Ward objected to her suggestion. It was the sensible thing to do, but her accusation that his children were unhappy left him feeling disagreeable. “My children are not bad.”

Her gaze darted to the barn and then back to him. “I did not say they were, nor do I think it.”

“I do my best to make them happy.” Why was he defending himself before this woman? He didn’t care what she thought of him.

“No doubt you do, but I think my suggestion would be good for all of us. Your boys too.”

Why did she stare at the barn? He followed her gaze to the loft. The block and tackle hung at the loft door. Strange. He had left it chained inside the loft and the door closed. “I use it to lift hay,” he said, thinking she wondered what it was for.

“I know the use of a block and tackle.”

If she knew what it was used for, why did she continue to stare at it? “Do you see something wrong?” Baruk hadn’t found any fault with it, so Ward couldn’t imagine that his widow would.

Mrs. Haevre shook her head and turned away from looking at the barn. “Do you agree to my suggestion?”

Ward rubbed his chin. He pressed fingers to the tense muscles of his neck. He looked across the yard to where the boys played. If they would stay there while he worked, he didn’t need help. But could he expect they would? Mrs. Haevre’s offer seemed logical but still, he hesitated. Tried to remember what Baruk had said about her apart from her being stubborn, which was not a factor in her favor. “I don’t—”

“Mr. Rollins, I did not plan to tell you what happened while you were gone to town but I feel I must for the safety of your children.”

He would not have thought his neck could get tighter but it spasmed enough to make him flinch.

Mrs. Haevre continued, her words coming slowly whether because she had to search for the English words or was indeed reluctant to say what she meant to say.

“The boys disappeared while I made sandwiches.”

And she thought he should trust her to take care of them? She had managed to give him all the reason he needed to say no to her offer.

“I found them out here. Or more correctly, I found Kit here.” She nodded toward a nearby spot. “And Milo up there.”

“Nothing unusual about that. He often plays in the loft. Kit won’t go there though.” He wondered if Milo went there to get away from his younger brother.

“No, you do not understand. He wasn’t in the loft.”

“But you said he was up there.” Did she not have the right words to say what she meant?

“He was clinging to the chain.” She pointed.

Again he wondered if she used the wrong word. “Do you mean the block and tackle?”

“Yes.” She swallowed. “I was redd…scared when I saw him. I thought he would fall.” A shudder crossed her shoulders.

He stared at her. Could she be right? He turned to study the block and tackle. It had been moved. He’d noticed that. His stomach clenched so hard he groaned. “If he’d fallen—” He couldn’t go on. “How did he get down?”

“I went to the loft and pulled him back.” She looked at him and her eyes widened. She reached out a hand as if expecting to have to catch him if he crumpled to the ground. “Are you all right?”

“My son…” He pointed at the loft door. He couldn’t get another word out. Couldn’t think beyond what might have happened. And then anger raged through him. He turned to the woman beside him. “You were supposed to be watching him. How can I even think of trusting my children to your care? Take your horses and go home.”

The boys had returned and stared at him with eyes too big for their faces.

“Papa?” Kit’s voice was thin.

Poor child had seen and heard too much for his young years. Ward took him in his arms. “It’s all right, Kit. We’ll take care of each other.”

“But Papa, she saved Milo.”

It was true. “Thank you.” The words grated from his tight throat. But she wouldn’t have needed to save him if she’d been doing what she said she would.

“I will leave now.” She lifted her skirts and gave a glance toward the loft again. She gasped. “Milo!” The color drained from her face.

He spun around and his heart punched into his ribs. “Milo!” The boy clung to the block and tackle as it swung in an arc out the loft door. He put Kit down and raced into the barn. He was up the ladder and skidding across the floor in seconds. He edged to the opening. Dizziness filled his head as he saw how far it was to the ground. He grabbed the chain and slowly pulled Milo to safety.

As soon as Milo was in his arms, Ward’s anger and fear exploded. “What are you thinking? You know how dangerous that is. And I hear this isn’t the first time you’ve done it. Milo, you can’t do such foolish things.” His glare bored into the eyes of his son.

