Chapter Eighteen

Later that day, Jorund was still touring the Rosestead village.

"I'm impressed," he told his brother. "Not just because you have built a thriving shipbuilding concern, and a world outlet for Norse crafts, and a tourist attraction, but you help troubled children as well. And look at how much you do to educate people in this land about Vikings."

"I am proud of my work," Rolf admitted with no token show of humility It was the way of the menfolk in his family. 'Twas especially important to me that this enterprise succeed so that I could find a place for myself in this new world. I'm not sure what I could have done, if not for this."

Jorund understood. "A man needs to find work that suits his talents and feeds his soul."

"Yea, that is it exactly. Oh, I suppose I could have gotten work as a carpenter, but I doubt I could have worked for someone else. I am too used to leading."

That sentiment Jorund agreed with, too. In truth, he was not sure he could fit in so well in this society.

"What will you do now?" Rolf asked. "Now that you have found me…does that not fulfill our father's wishes?"

"I am not sure," he answered truthfully. "One part of me is joyous and says I am finally free…."

"Free to do what?"

"That is the problem. I'm not sure. Just free, I suppose. Another part of me argues that I must go back. Do you know—I probably shouldn't tell you this—but on one of the Enter-net history sites, it says that our father died in the year 999. That is only one year from the time I left. Mayhap if I go back I can forestall his passing on to Valhalla. And there was another thing, too. I saw my sword—the very sword I carry with me now—pictured on that Webbing site. It said that the sword was buried in my grave mound. Surely that means that I must go back."

"The Webbing site also mentioned that the grave mound was for me, too, and I am not returning. It must be a mistake." Rolf frowned with bafflement.

"I do not know," Jorund answered desolately. "Mayhap I died far from home. All I know is that our father cannot be left ignorant of your fate…before he dies." He added that last with a choked sound of pain. All of the Ericsson children were fond of their father.

Rolf put a hand on his shoulder. "Merry-death is an expert on ancient studies, and she tells me that the dates in the tenth-century histories are rarely accurate. Besides, it is not your responsibility."

"He is our father," Jorund cried out.

"Yea, he is, and though I expect ne'er to see him again in this life, it does not mean I love him any less because I choose to live my life here."

"But it's cruel not to let our father know that we—I mean, you—are well."

"I will say this, brother: you were ever the one to take on all the world's responsibilities."

Jorund bristled. "What mean you by that blather?"

"'Tis not blather. Many a man would have refused to wed Inga if tricked into wedlock the way you were, but you felt responsible. Many a man has lost children and not felt the massive guilt that weighs you down, but you feel responsible. Many a man would have considered his father-duty ended when he completed his mission, but you feel a responsibility to tell our father in person. When does your responsibility to others end and your own happiness take precedence?"

He accepted that Rolf meant well, and much of what he said was true, but a strong sense of duty was in Jorund's nature. He could not change. Nor did he want to. At least, that was what he told himself. Inside he was not so sure.

"What of your Mag-he? Do you have a responsibility to her, as well?"

He shook his head. "Mag-he understands."

"Does she?"

He cocked his head to the side. "Do you doubt that?"

Rolf shrugged. "I don't know. I suspect you are confused right now, and I do not want you to make any hasty decisions."

"I won't," he promised. "In the meanwhile, I am obliged to attend a singing competition on New Year's Eve…involving one of the pay-shuns from the madhouse—I mean, mental-health facility" He grinned at his brother on making that correction. "Then, Sue-zee and Beth's birthing day is in February. I should probably stay till then. And Beth is planning a big protesting march at the orca park in April, and she asked specifically if I would be there for support, but—"

"More responsibilities?" Rolf was grinning at him knowingly.

"Then, too, I would really like to stay long enough to find out what happens to Josh and Reva." He ducked his head sheepishly.

" The Guiding Light! Do you watch that show, too? Ah, it is one of my favorites."

"Those two would make wonderful Vikings, do you not think?"

"I have said so on many an occasion to Merry-death. And Alan Spaulding, he would be a true Viking villain, if you ask me. Much like that Storr Grimmsson."

"Who is dead, by the by, thanks to our father's men. Be assured there was a long torture afore his passing to avenge what he did to cause your shipwreck."

