Anker felt Lena’s fragile feelings as clearly as if they had been branded on his heart. He understood her reluctance and fear of trusting anyone’s kindness or love. Her life had prepared her for nothing else. Even her marriage to Johnson appeared to have been built on equality rather than giving.

He wanted her to enjoy the hours they must spend shut up together. And he thought he might know how to do it.

“We have tradition in my family. When cold weather kept us indoors we made candy.”

“Candy?” She stared at him like he’d suggested pulling gold coins out of the air. He wished he still had his arm across her shoulders. He liked the feeling of her small and warm at his side. He wanted to keep her there always, protect her always . . . and not because of his promise to Johnson.

But because . . .

He would not let himself think of his reason.

“Molasses candy. I will show you. Come.” He held out his hand and when she took it, he pulled her to her feet and steered her toward the kitchen.

“Mama? Papa?”

“You too, little man.”

Charlie scrambled to his feet and followed.

Anker led Lena to a chair. “You sit and hold Charlie and I will show you. My mor made sure each of us knew how to do this.” He buttered a large flat pan then pulled out his biggest pot and measured in molasses, brown sugar, and vinegar. “It must cook to exactly the right temperature. Until it turns hard when a bit is dropped into cold water.” He stirred it slowly. “Takes time.”

Charlie decided he’d sooner do something else and returned to the living room where they heard him playing with his blocks.

“Your mother taught you this?”

He kept his attention on the pot, grinning at her interest. “In big family everyone must learn to do things.”

“Like care for babies and make candy?” Her voice communicated a certain amount of skepticism at such skills.

“That and more.”

“Umm. Like what?”

“I can make stew. I can fry pork. I have my own special crumb mix that makes the best coating.”

“I guess if you told me what it is, I could make it for you.”

“I have not even told my mother what makes it special.”

“Well, then I don’t expect you to tell me.”

“It’s ginger.”

“What is?”

“The special thing I use.”

“Oh.”

He glanced over his shoulder, wondering what she thought of him giving her this bit of information. “Just a pinch. Works well on all meats. Now remember, you cannot tell anyone else.”

She grinned and placed a hand over her heart. “You have my word.”

He couldn’t pull his gaze away from her teasing look. “Now you must share a secret with me.”

“Who says?”

“It’s an old rule. Goes back to the first Norwegian king. Every Norwegian abides by it. And because you are in my house, you must too.”

Her eyes flashed with answering challenge. “But I didn’t know the rules of this game ahead of time.”

“I have given you a special secret, but I will let you off with only a small secret.”

She nodded. “Very well. Let me think.”

He stole glances at her as he watched the syrup and wished he could read her thoughts as one emotion after another flitted across her face. He saw darkness and wanted to pull her into his arms and assure her he would protect her from things that hurt her and then he saw amusement and knew she had found a secret she could share.

“Very well. This is something I never even told Johnson, so you realize it is very special.”

He nodded, keeping his expression solemn. “I promise not to tell him.”

She snorted. “I think I can trust you on that point.” She arranged herself into a prim and proper position. “Are you ready to hear my secret?”

“I am about to die of anticipation.”

She spared him a flicker of disbelief before she began. “Mrs. Miller used to send me to the chemist to get her package of pain treatment. She gave me strict instructions that I must take the most direct route and never linger, but every time she sent me I went down a certain street that wasn’t on the path she had told me to take. I went this way because it took me by this one house.” Her voice softened, though he guessed she didn’t realize it. “I usually went in the late afternoon when the children were returning from school. I could see through the windows as the mother welcomed the children with a hug and then they gathered around the table for milk and bread. I would watch for as long as I dared. Sometimes—” Her voice fell to a whisper, “I wondered if I’d once had a mother like that.”

She stopped talking, but stared ahead as if seeing through the window.

Anker didn’t speak. Her words had said far more than she realized. They had revealed her loneliness and longing for a home. He ached for her and gripped the spoon so hard it bit into his palm.

She blinked. “That’s my secret. I disobeyed Mrs. Miller and spied on a family. Mrs. Miller never found out or I would have paid dearly.”

It took a moment before Anker could release the tension in his jaw enough to speak. “How would she make you pay?”

“She had her ways.” She rubbed the back of her arm.

He’d noticed that gesture before. “What did she do to your arm?”

Lena stared at her fingers as if surprised that they massaged that place. “She pinched me.”

Anger, unfamiliar and surprisingly powerful, exploded against the inside of his chest. The candy was ready to be poured into the pans. He welcomed the need to think about something besides the woman’s cruelty.

