Ward did not allow himself to think about the day’s events until the boys were asleep in their beds. Then he sat at the table and stared at his bunched-up fists.

Freyda had remembered his birthday. No one had ever done that before. It filled his heart with hope but not near as much as when she said she belonged here. She’d touched his chest. He pressed his palm to the place. Did she mean in his heart?

He wasn’t sure what to think or how to interpret her words. He only knew they gave him hope that warred with his fears.

Something Reverend Sorrow had said in his sermon tugged at Ward’s thoughts. If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him. The preacher had said it was in the Epistle to James.

Ward got his Bible from the bookshelf and found the passage. He read the words over and over. Desperate to understand how to deal with his fears, he continued reading the entire book. Finally, with a deep sigh, he put the Bible away. God had not answered his plea for wisdom. Not yet. That left him little choice but to continue as he had been. Finish Freyda’s seeding, then they would go their separate ways. With a self-mocking smile, he changed that to parallel ways. Both of them working within sight of each other. Both doing similar tasks except he had the boys to tend. He pictured the situation. Two teams of horses. Two fields. Two adults. Two little boys. Something in that scene seemed redundant. Or was he only wishing for things beyond his reach?

He found no answers to his questions and went to bed.

The next morning, he set his heart resolutely to doing the work, finishing his task, and getting on with his life. He was fully prepared to be business-like, but Freyda seemed to have other ideas. Rather than have the horses harnessed and ready to go, she waited at the laneway and greeted him with such a bright smile, his decision was driven cleanly from his mind.

She hugged the boys, squeezed Ward’s arm. “Isn’t it a lovely morning?”

It is now, Ward acknowledged. Being with her drove away his fears and worries, though he knew they lingered in the corners of his mind and would return as soon as they had a chance.

“It looks to be another hot day,” he said by way of reply. “Can already feel the heat.”

Her smile never faltered. “The heat makes things grow.”

She followed him to the barn and stood watching as he harnessed the horses.

He stole a quick glance out the corner of his eyes. This was the first time she didn’t insist on doing things herself or at least helping. What did it mean? Was it because of how Anker treated her? He didn’t have the answers and headed for the field.

Freyda walked at his side, the two boys running ahead. They seemed to enjoy playing by the field, which made him think they would be happy to accompany him when he returned home and started plowing the new field.

Freyda chattered away as he got the horses into place. She mentioned the weather again, and pointed toward a patch of wildflowers. “What are they?”

He glanced at where she pointed. His insides knotted as he recognized the flowers. He felt again the sting of his aunt’s switch and the bite of her angry words. Would he never see those purple blossoms without that memory returning? “Purple phlox is what some people call it but most see it as a dirty weed.” He grabbed the reins and called at the horses to move.

Freyda touched his arm before he could escape. “You mean your aunt called them weeds.”

“I don’t suppose she’s the only one.” He moved down the field.

Freyda called the boys, but rather than head for the house, she took them to the flowers and filled her apron with them.

Ward pretended disinterest but he couldn’t imagine what she meant to do with them. He found out when he went in to dinner. They filled a jar of water in the center of the table. His gaze went to them and he couldn’t look away.

“Such pretty flowers,” Freyda said. “I thought we should enjoy them. Sit down and we’ll eat.”

He hadn’t moved since he entered the house and saw the flowers and forced himself to the table. The purple blossoms filled his view.

“Would you ask the blessing?” she asked.

He bowed his head and sucked in a deep breath and somehow managed to get out a few words.

Throughout the meal, his gaze went constantly to the flowers. Then darted toward Freyda, who seemed rather pleased and content with herself. As soon as he was done eating he hurried to the door. “Got to get the crop seeded,” he murmured, as he escaped.

All afternoon he thought about the purple flowers. The weeds. Only they didn’t look like weeds in the house. Like Freyda said, they were pretty. What did she mean by filling that jar with them? Surely she was trying to tell him something. But what? As he paused at the end of the row, he looked toward the purple patch a few feet away and brought one hand to his chest. To the very spot Freyda had touched on the way to church.

The two were connected, but he failed to understand how. And the whole idea left him unsettled. As if the world he knew, the one he had learned to deal with, and in which he had constructed safe boundaries, was about to change. A glance toward the house showed Freyda and the boys playing. His life had changed dramatically since she had entered their lives.

Change was a fearful thing. He wanted to pull back and stay safe.

