After the boys were in bed, Ward spent several hours telling himself that taking Freyda to church was nothing out of the ordinary. Just as he’d told himself time and again that putting his arms around her to help her guide the horses had meant nothing. He would not be so foolish as to think she was different in every way from both his aunt and his dead wife.

Why did he have to keep repeating it? He believed it completely and wholly, yet his heart didn’t follow along as it should.

It had surprised him to be whistling and he tried to think when he had last done so. Aunt Myra objected to the sound. Dorothy had complained it made her head hurt. He’d restricted his whistling to times when he was far enough away from the house she couldn’t hear. After her death, he hadn’t felt like whistling.

But here he was driving the wagon to the Haevre place, whistling happily. Twice he forced himself to stop and twice discovered he whistled again.

“You happy, Papa?” Kit asked.

“Guess I am.”

“’Cause we’re going to church?”

“That’s part of the reason.”

Milo nudged Kit. “It’s ’cause he’s taking Mrs. Haevre to church.” He turned to Ward. “That’s okay, Papa, ’cause we like her too.”

Ward pressed his lips tight. His whistling had given the boys the wrong idea. No more whistling.

They reached the Haevre farm. He stopped at the door and jumped down.

Freyda stepped out. She wore a dress as blue as lake water. It make her eyes bluer than blue. Her blond hair peeked out from under a blue bonnet.

“You look very nice.” His tongue could hardly form the words.

She gave a little curtsy. “Thank you, kind sir. And may I say that you look very nice too.” Pink stained her cheeks and she looked at the boys rather than at him. “You two look nice too.”

The boys grinned and Milo nudged Kit. “Told you so.”

Ward stopped smiling and held his hand out to assist Freyda to the seat. He curled his fingers as he stepped away, capturing the warmth of her hand even though she wore spotless white gloves.

He climbed up beside her, the boys behind them, pressed to his shoulder. One glance back at them and he grinned. Their eyes were wide with admiration as they stared at Freyda.

“Sit down, boys, and we’ll be on our way.”

They sat, backs to the side of the wagon so they could keep their adoring gazes on Freyda.

He glanced at her, half expecting her cheeks would be pink from the way they studied her.

She carried a little drawstring bag and opened it. “I have an English Bible. I miss the familiarity of my Norwegian Bible, but I am determined to be American in every way.”

Milo leaned forward to speak to her. “You can’t be.”

“Why not?” She sounded curious, rather than offended.

“’Cause you were born in Norway. Papa, where was I born?”

When had either of the boys expressed so much interest in their past, or his past? “Milo, you were born in a little town in Ohio. Your mama and I lived there for a short while.” He knew Kit would be next. “Kit, you were born in Iowa. I worked for a farmer there. He told me all about free land in the Dakota Territory. Said if he didn’t have ten mouths to feed he would be staking out a homestead. ‘That’s what a young fella like you should do,’ he said. ‘It’s a wonderful opportunity.’ I thought so too, so when Kit was a year old, we came west and here we are.”

The boys sat back, their attention caught by a hawk soaring overhead.

Freyda pointed. “Look at those animals. They aren’t deer. What are they?”

“Antelope,” Ward said. “Or more correctly, pronghorn. They can run up to ninety-five miles an hour, I’m told.”

“Who told you?” Milo asked, but Ward felt all three of the passengers waiting for his answer.

“An old hunter I met the first year I was out here.”

“What was his name? What did he look like?” Milo knelt behind Ward, quivering with interest.

Ward chuckled. “You boys will like this story. Trapper was big. I saw him lift a full-grown man like a sack of potatoes. He had a beard that he kept trimmed to here.” He held his hand three inches below his chin. “It was always clean and brushed. He was loud and his voice was as deep as thunder. When he spoke the rafters rattled. But he was a good, kind man.”

“Where is he now?” Kit wanted to know.

“I expect he’s gone to the mountains to hunt.”

“Oh.”

Ward chuckled. “So much disappointment in a little word.”

“Well, I’d like to see him.”