Rolf nodded his approval. "And may he be swiving Hel, the queen of the dead, in her icy home in Niflheim, as we speak."

They smiled at each other, being reminded that they were of like minds.

"You know, Rolf, there is so much that is better in this land than what we had, but the excess bothers me."

"I cannot believe this. I had the same feelings when first I arrived. How can men be men if their hard work is not required to bring food to the table and shelter overhead?"

Jorund nodded. "And they take all this abundance for granted. When wealth comes too easily, it is not appreciated. And I'll tell you something else: this business of men and women being equal is sheer nonsense. Men are men, and women are women. Each have their given tasks…. Why are you grinning?"

"Because my wife would knock you over the head with an oar if she heard you talk so."

"Mag-he would no doubt do the same, but that does not make it less true." Jorund raised his chin defiantly.

They slapped their arms around each other's shoulders then and started to walk back toward the keep. Dusk was approaching early, and the snow was falling more heavily. Jorund inhaled deeply of the cold air. Just like home, he thought.

"I'll tell you one thing I favor about this country." Rolf wagged his eyebrows mischievously. "Drekking."

"Drekking? What in bloody hell is that?"

"Well, I have developed a fondness for this particular kind of hair soap called Breck, which is no longer sold in this country, but Merry-death and I bought boxloads of it from a remainder outlet. In any case, there is this most delicious activity that a man and woman can do together in the shower with Breck." He rolled his eyes meaningfully. "Drekking."

"Now, that is something I understand. You can do the same with liquid body soap."

Rolf's jaw dropped open. Apparently he hadn't expected his brother to adapt as well as he had.

"Why are you so surprised?"

"I am surprised because you were never so frivolous afore. In truth, from the time we were youthlings together you were always somber."

"Frivolous? Pfff. What is frivolous about sexplay? Did you think I was a monk just because I performed the somber work of war?"

Rolf grinned at him. Really, Jorund thought, his brother was doing a great amount of grinning today, at his expense.

"I will give this land credit for two things: Big Macs and french fries," Jorund remarked. "Ne'er have I eaten such delicacies, even in the courts of Byzantium."

"Hah! I think the greatest delicacy is Oreos."

"Too sweet!"

"Too greasy!"

They were about to argue the point further; then both shrugged.

"There is one remarkable thing I have noticed about this land—" Jorund started to say, then stopped himself. Why give his brother cause for more grinning?

"What?" Rolf prodded. "Do not be shy now, brother."

Jorund knew he would regret his hasty words, but …What the hell! That was a handy expression Steve had taught him. With his eyes at half- mast, he slowly divulged, "Well, have you noticed how much bigger your staff gets in this land?"

At first Rolf just stared at him blankly. Then his gaze moved lower, to his groin. " That staff?"

"Of course, that staff. How many other staffs are there?"

"And yours is bigger in this land?"

"Immense."

"You lie." Rolf hooted. Then, "Show me."

"I do not lie, and I will not show you. Besides, it only gets big when I am around Mag-he."

"You lackbrain. All men's man parts get big when they are aroused by their women."

"I know that," Jorund said with disgust. His brother was speaking to him as if he were an untried boy. "I am talking of huge. Not big, huge ."

"Methinks time travel has distorted your eyes."

"Methinks I will never tell you any secrets ever again."

"That is not a secret. That is news of great import. Viking men throughout the Old World will be seeking to travel to the future on the promise of that alone—big cocks."

Rolf and Jorund were laughing heartily when they reentered the keep.

"What's up?" Merry-death and Mag-he asked them both at the same time.

The women could not understand why that simple question caused the two brothers to burst into more hysterical laughter.

After three days, it was time to go home.

Suzy and Beth were already in the rental car, but they had the windows open and were waving and saying last-minute good-byes to all their new found friends. There were promises of e-mail letters to be exchanged and possible future visits.

Mike Johnson had been taking photographs the entire time during their visit, and now he was snapping last-minute shots…group pictures, individual ones, all different combinations. He was going to the one-hour processing center that afternoon and promised to send copies to them in Texas as soon as they were developed.

