They headed home as the sun drifted toward the horizon. Anker sent a glance to Lena, sitting straight as a board beside him in the buggy, Charlie asleep on her lap. She met his look, her eyes flashing a cautioning signal.

He jerked his attention to watching the horse plod onward. For an hour or two, he’d allowed himself to forget their marriage was pretend. He’d been carried along by the sentiment of age-old traditions. The love song had started out as only familiar words but somehow, as he smiled into Lena’s eyes, he had become aware of the meaning. And the kiss had been as sincere as his name.

“Lena, did you enjoy the party?”

She shrugged. “I kept thinking how angry your friends will be when spring comes and I go back home.” A challenge blazed from her eyes as if making sure he remembered their agreement.

“They will be sad, I expect.” He gave her look for look, demanding things as well. A response. An indication of what she really, truly felt instead of this hard resistance to every kindness someone offered her.

“Lena, how will you feel?” His voice softened, deepened. Surprised he was, to discover he hoped she felt some growing fondness for him.

Her gaze grew more intense and her lips pulled into a straight line.

Seeing her rigid posture, sensing she felt vulnerable and found the feeling not to her liking, he relented. He was, above all, a man of his word. “Lena, I agreed to a pretend marriage. I want only to keep you and Charlie safe.”

She nodded and turned forward, settling herself with fractionally less stiffness.

Anker faced forward too, although the tension across his shoulders increased. He remembered the sense of peace he’d experienced as he sat in church, and forced his thoughts backward to that place. Tried to bring back the words Reverend Sorrow said about trusting God, knowing His faithfulness, and knowing He would honor obedience. Father God, You have given me a task for the winter, to care for Lena and Charlie. I will obey and not falter. I will seek to honor You in my words and deeds, and trust You to see us all through these next few months.

They arrived home. Anker pulled up in front of the house. He climbed down and went around the buggy to reach up for Charlie who came awake instantly, his feet churning to be down so he could run. “Hang on, young man. Wait until we get inside.”

Anker took Lena’s hand and assisted her down. Her feet landed on an icy patch and she slipped. If not for his firm grasp, she might have fallen.

She righted herself. “I’m okay now.” She tried to pull her hand free.

Anker did not release her. “I will see you get to the house safely.” Not until Lena stepped inside did he relinquish her hand and put Charlie down. As soon as Charlie’s feet hit the floor, he began to run. Anker chuckled as he slipped outside, closing the door behind him. This one time, he would let Lena tend to the fire while he tended to the trees and the horse.

He put the two little fir trees off the wagon and took the horse to the barn to unhitch and care for.

A few minutes later, he returned to the house with a shovel and stepped inside. Lena stood before the stove staring at nothing as far as he could tell. “Can you get me a bucket of hot water, please?”

She glanced at the shovel then hurried to get water from the reservoir on the stove. She returned and handed him the bucket. “What are you doing?”

“Planting the trees.”

Ignoring her surprised look, he took the water outside and poured some on the spots he had chosen. As the hot water softened the ground, he dug it out. Soon he had holes on either side of the door.

Lena peered through the window, watching. As he prepared to place the trees in place, she threw on a coat and stepped outside. One glance at her face and he knew she was about to protest.

He decided to stall her. “No point in wasting two fine trees.”

“Your friends will expect they mean something.”

He didn’t miss the warning in her voice, but kept his attention on his task. “I hope they will grow tall and provide shade for the house from the hot summer sun and a place for birds to nest.”

She made a dissenting noise.

He straightened and faced her. “Don’t let it mean something I don’t intend it to.”

She searched his eyes as if doubting his words. Then she shrugged. “It’s your house. Plant trees wherever you desire. It makes no difference to me. I’ll be gone come spring.” She slipped back inside before Anker could answer.

Not that he had anything more to say. Seems to him, it had all been said more than once.

He placed a ball of roots in each hole and packed the wet dirt around. A few minutes later, he stood back, satisfied. The trees would remain dormant until spring and then he would water them well. In a few years, bird song would greet him as he entered his house. Perhaps even this year the branches would attract the birds when they returned in the spring. He grabbed the shovel and headed for the barn.

Was he destined to live the whole winter with a reminder of spring dogging his every action?

* * *

Lena walked the length of the living room twice before she paused at the bedroom door. Boredom had plagued her the last few days. She’d polished the kitchen. She’d done the laundry, including Anker’s clothing that he had produced at her request. He’d given her permission to use anything in the house, go anywhere. However, it wasn’t her house and she hesitated to poke through closets, but driven by her need for something to do, she had decided she would tackle the bedroom today. The first days, Anker had emptied the drawers of the highboy into a trunk and heaved the trunk up the ladder to the loft. But the room still seemed to overflow with his things. She could not relax until she had corrected that.

