Lena sat next to Anker in the buggy, Charlie on her lap, pointing out everything he saw. “House. Doggie. Tree.”

Anker chuckled. The boy brought such pleasure to his life.

Things were getting easier at home. Perhaps Lena had decided to make the best of their situation. Enjoy the winter. Deal with what would happen in the spring when the time came, not before. No point in robbing present pleasure because of future worry, he’d told her several times. “Just enjoy today.”

He smiled as he thought of her response. “Easy for you to say when you have your own home, your own farm, and when you can count on what the future holds. Harder for me when it’s all so uncertain. I want to tie everything up into a neat little package that I can carry around safely.”

“Isn’t that where we have to let God do His business? The future belongs in His hands, but He has given us the present. Best we do a good job with that.”

He recalled with another smile how she had studied him as if the idea was new and then her eyes had flashed. “I could try and forget what spring will bring for a few months, I suppose. It’s not like I can do anything until the time arrives.”

He’d sensed an easing of her tension after that. It had shown in the way she laughed at Charlie’s antics. His favorite games had become riding horsey on Anker’s leg and begging Anker to build a tower with the blocks so he could knock it down. Every time the boy laughed, Anker and Lena laughed too. Charlie’s chuckle just did that to one. And often Anker and Lena would meet each other’s eyes and share something fragile and sweet—joy over this little boy and—he hoped—a willingness to live together in harmony.

Anker stopped in front of the church. He hitched the horse to the rail, took Charlie, then helped Lena down. He perched Charlie in one arm and held out his elbow for Lena as they headed for the church. Lena seemed as stiff and tight as laundry frozen to the line. “Do not be afraid,” he whispered.

“I’m not—” Her protest died. “I hate facing everyone, knowing they’ll be whispering about our marriage or mumbling about how a half-breed child isn’t welcome in their holy place of worship.”

Anker’s jaw spasmed with cruel denial. Why would anyone be so unkind? “Charlie is now my son.” His voice cracked with emotion. “I expect him to be treated as such. As to our marriage...that’s our business and none of theirs.” He didn’t point out how anyone who cared to pay attention might have foreseen such an arrangement happening if they had taken note of how many times he’d gone to the Stevens farm to help in the months since Johnson’s accident. Not that he’d truly thought of marrying her, but somehow, he had to take care of her, and this was the best way.

For now. He’d follow his own words and not think too far into the future.

He lifted his head, boldly meeting every look that came their direction, silently warning anyone he would tolerate no gossip directed at them or whispered behind a hand.

As he stepped inside the church, his heart condemned him for his anger. How could he enter God’s house with such an attitude? God, forgive my wrong feelings. Let me protect Charlie and Lena without anger.

He headed for the front of the church, but stopped as Lena tugged his elbow.

“Let’s sit here.” She nodded toward the second to last bench.

He hesitated. He would not let others dictate his actions, but when he saw the dark fear in Lena’s eyes he could not ask her to go further, and they slipped into the pew.

He settled Charlie on his knee then stole a glance at Lena. She stared straight ahead, her hands twisted together tight enough to create white patches.

He reached over and covered her hands with his. When she shot him a startled look, he smiled. “We are here to worship. No one can take that from us.”

The Nilssons sat several benches away. Inga turned, located them, and smiled.

Anker smiled back and nudged Lena to notice the woman’s welcome.

Lena nodded a greeting.

He whispered in her ear. “That’s the Nilssons, where we are to go for dinner after church.”

She immediately stiffened and he wished he had kept his comments to himself.

“They will welcome you.”

She nodded, but her eyes remained wide.

He nudged her again to get her attention. “Remember. Enjoy the present. Reverend Sorrow always has encouraging words.”

Her brown eyes searched his face for something. He didn’t know what but he offered assurance and encouragement. She seemed satisfied as she turned away and focused her attention on the man taking the pulpit.

The preacher’s message challenged the congregants to keep their eyes on God no matter what things happened in their lives, whether good or bad. Anker couldn’t have asked for a better reminder of God’s faithfulness, and he prayed it had encouraged Lena as much as it had him.

* * *

Church had been refreshing. Lena hadn’t gone much since Johnson’s death. In fact, apart from his funeral, never. She didn’t have a horse or wagon so travel was difficult, but that wasn’t excuse enough, seeing as Anker had offered again and again to take her.