"Come back anytime," Meredith urged, hugging Maggie warmly. "It's especially beautiful here in the summer."

"Maybe." Maggie hugged her back.

It was odd, but she and the girls had been accepted by Rolf and Meredith like family. And yet they were not. Their only link with this Rosestead family was through Joe, whose connection with them was tenuous, to say the least.

She and Meredith glanced over to the side, where Rolf and Joe were talking seriously with each other. Whether Maggie and her daughters ever returned to Rosestead would depend on whether Joe stayed with her. And that was not a given, by any means.

Maggie had seen a different side of Joe here in the village. He was in his element, wearing Viking clothing, speaking Old Norse, teaching swordplay to the young men, playing Viking board games like hnefatafl , arm wrestling with his brother, engaging in footraces and horse races, drinking honeyed mead from a hand-carved horn, helping to chisel with an adz in Rolf's ship-building shop, chopping firewood like a demon, talking of his other life…a life Maggie could not understand, let alone share.

Deep down, Maggie sensed that Joe wanted to go back to his own time. Oh, his brother had managed to adapt to this modern life, but he had a skill—building ships—that was still valued today. What would Joe do if he stayed? Really, what kind of demand was there for a man who wielded a wicked sword? How long would it be before his self-esteem as a man began to slip? Would he become half a man…like his friend Steve?

And Maggie couldn't see his coming to work with his brother, either. This was Rolf's place…his small niche in modern society. Two strong, independent men like these two, would never be able to share leadership without eventually clashing.

"Don't expect too much too soon."

Maggie was jarred from her meandering thoughts by Meredith's admonition. "I wasn't—"

"Shhh," Meredith said, reaching over to wipe a tear from Maggie's cheek with a tissue.

Maggie hadn't even realized she'd begun weeping. "I thought that the only stumbling block to Joe's staying here in the future with me and my daughters was finding his brother," she confided. "Well, he's found his brother, but Joe hasn't said a word since we've been here. His silence is telling."

"It means that he's probably confused," Meredith said.

"Yes, it does. And I just don't understand why," Maggie cried.

Meredith thought carefully before she spoke. "These Viking men have to make the choice themselves. They do not think or act according to our feminine whims. Did you know that Rolf left me for six weeks before we got back together? He let me think that he had died, or gone back to the past."

"No!" Maggie exclaimed. Then, "Did you whack him upside the head when you found out?"

"For sure," Meredith answered with a little laugh. "Rolf had to go back to present-day Norway, and then England, to get some answers before he made the decision to stay with me."

"Love wasn't enough?"

"Love wasn't enough."

Maggie let Meredith's comforting words sink in. "But Joe might be different. He might decide that the best thing would be to go back to his own time."

"He might," Meredith agreed. "That's something you have to prepare yourself for."

"I'm trying. In fact, I think I've been girding myself for that eventuality almost from the first time I met him. This relationship screamed heartbreak from the get-go."

"No," Meredith corrected. "I suspect it screamed ‘the love of your life, baby' from the get-go. The fact that there might be some heartbreak as well was secondary."

"You're very wise. You should have been a psychologist," Maggie said, laughing.

"Come back," Meredith urged, repeating her earlier words. "No matter what…come back."

"I will," Maggie promised then, opening the driver's door of the car, but waiting for Joe before entering. "No matter what."

Jorund had said his farewells to his brother, and it was time to go.

"Will I see you again, Jorund? Ever?"

He shrugged. "You could come to Tax-us. Really, we could buy you a pair of cow-man boots. For you, I might even line dance."

Rolf smiled sadly, not at all taken in by his brother's teasing words or evasive response.

"I do not know," Jorund answered finally.

Rolf let out a whoosh of exasperation. "Why do you always make life so difficult? Really, it is an easy decision."

"Was it an easy decision for you?"

"Nay, but my situation was different."

"Hah! So you say now."

"Jorund, I thought I had to go back to complete our father's mission…a different one from yours, I concede, but his mission nonetheless. When I found out it was no longer necessary, I immediately returned to Merry-death. You thought the same thing—that you had to complete our father's mission—but your work is done."

"I am not sure of that."

Rolf pulled at his hair, which he had left loose today, the dark blond strands lying like a swath of gold on his shoulders. "You are so damn stubborn."

