Lena wakened the next morning to a damp pillow. She sat up and grabbed her head. “Oh.” That’s what came of too much emotion. She gingerly eased from bed and tried to ignore Charlie’s usual chatter and high-energy level as she dressed him.

In the living room, he began his race around the room. She groaned. “He’ll wear a track in the floor.”

Anker gave her a hard look. “Are you sick?”

“Headache,” she murmured.

“Will you be all right?” He sounded concerned.

“I expect I’ll survive.”

“I was planning to be away today. I have some things that need doing, but if you need me to stay . . .”

“I’ll be fine.” If Anker was gone, she might even feel free to steal a nap while Charlie had his.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. Go tend to your business. I don’t need pampering.” She didn’t mean to be sharp, but every word echoed inside her head.

He nodded and returned to studying the pamphlet before him. Something to do with farm practices for the new settler. She promised herself she would read it thoroughly when she could open both eyes without a pain tearing through her brain.

Anker left as soon as he’d eaten breakfast and Lena waved him off with a sigh of relief. If Charlie was older, she would suggest Anker take him along. Instead, she set his toys before him. “Play quietly.” She sank into a chair and leaned her head back.

“Mama?” Charlie stood beside her, his dark eyes wide with worry. “Okay?” He patted her arm as if to comfort her.

“Goodness, child. You’re getting as bad as Anker for fussing over me.” She sighed. “Yes, I’m okay.” To reassure him, she pulled her knitting close. She might as well finish Anker’s mittens while he was away.

Later, after a short nap with Charlie, her headache disappeared and she put the finishing touches on the toy dog. It had turned out rather well. Just two more days and she could give it to him.

She prepared a big supper in anticipation of Anker’s return.

Charlie heard him drive into the yard before Lena did, and rushed to the window. “Papa. Papa.”

Lena remained at the kitchen doorway. She refused to admit the same eagerness.

“What Papa have?” Charlie asked.

“I don’t know.” But his question was enough to justify going to the window. In the dusky afternoon light, Anker came from the barn carrying a . . . tree? “It’s a Christmas tree.” Where had he found an evergreen on the bald-headed prairie? He carried a bucket in the other hand. It seemed to be full of sand.

Anker burst through the door. “I got our Christmas tree.” He grinned like a kid.

Lena planted her hands on her hips. “Yes, I see. But wherever from?”

“Nilssons went to visit their uncle and brought back half a dozen. I got the last one. Where shall we put it?”

“Tree?” Charlie touched it and drew back at the sharp needles.

Anker laughed. “Christmas tree, little man.” He glanced around the room. “Next to the window?”

“Fine.” She told herself it was only a pretty tree. She’d seen bigger ones. Mrs. Miller always got a tall one that reached the ceiling and decorated it with fancy glass balls. Lena had been forbidden to touch it or go near it. She’d had to sneak into the parlor to even get a look at it. She and Johnson had a tree of sorts last year—a bare poplar tree from a nearby bluff. She’d wrapped white rags around the branches to make it look like snow though it looked more like a torn sheet than anything. They had no ornaments and she’d draped bits of colored yarn over the branches. The whole thing had turned out to be a sad joke, but Johnson seemed happy. Lena could only be glad Charlie would never remember. Though she wondered what she’d be able to offer in the coming years. Somehow, she vowed, she’d find a way to make Christmas special for her and Charlie. She’d be like Anker and start some traditions.

Anker put the bucket in the corner and set the base of the tree into it. He adjusted it several times then stepped back. “Perfect.”

“What about decorations?”

“Wait here.” He took the ladder to the loft in two steps and clattered around among the boxes and trunks. He returned with a small wooden box. “Mor made sure I was properly equipped for a proper Christmas.”

“Let me guess. A Norwegian tradition.”

He chuckled and his blue eyes twinkled like bits of sunny blue sky had followed him indoors. “In this case, a Hansen tradition. Every year until we are twelve, we are given a decoration for the tree. Mor packaged up mine and sent them with me.” He opened the box and showed her. “Grandfar made these. They can be used to tell the Christmas story.” One by one, he lifted out delicately painted figures of Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus plus a sheep, a shepherd, a camel, and a wiseman. “Grandmor, before she died, knitted these red stars.” He held up six. “Mor gave me more than my share. She said she’d make new ones for the cousins at home.”

“And this?” She touched a tiny wooden drum complete with brass metal struts.

He didn’t answer at first, his expression, inscrutable. “It was Sigurd’s. His mor divided his things between the cousins.” His voice sounded thick, as if it hurt to remember the cousin who had died.

Touched by his feelings, Lena rested her hand on his forearm. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

He nodded, his blue eyes revealing his pain.

She wasn’t sure how to respond. She wanted to offer him comfort, but what could she do? She squeezed his hand, hoping to convey her sympathy.

Suddenly he brightened. “If he’s watching he will be pleased to see this in the new country. He wanted to be an adventurer like our ancestor, Leif Erickson.”

A swift relief swept through her that he returned to the cheerful demeanor she had grown to expect.

He put the box of ornaments on the stool. “We must add to the collection.” He went to his coat and pulled out two small packages. One he handed to Lena, the other to Charlie.