“Me, too,” Milo said. “How’d you meet him?”

“He had a donkey named Betsy Girl. He was very fond of that donkey, but she got sick and needed to rest someplace so I said he could keep her in my barn even though it wasn’t finished. He was here almost a month. He never came indoors.” Dorothy would have complained mightily if he had. “He cooked over a fire outside and slept in the barn right beside his Betsy Girl. But in the daytime, he helped me work on the barn, helped with fences though he said neither man nor beast should be confined by them. And he talked. That man could talk the hind leg off his donkey. I wondered if Betsy Girl hadn’t gotten sick so she could rest her ears for a spell.”

The boys listened wide-eyed. When he finished, Freyda chuckled.

Ward’s gaze met hers and for the space of a heartbeat, he forgot everything but the blue of her eyes and the way she smiled. He felt her gaze dip deep into his heart. It was a pleasant sensation. Much like a warm, sweet drink.

A wagon came alongside them. “Howdy, Ward.”

Ward introduced Freyda. “My neighbor. Mrs. Haevre, meet Klaus and Gerda Hoffmann. They live across the creek and up three miles from my place.”

They, too, were on their way to church and continued down the road at a faster pace than Ward. He slowed even more to avoid their dust.

Milo and Kit sat back against the sides of the wagon, their expressions tight.

Ward glanced at them then at Freyda. “What’s wrong?” He tipped his head toward the pair.

She studied them a moment then turned and slid closer to speak quietly so the boys couldn’t hear her. “Do you take them to church every Sunday?”

“Most every Sunday.”

“Then it isn’t the thought of seeing so many people. I suppose they might be afraid of encountering Mrs. Wright.”

His jaw creaked. “She won’t bother them anymore.”

“I know it’s not my business, but how many women have cared for them since their mother passed?”

“Four. I wouldn’t get anyone if I didn’t have to.”

“Why did you let them go?” Her words were soft.

He knew it was so the boys wouldn’t hear their conversation, but her gentle tone went a long ways to calming his twitching nerves. “One had more interest in me than in the boys.”

Freyda chuckled. “I can see that wouldn’t suit you.”

“Well, she was not much more than a youngster.”

“Really? And how old would that be.”

“She was nineteen. I’m twenty-eight and way too old for her, though I suppose the age difference wouldn’t matter if I was interested. I wasn’t.” From what Baruk had said, he knew Freyda to be twenty-two. Not much older than that first girl, but so much more grown up.

He shook his head to straighten out his thoughts and turned back to the conversation. “The others either neglected the boys or were cruel to them. I suspected Mrs. Wright long before I saw it firsthand.” He groaned. “My poor boys. It’s the one thing I vowed they would never experience.”

She touched the back of his hand. “They are good, happy boys.”

“You think so?” He couldn’t help the hunger in his words and in his eyes.

“I do, indeed.” They were in town and joined others making their way to the church. She withdrew her hand and sat up prim and proper.

They parked and made their way to the steps. They kept the two little boys between them.

“Freyda.” A blond man with a brown-haired young woman at his side hurried toward them. The man held the hand of a small boy with black hair and black eyes. There was no mistaking the native heritage of the youngster.

The couple reached them and both of them hugged Freyda. “You are okay?”

Freyda laughed. “Are you surprised to know I am?” She turned to Ward. “This is my near neighbor, Ward Rollins, and his two boys, Milo and Kit. Ward, this is my brother, Anker, and his wife, Lena. And this little fellow is their son, Charlie.”

Her brother? Well, that was a relief, though why should it matter to him?

Milo and Kit pressed to his sides. He looked around to see what bothered them and saw Mrs. Wright and a couple of her cronies staring at them.

Another man joined them, blocking them from Mrs. Wright’s view.

The others chattered in Norwegian until Freyda stopped them. “We must speak English now.” She moved to Ward’s side. “Ward, this is my cousin, Nels.” She turned back to the second man. “Any news from Elin?”

“Not yet.”

