Ward regretted letting Freyda walk home alone with darkness rapidly descending, but he couldn’t see he had any other choice unless he wanted to take the boys over there and back. Perhaps he’d do that tomorrow rather than stare out the window until he couldn’t see her any longer and then assume she had made it back safely.

“Okay, you two. Time for bed.” He took the pair to the bedroom they shared and supervised them getting into their nightshirts. Both of which were too small. He’d have to locate an old one of Milo’s for Kit but he might have to order Milo’s replacement from the store.

Kit slipped his arms through the sleeves and let Ward button the front. Kit could do it himself but Ward liked the little ritual as much as Kit did. “Papa, Mrs. Haevre said we were handsome. What does that mean?”

He grinned to know she had praised the boys. “It means you are fine-looking young men.”

“Like you, Papa?”

He chuckled and pulled the boys close to him. Dorothy had complained that both were exact copies of him. “I suppose that is true, seeing as you look like me.” Handsome, Freyda thought? He couldn’t help but push his chest out a bit.

“Are we raff raff like old Mrs. Wright said?” Milo asked.

“She said things she shouldn’t have. Did things she shouldn’t have. That doesn’t make them true or right. You are boys who sometimes get into mischief but that’s part of growing up. There are times I must punish you for disobedience or meanness, but I would never be cruel.” He knew too well the damage of that sort of treatment.

Milo leaned back to study his father. “You know what she said?” He nodded toward the Haevre place, so Ward took him to mean Freyda. “She said getting mad hurts me.”

Ward closed his eyes and prayed for wisdom. He’d seen growing evidence that Milo’s temper often got the best of him, and he didn’t know how to help the boy. He would not use his Aunt Myra’s methods. Spare the rod, spoil the child. Seemed to him the rod could be misused. Seeing Mrs. Wright strike his son over and over had drained the blood from his heart. He would not allow his sons to be treated as his aunt had treated him.

“Milo, did you get angry?”

He hung his head. “Maybe.”

“He hit Mrs. Haevre,” Kit said.

“Let Milo tell his own story.”

“Sorry, Papa.” Kit’s bottom lip trembled at the slight rebuke.

“Milo?” Ward prompted.

“I was so angry I couldn’t stop myself.” A flash in his eyes warned Ward that the anger lingered.

“Why? What upset you? Did Mrs. Haevre do something?” If she had struck his son their agreement would be over and done with.

“No. She was nice. She held me until I wasn’t so angry and she told me a story about when she got angry when she was young.” He leaned back. “She has a mama and a papa and a grandpa. And I don’t know what else. How come we don’t?”

“My parents died when I was little.” He’d never told his sons about his childhood. Some things were best laid to rest.

Kit wrapped his arms around Ward’s neck. “No papa?”

“No.”

Milo studied his father a moment. “Where did you live? Who looked after you?”

Ward had hoped this day would never come, but he had prepared for it and decided he would not tell them he had an aunt and uncle back in Ohio. He never wanted them to meet. “A man and lady raised me. She was a lot like Mrs. Wright.”

“Oh, Papa. No.” Milo pressed his face to Ward’s chest. Silent tears soaked Ward’s shirt front. He rubbed Milo’s back. “It’s okay, Son. She can’t hurt me anymore.” He eased Milo back to look him in the eyes. “Milo, I will not let someone hurt you like that. You must tell me if anyone ever whips you.” He guessed it wasn’t the first time Mrs. Wright had used a switch on his son.

Milo nodded. “I will.”

The boys were quiet a moment before Kit spoke. “Is Mrs. Haevre coming tomorrow?”

“Yes. She will stay with you while I plant my crop and then hers. Is that okay?”

Kit nodded. “She’s nice.”

Ward looked to Milo for his answer.

“She’s okay.” His voice contained guardedness.

Ward understood. Trust did not come easy once it was shattered.

“Okay, say your prayers and into bed with you.” As he listened to the boys pray he said his own silent one. Thank you, Lord God, for someone to help. And so far she is fair with the boys. He would not rest easy until—

Until what? He needed help even though he didn’t want it.

* * *

He wakened the next morning to the knowledge that he must get the boys up, make breakfast, and milk the cow, all before Freyda arrived. Pink tinged the eastern sky by the time he woke the boys and set them to dressing themselves. He tried to decide if he should make breakfast or milk the cow while they dressed.

Remembering what happened yesterday, even with him standing right there, he decided to wait until Freyda arrived before he went to the barn.

He wasn’t much of a cook but there were potatoes left from last night. He fried them up along with some ham and put out the last of the biscuits.

They had just finished when a rap sounded at the door. “Come in,” he called.

Freyda stepped into the house and favored them all with a smile. “Good morning. I think it is going to be a lovely day.”

He hoped she meant more than simply the weather. He pushed to his feet. “I will leave the boys with you. I have to milk the cow yet.”