For the next two days, he managed to hold on to the safety of his world. He joined Freyda and his sons for meals. He walked to her place every morning and returned to his own each evening. Every night he put the boys to bed and every morning fed them breakfast before their return journey to the Haevre homestead. The horses were tended, the chickens fed. All familiar activities that should have made him feel safe, but he felt as if he teetered on a crumbling dirt cliff.

“I’ll finish today,” he announced Wednesday morning.

“That’s good.” Her words were breezy as if he had announced nothing of more consequence than he was going to move Kit from his right side to his left.

“I thought you’d be excited.”

She smiled, her eyes full of depths that invited him to plumb. “I’m pleased.”

“Good to know.” He finished shortly after noon, put away the seeder, brushed Boots and Boss until their coats gleamed. Strange that Freyda had not come out to rejoice in the completion of the task. Finally, with no more excuses for delaying it, he went to the house. He stepped inside.

Thankfully, the purple flowers had wilted and she’d thrown them out.

“Join us for coffee and cookies.” The boys sat at the table, anxiously waiting, which made it impossible for him to refuse. At least that was the reason he gave for accepting the invitation.

“I want to thank you for putting in my crop,” she said, her eyes watchful. Hopeful? Now why would he think that?

“Thanks for taking care of the boys while I worked.”

“It’s been nothing but a pleasure.”

The boys finished their cookies and got down to play with Freyda’s kitten.

Neither adult made any move to leave.

“Now it’s time to plow, ja?”

He had not heard her revert to Norwegian in a long time. Something she had done previously when she was too upset or excited to stick to English. Which was she now? He couldn’t say.

“That’s right. We are expected to live on the homestead for five years and make improvements on the land every year and then the land is ours.”

She nodded. “Then I will break some more land.”

Silence fell between them. Seems they had said all there was to say. The agreement between them was over. Each had fulfilled their part. He drained his coffee cup and rose. “Boys, time to leave.”

Milo scowled. Kit looked uncertain.

“There are two kittens at home who have been left alone too long.”

With that, the pair said their good-byes and they returned home.

* * *

Ward spent the next two days breaking the sod in a field he planned to sow next spring. As he worked, he couldn’t help but see Freyda also at work. She struggled with the plow. She would soon figure it out.

He would have gladly helped her, but she didn’t need him.

Friday night it rained heavily. The rain slashing down. He couldn’t sleep through the deluge and rose to stare out the window. The moisture was welcome but he didn’t care for the way it pounded.

Something dogged his thoughts. He couldn’t put his finger on what bothered him.

As dawn arrived, the rain subsided. The yard was full of puddles. There would be no plowing today and perhaps not for a few days.

He fed the boys breakfast and remembered he had to make dinner and supper as well. Life had been easier when Freyda did that. It was too muddy for the boys to go outside so he tried to keep them amused indoors.

Several times he went to the window that allowed him a view of Freyda’s home. Once he saw her cross the yard. Doing her chores, no doubt. Seeing her should have put his mind to rest, but it failed to do so. Perhaps he should walk over and make sure she was okay.

Why wouldn’t she be? It was just rain, and already the sun was hot, the moisture steaming from the land. Rain was good for the crops. Good for the grass to feed his cows.

He jerked upright. His cows. There was something about those muddy hooves that he didn’t like. He should have checked on them that day or at least gone back at some point. He had to do so now. His insides burned with urgency.

“Boys, I’m taking you to see Freyda.”

They cheered.

“Wait here.” It would be hard pushing, but he’d take the cart so they wouldn’t get muddy.

He pushed them along the trail as fast as he could, making them laugh.

Freyda heard them coming and came out to wait. Her smile glowed with welcome. For the boys? For him too? He didn’t have time to sort it out.

“Can I leave the boys here while I check on the cows?”

“By all means. I was getting a little bored.”

“Thanks. I shouldn’t be long. I’ve just got to put my mind at ease.”

She waited until the boys went inside. “About what?”

“It might be nothing but—” He told her about how unusual it was for his cows to have such muddy feet. “If there’s a mudhole it will be much worse by now.”

“Then go. The boys will be fine with me.”

“I know that.” He trotted back to the farm, saddled his horse, rode to the pasture, and went through the trees to the creek. It was worse than he imagined. The ground had eroded away one bank leaving an overhang of dirt and trees that could come down at any minute. A cow struggled in the muck.

He roped her and pulled her. She balked. He saw the problem. A branch was caught between her hind legs. There was only one solution. He dismounted, took off his boots, and waded into the cold, muddy water. “Whoa, bossy,” he murmured as the cow snorted and tossed her head. At least she couldn’t kick him. He slipped the rope from her neck and his horse backed up.

