Chapter 25 #3
Leif let out a sigh. “Not helpful.”
“You’re right.” She broke free, straightened up, and changed the subject. “I swam in the sea today—I still can’t believe it!”
“Yes you did,” he said with a smile. “That was brave of you. I’m really impressed.”
Astrid let out a screech. “Astrid’s blankie!”
Ella laughed. “That’s adorable. She wants her blankie.”
“Yes.” Leif placed his hands on Ella’s cheeks.
“And I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you in your yard at Ringpynten, strumming your guitar.
” The air crackled between them, and she knew this was meant to be.
Their lips met again, and he gave her a long, deep kiss.
Her pulse quickened as he led her to Ragnar’s bed, unbuttoned her blouse, and slipped it over her head.
“Naughty boy, naughty boy!” the parrot squawked.
“Wait right here,” Leif said, and he gave Ella a quick kiss before snatching the folded blanket from the foot of the bed and covering the birdcage. “Night, Astrid.”
He walked back to Ella. “Now, where were we, Sunna?”
· · ·
Ella and Leif were curled up on Ragnar’s bed. Leif nuzzled her neck. “Being intimate with you feels so right,” she said and rolled to face him.
“Mmm . . . yes, I feel content when I’m with you, like I’m right where I’m supposed to be.
I’m not sure what it is . . .” He lifted his head and touched his nose against hers.
“I only know I’ve never met anyone as authentic as you.
You know what you want, and you follow your dreams. You’re talented. Passionate.”
“You follow your dreams too. Your boats and carvings are fabulous.”
“You have no idea how I felt when you called me an artist that first time,” he said.
“Same” was all she managed to say. She slid on top of him and brushed kisses across his lashes, nose, and mouth, wanting her touch to convey what her mind was struggling to process.
Astrid let out another screech. “Out! Blankie!”
Ella rolled away from Leif. She collected her clothes from the end of the bed and began to get dressed. “Maybe she’ll calm down if we let her out.”
“Blankie!” Astrid blurted in a shrill squawk.
Ella pulled the cover from the cage, then stopped and looked at it more closely.
It was embroidered with bluebells, puffins, and oystercatchers—just like the ones on the blanket in the photograph taken at G?sholmen.
It couldn’t be, could it? She flipped it over and found the initials S.
N. stitched in large, geometric red letters on the back. Sara Nilsen.
She stared at the needlework in awe. The embroidery, especially the featherstitch and the stump work, could have been sewn by Ella’s own hand. A new connection to the mother she never knew.
She held up the blanket. “Do you recognize this?”
“What?” Leif said.
“It belonged to Sara. My mother.”
He arched his brow in question. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, look!” she said, pointing. “Just like in the picture—and look at the initials!”
“Wow! It is the blanket.”
“He must’ve known my mother!”
Heavy footsteps came from the porch and Ella headed toward the door. It sounded like Ragnar was talking to someone outside, but she couldn’t make out his words.
Leif gently took her arm. “Wait, hang on a minute—hear me out . . . it’s just, well, Ragnar’s known to borrow things.
I’m not saying that he stole Sara’s blanket.
But I do know you shouldn’t accuse him or put him on the spot, because he’ll either shut down or shut you out.
Last year we were all drinking at a bar, and Inger saw Ragnar slip one of the condiment caddies into his backpack.
She called him out on it and he was furious at her for months.
It’s possible I’m being too cautious, but I want more than anything for you to learn about your family.
I care about you.” He flicked a lock of her hair behind her ear and kissed her cheek.
“I’m only suggesting that you be strategic.
Why don’t you ask him questions about himself?
Nothing too pointed or direct. We’ll get information out of him in time. ”
“Leif, this is huge! In fact, I’m putting this blanket on the list of the best things that ever happened to me. I feel like my whole body is vibrating.” She folded the blanket quickly in half, then in half again. “I don’t want to wait for answers.”
“I understand. Please know that you’re not alone in this. I’m actually trying to help you.”
Leif knew Ragnar best, Ella thought. He was probably right. “OK, you go on downstairs,” she said. “I’ll be right there.”
She placed the folded-up blanket at the foot of the bed as Astrid began to squawk again.
“Love blankie. Love Ragnar.”
“OK, pretty bird. I’m going downstairs to talk to Ragnar. Are you in or out?” she asked as she opened the cage. The bird landed on her shoulder. Ella eyed Astrid’s sharp beak and was glad her hair covered her rhinestone earrings.
In the kitchen, Astrid took flight from Ella’s shoulder and landed on the bird gym close to Leif, who was placing shot glasses on the table.
Ella straightened her jacket and lifted a fragile down feather from her sleeve.
