“I envy you,” Sigrid said, and yawned once again. “I never got to be the Lucia Bride when I was growing up. In fact, as youngest, I didn’t have a lot of privileges.”
“Moder says you made a wonderful sacrifice to insure the happiness and wellbeing of your family.”
Sigrid couldn’t hide her surprise. “Ina said that?”
“Sure.” Bridgett brought out the candles and handed them to Sigrid. “She said you did her a special favor by taking care of Mormor. She was afraid that since she’d just married Fader, she might have to take Mormor to live with them, and,” Bridgett giggled for the first time that day, “she wanted to have Fader all to herself.”
Sigrid smiled. “I can well imagine.” She positioned the candles, thinking of Ina’s gratitude and how she’d not only felt those things, but shared them with her daughter as well. It was rather like an honor, and Sigrid suddenly loved Ina more than ever.
Bridgett waited while Sigrid lit the last of the candles. She held the platter proudly and smiled. “Well, here I go.” She took a deep breath and began to sing. “Sankta Lucia, ljusklara hagring, Sprid i var vinter natt, glans av den fagring.”
Sigrid smiled and thought of the words. Santa Lucia, thy light is glowing, Through darkest winter night, comfort bestowing. She thought of their traditions and how they honored this young martyr. Legend in Sweden held that Lucia, a young medieval saint, brought food to the hungry in southern Sweden. But Sigrid also knew the celebration to date back even further. The first Lucia was a young Christian girl who gave her entire bridal dowry away to the poor folk of her village. She was later accused of witchcraft and burned at the stake on December 13, in the year 304 A.D. But no matter which Lucia you considered, Sigrid knew that the celebration was a representation of sending light into the darkness.
“Lucia brings the symbol of the light to come,” her moder had told her when she was very young. “Jesus is the light who comes to us and makes our darkest night to shine as day.”
Sigrid wrapped her arms around her. She could hear Bridgett singing to her family, and the sound left an aching in her heart. She had no family to celebrate with. As the spinster aunt, she had to borrow upon her sibling’s family. A tear slid down on her cheek and the only thing she desired in that moment was to find Erik and tell him that she loved him.
“I love him,” she whispered. “How could I have ever doubted it?”
Suddenly, even the thought of kissing Ruben sounded less than appealing. How had she managed to get so completely swept away? Was she so desperate for affection and attention that she couldn’t see how Erik’s quiet love had been there all along?
Chapter 10
KOTTBULLAR
Swedish Meat Balls
½ lb. ground beef
2 eggs (beaten)
½ cup cream (heated to a boil)
¼ tsp. allspice
½ lb. ground pork
½ cup bread crumbs
½ tsp. salt
¼ tsp. pepper
3 T. onion (finely minced)
Soak bread crumbs in cream and set aside. Blend the remaining ingredients together. Pour cream and softened bread crumbs into meat mixture and mix well. Roll into balls the size of walnuts and fry until outside is browned. Put into a baking dish with 2 T. oil and 1 T. water; cover and bake at 3250F for 1 hour.
Sigrid barely waited until the sun was fully risen before pulling on her coat and boots. With mysterious excuses delivered to Ina and Clarence, she made her way home in the pale pink light of dawn. Grateful that there was only a faint dusting of snow on the ground, Sigrid pressed toward town with only one thought in mind … Erik.
She had to find him. She had to tell him how she felt and how she’d ignored those feelings for most of her life. He’d always just been there: comforting, familiar, loving, although she couldn’t see it for the nearness of it. Feeling a song in her heart, she hummed Santa Lucia and forced herself not to run.
Chilled to the bone, but warm in spirit, Sigrid crossed Lindsborg’s Main Street and hurried in the direction of home. She’d just passed from town when Ruben came from seemingly nowhere.
“Sigrid! I was hoping to see you today. I was just on my way to your house.” She stopped and looked at him sternly, wondering what it was about him that had held her captive for so long.
“What?” Ruben questioned. “Isn’t my hat on straight?” He reached up as if to adjust it.
“No, it isn’t that.” She smiled, not realizing how appealing she looked.
Ruben swept her into his arms, mindless of the very public scene they were making. “I’ve come for an answer to my proposal. You’ve put me off long enough.” He tried to kiss her, but Sigrid turned her face away and pushed at his arms.
“Let me go, Ruben. I can’t marry you.”
Ruben dropped his hold and stared at her in surprise. “What do you mean, you can’t marry me?”
“I don’t love you, Ruben. I can’t marry you, because I’m in love with someone else. I’m sorry.” She didn’t wait for his response but instead kept walking toward home. Home and Erik. She knew he’d be close by and whether he was caring for her livestock or working in his own barn, she would find him and declare her love to him.
“You can’t be serious,” he said, catching up to her.
She picked up speed and nodded. “But I am.”
Ruben grabbed her and pulled her away from the road. Pushing her up against the thick trunk of a cottonwood tree, he glared at her. “You can’t do this to me. I have plans.”
“I’m sorry.” His grip tightened. “Let me go, Ruben.”
“No. You’re being stupid. It isn’t like something better is going to come along.”
