Chapter Seventeen

Loneliest guy in the crowd…

It was utter chaos at Jorund's home in San Antonio, Tax-us, with six adults, one semiadult—that being Torolf—and thirteen children, all under one roof.

There were people everywhere…not just his huge family, but Rolf's and Jorund's, as well. Plus, demented people that Jorund taught at his exercising business showed up at the oddest times, including a woman who thought she was a chicken—not just any chicken, but a Kentucky Fried chicken—and a three-hundred-pound fellow with glittering garb who claimed to be a long-dead singer named Elvis. Since Elvis was a Norse name, meaning sage , he tried not to be too harsh with him, but try getting back to sleep in the middle of the night on the living room sofa after hearing someone screech in your ear, "You Ain't Nothin' But a Hound Dog."

Then there was the fact that Jorund's wife, Maggie, had gone into labor the night they arrived…probably from the shock of their unexpected appearance. She'd given birth ten hours later to twin boys, Magnus and Mikkel, whom they'd given the nicking names of Mack and Mike, which was utterly ridiculous, though he was honored, of course.

It had been great fun to surprise the spit out of Jorund, and it was even more fun reminiscing with his brothers all this week, but in the midst of it all Magnus was miserable. He missed Angela desperately, and he missed the vineyard, and he missed the hard work it entailed. It might not be farming, but he had come to enjoy toiling in the vineyards. He even missed the grapes. Mostly he missed Angela. But every time he called, he felt Angela slipping farther and farther away. Even worse, she hadn't come to the phone at all yesterday or today. Grandma Rose had not answered directly when he asked where she was.

He suspected that Angela was avoiding him, and he did not know why. Well, that wasn't entirely true. He knew why. They hadn't really resolved their problems since the night he'd told her that he did not want to have any more children, even with her. That had been two long weeks ago. An aeon.

It was past midnight, and all the children were abed, including the new babes. He was sitting on a lounging chair near the pool in Jorund's backyard, knowing he would be unable to sleep once again, especially if Elvis showed up. If he did, mayhap he would have the odd fellow teach him how to play his guitar. Besides that, Elvis had taken to making them fried peanut- butter-and-banana sandwiches, which he was developing a taste for.

Just then his two brothers walked up and sat down in the chairs next to him. They both had bottles of beer in their hands and they handed a spare one to him. Uh-oh. I sense a gang-up here .

"What is the problem, Magnus?" Rolf asked.

"Everyone can see how unhappy you are," Jorund added.

"Of course I am unhappy. I have the world's worst headache from being confined indoors during the past two days of rain with my nine children—not to mention your children—and crying newborn babes."

"You adore those children of yours," Rolf charged.

" Adore is too strong a word. Did you hear that Lida said a whole string of words today? She said, ‘I lub you, Fa-Fa.' And she was talking to me."

"We heard, we heard," Jorund said with a smile. "About a hundred times now you have told us."

"What are you two doing here at this time of night, bedeviling me? You should be in your beds a-slumber, or keeping your wives happy. Need you some advice on how to do that? The latter, I mean."

His brothers just grinned at him.

"Methinks I should go home on the morrow," he said of a sudden. And for some reason, having said it, he felt a world of heaviness lift from his shoulders.

"And where is home, Magnus?" asked Jorund, who always was the more serious one. "Back to Vestfold?"

"Nay, back to California, and the Blue Dragon."

"And Angela?" Rolf offered.

That was the crux of the matter. Wherever Angela was would be home to him, he realized in an instant. He was a thickheaded lack-wit not to have realized that before. Nodding slowly in response to Rolf's question, he asked, "Dost really think we have a choice…to stay or go back?" He and his brothers had discussed this issue over and over the past few days. They were convinced that there was a choice, and once they had made theirs, there was no going back.

"I repeat my first question: What is the problem, Magnus?" Rolf persisted.

"I do not know if I can have a future here."

"Why the bloody hell not? Do you love her?" Jorund was ever the one to get at the heart of a matter.

"Yes," he said without hesitation.

"Do you want to stay here in the future?" Rolf was crossing his eyes at him as if he were being deliberately stubborn in not seeing the answer.

"I think so. Yes. Yes, I do. I worry betimes about Ragnor and Madrene, and I would miss them sorely, even that shrewish Madrene, but they are well able to take care of themselves."

"Then what is the freakin' problem?" Rolf pretended to tear at his own hair.

"The free-can problem, my brother, is that I have nine children here in Ah-mare-ee-ca…tagging along behind me, attached to my sides like burrs, hanging around my neck. Then two more back in the Norselands. I do not want any more children."

"Aaah," said Jorund. "And Angela does."

He nodded. "Yea, she does. Leastways, one. But knowing her, it would not stop there. My seed is virile, and she is voracious. I told her I would be willing to wed with her, but no more children. She told me to do something obscene to myself." He threw his hands in the air in a hopeless gesture. "That is the problem."

