by Linda Ford
Lena shifted Charlie to her other side, caught up in the story. It was the way Anker told it, full of pleasure and pride, and because he did not stumble looking for English words, she knew he had rehearsed it before he told her. Such thoughtfulness on his part, planning ahead for her, filled her with unexpected gratitude and joy.
“Joseph lifted Mary from the donkey and made her rest while he went a few feet away and prayed, beseeching God to provide their need. Nothing happened, but it is said Joseph returned to Mary’s side and comforted her. ‘God will provide,’ he said. As they sat there, they heard the rush of wings and looked up to see hundreds of little sparrows flying overhead. Each dropped a stalk of wheat with heavy heads of grain. They ate and were strengthened. And in gratitude, we always put out the grain for them.”
“That’s beautiful.” Lena’s eyes stung with unshed tears. “I wish I had stories from my childhood.”
He pulled her close. He had a habit of doing that, dropping an arm across her shoulders and pressing her to his chest. She didn’t know if it was another family tradition or even if he did it consciously. She only knew that even when she wanted most to keep a careful distance between them, she found great comfort in this gesture, feeling his strength, his offer of so much—things she couldn’t have no matter how her heart ached for them. Always she allowed herself at least a moment of enjoying the sense of closeness before she pulled away.
“You can start now.” He made it sound so easy.
“I don’t even know how. Seems my whole life has been defined by work, by striving, by owing.” She sounded miserable even to her own ears and she tried to laugh it off. “Poor Charlie, being raised by a mama who doesn’t remember being a child.”
Anker squeezed her shoulders again and tickled Charlie’s chin. “Charlie has a mama who loves him. Nothing to regret in that.”
“He has a papa who loves him too.” Shock raced through her like a raging Dakota winter. She clamped her lips together. Had she really said those words? Surely, Anker would think it was a slip of the tongue. “Had, I meant had. I meant Johnson.” Only she hadn’t. She’d been thinking of Anker.
Anker chuckled. “Yes, is true.” He lowered his head and kissed the top of Charlie’s head then turned and kissed Lena on the forehead.
What did he mean? What was true? What she said or what she should have said?
But before she could question him, he picked up a pole lying by his feet and stuck it into the center of the sheaf of wheat, then planted the pole firmly in a deep snowdrift. The stocks of wheat stood tall, waiting to feed the hungry birds. He reached over and took Charlie from Lena’s arms.
She scarcely noticed as she stared at the sheaf high on the pole. She’d seen that done before. She knew she had. But when and where? She held her breath as wispy pictures flickered through her mind. She heard a laugh, a woman’s laugh that seemed to grab her heart and squeeze it. She followed the sound. Saw a dark-blue coat with a black wooly collar. She liked the feel of the collar, all soft and cuddly. Brown hair rolled in a thick coil. Hair so soft and silky. But she couldn’t see the face. She concentrated. Willed the woman to turn. She held her breath and silently pleaded. Turn. Face me. Slowly the woman turned.
Lena gasped. “Mama.” Her legs crumpled and she fell to the ground. Cold drove through her knees but she didn’t care. “Mama.” She reached for the pictures in her mind. She clung to them. Saw the smiling lips, the gentle eyes.
Anker knelt beside her. “Lena, what’s wrong?”
She rocked her head back and forth. “Nothing,” she whispered. “Nothing’s wrong. I remembered my mother. She did this too.”
He wiped at her cheeks. She realized tears streamed down her face.
“Mama cry?” Charlie sounded concerned.
Lena wanted to console him, but her throat tightened so she couldn’t speak.
Anker rose and pulled her to her feet. “Let’s go to the house.” He led her inside and left her at the door while he took off Charlie’s coat and set him playing. “Your mama’s okay. You play here while I take care of her.”
Lena couldn’t move. She couldn’t stop the flow of tears.
Anker returned and eased her out of her coat then led her to the kitchen. “Now tell me what’s going on.”
She looked at him with overflowing eyes.
He opened his arms and she went into his embrace needing to be held as the first and only memory of her mother washed through her.
She silently soaked his shirtfront before the tears ended. They had come unheeded, unexpected, and ended as suddenly. She sniffled a bit then eased back, but embarrassed by her behavior, she couldn’t look at Anker.
He caught her chin with his fingers and lifted her face. “Tell me what’s happened.” He wiped her cheeks with his thumb, his touch gentle as a kiss.
“Mama used to put out the sheaf of wheat for the birds,” she whispered, her voice quivering. “I could never remember my mama, but now I do. I see her hair. I hear her voice. I remember the furry collar on her coat.” Her throat thickened and she feared she would cry again, only she suspected this time it would not be quiet and ladylike. She felt a desperate wail building and she pressed her fingers to her mouth.
He pulled her to his chest and patted her back. She gladly let him. From the shelter of his arms, she began to talk.
“I always wondered why I couldn’t remember anything about my mama. It was like I had never been a child.” She lifted her head and stared into Anker’s eyes. “She talked like you.”
“Then she was Norwegian. That’s why she put out the sheaf for the birds. And that’s why you are called Lena.”