Milo nodded. “Okay, Papa.” But Ward feared it was not compliance he saw in Milo’s eyes. What had Mrs. Haevre said? An unhappy child is a naughty child. Was he responsible for making Milo unhappy?

The question weighted his shoulders. “Let’s get down.” Where it was safe.

He took Milo to Mrs. Haevre, surprised to see she held Kit. Had he handed his son to her? He honestly couldn’t remember. “Milo, stay here with your brother and Mrs. Haevre until I get back.” He took the woman’s agreement for granted.

He strode back into the barn, found spikes and a hammer, and climbed to the loft. He nailed the chain of the block and tackle to the floor. No child would be able to get it free. Then he closed the loft door and drove spikes in to hold it closed.

He shook the door, pushed on it with his shoulder. Satisfied it would not break free, he returned to the three waiting for him. Kit’s eyes were wary. Milo’s guarded and perhaps challenging. He looked at Mrs. Haevre last. Saw sympathy and regret and also challenge.

“I know when I’m beat.” He rubbed at his neck, wishing the muscles would relax. “If you will watch the boys while I work I will put in your crop. Are you in agreement?”

She shifted Kit to one side and held out her hand. “Agreed.”

They shook on it.

She set Kit on the ground. He and Milo chased after a bug. At least Ward could see they weren’t in any danger. Mrs. Haevre had crossed her arms and waited as if she expected him to say more. But he’d agreed to her idea. Wasn’t that enough?

“Now what?” she asked.

He must have looked as puzzled as he felt.

“How do we do this?”

“This?” He scrambled to figure out what she meant. Had he missed something?

“Where will I look after the boys? Here or my place? What time should I come?” She lifted her hands heavenward to indicate she had more questions she didn’t bother to ask.

“Well, I don’t know. The only reason I’m prepared to do it is I see how quickly Milo can get into trouble. This arrangement isn’t something I’ve given a lot of thought to. None, in fact.”

“Nor have I. I’d prefer to manage on my own. My pride says I must. My practical side says it might be Christmas before I can persuade those silly horses to stay home and work for me. I have one goal in mind and that is to prove up the homestead and do what I set out to do. And I will. Once the crop is in, I will have time to deal with the horses and learn how to handle them. So you see, it is just a temporary thing.”

It took ten seconds after she wound down for him to realize she’d finished. “And I only want someone to watch the boys until I’m done planting.” He would not think of the land that he must plow after that. Surely by that time something would fall into place. He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe slowly. He had no sister, no mother. Yes, he had an aunt, but he’d move to the North Pole before he’d let her near his boys.

Mrs. Haevre had gone back to standing with her arms crossed. He couldn’t say if it meant impatience or not. The boys turned over another rock and squatted down to watch whatever bugs they had unearthed. He looked again at his neighbor. “You want them at your place or mine?”

“They’re your boys. What do you think would be best for them?”

“Mrs. Haevre, it would be best if they had a mother to take care of them, but they don’t.” At the pained look on her face, he wished he could pull his words back.

“I would have liked to have children,” she murmured. “There were always lots of cousins around when I was at home. Always a baby or two.” She slowly filled her lungs. “That is not to be.” She drew herself up. “However, I will have the home Baruk and I planned even if it means accepting help.” She looked at the two boys. “They might be happier to be at their own home. So I will come here each morning until you’ve seeded your crop.”

“And then I will seed yours. Why don’t I bring the boys to your house the days I am working your field?”

“That will be fine, Mr. Rollins.”

“Perhaps you could call me Ward.”

“If you wish. Would it be easier for you to address me as Freyda?”

He liked the way her name sounded with her accent. “It’s a pretty name.”

Was he mistaken in thinking her cheeks grew pink?

They faced each other without looking directly at the other. The air shimmered. The sounds of the boys faded.

She jerked about to look at the pair. “Do you want me to take care of them now?”