Ward tried to keep up with all the talk but failed.

Anker caught his sister’s attention. “You must come home with us for the afternoon and catch up on all the news.”

“I’d like to, but I have come with the Rollinses.”

“They are invited too.”

Ward looked at his boys. “Would you like to visit Mrs. Haevre’s family?”

Milo looked at Anker. “Are you from Norway too?”

“Yes, I am.”

Milo nodded. “Then I should like to visit your home.”

“Me too.” Kit was not about to be outdone.

They made their way inside and sat beside Freyda’s family. The boys sat on either side of him, with Freyda on the other side of Kit.

Ward settled himself comfortably in the pew and looked at the others. So this is what it felt like to have family.

It might prove interesting to see how Freyda’s family treated her. He had the impression she wasn’t taken as seriously as she would have liked.

* * *

Freyda glanced out the corner of her eye trying to gauge how Ward felt about her family. And these were only a few of them. She could have refused Anker’s invitation though it had come more as an order, but she longed to see them all, even though she knew she would endure questioning and more arguments about what she was doing.

Ward noticed her looking at him. The smile he gave her made her relax. He could have said no if he didn’t want to go.

The preacher stood to bring the congregation to worship. This was Reverend Sorrow. She must speak to him after the service and thank him for the letter he’d sent.

The hymns they sang had familiar tunes, but even with the help of the hymnal she struggled to find the English words, so settled for a soft hum. Not that she was much of a singer.

But Ward! Oh, how that man could sing. His voice was rich and deep. Not unlike the man himself. She immediately dismissed the latter thought as irreverent. She regretted when the song service ended, but sat back to listen to the Reverend.

“My text is from Luke chapter nine, verse sixty-two. ‘And Jesus said unto him, No man, having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God.’” He smiled at the congregation. “I thought it a fitting verse for the season as I know most of you are busy farming. You all know if you don’t keep your eyes focused on a spot ahead, your plowing will be crooked.” He went on to talk about how followers of Christ must also keep their eyes on the One they followed or they would lose their way.

The service ended. Reverend Sorrow went down the aisle and waited at the door to greet each of them. As Freyda spoke to the reverend, Ward stood a foot away, as if making it clear he was nearby should she need him.

“Reverend, I’m Mrs. Haevre, Baruk’s widow. Thank you for your letter.”

The preacher covered her hands with his. “My dear. I wish I wasn’t the bearer of such awful news. How are you doing?”

“I’m doing fine.” And she was. Baruk had been gone so long she could hardly remember him. “I would like to see his grave and say my good-byes.”

“Of course. It’s just through that gate and to your right. Do you wish to wait so I can accompany you?”

“How kind of you to offer, but I’ll be okay.” She descended the steps. Ward and the boys followed her to the gate.

“Do you want me to go with you?” Ward asked.

“Thanks, but I don’t think so.” This was something she needed to do on her own.

“Then I’ll wait here.”

She nodded and went to the simple cross with Baruk’s name on it. She should have come here upon her arrival. Should have paid her respects then, but she’d been focused solely on getting to the homestead and starting her new life.

She knelt before the grave. If only he had believed in her enough to bring her with him. If only people would take her seriously. She sat back on her heels. Perhaps Ward did. After all, he must think she could handle the horses, or else why would he show her what to do? She looked at him across the two rows of grave markers. He stood hat in hand, his dark hair shining in the sun. He’d offered to accompany her, but had not insisted.

He watched her with a tiny smile.

Did he like what he saw?

She looked back at the name Baruk. “Baruk, I like the house you built. I’m not so sure about Boss and Boots. But the farm is in a good spot. Close to the creek for watering the livestock. A nice level place. I will keep the farm and make it my own.” She sat before the grave, letting go of the past, looking forward to the future. “Good-bye, Baruk.”

She got to her feet and left the cemetery. “Shall we go face the inquisition of my brother and cousin?”

He chuckled. “I think you can handle it fine.” He grimaced. “I’m not so certain I’ll survive. That brother of yours looks mighty tough.”