After a few minutes of tugging and twisting, he got the branch away from her legs, slapped her haunches, and gave a sharp whistle.

She reared forward and lunged free.

He staggered in the mud as he headed for dry ground.

A rumble, followed by a pop-slush, and the undercut bank slid into the creek. A tree plopped into the water and mud splashed into his eyes. He fell to his backside, the muddy water encasing him to the shoulders. A pain shafted through his legs. The tree had him pinned.

Ignoring the pain, he leaned his shoulder into the trunk and pushed. It did not budge.

He shivered. The water was cold. The sun had gone behind a cloud. He glanced up. Thunderheads rolled and spiraled.

A flash of lightning slashed earthward. Thunder rolled down the hill.

His horse bolted for home.

Great. He was stuck in the mud with no hope of rescue. Even if Freyda thought he might need help, she would not venture out in a thunderstorm.

He would not die here. His boys would not end up orphans. He squirmed, trying to free his legs. He dipped his head into the muddy water and tried to dig underneath them so he could pull free. He pushed at the tree trunk until he was exhausted.

He was so cold. So angry and frightened. All he could do was call out to God to save him. “At least look after my boys.” Perhaps Freyda would keep them if something happened to him.

* * *

Freyda shivered as the storm rattled the windows and lightning flared through the house. If only Ward would come back, she wouldn’t be so frightened.

He’d been gone a long time. Maybe he’d been struck by lightning. The very idea sent a shudder up and down her spine. How would she know if something like that had happened? Who would help him?

Stop being so dramatic.

She told herself time only seemed to have slowed down, but a glance at her clock informed her he’d been gone three hours. Surely long enough that he should have returned.

If he wasn’t back in half an hour she would go looking for him. Please make the storm end.

Half an hour later, the storm had circled back and stopped right over her house. Each lightning flash and thunder crash made her shiver, but she knew she must check on Ward. Gritting her teeth, she got the boys into the cart, wrapped them securely in a slicker, then fought the mud to their house. She was about to call Ward’s name, hoping he had returned and had something he needed to attend to when she saw his riding horse standing at the barn door, saddled and with a rope dangling from the saddle. Something was seriously amiss. She must find him. Please, God, let him be okay. Perhaps she’d encounter him walking home. But she dare not wait, in case he was injured and needed assistance.

She flinched every time the lightning flashed, and shuddered with every boom of thunder, but she would not let her fear stop her.

“Boys, we are going to see why your papa’s horse has come home without him.” She went the same direction she had gone with Ward on a much nicer day and for a much nicer reason. It was hard pushing to get the cart up the rise toward the pasture.

“I can help,” Milo offered.

She was half tempted to let him but the trail had leveled off. “It will be easier now that I’m going downhill toward the creek.” She found a narrow track through the trees. The cart barely fit through but she forced it past the crowding trunks.

They reached the water. So muddy. Cows grazed nearby. Some with muddy legs. She saw no sign of Ward.

“Ward,” she called, wondering if he could hear her over the storm.

“Here.” The voice was faint, muffled by the rain. She stared all around.

“I don’t see you.”

“In the creek.”

“All I see is a tree.”

“I’m trapped under the tree.”

She saw him and gasped. “Boys, stay in the cart and do not get out for any reason unless your papa or I tell you to.”

Both boys were wide-eyed, and they nodded.

She made her way along the banks of the water. The tree was big. She couldn’t hope to get it off. She studied the situation. If she got one of the plow horses, and a rope or chain to wrap around the tree right about there— “I’ll get you free.” She cringed as lightning flashed. It seemed so close.

“You can’t. Go get Klaus Hoffmann. You follow the creek for a mile then head to your right until you reach their place. Tell him to bring his horse and a rope. Leave the boys here.” Ward’s voice shook.

He was near exhaustion and likely half frozen in the cold water. Yet he didn’t think she could aid him. He thought she would let her fears control her. Her insides grew hot. He would sooner die than trust her to be capable of helping him. He was no different than Anker. She stomped away.

“You’re going the wrong direction.”

“I’m not going to the Hoffmanns’.”

She ordered the boys to stay right there until she got back.

“Is papa dying?” Milo asked.

“Not if I have anything to say about it.” She ran all the way back to Ward’s place and had to bend over her knees to catch her breath before she could continue. She called for Buster. Thankfully he came to her without a problem. She put a harness on him, found a sturdy rope in the barn, and hung it from the harness. On second thought, she found a chain and added it.