“Or she’d lock me in the pantry with some distasteful job. She wouldn’t let me eat until she deemed I had suffered enough for my sins. Sometimes she gave me chores that had to be done after bedtime and I couldn’t go to bed until I completed them.” Her voice hardened. “I learned to work fast when she wasn’t watching so I could get my sleep.”

The syrup had to cool before they could pull it. Anker went to Lena and knelt in front of her. “I understand you think everyone will make you pay like Mrs. Miller did. Lena, I promise you with my whole heart that what I do for you, the things I give to you, I give without thought of getting anything back. I want only for you to be happy.” It startled him how much her happiness meant to him. He would give everything he had to give her undemanding, free contentment. He realized it was in God’s hands alone to give such a gift and he silently prayed that God would bestow it.

He rested his palms on her knees and waited for her to respond, never shifting his gaze from her face.

She seemed frightened at his promise. Her mouth worked. She rocked her head back and forth. “But why? Why would you say such a thing? You don’t owe me anything. And you’ve done more than enough to fulfill your promise to Johnson. Why would you offer more? I don’t understand.”

He couldn’t explain it to himself, let alone to her. He pushed to his feet. “Do you have to understand it to know I mean it?” He didn’t expect an answer, nor did he wait for one. Instead, he tested the syrup. It had cooled enough to handle. “Now we pull it.” He showed her how to butter her fingers and stretch the candy, ignoring the way the hot mixture stung his frost-nipped fingers. He could use one hand and only the fingers of the other so had to depend on her help.

She laughed as she struggled to imitate his quick movements. Soon they had a long rope and now the fun began in earnest. “You take one end. I take the other, and we pull and twist until it is white.” They stretched it out. He took her end and twisted it together and they did it again. Each time they started over they were mere inches apart, which gave him a chance to smile at her and tease her about her clumsiness. She took his teasing in good stride. In fact, he dared hope she enjoyed it.

Charlie came into the room to watch them. Perhaps afraid he missed out on some fun, he carried his blocks and stacked them on the table.

The candy firmed up enough they could pull it no longer. Anker showed her how to twist it into a rope and then he cut it into pieces. He held a piece out to Lena. “Open your mouth.”

She did so and he popped in the candy. She sucked and rolled her eyes in appreciation.

“What do you think?”

“Yummy. Good tradition for a stormy day.”

“Yeah. I’m thinking of making it a tradition in our house too.”

She grew still, her expression guarded.

He hadn’t intended to say that. He knew their time together lasted only until spring. He’d known it from the first. But he hadn’t known how it would hurt to think of letting her go.

He didn’t want her voicing a reminder. Hoping to redirect her thoughts, he offered a piece of candy to Charlie.

Charlie sucked it, chewed, his eyes widening with each swallow until Anker laughed.

“It’s candy, little man.”

“Good. More?”

Anker glanced at Lena, relieved to see she smiled at Charlie, though her smile faltered when she met Anker’s look. “What do you think, Mama? Can Charlie have another piece?”

She nodded. “I hope he doesn’t get another tummy ache though.”

He gave Charlie a small piece and offered Lena another. “Best be we save the rest of it for another day.” He put the rest in an empty coffee can, then cleaned up the pans.

“I can do that,” Lena protested.

“Mor taught me to clean up after myself.”

“Thank you for the candy.”

“It is a nice tradition. No?”

“Very nice.” She sounded distant as if making sure he realized his traditions had nothing to do with her. “I think I’ll see if I can finish the ball I started for Charlie.”

“Ball?” Charlie looked around with interest.

Anker thought of the package in the barn and the things they’d gotten at the store. “Too bad I don’t have the one I bought for him.”

“He’ll appreciate it all the more when you give it to him. In the meantime, the one I make will keep him amused.”

* * *

Lena stuffed the ball, sewed the opening closed, and tied off the thread. “Look, Charlie, a new ball.” She tossed it to him.

He squealed and raced after it, then took the ball to Anker. “Papa, play.”

Lena ducked her head to hide her smile as Anker readily sat on the floor and rolled the ball to Charlie. Anker never seemed to mind spending time with the baby. In fact, if she had to guess, she’d say he enjoyed it as much as Charlie.

Charlie rolled the ball toward Anker, missing by several feet. Anker laughed and sprawled after it, earning him one of Charlie’s tummy-shaking giggles.

They played for several minutes before Charlie scrambled to his feet and came to Lena’s side. “Mama, play ball?” He pulled her hand and led her to Anker’s side indicating she should sit beside Anker.