She nodded, her heart too full of happy aching, her throat too clogged with tears to speak.
Anker smoothed her hair off her cheek and kissed each tear-laden eye. “Your mother loved you, didn’t she?”
She kept her eyes closed as she answered. “Very much. I remember how special I felt.” The same contented, cherished feeling swathed her as she rested in his arms.
“I think this is a very, very special Christmas gift from a loving God. He understood you needed to remember your mama and being loved.”
She nodded. Right now she could believe God loved her and cared about her. She could believe she was special.
“Mama, okay?” Charlie edged to her side, trying to wedge himself between her and Anker.
Lena sprang back and picked up her small son. “I’m very much okay. I was telling Papa about your grandmother.” She darted a look at Anker, feeling self-conscious and exposed, but the tender look he gave her eased her discomfort.
She smiled, somewhat shakily. “Now if I could discover what became of my father.”
“Have you ever looked for him?”
“Mrs. Miller made inquiries, to no avail. And when Johnson and I first came west, I asked at every little town we passed through. No one had heard of a Mr. Martin Gill.”
“Would he have gone by another name?”
“If he did, I wouldn’t know what it would be. I’m reconciled to having lost all record of him. It happens, I suppose.”
“Mama, I hungry.”
She sighed. Time to get back to reality. Work, responsibility, and planning for the future. It had been nice to have a little bit of the past and she would forever cherish the memory of her mother, but Anker was right, it was the future that mattered. She got Charlie a snack and then turned her attention to making supper.
Anker remained at the table as Charlie ate.
Lena felt Anker’s gaze on her as she tended to meal preparations. She sensed his concern for her. Finally, she faced him. “I’m sorry for being so emotional earlier but I’m fine now.”
Anker came to her side and hugged her. “You weren’t emotional. And I’m glad I was able to offer a bit of comfort when you needed it.”
She sensed he wanted to say more.
“I’ll always be here when you need me.” He waited as if expecting her to say something in response.
He’d hinted that he wanted more than this temporary marriage. She wished she could accept his offer, but she couldn’t. Even remembering her mama did not erase the knot inside her that would not allow her to trust another, give herself to another. She’d tried with Johnson, who seemed to understand her need to be equal, and that’s how they’d been. She sensed Anker didn’t care about being equal. He wanted to take care of her.
That was something she couldn’t accept.
Chapter 13
Lena wakened the next morning to a damp pillow. She sat up and grabbed her head. “Oh.” That’s what came of too much emotion. She gingerly eased from bed and tried to ignore Charlie’s usual chatter and high-energy level as she dressed him.
In the living room, he began his race around the room. She groaned. “He’ll wear a track in the floor.”
Anker gave her a hard look. “Are you sick?”
“Headache,” she murmured.
“Will you be all right?” He sounded concerned.
“I expect I’ll survive.”
“I was planning to be away today. I have some things that need doing, but if you need me to stay . . .”
“I’ll be fine.” If Anker was gone, she might even feel free to steal a nap while Charlie had his.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. Go tend to your business. I don’t need pampering.” She didn’t mean to be sharp, but every word echoed inside her head.
He nodded and returned to studying the pamphlet before him. Something to do with farm practices for the new settler. She promised herself she would read it thoroughly when she could open both eyes without a pain tearing through her brain.
Anker left as soon as he’d eaten breakfast and Lena waved him off with a sigh of relief. If Charlie was older, she would suggest Anker take him along. Instead, she set his toys before him. “Play quietly.” She sank into a chair and leaned her head back.
“Mama?” Charlie stood beside her, his dark eyes wide with worry. “Okay?” He patted her arm as if to comfort her.
“Goodness, child. You’re getting as bad as Anker for fussing over me.” She sighed. “Yes, I’m okay.” To reassure him, she pulled her knitting close. She might as well finish Anker’s mittens while he was away.
Later, after a short nap with Charlie, her headache disappeared and she put the finishing touches on the toy dog. It had turned out rather well. Just two more days and she could give it to him.
She prepared a big supper in anticipation of Anker’s return.
Charlie heard him drive into the yard before Lena did, and rushed to the window. “Papa. Papa.”
Lena remained at the kitchen doorway. She refused to admit the same eagerness.
“What Papa have?” Charlie asked.
“I don’t know.” But his question was enough to justify going to the window. In the dusky afternoon light, Anker came from the barn carrying a . . . tree? “It’s a Christmas tree.” Where had he found an evergreen on the bald-headed prairie? He carried a bucket in the other hand. It seemed to be full of sand.
Anker burst through the door. “I got our Christmas tree.” He grinned like a kid.
Lena planted her hands on her hips. “Yes, I see. But wherever from?”
“Nilssons went to visit their uncle and brought back half a dozen. I got the last one. Where shall we put it?”
“Tree?” Charlie touched it and drew back at the sharp needles.
Anker laughed. “Christmas tree, little man.” He glanced around the room. “Next to the window?”
