by Ford, Linda;
Anker heard her hesitation. “Get whatever we need and anything you want.” He said it loud enough for the disapproving women to hear.
Lena darted him a look so full of sorrow and regret he ground to a halt. He saw a pile of yarn. He remembered how she’d thought to knit Inga a pair of mittens to replace the donated ones and he’d watched her taking apart some of his old socks to knit in new heels. She seemed to like knitting. “Be sure to get some of this yarn so you can knit those mittens you mentioned.”
She shifted her shoulders fractionally and seemed to gain an inch or two. “I’ll take four skeins in black.”
He flashed a quick smile, liking her fiery defiance.
He crossed to get the mail. Mr. Lowe handed him several items including a small, flat package addressed to Lena, as Mrs. Anker Hansen. Anker grinned. He liked reading that name.
“Mama. Ball.”
Anker spun around, realizing he’d set Charlie free and the boy had found a red ball with bright silver stars parked beside a stack of books.
Anker lunged for him as he reached for the ball, but Charlie tumbled against the shelf, grabbed at the pile of books to steady himself, and sent them tumbling. The ball followed, bouncing across the floor.
Lena spun away from the counter and made it to Charlie’s side in three strides. “Oh, Charlie. See what you’ve done.” She grabbed his hands and pulled him toward her, crouching down to hold him with one hand while she frantically gathered up the books with the other.
Anker felt her embarrassment and hunkered down to help. “It’s my fault. I let him go.”
“I wish I could melt into the floorboards,” she whispered. “Everyone is staring. I can just imagine what they’re thinking.”
One of the women sniffed. The other said, “That boy’s a wild Indian. Breeding will show, I always say.”
“You are certainly right there.”
Lena picked up Charlie and faced the room.
Anker straightened too. “I assume you are talking about my son.” At his hard tone, the room grew deadly quiet. He stared down each of the women and turned his gaze toward Mrs. Lowe, who pretended to be very busy filling Lena’s order. “He is an innocent, normal child who has accidentally caused a ball to roll off the shelf.” Anker scooped up the ball and plunked it down amidst the skeins of yarn. “I’ll take this for my son.” His breath whistled in and out. Charlie babbled. Other than that, the room remained silent.
Mr. Lowe hurried over to straighten the books. “No harm done. Could happen to anyone. Glad to do business with you.”
Anker let his breathing ease. “Finish our order and we’ll be on our way.”
One of the women sniffed, but at a frown from Mr. Lowe she turned away, pulled on her brown leather gloves, and sailed out of the store. The second woman hung back as if desperate to conclude her business but hesitating to get too close to Lena.
Anker turned and pulled Lena to his side. He pressed his cheek to her hair, wanting to make it clear that she was his wife and he was proud of it. He rubbed his nose against Charlie’s and the boy chuckled. He kept his arm about Lena while Mrs. Lowe tallied up the order. Only when he had to count out money to pay for it, did he release Lena. He noted with satisfaction that she didn’t put any distance between them.
In fact, she competed with his coat for closeness as he picked up the parcel and headed for the wagon. She waited at the side while he stowed away the purchases then allowed him to help her and Charlie to the bench.
As they headed out of town, she let out a breath almost as gusty as a Dakota wind. He wrapped his hand over hers. “Some people think small. But not everyone.”
Her fingers twitched restlessly beneath his palm. “Doesn’t it matter to you that Charlie is Indian?”
His thoughts stuttered in protest. “Charlie is not Indian.”
She made a dissenting noise.
“He has Indian ancestors. There are good Indians and bad ones, just as there are good and bad white men. It has nothing to do with who Charlie is. He is a joyful, happy child with a belly of a laugh. I suspect, given half a chance, he will grow up to be a man who enjoys life and shares that enjoyment with those around him. Charlie is who he is, not what people say about him.”
Her fingers grew still. “That’s beautiful.”