He glanced skyward as he left the house. The sun glowed over the horizon and he hurried his steps. He had to get his crop in as quickly as possible then get hers in. Again the question plagued him. Then what?

Then, he told himself firmly, he and the boys would manage on their own. Because he did not want another woman in his life.

He took the milk to the house, grabbed the last three biscuits, filled a canteen with water, then made his way to the field with the horses. The sun was warm and his shirt soon dampened with sweat.

Freyda left the house, his two sons at her side. She carried a basket and they set off across the prairie toward the creek.

His nerves twitched. The boys were forbidden to go alone to the water. They weren’t alone, he told himself. Freyda was with them. She had been raised in a large family. Surely she was able to watch two children without mishap.

He focused on the seeding but in his mind he saw Milo swinging back and forth from the loft. Going to the creek wasn’t the same. The creek was shallow and narrow. There were no steep banks. But why had she taken them there? She should have asked his permission.

The horses reached the end of the field. He left them to rest and trotted to the yard, following the direction Freyda had gone with his sons. He heard them before he saw them. Freyda said something and Kit laughed. Ward strained to hear his elder son. He heard Freyda again though he couldn’t make out what she said.

Then he heard Milo and he ground to a halt as the boy said something and then laughed.

When was the last time he’d heard Milo laugh except with him?

He edged closer, wanting to see them without being seen.

“Hi, Papa,” Kit called.

So much for not being noticed. He stepped from the sheltering trees.

“Is something wrong?” Freyda asked.

“What are you doing here?”

Kit answered. “We’re on a treasure hunt.”

He repeated the words, totally mystified. “What sort of treasures do you expect to find?”

Again Kit answered. “We won’t know till we find ’em.”

Freyda handed the basket to Milo. “That looks like a good treasure place under that tree. Kit, you go with him.”

Milo took Kit’s hand. Both boys left reluctantly, glancing over their shoulders several times.

Freyda waited until they squatted under the tree and moved aside twigs to look for treasure. “You have come to check on us? On me? You don’t think I can look after two boys?”

“You don’t know if the creek is a safe place. What if they fall in?”

Her fair eyebrows headed for her hairline and her eyes darkened. “It is the same creek as flows by my place, ja?”

“Yes.” His skin grew itchy at her accusing look.

“So I have seen it before. Maybe several times. I know it is shallow and slow moving. I know, too, how to watch children.”

“But my boys are known for getting into trouble.” He heard the uncertainty in his voice. Knew he had overreacted, but he couldn’t help it.

“Mr. Rollins.”

“Ward,” he reminded her.

“The worst that could happen to them is they get wet. And what would it matter? ’Tis a warm, sunny day. A little water never hurt anyone. What matters is they have fun.” Her eyebrows knit together and she took a step closer. “If this agreement is going to work, you are going to have to trust that I can care for two children. Just as I have to trust that you will plant my crop after you’ve done yours.” She crossed her arms and studied him.

He pulled at the neck of his shirt and tried not to squirm. Why was she staring at him so fiercely? Oh, she was hinting he should return to work. “I see you have things under control.” He backed away until the trees hid him then he loped back to the horses.

“I was only checking,” he muttered to the animals. They ignored him as they plodded down the field.

He smiled the full length of field. It had been good to hear Milo laugh.

His smile flattened. Freyda had things in hand. But he’d learned not to trust a woman. His aunt had been sweetness when others were around. Quite the opposite when she had Ward alone. And Dorothy? At first, he had enjoyed her appreciation of every little act of kindness he had shown her, but they weren’t married long before he learned that she demanded them all the time.

Freyda seemed nice enough at the moment.

What would she really be like as time passed?

* * *

Freyda knelt between Milo and Kit. “What kind of treasures did you find?” In time, Ward would understand that she would not treat his sons unkindly.

Kit held up a knotty bit of wood. “This is a wild cat. Rrrr. I’m going to take him home and put him on my windowsill. He will keep away all the bad guys.”

“He’s pretty ferocious looking. Do you want to put him in the basket so he’ll be safe until we get home?”

Kit hesitated then did so.

She turned to the older boy. “What did you find, Milo?”

“What did Papa want?”

“To make sure I wouldn’t let you fall into the creek.”

“That’s silly. We aren’t going to fall in.” He shifted his attention toward the stream.

She spoke before the idea could take root. “How about if we come here one day prepared to play in the water?”

He sighed. “You’ll forget.”

“No, I won’t. And if I did, I would expect you to remind me.”

He twisted a bit of branch in the grass. “Adults don’t like to be reminded.”

She gave a soft chuckle. “Then maybe I’m not good at being an adult, because I don’t mind being reminded.”

“Really?”

“Truly. Tell you what. We’ll take home that twig you have in your hand and I’ll put it on the windowsill in the kitchen and it will remind me. Would you like that?”

