by Linda Ford
“Papa,” Milo began, his tone cautious. “Mrs. Haevre tells us lots of stories about Norway. She said you could tell us stories about America.”
“She did, did she?” Ward’s gaze held hers. He looked deep into her eyes. As if searching for a reason for her to say such a thing.
She would not think whether it was warning or welcome she saw. “They’d like to hear what it was like when you were a boy.”
His mouth tightened. His eyes darkened.
She understood he remembered the harsh treatment of his boyhood. “Do you remember your first horse? Did you have any pets?”
The tension drained from his face. “I had a pet cat. She followed me everywhere and meowed at me like she wanted to talk.”
“What did she look like?” Milo asked.
“She was short-haired. Her ears had been frozen so they were short too. She was mostly gray with some black and orange.”
“Where did you get her?” Milo twitched with eagerness.
“I found her in the barn and we became friends.” He shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but Freyda knew better. The cat had meant a lot to him.
“Did you play games with her?” Milo wasn’t going to let the subject end until he had more details.
“Did she sleep with you?” Kit asked.
Ward looked so shocked at the idea that Freyda laughed.
“I’m going to guess that she didn’t.”
“What happened to her?” Milo persisted.
Ward’s expression hardened. “Cats don’t live forever.”
Milo sank back. “She died.”
Tears filled Kit’s eyes. Then he sat up. “Papa, can we have a cat?”
Ward glanced at Freyda, accusation in his eyes. “You would be hurt when your cat died.”
“Please, Papa,” Kit begged. “Sometimes I gets so lonely.”
Freyda’s lips twitched at this little bit of drama.
“I don’t know of any cats being given away.” Ward seemed glad of the fact.
“But if we find someone, can we have a cat?” Milo added his plea to Kit’s.
“We’ll see.”
Milo and Kit both slouched forward.
“That means no,” Kit whispered to Freyda.
She couldn’t help herself. She laughed.
Ward looked startled. Then confused. It made her laugh harder. When she could speak she tried to answer the silent question on three faces. “It’s fun to see how much you are like my own family.”
Milo studied her a moment. “You didn’t have pets?” He’d taken her words to mean something different, but that was okay.
“We always had dogs and cats. Some were pets. Some were wild.”
“A wild cat?” Milo looked intrigued.
“Like mine.” Kit said.
Freyda wasn’t sure what he meant and looked to Ward for an explanation.
“The piece of wood on his windowsill.”
“Of course. Sort of like that.” She tried to bring her gaze back to Kit but it was caught by the amusement in Ward’s eyes.
“I’m done,” Milo said. “Can I go outside?”
Ward blinked. “Don’t get dirty or you’ll have to have a bath.”
The boys slipped away leaving Freyda alone with their father. She told herself she had no reason to be uncomfortable. After all, they’d eaten many meals together in the past week. And she’d followed him to the field and the barn.
But something had changed since he’d stood behind her with his arms around her. Her mind said it meant nothing, but her heart would not listen.
Ward pushed aside his plate and drained his coffee cup. “Do you mind staying while I run to the creek and clean up?”
“Not at all.” She hurried to the stove and shook the kettle although she already knew it was full of water, hot and ready to wash dishes.
He went into his room and reappeared in a few minutes with towel and clean clothes.
She kept her gaze on the dishpan full of dishes until he closed the door behind him.
The boys came in. “Do you know anyone with cats to give away?”
“I don’t know anyone around here but you and your papa. My brother lives on the other side of Grassy Plains.” She hoped her answer would satisfy them but Milo persisted.
“He might know someone.”
“Maybe.” She put away the last of the clean dishes.
“Could you ask him?”
She sat beside Milo. “I couldn’t ask him unless your papa gives permission.”
Milo studied her, his dark eyes so reminiscent of Ward’s. “Why not?”
“Because he is your papa.”
Milo hung his head and let out a deep sigh.
Merry whistling drew the attention of all three toward the sound. It came from the direction of the creek. Ward? Freyda had never heard his whistle before.
“It’s Papa.” Milo dashed for the door with Kit hard on his heels.
Freyda followed more slowly and stopped at the window to watch the two boys fling themselves at Ward. He dropped the towel and items of clothing he held and swept them both into his arms.
His laughter carried across the yard. He had been in this jolly mood all day. She was at a loss to understand it.
He reached the house and saw her at the window. “May I see you home?”
His words were so formal that she felt she was being courted. Her throat tightened until the only way she could answer was to nod.
He waited at the door for her to join them and they fell into step on the path toward her house. The boys ran ahead. Twice she caught the word cat in their conversation.
“Tomorrow is Sunday,” Ward said.
Freyda laughed. “Yes, it is.”
“I will take the boys to church. Would you care to come with us?”
Again, it sounded like the invitation of a man to a woman, not neighbor to neighbor.
“No point in you bothering to hitch a horse to your wagon.”
So much for her thought. She laughed softly. “Besides, it would likely take me until Monday to do so.”
“You’re learning fast. You’ll soon be really good at it.”