She laughed. “You have nothing to fear.” She wished she had the same confidence in her own ability to survive.

* * *

Following the instructions Anker had given him, Ward turned the wagon that direction. Anker and his family were half a mile ahead with Nels riding beside their wagon.

Ward had been joshing about being afraid of Anker. It wasn’t on his behalf his muscles tightened. He couldn’t miss the way Freyda twisted her hands together and bit her bottom lip.

He touched her hand and she jerked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Did she object to his touch?

“You didn’t really, but my thoughts were on what I will face at Anker’s.”

“Will it be that bad?”

She gave a chuckle that was half groan. “I’ll let you judge for yourself.”

“Fair enough.” He sat back a moment thinking of the different aspects of the morning. He would soon spend time with her family. There were so many things he wanted to know about her. He nudged her arm. “It might be fun to get their opinion of you.”

She shook her head. “Only if you want to see me as a helpless little girl.”

He laughed loudly. “I don’t think that will happen.” He tucked a bit of pleasure into his heart at the way her cheeks grew pink. “Tell me about your family.” He tipped his head forward to indicate he meant those he would be visiting.

“Anker is my brother. He married Lena this a few months ago.”

“But Charlie…” The boy had to be two years old or better.

“Charlie is Lena’s son. Her husband died two years ago, I believe it was. He was part Indian, as you might guess from looking at Charlie.”

That answered the question in Ward’s mind.

“Nels is getting his house built and the plowing done and then he’s going to send for his intended.”

“Sounds almost like you and Baruk.” Had visiting Baruk’s grave saddened her?

“Except I wanted to come. Inga said she wouldn’t come until she had a proper house.”

The wagon ahead of them turned to a laneway leading to a log structure that rose like a small mountain. “Where did he get the logs in the Dakota Territory for such a house?”

Humor rounded Freyda’s words as she answered. “He had them cut and delivered. Said he wanted a house to stand the test of time.”

Milo and Kit looked over the side of the wagon. “Papa, is that where we’re going?”

“It’s where Mrs. Haevre’s brother and family live.”

They followed the other wagon to the house. The boys scrambled from the back. Charlie stood by his mama, looking at the visitors.

Lena spoke to him. “Let’s show Milo and Kit your toys.” She led the visitors inside where Charlie took the boys to a basket of carved animals.

Freyda went with Lena into the kitchen and Nels and Anker sat on either side of Ward. They studied him openly, perhaps a bit challengingly.

“How do you know my sister?” Anker asked.

“As she said, we are near neighbors. I helped Baruk when he fell ill, and took care of his horses after he passed. It’s how we met.” He left it at that, wondering if Freyda’s brother and cousin would object to the arrangement he had with Freyda.

“You are a widower, ja?” Nels asked.

“My wife died a year and a half ago.”

The men shook their heads and looked sad. “Must be hard to manage two young ones and do your farming.”

“I’ve had help off and on.”

“Best if you remarry,” Anker said. “Marriage is the best thing that ever happened to me. And I got a son at the same time.” His gaze rested with fondness on Charlie.

“Dinner is ready,” Lena called from the kitchen, and the men and boys joined the ladies. They crowded around the table, Milo on one side of Ward. Kit on the other with Freyda beside him. After Anker asked the blessing and the plates were filled, Anker turned to Freyda.

“You have come to your senses about farming?”

She sucked in air. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course you do. I believe you’ve had time to discover trying to farm on your own is a foolish idea. It is not a job for a woman. You need a man. A husband.”

Lena and Freyda both bristled. Lena reached over and put her hand over her husband’s. “I am of the opinion that a woman can do much the same work as a man, though perhaps the same cannot be said about a man doing a woman’s work. God has made us all unique with unique capabilities…whether man or woman.”

Anker turned his hand and squeezed his wife’s. He gave her a gentle look before he turned back to Freyda. “It isn’t like you’ve had any experience farming. Why, I don’t recall you ever tending the horses or the cows.”

