Ægir's Wife Ch. 11

Mikael rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he exited their cabin. Though he supposed he could have taken the captain's one, instead of offering it to his father, but it just did not seem right somehow. Technically, he might have more experience than Bjorn, but this new order of things was more egalitarian.

Each brought to Ægir's Captive that which they did best. He charted the course, while Bjorn cut deals with top restaurants in London and other cities for their best and freshest catches. Even Sven was beginning to come around. His expertise lay in the complexities of navigating the legalities: licenses, permits, customs, and even intricacies of relationships with other fishermen. It should make things easier for them all.

This trip, in particular, was wearing on him. Kirsty. She was nearing the end of her pregnancy, just six more weeks - if she made it that long. He found himself jealous of Sven, the time his brother got to spend with their wife now. There was nothing he wanted more at the moment than to spend hours in her arms, rubbing her fecund belly, feeling the babies move, and sucking those lush breasts, even if the reward was only a drop or two of the sweet pre-milk that his mother taught was called colostrum.

Instead, he was stuck at sea with his baby brother and father. They had lost Karl a couple of weeks ago. While Mikael understood the pressures of family, he knew that it was a difficult choice for the young man to return to his brothers, where he would never be anything more than the most inexperienced, another back. He understood that feeling too well. But he also knew loyalty, especially since the plea came from Karl's dying mother.

He needed to figure something out. While he enjoyed having his father with them once again, he knew that the old man's heart was back at The Holding with their mother. The Homdling, he corrected himself with a smile. No, he needed to give some serious thought to hiring another hand. The trouble was there was such finality to that. An admission that Sven would never return to the sea. He was not sure that he or his brother were ready to admit that truth just yet.

The smell of bacon drifted through the haze as he stumbled into the galley. Bjorn stood by the stove with several pans on the various burners. "What's for breakfast, lillebror?"

Bjorn turned with a spatula in hand, "Pancakes, eggs, and bacon."

Mikael inhaled and nodded, "Damn, sometimes I love Mama's American roots. That beats the hell out of muesli, rye bread, and cheese."

Bjorn smiled as he turned back to the stove, plating up their breakfasts, before handing Mikael his, and taking a seat across the table. "I have ulterior motives. I am buttering you up," he said as he held out the butter dish.

Mikael chuckled, "Let me guess. You want my help dragging Kirsty's butt to Oslo when we get home." He did not bother making it a question. He knew that if Bjorn had his way, their wife would have never left the city when they took Sven home two months ago. He understood Bjorn's fears, but he also empathized with their wife's connection to the Homdling. He had been trying to balance the two for weeks.

"Mama's Thanksgiving is only three weeks away. How about we wait until after that? I know it would mean a lot to them both if we were all together for the holiday."

Bjorn shook his head, "If she even made it that long. Twins most often come months, weeks early. We have waited too long already, Mikael."

Mikael brought a bite of food to his mouth and chewed slowly, trying to buy some time as he once more pondered the dilemma, another one that he had been trying to avoid.

It was another irony. Greta could not wait to get to escape the Holding. Those final weeks spent in Bodo as they awaited Monika's birth had been the only part of her pregnancy, his ex-wife liked. Shopping, restaurants, they had eaten out every meal, she would not have it any other way. Hell, she had even begged and pouted until he had taken her to the clubs one night, though he was careful to be sure she did not drink. Over a month in Oslo would have like heaven to that woman.

But not Kirsty. She had been subtly hinting about keeping with family tradition; babies were born in the same bed in which they were made. Mikael liked the idea. And if this were only one baby, he would take Bjorn out to the fighting fields over it. But his little brother was right. This pregnancy was twins. And that meant more risk for the babies and her. He was no more in favor of risking Kirsty's life than his baby brother.

"Alright," he sighed as he brought another bite towards his mouth. "I'll back you on this one, but you take the heat. Understood? And I suggest you have this same conversation with Sven and Mama. Kirsty is going to do everything she can to delay this one until it is too late. A united front is your only hope."

