She woke later, confused by the gray light in the room. The wind howled around the house and snow rattled against the window. She lay still for a moment, letting her thoughts slip into place. Remembering the events of the night, her heart beat madly against her ribs. Charlie. Was he okay? She bolted upright and pawed the covers back to check on her son.

She pressed her hand to his chest. It rose and fell with reassuring regularity. She touched his cheeks and forehead. Only normally warm. She patted his tummy. It felt soft, and he didn’t protest at her touch. He stirred and rolled away. He was alive and well. Thank God. She covered him again and slipped from the bed to dress quietly, intending to hurry to the kitchen and prepare a late breakfast, but at the door she hesitated. She touched her lips. Did Anker’s kiss mean he wanted, expected, and would demand more? She drew back. What defense did she have? She had no place to go, no way of getting there even if she did. The storm saw to that as effectively as any barred door. She was at Anker’s mercy. He could do what he wanted. Just as it had been at Mrs. Miller’s. Lena had tried rebellion. Found the repercussions not to her liking. But she’d lived through that time and grown strong. And determined to be self-sufficient. Circumstances were not to her liking right now, but they were only temporary. As soon as spring came she would return to her home and be at no one’s mercy.

She glanced over her shoulder to Charlie. In the meantime, she would deal with whatever demands Anker made in order to provide a safe, warm place for her son.

Pushing her shoulders back and filling her lungs with courage, she stepped from the bedroom.

The living room was already warm and she heard the rattle of pots in the kitchen.

Be sure your sin will find you out.

The words blazed across her thoughts. She had neglected her duty in not rising early enough to have a meal ready. Mrs. Miller’s words blasted through Lena’s thoughts. Failure is a sin of omission.

She rushed to the kitchen, intent on correcting the situation immediately.

Anker stood over the coffeepot as if willing it to boil. A fry pan rested on the hottest part of the stove, a bowl of cooked potatoes on the cupboard, waiting to be sliced and fried.

“I’m sorry I overslept but I’ll look after breakfast now that I’m here. Or is it dinner?” She tried to edge him from his position before the stove.

“You didn’t oversleep. And I can fry potatoes as well as anyone. Have you forgotten I lived on my own for the last year and didn’t starve? How is Charlie?”

“He’s sleeping. Seems fine. It’s my job to cook.”

He lifted his hands in resignation and stepped back. “When will you stop measuring everything to assure yourself it is equal?”

She shot him a hard look. “When I’m back on my own farm and don’t owe anyone anything.”

His eyes narrowed. “I don’t expect to be paid back for every action. It makes me feel like a—” He struggled to find the word he wanted. “A peddler selling things. It steals from kindness and turns it into duty. It turns a gift into a—” He muttered a Norwegian word and didn’t bother to translate it then plunked down on his usual chair and glowered at her.

She faltered. His words confused her. She understood duty and paying for everything. She did not understand gifts. She tried to think of the few gifts she’d received. Johnson had bought her a fine china cup and saucer when she commented on its beauty. It had yellow flowers and a dainty handle. When she’d protested, he’d said it was because she had worked so hard shingling the shack. So she had taken it gladly, knowing she had somehow earned it.

“I suppose it is burned up with everything else.”

“Pardon?”

“I was talking to myself.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to listen in on a private conversation.”

His dry tone startled her from her thoughts and she laughed. “I was thinking of a gift Johnson gave me.” She told him about it.

“Even from Johnson you could not accept a gift?”

“I did accept it.”

“Only because you thought you’d earned it. Lena, you do not have to pay for everything, or earn it. Some things are given out of love alone.”

She didn’t want to go back to that topic. “How are your burns? I’ll redress them after breakfast.”

For several tense seconds he stared at her without answering.

Her brain raced. Had she angered him?

“I will heal.”

“Of course you will.” She served up the fried potatoes and thick slices of bread.

“I pray you will too.”

“I have no injuries.” She owed him for that. He’d protected her and Charlie and had the frostbite to prove it. “Thank you for taking care of us so well and for holding Charlie last night. I still can’t figure out what was wrong with him.”

“I’m only thankful he is better. Thank God.”

Yes, thank God. Had she not said if Charlie got better, she would believe God loved her? Okay, she believed it. However, it was easier to say the words than feel them.

She sat across from Anker, allowed him to take her hands as he said grace. She wondered what he meant about her needing to heal, but hoped he wouldn’t pursue the topic. Somehow she guessed she wouldn’t like what he had to say.

“You have wounds too. Only no one can see them. They are inside.” He patted his chest. “I think having your father disappear from your life and then living with the unkind Mrs. Miller has hurt you badly. I pray you will heal from that.”

“I’m fine, thank you. Just because I don’t want to be owing to you or anyone else does not mean I have something wrong with me.”

He shrugged. “If you say so.”

She should drop the subject, but instead, pushed it forward. “You, too, have wounds—Stina and Celia.” She couldn’t look away from his hard gaze.

“I accept their decisions and choose to make the best of my life.”

No doubt he believed what he said, but she wondered if it was that easy to forget the rejection of two women…young ladies he had tried to do things for and they hadn’t appreciated it. She knew she treated him in the same fashion and her heart clenched. She couldn’t be any other way.

She had vowed to not argue with him any more yet she couldn’t seem to stop herself. Why should this be? Certainly she had never argued with Mrs. Miller. She shuddered at the idea, imagining the punishments such behavior would invite.

“What’s wrong?”

At his question, she jerked her attention toward the door. Had Charlie stirred? She heard nothing but blissful quiet. “What do you mean?”

“You did this.” He shook.

She’d let her thoughts reveal themselves. “I guess I shivered. Must have felt a draft.”