Embarrassed and pleased at the same time, he stole a glance at her. At the smile teasing softly at the corners of her mouth, his embarrassment faded to satisfaction.
“Have you ever faced such harsh actions from people?”
“Nei, apart ven dey call me norsky and say vhy you talk that funny vay.”
She laughed as he deepened his accent.
His insides softened to know that he’d soothed away some of her tension. “You got some mail from Sky. A little package.”
“Where is it?”
He reached into his pocket and handed her the pile of mail. She went through it and pulled out the parcel, handed the rest back, then shifted Charlie to one side so she could open it. Ignoring the letter, she picked up a photo of Johnson. “I asked Sky to send one to replace mine lost in the fire.” She studied the picture. “I want Charlie to know who his father was.” She tipped it toward Charlie. “See your papa.”
Charlie reached for Anker. “Papa.”
Anker took the boy and perched him on his knee. It pleased him a great deal to hear himself called papa. But perhaps it did not please Lena. “He could call me Per like we do in Norwegian.”
She studied his face then considered Charlie.
Anker waited for her to decide. It didn’t matter so much what Charlie called him so long as it indicated Anker’s rightful place in his life. Like he’d said to those at the store, Charlie was now his son and he expected him to be treated as such.
Lena’s eyes softened then her mouth turned up slightly at the corners. “He’s already decided you’re Papa. He won’t easily change his mind. I’ll let Johnson be his father.” She held the picture toward Charlie. “This is your father, Charlie.”
Charlie looked at it with interest for about ten seconds then turned his attention to the reins in Anker’s hand.
Feeling exceedingly pleased with her decision, Anker couldn’t help smiling.
She blinked, no doubt almost blinded by his blazing happiness. Slowly, and could he hope, reluctantly? she turned her gaze to the letter she held. She unfolded the pages in her hand. The wind grabbed at them, almost tearing them from her fingers. She shivered. “Brr. It’s getting colder.”
Anker glanced at the sky. A dark cloud bore down on them from the north, driven by a wind that carried with it the warning of snow and deepening cold. They had to try and outrun the approaching storm.
He shifted Charlie to Lena. He always kept a spare robe in the wagon and reached under the bench for it. “Wrap yourselves in this and hang on.”
He flicked the reins and set the horse into a trot. With a woman and child to protect, he should have been watching the sky.
The wind increased, driving the first sharp needles of snow. He pulled his winter cap low and covered his ears with the flaps. The snow thickened with each turn of the wheels. In a matter of three minutes it swirled around them. He could see no farther than the horse’s head. At the same time, the light faded. In half an hour it would be dark.
He couldn’t push the horse any harder in the bitter cold. He slackened the reins and let the animal find his way. Horses knew how to get home. He prayed this horse would seek home by way of the road so they wouldn’t end up stranded in snow banks in the middle of nowhere.
Anker squinted against the driving snow. They had to pass the Hampton farm. If he found the turnoff, they could shelter there. But he saw nothing but white swirling snow.
“Anker, how far are we from home?” Lena’s voice sounded thin and afraid.
His own misgivings faded at his need to reassure her. “We should be there soon.”
“What if we get lost?”
He put an arm around her bundled shoulder
s. “God will guide us home safely. You just worry about keeping Charlie warm.”
“I wish I could be as certain of God’s care as you.” Her muffled words were barely audible.
He lowered his head so he spoke close to her ear. “You have only to trust.”
She nodded.
“I will pray for us.” He could think of no other way to give her confidence. “Father God, you see each step ahead. Guide us home. Show the horse the way. Amen.”
Again, she nodded. This time he liked to think she seemed a little more certain. He kept his arm about her and she snuggled closer. He knew it was only to keep warm but still, he liked it. It made him feel as if he succeeded in providing protection for them.
Charlie wailed a protest.
“Stay under the covers, little man.” He held Lena tighter as Charlie struggled to be free. After a moment, he subsided, but not without loudly letting them know he didn’t approve of being so restricted.
