Page 57 of Truly, Madly Viking

Now that conjured up some interesting pictures. "She's using the lilac bath salts I bought her last Christmas," one of the twins informed him with total irrelevance. At least, he thought it was totally irrelevant till the other twin inquired, "Do you like lilacs?"

"I like lilacs fine," he snapped. Just for the meanness of it, he added a loud growl, like a grizzly bear.

The girls just giggled. They actually giggled at his fierceness.

Just as his own daughters would have done.

In misery, he informed them, "You are breaking my heart. Can you not see how painful it is for me to be around you two?"

"You don't like us?" they both asked in unison, their voices squeaky with hurt.

"'Tis not you that I mislike, particularly. I have trouble being around young girls." To his surprise, he noticed that his right hand had been lying over his heart protectively the whole time he spoke. Why did I divulge that? 'Tis none of my concern if their feelings get hurt at the least little jab. Oh, holy Thor, why do they not go away?

The twins exchanged worried glances with each other, then some whispered words he could not hear.

They appeared ready to depart. Finally he seemed to have gotten through to them. But why were they approaching the sofa where he still sat?

"Mom always says a hug is the best medicine for a breaking heart," one twin told him, already reaching out her skinny arms toward him.

"No!" he cried out.

But the other twin had an even more horrifying idea. "Can I sit on your lap?"

"No!" he repeated in an anguished cry.

Short seconds later, Jorund Ericsson, the most barbarous Viking in all Vestfold, wept silently into the hair of two little girls who sat on each of his knees, arms wrapped around his shoulders, faces pressed into his neck. Oh, the little-girl smell of their skin was so familiar to him he could scarce breathe.

And then... oh, he should have been surprised—but he was not—when a strange voice in his head made a click-click-clicking noise and a whalelike grinding. To Jorund, it seemed to say, Now you know why you are here, Viking. Now you know.

"Mommy, please don't send him away," Beth begged from her bed, where Maggie had just tucked her in. "It's the magic of killer whales and God and wishing stars—all these things—that sent him to us. I just know it."

"There's no such thing as magic," Maggie chided her gently. "You're old enough to know that."

"Even from God?" Beth argued. "You mean there's no such thing as miracles?" Beth blinked innocently at her.

Oh, that was a low blow. "Of course there are miracles. Joe hardly qualifies as a miracle, though." Or does he?

"Can't you just believe in dreams come true, Mommy? Just a teeny-tiny bit?" Suzy added from her twin bed.

"But, honey—"

"You always told us anything is possible if you pray hard enough." It was Beth who addressed her now, and it was hard for Maggie to counter that argument, especially when she was quoting Maggie's own words.

"But sometimes the answer God gives us is no," she reminded them.

"And sometimes it's yes," they both exclaimed in unison, bright smiles on their faces.

Maggie would have liked to contradict her daughters—to tell them that reality had to be faced, that Joe was very likely a mere blip on the screen of their lives, not a permanent fixture—not to be depended on.

But she couldn't get the image of Joe out of her mind... Joe holding Suzy and Beth on his lap... Joe weeping silently over them... Joe putting aside his grief to comfort her precious darlings...

Needless to say, in the end it took Maggie an exceptionally long time to get the girls to sleep that night.

They were just so excited.

Maggie was excited, too, but for different, more personal, and very alarming reasons. That prompted her to call to Harry at his home.

"Joe is here," she informed Harry without preamble.