Her mind was racing with questions. Why did Ragnar have Sara’s blanket?
Were they good friends way back then? What if the loafers in the photo belonged to Ragnar—could he even, possibly, be her dad?
She pinched her arms as a reminder to stay calm and not fire off impatient questions.
She’d take Leif’s advice to tread carefully.
Opening the front door, Ragnar belted out a song about a drunken sailor. Ella gave Leif a nervous glance. He squeezed her hand reassuringly and she squeezed back.
“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I’m fine. It’s all good.” She said this as much to convince herself as to assure Leif.
Ragnar still held the vodka in one hand, and with the other he pointed at Astrid, perched on the bird gym.
“I see you met the old gal.” He limped to the kitchen island and shook the vodka in their direction. “Good stuff. Like some?” Almost half the bottle was gone. If Leif was right about Ragnar’s loose lips when drunk, he wouldn’t be holding back tonight.
Ragnar filled the shot glasses to the brim. Standing around the kitchen island, they raised their glasses in unison. “Cheers,” said Ella. Ragnar and Leif answered with “Sk?l.”
The two men downed their shots while she sipped hers. The Turkish pepper–flavored vodka tasted both sweet and spicy and went down smoothly.
“So how did you two guys meet?” Ella asked with a smile.
“When I was little, Ragnar, my dad, and Erik were close friends,” Leif said. He reached for the potato chips.
“Friends since primary school,” Ragnar confirmed, refilling their glasses.
“You must have lots of stories,” she said, cheerfully.
“Yup, lots of stories, sweetheart. What do you want to know?” Ragnar tipped back his drink.
“I’m curious about Ringpynten, where I’m staying. It’s beautiful. Did you and your friends ever go there?”
“Many times,” Ragnar said with a chuckle.
“Back in the day, the fellas and I knew a woman who spent her summer vacation there every year.” He scooped a fistful of peanuts from the bowl, tossed one in the air, and caught it in his wide-open mouth.
“Sara. She was popular with the fellas, if you know what I mean.” He let out a deep growl of a laugh.
So, he knew her mom and it seemed he had stories to tell. It had been surprisingly easy to get Ragnar to talk. Who cares if Mom kissed a few guys? So have I, she thought.
“That Sara Nilsen,” Ragnar persisted, “sure was a wild one.” He tossed another peanut into his mouth.
“Likely that’s just gossip,” Leif said and moved closer to Ella.
“There’s nothing wrong with being wild. No big deal,” she said with a shrug.
Ragnar grinned at Ella. “Well, this Sara was extremely wild. The local fellas, like Erik and Bjorn, were crazy about her.” He gestured at Leif. “Bjorn was this one’s dad.”
“I thought summer folk and local folk didn’t mix,” Ella said.
“The two of you are mixing,” Ragnar said with a smirk.
“Yes, and I’m glad we are,” Leif said. Ella agreed and stood on her tiptoes to kiss Leif on the mouth.
Ragnar snorted. “Now that it’s settled and you two turtledoves have made your affections clear, I’ll continue my story.
” He snatched three oranges from a bowl, juggling the fruit as he spoke.
“On many a summer night, the fellas and I helped Sara sneak out of her cottage, away from her mother, and yes sir did we party. In fact, once I saw Sara kissing Ivan—Leif, you remember Ivan?”
“No. Was I even born yet?”
“So Sara kissed him,” Ella said. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Oh, they did more than kiss! Ivan was so drunk he didn’t even remember that night, but the next weekend he found panties under his bed with the word Sara embroidered on the lace. All of us just laughed at him.” Ragnar tossed the oranges back in the bowl.
Mormor had called Ella’s father a no-good one-night stand. Maybe Ivan owned the shoes in the photo taken at G?sholmen. Perhaps he was her father? She rubbed her arms anxiously. Leif kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear, “It’s OK.”
“But that all happened decades ago. Are you sure?” Ella asked Ragnar. He might have gotten it wrong. Memories could be rewritten or exaggerated.
“Of course I’m sure, sweetheart. Seems like yesterday,” Ragnar said. He grabbed an apple from the bowl and polished it on his Dale of Norway sweater. “Erik kissed her too—and he wasn’t the only one, either.”
“That’s enough,” Leif said. He shot Ragnar a stern look.
“What’s gotten into you, Arnesen? She was a tourist who liked snogging the local fellas. She didn’t take to me, though . . . probably because I called her a delicious tart.”
Ella was relieved Ragnar wasn’t her father. She reminded herself that he was old-school, and he’d think what he wanted but she couldn’t help but feel protective toward Sara. “Excuse me, that’s my mother you’re talking about.”