Jorund raised his brows sardonically. "Like you, mayhap?"

Rolf laughed and put an arm around his brother's shoulders, hugging him close as they began to walk toward the car.

"I am not like you, Rolf," he tried one last time to explain. "I need to have things settled one way or another. I could not bear to stay here and know I had responsibilities elsewhere that I had neglected to satisfy my own whims. I could not bear to stay here knowing that at any minute that bloody whale might flip me back in time. I could not bear to stay and build strong bonds with Mag-he and her daughters, only to hurt them more by leaving later."

"Do you love the wench, Jorund?"

"Of course."

"Then you already know the answer, lackbrain." He looked at Mag-he standing near the open door of the car, snowflakes powdering her too-short hair. She glanced in his direction, as if sensing his thoughts. There were tears in her misty blue eyes, and he knew the tears were for him…not for their departure from Rosestead.

Like a knife to his heart was Jorund's knowledge that he could hurt this woman so easily. Yes, he had his answer.

Better the small cut now than the open wound later.

It was New Year's Eve at the Boot Scootin' Cowboy.

Three whole tables of ten each were filled with friends of Natalie Blue, including her family, fellow group members, and some of the staff from Rainbow…even the new owner, Jerome Johnson and his lovely wife Freda, who loved country music. There was a festive air in the crowded club due to its being New Year's Eve, complete with glittery decorations, confetti, funny hats, and noisemakers.

But there was tension in the air, too, due to the talent show, which was about to start. Judges were already beginning to sit down at the long folding tables set up in the center of the now-empty dance floor. The judges were several radio and TV country-music program hosts, a Nashville record producer, a talent agent, and various other local celebrities.

Tension wasn't just in the air, either. Maggie looked at Joe, who was fidgeting in his chair. Every couple of minutes, he would glance at the doorway, as if he expected someone. In fact, he'd insisted that a couple of chairs be left empty at their table, on the other side of Steve, who sat next to him, spiffily attired in a herringbone sport coat with gray slacks and a white golf shirt, open at the collar. He and Joe had taken up jogging the last few days, since their return from Maine, as part of Rainbow's physical-fitness program. While Joe had always looked good to her, Steve's appearance had taken a decided turn for the better. His skin was no longer pale, but tan and healthy. He had always had an athlete's body, but something about the way he carried himself had changed. In an instant she realized that he carried himself just like Joe…with self-confidence.

"You've been a good influence on Steve," Maggie commented to Joe.

"Do you think so?" His lips turned up with genuine pleasure. God, he was a handsome man. Tonight he wore his hair slicked back into its usual queue and he'd shaved, so his face was smooth. A trip to the mall yesterday had resulted in her red sequined sheath and black high heels—Joe's choice, accompanied by some hot looks and a few winks—and his navy blue suit, white shirt, and tie. He wore the latter under protest, deeming it a torture device. It had seemed particularly important to Joe that tonight he fit what he considered the image of a modern man. Of course, he wore his cowboy boots—another torture device, in his opinion—so she guessed it was the image of the modern Texas man.

"Yes, I do think so. Steve's whole demeanor has changed, largely due to his association with you."

"That and getting a prescription for Viagra from that new doctor." Joe grinned at her as he spoke. More than once Joe had expressed amazement that there was a little blue pellet in modern times that could create such magic. More seriously he remarked, "You know, in the Norse culture, a man's worth is often measured by how well he fights. Valhalla, hall of the gods, is open only to warriors who die in battle. But I've been thinking that mayhap the true measure of a man should be how he has touched other people afore his death."

Maggie's heart constricted at such sensitivity coming from what, at the core, was a primitive man.

"I mean, think about it, Mag-he. What good is a man though he be the greatest soldier of all time, if he trod over those who surrounded him in everyday life? Believe me, I know many such men, and they are considered heroes."

"To me, you're the real hero." She said the words teasingly, but she meant them sincerely.

He put a hand to her nape and pulled her close for a quick kiss on the head. "Thank you, sweet ling." Then he nuzzled her neck. "You smell so good. Years from now I do not think I will ever smell the scent of lilacs without thinking of you."

