Ægir's Wife Ch. 12

And they had. They had made it through it all. The two of them. She swallowed back the tears as those other faces filled her mind. Lars - laughing and grinning at some inconsequential thing, always her partner in mischief, her Loki. Anders, so intense in his love for her, in the end, it was the intensity of that love which had broken him, leaving him nothing but a shell of that man. She had been powerless to reach him in his pain. Stig, so weighed down with responsibility that only in her arms could he float above it all. And him. Through it all, Olaf was her partner. Her equal. And her Master.

This day was a celebration of that. Of the life and years that they still had ahead of them. She smiled as the receiving line thinned.

Then he held out his hand. Those knuckles were swollen and creased with age. She smiled at the hair which covered them, even it was greying now. But he was still the most handsome man in the room to her.

"May I have this dance, old woman?"

She chuckled, "I didn't think you knew how, old man."

He pulled her into the center of the makeshift dance floor in the church hall. He wrapped his arms tightly about her as the song that he had sung to her thousands of times boomed from speakers in the corner.

She giggled like the woman-child she had once been, that summer day a lifetime ago when Anders brought his brothers to that café in Amsterdam to meet her.

She remembered the first time Olaf had played this song for her, too. Sven was a toddler. It was just after Valentine's Day. Was it nineteen-eighty or eighty-one? Damn, her memory. She hated getting old. They had just come home, if only for a couple of days. It was, after all, their busiest and most lucrative season. He had put the record on to play. They must still have the thing somewhere. And he had serenaded her with his less than perfect singing. They had all laughed — even Stig.

She smiled up into his face, "Well, I guess you kept your promise, old man. Because my blond hair has long since gone grey and there are way too many Decembers showing in this old face."

He leaned in, the kiss he placed on her lips was tender, a solemn vow between best friends and lovers, now husband and wife in the eyes of the law as they had been in their hearts for a lifetime. "And I still love to lay you down. Every single time, Rachel."

She softly brushed her fingers over his face. She tried to remember the last time she had seen him without a beard, but that too was lost in the fog of time.

The music changed; a lilting female alto voice filled the air. She knew that her very traditional choice for the bride's song would be the topic of gossip, a joke, in this community for weeks. But for her, it reflected their past...and their future.

"And when the evening comes, we smile, so much of life ahead. We'll find a place where there's room to grow. And yes, we've just begun."

'Oh, sweet goddess,' she prayed, 'let it be. Let this be just the beginning of many more years with this wonderful man.'

***

Dag shook his blond head. Why was he here? They had never been close to their 'cousins.' Papa, especially, had always resented the men. While he struggled to survive and provide for Mama and them, Stig, Anders, and Olaf's family had prospered and grown. Mama had always called the woman 'unnatural' and far worse.

Helveti, his left arm still ached. He would never forget that morning. They had cornered Bjorn, the youngest, on the playground. He did not attend the local school as they had. His mother taught him at home. It was unheard of and perhaps even illegal, no one was certain. So, to find the child there, alone, was unheard of.

Nils had already gone to sea with Papa, and Karl was at home with Mama. But Erik had incited Jan and him. Three older boys against one, even if he was bigger than Dag, it should be easy. Teach the kid and those freaks a lesson.

Except it had not turned out that way. Bjorn had broken his arm and Erik's nose. And Jan had spent three days in the hospital with broken ribs and a punctured lung. The authorities had become involved. Although they had gotten the worse end of the deal, the blame had fallen not on Bjorn but them. Papa had been so angry about the fine. Money, they did not have.

But that was ancient history. And not what brought him here this day. No, Nils had sent him on a mission. One purpose. He had to convince their youngest brother to vote with them. Vote to keep the family business afloat.

It was ludicrous on so many levels. There's had never been a democracy. Papa ruled his family and the sea. Mama was deputy. And after Papa died, Mama had taken over, except at sea, of course. That was no place for a woman. Nils ruled there. As the eldest, he had taken over as captain.