No, what stopped her was the memory of a scene at Johnson’s funeral.

As the buggy rattled toward the afternoon she dreaded—meeting Anker’s friends, feeling an outsider, feeling alone in the midst of many—her thoughts returned to that day. Bits and pieces scattered through her mind as if blown by a twisting north wind.

The whacking sound as a man she didn’t recognize lifted his spade over his head then struck the stake into the ground at the head of the freshly dug hole.

The shimmering curtain of tears blurring her vision as she read the words burned into the wood. Johnson Stevens. His name. Nothing more. Nothing to indicate what a fine man he was. Or how much he had meant to her.

The damp earth smell with its scent of mushrooms and decay. The man at the graveside dug into the pile of fresh dirt and tossed the small mound into the gaping hole. It peppered against the wooden top, the sound tearing holes in Lena’s heart.

“Your papa deserved more,” she’d whispered to Charlie. The baby wriggled to be down but Lena merely shifted him higher on her hip. She couldn’t put him down in the dirt. But even if it had been a perfectly clean and polished floor, she couldn’t have released him. Her arms needed the comfort of his body.

There had come a gentle touch on her shoulder as Mrs. Sorrow asked, “What now, child?”

Her insides had ached to be alone in the isolation and protection of her own home. Her blunt answer, “I’m going back to the farm.”

Mrs. Sorrow’s face had looked about ready to collapse with worry. “But you’ll be alone. It’s not safe. Besides, a farm needs a man to run it.”

She’d straightened as best she could with a restless baby in her arms and the weight of sorrow across her shoulders. “I’ll manage.”

She remembered she’d worried how she’d get home. A few neighbors had come to pay their last respects—for the most part, men who liked Johnson—and their reluctant wives. They were but shadowy figures. But the sniff of disapproval from one of the watching women crackled along Lena’s nerves. Grey heads tipped together and she caught a hoarse whisper, “Half breed,” then she’d blocked the rest from her mind as black desperation started to unravel inside her.

One shadow walked away from the others and approached her. “Miz Stevens. I give you a ride to home. I go right beside.” The burr of a heavy accent had rumbled through her aching head. She knew it was Anker, Johnson’s friend, who had been with him at the accident.

He’d helped her into his wagon and waited until they headed toward her farm before he spoke again. “You should not pay heed to the cruel words of others.”

Anker had taken her back to her farm then and now he’d married her and given her a home for the winter.

She could not deny he was a good and generous man, any more than she could pretend she didn’t welcome the idea of having company for the long winter months. With a start of surprise, she realized she’d recounted her memories of Johnson’s death, seeing the details, remembering the sounds, but not feeling the depth of the pain of that day. Time had done its healing work. That and hard work, which allowed her little time to brood.

Anker’s kindness hadn’t ended that day. He’d checked on her frequently and, despite her insistence she could manage on her own, he completed little chores for her. He helped her put up the hay. She shuddered as she unwillingly remembered that day.

“Something wrong?”

She could not admit the real cause of why she’d jerked. It was one memory that still pained her. “Just a shiver.”

“We’ll be there soon.”

“Somehow that fails to comfort me. These people are strangers to me and no doubt curious as to why you married me.”

He laughed and the sound somehow managed to ease some of her tension.

She realized how much she counted on his outlook to frame her own. If he was happy, she could relax. Thankfully, he had the ability to enjoy life and laugh with ease.

“You’ll soon change your mind. No one can be a stranger long around Inga.”

“Says the man who smiles at the whole world.”

He grew still. Had she offended him? She shifted to look at his face.

He stared at her, his eyes so bright blue she almost couldn’t meet his gaze. Lines began to crease the corners of his eyes, his lips widened to a gentle smile. “Lena, that is what you think?”

She nodded.

“It is a nice thought. Thank you.”

They stared at each other over Charlie’s head, unmindful of the passing scenery as Lena smiled back, happy to have pleased him.

The sun bounced off the brittle, wind-whipped snow and tossed back a thousand brilliant flashes of light. The sky filled with crystal brightness.

Lena settled back to watch the horses prance along, her heart content with enjoying the moment.

Anker gave a low, satisfied-sounding laugh and wrapped his big, mittened hand around hers. “We do alright together.”