Lena hesitated. “But we won’t be here next year.”

His gaze burned into hers. “We won’t ruin today with talk of tomorrow.”

Feeling chastised, she nodded and folded back the paper to reveal a tiny star carved in perfect symmetry, and gilded gold. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” She couldn’t face him as something stirred and shifted in her heart. She had never had such a gift—given for no reason other than the season. She wanted to protest. Knew if she did so she risked offending him. Besides, she liked this gift. And she couldn’t even say why, only that it seemed to signal something special about to happen. Her whole insides tensed with anticipation. Then she shook her head and dismissed the silly notion. The only thing it signified was the value Anker placed on family traditions.

“Mama, look.”

Glad of the diversion, she looked at Charlie’s ornament—a carved ball painted exactly like the ball Anker had bought.

“Ball,” Charlie said with solemn certainty.

“To put on the tree, son. Thank Papa for it.”

Charlie wrapped his arms around Anker’s knees. “Thank you, Papa.”

Anker scooped him up and rubbed noses with him. “My pleasure, little man. It’s all my pleasure.” The look he gave Lena included her in his statement.

Her cheeks warmed at both his look and his words.

“Now let’s decorate our tree.” He held Charlie toward the small evergreen and helped him hang the ball. He handed the red stars to Lena to put on. They hung the nativity figures and Sigurd’s drum. “Now your star.”

She still clutched it in her palm. Thinking a whole new world beckoned, she placed it on the top branch and stood back, letting a fresh, new feeling wash over her. She had the sensation that she quivered on the edge of something profound and special.

Anker dropped his arm across her shoulders and pulled her close.

She tried to be casual about it, but everything inside her ached to press to his chest and cling to his strength. Hoping he would think it was nothing more than her reaching for Charlie, she allowed herself to lean into him.

He began to sing in his strong sure voice.

She didn’t know the unfamiliar Norwegian words but she knew the song, “Silent Night.” She joined him in English. As they sang together, she looked into his face. At the steady promise in his eyes, her worries and fears, her reluctance and uncertainty, faded.

The song ended and they still looked unblinkingly at each other. Then Anker leaned over and kissed her gently and so quickly she didn’t have time to respond, and before she could dredge up a protest, as she knew she should, he kissed Charlie and tickled him.

The time to object to his kiss escaped, which was a good thing, as an hour later, she still couldn’t find any appropriate words.

After supper they settled around the fire with letters he’d brought from town. She had a short letter from Sky with Christmas greetings.

“By the way.” Anker looked up from reading his letters from home. “We are to join the Nilsson family tomorrow for the traditional Christmas Eve celebration.”

She didn’t want to go. Already she was far too involved in Anker’s traditions, but knowing how important it was to him, and how much she owed him, she stifled her protests. “What time will we leave?”

* * *

Anker made sure he stayed close to Lena throughout the party. Inga seated them together at the meal. Anker explained the special Norwegian dishes. She tried them all and seemed to enjoy everything except the cream porridge, although she ate it without comment. He guessed he would be the only one who could accurately read her reaction. She was adept at hiding her feelings, but over the weeks they’d been under the same roof he’d picked up on the little clues—the way she crossed her arms and held her elbows when she was afraid, the way her lower jaw jutted out when she didn’t agree, the way her expression got all soft and kissable when she enjoyed something, the way her eyes grew dark and shadowed when she was sad . . .

“After we eat, we play games,” Inga told Lena.

“It is a lot of fun,” Kirsten said. “We play circle games.”

Anker felt Lena’s worry and whispered in her ear. “It really is fun.”

She quirked an eyebrow to inform him her idea of fun might differ from his. But she allowed him to lead her to the big circle of chairs the family dragged into the middle of the floor, and the fun began. They played games from his youth: guessing games, games to test one’s memory, games that had no purpose other than to get someone to laugh.

“Lena maybe has favorite game,” Inga said as they sat back, weak from laughter.

Lena’s eyes sparkled and Anker knew she’d been enjoying herself. “I used to play one at school when I was very young. It was called ‘gossip.’” She explained how the first person whispered a message in the ear of the person next to her and that person whispered it to the next and so on until it made the circle.

Magda clapped her hands. “It sounds like fun.”

“Lena, you start,” Ingvald said.

She nodded, considered what to say, and then leaned over and whispered in Anker’s ear. Having her so close, feeling her breath against his cheek, made it almost impossible for him to concentrate. He had to ask her to repeat what she said.

“Can’t. It’s against the rules. You have to figure out what I said and pass it on.”

Well, put together one inattentive man, two adults who barely spoke English, and the resulting message was so garbled it had no bearing to the original one.

Lena laughed hard. Anker thought she had never looked more beautiful or desirable. How could he think of letting her go come spring? And yet he’d given his word and must uphold it. He let his sadness linger only a moment. He had months to enjoy having her and Charlie yet. His hope and prayer was she would change her mind.

But doubts dogged his thoughts. No woman had ever found him or what he had to offer to be enough. Why should someone as independent as Lena do so?