Freyda stabbed a piece of meat. “Did it ever cross your mind that I was not allowed to?”

Anker blinked then shook off the question. “So how are you managing Baruk’s horses?”

“My horses.” She spoke quietly.

Ward wished he could tell if she was disheartened by her brother’s questions or quietly settling into stubbornness. He suspected the latter.

“I am learning how to harness them.”

“Papa is teaching her,” Milo said. “He says she’s doing really good.”

Anker’s gaze jerked to Ward’s, full of disbelief and challenge. Ward met the look without blinking.

“You are spending time with my sister?”

“I’m teaching her a few skills that you might have taught her if you wanted her to succeed.”

“If I wanted—” Anker sat back and stared at Ward. “I don’t want to see her fail and be hurt. It’s too big a job for her.”

“Could be she’ll prove you wrong.” Ward returned to eating as if disinterested in the conversation.

Lena laughed. “Mr. Rollins, I believe you’ve championed Freyda very well and I applaud you. Now let’s eat the rest of the meal in peace.” She sent Anker a look of warning and he shrugged.

“Peace you shall have.”

Ward glanced at Freyda. She concentrated on stabbing peas until she had five on her fork. She lifted it and paused to look at Anker, her eyes blaring determination. “Did you not hear the preacher this morning? ‘No man putting his hand to the plough and turning back—’?”

“You aren’t a man.”

“Anker,” Lena warned.

“Does the Bible not say that in God’s sight there is neither male nor female?” She popped the peas into her mouth. “Lovely dinner, Lena. Thank you.”

Ward quickly added his thanks before the conversation could shift back to the argument between brother and sister. Then he turned to Nels. “I hear you are building a house.”

“Yes. I have a good start. I’m waiting for a load of lumber to come on the train so I can finish. And then my Inga will join me.” He grinned widely.

The conversation shifted to talk about life in Norway and Ward’s sons listened intently. He knew they saw the Hansen family as ideal even after the argument between Anker and Freyda. Ward had never had family so he enjoyed the stories as much as his sons.

The meal over. Lena turned to the boys. “Would you like to be excused to play outside?” Ward remembered the mischief his sons were capable of. “I’ll go with them.”

Nels got to his feet. “Let me. I like playing with little boys.”

Ward wondered if Nels wanted to leave him to be questioned by Anker and he gratefully accepted another cup of coffee. Could be he’d need the fortification.

Anker leaned his chair back. “Freyda, you are always welcome to live with us.”

“Thank you. I’ll let you know if I ever want to.”

Lena chuckled. “Anker, she isn’t going to change her mind just because you say so.” She gave Freyda a sympathetic look. “Just because you’ve always told her what to do.”

“She can’t manage a farm on her own. You know that. You tried.”

Lena grew very still. “Are you saying I couldn’t do it? Seems to me I managed okay until my house burned down.” She turned to Ward to explain. “My husband died in early spring last year. I ran the farm by myself along with caring for little Charlie until fall when I lost my house to a fire.” She turned back to Anker. “If you recall, it is because I love you that I did not return to work my farm.”

Anker looked uncomfortable for a moment then he got a stubborn look such as Ward had seen from time to time on Freyda’s face. “But this is Freyda we’re talking about. She’s never been independent like you.”

Freyda threw her arms in the air and turned to Ward. “See what I mean. My family will never see me as anything but a child.”

Lena glowered at her husband. “I insist you stop treating her like a child. She’s not, you know. She has been married and lost a husband. That makes a person grow up really fast. You must accept that she is grown up and can manage on her own.”

“I second that,” Ward said. “She needs help learning things she doesn’t know, but none of us were born knowing those things. She learns quickly.”

Anker sighed. “I hope I am not proven right.”

“I wish I could believe that is what you truly think.” Freyda spoke softly, and if Ward wasn’t mistaken, with a hint of pain.

He was beginning to understand her need to prove she could run the farm by herself.

They lingered over coffee then Anker showed Ward around the place while the women did dishes. He suspected Freyda would appreciate time alone with her sister-in-law.