She couldn’t resist Charlie. Besides, she was curious to see what he had in mind. But her own reactions were so strange, she wondered if they had blown in on the continuing wind. Nervousness, awareness, longing, wariness all mingled inside her, simmering into something she didn’t understand. Their agreement had been plain and simple—a safe place for her and Charlie for the winter, someone to break the monotony of the long days for Anker, then when spring came, a good-bye with no regrets.

The good-bye would happen.

No regrets might not. She would miss Anker, but not the confusion his ideas and words brought to her insides. What an unsettled person she had become.

She sat beside Anker as directed by her small son—close enough her arm brushed the length of the big man. She felt the ripple of his muscles. Knew they were but a shadow of his inner fortitude. Despite her tangled thoughts, she found his strength to be a comfort.

Charlie seemed satisfied with her position and backed away. Suddenly he wound up and pitched the ball at them.

Both Lena and Anker reached to catch it. At the same time Charlie launched himself at them. They fell back in a tangle of arms and a small giggling body.

Lena lay on her back, Anker’s laughing face only inches above her. Charlie had a small chubby arm wrapped around Anker’s neck.

Anker’s eyes darkened and regarded her with intensity as if reminding her of all he promised—love and giving without cost. She found herself drawn to the promises beyond his words, a safety found inside his heart.

She wanted to believe in all the things he talked about. God’s unconditional love. But she couldn’t. Life had taught her things had a price. Better to not give anyone a chance to exact that price.

She couldn’t breathe. Panic made her frantic. She had to escape. “Let me up.”

He grabbed Charlie, pinning the baby to his back as he rolled away and gained his feet.

She scooted back, pressing her face to her knees as she tried to control her frantic gasps for air. She couldn’t. She sent Anker a wild-eyed look, pleading with him to help.

He eased Charlie to the floor, handed him the ball, and hurried to her side in one swift movement. “Lena, take a deep breath.” He rubbed her back.

She tried, but her lungs refused to obey. She clutched at his arms.

“Lena, look at me.”

Her eyes felt wide enough to fall from her face as she did so. She clung to his reassuring gaze.

“I am going to cover your mouth and nose with my hand. Like so.” He cupped his hand to show her. “Think about the tiny pocket of air in my palm. Think about getting every last morsel. Ready?”

She nodded.

He cupped his hand over her face.

She closed her eyes and felt the firm pressure of his hand, the warmth inside that small space filled with the scent of soap and candy. She grabbed at the warm, sweet air, sucking greedily. Her panic subsided.

Still she remained there, her eyes shut, letting calmness and the comfort of his touch fill her from head to toe.

“Better?” His words jerked her back to reality.

She burned with embarrassment at how she clung to him. Shock filled her at how deeply she needed, wanted his comfort. “Yes, thank you.”

She hurried to a chair and picked up a sock, studiously concentrating on the task of replacing the worn heel.

It didn’t take a glance at the frost-encased window to know the storm continued. The sound of the wind provided information enough, as did the tiny drifts of snow snaking in under the door. Anker noticed her glance at the snow and folded the travel robe across the crack. “Should have done that sooner. Keep out the drafts.”

Anker returned to the chair opposite Lena and picked up his paper. When Charlie came over and asked to be picked up, Anker put aside the paper and opened the children’s book. He read it aloud several times.

Lena marveled as his patience. He was a good man. He’d make someone an excellent husband.

Her fingers stilled and she lowered the sock to her lap as she realized the truth. He was her husband. In name only, but until they dissolved the marriage in the spring, it was true. She ducked her head to hide a little smile of satisfaction.

A little later, she made supper and they ate.

Anker went to the window and scratched a hole in the frost. “I wonder how much snow we’ve gotten.”

“I wonder when it will end.” A few more days of being shut in together might make both of them forget their agreement. She could not allow that to happen. Come spring, she repeated silently, she would return to her farm. She’d rebuild. She’d live without help from anyone unless she could pay for it in services returned or cash. Mostly it would have to be in services because the little bit of cash she’d saved would no doubt have been melted into a worthless blob.

Lena sat by the stove and rocked Charlie. He cuddled up, exhausted after a busy day of play. Her heart swelled with gratitude that he seemed his normal self, relaxing against her now with no sign of last night’s distress.

Anker left the window and joined her next to the heater. He walked gingerly, and she knew his feet bothered him as they would for several days. She could do the outside chores and allow him to stay indoors and rest his feet . . . but she knew he wouldn’t. He was generally a patient man, but he did have a stubborn streak about certain things.

“The little man is asleep.”

“I thought he might be.” She wanted to hold him for a few more minutes, enjoying the weight of his small body in her arms.

“He’s a lot of fun.”