Lena didn’t reply. She should come up with an argument to prove otherwise, but she couldn’t. “I guess we do,” she admitted, with a certain amount of reluctance and a liberal brushing of contentment.

Which fled as they turned in the lane to the Nilssons.

“There are other wagons here.”

“Looks like Inga has planned a full party.”

“Can’t we just go home?” Panic grabbed her throat so her words sounded tight.

He had released her hands, but took them again and pulled her around to face him. “We will have fun.”

She shook her head.

“We will do this together. Are we not a good pair? Didn’t we just agree so?”

She clung to his gaze. “Together? You’ll stay by me?”

He held her eyes in a steady gaze. It was she who nodded. She could count on him. “Very well. I will try to make you proud.”

He squeezed her hands. “You don’t have to try. Just be you and that’s enough.”

She stared openmouthed as he jumped down and hung a blanket over the horse. Being herself was enough? The idea was as strange as it was sweet. Her jaw still drooped when he returned and reached up for them. Thinking it a game, Charlie tumbled into his arms.

Anker’s laugh released Lena from her surprise.

She allowed him to help her down, clinging to his arm as they crossed the yard. At least she had finished a dress from the beautiful fabric Anker had purchased and managed to sew a pair of trousers for Charlie. They both looked decent.

Another family climbed from their wagon and headed for the door. Lena saw the woman carried a covered dish and the man held a pot of something. She jerked Anker’s arm to make him stop and look at her. “I didn’t bring any food to contribute.”

Anker chuckled and squeezed her hand close to his side. “We are guests of honor. We don’t bring food. Others do. Now stop fretting.”

She narrowed her eyes as she scowled at him. “That’s like telling the sky to turn green.”

He laughed hard enough to draw the curious stares of the man and woman headed for the house.

Lena ducked away so they couldn’t see her face.

Anker turned her steps toward the house. “Today we are going to think the sky is green.”

The idea tickled a spot in the bottom of Lena’s lungs. She laughed, and allowed Anker to lead her to the house without further protest. As they stepped inside, she faced a crowd of people who clapped at her entrance. She pulled back, would have bolted out the door except Anker dropped his arm around her shoulder and fixed her to his side.

“Velcome, velcome.” Mrs. Nilsson rushed to their side. “Vill the little boy like to play with my children? Peder, Hilda, come.” A gangly boy and a petite girl hurried forward.

“Charlie, would you like to play with Hilda and Peder?” Anker asked, setting the child on his feet. Charlie dashed away with the others.

Lena looked after him, an unspoken protest on her lips. She needed someone to hold onto, to keep from retreating into some dark corner.

“Lena, this is Inga.”

Lena acknowledged the introduction and reluctantly allowed Anker to take her coat. He again drew her close and circled the room introducing his ‘wife.’

If any of the guests thought the marriage strange or had reservations about Charlie’s presence, they seemed to respect Anker enough to keep their thoughts to themselves.

With each passing introduction, Lena pressed closer to Anker’s side, finding his solid bulk warm, his protective arm comforting.

Somehow she found herself at a table laden with food, next to Anker. The children sat in the kitchen. Charlie had gone with them without fuss. She took token servings of the dishes offered, many of them unfamiliar. Conversation rang across the table accompanied by stories of surviving the cold weather. Many of the stories brought a burst of laughter. Everyone seemed intent on having a good time and slowly, Lena began to relax.

Anker leaned over to murmur in her ear an explanation about some of the food. “Lutefisk. A fish soaked in lye solution.”

She didn’t care for the dish but the lefse was good…a kind of flat pancake rolled up and sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon.

“Ve have coffee then Kirsten and I have a vonderful surprise for Anker and Lena.” Inga exchanged smiles with her eldest daughter.

A warning shot through Lena with such intensity Anker reached for her hand under the table. She sent him a look brimming with appeal. She didn’t know if she could handle much more in the way of surprises. She glanced toward the door, silently asking if they couldn’t just go home instead.

He smiled and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and whispered, “Today the sky is green.”

“Impossible,” she whispered back. But his words diffused her worry… until Inga and Kirsten came to her chair and indicated she should go with them. She didn’t want to leave Anker’s side. She felt safe and protected there. But with Inga on one hand and Kirsten on the other, Lena was steered away to a bedroom where a set of clothes lay on the bed.