Sucking in a deep breath, she walked past the bed to the closet and threw the door back. A shirt hung from a peg. Wondering why he had left it behind, she pulled it down and saw a tear in the sleeve. She’d mend that. A bundle on the floor drew her attention and she scooped it to the bed to examine. She unknotted several pairs of socks, each with a worn heel or toe, wondering if his mother had knit them before he left home. Or . . . remembering his large family . . . a sister, or cousin or aunt.

As she sorted through the bundle, she realized she had found something to occupy her time. She would unravel one or two of the socks and reknit the heels and toes of the others. She set them aside and turned back to cleaning out the closet and the drawers. In one drawer, she found a bundle of letters, all from Norway. So much family. She couldn’t imagine. Charlie was all the family she had left, and Sky, her sister-in-law, but she was so far away.

A great loneliness sucked her insides tight. She made a disgusted noise. She should be used to having no family. There wasn’t a time she remembered anything remotely resembling family apart from the three years she’d been Johnson’s wife. After his death, she would have laid down and given up except for Charlie. But now, it was no longer solely for Charlie she intended to return to the farm and start over. She knew better than to depend on anyone. Either they demanded a harsh price as Mrs. Miller had, or they left her alone and floundering as Johnson had.

And Anker? She hadn’t yet discovered what he wanted. He insisted it was only to make sure she and Charlie were safe. She feared to believe it. Feared there would be an unwelcome tallying at the end of the winter.

She finished scouring the room, put things back to rights, then took the socks to the chair by the stove and began to work on them. This was one small thing she could do to help balance the scales.

Charlie alternately occupied himself with racing back and forth across the room or stacking the blocks and knocking them over. He looked up from the scattered blocks. “Man?”

“He’ll be in soon.” Charlie looked forward to playing with Anker.

Charlie pushed to his feet, and came over to lean on Lena’s knee. “Papa, come?”

Lena pushed her work aside and pulled her son to her lap. “No, sweet boy, your papa is not ever coming again. He’s gone to be with Jesus.” She thought of pointing upward but wondered if Charlie would take that to mean Johnson hid in the rafters.

“Papa, come.” He said it with the certainty of an innocent child.

“No, Charlie.” She wished she had a picture of Johnson to help keep him alive in Charlie’s head. And in her own mind. It seemed his image grew more and more blurred. And she couldn’t remember exactly how his voice sounded. She’d asked Sky to send a picture. Had Sky written? Anker used to come by every couple of weeks and always brought her mail, but now he had no need to check on her. Nor could she ask him to see if she had mail. She’d have to wait until he felt moved to go to town for some reason of his own.

Charlie demanded to be put down and she reluctantly released him, wanting to study him longer for a likeness to his father. She never caught more than a glimpse of Johnson in Charlie’s looks and now even that had begun to fade. Or was she only forgetting more than she knew?

Charlie trotted to the window and pressed his nose to the glass. “Papa, come.”

Before she could explain again, the door opened and Anker stepped in accompanied by a blast of cold air.

“Papa.” Charlie said it with utmost confidence and stood waiting for Anker to take off his coat, knowing as soon as he did, Anker would toss him in the air.

Lena pushed to her feet, intent on stepping in front of Charlie and reminding him again his papa had gone to heaven. But before she could cross the room, Anker hunkered down to eye level with the boy.

“Charlie, I would be very pleased to have you call me papa.”

Lena ground to a halt. It was impossible to misread the love in Anker’s face or misinterpret the glow of approval in Charlie’s.

Anker sent her a happy look that flattened as he correctly read the shock in her face. She turned away, unable to voice the rush of protests. He had every right to expect Charlie to call him papa. Everyone would expect it.

This, then, was one of the costs of her agreement.

* * *

Anker opened the store door and waited for Lena to precede him. He set Charlie on the floor but held his hand tightly to keep him from beginning his usual race across the open floor. “I’ll get our mail.”

Lena had seemed eager for the trip to town but now hung back. He half suspected she would have returned to the wagon if he hadn’t blocked her way.

He glanced past her to the other customers. His gaze rested on two women who glared from Lena to Charlie with undisguised harshness. Clearing his throat, he took a step forward, his action forcing Lena farther into the room. These old hens would do well to remember he was now Lena’s husband and Charlie’s father.

Lena checked to make sure Anker had a firm hold on Charlie, then ducking her head, hurried to the counter and softly asked for oats and molasses.

