiped gritty hands on the wet knickers and fought the urge to sink to the grass. Haakon heaved himself into the wagon and sat as far from Thor as possible.
When Aven climbed up to the seat, she nearly stumbled. Thor gripped her wrist, steadying her. His unbound hair was dried from the sun, but the shadows under his eyes had deepened.
A regret she couldn’t make sense of tightened her throat. She thanked him weakly and, settling onto the narrow bench, wished she could become smaller.
Nay, wiser.