He knew what day she meant. It was forever branded into his brain. “You were tired and frightened.” It was the first time she’d given in to him without an argument. Only because she was so shaken.

He had ridden over to start the haying for her. As he approached the farm, he saw her struggling to swing a scythe. She had already made two swaths around the field. His first thought had been anger that she couldn’t wait for help. His second had been amusement. The swaths were scattered and bunched. He could picture her faltering efforts as she tried to get the feel of swinging the big blade and letting it cut through the grass.

The next thought still sent his lungs into spasms. He’d glanced around to see what she’d done with Charlie. He saw a rumpled quilt at the edge of the field. But no small boy. The child had only started to walk and had a sweet little stagger. He couldn’t have gone far. Anker’s heart had practically jumped from his chest when he saw the bobbing head of black hair headed toward his mama—straight into the path of the wicked metal blade she swung. He’d kicked his horse and raced across the field, praying the animal wouldn’t step into a badger hole and praying he would make it in time.

He shuddered as he recalled the sweep of that blade, moments after he’d scooped up Charlie. “It’s a miracle I got to him in time.”

“I know. You have to believe I thought he was asleep.”

“But you couldn’t be waiting for me to help. You had to prove you could do it on your own. Your hands were blistered and bleeding. You were hot and thirsty, but would you stop? No. Not until I made you.” It still filled him with helpless frustration when he recalled the evidence of uncharacteristic tears on her dusty face, saw her oozing palms, and held a hot, fussy baby who had barely escaped being hacked by his own mother.

She glanced away then looked at him with a hungry desperation. “I can’t depend on you for everything. It makes me feel . . . well, like I did back in Mrs. Miller’s house. I don’t like the feeling.” She swallowed loudly.

“My helping doesn’t carry a price.” Just as he had tried to persuade her that God’s love was full and free.

“I don’t know how to be any other way. You talk about how we need only trust God and accept His love. I don’t know how to do that either. All my life, love has had a cost. Help has a price.”

“Even with Johnson.”

He could tell his question troubled her.

“It was different with Johnson. We were partners. Equal.”

He understood what she did not say. She was comfortable with the idea of sharing equally. But even with Johnson she couldn’t accept the idea of taking something offered out of love. He wondered how he could make her see it without offending her love for her husband. “Johnson understood you. He knew you had to give for every get. He let you do that. Is not always possible though.”

Her face registered surprise and then acknowledgement, and he knew his words hit a mark.

Then her expression hardened. “Of course it’s possible.”

He chuckled at the idea. “What do you think you can do to repay God? He created a universe we can’t begin to imagine or understand. He gave His Son. I think I can only offer my love and gratitude in return.”

She got the stubborn look he so often saw and knew she wasn’t convinced. She glanced at the window. “I wish this storm would stop.” Suddenly she seemed to remember something of importance, for she jerked her attention back to him, her mouth puckered with worry. “What if it lasts all night, even a couple of days? You can’t go out in the storm again with your feet like that. I’ll have to do the chores for you.” She looked pleased with the idea.

“You think that will balance the ledger between us or maybe tip it a little in your favor?”

Something dark flickered through her eyes as if signaling a small victory, but she shook her head. “Of course not.”

He grinned at her denial. “Sorry. I have ruined your chance. I know enough not to expect a Dakota storm to end until it is ready. So I put out enough feed for three days. If it hasn’t ended then—” He shrugged to indicate they would deal with that possibility when the time arose. His other cows were sheltered in a grove of trees and would be safe.

“If it lasts that long, I’ll do the chores.” She announced it with the sureness of one who had fought many battles with stubbornness as her only weapon.

He smiled. But he had no intention of letting her venture out into the storm so long as he could put one foot in front of the other, no matter how much it hurt. And his feet did hurt. “We’ll see.”

She stared at him, silently arguing. It surprised him she didn’t voice her arguments. Slowly, she rolled up her knitting and set it aside in the little box she’d found. “It’s time for bed. Perhaps the storm will be ended in the morning.”

“Perhaps. Could you hand me the Bible?”

She did so and opened it at the bookmark. He enjoyed this special time of togetherness. She never argued with the Scripture and seemed not to mind as he stumbled through the translation. He’d restricted himself to reading the Psalms as they proved more flexible with his awkward reading. Tonight he wanted to read something special—something to reflect the enormity of the truth he’d discovered in the storm. He sifted through his meager knowledge of the scriptures for something suitable and wished he could consult his grandfather. Praying for wisdom and guidance, he flipped to the New Testament. The pages fell open to Ephesians. Thank you, God. This is what we both need to hear. He read the entire second chapter, emphasizing the ninth verse, “Not of works, lest any man should boast.” He finished the chapter and closed the book.

She took the Bible without comment and put it back on the shelf, then picked up the lamp and headed for the bedroom. Halfway across the room, she stopped and returned to his side. “Can I help you to bed?”

“I think I can manage.” To prove it to them both, he grabbed the second lamp and hobbled to the ladder. The pressure of each rung against his tender feet felt like being branded with a hot iron, but he made it to the top without grunting aloud, and turned to smile victoriously at her.