“Fine. I’ll get back to work.” He trotted out to his team of horses who waited patiently for him. He resumed work, part of his attention on guiding the big horses and part on watching the activity around the house. Occasionally he glanced to the north where his fledgling herd of cows grazed. Dorothy had not wanted him to have more than a milk cow and a steer to butcher but his heart was set on cows. He’d dreamed of riding after a herd, eating at a smoky campfire, sleeping under the stars. He’d hoped he could enjoy that pursuit on occasion after he started the homestead. But Dorothy couldn’t manage the boys on her own.

He turned his attention back to his home. Freyda perched on a rock near where the boys played. He still had no reason to trust his sons wholeheartedly to a woman who wasn’t even from America. But he had no choice. Milo had made that clear.

* * *

Like Freyda had told Ward—she’d have to work at being comfortable using his Christian name--this wasn’t the way she had planned things to be. But then, shouldn’t she be used to that?

She watched the boys play. Milo glanced at her and shifted so she got a good view of his back. He was different than her boisterous cousins. More like—

She chuckled. More like she’d been as a child. Defensive, and, as the youngest of her siblings, always trying to prove herself. In fact, wasn’t she still doing the latter? It continued to irk her that Baruk had refused to bring her with him to America. She could handle the challenges. If she’d been here, she might have nursed him back to health. Instead, he died alone in the new land with only his neighbor to check on him.

She hadn’t asked Ward for details about Baruk’s passing. All she knew was what was written in the letter sent by Reverend Sorrow. I regret to inform you of the passing of your husband, Baruk Haevre. He died 01-14-1886. He succumbed to pneumonia. His neighbor, Mr. Ward Rollins, was with him at the end. Your husband had a good Christian funeral attended by friends and neighbors. He is buried by the church in Grassy Plains, Dakota Territory. My sincerest condolences.

Her family assumed that was the end of her dream of going to America.

Her family was wrong. She would not let anything deter her. Not two stubborn horses nor two motherless boys. Her heart saddened at what Milo and Kit had to deal with. It made her realize how sweet her childhood had been even though there were times she was pushed aside because she was the youngest and no one thought she could keep up. Baruk’s refusal to let her come to America with him made her feel the same way she had when she was shuffled off with the younger cousins.

Milo and Kit had been steadily moving away and she followed them.

Milo glared at her. “You stay away.”

Freyda shook her head. “I won’t bother you, but I do need to keep an eye on both of you to make sure you’re safe.”

“I can take care of myself and Kit.”

She barely managed not to smile at how familiar his words were. “I know you can, but I have an agreement with your papa to watch you.”

Milo grabbed Kit’s hand and dragged him out of sight behind the barn.

Freyda followed, keeping as much distance between them as safety allowed. At least Milo couldn’t swing from the loft door any more.

He found a sharp rock and jabbed at the ground, digging a hole. He whispered to Kit as he worked.

Freyda caught a few of his words, enough to know the boy meant to dig a cave so he and Kit could hide in it.

She didn’t blame him and shifted her back to the barn. She could see them and hear them. She turned her thoughts to how she and Ward could make this temporary agreement work.

She’d only agreed to take care of the boys. Did that include making meals for them? What else? Without any delays it would take at least three weeks to seed the crops. If Ward stopped to make meals, it would take longer. Longer was not good.

Thanks to her search of the kitchen and pantry, Freyda knew there were plenty of supplies for preparing meals. She began to plan what she would make for them.

Ward had stopped at the end of the field to get a drink and let the horses rest a few minutes. He looked her direction. She waved and then jabbed her hand toward the boys to indicate they were safe.

He flicked a hand back and returned to seeding.

The shadows grew longer. Where had the day gone? If she meant to have supper ready for Ward and the boys, she needed to get started.

“Boys.” She made sure to signal her approach. “Come to the house. I’ll make you a good supper.”

Milo continued to dig as if he hadn’t heard her.

She knew he had. She held out a hand to Kit and he scrambled to his feet and gripped her fingers.

“Milo, let’s go.” She touched his shoulder.

He jerked to his feet and flew at her, fists flying.

She put Kit to the side, out of harm’s way, as she backed away from Milo.