“You not have Norwegian wedding so we are going to do it now.”

“Oh, please, it’s not necessary.” Her throat constricted. How could she stand to make a mockery of a traditional wedding ceremony?

“It is for fun. I bring with me the wedding finery for Kirsten’s marriage, but she is willing to let you borrow it.”

Kirsten nodded. “It will be fun.”

“But I know nothing of your customs.”

That finally stopped Inga. “You are not Norwegian? With name like Lena?” She shook her head. “Not possible.”

Lena did not know her heritage. She’d never asked her father, and certainly not her mother.

Inga waggled her hands in the air. “No matter. Anker is Norwegian. We do this for him.”

Lena hung back. “Would it really matter to him?”

“Customs very important.”

Still Lena hesitated. Had Anker asked Inga to arrange this? Perhaps he wanted to protect his pride by making this marriage appear as real as possible. “Very well.”

The words were no sooner out of her mouth then Inga and Kirsten set to work. They helped her out of her dress and into the white blouse. Next came a dark-blue wool skirt and then a matching vest.

Lena gasped at the elaborately embroidered design on the vest and hem of the skirt. “It’s beautiful.”

Inga smiled. “Now the hair. Sit here.” She pushed forward a small wooden stool.

Lena sat and Kirsten unpinned Lena’s hair, loosed the braid, and brushed the tangles free. As she worked, she explained, “Brides wear their hair free. Your hair is beautiful. All full of waves from the braid and almost like it has gold sprinkled through it.”

Lena’s cheeks warmed at the girl’s comments. Before she could bring thanks or protest to her lips, Inga stepped forward with a beautiful silver tiara with silver bells hanging from each point.

“The bride wears a crown.” Inga held it out for Lena to examine.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Has been in family for many, many years.”

Lena pushed away Inga’s hands holding the crown. “I couldn’t wear it. I’m not family.”

Inga shook her head. “Not just for family. We...” She spoke rapidly to Kirsten in her native tongue.

Kirsten translated. “Mor says bad luck not to wear crown. Many people not in our family have worn it. The bells chase off evil spirits.”

“Do you believe that?’

Kirsten giggled. “Mor says a man and woman make their own good or bad fortune by how they choose to act but it is fun to wear the bells, don’t you think?”

Lena conceded and let them fix the crown to her head. Only then did Inga hand her a small mirror so Lena could see her reflection. Her cheeks grew even warmer as she saw how excited she looked.

“We are ready,” Inga called from the doorway.

A fiddler began to play.

Lena hung back. All this for a pretend marriage? She could imagine how angry these people would be when they found out.

Kirsten caught her hand and drew her toward the door, ignoring Lena’s resistance. Panic churned up Lena’s throat and grappled with her tongue. She could not speak her protests. She could hardly get enough air into her lungs to keep her legs from buckling. How could she stop this?

They reached the doorway. There was Anker, wearing a white shirt and black jacket. Apparently Ingvald had been at work on Anker at the same time his wife and daughter worked on Lena.

Anker met Lena’s frightened look. His blue eyes offered strength, his steady smile reassurance. He held out his hand and she took it, allowing him to pull her into the room as the fiddler continued to play.

Ingvald stepped forward and signaled the fiddler to stop. “I know the marriage took place several days ago but let me introduce Mr. and Mrs. Anker Hansen.”

Anker nodded acknowledgement of the applause. He pulled Lena close, his warm arm across her shoulders giving her strength. “My wife, Lena. Charlie, little man, come here.”

Charlie, playing at the side of the room with some wooden animals, left his toys at the sound of his name and ran to Anker. “Man,” he said. “Up.”

Anker swept Charlie into his arms. “My son, Charlie.”

The three of them faced the room, anchored together by Anker’s arms.

Ingvald clapped. “Now we celebrate.”

The fiddler struck up another tune. Someone called for Ingvald to dance and a space was cleared in the middle of the room.

Anker edged back still holding Charlie and keeping Lena close to his side. “Are you—?” He searched for a word.

“I’m fine.” She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “I’m fine.”

He tightened his arm around her shoulders.

She was more than fine. She was having fun and feeling safe and content at Anker’s side.

He tipped his head to brush the crown and set the bangles to tinkling. Charlie reached to grab them, but Anker shifted him so he couldn’t touch. “Those are for your mama to enjoy.” He grinned at Lena. “I think you are enjoying all this. Yes?”