His brother smiled and practically hopped from the table with glee as he began to plate up the rest of the food for his father. Mikael was reminded of the day that he had taken that little brat to see the ramshackle fort he had built out of leftover pieces of wood from their mother's greenhouse.

He considered continuing this conversation; his baby brother was underestimating their wife's resolve on this one. Mikael knew that this issue was not going to be as easily solved as Bjorn thought. But he needed to get to the bridge and relieve his father. He had been reluctant as it was to allow Olaf to take his turn, captaining the ship overnight.

His father had not left him any choice, telling Mikael to get another hand if he did not trust him. It was not trust, but guilt that motivated him. His father did not belong at sea anymore. Their mother needed him, and Olaf deserved that time with her. He sighed as he stood, taking his plate to the sink.

He was back where he started this morning. What to do about the crew? He knew that it was a conversation he must have with Sven. But like this one with their wife, it would not be painless. But almost three months after surgery and two of intensive therapy with Kirsty three times a day, Sven was barely able to manage with a walker. Crutches and a cane were out of the question.

Mikael was beginning to suspect that his brother would never be able to return to the sea. That was as hard to face as Bjorn's fears of losing her, and a much getter likelihood. No, he needed to face this one head-on, just as they must with their wife as well. Pretending and ignoring problems was what had caused so much trouble in the past. He did not want it marring this new future that their shieldmaiden was leading them towards. He would speak to Sven and Kirsty as soon as they returned to the Homdling.

***

Georgia stared out over the field. It was practically barren now. But in summer, when they had first arrived, it had been awash with color. Yellow. Red. Orange. Blue. Purple. Even the White Lace that she learned was Kirsty's favorite held far more beauty and mystery than plainness.

It was the small brook that ran through this back portion of their home. The Holding or Homdling as her charge Monika had redubbed it. It was that stream that had first drawn her to this place. It had been just too much like the 'safe place' she had created in her mind for her to ignore. And as with that 'safe place' she came here often, whenever her soul was troubled, she sought out its beauty and serenity.

But she had been avoiding this place for the past few weeks. Since that day. She still had trouble thinking about it. The way she had broken down. She did not even remember all of what happened. There were huge chunks of time missing. She remembered being here with Monika on a day like this, though a bit warmer, and there was still some sun then. The next thing she was truly aware of was waking in her bedroom the next morning with Petrine fussing over her.

Since then she had worried about what she might have said or done. But that did not seem to matter to them. While others might have fired her and sent her home for leaving her young charge vulnerable like that, they had shown nothing but concern for her. Concern that not even her own mother ever had. That bothered her, too.

She looked up at the sky. This was the lightest part of the day, and even that could hardly be counted as daylight. Winter was rapidly closing in now. Time was slipping away from her. The sand in the hourglass seemed to be moving faster now.

She had finally mustered the courage to broach the subject of returning with Mikael. But he had dismissed her, said that the seas were too rough. He had bargained for a few more months. With the holidays coming and Kirsty so close to delivering their babies, they needed her, more than ever. He promised that he would keep tabs on her mother, continue to pass along much of the money she made to her.

Georgia sighed, was it the right thing to do? She was almost certain that her mother was giving it all to her father, who would only drink and gamble away their chance of escaping. It was guilt that motivated her. Somehow or the other, she hoped that the money would buy her mother a reprieve. That her father would be away with his friends more and perhaps, maybe not beat her mother as much. That was highly unlikely though.

Months here, and she still had no plan. No long-term idea of what she was going to do. Or, more importantly, how she was going to save her Mama.

She had not even heard anything directly from her since she left London. Not a single letter passed to Roz or Mikael when they checked in on her. Georgia knew it was her Papa's fault. His way of punishing her for leaving. And perhaps a feeble but surprisingly effective attempt to control her even from a thousand miles away across the sea.