Milo charged after her. “You aren’t my mama. I don’t have to do what you say. You can’t make me.” His fists hammered at her.

She sidestepped him and, before he could face her again, she wrapped her arms around him, trapping his flailing fists, and held him tight. “Milo, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. You are safe. I won’t let anyone hurt you. It’s okay. It’s okay.” She murmured comfort and calmness to him. At least half the words were in Norwegian, but she didn’t think it mattered.

Slowly, the fight left him. She sank to the ground and cradled him against her, still holding tight. Anger that erupted so suddenly and violently would take time to calm. To help soothe him, she told him a story of her childhood.

“When I was little, I always felt I was being left behind. My brother is four years older than me. My sister seven years older. It seemed to me that they could always have more fun than I did. I don’t know how many times I was told I couldn’t go with them. They said I couldn’t keep up. I insisted I could. One time, they were going to skate down the frozen river to our aunt and uncle’s place. I told them I could keep up. They laughed and left without me. I was so angry I banged my fists against the door that had closed behind them until my hands started to bleed.”

She’d almost forgotten that event, but not the feeling of being dismissed. It was the same feeling she had when Baruk refused to let her accompany him to America.

“I don’t know where my parents were. Perhaps doing chores. But my grandfather found me and stopped me. He held me much like I’m holding you right now. And do you know what he said to me?”

Milo didn’t answer but she knew from the way he cocked his head that he listened.

“What he said?” Kit stood nearby. Poor little man, watching his big brother’s anger.

She smiled at him, and he relaxed.

“First, he washed my hands and put ointment on them and said I had hurt no one but myself with my angry outburst. Then he said, ‘Anger doesn’t solve anything, but it destroys everything.’”

The boys waited, perhaps wanting to understand what it meant. “Just like my anger hurt me, anger hurts everyone around you and it brings nothing but trouble. It steals away your happiness. Does that make sense?”

Kit nodded, perhaps more because he thought he should than because he understood.

Freyda loosened her arms slowly but didn’t entirely let go of Milo. There were other things she wanted to say to the boy, but that was enough for now. She had many days to spend with them. Gud, help me teach these boys how to be happy and trust people.

Milo remained relaxed in her arms. “I think your papa would like a nice supper. Ja?”

Kit nodded.

Freyda waited for Milo’s response but when he didn’t indicate yes or no, she didn’t push him to do so. “I would make supper for your papa and his two handsome young sons, but I would need help. Who would like to help me?”

Kit waved his hand in the air. “I would. I would.”

“Fine. I might need two helpers.” She got to her feet, holding her breath as she helped Milo up. Slowly she relaxed as Milo walked beside her to the house.

In the kitchen, she handed Milo a cup and a mixing bowl. “I need three cups of flour in this bowl. You think you can do that?”

He nodded.

She broke two eggs into a smaller bowl and put it before Kit. She handed him a whisk. “You beat these eggs until they are all mixed up.”

Kit giggled. “It’s okay to beat eggs?”

“Yes.” She understood what he meant. “But it’s not okay to beat little boys.”

Milo met her gaze for an instant, but it was long enough for her to see a flicker of hope.

Takk Gud.

It took far longer to mix up biscuits with the help of the boys than it would have taken to make them on her own but that wasn’t the point. She wanted them to be a part of what she did.

Kit scrubbed potatoes and Milo scraped carrots. She let Milo turn the meat that she browned in the fry pan. She let Kit put in flour and add water to make gravy then left the meat to simmer while the vegetables cooked.

Everything was ready.

“When will Papa come?” Kit asked.

“He’s working.” The first words Milo had spoken since his angry eruption.

Freyda did not know the boys well, but she sensed anger building in Milo again. She hoped she could forestall it. “Let’s go tell him the meal is ready.” She had no idea if he would want to stop to eat or if he wanted to work until dark.

The boys raced from the house and out to the field. They stopped at the end of the field. Ward reached the spot where they waited. He stopped and bent over to hug both boys.

Freyda blinked back the tears stinging her eyes. At least Milo and Kit knew their father loved them.

