Reluctant Bride (Dakota Brides Book 4)

by Linda Ford

  Nels came to the house with his plow horses. “Lila and Hettie, are you ready to come with me?”

  As if he really had to ask. The pair glowed with anticipation.

  “You be sure and rest,” he said.

  “I know I shouldn’t, but I will.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yes, I promise.” She put the baby in the cradle. “Sleep for a few hours, please.” She drew the blind in her room to keep out the heat and lay down. She should be getting on with her work. How often had she heard those words? And done her best to obey them? And her reward? Judgment and loss. She couldn’t let—

  She wakened to Merry crying and couldn’t think where she was. Not in Truman’s house. Where was Ray? And then she remembered she was now Agnes Bland, not Truman’s wife.

  “I’m coming, baby.” She changed the wet diaper and jostled Merry in one arm as she prepared the bottle.

  She took a chair outside and sat against the house to feed the baby.

  Nels looked her way and waved.

  She waved back. Her world glowed with joy. Like a pink rose.

  He unhitched the horses and led them to the barn.

  She came to her feet so suddenly Merry cried. Agnes had slept the morning away and had nothing prepared for dinner.

  Nels saw her panic and jogged over. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t have any food prepared.”

  “Don’t fret.” He took Merry. “I’ll finish feeding the baby. You have lots of bread. Just make us some syrup sandwiches.”

  “That’s not much for a working man.”

  He laughed. “Depends how many I eat.”

  She stared at him a moment, wondering if he was testing her. But his eyes were pure blue and guileless. “You sure are different than—” She fled to the kitchen before she blurted out the rest.

  He followed. “Different than who?”

  She shook her head.

  “Your husband?”

  “Him and his grandmother.” She wished she could speak without the bitterness in her words.

  “How am I different?”

  She sliced the bread so viciously, he caught her hand.

  “You’re going to cut yourself if you don’t slow down.” He waited until she relaxed. “Now tell me how I’m different.”

  She looked about, saw the girls had remained outside. “I looked after Truman’s grandmother after my parents died. She was very demanding. I had to do things just right. After she died, I married Truman. He was a widower with a young son and needed someone to take care of the boy and the house. He was even fussier. And sometimes he would test me. Say things like he didn’t care how I did a certain thing. Then he would be angry because I hadn’t done it right. By which he meant, his way.”

  “That seems rather unfair.”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers. So I was told over and over.”

  “You are no longer a beggar, and I am not going to test you.”

  “I’m beginning to believe that about you.”

  “Good. Was Truman your husband’s surname?”

  “No. His given name.”

  “Truman Bland?”

  She spread butter on the bread and a generous dollop of syrup. “Bland is my maiden name.”

  “Then you’ve never told me his surname.”

  She stopped her work and gave him a look full of determination. “For good reason. I never want to be associated with that family again.”

  “Agnes, I am sorry you had such a hard time. But now you have three little girls and a nice house. You do think it’s nice, don’t you?”

  At his pleading tone, she laughed despite the pain encircling her heart. A pain that had become a part of her very being. “It’s a very nice house and I thank you again for letting us live here.”

  “It’s my pleasure.”

  He’d said it before and she was beginning to believe him.

  She called the girls for dinner and they chattered away about all the wonderful things they’d seen while out with Nels. Close as she could figure, it was mostly bugs, grass, and rocks. But then perhaps they thought they’d found roses among the thorns. Could she believe it too?

  6

  Nels returned to work after dinner. His heart ached to think of the unkindness Agnes had endured. He would never treat her that way.

  The day was as hot as the previous one. The cows sought the shade of the tiny grove of trees. They were settling in to their new home better than he expected.

  He took Pat and Clyde in for a break midafternoon. He didn’t believe in pushing his animals too hard even if it was late in the year. That was his fault, not theirs.

  Agnes had put water in the tub for the girls again. He joined them as they sat in the shade that provided minimal relief from the heat.

  She offered him a glass of cold tea. He hadn’t ever enjoyed it before, but she had sweetened it and it quenched his thirst better than plain water.

  “Tell me about your sister,” she said. “The one you said you were close to.”

  “Elin. Yes, we were close. Still are. Our mother had four children after us. The last two were less than a year apart and it took a long time for her to get her strength back. I was eight when Kirsti was born. An old aunt came to look after Mor and the house. Elin and I needed Mor for something. I can’t even remember what, but Aunt jerked us aside before we could get to Mor’s room. She said we were old enough to look after ourselves. Poor Elin was only seven. That happened several times. Until I decided I would certainly take care of myself. I suppose Elin did the same, as she is very independent.”

  While he talked, Agnes had pressed her hand to his arm. “You had to grow up very early.”

  “I suppose I did. But I can’t say it’s done me any harm.” He shrugged. “Or maybe it’s part of the reason I wanted to start a new life in America where I wouldn’t feel like I was lost in our big family.” He startled and stared into Agnes’s nighttime-blue eyes. “Maybe that’s what I admired in Inga. She was an only child.” He shook his head. “Now don’t I sound all needy and spoiled?”