Nothing had changed. Bruises that her mother could not hide but would never confirm. She knew that Mikael and Roz especially had done their best to convince her mother to leave. Mikael had even reluctantly admitted that he had offered to bring her to the Holding.

Georgia sighed heavily as she picked one of the few remaining flowers in what she had learned was also called the 'fighting field.' The place where it was brother against brother at times. She had been shocked as she listened to Petrine and Kirsty almost laugh about the struggles that had taken place here. Petrine said that the flowers grew so well in this place because they had been fertilized with generations of blood.

She supposed in some way that should have brought comfort. Solace. Perspective. To know that all families had their struggles. Their arguments. Their fights. But it did not. There was a vast difference in equals settling their disagreements with fists and the abuse that she and her mother had endured. That her mother still was.

She knew that going back there was the only answer. The only way. Whether that meant going back briefly on one of their regular trips to England on Ægir's Captive or if she would return to stay, perhaps accept Roz's offer that the woman seemed to press on her every time they spoke, Georgia still was not sure.

It all came back to one thing...hiding. She was hiding. Not just from her father's punches, but from everything. From an uncertain future. And an all too painful past.

Georgia slammed that door in her mind shut before it could open more than a crack. Even though she recognized that it was the key to unlocking the future. She must find the strength and the courage to throw open the door to all that ugliness that was hidden behind her 'safe place.' She must face the past before she could plan the future.

But after what had happened last time that scared her even more. Not yet. Not today. She was not ready. She did not know if she ever would be. But she knew time was running out. Whether she wanted to or not, one day, she would have to face it all. If she wanted to save not just herself, but her mother - before it was too late.

***

Karl watched the girl from the other side of the stream. He felt a bit like a stalker. Though that had not been his intention when he came to this place that had been his refuge since he was little more than a toddler. And as the youngest of five boys, he had needed to escape from one or the other of his older brothers often enough.

It was a different type of escape he sought this time, though. She was dying. Their Mama. The woman who had not only cooked and cleaned for them but had been their advisor and guide since Papa's death almost a decade before. He had not even been a teenager when their father succumbed to the vagarities of Njord. Nils had not yet been a man of thirty, but he had taken the helm of not just Ægir's Brew but the family. With the same iron fist that Papa had.

Karl shook his blond head as he pondered the decisions that faced him now. That faced them all.

Mama had been the glue that bound them together. A fractious bunch of testosterone that had been continuously vying for glory and supremacy. Being the youngest and several years behind his next closest brother Dag, Karl had stood little chance in those games. Overlooked and underestimated most of the time. Criticized and ostracized the rest.

As always, it was only Mama's pleas that had brought him back this time. He had learned and accomplished more in the six months that he had worked for and with their hated cousins than he had the past seven years that he had spent working with his brothers.

He was happy there. At the Holding. With them. And her.

But Mama was dying - and everything was changing now. Her words ate at him, 'They need you. Your brothers need you. We are family, not them. Come home,' she pleaded.

Still, he had no answer. And time was running out. His cousins would be going back to sea soon. And as much as he wanted to be with them, to be near her, still, his sense of duty, honor, and loyalty called out with every one of his mother's pleas.

"Karl, Karl, come quickly," the dark look on Dag's face told the man all he needed to know. If that had not, the tears on his brother's face would have. Time, it seemed had run out for him already.

He looked regretfully across the bubbling water as she picked a lone White Lace. He had even less to offer her now. The youngest of five. A fishing business that was on its very last leg. Karl had no place in this world to call his own. Nothing to offer the woman that he had come to love, perhaps had from that first furtive glance on Ægir's Captive.

He knew that she needed someone strong and successful to protect her, and that was not him. "I'm coming," he replied past the lump in his throat. The tears that were already gathering in his blue eyes blurred his final vision of her.

***

"I am not going."

Bjorn was not sure whether to laugh or turn her over his knee and spank her like a child. Not that that would be easy given the size of her protruding abdomen, which was the cause of all this.