“I hope you’ll let me ride you.” Holding her breath in fear of his reaction, she swung to his back. He snorted then settled down at the urgency in her voice. She managed to guide him the right direction and soon reached the creek.

“You’re back. I thought you’d left me.” His teeth chattered so much she could barely make out the words.

“You might have a little faith in me.” Ignoring how much his lack of trust hurt, she guided the horse into position. It required getting right into the dirty water to get the chain around the tree but she didn’t hesitate to do so. She talked as she worked, hoping to keep Ward alert.

“Your reaction was exactly the same as I would have expected from Anker. I guess things are never going to change. Good thing I’ve learned to handle the horses. Of course, Buster is easy to handle, so I suppose anyone could do this.” Anyone but her, if she considered Ward’s order to get help from the neighbors. Her anger burned, making her ignore the cold seeping into her limbs.

She went to the horse. “Come on, Buster, pull.”

The horse leaned into the harness. The chain tightened. With a sucking sound, the tree slowly moved. She kept the horse at a steady pace until the trunk was well clear then rushed back to Ward, fighting her way through the icy muddy waters to his side.

“Can you stand?” She helped him to his feet. He wavered. She held him steady. “Can you walk?”

“I think so.” He ground out the words. She helped him to the grassy bank where he collapsed.

“Papa,” Milo called, his voice thin with worry.

Tears streamed down Kit’s cheeks.

“I’m okay.”

Freyda knew it took a great deal of effort for him to speak calmly. Knew, too, that he needed to get home and warmed up as soon as possible. “I’ll bring the horse.” She freed the chain and led Buster to Ward’s side. “Get on his back.”

He looked about to argue then thought better of it. She helped him up.

“What about the boys?” he asked.

“I’ll push them back in the cart. You go ahead.”

He nodded and rode away.

She followed, shivering from cold, shaking from concern for Ward. Was he injured? Would he take sick from being so cold? Had he sucked in some of that filthy water?

When they reached the yard, Buster stood at the barn. She took the boys to the house. Much of the mud had shaken off in the walk, but she was far too dirty to go inside. She went only as far as the door.

The boys rushed in, saw Ward at the table, washed and in clean clothes. They hesitated at his side, regarding him anxiously.

He pulled them close then looked at her. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “Your legs?”

“Just bruised. Thanks for rescuing me. Come in.”

“Can’t. I’m too muddy. I’ll take care of the horses then go home and clean up.”

Not until she reached home, had washed the mud off, and hung the wet items of clothing to dry and sat at the table, a cup of hot coffee before her, did she allow herself to think.

She knew what mattered to her. Not the farm. Not proving anything. Not even her independence. What mattered was Ward and his two precious little boys.

But when it came down to the nitty gritty, he didn’t trust her. Didn’t see her as capable. He wouldn’t ever consider marrying a woman whom he didn’t consider able to do all the things a homesteader’s wife needed to do.

She buried her head in her arms and sobbed.

* * *

The next day was Sunday. She could not go to church because of the muddy roads. She didn’t see any sign of Ward and the boys going either. Were his legs more seriously injured than he realized?

It was all she could do not to walk over and check on him.

But he didn’t need her. Likely didn’t even want her.

Being Sunday, it was a good day to sit and read her Bible. Lord, show me the way I should go. She’d thought it would be on a shared walk with Ward, but he’d made it clear how little he thought of her. Go get a neighbor’s help. Indeed, had he forgotten she was a neighbor? His closest one? But he didn’t see her as capable enough. Her heart ached with disappointment and she turned her attention to the Scriptures, seeking guidance and comfort.

After reading several chapters, she went to the Twenty-Third Psalm. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

She didn’t face physical death, but something inside felt dead. She would trust God to take care of her.

The thud of an approaching horse brought her to her feet in a flash and she rushed to the window.

Nels rode up on horseback. A bedroll was tied to the saddle and his saddlebags bulged.

Her heart sank. She opened the door to him. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Yup.”

“Where?”

“I’m not sure.”

“What about Inga?” Freyda asked.

“I heard from her. She married someone else.” The pain in his eyes hurt Freyda.

“I’m sorry.”

“Not to worry. I’ll be fine. I just need to get away for a while. I’ll be back though I don’t know when. I need to decide what I want and where I want to be.” He hugged Freyda. “Take care.”

He wouldn’t be persuaded to linger and share a meal or even a cup of coffee.

She watched him ride away. They were in a similar situation. She had to decide what she wanted and where she belonged. It was a question she thought she had resolved.

Somehow she would continue on. She had her farm.

It no longer held a great deal of significance for her.

But what she wanted was out of reach.