There was a drumroll then as the lights dimmed and a spotlight shone on the stage. The competition was about to begin. But Maggie's thoughts were centered on Joe's last, revealing words. He probably didn't realize what he had subconsciously let slip. The infuriating man was contemplating a future without her in it; she just knew it. They hadn't discussed the future since their return from Maine, though it loomed silently between them all the time. She hadn't pressed him for a decision, fearing what he would say. And he hadn't brought up the subject, she suspected, because he was still so confused.

Not a promising beginning for the New Year.

Six of the contestants had given their performances by the time a break was called and the lights were turned up. Natalie would be in the second round, and she was looking mighty nervous after hearing and seeing such talent in the first half—singing, guitar playing, comedy routines, clogging.

Everyone was ordering drinks or making quick runs to the rest rooms or conversing quietly when Joe stiffened and stared at the front door. The others at their table followed his gaze, noticing the strange intensity of his stare. Steve was the last to look because his back had been to the door, and he had to strain to look over his shoulder. Then he stood so suddenly that he knocked his chair over.

Steve stared at the doorway, then glared at Joe. "You interfering son of a bitch!" he said with a snarl. But his attention immediately returned to the doorway.

A woman in her mid-forties stood there, tall and thin and attractive in a natural, un-made-up way. Her blond hair hung straight to her shoulders. She wore a plain denim jumper under a heavy, fleece-lined winter jacket…unusual for Texas. In her hand was a small piece of carry-on luggage.

Steve put his hand to his mouth, where a small moan escaped. In his eyes, tears were already beginning to well into green pools.

"Shelley," he cried then, joyously, but he seemed frozen in place.

Even though it all happened in a flash, the scenario that followed was like a slow-motion film clip. She dropped the suitcase and ran toward him, a clear pathway being made by the curious spectators. "Steve," she practically screamed, and hurled herself into his arms.

Hugging each other tightly, as if they would never let go, he kept repeating, "Ah, Shelley. Ah, Shelley. Ah, Shelley."

And she kept saying, "You dumb jerk! How could you leave? How could you hide from me all these years? You dumb jerk!"

"I did it for you," he said.

"For me? You just about killed me. I kept expecting you to come back when you came to your senses. First it was one week. Then a month. Then years. You are dumber than Idaho dirt if you think you helped me by leaving." Still holding on tightly to his shoulders, she leaned her head back to look at him. "I could kill you."

He nodded, and kissed her with all the pent-up feeling that had been building in him over ten long years.

Finally she pushed him away gently and motioned for someone to come forward…someone who must have been standing behind her in the doorway. It was a boy.

"There's someone I want you to meet," Shelly said in a choked voice.

She took the hand of the boy—a boy of about nine years, with unique green eyes and a wiry, athletic body. On the shirt under his denim jacket could be read the words, My Dad Was a Navy SEAL .

Steve stared blankly at first, then put his face in both hands to hide the silent sobs that were racking him.

Shelly was merciless. "Steve, let me introduce you to Steven Askey, Jr."

Steve dropped his hands and murmured, "Sweet Jesus!"

"Dad?" The boy gazed up in adoration at a man he had never seen in person.

Only then did Steve reach for the boy and lift him high into his arms and give him a big bear hug.

"Hello, son."

An hour later Maggie finally got the chance to say to Joe, "Tell me how you found Steve's wife."

"Beth."

"Beth?"

"Yea, Beth told me you can find anyone on the Enter-net. And we did."

"I don't understand."

"The newspaper photographs of Steve at that warrior's wall apparently traveled across the country on some wiring service, whatever that is," he explained. "Shelley saw the picture in a newspaper in I-duh-hoe and has been trying to find Steve ever since. A fruitless search. She ne'er thought to look in a madhouse…I mean, mental-health facility. In any case, Beth and Sue-zee helped me phone Shelley in I-duh-hoe after we found her message on the Enter-net."

It took several minutes for everything he'd said to sink in. "Why, that little stinker! She kept a secret from her mother."

"Do not be angry with her. She—I—feared you would raise objections to my interfering in Steve's life that way."

"I would have."

"Yea, but look how well everything turned out."