His blue steady gaze informed her he didn’t believe her. “What thought made you shake?”

She sighed, sensing he would not accept anything but some portion of the truth. “I was remembering life at Mrs. Miller’s.”

“It is as I say, you have wounds inside.”

She didn’t care to have her past brought out and examined like a worn garment in need of repair. “Can I get you more coffee?”

He watched her a moment, silently informing her that he understood her attempt to sidetrack the conversation, then freed her from his intense look. “Thanks.”

She refilled his cup and carried the used dishes to the dishpan, grateful it meant she could keep her back to him. She did not want to think about life at Mrs. Miller’s. I will never let myself be in that kind of position again. And yet, here she was in exactly that kind of situation, only with a man who insisted she didn’t owe him for his kindness.

She couldn’t believe it could be so.

Charlie continued to sleep even after she finished cleaning the kitchen.

She gathered together strips of white cloth. “I’ll tend your wounds.” She ignored the slight twinge of awareness as she knelt at his feet. He shouldn’t have kissed her. It made her self-conscious as she tended him. But this was one thing she could do to help pay for her stay. Ignoring the way her heart skidded sideways as she bent over his feet, she unwrapped his dressings.

“The blisters are intact. That’s good. Or so Mrs. Miller said. And the skin is nice and pink. Mrs. Miller said if it started to peel away or turn white, you need to keep a close watch on it.” She clamped her lips together as she mentally recited the rest of Mrs. Miller’s instructions. The worst thing was blackened tissue.

She finished dressing his feet and edged his heavy wool socks on.

He rested his hand on the table and waited.

It was only a dressing. And she owed him. Not only for a safe place to stay but for protecting her and Charlie. Remembering how he had sheltered them at such cost to himself, she pushed aside her silly feelings and tended his wounds. His thumb looked much better than she anticipated.

After she cleaned up, she and Anker moved to the living room. Still awkward and ill at ease in his presence, even though he seemed absorbed in reading a Norwegian newspaper, Lena wondered how she would pass the long afternoon. “I should waken Charlie or he won’t sleep tonight.”

“Whatever you think, though he’s only slept a few hours.”

“Maybe I’ll leave him a bit longer.” But what could she do besides work on socks and she was tired of that task. She brightened. She’d knitted a ball for Charlie when he was a baby. It was gone in the fire, of course, but she could knit a new one from the yarn she’d rescued from the socks. It wouldn’t be bright and multicolored like the first one, but he wouldn’t mind. She quickly cast on stitches and began to knit.

She had it almost completed when Charlie called, “Mama.”

Still not convinced he wasn’t seriously ill, she rushed to the bedroom. “Charlie, are you okay?”

“Me, okay. You okay?”

She chuckled as she scooped him into a tight hug. “Yes, I am.”

Anker laughed behind her and she realized he had followed her, obviously as concerned about Charlie as she. “You’re a great little man,” he said.

Charlie reached for Anker and Lena reluctantly released him to Anker’s arms.

“Man. Papa.” He rubbed his hand over Anker’s chin and laughed at the roughness of Anker’s whiskers.

Her heart overflowing with gratefulness at Charlie’s happiness and health, Lena smiled at Anker, found an answering warmth in his eyes that made all the arguments and tension between them disappear like morning mist.

Anker sat on a chair by the fire and Lena dressed Charlie while he sat on Anker’s lap, all the time acutely aware she and Anker were sharing something sweet and precious in their mutual love for this child.

Once Charlie was dressed, she cupped her hand over his shiny black hair. Anker pressed his hand over hers. She stilled a gasp and looked into his eyes, finding herself drawn beyond the clear blue to secret, loving places in his heart. It was alluring, offering the possibility of giving without measure or cost, giving solely out of love. She blinked and tore her gaze away. The idea of such love and giving was incomprehensible to her.

“Hungry.” Charlie patted his stomach.

Anker laughed. “Glad to hear it.” He carried Charlie to the kitchen. “Mama, where’s the food?”

Lena laughed. She would take this delightful moment and enjoy it, forgetting for now the apprehension about where this would lead.

Charlie ate like his stomach had no bottom them scampered off to play.

Anker and Lena followed and stood side by side in the doorway watching Charlie run back and forth across the room.

“It is good to see him back to himself.” Anker dropped his arm across Lena’s shoulders and pulled her close.

She let the last wisps of worry slip away and relaxed, allowing herself to enjoy this moment of closeness. Nothing mattered but Charlie’s good health, and she willingly shared the feeling with Anker.

After a bit Charlie slowed down and gathered his blocks. He wanted Anker to pile them on the stool so he could knock them to the floor. Each time he crowed with delight and fell to the floor laughing. At which point both Anker and Lena would also be laughing. They shared a warm glance before Charlie insisted on repeating the game.

It took an hour before he wore himself out and settled on Anker’s lap. Anker had a child’s book in Norwegian and read it to Charlie in that language. Charlie repeated some of the words.

Suddenly Lena giggled.

Anker shot her a questioning look.

“I’m trying to imagine how people will respond to a part-Indian child talking Norwegian. I’m certain that would confuse them.”

Anker grinned as if the idea pleased him. “Charlie will not fit into anyone’s idea of who he should be. He will be his own person.” He hugged the boy close. “And I don’t think we could ask for anything better.”

Her amusement faded. A deep-throated longing filled her. If only she could believe such acceptance was possible for Charlie. Or for her.

Anker read her changing expression. “This is a new world. Things will be different here. We can make them different.”

Life was so simple for Anker despite the disappointments of his past.

It never had been simple for Lena and she didn’t expect that to change now or ever.