It had been like that for over a decade. Oh, they were brothers, so they fought. But Mama kept them all in line. Backed Nils whenever he needed. But Mama was gone now. And things were falling apart.

They had barely been keeping afloat for years. Their vessel was older than their cousins', smaller, lacking in much of the newer equipment their cousins' used. They had never ventured out as far to sea as the other men. As a result, their catches never as large or as lucrative.

Still, they had managed to survive when so many others had not. They continued their family tradition when other young men their age had abandoned fishing and the islands, heading to the cities for jobs.

That was what he knew Jan wanted. After a lifetime as the second oldest, second best, he wanted to break away from Nils. Jan had already been offered a job as the second mate on one of the big cargo ships. That would put them a man down. But they could survive that.

The problem was that Jan did not want just to walk away. He did not think it was fair that the power remained in Nils' hands. They were brothers. All equal. All should share equally in what few resources remained.

Ægir's Brew was more than just the ship. Their fishing permit was worth far more than the boat itself. They could sell it to one of the large fisheries, divide the money, and each have enough for a fresh start in life.

The Claim, too, Jan wanted to be sold or at least divided among them. Although much smaller than their cousins' Holding, it had been in their family for a couple of centuries. The story was that one of the brothers long ago had fallen in love with a local girl, not the captive bride of tradition. For the sake of family, the others had parcelled out the tract. Leading the two distantly related families on different paths.

Now all of it was under threat. If Jan had his way. Dag knew that Erik would vote with the man. Erik had never loved the sea. The man preferred books. And Dag knew his other secret as well. No, Erik would definitely vote with Jan. Then slip out of their lives to the city, perhaps another country even. Not that he begrudged his brother the chance to be who he was. And that certainly could not happen here.

Of course, he was firmly in Nils' camp. Sure, he, as much as the others, sometimes chafed under his eldest brother's autocratic rule, but it was the sea he loved. Perhaps, he could like Jan barter his two decades of experience for a job with one of the sizeable Scandanavian shipping companies or cruise lines, maybe even one of the fisheries. But it would not be the same. He would be nothing more than another cog in the machine — not part of something more elemental, not part of a family.

No, the Fate of their family, their way of life rested in the hands of their baby brother. A man that Nils had alienated more than all of the others. Karl was the swing vote. And they needed his support. Whatever it took. He and Nils would give their brother. Too much rode on this one.

Dag inhaled the fresh, crisp salty air of early summer. He had to find the key to Karl's heart. He stubbed out the cigar that was a nasty habit; he knew he should give up. The younger man was leaning against a tree by the church. He seemed to be watching the playground. Dag frowned as he took in the young woman, swinging the little girl, and an older dark-skinned woman chatting together. The women looked as apprehensive as he felt.

He placed his hand on his brother's shoulder, "I thought you would be in the hall, filling your plate with all their different kinds of food, brother?"

***

Why Karl was surprised that Dag had sought him out was beyond him. He should have expected it. He knew that he was the deciding vote in this battle of brothers. Jan and Erik had both sought him out earlier, making their case for selling it all off to the highest bidder, dividing everything equally, each free to begin new lives, lives all their own.

Karl was torn. He knew that it was his mother's dying wish that they remain together as a family. The way it had been for centuries. But Norway's forced inheritance laws that had changed during his father's days provided for something very different. Jan and Erik wanted to take advantage of those to break away from Nils' stifling influence.

And him? What did he want?

His eyes drifted to her again. It was the first glimpse of her he had gotten in months. She looked thinner and paler. More troubled. And considering how bruised and battered she had been the first time he saw her, that was alarming.

Since answering their dying mother's plea to come home, he had lost track of her. But he had treasured each memory he held of their furtive acquaintance. Other than that first encounter onboard Ægir's Captive, those were mostly evening meals around the communal table at the Holding. When they had not been at sea, his cousins had welcomed him to sleep on the ship and take meals with them.

He remembered the shy way she kept her eyes down as she passed bowls to him. The couple of times that their fingers had brushed. But that was all. He had never dared to approach her and certainly not to express his feelings towards her.