The snow thickened. Anker brushed it from his lashes so he could see. He could no longer make out the horse’s ears, only the hint of the coarse tail. The wagon bucked as they encountered drifts on the road.
Anker stopped trying to keep the snow from filtering past his collar and resigned himself to being cold until they reached home. Father God, guide us safely. He prayed it constantly and at some point, began to speak the words aloud, needing to assure himself they would be safe.
Charlie had stopped fussing several minutes ago. “Is the little man okay?”
“I think he’s fallen asleep.”
Alarm jerked along Anker’s nerves. “He’s not . . . ?”
“I’m doing my best to keep him warm.”
Anker shivered despite himself.
“You need more protection,” Lena said. “Here, share the robe.” She made to open it.
He stopped her. “I’m fine.” He kept his arm firmly around her shoulders, trying to shield them from the cold wind, but grateful for the warmth she provided on one side of his body.
The horse stumbled onward. The snow whipped about them, driven by a brutal wind. He hunched toward the robe-encased pair and prayed ceaselessly.
He couldn’t say if they had been an hour on the trail or ten minutes. Time had vanished in the driven snow, measured now by the agony of his cold limbs.
“Are we moving?” Lena murmured.
Anker stirred himself to concentrate on his surroundings. Struggled to decide if the movement he felt was solely the wind battering at them or did it include the jolt and roll of the wagon? “I don’t think we are.” He flicked the reins, but the horse did not move. “I’ll have to get down and see what’s wrong.”
Chapter 8
Anker tightened the robe around Lena and Charlie before he felt his way off the bench. Slowly, awkwardly, he stumbled to the ground and made his way around to the head of the horse. His leg brushed something. He reached out to investigate, encountered something solid. He explored it more. A wall? He edged a few inches to his left and found a door. It was his house. The air whooshed out of his lungs in relief. The faithful horse, guided by a divine hand, had led them home. He tried to hurry back to the wagon but he could barely make his feet function. After a few painfully slow steps he reached up and drew Lena and Charlie toward him, almost falling when their weight rested in his arms. None of his muscles seemed ready to work, and he struggled to think. He knew the cold had numbed both his body and his brain. “We’re home.” He managed to twist the words from his brain. “Thank God, we are safely home.”
He staggered to the house, struggled with the door, and finally made it inside. He didn’t put Charlie and Lena down until he reached the stove. The metal was cold. “Stay wrapped until I get the fire started.” With uncooperative fingers, he carefully put in kindling and small pieces of coal. Once the fire caught he would put on the biggest lump he could find. Carefully, he struck a match and held it to the kindling, relieved when tiny flames flashed. He tried to blow on the reluctant fire, but his lips wouldn’t form a pucker.
He watched until he was certain the fire would burn then closed the stove. “It will take a minute or two to get hot.” He wanted to stand there until his insides thawed but he had responsibilities. “Is Charlie awake?”
Lena lowered the robe to expose her face and shivered. She looked beneath the wrappings. “He’s breathing. Hi, Charlie. We’re home.” She glanced at Anker, a relieved smile on her lips. “He opened his eyes.” Her gaze grew anxious again. “Are you all right?”
Her concern did as much to warm him as the heat beginning to radiate from the stove. “Yes, fine. You two stay wrapped up until the room is warm. I have to put the horse in the barn.”
“No. You can’t go out. What if you get lost?”
He met her gaze. She worried about him? The thought made each beat of his heart push out the promise of warmth. He’d like to stay and calm her fears but first—
“I have to take the horse to the barn.”
“We can do without the horse. We can’t do without you.”
He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think past her admission that he mattered in some small way to her. “The horse saved our lives. I must put him in the barn and feed him. I need to brush him down before he freezes.”
She rocked her head back and forth. “You almost missed the house one time already. What if. . .?” Her mouth worked. “Please be careful.”