“Good night,” she murmured. She went to the bedroom, where she closed the door quietly and maybe a bit firmly.

He stared at the door a few minutes.

He ached at her uncertainty about freely accepting God’s love.

A few minutes later, he lay on his mattress. He hadn’t meant to tell her of Stina’s and Celia’s rejection of him. Although it had hurt terribly at the time, he’d promised himself to forget it and do his best to live a good life.

Perhaps someday he would be enough for a woman to love.

He struggled from sleep a few hours later to Charlie crying, a sharp sound that scraped along the inside of his head. When he stirred in bed, he was pointedly reminded of his frost-burned feet and left hand. After the pain subsided he managed a prayer of gratitude for one hand that didn’t hurt and the knowledge that his burns weren’t as bad as they might have been.

He lay listening to Charlie cry and Lena’s soft soothing tones as she tried to settle him. He shifted to a more comfortable position. Charlie usually slept well, seldom waking in the night. He’d no doubt be back asleep in a few minutes, but Charlie’s wails did not cease. In fact, either Anker’s ears grew more tender or Charlie’s cries intensified. What could be wrong? Abandoning his warm bed, he managed to pull on his trousers and climb down the ladder. He went to the bedroom door and knocked. “Is he sick?”

“I don’t think so. He isn’t fevered.” Lena’s words carried a sharp edge as if she were both worried and frustrated.

“Bring him out and I’ll see if I can settle him.”

A moment of silence and then, “Give me a minute.” Did she sound relieved?

She emerged, wrapped in a dressing gown that had been in the parcel from the Hamptons. Her hair hung down her back in a thick mink-colored braid. Loose strands fanned around her face, catching the light, reminding him of the crown she’d worn at the wedding party at the Nilssons’. She struggled to contain Charlie, who threw himself backward and screamed.

Ignoring his painful hand, he took the boy and held him firmly as he shuffled on sore feet to the most comfortable chair.

Lena hurried ahead and threw more coal on the fire. “I can’t imagine what’s wrong with him.”

“Hold the lamp close.”

She did so and he lifted Charlie’s shirt to check for a rash. Nothing. He studied the child’s face and could see nothing amiss. He ran his hand over each limb but could find no sign of tenderness or swelling. “I see nothing.”

She captured Charlie’s chin so she could look him in the eyes. “Charlie, baby, do you hurt?”

He jerked away and wailed.

She caught his chin again. “Show mama where you hurt.”

He screamed, but his tone wasn’t angry as much as pain-filled.

Anker indicated she should again hold the lamp close, and he carefully examined each hand and foot. “I thought he might have frostbite, but I see nothing. Maybe he’s simply overtired.”

“Maybe.” Lena sat down opposite him, leaning close to pat Charlie’s back.

Anker made hushing noises and rocked back and forth, but neither his mother’s voice nor Anker’s efforts did anything to comfort the small boy.

Anker sang lullabies from his childhood. He didn’t bother trying to translate. He hoped the sound of his voice would calm Charlie. The little man settled a bit, but continued to cry. Just when Anker thought he had won the battle, Charlie threw himself backward again and screamed.

“He must have a tummy ache.” Lena rubbed her forehead. “I’m getting worried. There must be something very wrong. If I had some of my sarsaparilla concoction…but it’s gone along with everything else. How does your family treat such upsets?”

Anker remembered only one situation similar to this and it didn’t bear speaking to Lena of. Cousin Sigurd had been four when he cried and cried with a bellyache. Every aunt offered a cure. But Sigurd had died screaming with pain. Anker shut his eyes in a futile attempt to block that dreadful memory. He often wondered if the so-called cures had killed his cousin, and he’d vowed to let nature run its course with illness as much as possible. “I won’t give him anything when I don’t know what’s wrong. A person can do more harm than good.” He reached for Lena’s hand. “Instead, we will pray.”

She hesitated, her eyes full of argument, then she let him take her hand as he prayed, lifting his voice to be heard above Charlie’s crying.

“Father God, we don’t know what’s wrong with this little man and so we look to You for guidance. Please to make him better. Show us if there be anything we can do. We trust Your great love. Amen.”

He continued to hold Lena’s hand, waiting for her to look at him, but she kept her head down. He wondered if trusting God proved too much of a challenge for her. He squeezed her hand. “God loves us. He will do what is best.”

Slowly her head came up, her eyes dark and filled with uncertainty. “I know you are probably right, but I have a hard time believing it was His love that left me stranded in Mrs. Miller’s care. Or that took Johnson in that accident.” He felt her trembling. “And where was His great love when my house burned down?”

“I cannot answer that. I can only trust.” His experience out in the snow, fearing he would perish in the cold, and the blessed assurance of God’s protective, all-surrounding love, was still fresh in his mind. “All I know is God loves me and that is enough.”

She shook her head. “I just don’t see it that way.”

“I know, but it’s fine. God doesn’t need your love to reveal His.” He wished he could share some of his peace about Charlie. “Charlie is in God’s hands.”