Now she was leaving. His heart had stopped when he overheard his cousins speaking of how much more difficult life would be on the Holding without their parents or Georgia to help with the children. He had wanted to question Mikael about it. Where was she going? What was she going to do now?

The idea that she might return to England and whatever danger lurked there had gripped his heart like a vice. But Mikael had been drawn away by their wife and he was not close enough to Sven or especially Bjorn, whom he knew still resented their family for old wrongs to broach the subject with them.

Instead, he had drifted out here to consider the situation. Only to discover her. His dream. But even if he had somehow found the courage to approach her, ask her himself, there was someone else with her. A woman he did not recognize. A foreigner for sure. Perhaps a friend of their wife's?

But what was the woman doing with Georgia? When she wrapped the younger woman in her stout arms and drew her against her bosom, he felt the anger, jealousy, and self-recriminations rise like bile in his throat. But what right did he have to be jealous? He had barely spoken to her.

He was undoubtedly in no mood to deal with Dag's pleas now. Maybe Jan and Erik were right? Maybe he did deserve a fresh start somewhere else? Perhaps if he threw his support behind their demands for liquidating the family's limited assets, then he would have enough money to follow her - wherever she went.

But was that any answer? Follow her where? And then what? Lurk as he had for the past few months in the shadows? Never finding the courage to approach her or tell her how he felt? And if she was going back there, to that unknown danger, what could he do to protect her, to keep her safe?

Besides, he did not want to leave this place. He never had. This was his home. This town. Even his brothers. Though they fought. Though he knew that Nils would never respect him, never see him as anything other than an inept kid. He loved them. He loved the Claim. And he especially loved the sea, fishing, and Ægir's Brew.

No, he did not want to vote with Jan and Erik to tear their family and way of life apart. To destroy their mother's dream, to break his promise to a dying woman. But what choice did he have? He did not want to lose her, either.

He sighed as he turned to the only brother that he was genuinely close to. How like Nils to send Dag to do his dirty work. That was how his eldest brother did things, delegating the jobs he did not like to others, while keeping firm control of everything and everyone.

But that was changing. Their days as simple fishermen had been interrupted by lawyers and inheritance laws that their mother had known nothing of. Nils as the eldest no longer held absolute sway. They were equal, all of them, under this new law. And he above all others had control.

"I'm sorry," he began.

"Whatever you want, Karl. Nils and I will give it to you. Please, just reconsider. Think about your promise to Mama. About Papa. About this family's history," his brother's face was lined with worry as he pleaded his case.

Karl turned again and cast a final glance at her over his shoulder, "Somethings aren't yours to offer."

***

Georgia watched each jerky movement of the swing. Each seemed to rip away a bit more of her heart. She would miss Monika. The little girl had come so far in the past few months. She was talking more, sometimes so much that they wished she would be quiet. Since that day in the fields, a new bond had formed between them. More of equals, two lost souls who understood and needed one another.

But she had finally come to a decision. She just hoped it was the right one. She was going home. She shook her head. Not home. London had never been home. And she did not remember the war-torn land in which she had been born, torn apart by religious zealots, neighbor against neighbor. No, this was as close to home as she had ever felt in her brief life. She would miss it.

What choice did she have, though? She had sent letter after letter pleading with Mama to leave Papa. She knew that Mikael and Roz had both done their best to convince the woman it was no sin to leave an abusive relationship. But her mother's unbending faith blinded her to it all. How could any religion condemn a woman to a life of abuse? What god would condone such a thing?

No, she had to go back. She had to get through to her mother somehow.

She only hoped that she was not putting her friend at risk with her decision. Georgia had given into Roz's pleas to live with her. She would have a room in the old North London walk-up that the woman had inhabited alone since her divorce. Roz refused her offers of rent, saying that she was doing her a favor, that having someone else in the house would be a blessing. Georgia only hoped it would not be a curse. That Papa would not find her, would not come after her, that her friend would not be hurt in the process.