Jorund looked at Rolf, and Rolf looked at Jorund, and they both burst out laughing.

"Vor…voracious…the man has a voracious female, and he is complaining. Oh, holy Thor, that is the most mirthful thing I have heard in ages." 'Twas Jorund speaking. The half-brain!

"Willing…you told her you were willing… oh, I wish I had been there. Merry-Death would have slapped me witless for such a remark." Rolf was still laughing. "And exactly what obscene thing did she tell you to do?" Rolf was even more of a half-brain.

When Jorund had stopped laughing and wiped tears of humor from his eyes, he turned more serious. "Magnus, you always were one to make a mountain out of a molehill. Is Angela willing to act the mother to your existing children?"

He shrugged. "She already does."

"Then is one more child really such a big favor for you to give her?" Jorund's voice was gentle with compassion.

"People will make jest of me…even more than they do now. Her cousin Carmen—you met her, Rolf…the profess-whore—already makes dumb-man jokes about me."

"Since when does laughter hurt a big man like you?" Rolf scoffed.

"Well, the dumb-man jokes do not bother me as much as I pretend. In fact, I get great satisfaction in throwing back nipple jests at Carmen, so we are even…usually."

Jorund and Rolf stared at him, openmouthed. No doubt they were impressed with his great finesse in handling bothersome females.

"Actually, I have been thinking about this baby problem, and the more I think on it…"

"Yea?" his two brothers prodded.

"I really want to have a baby with Angela."

His brothers let out a whoosh of relief, as if they'd already known he would come to that conclusion.

"But just one," he quickly added.

"It is a gladsome thing that the three of us have been rejoined in this new land," Jorund said then.

"Yea, 'tis." Rolf nodded, deep in thought. "At one time, after deciding to stay here in the new world, I was convinced that I would be the last Viking in history, but now it appears there will be three last Vikings."

"And many more to come," Jorund added with a twinkle in his eyes. Jorund never used to twinkle. Must be Maggie who'd taught him to do that.

Magnus cared not about any of that other business, though, whether he was first or last Viking…or whether there were others to come. All he knew was, I am going home .

Home is where the heart is…he hoped….

Angela was in the vineyard with Miguel, checking the various varieties of grapes for ripeness. A wonderfully satisfying experience it was, too, knowing that all the hard work of many months was about to bear fruit. And soon it would all be over, and the cycle would start again.

She knew from years of doing the same task with her grandfather how to tell from touch, taste, smell, and texture how many more weeks it would be till harvest. It was her and Miguel's opinion that it would be another week at least. He would begin hiring migrant workers this afternoon.

Angela needed something to do with her hands and body to dispel her out-of-control nervousness. Magnus and the children were coming back today. He had left a message on the answering machine, telling her when their flight would arrive and asking that she pick them up. Angela had sent Juan and Grandma in her place with two vehicles, unable to bear the thought of being reunited with Magnus in a public place.

"Look! They're back," Miguel said with excitement, pointing down the hill to the house and driveway, where the cars were just pulling up.

Her heart began racing wildly. Stuffing her hands into the pockets of her denim coveralls, she began to walk slowly down the vineyard aisle.

"I must go tell Juanita," Miguel said, rushing ahead of her toward the back door leading to the kitchen. "She will want to have food and drinks ready."

Angela smiled, despite her somber mood. She understood Miguel's enthusiasm. Everyone had missed Magnus and all the children. The Blue Dragon had seemed quiet without them.

But it was a quiet they might have to become accustomed to if things went as Angela expected they would.

She saw Magnus hand Lida over to Juanita, who was already out in front of the house, welcoming everyone. She also saw him hold out his arms, halting his other children and pointing toward the house, as if ordering them inside. Uh-oh . She knew what this was about. He wanted to talk to her alone first.

That suspicion proved correct when Magnus began to stomp angrily around the side of the house and up toward the vineyards. She met him halfway.

Magnus was so angry at Angela he could scarcely breathe, and he was so happy to see her he could scarcely breathe.

She looked beautiful to him today, with her black hair drawn high on the back of her head in what modern people referred to as a ponytail. Her sun-bronzed face was clear of its usual paint and rouge. The mole he adored above her mouth stood out.

Is she happy to see me? Why does she look so serious? "Well, wench, you did not come to greet me at the airport," he accused right off. That was certainly a smart greeting to make. Why not alienate her from the beginning? The whole time his eyes were practically devouring her. She seemed to be doing the same, or mayhap she was examining him with disdain. He was so blind with worry he probably could not tell the difference between lust and loathing.

"I couldn't."

"Why not?" Oh, please, just talk to me, Angela. I am dying inside .

"I'm too emotional right now. I was afraid of how I might react."

