by Linda Ford
Freyda followed him to the field to harness the horses as she did every day. Although it was early morning, sweat dripped from her chin as she worked. Successfully done, she wiped her face. “We surely could use a rain.”
He glanced to the west. “This heat could bring us a thunderstorm.”
She jolted upright and scanned the sky. “I do not like thunder and lightning. Why do we say it that way when it’s lightning and thunder?” She shivered. “Once I saw a tree hit by lightning. Split it from top to bottom and then it turned into a huge torch.” Her words rushed out as if driven by a stormy wind.
“I’ve never seen lightning hit anything.” He hoped he sounded soothing.
“When I was little my grandfather told a story about a family whose house was struck and the building burned to the ground so fast they couldn’t escape. Grandfather said they found the remains of the bodies a few steps from their beds. That was as far as they got.”
“Seems an odd story to repeat to a child.”
She shuddered. “Grandfather thought we should be informed.”
“So you could do what? Shake at the mere mention of a thunderstorm?” He touched her shoulder, hoping to calm her.
She jolted away with a yip. “You scared me.”
He tried to laugh it off. “Did you think a lightning bolt had come out of nowhere and hit you?”
“Don’t mock. It’s not funny.” She turned full circle. “I don’t see a storm coming.”
He decided not to mention how fast such storms came up. “We sure could use the rain.”
She looked at him. “I know it’s true.” But her eyes were clouded. Obviously, what she knew and what she felt were not the same.
He well knew the confusion of that problem and patted her shoulder. “Don’t look so worried.”
“I can’t help it.” Her gaze bored into his. “If a storm comes up, you are out here like that tree, just waiting to be struck.” A shudder ran down her entire body.
“I’ll be okay.”
“That’s what the tree thought too. And those people who died.”
“I’ll have to stop seeding if it rains.”
“Good. See that you do. I’ll leave you to your work.” As she returned to the house where the boys played with her kitten, she continually looked at the sky.
If he’d known her fear, he would never have mentioned the possibility of a thunderstorm. Now, concerned for her, he kept a close eye on the sky. When he saw thunderheads building along the horizon, he considered going to the house and warning her, but decided against it. What would be the use? So he kept working, trying to get as much done as he could. He would not stop unless it rained.
Thunder sounded in the distance and Freyda hurried the boys indoors.
Should he check on her?
He decided there was no need. They were safe. He was safe. And he made another pass down the field.
The wind increased. Clouds darkened the sky. One cloud curled and twisted. Another rose high into the sky. Lightning flashed. Thunder boomed. Boss and Boots grew nervous. Not wanting to deal with a couple of runaways, he unhitched the pair and took them to the barn. The air turned greenish and he looked about. The clouds churned, but it was nothing he hadn’t seen before. Freyda’s nervousness had made him edgy.
He put the horses in the barn, tended to them as quickly as he could, and went to the house.
Inside, he looked for Freyda and the boys. He called them, but thunder drowned out his words. He strode through the kitchen into the sitting room. She sat in the armchair, both boys clutched to her sides. Her eyes were wide. The boys held tight to her.
“Freyda.”
She blinked. “You’re here. You’re safe.”
He knelt before her and removed the boys. “Milo, take your brother to the kitchen. Check on the kitten.” He’d seen it asleep on a mat by the stove.
Milo hesitated.
“I’ll take care of her,” Ward assured his son.
Milo led Kit away, stopping at the door to look again at Freyda.
Ward took Freyda’s hands. They were as icy as winter snow. “Freyda, you are safe. We are all safe.”
When she didn’t look at him, he caught her chin and turned her face to his. “Freyda.” He spoke her name softly, tenderly.
She blinked. Her eyes focused and her gaze clung to his. A shudder shook her. “Thunderstorms frighten me.”
“I can see that.” He put his hands on her shoulders and stilled her shivers. “But you are safe.”
She touched his cheek. “You are here. I was so worried when you stayed out.”
“I was doing my best to get your crop sown.”
She smiled. “It doesn’t seem all that important at the moment.”
Did she mean his safety meant more to her than her farm? Humph. That was making her words mean a lot more than she likely intended.
She looked around. “Where are the boys?”
“In the kitchen. Can I get you something? Tea? Coffee?” he asked.
“Sounds good.” Just as she got to her feet, lightning lit up the room and within seconds, thunder boomed. She grabbed him. “That was close.”
He held her a moment then guided her to the next room, led her to a chair, and had her sit down. He glanced out the windows as he went to the stove. Saw nothing afire and relaxed. Again, he was letting her fears affect him. He filled the coffeepot and found some cookies.
“Listen,” he said, tipping his ear toward the roof. “Rain. Let’s see it.”
The boys rushed to the door. Freyda shook her head.
“The storm has passed.” He took her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Come, enjoy the rain.” She came reluctantly.
At the open door, he held her to his side, liking the way she clung to him.
Lightning flashed in the distance. Muted thunder rolled. Freyda lifted her head and sniffed. “The rain smells nice.”
“It is much needed.” But too soon the clouds passed overhead and the rain stopped. “I won’t be able to work the rest of the day.” It was a perfect opportunity to pick up some needed supplies. “Would you like to go to town?”