But this arrangement was the only way that they would agree to her going back. It was odd that this family of strangers, her employers, had taken her into their family, cared more for her safety than her own mother did.

She forced a tight smile at Monika when she noticed the little girl watching her, "You're doing well. Just keep swinging your legs back and forth."

"She is doing well. Remarkable, in fact. I can't believe the progress she had made these last few months," the woman's smooth and only slightly accented voice drew Georgia's attention.

Her smile widened in greeting to the older woman. Her friend? Yes, certainly. But there was always this unknown, this edge of something more. Something that Georgia was not ready to examine too carefully. One thing at a time had become her mantra.

"How are you doing, sweetie?" her friend inquired as she held out a glass of American style lemonade. Neither woman was particularly interested in the various alcoholic alternatives that seemed to have drawn most of the guests today. That and perhaps curiosity seemed to have brought the whole town down upon them.

Georgia was not sure what to say. She had never shared her story with any of them. Though this woman knew more than the others, she just could never bring herself to put it all into words. That made it too real. But she felt that Roz needed to know as much of the truth as she could manage. After all, the woman was putting her home and possibly her life at risk for her. "As good as I can be," did her voice falter?

The older woman smiled and turned towards the swing, bringing the glass to her lips. After a long moment, she asked, "Are you sure about this?"

Her shoulders drooped, she dropped her eyes to the grass beneath her feet, "What other choice do I have, Roz? I can't just leave Mama there."

Her friend sighed heavily, then wrapped her arm about Georgia's shoulder. Roz's dark finger lifted her head, her deep brown eyes that always did something funny to Georgia's tummy held her gaze. "Yes, sweetie. Yes, you can. She is a grown woman. Your mother's safety is not your responsibility."

She shook her head. She knew that these people could not understand. But Georgia had always known she was the stronger one. That her mother needed her, depended upon her. And these past few months, almost a year now, she had abandoned her. Abandoned that responsibility. She could not keep doing that. "I have to."

Roz sighed even deeper, then she nodded, and drew Georgia into that welcoming embrace. "Alright then, we're in this together, sweetie. Whatever comes, I'll be here for you."

***

Kirsty flitted from table to table. She and Petrine, Rachel she kept reminding herself, or after the shock of this morning, perhaps it was Raquel, whatever the case, they had spent the whole winter and spring planning this event. They had both poured all their frustrated dreams of big weddings into this moment. And she wanted it to be perfect for the woman she now thought of as her mother. So far, it had been everything they dreamt of and planned.

She smiled as she took up an empty chair next to her father. Rachel had insisted that they invite those people most important to Kirsty, too. Roz, as well as her father -- and his new partner.

She liked the man. He was almost a decade older than her father. An actor, not some movie star type, but a solid reputation as a West End headliner. He had lived his whole life as openly gay. The men had surprisingly enough met through her mother's charity work with the youth theatre.

Oscar was in some ways every bit as strong a personality as her mother. The difference was that his dominance was not acrimonious or demeaning. The man was pure Daddy Dom from the way that he organized and sometimes cajoled her father into doing what was the best thing for him to the genuine care and affection that he openly showed his new partner.

But what was most important to Kirsty was that her father was happy. Genuinely happy for the first time in her life. She brushed tears away as she squeezed his shoulders from behind, "Thank you, Daddy, for coming."

"We would not have missed the opportunity to see those grandbabies for the world," it was Oscar who answered for them. His voice camp at its best. But the way that he had claimed all of her girls as his own warmed her heart.

"Oscar is right. We have been dying to see the babies. And I can't believe the difference in Monika. It's like some sort of miracle."

She shook her head, "No, just love, patience, fresh air, and her Homdling."

"I can see her point. And why you love it so much here, too. This place is breathtaking," Oscar added.

"You both are welcome here as often as you can make it. We'd all love to have you be a part of the girls' lives. Grandparents are important. And now that they won't have Olaf and Petrine around as much, it would be really nice if you were."