As far as he was concerned, they had left this argument for far too late anyway. With just five weeks left to go until her due date, he had been annoying his brothers and mother for over a month to force her to keep her word to spend the final weeks of her pregnancy in Oslo near hospitals with the capability of managing a high-risk twin pregnancy.

But until now, his pleas had fallen on deaf ears. Having been through all this before with Greta and Monika, Mikael had a nonchalant attitude that irked him badly. It had taken their conversation a few days ago on Njord's Captive to sway his brother finally. While Sven shared his concerns, he also sympathized with their wife about city life, any city.

And their mother was completely and utterly hopeless. Bjorn would have thought that given her own experience of his birth, and as what passed for the local 'sea wife' or herbalist and midwife, as the modern world would call them, the woman would have more sense. He had begun to fear that she would side with their wife's completely irresponsible desire to have these babies the 'old fashioned way.'

There was no way that they were taking the risk of having Kirsty go into labor this far from the doctors and medical facilities that could prevent the type of disaster that had almost taken their mother's life when she hemorrhaged after his birth. Even if this had been a 'normal' pregnancy, he would have been against the family tradition of babies being born in the same bed in which they were conceived.

He was glad though that even their stubborn mother had, in the end, stood with them. He knew that they were united in this one, "You will go to the apartment in Oslo. We are taking you there ourselves on Monday," he answered.

Mikael reached his hand out for her, but Kirsty rejected the gesture as she crossed her hands over her chest and glared from one to another of them. As always, their wife's penchant for going for the weak link shone through, "Sven needs me here. We are just beginning to make some real progress in his therapy. And Petrine, how can I possibly miss Thanksgiving?"

Bjorn was glad to see his oldest brother sport that stern, broke no-shit Dom smile as he responded, "Do not worry, Kirsten. I am going with you. Someone has to take guard duty while these two keep things running."

Kirsty then turned her pleading to eyes to the shockingly weakest link, Petrine. "You know that this pregnancy has been textbook perfect. This is all ridiculous scaremongering. There is no reason whatsoever that these little girls can't be born right here where they belong."

He held his breath, knowing that his mother had used almost those exact same words just days before when he had broached the subject.

But he need not have worried as his mother rose and wrapped her arm about the younger woman, "If this were just one baby, Kirsty, you know I would stand shield to shield with you against these..." their mother looked from one to the other of her sons with comical disdain as she shook her head, "...men."

His uncle's hand found his mother's jean-clad bottom, and they all chuckled when Olaf growled, "Be good, woman."

Yes, in this, at least their family was a united front. And slowly they were coming together in other areas too. Olaf had returned once more to the sea with them, though begrudgingly. The man had been distracted with some big project that he kept safely hidden in his workshop.

It had been their only option, once Karl had given into his family's pressure and his mother's death bed plea to return to work with their 'cousins,' if those men deserved such a title. Bjorn still had not forgiven them for the teasing or the attempted beating he had taken as a child. Even if he had gotten the better part of it with what his ancestors would have called the 'berserker rage.' Old grudges died hard...impossibly so sometimes.

So, Ægir's Captive was a man down crew wise at the most critical and lucrative of their season, the winter months when they risked the most for the highest yield and gain. With Sven's accident, this year was especially crucial as the competition, their cousins especially, looked to gain ground and take a bite out of their edge in this struggle against large corporations and their fish farms. With the ever-increasing regulations on the industry and the decreasing schools of fish, a poor season could be the end of the way of life that their family had followed for centuries. But they were not ready to give into modernity that easily.

Any more than they would tolerate her disobedience in this one. He stared her eye to eye, "You are going. End of discussion."

To which their adorable wife dared to stamp her foot before turning to flee up the stairs, slamming the door to her room to emphasis her displeasure with them.

"Guess none of us have to worry about who she is calling tonight," Mikael chuckled, and they all broke out in laughter.