  She chuckled. “Or maybe just looking for something you’ve been denied.” She ducked her head. “I know what that’s like.”

  Somehow he found her hand and squeezed. “Here we are. Two people sharing our aloneness.”

  She lifted her face to meet his gaze. “It’s kind of nice.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “So you came to America to be alone but you don’t want to be alone?” Her eyes twinkled a hundred bright stars.

  He laughed. “I sound very confused, don’t I?”

  She tipped her head and studied him. “Maybe you simply had the need to move forward and find the life you wanted.”

  His throat tightened at her understanding. “I think you’re right. Anker was already here and loved the new land. Elin and I and Freyda all wanted to join him. I thought Inga shared my dream. I was wrong.”

  She squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry.”

  He’d never told anyone about how devastated he’d been when Inga abandoned him. Now a need to talk about it filled his heart. “The bottom fell out of my life the day I got that letter from Inga. She wrote, ‘I have changed my mind. I realize I don’t share your dream and have no wish to leave Norway. By the time this letter reaches you I will have married Gust Tolander. I hope you enjoy your new life in the United States of America.’

  “I read the words three times then threw the letter to the floor. What did she mean she didn’t share my dream? We had talked of nothing else but our new life in America. She pretended to be as excited as I. We planned a house. She said to be sure and have lots of room for lots of children.

  “The next day, I packed supplies to travel however long I wanted and left the house I’d built for her and the farm I thought we’d share. I stopped to inform Elin. For days I rode, full of bitter regrets. Then I got tired of riding and thoroughly tired of cooking over a campfire. I stopped at a ranch to ask for work. It was the best thing for
me. As I worked I lost my bitterness. I saw the Hereford cattle and liked them. I no longer regretted coming to America and knew what it was I wanted to do. I bought my little herd, drove it home.”

  She tried to withdraw her hand.

  He held it firmly. “And rather than coming back to an empty house and having to be alone, I now have you and the girls.”

  She didn’t meet his gaze.

  “Now I’ve spent the afternoon talking about myself. It’s strange, as I don’t consider myself to be one to share every detail of my life.” But it had felt good. She’d listened like she cared and offered understanding and comfort. “Thank you for listening.”

  “Listening is easy.”

  He heard a tremor in her voice and wondered what it meant. He leaned closer to get her to meet his gaze. “Too often people don’t listen. They don’t even hear. But I promise I will hear and listen if you want to tell me about losing your husband and the boy, Ray.”

  She looked past him, her eyes hiding any feelings. “I’ve told you.”

  He wanted to know more—where they’d lived, her married name, how she’d coped—but perhaps it was too painful for her to share that.

  Merry wakened. Agnes picked her up and headed for the house. “I’ll look after her.” She paused. “Will you be here a little longer?”

  “I’m not going back to work until after supper.”

  “Would you mind watching the girls?” Of course, she wasn’t comfortable leaving them to play unsupervised in the water.

  “I’ll be right here. Why don’t you bring Merry outside for her bottle?”

  “I’ll see.”

  He guessed that meant she wouldn’t return and he sat back to watch the girls happily splashing in the water. At times they sat in the tub. Other times they played outside the tub, dipping objects into the water.

  Agnes exited the house, carrying Merry and her bottle and sat beside him. She had chosen to be with him.

  His smile came from a spot deep inside.

  Agnes found having someone to talk to more and more to her liking. So much so she couldn’t bring herself to sit alone in the warm house while Merry drank her milk. Yes, it was cooler outside, but that wasn’t the real reason she rejoined Nels, and she knew it. She tried to remember the rules she had made for herself. Rules meant to keep her and the girls safe. But how could they be any safer than with a man who was kind and honorable?

  But she must remain cautious and vigilant.

  The baby finished her bottle and fell asleep.

  Nels took the baby. “Let me see if I can keep her awake during the day. Then she might sleep better at night.” He propped the baby on his drawn-up knees and lifted her arms up and down. Merry cracked open one eye.

  Agnes laughed. “She’s trying to tell you to leave her alone.”

  Nels sang a song in Norwegian. Although Agnes didn’t understand the words, she enjoyed hearing his voice. It seemed that little Merry did too, as her eyes opened and she focused on Nels.

  Agnes hated to leave the cozy scene, but she needed to make supper. She slipped away. She had cooked plenty of meat and potatoes the night before so she could serve cold sliced meat and potato salad along with raw carrots from the garden.

  She called the family in for supper. Family. The word wound around her heart. She’d wanted a family since her parents had died. She pushed aside the ache brought on by the word. Family, for her, would be raising three little girls and living a circumspect life to ensure she would never lose them.

  After supper, Nels returned to plowing and she put the girls to bed. They lay side by side, covered with a thin sheet.

  “Don’t forget to read us a verse,” Lila said.

  The girls certainly liked their rituals. She went to the bookshelf for their parents’ Bible.

  She had decided to read them words spoken by Jesus or about Him. She’d started in Matthew. Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.

  Mourning had become the song of her heart. Jesus promised she would be comforted. Surely it meant Jesus would comfort her.

  A smile tugged at her mouth. It was Nels who had offered comfort that eased the pain in her soul.