“Town?” She eased from his embrace. “Is it safe to leave the place? What if there’s—” She looked at the two little boys standing nearby and, lowering her voice, leaned close. “A fire?”
He looked deeply into her eyes. “Are you planning to stay home every day for fear of what if?” Why did the words reverberate through his thoughts?
She looked at the sky. “That storm was real.”
“And it’s over.” Again, it felt as if he spoke to himself. But he wasn’t afraid of storms. At least not that sort of storm. He didn’t know what sort of storm he meant. “How long will it take you to get ready to go?”
She looked at herself. “I guess I could go as I am. All I need is a bonnet and my clutch bag.”
“Then you’ll have to wait for me. I will take the boys home, tidy them up and get the wagon.”
Freyda watched until Ward and his sons were home then scurried around. She would make a lunch for them that they could eat on the way. Why had she been so foolish about a little storm? She shuddered. Even knowing that her fear was irrational didn’t make it disappear. It was a good thing Anker hadn’t witnessed her reaction. Wouldn’t he use it for a reason to point out how she couldn’t manage on her own?
“I can. I won’t be afraid of the next storm.” What if she was alone next time? She wasn’t alone. She had Smokey and she had a God who calmed the seas. She drew in a steadying breath and packed the lunch into a basket.
She was ready. On second thought, she grabbed a shawl. The storm had cooled the air and she might need it before they got back.
Ward drew up in the wagon and they were on their way.
“I have food.” Her announcement was greeted with cheers. She passed sandwiches to each of them and kept one for herself.
“This is nice,” Ward said.
“Yes.” She looked about, meaning the mil
d breeze and the clearing sky as much as the food. “It’s very nice.”
They reached Grassy Plains where there must have been more rain than at her farm for the street was a quagmire of chewed-up mud. Ward stopped in front of Lowe’s store. “I have to go to the blacksmith’s. Do you want to shop here and wait until I get back?”
She looked at the mud. “I certainly don’t want to navigate the streets.”
He lifted her from the wagon and swung her to the wooden steps. A thrill raced up her veins, but she pushed it firmly back into place. “I’ll keep the boys with me.”
He set them beside her and the three of them went into the store.
She’d met the Lowes on previous occasions and they greeted her cordially.
Mrs. Lowe looked at the boys. “So you’re the newest housekeeper.” She barely stopped herself from sniffing.
“Oh no. Just neighbors. Mr. Rollins was kind enough to give me a ride to town. In return, I said I would take the boys with me so he didn’t have to worry about them while he does his business.” Let the woman think what she wanted of the situation. “I need—” She rattled off her list, and Mrs. Lowe got busy filling Freyda’s requests.
The boys edged closer to the counter and eyed the display of candy. She joined them. “We’ll each have a penny’s worth.” As Mrs. Lowe waited on the boys’ choices, Freyda pulled her letters for Norway from her bag and handed them to Mr. Lowe.
“Must be hard to be so far from your family,” he said. He handed her two letters from Norway. One from her mor, the other from Grandfather. She’d read them at home where she could shed a few tears if she felt like it.
“I miss them for sure. But I am where I want to be.” It was true, she realized. She wouldn’t go back. Coming to America was the right thing for her. But a portion of her heart remained unsettled. With a casualness she was growing good at, she pushed aside the thought.
The boys had their candy and she chose hers. She put in extra pieces to share with Ward. Mrs. Lowe’s eyebrows rose. Freyda did nothing to satisfy the woman’s barely constrained curiosity.
With the boys at her side, she circled the store, taking note of the things she might purchase to help her through the lonely evenings ahead and the long winter days. A blank journal. That was a good idea. Needlework supplies. She could do that. She paused at the few books. It would do her good to read some English books.
The door opened. Milo and Kit raced to their father.
Freyda’s eyes connected with his over the distance, but she looked away quickly. No need to give the watching woman any reason to jump to false conclusions. Freyda guessed it wouldn’t take much for that to happen.
Ward waited for the Lowes to fill his order then carried everything to the wagon. He lifted her into the wagon. Liking the sensation of being held in the air, safe in his care, she smiled as she settled on the seat. She examined her thoughts. How did they go with her need for independence? Why was she so confused about what she wanted when she’d been so certain of it when she left Norway? Something had changed. She knew it was meeting Ward and his sons and working with him.
She opened the little paper bag and offered him a candy.
He chose a peppermint. “Thanks.”
She patted the letters in her pocket. “I heard from home.” It was a safe thing to think about and to talk about.
He drove them out of town. The sun was warm. The sky clear. Birds sang noisily from the trees as they passed. Flowers raised their colorful heads in the grass.
“You must miss them a lot.” Ward studied her as if searching for loneliness and maybe regret.
“I do, but I am enjoying my new home and my new neighbors. Oh, and my cat. He’s good company.”
“You failed to mention Boots and Boss.” He said it with a deadpan expression but she knew he teased and she laughed.
“I think I will always consider them a challenge.” After a moment, she added, “But then, I like a challenge. Always have.”
“Always?”
