Page 61 of The Very Virile Viking

Torolf scurried up the steps to stand beside him. His son was sticking to him like a thorn in a bear's behind, not to be helpful—oh, nay, not that—but to see what kind of mess his lack-witted father would end in next. Magnus couldn't wait to see himself. Still, he told Torolf, "Best you wipe that smirk from your

face, son. I am still bigger than you are."

"Not by much," the impudent lad countered, and continued to smirk at him.

Magnus shook his head at Torolf's silliness and turned his attention to the ladies on the porch. "M'lady Rose, I come to you seeking advice."

"Yes?" she said, always eager to help.

"I must needs speak to a man about some vows," he started out, "and I was wondering if—"

"Vows!" Grandma Rose exclaimed, exchanging a quick glance of happiness with Juanita. They both beamed as if he'd offered them a plate of gold.

"Yea, vows. There is an important matter regarding vows that I must discuss with… well, the appropriate person."

"A priest?" Grandma Rose and Juanita suggested at the same time.

"A God man? Hmmm. That might work. Since vows are usually made in the name of the gods, or a specific god, like your Christian One-God, I assume that a representative of that god would be the man I need. Where might I find such a person?"

"There's one in the village. Father Sylvester at Saint Agnes Church."

"Ah, I recall passing it on our way here."

"Have you discussed this… uh, vow business… with Angela?" Grandma Rose inquired.

"Not yet, but you can be sure that I will."

Grandma Rose practically swooned at his words. She must need a toe-back-hoe stick, she was acting so strangely. "See, Juanita, I told you my novena would work."

"I did not tell you, Rose, but I have been saying novenas, too," Juanita admitted.

"Do you think it would be too soon to plan a ceremony for September, right after the harvest?" Grandma Rose was tapping a forefinger against her closed lips, as if deep in thought.

"That would be perfect, but all the planning! Ay-yi-yi!"

"Would that be enough time?" Grandma Rose asked him.

"Huh?" He had no idea what these two were talking about. All he was concerned about was his celibacy vow. But what he said was, "Sure." That was a shortened way that people in this country denoted, "For a certainty." He liked that word almost as much as whatever ! He stood, not about to waste any more time prattling about unimportant matters when he had to see a priest about a vow—a vow that could affect the rest of his life. "Well, I am off to see the priest, then." He began to walk away. Grandma Rose and Juanita barely noticed, so busy were they with planning some ceremony… to celebrate the harvest, he presumed.

"That church is at least five miles away," Torolf reminded him. Apparently the thorn was still sticking to his backside.

"Go away."

"You are going to walk that far?"

"I am."

"Why?"

"If you were not such a halfbrain, you would know. Because a priest is God's representative on earth. I need to speak with someone in authority about vows."

"And the breaking of them?" Torolf asked with a laugh.

"That, especially," Magnus conceded. "If I have traveled through time, hard as that is to believe, and endured all the rigors and hardships of such a mind-boggling journey with nine bothersome children, including one especially bothersome, insolent sixteen-year-old, I must deserve some compensation."

Torolf was still laughing as his father stomped off.

Goin' to the chapel… uh, rectory…