  The next day promised to be cooler and Nels returned to plowing while Agnes tackled making bread and cookies. The house grew hot with her baking so she took some mending outside while the girls worked on their grass and twig town. She put the baby on a blanket near the girls so they could talk to her and keep her awake a bit. Thanks to Nels’s efforts, Merry had slept better last night. Between that and her morning nap the day before, Agnes felt rested and renewed.

  From where she sat she could see Nels at work. Watching him plow, knowing he was nearby and that she could talk to him when he came in for dinner, filled her with a contentment she had not known since she was a child.

  Since she had felt safe and secure in her parents’ love.

  Such thoughts were forbidden. She told herself so over and over and yet her gaze went to Nels and she smiled.

  Nels stopped at the end of the field, looked her way, and waved.

  She waved back, her heart lifting along with her hand.

  He touched the brim of his hat and returned to plowing.

  A white-faced cow trotted by the pasture, heading east. Five other cows lifted their heads and trotted after her, then the rest followed. Only the bull remained where Nels had left them. He seemed happy enough to sit and chew his cud.

  Agnes thought the animals were coming for water but they trotted on by, their udders swinging, their tails waving. They didn’t slow as they passed the barn.

  Nels had his back to the animals and he didn’t see.

  “Nels,” she called.

  He didn’t hear.

  She dropped her mending. “Girls, stay here and watch Merry.” Picking up her skirts, she ran toward the field.

  Seeing her approach, Nels stopped. “What’s wrong?” he called.

  “The cows.” She pointed.

  He followed the direction she indicated and groaned. He wrapped the reins of the big horses to the handle of the plow and raced after the escaping animals. By cutting through the yard, he stood a chance of cutting them off.

  The lead cow heard him and broke into a gallop.

  Nels changed directions and ran into the barn.

  The cows continued on their merry way.

  The girls stood at Agnes’s side watching.

  “Where they going?” Hettie asked.

  “I think they want to go back to their old home,” Agnes said.

  Lila waved at them. “Come back. This is your new home. It’s good. Uncle Nels is very nice. Aunt Agnes is too.”

  Agnes smiled at the child’s praise. It was nice to know she liked their new home.

  Nels emerged leading his horse. He swung into the saddle and raced after them. He easily overtook them and he and his horse rode alongside the lead cow, forcing her to change direction.

  The cow ducked away. The horse changed direction as fast as the cow.

  Agnes grinned as she watched the contest between the cow and Nels on his horse. Back and forth they went, the man on horseback gradually winning the contest. Nels herded the cows past the barn and back to where the bull still chewed contentedly.

  He rode a wide circle around the animals as if to inform them they should stay within that boundary.

  Agnes thought he would ride back but he sat on horseback, watching the cows until he was satisfied they would stay. Only then did he return but, rather than go to the barn, he took his horse to the end of the field and left it saddled and grazing. He went back to the plow but spent as much time watching the cows as he did in guiding the big horses.

  Agnes gathered up her mending, and knowing Merry would soon want to eat, prepared a bottle. She’d left a pot of stew simmering on the stove. The bread was ready to put into pans. She did that before Merry cried, and then she fed the baby.

  By then it was time for dinner. She could already hear Nels making his way t
o the barn with Pat and Clyde.

  Lila talked to him. “Don’t they like it here?”

  Nels’s deeper voice explained they hadn’t gotten used to this being home yet. “Animals like familiar places, I guess.”

  “But they’ll be happy here. Right?”

  He chuckled. “Yes, they will. It doesn’t take much to make cows happy. Mostly food and water.”

  “They got that. So why do they run away?”

  “Who knows what a cow thinks? Not me.”

  They stepped into the house. Across the room, Agnes met Nels’s eyes. They were bright with humor.

  She knew hers were warm with welcome. She tried to put it down to the pleasure she’d had watching him turning the cows back. She waited until he washed and the girls were seated beside him at the table to put the stew on the table. He bowed his head and asked the blessing.

  “The cows were determined to leave.” She gave each girl a portion of the stew.

  “And I am determined they are going to stay. They’ll soon be happy to have good grazing.” He ate a mouthful of the food. “This is good.” He glanced toward the bread pans covered with a towel. “And fresh bread tonight.” He sighed. “Maybe I’m like the cows. Good meals make me want to be home.”

  Their gazes caught and held across the table.

  Her throat tightened until she could barely breathe at the look in his eyes. She would not allow herself to think he saw her as more than someone who made good meals, but the idea of being part of his desire to be home burrowed into her thoughts.

  “Uncle Nels. Uncle Nels.” Hettie demanded attention and Nels turned to her, freeing Agnes from the power of his gaze and the foolishness of her thoughts.

  “What is it, little darling?”

  “You chased the cows back home.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  She nodded, her eyes bright. “Now they will stay ’cause they know you’ll make them.”

  He chuckled. His gaze returned to Agnes’s. “I hope they stay because they want to.”

  Agnes teetered on the brink of something that frightened her every bit as much as it beckoned her. “The way you rode as you turned the cows was almost like a dance.”