“He loves playing with you. Thank you for being so good to him.” She wondered at the look her gave her.

“We always had babies to play with at home. My cousins have added four more since I left.”

“I can’t imagine. Charlie is the only family I have.” She hugged him close.

Again that strange look in Anker’s eyes. Then he smiled and drove it away. “At home we share our joys and our sorrows. A sorrow shared is easier to bear. A joy shared is magnified.”

“That’s nice.” She remembered the longing she felt peering in the forbidden window on her errand for Mrs. Miller. But she’d been younger then, dreaming of endless possibilities. Now she was a grownup and knew the limitations of reality.

“I had a little cousin, Sigurd, who was ill one day.” He described a scene eerily like Charlie last night. Only with a radically different outcome.

Shock iced her veins. “You must have thought of that last night.”

“I did. And it’s why I didn’t want you to give him anything. I always wondered if Sigurd died from all the treatment my aunts gave him.”

“How awful. I can’t imagine.”

“It was a sad time.” His expression cleared and his eyes danced. “But we had a new cousin a few weeks later and that helped. Everyone hovered about that baby. Little Beta. It’s a miracle she didn’t end up spoiled rotten. Instead, she is the sweetest child ever. My mor says she is a special gift to the family. A blessing to make us all remember that God never stops loving us even when bad things happen.” He paused and studied Lena. “My mor is a very wise woman.”

“You are indeed fortunate.” Her words scratched past a tight throat.

“Do you not remember your mother at all?”

“I’ve tried. Sometimes I used to think I did. Like when I peeked into that window. But I think mostly I want to remember things.”

“And your father?”

“I saw so little of him. I remember a man with a big moustache. I was a little afraid of him. I stayed with a neighbor lady until he took me to Mrs. Miller’s. He would visit only an hour or so. Remind me to be good and mind Mrs. Miller and promise to see me again next year. And then he stopped coming. I used to look at every man with a full moustache and think it was him.” She tried to shrug away the feelings assailing her as she recalled the slow, sad realization that he wasn’t coming back. She’d grown used to the idea he had likely died somewhere in the west. Yet when she and Johnson first moved to the Dakotas, she had studied every man, hoping she’d find him. “I’m certain he must be dead. Otherwise—” She couldn’t finish.

“Otherwise he would have found you.”

She nodded, unable to speak. If he wasn’t dead, then he had abandoned her. She ducked her head over Charlie, pressing her forehead to his smooth, silky hair. Everyone had left her. Her mother. Her father. Johnson. Charlie was all she had.

Anker reached for her hand. “We are family now.”

She lifted her head and hungrily met his eyes. “It’s only for a few months.”

“For as long as you want.”

She heard his words, read the offer in his clear gaze, but still she couldn’t believe he’d spoken the invitation. To belong. To be part of a family. She shook her head. She’d done it once with Johnson. Had lost him. “You talk of God’s love. I know you believe it. I know God loves the world. I know Jesus died to pay for our sins. But I can’t believe He loves me the way you portray it. If He did He wouldn’t take my parents and then Johnson. All I have left is Charlie and my farm. I will do everything in my power to keep and protect both. And I won’t”—she sat back with decided firmness—“allow myself anything more only to lose it.”

He frowned.

She knew she had disappointed him, but she couldn’t help it. She wasn’t willing to open her heart to more pain.

Then a gentle smile erased the frown. “You might be missing out on the best God has to offer you because of your fears.”

She locked on to the one thing she could deal with—denial. “I am not afraid.”

He only grinned.

“I’m going to put Charlie down.” Gathering her dignity about her, she rose and headed for the bedroom. She settled Charlie and stood watching him. She did not want to face Anker again. If she thought she could fall asleep, she’d close the door and climb into bed beside him. But she knew she’d only stare into the darkness and shiver at the sound of the wind. And her tossing and turning might disturb Charlie, so, with a resigned sigh, she returned to the living room and tried to concentrate on her knitting.

She kept dropping stitches and made a sound of exasperation.

“Something wrong?” Anker asked far too innocently, obviously aware of her inner turmoil.

“It’s all your fault.”

He chuckled. “What is?” The way his eyes twinkled she knew he enjoyed this far more than he should.

“You keep suggesting things could be different for me. I know they can’t, and I don’t appreciate you saying otherwise. It’s not fair. I’ve learned to live with who I am and what I have. I don’t need you or anyone else reminding me of what I don’t have and can’t have.” She stopped to suck in air.

His eyes still crinkled as he considered her with mock seriousness. “But that’s not true. You can have family and love, if you are willing to trust.”

“Well, I’m not.”