“I’ll take a rope and tie it to the hook outside the door. The horse will make sure I get safely to the barn and then I’ll follow the rope back.”
She didn’t look convinced, but finally nodded.
He patted the bulge that was Charlie and cupped her head. “I’ll be back. I’ll keep you safe just like I promised.” Then, ignoring the agony of his cold body, he headed for the door.
“Be careful,” Lena called after him.
Her words provided the fuel he needed to face the cold.
* * *
Lena felt the heat from the stove, but it did nothing to ease the ice encasing her heart. Charlie squirmed and she let him down, expecting him to run as usual. Instead, he stood beside her chair, wobbling slightly. “Charlie, are you cold?”
“Cold.”
She touched his cheeks and his neck, grateful to realize he seemed reasonably warm. Maybe she had held him too tight as they rode home. She shuddered. She couldn’t remember ever being so cold or so scared though, crushed to Anker’s side, fear had been kept at arm’s length.
She glanced toward the door. Shouldn’t he be back by now? Had he secured the rope firmly? Perhaps it had blown loose. She closed her eyes. The sound of Anker’s murmured prayer over and over in her ear throughout the ride had comforted her, and she closed her eyes to say a similar prayer, “Father God, keep him safe.”
She tried to laugh at the irony of her situation. Wanting, demanding to be left alone, and when it appeared she might get that wish, she prayed for it to be otherwise. Facing the long cold Dakota winter on her own held no appeal.
Charlie gathered his wooden blocks and sat close to the fire to play with them.
She folded the robes and piled them by the door then hurried to the kitchen to build a fire. She’d make a big pot of coffee for Anker’s return. Remembering how putting a light in the window had guided him before, she did the same and waited. Not a sound. Not a hint that he might be there.
She lifted her chin and marched back to the kitchen. No use in watching for the door to open. It was like a pot that never boiled when watched. To keep herself from counting the seconds, she began to make a big pot of soup. But every task she did became a countdown. As soon as she fried the meat, he would be back.
He wasn’t.
As soon as she peeled carrots and potatoes, he would be back.
He wasn’t.
She added bits of this and that and seasoned the broth well. As soon as it boiled he would be back.
But he didn’t open the door and step in, putting her fears to rest.
She covered the pot
and left it to simmer and went to the window. What if he’d fallen just outside the door and couldn’t make the last ten feet? She’d heard such stories so often. Should she go looking for him? But what would she do with Charlie? And who would care for him if something happened to her?
Best she wait.
She returned to the kitchen to check on the soup.
She put more coal in both stoves.
She tried to be patient, consoling herself with the fact he had strung up a rope. Surely he’d be okay.
Finally, she could take walking between the rooms and staring at the door no longer. “Charlie, Mama’s going outside for a minute. It’s very cold so you must stay right where you are.”
Charlie barely looked up from his stack of blocks.
She pulled on the warmest clothes she could find and bundled a scarf around her face and neck. She would not leave the shelter of the house nor take a step away without having her hand on something solid.
She opened the door and stepped into a wind liable to blow her to Mexico. She found the rope where Anker had tied it. It was secure and tight. That couldn’t be the problem.
“Anker. Where are you? Anker.” She called him over and over, straining for a glimpse of anything through the swirling blackness. The wind sighed and momentarily let up, allowing the golden light from the window to enable her to see a few feet away. There was nothing but whiteness and then blowing snow obliterated her view again.
“Anker.” God, keep him safe. If You do, I will never argue with him. I will be gentle, kind and helpful. I will— She wanted to promise her farm, her life, anything ... but she feared God might take her up on her promise.
The snow parted again. Did she see something move? She strained to see through the blanket of snow. Was it only the drifts shifting?
“Anker.”
The gray-shadowed drift lurched forward. “Lena.”
Anker. Was he hurt?
“Hold . . . rope.” His words seemed slow, tortured.
She grabbed the rope and fought the wind to his side. “What’s wrong?”