Lena pulled her mouth into a tight line. “If God spares my son’s life, I might be able to believe He loves me.”

Anker didn’t say anything more, but turned his attention to comforting Charlie. He knew love that only trusted in good times wasn’t love at all. Didn’t love continue through good and bad, richer and poorer, sickness and health? And if that described human love, how much more without measure was God’s love? But God would show Lena His love in His way just as He had with Anker. Of that he had no doubt.

Charlie refused to be comforted. His continued distress made Anker’s insides tight. Lena brought a cloth and wiped Charlie’s face. “Poor baby, tell Mama what’s wrong.”

But Charlie didn’t want attention. Anker wondered if he even wanted to be held, but the idea of letting the child cry alone on his bed didn’t sit well with him. So he held Charlie as the night slipped by, unheeded by the two adults hovering over the little boy.

Lena got up and walked to the window. “It must be daylight, but I can see nothing but whiteness. I guess it’s still storming.”

He figured the storm outside didn’t hold a flicker compared to the one they fought inside. Whatever was wrong with Charlie, he prayed it would improve soon. Charlie still cried weakly, but no longer struggled so hard. He had worn himself out.

Lena turned from the window, her face ravaged by the night they had endured. “I’ll make some coffee.”

Anker ached from head to toe from struggling with the crying child. “I could use some.”

She brought him a cupful and he eagerly sipped it.

He was about finished when Charlie reached for the cup. Anker hesitated. He didn’t normally let Charlie touch his coffee, but it was the first interest Charlie had shown in anything but his pain. He held the cup to Charlie’s mouth and let him gulp at the warm liquid.

Charlie drained the few mouthfuls and wailed for more.

“Warm some milk and add a little coffee.”

Lena hurried to do so.

Again, Charlie gulped down the liquid and fell instantly asleep on Anker’s lap. Anker leaned back overcome with both weariness and gratitude. “Thank God.”

Lena stared, her eyes round with what he could only think was gratitude and disbelief.

“Did you not think God would do His work?”

She shook her head. Her eyes glistened. “I am grateful He did despite my doubts.”

“You are learning.”

She questioned him with a quirk of her eyebrows.

“It is as I say. God’s love does not depend on us.”

Lena knelt at Anker’s knees and stroked Charlie’s head and kissed his cheek. “Right now, I’m willing to believe anything. I’m just so grateful he’s fallen asleep.” Worry suddenly creased her forehead and she leaned back on her heels to look into Anker’s eyes. “Or has he passed a point of no return?”

Anker caught her chin in his fingers and gave her a steady look. “I choose to trust God. You should too. Don’t let worry chase away your peace. Don’t let doubts rob you of love.” He bent over and brushed her lips with his.

She jerked back and scrubbed at her lips. “What was that for?”

He was too consumed with sweet contentment to be offended. Charlie was better. He’d trusted God for that. And Lena had learned a lesson about love. Where it would go next, he couldn’t guess, but for now it was enough. He grinned at her annoyed expression. “That was to remind you that life is good and you should be remembering it.”

Her eyes clouded with confusion, and she refused to look at him. “I’ll put Charlie to bed.” She shifted the child from his arms, trying to avoid touching him.

He had no such intention and brushed his palm along her arm as she gathered the boy to her. “It’s been a long night. You should lie down with him and get some sleep too.”

“I think I will.” She paused at the doorway. “You should, too.”

“Perhaps.”

He sat there a little while, praying. He ached all over and weariness sucked at his insides. Until the storm ended he was stuck in the house. He might as well get some rest. He climbed the ladder and returned to his bed.

* * *

Lena curled up beside Charlie. Was he really better? She touched his forehead. Only normally warm. He lay stretched out. He wouldn’t do that if his tummy still hurt. Had God made him better? Or was it the warm milk and coffee? Her head ached from the night of listening to Charlie’s cries and worrying what was wrong.

She touched her lips. Anker had kissed her. What did it mean?

She shifted and stared into the gloomy room. Anker talked so freely of God’s love. But Lena could not believe it was as easily given and received as Anker wanted her to think.

Why had he kissed her? Had the time come when he would be expecting something in return for his shelter and care? She’d always known there would be a reckoning. Even God demanded that both in this life and in the one to come. Mrs. Miller had often enough pointed it out. She had an arsenal of verses to prove her point.

“Be sure your sin will find you out,” she said often, and when Lena had stolen a slice of bread and jam from the boarders’ table, the good woman had made her stay up late at night to create a sampler with those very words.

It was the one thing Mrs. Miller had offered her when she left with Johnson. “You might be wanting this reminder.”

But the lessons learned at the boardinghouse needed no reminders. They were forever branded in Lena’s thoughts. She grimaced. They shaped who she was and how she reacted to the world.

And God.

The God she saw looked and sounded more like Mrs. Miller’s version than Anker’s. Which of them was right? Lena had no way of knowing, but one thing she was certain of . . . better not to offend an angry, demanding God by taking advantage of His love.