“Thank you. Yes, I’d like it if I could ride to church with you.” She hadn’t gone since she moved to the farm because she couldn’t face dealing with the horses. But Ward’s praise renewed her determination. “I am going to learn how to make the horses work for me. I am going to learn to do my own farming. I am going to—” She wasn’t sure what she meant to prove. That she could take care of herself? That she would do something to make people see she wasn’t just a little sister, or someone to tend the children? The truth was, she enjoyed tending children, Ward’s especially.
Ward chuckled. “I hope you don’t figure to learn to do all that today.”
She laughed.
They reached her house and stopped at her door. Milo and Kit had run to the chicken yard to watch the hens scratching about.
“Come on, boys,” Ward called. “Time to go home.” He faced Freyda. “I’ll come by in the morning for you.”
All she could do was nod.
“Good night.” Whistling, he strode toward home, the two boys running ahead of him.
“Good night,” Freyda managed to whisper, knowing he wouldn’t hear her. She dashed out to shut the chickens in. Checked to make sure the horses had water then raced into the house and set water to heat for her bath.
She smiled as she shook out her blue satin dress.
Church had never seemed to inviting.
Her hands fell idle. It was only because she couldn’t get there on her own. Only because she enjoyed the company. And had a fondness for two little boys
She had her goals set out before her and would not let anything interfere.
She would not allow her plans for the future to be sidetracked by Milo and Kit’s handsome father.
5
After the boys were in bed, Ward spent several hours telling himself that taking Freyda to church was nothing
out of the ordinary. Just as he’d told himself time and again that putting his arms around her to help her guide the horses had meant nothing. He would not be so foolish as to think she was different in every way from both his aunt and his dead wife.
Why did he have to keep repeating it? He believed it completely and wholly, yet his heart didn’t follow along as it should.
It had surprised him to be whistling and he tried to think when he had last done so. Aunt Myra objected to the sound. Dorothy had complained it made her head hurt. He’d restricted his whistling to times when he was far enough away from the house she couldn’t hear. After her death, he hadn’t felt like whistling.
But here he was driving the wagon to the Haevre place, whistling happily. Twice he forced himself to stop and twice discovered he whistled again.
“You happy, Papa?” Kit asked.
“Guess I am.”
“’Cause we’re going to church?”
“That’s part of the reason.”
Milo nudged Kit. “It’s ’cause he’s taking Mrs. Haevre to church.” He turned to Ward. “That’s okay, Papa, ’cause we like her too.”
Ward pressed his lips tight. His whistling had given the boys the wrong idea. No more whistling.
They reached the Haevre farm. He stopped at the door and jumped down.
Freyda stepped out. She wore a dress as blue as lake water. It make her eyes bluer than blue. Her blond hair peeked out from under a blue bonnet.
“You look very nice.” His tongue could hardly form the words.
She gave a little curtsy. “Thank you, kind sir. And may I say that you look very nice too.” Pink stained her cheeks and she looked at the boys rather than at him. “You two look nice too.”
The boys grinned and Milo nudged Kit. “Told you so.”
Ward stopped smiling and held his hand out to assist Freyda to the seat. He curled his fingers as he stepped away, capturing the warmth of her hand even though she wore spotless white gloves.
He climbed up beside her, the boys behind them, pressed to his shoulder. One glance back at them and he grinned. Their eyes were wide with admiration as they stared at Freyda.
“Sit down, boys, and we’ll be on our way.”
They sat, backs to the side of the wagon so they could keep their adoring gazes on Freyda.
He glanced at her, half expecting her cheeks would be pink from the way they studied her.
She carried a little drawstring bag and opened it. “I have an English Bible. I miss the familiarity of my Norwegian Bible, but I am determined to be American in every way.”
Milo leaned forward to speak to her. “You can’t be.”
“Why not?” She sounded curious, rather than offended.
“’Cause you were born in Norway. Papa, where was I born?”
When had either of the boys expressed so much interest in their past, or his past? “Milo, you were born in a little town in Ohio. Your mama and I lived there for a short while.” He knew Kit would be next. “Kit, you were born in Iowa. I worked for a farmer there. He told me all about free land in the Dakota Territory. Said if he didn’t have ten mouths to feed he would be staking out a homestead. ‘That’s what a young fella like you should do,’ he said. ‘It’s a wonderful opportunity.’ I thought so too, so when Kit was a year old, we came west and here we are.”
The boys sat back, their attention caught by a hawk soaring overhead.
Freyda pointed. “Look at those animals. They aren’t deer. What are they?”
“Antelope,” Ward said. “Or more correctly, pronghorn. They can run up to ninety-five miles an hour, I’m told.”
“Who told you?” Milo asked, but Ward felt all three of the passengers waiting for his answer.
“An old hunter I met the first year I was out here.”
“What was his name? What did he look like?” Milo knelt behind Ward, quivering with interest.
Ward chuckled. “You boys will like this story. Trapper was big. I saw him lift a full-grown man like a sack of potatoes. He had a beard that he kept trimmed to here.” He held his hand three inches below his chin. “It was always clean and brushed. He was loud and his voice was as deep as thunder. When he spoke the rafters rattled. But he was a good, kind man.”
“Where is he now?” Kit wanted to know.