Too emotional? That sounds good. Does it not? "I was very angry. It seemed an insult to me."

"Are you still angry?"

"Yea…and nay."

She raised her eyebrows in question. "Yea, I am an gry, but it matters not because I am so very happy to see you again. I have missed you sorely."

Her eyes misted over and she blinked to hold back the tears.

"Do not dare cry afore I have done and said everything I have come to say. 'Tis hard enough for me to bare my soul without your heartrending tears."

She blinked some more.

"Angela, take your hands out of your pockets," he ordered with a loud sigh.

"Why?"

"Because I intend to kiss you mindless, and you will need something to hold on to. Hopefully, me."

Before she could blink again, or say him nay, he lifted her high in his arms and kissed her hard, then softly, then hungrily, then softly persuading, then hungrily again. She moaned under his lips, but he would not end the kiss for fear she would say something to break off their relationship. His hands roamed her buttocks and back and shoulders; he wanted to touch every inch of her, to make her his by physical force if necessary.

Through the haze of his emotion, he finally realized that Angela was indeed holding on to him, one arm wrapped around his shoulders, the other hand caressing his face.

When she pulled away, ending the kiss, she stared back at him in wonder. "You have tears in your eyes. Oh, my God! You have tears in your eyes. Why?"

"Because I am afraid of losing you."

A soft sob escaped her lips.

He acted quickly, before she could say anything more, and carried her down the rest of the aisle, then set her on a bench. Going down on one knee, he took both her hands in his, as he had been told by both Rolf and Jorund was the tradition in this land. "Angela Abruzzi, will you consent to be my wife?"

"You said…you said you wouldn't mind getting married, Magnus. I don't want a husband under those conditions."

"I am a half-brain. What can I say? Words do not flow from my lips with the smoothness of a polished swain."

She smiled slightly, which he took for a good sign. "I never wanted a polished swain."

Yea, a good sign . "All I know is that I want to spend the rest of my life with you by my side. I love you, Angela. You already know that, and if marriage is what will keep you with me, then that is what I want…with all my heart."

She squeezed his hands, which still held hers. "But that's not all."

Here it comes. The crux of their problem. Please, God…or gods…let me say this right . "Angela, 'tis true I have far too many children. You have to admit that. But whilst I have been away, I realized something important. There is naught in this world that would give me more pleasure than to have a child with you. I would cherish it, and you. I would even put up with Carmen's dumb-man jokes, which would surely increase on that blessed event. If you would be mother to my children, then surely the least I can do is be father to your —our— child."

"Yes." Tears were streaming down her face now.

"Yes what?" Oh, God, if you are going to be on my side, now would be a good time .

"Yes, I will marry you. Yes, I love you. Yes to everything."

"Thanks be! Can I get up now? My aging knee is about to crack." I knew I could count on You. Thank You, nonetheless .

She laughed gaily through her tears as he picked her up once again and twirled her around in his arms. As he hugged and kissed her, it was unclear whether the wetness on their faces was her tears, or his.

"Did she say yes?" Torolf wanted to know. He was rushing up from the house with the whole troop following behind, including Grandma Rose, who had her rosary beads in hand, Juanita, who was drying her eyes on her apron, Miguel, who was drying his eyes on a linen pocket cloth, and Lida, who was waddling up at a fast pace, arms outstretched, saying, "La-La, La-La!" As Angela picked up his little girl, Hamr said, "I know just what to get you for a bride gift."

Everyone answered for him: "A bow and arrow."

Kirsten asked, "Can we have a big wedding feast? Please, please?"

"I want to wear flowers in my hair," Dagny said.

"Well, I am not wearing a suit, and that is that," Njal declared.

"Perchance I could carve a statue of the bride and groom for the nuptial cake," Storvald offered.

"Well, you had all best wait a few weeks for this event so that I can dance at the wedding," said Jogeir, who was still on crutches.

Kolbein, ever the soft-spoken one, piped in finally, "I could be the ring bearer."

"Wouldst you have me for your best man, Father?" Torolf inquired hopefully. "That is what they call the main witness in this new world."

"Please, sweetie, tell me that you will have the wedding soon after harvest…while my roses are still in bloom," Grandma Rose said.

"Ay-yi-yi! The preparations we will have to make. The priest, the food, the wines, the music." Juanita was speaking to Grandma Rose, and they were both smiling at each other, clearly jubilant at all the work facing them.

As everyone gathered around to congratulate them then, all of them speaking at once, Magnus put his arm around Angela's shoulder and hugged her closer to him. An immense warmth came over him then, a feeling of rightness that he had found his place in the new world.

"You know, heartling, Rolf told me that he once considered himself the last Viking, and he took much pleasure and pain in that prospect. But I find there is only one thing I want to be."

"And that is?" she asked, reaching up to kiss him lightly on the lips.

"I only want to be your Viking…Angela's Viking."