Chapter 27
Leif scooped up a small boulder and tossed it on the rock pile in Ragnar’s backyard. His conversation with Ragnar the night before had gone nowhere. The stubborn old grump always gave the same answer: “That’s not my story to tell. You best let sleeping dogs lie.”
Raising the pickaxe blade over his shoulder, Leif braced his arm against the shock as he brought it down hard and tore through the dirt.
He couldn’t get a handle on what was troubling him so terribly, but whatever it was, he took it out on the ground with the pickaxe. Perhaps it was that Ella was leaving.
Or maybe it was that Erik hadn’t told him that he had spent time with Sara. Even if Leif knew what questions to ask Erik, he doubted Erik would talk.
As he leaned the pickaxe against the water trough, Ella rounded the corner carrying a clear glass filled with Ragnar’s homemade berry saft, a mixture of red currant and raspberry juice.
“I saw you working hard out here. I thought you might be thirsty.”
“Thanks. I’m moving these boulders for Ragnar. He’s aiming to make a firepit. Did you sleep well?” His throat was parched, and he chugged some juice before hugging her and kissing the top of her head.
Though she’d smiled as she handed him the drink, her forehead was puckered. He couldn’t read her eyes, as they were hidden behind her sunglasses.
“What?” he asked warily.
“Oh, I’m just being a grouch. It’s annoying that Ragnar won’t tell me anything. It put me in a bad mood,” she grumbled.
“He won’t talk to me either.”
“I know.” Ella yanked her jacket tighter around her in the brisk sea breeze. “It has to be frustrating for you too. Ragnar offered just enough gossip to raise more questions, like how your father and my mother knew each other. Which is weird, don’t you think?”
“Last night was the first I heard of it, I swear,” he said, and he held her gaze.
Ella rubbed her wrist as if it ached, then picked at her nail polish. “I won’t let Ragnar’s stories about Sara bother me, and I hope you won’t let them bother you.”
“No, they won’t—I think no less of your mum.
Ragnar tells stories because he loves to be the center of attention.
It’s annoying that he shut down though, just when it felt like we might be getting somewhere.
” He bent down, raked his fingers across the dirt, gathered up a rock, and tossed it into the wheelbarrow, wondering about Ragnar’s suggestion that Erik had been keeping secrets from him.
Wiping the soil from his hands, he snatched the pickaxe and scraped the blade through the dirt again.
Ella nodded. “When I was a little girl, I used to fantasize about who my parents were. Mormor told me almost nothing about my mom, and nothing about my father—I mean, I was raised as if I never had one. But he could have been anyone. What if someone around here knows who he is?”
Leif kissed her forehead and said resolutely, “I think we should pack up and head back to Lyng?r. I have questions for Erik, and I imagine you do too.”