Anker heard her hesitation. “Get whatever we need and anything you want.” He said it loud enough for the disapproving women to hear.

Lena darted him a look so full of sorrow and regret he ground to a halt. He saw a pile of yarn. He remembered how she’d thought to knit Inga a pair of mittens to replace the donated ones and he’d watched her taking apart some of his old socks to knit in new heels. She seemed to like knitting. “Be sure to get some of this yarn so you can knit those mittens you mentioned.”

She shifted her shoulders fractionally and seemed to gain an inch or two. “I’ll take four skeins in black.”

He flashed a quick smile, liking her fiery defiance.

He crossed to get the mail. Mr. Lowe handed him several items including a small, flat package addressed to Lena, as Mrs. Anker Hansen. Anker grinned. He liked reading that name.

“Mama. Ball.”

Anker spun around, realizing he’d set Charlie free and the boy had found a red ball with bright silver stars parked beside a stack of books.

Anker lunged for him as he reached for the ball, but Charlie tumbled against the shelf, grabbed at the pile of books to steady himself, and sent them tumbling. The ball followed, bouncing across the floor.

Lena spun away from the counter and made it to Charlie’s side in three strides. “Oh, Charlie. See what you’ve done.” She grabbed his hands and pulled him toward her, crouching down to hold him with one hand while she frantically gathered up the books with the other.

Anker felt her embarrassment and hunkered down to help. “It’s my fault. I let him go.”

“I wish I could melt into the floorboards,” she whispered. “Everyone is staring. I can just imagine what they’re thinking.”

One of the women sniffed. The other said, “That boy’s a wild Indian. Breeding will show, I always say.”

“You are certainly right there.”

Lena picked up Charlie and faced the room.

Anker straightened too. “I assume you are talking about my son.” At his hard tone, the room grew deadly quiet. He stared down each of the women and turned his gaze toward Mrs. Lowe, who pretended to be very busy filling Lena’s order. “He is an innocent, normal child who has accidentally caused a ball to roll off the shelf.” Anker scooped up the ball and plunked it down amidst the skeins of yarn. “I’ll take this for my son.” His breath whistled in and out. Charlie babbled. Other than that, the room remained silent.

Mr. Lowe hurried over to straighten the books. “No harm done. Could happen to anyone. Glad to do business with you.”

Anker let his breathing ease. “Finish our order and we’ll be on our way.”

One of the women sniffed, but at a frown from Mr. Lowe she turned away, pulled on her brown leather gloves, and sailed out of the store. The second woman hung back as if desperate to conclude her business but hesitating to get too close to Lena.

Anker turned and pulled Lena to his side. He pressed his cheek to her hair, wanting to make it clear that she was his wife and he was proud of it. He rubbed his nose against Charlie’s and the boy chuckled. He kept his arm about Lena while Mrs. Lowe tallied up the order. Only when he had to count out money to pay for it, did he release Lena. He noted with satisfaction that she didn’t put any distance between them.

In fact, she competed with his coat for closeness as he picked up the parcel and headed for the wagon. She waited at the side while he stowed away the purchases then allowed him to help her and Charlie to the bench.

As they headed out of town, she let out a breath almost as gusty as a Dakota wind. He wrapped his hand over hers. “Some people think small. But not everyone.”

Her fingers twitched restlessly beneath his palm. “Doesn’t it matter to you that Charlie is Indian?”

His thoughts stuttered in protest. “Charlie is not Indian.”

She made a dissenting noise.

“He has Indian ancestors. There are good Indians and bad ones, just as there are good and bad white men. It has nothing to do with who Charlie is. He is a joyful, happy child with a belly of a laugh. I suspect, given half a chance, he will grow up to be a man who enjoys life and shares that enjoyment with those around him. Charlie is who he is, not what people say about him.”

Her fingers grew still. “That’s beautiful.”

Embarrassed and pleased at the same time, he stole a glance at her. At the smile teasing softly at the corners of her mouth, his embarrassment faded to satisfaction.

“Have you ever faced such harsh actions from people?”

“Nei, apart ven dey call me norsky and say vhy you talk that funny vay.”

She laughed as he deepened his accent.

His insides softened to know that he’d soothed away some of her tension. “You got some mail from Sky. A little package.”

“Where is it?”

He reached into his pocket and handed her the pile of mail. She went through it and pulled out the parcel, handed the rest back, then shifted Charlie to one side so she could open it. Ignoring the letter, she picked up a photo of Johnson. “I asked Sky to send one to replace mine lost in the fire.” She studied the picture. “I want Charlie to know who his father was.” She tipped it toward Charlie. “See your papa.”

Charlie reached for Anker. “Papa.”