Remembering a few of the challenges she had faced, she chuckled. She told him of the time she had not been allowed to skate down the river with Anker and Signe. “But the next time they went, I didn’t ask. I simply laced on my skates and followed them. By the time we reached our aunt and uncle’s home, I was almost crying but I wouldn’t let them know. And I never admitted to the blisters on my feet.”
“No wonder Anker worries about you.”
She bristled. “No one needs to worry about me. I can do whatever I set my mind to.”
He nodded, his gaze on the road ahead.
She wished she could tell what he was thinking. Did he admire her for her determination? Did he see it as an asset or a liability? Did it make him want to be part of her life or stay as far away from her as possible? Which wasn’t very far considering they were neighbors. But he gave no indication of his feelings.
“One of the happiest moments of my life was the year Grandfar helped ten of us each plant a little garden. He said he would give a special treat to the one who grew the biggest turnip, the biggest cabbage, and the biggest pumpkin. I won in all three. And Grandfar gave me a rare old coin called a rigsdaler. I still have it. It is one of my most cherished possessions.”
“Success is very important to you, isn’t it?”
She considered her answer carefully. “Maybe it’s not success so much as having people see me as someone to take seriously.”
He looked at her, his eyes guarded so she couldn’t guess his thoughts. “You don’t think people see you for who you are?”
She couldn’t look away. “I guess you could say it that way.”
He touched her shoulder. “Maybe it is you who has to learn to see yourself as the person you want to be.”
She lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. “Sometimes I’m not sure who I am or what I want.” She jerked away and faced straight head. “I didn’t mean that.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment but she waited, hoping he would offer some kind of comfort or assurance. Anything to ease this uncertainty tearing at her insides.
“I think you spoke unguardedly, and so there is more truth in your words than you want to believe.”
So much for comfort and understanding. “You’re wrong. I know exactly what I want.”
“To be a woman farmer?”
The fact that his tone remained completely neutral made it impossible for her to take offense. She was left having to confront the question. Was it what she wanted? If she said no, then why had she fought so hard to come to America? Just to prove she could? That made her sound like a petulant child. That was one thing she would not be.
Not wanting to continue this line of conversation, she asked him what news he had learned in town.
“Well, the Hamiltons have bought a new bull. The talk is he is big and well-muscled. Yup. Sounds like a good purchase. ’Course with all those sons, he needs to expand his farm.”
“Hmm.” She’d hoped for something a little more interesting.
“Heard too that one of the Hamilton boys is courting the oldest Nilsson girl. You know them?”
“I know the Nilssons. But Kirsten can’t be more than fourteen years old.”
“Getting nigh on to marrying age.”
“Really?” Did he hear the warning in her voice? “I’m twenty-two. Does that make me a spinster?”
“You’ve been married. That makes you a widow.”
“I know that.” How could she have momentarily forgotten? She looked to her right, not wanting to meet Ward’s look, but she felt his study of her. “Well, sometimes it’s hard to remember. He’s been gone longer than I knew him.”
“And this is all so new and different?”
“Yes.” She was grateful for an excuse for her lapse. They arrived at her place and he helped her down then carried her purchases into the house.
He stood at the table, his hands jammed into his pockets. “I’ll be back tomorrow unless it rains more.”
Her
muscles froze. “Another thunderstorm?”
He caught her shoulder. “We get lots of rain without thunder and lightning.”
“I know I’m being foolish. I can’t help it.”
“I guess we all have things we’re afraid of whether or not it makes sense.”
“What are you afraid of?” Knowing he had a weakness would go a long way to easing the frustration she felt at herself over this fear.
He dropped his hand from her shoulder and stepped back to the table. “I fear—” He broke off. Shook his head. “I need to get the boys home.” He hurried away as if running from her.
Before she reached the door, he was rolling down the trail. What had he been about to say? Did he fear her? Why would he?
11
Ward’s jaws hurt by the time they reached home, but he couldn’t make his muscles relax. She’d asked what he feared. The answer had burst into his brain and almost out of his mouth.
He feared trusting someone and being disappointed.
He didn’t mean trust them to fulfill an agreement, or to deliver goods they’d promised. He meant trust them to treat him kindly. By extension, he also meant to guard his boys from the kind of treatment he’d been subjected to.
But he trusted Freyda, and that frightened him. Especially when she was so adamant about wanting to manage on her own. There was no room in her life for failure or even for adjustment of her goals. That left no room in her life for someone like Ward—a disillusioned man with two sons to raise.
There was only one thing between himself and Freyda—their agreement to work together.
He repeated the warning to himself throughout the evening, after he’d tucked the boys into bed, and the next morning as he went to Freyda’s farm. Only a few more days were needed to get her crop in and their agreement would come to an end.
Then there was new land to plow. How would he manage the boys on his own? How would she manage the horses on her own?
She had Boots and Boss harnessed to the seeder when he arrived.
That answered his second question.
“You did it on your own,” he said.
“That’s my goal.”
Any hope he had that she might continue to need him faded. That was good, he told himself repeatedly as the morning progressed. The boys had settled down considerably since Freyda started caring for them. That gave him hope that he could take them to the field with him and let them play within sight.