He put the twig into the basket.

She smiled at the hope in his eyes and promised herself she would do her best to never disappoint him.

They spent an hour looking for treasures by which time her basket held an assortment of objects—shiny rocks, a bird nest that had fallen to the ground, several odd-shaped bits of tree branches, and an assortment of feathers.

“We need to go home now. Your papa will be wanting some dinner.”

Kit talked all the way back but Milo was quiet. When they reached the house, he found the twig that signified her promise and put it on the windowsill. “So you don’t forget.”

“Thank you.” She wanted to hug him, but the child was still too fearful of her. Her insides clenched. To think of the way that woman had whipped him. How long had it been going on? She couldn’t imagine Ward was aware of it. Certainly he would have sent the woman packing sooner if he’d suspected such a thing.

The boys again helped her prepare the meal and then the three of them went out to inform Ward that it was ready.

He brought the horses in to water and rest while he ate.

The four of them sat down to the table. He asked the blessing and passed around the food. “What treasures did you find?”

She might have thought he mocked her but his attention was on the boys and he listened as they told about their morning.

“She said we can go play in the water one day. That’s what that twig is for.” Milo pointed to the window. “To make her not forget.”

Ward looked at Freyda. She could see the protest in his eyes. Would she keep his boys safe?

She held his gaze, feeling his look go deep. Knowing he had secrets that made him so cautious, so reluctant to trust her. But then, she had her secrets too. And yet they were forced by circumstances to work together.

“Should I have asked your permission first?” she asked.

Milo drew in his breath, as if fearing his father would say they couldn’t go.

She knew by the softening of Ward’s eyes that he heard too and wasn’t willing to disappoint his son.

“I suppose I have to let you do what you think is best. After all, you assure me you are used to dealing with children.”

She laughed from sheer relief. “I have sixteen cousins and even more second cousins. There is always at least three babies. And we are as welcome in each other’s houses as in our own. So yes, I am used to dealing with children.”

Milo and Kit’s eyes had grown wide. “You have lots of family,” Kit said. “I wish we did, and then we would never be lonely.”

Ward’s eyes grew dark. “You have each other and you have me. How can you be lonely?”

Kit’s bottom lip trembled. “I wish we had a gramma and grampa. I wish we had cousins and aunts and uncles. Mostly, I wish we had a mama.” A tear dropped to the back of his hand and he wiped it on his trousers.

“You had a mama.”

“I don’t ’member her. Milo does, don’t you?” He turned to his older brother.

“I don’t remember her playing with us like Mrs. Haevre does.” Milo ducked his head.

“Did she love us lots?” Kit asked.

Ward pushed aside his empty plate and got to his feet. “I need to get the crop in the ground.” He strode from the room, leaving three stunned people behind.

Seeing the shock and confusion in the faces of the two boys, Freyda rose. “Would you boys pile up the dishes, please? You can help me wash them up when I get back.” She headed for the door.

Kit ran after her. “Where are you going?”

“Kit, it’s okay. I’ll be right back. But there is something I need to tell your papa.”

Milo rocked back and forth in his chair. “Is he angry?”

Freyda couldn’t leave Milo looking so worried and afraid. She went to him and cupped his chin in her hand and looked directly into his eyes. “Your papa loves you. Never doubt that.”

He nodded. “I hope he’s not really angry.” He and Kit held hands, looking so worried that Freyda pressed her lips tight to keep back tears.

She left the house and crossed the yard.

Ward watched her approach, his eyes dark and full of warning. She ignored it. Perhaps she should inform him that her brother and sister and even her older cousins had often looked at her in much the same way and she had ignored them too. She was an expert at it.

“Your son asked a simple question. One he needs an answer to. Instead, you leave the house. They’re worried you are angry at them.”

“I’m not angry.”

“Your voice and demeanor say quite the opposite.”

“Well I’m not angry at my sons.” He led the horses from the water trough, his intention that he meant to return to the field without dealing with the issue as clear as the sky overhead.

She wasn’t prepared to let it go. Something had taken place back in the kitchen that left Ward upset and the boys fearful. “Are they not allowed to talk about their mother?” Had the woman beaten the boys? Was she cruel in other ways? “Is there something I should know?”

Ward stopped, the horses at his side. His gaze sought a distant place. “Dorothy was not the woman I thought she was. I’d been raised in a harsh environment and thought her gentleness was just what I needed to counteract that. I didn’t realize it was simply a form of selfishness. She didn’t want to be a mother and did not care for the boys.”

Freyda heard the words, but they didn’t make sense…as if they didn’t translate in her mind. How could a woman not love her children? From the way Ward’s shoulders sagged, Freyda wondered if his wife had also failed to love him.

“Ward, I am sorry.” She touched his arm, wanting only to offer her comfort.