They returned to the house and prepared to leave. The boys climbed into the wagon box, giggling about something. They waved good-bye to Nels and Charlie, who rode in his uncle’s arms and then they were on their way.

The boys whispered together, leaving the adults able to talk.

“Freyda, I will help you learn to run the farm on your own. I can see why it’s so important to you.”

“Thank you. I must succeed. Not only to prove it to my family, but maybe even more so to prove it to me. I’ve always been made to doubt my capabilities.”

He curled his fingers around her hand. “This from a woman who crossed the Atlantic Ocean and most of America, who takes care of her livestock, who keeps two little boys happy? Freyda, you will succeed whether by sharing responsibilities with me or doing it yourself.”

“Thank you.”

Kit squealed and drew their attention to the back of the wagon.

Milo tried to hide something inside his shirt.

Ward pulled to a stop and shifted about to confront his son. “What do you have there?”

Milo looked at Kit and the pair turned to Ward, faces set in stubborn lines.

Ward held out his hand. “Let’s see.”

Milo put his hand in his shirt and eased out a gray furball.

“A kitten! Where did you get that?”

“How sweet. May I hold it?” Freyda asked, and Milo allowed her to take the kitten. She cupped it in her hands and lifted it to her cheeks. It meowed and licked her.

Ward could not tear his gaze from the look on Freyda’s face. Her eyes were closed and her lips curled in a gentle smile. Such a look of peace and joy. He swallowed hard and forced his attention back to Milo.

“Explain yourself.”

“Papa, you said we could get a cat and Nels said these were ready for new homes.”

“These?” Dare he hope it was a slip of the tongue?

Milo reached behind Kit and withdrew a second kitten. This one was also gray but a little darker in color.

“We thought Mrs. Haevre would like one.” Milo looked the innocent child as he turned big dark eyes to Freyda.

“You really got one for me? Which one?”

Ward held up his hands. “Wait a minute. They have to go back. I didn’t give permission. I don’t know if it’s okay with Anker.” He could think of a hundred different reasons to object but they faded from his mind as he watched Freyda stroking the little balls of fur.

“Nels said he knew Mr. Hansen would be glad to see them go. He’d said just on the way from church that he wondered what he would do with five kittens.”

Freyda looked at Ward with eyes full of pleading. “I’m sure that’s right. And I’d love to have a pet. I think it would be good for the boys to have one.”

Ward knew he was beaten. It was hard enough to think of saying no to the boys but downright impossible to refuse Freyda. Besides, they were halfway home and he had no wish to return to the Hansen place. “Very well, but in the future, please ask me before you do anything like this again.”

The three of them grinned widely and chorused, “Thank you.”

He waited until they resumed their journey and Freyda’s attention was on the kitten she still held before he allowed himself to smile.

A little later, he stopped at Freyda’s place and let her off. She held the kitten in the crook of her arm. “Thank you for the ride and for letting us have kittens.”

He wasn’t sure how to respond. She didn’t need his permission. She could have asked her brother for a cat and yet, he felt as if he had granted her a special gift.

“And thank you for standing up for me with Anker.”

“Freyda, you don’t need me to stand up for you, but I am glad to do it.” He looked into her eyes, lost himself in the blueness and something more. A sense of understanding, of caring, of sharing. It was as if he had caught a glimpse of a future as bright as her eyes.

He tried to force sense into his thoughts. Tried to remember the boundaries he couldn’t… wouldn’t…breech.

From the deep recesses of his mind came the memory of Aunt Myra screeching at him and the strapping she would inflict. Of Dorothy whining over something he’d done until his ears hurt from the barrage of complaints.

He jerked away. “Good afternoon.” Or was it evening? He couldn’t say. He only knew it was time to leave.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She stood at the step and waved as he drove away.

He could not satisfy the demands of a woman. Freyda might be different, but was he willing to risk his heart to find out? Was he willing to risk his boys’ happiness?

The answer was a resounding no.