"It did. I can't deny that," Maggie conceded, "but as a psychologist, I must say shock therapy is not standard procedure. By taking all the control safeguards out of the scenario—like having a private setting, removing the surprise element, asking for permission—this could just as easily have been a disaster."

Joe groaned. "We are back to the control thing again, are we not?"

She had to laugh. "Maybe you're right. Anyhow, everything worked out fine, but would you do me a favor? Consult me first in the future."

He nodded vigorously, which meant he would do whatever he damn well pleased, as always. "You look beautiful tonight, dearling," Joe observed then. He had a habit of changing the subject without warning, but sometimes in the most pleasant ways.

"You look pretty handsome yourself, fellow."

"Are you wearing undergarments under that skimpy apparel?"

"Skimpy? You picked it out."

"Yea, I did." He smiled at her, that slow, lazy smile that she loved.

"No, I'm not."

"Good thing that Sue-zee and Beth are staying with the sitting person tonight, then."

Maggie thought it was a good thing, too. It had been a week since she'd made love with Joe, and she needed that intimacy so much. Without the reinforcement of their loving, she feared that Joe would drift away from her. An irrational concern, she supposed, but when was love rational?

"How did you find out about Steve's son, by the way?"

"I did not know till I called Shelley on the telephone."

"How could Steve have a son when he's always claimed to be impotent?"

"Ah, but remember that he said it has been ten years since he last made love. Apparently 'twas a dismal effort on his part, which was what caused his abrupt departure. But 'twas not dismal enough that it did not result in his seed being planted in his wife's body."

She nodded. "Oh, look. It's almost Natalie's turn. I hope they come back soon." Steve and his newfound family were off in a private dining area, reacquainting themselves with each other. Natalie had just stepped onto the stage when they slipped into the empty seats. They seemed ecstat ically happy. Steve's fingers were laced with Shelley's and his eyes kept going to his son.

Natalie was the eleventh of twelve performers scheduled. To say she was nervous was an understatement. All evening she had been going outside with her mother to get fresh air. Maggie only hoped she wasn't having agoraphobic attacks, as well as good old-fashioned stage fright.

"Ladies and gentlemen, our next contestant is Miss Natalie Blue," the announcer said in a deep Texas drawl. "She wanted me to tell y'all that this song is dedicated to the folks at Rainbow…but especially to the Viking who's responsible for her being here. Don't know what that means, but let's give a big Texas welcome to this sweet thang from Galveston…Miss Natalie Blue."

The stage went dark, and then a single spotlight shone on the young woman standing alone. Natalie looked so pretty in tight black denim jeans with a dress-up cowgirl shirt decorated with fancy fringe. The only problem was that she appeared to be shaking in her boots.

The backup band gave a slight strumming sound of chords…her cue to begin. Maggie held her breath. Would Natalie freeze, or bolt? It was an excruciating test to put anyone through, but especially someone with her background. Were they expecting too much of her?

Suddenly Natalie's voice burst forth, filling the entire club with a clear, twangy, poignant resonance. "I…fall…to pieeeeces…" she began the old Patsy Cline favorite, and by the end, she brought down the house. Patsy had never sung the classic as well as Natalie did. A standing ovation was Natalie's reward.

At the end of the evening, winning the free recording session in Nashville was almost superfluous. Natalie had won her greatest success that night in a Galveston night spot.

Maggie glanced at Joe and smiled. "This has been a wonderful night, hasn't it?"

He nodded. "Come, let us dance. It is almost midnight." Maggie had already explained the customs of this celebration.

"Don't you want some champagne?"

He shook his head. "I'd rather be intoxicated by you."

"You sweet talker, you." She laughed.

And suddenly it was midnight, and the band was playing "Auld Lang Syne," and noisemakers were going off, and she was in Joe's arms. The kiss they exchanged was warm and wonderful. Maggie couldn't help wondering then what the new year would bring for them, but she refused to let dismal thoughts ruin her evening.

"Happy New Year, Joe."

"Happy New Year, Mag-he."

As everyone sang the words to the song and came to the part about old acquaintances never being forgotten, Joe whispered in her ear, "I will never forget you, dearling. Never."

Instead of heartening Maggie, his words sounded like a death knell.