“Is it time yet?” little Hilda asked.

Anker stood. “It is time for us to go home.” They’d let the family open their gifts in private.

Amidst calls of Merry Christmas in both English and Norwegian, Anker and Lena said good-bye and thanked the Nilssons several times. Then Anker settled Lena on the buggy seat with Charlie on her lap, wrapped a fur robe around her, and they headed home. Within minutes, Charlie fell asleep. “He wore himself out playing with the children.”

“He certainly enjoys the company.”

The night was perfectly still. The sky so clear the stars seemed to almost rest on their shoulders.

“It’s like driving in a mirror,” Anker said.

“So many stars.”

He let the horse slow its pace and put his arm around Lena. She leaned close, almost nuzzling his shoulder. He was certain if she knew how much she revealed by that slight movement toward him, she would never do it again.

“Grandfar said the sky is a big sieve and the stars are holes God has poked to pour out His love. He said if we felt the full force of God’s love we would be so overcome we would live forever face down on the ground.”

She shifted a bit to adjust herself to his side. “Your grandfather sounds very wise.”

“He was. Practical too. He taught us all how to do every chore on the farm and do it well. He wouldn’t tolerate shoddy work from his sons or his grandchildren.”

“What a strange combination—a taskmaster who talked about God’s love.”

“He was never anything but kind in his demands. Love ruled his heart and his actions.” He prayed for wisdom as he sought a way to make her see that a man could be both. “I hope I am like my grandfather.”

She shifted again to smile up at him. “I think you must be.”

Her words eased away a portion of his former thoughts that he wasn’t good enough for a woman. Did she know that he would always try and do what was best for her? That he cared about her and Charlie? Not just as an obligation or duty, though he knew she would feel more comfortable with that than what he felt. And what did he feel?

He flicked the reins and put his attention to the trail.What was the point in thinking what he truly felt? He was bound by his word and her single-minded desire to be on her own.

The next morning, he put two parcels under the small tree. Lena slipped from the bedroom and put two more under the tree. She noticed the ones already there and sent him a shy, curious look, but she said nothing.

They managed to divert Charlie from the excitement of the mysterious parcels long enough to eat breakfast.

“I done,” Charlie announced.

“And a good boy you’ve been. Let’s go, Mama.” Anker scooped Charlie into his arms to protect the parcels.

Lena insisted on giving Charlie Anker’s gift first.

He tore open the brown paper to reveal the animals Anker had carved. “Animals. He immediately began to line them up from the largest to the smallest.

“He’ll be content with those for a few minutes. You’re next.” Anker handed his parcel to Lena. He’d known since he brought the hairbrush set what he wanted to get her.

She took out the two ivory hair combs, her eyes wide. “Anker . . .”

He felt her struggle between wanting to own them and being afraid it made her owe him. He leaned over, took the combs from her hand, and slipped them into place beside her coiled braid. “You are a beautiful woman and deserve something beautiful.” He trailed his finger down the side of his face to her mouth. Slowly, giving her lots of chance to stop him, he lowered his head and kissed her. He pulled away quickly before she could take offense. Let them both think it was a friendly Christmas greeting.

She lowered her gaze. Her shoulders pulled up as she took a jerky breath. She touched the combs in her hair then slowly raised her face. “Thank you,” she murmured.

She reached for a parcel and handed it to him. “From me and Charlie.”

He lifted out a pair of tightly knit mittens that would protect his hands in cold weather. “These are great. Thank you.”

“They are nothing like what you gave me.”

“You are trying to decide which tips the scale either in your favor or against. You won’t take into account how much work you put into your gift when all I did was buy mine at the store.” His disappointment laced with anger. “Lena, stop measuring, stop keeping score.” His anger fled as quickly as it came and, smiling, he reached out to touch her face again. “I can’t think of anything I could appreciate more.” And even knowing he had no right, knowing he danced with crossing an invisible line in their relationship, he stole another swift kiss. Not wanting her to ruin the moment by protesting, he called Charlie. “Your mama has a present for you too.”

Charlie immediately left his animals and raced over. “More present?”

“Yup.” He handed Charlie the other parcel.

Charlie opened it and lifted out the stuffed dog. “Doggy.” Charlie shook it as if he expected it to bark.

Anker supplied the bark and Charlie chuckled. “I like doggy.” He tucked the toy under his arm and returned to the carved animals. He put the dog beside him and picked up each carved animal in turn and introduced it to his doggy.

Throughout the day, the dog was his constant companion. He chattered to the toy. He involved it in his play.

Anker stood at Lena’s side as they watched Charlie play. “He’s found a readily available friend in your gift. See how your gifts bring joy to others.”

“He’s a child.”

Anker hugged Lena close, ignoring the slight resistance. “Men are only bigger boys. We like simple things, gifts of love, gifts that meet our basic needs.”

There was so much more he wanted to say. He wanted to tell her how simple his needs were— a family to share his home with, a woman who would accept his love.

But even though she relaxed against his shoulder, perhaps accepting that their gifts had equal value and his didn’t make her owe him in any way, she had never given any indication she had changed her mind about their agreed temporary marriage.