She smiled. “Something better already has come along. I just didn’t realize that he’d been there all along.”
“You’re coming with me. We’re getting married.”
Sigrid’s mouth dropped open as Ruben dragged her along behind him. She began protesting, yelling, almost screaming for him to leave her alone. Then suddenly, without warning, Sigrid felt her free arm being pulled in the opposite direction. Looking back, she found Erik.
“Let her go, Carter. You heard for yourself, she wants nothing to do with you.”
Ruben dropped his hold, completely intimidated by the huge Swede. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then growled and took off in the direction of Main Street.
Sigrid looked up at Erik, not knowing what to say. Her heart was full to busting with the love she felt inside. He had come to save her once again.
Erik said nothing, but simply took hold of her arm and led her home.
Once inside the warmth of her kitchen, Sigrid felt shy and uncertain. What if she declared her love and Erik no longer wanted her? She swallowed her pride and decided the best thing to do was be honest.
“I didn’t expect to see you today,” Erik said softly.
“I know.” She tried to think of what to say next. “I had to see you.”
“Why?”
She drew a deep breath and faltered. Lowering her gaze, she looked at her hands.
“Why, Sigrid?” Erik repeated. “Because I love you,” she whispered.
“What?”
She looked up and found him smiling. He’d heard all right, but he wanted to hear the words again. “I came home to tell you that I love you, and if you still think you want to marry me, then I’d love nothing more.”
Erik laughed. “I suppose I could tolerate the idea.”
Sigrid smiled and raised a single brow. “Only tolerate?”
“Well, I guess you’ve got me there.”
He got to his feet and came to take her in his arms. Sigrid melted against him, feeling her heart pounding so hard that she was certain he could hear it. She looked up into his eyes and found all the love she’d hoped to find. “Do I really have you?” she whispered.
Just before his lips touched hers in a passionate kiss, Sigrid heard him whisper, “You’ve always had me.”
Sven offered a prayer at Ina’s request, and as he finished, Erik requested everyone’s attention to announce that he and Sigrid were to be married as soon as the holidays were completed.
“Oh, Sigrid!” Ina squealed in girlish delight. “I’m so happy for you.”
Sigrid embraced her sister. “That’s not all. Erik and I intend to pay you and Sven the same amount of money that the railroad is offering for the farm. We want to live on the farmstead. I want to raise our children where Moder and Fader worked so hard to make us happy.”
Erik lost no time in pulling papers from his pocket. “I know it’s Christmas, but this is to show you we mean what we say.” He handed the papers to Sven. “I hope you will understand how much this means to both of us.”
“Of course we understand,” Ina said.
“But I struck an agreement with the railroad,” Sven replied rather sheepishly.
“No money changed hands,” Ina reminded him. “Besides, I never agreed to it. Erik talked to me some time ago, and I thought his proposal was much better.”
Just then a knock sounded on the door and Bridgett went to open it. Ruben Carter didn’t wait to be announced, but pushed his way past the girl and came to where Sven was still studying the paper Erik had given him.
“I want to finish our agreement,” he told Sven.
“Sorry you had to come all this way, Mr. Carter,” Ina said, before Sven could reply. “We aren’t selling the land to the railroad. Sven had no right to make an agreement without Sigrid’s and my approval.”
“He’s the man of the family, isn’t he?” He glared at Sigrid as he asked the question.
“Ja,” Ina replied, “but Swedish women are just as tenacious as Swedish men.”
“Sorry, Carter,” Sven offered apologetically. “I guess I’m outvoted.”
“But we had an agreement.”
“It wasn’t a lawful arrangement, Carter,” Erik said, moving in between Ruben and Sven. “But this is.” He took the papers from Sven and held them up. “I’m buying the property with my wife.”
Ruben threw Sigrid a sneering look of disbelief. “He’s only doing this to get your land.”
Sigrid didn’t want to face him in an argument. “No, he did it because he loves me,” she said as she turned and walked from the room to avoid any further confrontation.
Taking herself outside, Sigrid prayed that the matter would be concluded without her. She didn’t like the way Ruben looked at her, and she didn’t want to listen to his threats or foulmouthed accusations. Walking the full length of the wraparound porch, Sigrid had just come to the front when an angry Ruben bounded out of the house. He instantly saw her and stopped.
“I never wanted you for my wife. I wanted the land, just like Lindquist.” The words were delivered with all the hate and bitterness that Ruben’s face featured. “You aren’t worth the trouble, Sigrid.” He stormed off down the path and left her to stare after him.
His words should hurt, she thought. But they didn’t. She only felt sorry for Ruben, and more sure of Erik. What did hurt, was that she had ever believed Ruben’s flowery words of love.
Turning away, she found Erik standing at the end of the porch. He’d heard everything Ruben had said, and he seemed to watch her for any sign of regret in her choice. And then, Sigrid saw something more in his expression. He showed no surprise or alarm at the words he’d heard. Only patient compassion as he waited for her reaction. He knew! He knew all along and yet he never told me! Her heart swelled with love for him, and she smiled.