She nodded, her eyes flashing.

He glanced toward the window. “Want to go see if the sky has turned green?”

She laughed.

He lifted his hand from her shoulder and brushed back her hair. “You make a beautiful bride.”

Her heart forgot to beat. Pinpricks of heat stung her cheeks. She couldn’t tear herself from Anker’s look. He searched past her fears and resistance and found a place deep inside she hadn’t known existed, a place that took his words and vowed to cherish them forever.

Clapping brought her attention back to the party, where Ingvald did elaborate gyrations in time with the violin, hopping sideways, then swinging to and fro. He sprang up again and stood as though he was going to take a leap, and then went on hopping sideways as before. The tune became more and more exciting, the beat catching at Lena’s thoughts, taking them on a happy dance in time to the music.

The tune ended and Ingvald bowed, then turned to Anker. “This man is the one to dance.” He pushed Anker forward.

Anker handed Charlie to Lena and brushed a fingertip across her cheek before he ran to the center of the room and the fiddler started another tune.

Lena pressed her palm to the spot he had touched as if she could capture the rough feel of his hand. As if she could somehow separate her fear from this beckoning contentment.

At first, Anker danced as Ingvald had then bent his head backwards and suddenly kicked toward the ceiling.

Lena cringed, fearing he would crash to the floor. She tried not to imagine him broken and battered.

However, he landed lightly on his feet as the guests laughed and shouted.

The violin picked up speed and seemed to push him faster and faster. He turned cartwheels forward and backward, standing up quite straight after each.

Charlie wanted to return to his play so she let him go. As she watched Anker and realized he wasn’t about to kill himself, she relaxed and enjoyed his agility. She clapped and swayed in time to the music.

Then the tune died away in one single, long low note.

“A love song,” Ingvald called, and the fiddler played a slow haunting tune.

Anker reached for Lena and drew her into the center of the room. He held both her hands and looked deep into her gaze as he sang a song in foreign words, his voice deep and rich.

She didn’t need to understand the words to understand the sentiment.

Anker’s look went on and on, past her defenses, past her fears and worries, beyond her vow to not owe anyone, and found a tender, unfamiliar spot deep inside that welcomed his words even though she knew them not.

Silence embraced them as the song ended. Anker drew her closer. She went without thought, caught in his gentle gaze. His eyes crinkled as he bent and brushed her lips.

Applause jerked her back, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She had forgotten they were not alone. In fact, she had forgotten everything but the way her heart leaned toward him, seeking a connection.

The betraying direction of her thoughts filled her with shock that she could be so easily distracted from her purpose. This man was her pretend husband. Nothing more.

She made to spin away, escape, but Anker held her hands and wouldn’t let her.

“Stay with me,” he whispered.

She cast a glance around the guests, saw a mixture of reactions from uncertainty about this marriage to pleased smiles. Her gaze stopped at Inga, who looked as if Christmas had come early with gifts beyond imagination.

Lena slowly let her embarrassment ease. They had a pretense to maintain. She allowed Anker to draw her away from the center of the room.

Ingvald cleared his throat noisily to get everyone’s attention. “We have a gift for Lena and Anker. Peder. Kirsten.”

The pair struggled in, each with a tiny evergreen in a bucket of soil. They set the trees before Anker and Lena.

Inga waved her arms in excitement. “We sent to a cousin in the mountains for them.”

“How nice. Fir trees on the prairie,” Lena said.

Inga laughed. “It is custom. Kirsten, you tell her.”

Kirsten’s cheeks flamed as she explained. “You are to plant these on either side of your door. It will make sure you are blessed with a child.”

Lena’s cheeks fired up. Her eyes stung and she ducked her head.

Anker chuckled, his mouth close to her ear. “You look very nice when your cheeks get pink.”

She didn’t feel nice. She felt trapped in a falsehood she knew she would live to regret. She thanked the Nilsson family for the gift, wondering if her words sounded as stiff as they felt. Charlie, racing after one of the children, tripped and banged his head. Lena rushed to soothe him, glad of an excuse to get away from curious, watchful glances.

How had she allowed herself to be drawn so far along a pretend path?

And how was she to find her way back when her own heart betrayed her with yearnings she tried so hard to ignore?