“I expect he’s gone to the mountains to hunt.”
“Oh.”
Ward chuckled. “So much disappointment in a little word.”
“Well, I’d like to see him.”
“Me, too,” Milo said. “How’d you meet him?”
“He had a donkey named Betsy Girl. He was very fond of that donkey, but she got sick and needed to rest someplace so I said he could keep her in my barn even though it wasn’t finished. He was here almost a month. He never came indoors.” Dorothy would have complained mightily if he had. “He cooked over a fire outside and slept in the barn right beside his Betsy Girl. But in the daytime, he helped me work on the barn, helped with fences though he said neither man nor beast should be confined by them. And he talked. That man could talk the hind leg off his donkey. I wondered if Betsy Girl hadn’t gotten sick so she could rest her ears for a spell.”
The boys listened wide-eyed. When he finished, Freyda chuckled.
Ward’s gaze met hers and for the space of a heartbeat, he forgot everything but the blue of her eyes and the way she smiled. He felt her gaze dip deep into his heart. It was a pleasant sensation. Much like a warm, sweet drink.
A wagon came alongside them. “Howdy, Ward.”
Ward introduced Freyda. “My neighbor. Mrs. Haevre, meet Klaus and Gerda Hoffmann. They live across the creek and up three miles from my place.”
They, too, were on their way to church and continued down the road at a faster pace than Ward. He slowed even more to avoid their dust.
Milo and Kit sat back against the sides of the wagon, their expressions tight.
Ward glanced at them then at Freyda. “What’s wrong?” He tipped his head toward the pair.
She studied them a moment then turned and slid closer to speak quietly so the boys couldn’t hear her. “Do you take them to church every Sunday?”
“Most every Sunday.”
“Then it isn’t the thought of seeing so many people. I suppose they might be afraid of encountering Mrs. Wright.”
His jaw creaked. “She won’t bother them anymore.”
“I know it’s not my business, but how many women have cared for them since their mother passed?”
“Four. I wouldn’t get anyone if I didn’t have to.”
“Why did you let them go?” Her words were soft.
He knew it was so the boys wouldn’t hear their conversation, but her gentle tone went a long ways to calming his twitching nerves. “One had more interest in me than in the boys.”
Freyda chuckled. “I can see that wouldn’t suit you.”
“Well, she was not much more than a youngster.”
“Really? And how old would that be.”
“She was nineteen. I’m twenty-eight and way too old for her, though I suppose the age difference wouldn’t matter if I was interested. I wasn’t.” From what Baruk had said, he knew Freyda to be twenty-two. Not much older than that first girl, but so much more grown up.
He shook his head to straighten out his thoughts and turned back to the conversation. “The others either neglected the boys or were cruel to them. I suspected Mrs. Wright long before I saw it firsthand.” He groaned. “My poor boys. It’s the one thing I vowed they would never experience.”
She touched the back of his hand. “They are good, happy boys.”
“You think so?” He couldn’t help the hunger in his words and in his eyes.
“I do, indeed.” They were in town and joined others making their way to the church. She withdrew her hand and sat up prim and proper.
They parked and made their way to the steps. They kept the two little boys between them.
“Freyda.” A blond man with a brown-hair
ed young woman at his side hurried toward them. The man held the hand of a small boy with black hair and black eyes. There was no mistaking the native heritage of the youngster.
The couple reached them and both of them hugged Freyda. “You are okay?”
Freyda laughed. “Are you surprised to know I am?” She turned to Ward. “This is my near neighbor, Ward Rollins, and his two boys, Milo and Kit. Ward, this is my brother, Anker, and his wife, Lena. And this little fellow is their son, Charlie.”
Her brother? Well, that was a relief, though why should it matter to him?
Milo and Kit pressed to his sides. He looked around to see what bothered them and saw Mrs. Wright and a couple of her cronies staring at them.
Another man joined them, blocking them from Mrs. Wright’s view.
The others chattered in Norwegian until Freyda stopped them. “We must speak English now.” She moved to Ward’s side. “Ward, this is my cousin, Nels.” She turned back to the second man. “Any news from Elin?”
“Not yet.”
Ward tried to keep up with all the talk but failed.
Anker caught his sister’s attention. “You must come home with us for the afternoon and catch up on all the news.”
“I’d like to, but I have come with the Rollinses.”
“They are invited too.”
Ward looked at his boys. “Would you like to visit Mrs. Haevre’s family?”
Milo looked at Anker. “Are you from Norway too?”
“Yes, I am.”
Milo nodded. “Then I should like to visit your home.”
“Me too.” Kit was not about to be outdone.
They made their way inside and sat beside Freyda’s family. The boys sat on either side of him, with Freyda on the other side of Kit.
Ward settled himself comfortably in the pew and looked at the others. So this is what it felt like to have family.
It might prove interesting to see how Freyda’s family treated her. He had the impression she wasn’t taken as seriously as she would have liked.
Freyda glanced out the corner of her eye trying to gauge how Ward felt about her family. And these were only a few of them. She could have refused Anker’s invitation though it had come more as an order, but she longed to see them all, even though she knew she would endure questioning and more arguments about what she was doing.