Erik held open his arms and Sigrid eagerly went to him, cherishing the warmth he provided against the cold of winter and Ruben’s declaration.
“You knew, did you?” she whispered as he kissed the top of her head.
“Yes.”
“And you never told me because you knew I wouldn’t have believed you.”
“Yes.” He kissed her again. “I was such a fool, Erik.”
“Yes.” This time he lifted her chin with his warm, callused fingers and kissed her on the forehead.
“Moder always said I could trust you. I should have believed her … and you.”
“Yes.” He kissed her right cheek.
“I guess love was so close I just couldn’t see it. Forgive me?”
“Yes.” His low, husky voice warmed her as much as the kiss he placed on her left cheek.
Sigrid smiled and pressed herself closer. “Love me?”
“Oh, yes,” he half moaned, half whispered, and pressed his lips to hers.
Sigrid sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck. She returned his kiss with matched enthusiasm and felt the heat of passion radiate throughout her body.
He pulled away, and Sigrid opened her eyes to find him grinning as though he’d just won first place in a race. “God Jul, darling,” he whispered.
“Merry Christmas to you.” She strained on tiptoe and pulled his face back to hers. “The first of many.” She kissed him gently.
“Kisses or Christmases?” he whispered as their lips parted.
“What?”
“The first of many kisses or Christmases?” he teased.
She didn’t hesitate. Kissing him again, she pulled away to whisper in his ear.
“Both.”
Circle of Blessings
by Deborah Raney
Dedication
In memory of my beloved grandmothers,
Dorothy Teeter and Helen Reed,
and my dear great-grandmother, Stella Rankin.
Thy righteousness also, O God, is very high,
who hast done great things: O God,
who is like unto thee! Thou,
which hast shewed me great and sore troubles,
shalt quicken me again, and shalt bring me up again from the depths of the earth.
PSALM 71:19–20
Prologue
Dakota Territory, 1864
It was almost closing time, and in all of his seventeen years, James Collingwood could not remember being so bone-weary as he felt tonight. It seemed almost more than he could do to trudge one more time across the large dining room to the hotel’s kitchen and lift yet another pot of coffee.
The Christmas crowd had kept all the staff hopping this week. He had put in more than ten hours himself today—and that with only five hours of sleep last night. Of course it was no one’s fault but his own that he’d chosen to keep the candle burning and his nose in a book into the wee hours of the morning.
He ran a hand through his hair and mentally shook off the self-pity that threatened to take up residence in his mind. He knew all too well that he was lucky to be here, fortunate to be working long hours. If not for the mercy his employer had shown him, he might well be sitting under lock and key in the jailhouse across the street. He owed Mr. Browne more than restitution for his foolish offense. He owed him his life. Still, in spite of his gratitude that he was a free man able to provide for the needs of his mother and sister, his deep-held desire to continue his education consumed him. He wanted to attend the university and make something more of his life. He had begun to set aside a minuscule portion of his wages—after paying Mr. Browne the sum they’d agreed upon for restitution, of course. But he’d already missed the deadline for the new term at St. Bartholomew’s Academy over in Clairemore, and if his savings didn’t multiply any faster in the months ahead, it was doubtful he’d get in for the following term, either.
“Dear Lord,” he prayed, weaving his way through the queue of waiters lined up for their orders, “if You desire for me to attend the university, I know You’ll supply my needs. Help me to leave it in Your hands.” It was not a new prayer. He’d bothered the Almighty with t
hose words a dozen times in the past week. And he intended to bother Him as many times as it took to receive an answer. If that answer was no, he would accept it with grace; but until he heard otherwise, he would pray.
He took a steaming granite pot from the stove and carried it back out to the dining room.
“Care for more coffee, Sir?” he asked the gentleman seated at the head of a small corner table.”
“Why, yes,” the diner said, “I believe I will have one last cup. Thank you.”
The family at this table was pleasant and undemanding. Unlike some of the hotel’s patrons, who treated him like a lowly serf, this man and his wife had engaged him in polite conversation and had even inquired about his family. Throughout the evening, James had enjoyed watching their interaction. The couple chatted quietly yet were attentive to their children—an infant, who slept in a basket at their feet, and a talkative little girl of ten or eleven.
Yet something about watching the little family caused a deep ache in the region of James’s heart. He could scarcely remember what it was like to be part of a real family. His father had died when he was a tot, and his mother could hardly be a mother when all her time was taken up being a nurse to his sister. He didn’t fault Mama—or Sylvia. He’d lived long enough to know that they hadn’t chosen their lots in life. And in spite of everything, he knew Mama loved him.
He poured coffee for the man’s wife, checked on his other tables, and went back to the kitchen. Mr. Browne met him at the door.
“James, are you still here?”
“Yes, Sir.”
The older man put a hand on James’s shoulder. “Go on home. I’ll finish up for you here. You’ve been putting in some long days.”
“I don’t mind, Sir.”
Mr. Browne smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Go on now. I’ll hold your gratuities for you.”
Tracie Peterson, Tracey V. Bateman, Pamela Griffin, JoAnn A. Grote Page 39