Beneath her fingertips, his muscle twitched. A firm, well-developed muscle of a hardworking man. Warmth from the sun and from his labors traveled up her arm.

She left her hand there a moment longer, not wanting to jerk back and make them both uncomfortably aware of her tension.

“I’m sorry for your pain and sorry for what the boys must have felt. No wonder Milo is so guarded.” She crossed her arms and pressed them into her middle. She had no business touching him in the first place.

Ward stuck his free hand into the pocket of his pants. “So you see, I cannot assure them that their mother loved them.”

The pain in his voice was as real as a cut to one of her limbs. She clenched her fists and breathed deeply until she felt calmer. God had sent her here for more than getting her own homestead and proving she could achieve something worthwhile on her own. He had sent her here to help this hurting family. Gud, guide me and show me how to help them.

She formed her words slowly, wanting to be certain she chose the correct English ones. “But perhaps you can. Are there not any occasions when she showed a bit of affection? Perhaps when they were sick.”

He shook his head.

Freyda could see that tending sick children might not bring out the best in a selfish woman. But there had to be times she was different. “Was she pleased when they learned to walk? When they said their first words?”

His smile was tight. “She liked when Milo learned to walk. He was so proud of himself that she laughed.” His smile reached his eyes. “Milo hated crawling. He walked along the furniture until he could manage on his own two feet. When he got to a doorway and had to get down on his hands and knees, he grumbled the whole way.” Ward laughed. “He was so funny.”

“That’s sweet. And Kit?”

Ward met her gaze, his eyes warm with amusement. “Kit talked before he could walk. Of course we couldn’t understand him, but she said he always had plenty to say.”

She held his gaze. The intensity in his brown eyes made her insides quiver. She forced herself not to look away. Told herself she was foolish to feel like the ground beneath her feet had turned to jelly. “Those are sweet stories. The boys need to hear them. And they need to know you aren’t angry.”

“You are right.” He crossed to the house. “Here, you hold the horses while I talk to the boys.” He handed her the reins.

The boys had come out to the step. Kit looked worried. Milo looked angry.

Ward sat on the step and pulled the boys to his side. “I’m sorry you thought I was angry. I’m not.”

“Good,” Kit said.

Kit lived in the moment. Just as every four year old she knew. However, Milo was old enough to think deeper.

“Papa,” Milo said. “You was angry.”

“But not at you or your brother.”

“Are you sad that Mama is dead?”

Freyda hoped Ward would deal with Milo’s concerns.

Ward looked at Freyda and she nodded. Now, why did she think she needed to encourage the man?

He smiled then turned to Milo. “I’m mostly sad that you don’t have a mama to take care of you.” He turned to Kit. “I remember how your mama was so proud of you because you talked early.” He told Kit the story he’d told Freyda.

The boy beamed. “I still talk lots, don’t I?” It seemed like a good thing to Kit. His shoulders sank. “Mrs. Wright said I talk too much.”

Ward hugged him. “She was wrong. You talk just the right amount.” He shifted his attention to Milo. “Your mama enjoyed watching you learn to walk.” He repeated what he had told Freyda and they all laughed.

The boys leaned into him, their eyes shining with the joy of what he’d told them.

Freyda found joy in watching the three of them.

Ward sighed. “I hate to leave but I must get the horses back to work. They’re wondering why I’m taking so long.”

“Oh, Papa, horses can’t think.” Milo shook his head in protest.

“But they can. They are very smart. Why, look at Freyda’s horses.” Four pairs of eyes turned to the horses slurping water from the trough. “They like it here so they come back every day. I don’t know what we are going to do about that.” He chuckled as he took his pair and led them back to the field.

Freyda looked at Boots and Boss. “Yes, what are we going to do about that?” There was only one thing to do. She had to take them home and persuade them to stay. In the days of her agreement with Ward, she would learn as much as she could from him so she could manage her work on her own.

She turned to the field where he guided his horses along the rich ground. The boys talked to each other. They needed her attention. They came first. Later, she would ask Ward to teach her what she must know. Perhaps she’d offer to teach him something in return.

“Come on, boys. Let’s get the dishes done then we can do something fun this afternoon.”

As they helped her with washing and drying, they asked what they could do. She laughed at their suggestions to pretend to be robbers. “Instead, let’s pretend we’re traveling west and robbers are after us.” She had often played a similar game with her younger cousins.

They left the house and she glanced Ward’s direction. He made a nice picture riding on his grain drill. He’d rolled up his sleeves. Her gaze rested on his forearms. It had stirred something in her to touch his warm arm. To feel connected to someone if even for an instant.

She pushed away the thought. She needed his help just as he needed hers but once her crop was in the ground and she knew how to control Boots and Boss, she would manage on her own.

Alone. But she would get used to that. Besides, she was but a holler away from her nearest neighbor should she get too lonely.