Anker took the boy and perched him on his knee. It pleased him a great deal to hear himself called papa. But perhaps it did not please Lena. “He could call me Per like we do in Norwegian.”

She studied his face then considered Charlie.

Anker waited for her to decide. It didn’t matter so much what Charlie called him so long as it indicated Anker’s rightful place in his life. Like he’d said to those at the store, Charlie was now his son and he expected him to be treated as such.

Lena’s eyes softened then her mouth turned up slightly at the corners. “He’s already decided you’re Papa. He won’t easily change his mind. I’ll let Johnson be his father.” She held the picture toward Charlie. “This is your father, Charlie.”

Charlie looked at it with interest for about ten seconds then turned his attention to the reins in Anker’s hand.

Feeling exceedingly pleased with her decision, Anker couldn’t help smiling.

She blinked, no doubt almost blinded by his blazing happiness. Slowly, and could he hope, reluctantly? she turned her gaze to the letter she held. She unfolded the pages in her hand. The wind grabbed at them, almost tearing them from her fingers. She shivered. “Brr. It’s getting colder.”

Anker glanced at the sky. A dark cloud bore down on them from the north, driven by a wind that carried with it the warning of snow and deepening cold. They had to try and outrun the approaching storm.

He shifted Charlie to Lena. He always kept a spare robe in the wagon and reached under the bench for it. “Wrap yourselves in this and hang on.”

He flicked the reins and set the horse into a trot. With a woman and child to protect, he should have been watching the sky.

The wind increased, driving the first sharp needles of snow. He pulled his winter cap low and covered his ears with the flaps. The snow thickened with each turn of the wheels. In a matter of three minutes it swirled around them. He could see no farther than the horse’s head. At the same time, the light faded. In half an hour it would be dark.

He couldn’t push the horse any harder in the bitter cold. He slackened the reins and let the animal find his way. Horses knew how to get home. He prayed this horse would seek home by way of the road so they wouldn’t end up stranded in snow banks in the middle of nowhere.

Anker squinted against the driving snow. They had to pass the Hampton farm. If he found the turnoff, they could shelter there. But he saw nothing but white swirling snow.

“Anker, how far are we from home?” Lena’s voice sounded thin and afraid.

His own misgivings faded at his need to reassure her. “We should be there soon.”

“What if we get lost?”

He put an arm around her bundled shoulders. “God will guide us home safely. You just worry about keeping Charlie warm.”

“I wish I could be as certain of God’s care as you.” Her muffled words were barely audible.

He lowered his head so he spoke close to her ear. “You have only to trust.”

She nodded.

“I will pray for us.” He could think of no other way to give her confidence. “Father God, you see each step ahead. Guide us home. Show the horse the way. Amen.”

Again, she nodded. This time he liked to think she seemed a little more certain. He kept his arm about her and she snuggled closer. He knew it was only to keep warm but still, he liked it. It made him feel as if he succeeded in providing protection for them.

Charlie wailed a protest.

“Stay under the covers, little man.” He held Lena tighter as Charlie struggled to be free. After a moment, he subsided, but not without loudly letting them know he didn’t approve of being so restricted.

The snow thickened. Anker brushed it from his lashes so he could see. He could no longer make out the horse’s ears, only the hint of the coarse tail. The wagon bucked as they encountered drifts on the road.

Anker stopped trying to keep the snow from filtering past his collar and resigned himself to being cold until they reached home. Father God, guide us safely. He prayed it constantly and at some point, began to speak the words aloud, needing to assure himself they would be safe.

Charlie had stopped fussing several minutes ago. “Is the little man okay?”

“I think he’s fallen asleep.”

Alarm jerked along Anker’s nerves. “He’s not . . . ?”

“I’m doing my best to keep him warm.”

Anker shivered despite himself.

“You need more protection,” Lena said. “Here, share the robe.” She made to open it.

He stopped her. “I’m fine.” He kept his arm firmly around her shoulders, trying to shield them from the cold wind, but grateful for the warmth she provided on one side of his body.

The horse stumbled onward. The snow whipped about them, driven by a brutal wind. He hunched toward the robe-encased pair and prayed ceaselessly.

He couldn’t say if they had been an hour on the trail or ten minutes. Time had vanished in the driven snow, measured now by the agony of his cold limbs.

“Are we moving?” Lena murmured.

Anker stirred himself to concentrate on his surroundings. Struggled to decide if the movement he felt was solely the wind battering at them or did it include the jolt and roll of the wagon? “I don’t think we are.” He flicked the reins, but the horse did not move. “I’ll have to get down and see what’s wrong.”