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.