“Fine.” She told herself it was only a pretty tree. She’d seen bigger ones. Mrs. Miller always got a tall one that reached the ceiling and decorated it with fancy glass balls. Lena had been forbidden to touch it or go near it. She’d had to sneak into the parlor to even get a look at it. She and Johnson had a tree of sorts last year—a bare poplar tree from a nearby bluff. She’d wrapped white rags around the branches to make it look like snow though it looked more like a torn sheet than anything. They had no ornaments and she’d draped bits of colored yarn over the branches. The whole thing had turned out to be a sad joke, but Johnson seemed happy. Lena could only be glad Charlie would never remember. Though she wondered what she’d be able to offer in the coming years. Somehow, she vowed, she’d find a way to make Christmas special for her and Charlie. She’d be like Anker and start some traditions.
Anker put the bucket in the corner and set the base of the tree into it. He adjusted it several times then stepped back. “Perfect.”
“What about decorations?”
“Wait here.” He took the ladder to the loft in two steps and clattered around among the boxes and trunks. He returned with a small wooden box. “Mor made sure I was properly equipped for a proper Christmas.”
“Let me guess. A Norwegian tradition.”
He chuckled and his blue eyes twinkled like bits of sunny blue sky had followed him indoors. “In this case, a Hansen tradition. Every year until we are twelve, we are given a decoration for the tree. Mor packaged up mine and sent them with me.” He opened the box and showed her. “Grandfar made these. They can be used to tell the Christmas story.” One by one, he lifted out delicately painted figures of Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus plus a sheep, a shepherd, a camel, and a wiseman. “Grandmor, before she died, knitted these red stars.” He held up six. “Mor gave me more than my share. She said she’d make new ones for the cousins at home.”
“And this?” She touched a tiny wooden drum complete with brass metal struts.
He didn’t answer at first, his expression, inscrutable. “It was Sigurd’s. His mor divided his things between the cousins.” His voice sounded thick, as if it hurt to remember the cousin who had died.
Touched by his feelings, Lena rested her hand on his forearm. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
He nodded, his blue eyes revealing his pain.
She wasn’t sure how to respond. She wanted to offer him comfort, but what could she do? She squeezed his hand, hoping to convey her sympathy.
Suddenly he brightened. “If he’s watching he will be pleased to see this in the new country. He wanted to be an adventurer like our ancestor, Leif Erickson.”
A swift relief swept through her that he returned to the cheerful demeanor she had grown to expect.
He put the box of ornaments on the stool. “We must add to the collection.” He went to his coat and pulled out two small packages. One he handed to Lena, the other to Charlie.
Lena hesitated. “But we won’t be here next year.”
His gaze burned into hers. “We won’t ruin today with talk of tomorrow.”
Feeling chastised, she nodded and folded back the paper to reveal a tiny star carved in perfect symmetry, and gilded gold. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” She couldn’t face him as something stirred and shifted in her heart. She had never had such a gift—given for no reason other than the season. She wanted to protest. Knew if she did so she risked offending him. Besides, she liked this gift. And she couldn’t even say why, only that it seemed to signal something special about to happen. Her whole insides tensed with anticipation. Then she shook her head and dismissed the silly notion. The only thing it signified was the value Anker placed on family traditions.
“Mama, look.”
Glad of the diversion, she looked at Charlie’s ornament—a carved ball painted exactly like the ball Anker had bought.
“Ball,” Charlie said with solemn certainty.
“To put on the tree, son. Thank Papa for it.”
Charlie wrapped his arms around Anker’s knees. “Thank you, Papa.”
Anker scooped him up and rubbed noses with him. “My pleasure, little man. It’s all my pleasure.” The look he gave Lena included her in his statement.
Her cheeks warmed at both his look and his words.
“Now let’s decorate our tree.” He held Charlie toward the small evergreen and helped him hang the ball. He handed the red stars to Lena to put on. They hung the nativity figures and Sigurd’s dr
um. “Now your star.”
She still clutched it in her palm. Thinking a whole new world beckoned, she placed it on the top branch and stood back, letting a fresh, new feeling wash over her. She had the sensation that she quivered on the edge of something profound and special.
Anker dropped his arm across her shoulders and pulled her close.
She tried to be casual about it, but everything inside her ached to press to his chest and cling to his strength. Hoping he would think it was nothing more than her reaching for Charlie, she allowed herself to lean into him.
He began to sing in his strong sure voice.
She didn’t know the unfamiliar Norwegian words but she knew the song, “Silent Night.” She joined him in English. As they sang together, she looked into his face. At the steady promise in his eyes, her worries and fears, her reluctance and uncertainty, faded.
The song ended and they still looked unblinkingly at each other. Then Anker leaned over and kissed her gently and so quickly she didn’t have time to respond, and before she could dredge up a protest, as she knew she should, he kissed Charlie and tickled him.
The time to object to his kiss escaped, which was a good thing, as an hour later, she still couldn’t find any appropriate words.
After supper they settled around the fire with letters he’d brought from town. She had a short letter from Sky with Christmas greetings.
“By the way.” Anker looked up from reading his letters from home. “We are to join the Nilsson family tomorrow for the traditional Christmas Eve celebration.”
She didn’t want to go. Already she was far too involved in Anker’s traditions, but knowing how important it was to him, and how much she owed him, she stifled her protests. “What time will we leave?”