Ward straightened. “The boys say supper is ready.”

“I don’t know what you prefer. Do you want me to feed the boys? Do you want to come in now? Do you want to work until dark?”

He glanced to the west. “I will come in now.” He began to unhitch the team. She watched his every move so she could remember how to do it for herself.

The boys ran back and forth along the edge of the field.

Milo kick a clod and laughed when it exploded into a cloud of dirt.

The sound wrapped around Freyda’s heart. “It’s good to hear him happy.” She hadn’t meant to say the words aloud and hoped Ward would not hear them as criticism.

He nodded and prepared to take the horses to the barn. “Come on, boys.”

They followed him. Freyda walked at his side, again watching how he handled the horses.

They parted ways at the yard. She went to the house. He went to the barn, taking the two boys with him. She stopped at the door. If he would invite her, she would go to the barn too and observe how he unyoked the animals. But he didn’t invite her and she didn’t ask.

She waited until she heard the tromp of boots to serve the meal. The table was set with three plates.

Ward ground to a halt when he saw the table. “There’s a plate missing.”

“I do not know what you mean.” Was this his way of asking her to join them?

“You will eat with us.”

“Thank you.” She put a fourth setting on the table.

“When you are here, you will eat my food.”

“And when you work at my place, you will eat my food.” That way there would be no owing.

“That’s settled.”

Lest he think she didn’t have a say in the arrangement, she added, “It’s a satisfying agreement.”

“Boys, let’s pray.” He waited until his sons folded their hands together. He glanced at Freyda as if to ask her opinion. She answered by bowing her head.

He offered a short grace. “Amen.”

She handed him the bowl of potatoes, not knowing if he expected to be served first.

“Help yourself,” he said.

She did so.

“I helped with the potatoes,” Kit said.

“I got the carrots ready,” Milo added.

Ward smiled. “You did? Great. Soon you’ll be able to make the meal all by yourself.”

“Then I guess you won’t need me any longer.” Freyda did her best to sound cheerful but, in her mind, she had the same sense of being left out, left behind, as she had as a child. She knew it was foolish, but, still, it was there.

“Papa’s joshing,” Milo said. “We can’t cook. We can only help.”

She could have hugged the boy as she read the expression in his eyes. He understood her need to be accepted.

Just as she understood his need to be cherished and protected. At that instant a tenuous bond formed between them. It wouldn’t take much to break the connection, but it was a good start.

Kit watched Ward carefully as he took a bite of his biscuit. “Is it good, Papa?”

Ward nodded.

“Milo and I made them.” The boy wriggled on his chair.

Ward chuckled. “I am very proud of you both.” He rubbed their heads. He looked at Freyda. “Thank you.”

She wondered if he meant for the meal or for the pleasure the boys had helping with the meal. Not that it mattered. She had done both and it pleased her.

The meal over, Ward pushed from the table. “Do you mind staying while I do the chores?”

“Not at all.” She did the dishes while he was outside, making a game out of it so that the boys helped willingly.

Ward returned and she prepared to leave. “What time would you like me to return tomorrow?”

He scrubbed at his neck and looked toward the field. “I’d like to put in a long day—dawn to dusk—but I can’t ask you to come that early.”

“I’ll be here as soon as it’s light.”

“You sure you don’t mind?”

“We are both anxious to get our crops seeded.” The sooner his crop was in, the sooner hers would be in. It was as simple as that.

“Okay then. Good night.” The boys stood beside him in the doorway. “Say goodnight to Mrs. Haevre,” Ward said. They did so and Freyda hurried down the dusky trail to her house. She shut her chickens in and then realized she’d left the horses at the Robbins’s farm. Tomorrow she would remember to bring them home.

Darkness filled the house as she returned from doing her own chores. Her home was silent and empty. It had been nice to spend the afternoon with two little boys.

She must not allow herself to depend too much on their company even though she had enjoyed the day. Owning her own farm, being independent, living the dream she had shared with Baruk, would be lonely, but she would do it. She would get used to cooking only for herself and talking to the four walls.