by Linda Ford
“You’re back. I thought you’d left me.” His teeth chattered so much she could barely make out the words.
“You might have a little faith in me.” Ignoring how much his lack of trust hurt, she guided the horse into position. It required getting right into the dirty water to get the chain around the tree but she didn’t hesitate to do so. She talked as she worked, hoping to keep Ward alert.
“Your reaction was exactly the same as I would have expected from Anker. I guess things are never going to change. Good thing I’ve learned to handle the horses. Of course, Buster is easy to handle, so I suppose anyone could do this.” Anyone but her, if she considered Ward’s order to get help from the neighbors. Her anger burned, making her ignore the cold seeping into her limbs.
She went to the horse. “Come on, Buster, pull.”
The horse leaned into the harness. The chain tightened. With a sucking sound, the tree slowly moved. She kept the horse at a steady pace until the trunk was well clear then rushed back to Ward, fighting her way through the icy muddy waters to his side.
“Can you stand?” She helped him to his feet. He wavered. She held him steady. “Can you walk?”
“I think so.” He ground out the words. She helped him to the grassy bank where he collapsed.
“Papa,” Milo called, his voice thin with worry.
Tears streamed down Kit’s cheeks.
“I’m okay.”
Freyda knew it took a great deal of effort for him to speak calmly. Knew, too, that he needed to get home and warmed up as soon as possible. “I’ll bring the horse.” She freed the chain and led Buster to Ward’s side. “Get on his back.”
He looked about to argue then thought better of it. She helped him up.
“What about the boys?” he asked.
“I’ll push them back in the cart. You go ahead.”
He nodded and rode away.
She followed, shivering from cold, shaking from concern for Ward. Was he injured? Would he take sick from being so cold? Had he sucked in some of that filthy water?
When they reached the yard, Buster stood at the barn. She took the boys to the house. Much of the mud had shaken off in the walk, but she was far too dirty to go inside. She went only as far as the door.
The boys rushed in, saw Ward at the table, washed and in clean clothes. They hesitated at his side, regarding him anxiously.
He pulled them close then looked at her. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “Your legs?”
“Just bruised. Thanks for rescuing me. Come in.”
“Can’t. I’m too muddy. I’ll take care of the horses then go home and clean up.”
Not until she reached home, had washed the mud off, and hung the wet items of clothing to dry and sat at the table, a cup of hot coffee before her, did she allow herself to think.
She knew what mattered to her. Not the farm. Not proving anything. Not even her independence. What mattered was Ward and his two precious little boys.
But when it came down to the nitty gritty, he didn’t trust her. Didn’t see her as capable. He wouldn’t ever consider marrying a woman whom he didn’t consider able to do all the things a homesteader’s wife needed to do.
She buried her head in her arms and sobbed.
The next day was Sunday. She could not go to church because of the muddy roads. She didn’t see any sign of Ward and the boys going either. Were his legs more seriously injured than he realized?
It was all she could do not to walk over and check on him.
But he didn’t need her. Likely didn’t even want her.
Being Sunday, it was a good day to sit and read her Bible. Lord, show me the way I should go. She’d thought it would be on a shared walk with Ward, but he’d made it clear how little he thought of her. Go get a neighbor’s help. Indeed, had he forgotten she was a neighbor? His closest one? But he didn’t see her as capable enough. Her heart ached with disappointment and she turned her attention to the Scriptures, seeking guidance and comfort.
After reading several chapters, she went to the Twenty-Third Psalm. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
She didn’t face physical death, but something inside felt dead. She would trust God to take care of her.
The thud of an approaching horse brought her to her feet in a flash and she rushed to the window.
Nels rode up on horseback. A bedroll was tied to the saddle and his saddlebags bulged.
Her heart sank. She opened the door to him. “Are you going somewhere?”
“Yup.”
“Where?”
“I’m not sure.”
“What about Inga?” Freyda asked.
“I heard from her. She married someone else.” The pain in his eyes hurt Freyda.
“I’m sorry.”
“Not to worry. I’ll be fine. I just need to get away for a while. I’ll be back though I don’t know when. I need to decide what I want and where I want to be.” He hugged Freyda. “Take care.”
He wouldn’t be persuaded to linger and share a meal or even a cup of coffee.
She watched him ride away. They were in a similar situation. She had to decide what she wanted and where she belonged. It was a question she thought she had resolved.
Somehow she would continue on. She had her farm.
It no longer held a great deal of significance for her.
But what she wanted was out of reach.
13
Ward rubbed his legs. They hurt, and the skin was scraped off his shins, but he was incredibly fortunate not to be seriously injured.
He’d slept little and in the night hours had lit the lamp and opened his Bible. After some time of reading, hoping, and praying for an answer, he read. There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear.
There was no such thing as perfect love. Except God’s love.
The thought filled his head. He could trust God’s love. Did that enable him to trust human love? People made mistakes and often failed. Himself included. Yesterday was proof of that. But if he loved Freyda, and she loved him, he didn’t need to fear opening his heart.
Of course, he didn’t know her feelings, but with a contented sigh, he confessed he loved her. Despite every warning he’d ever given himself. He knew he could trust her to be kind to both him and his sons.
Now what was he to do with that knowledge?
He fell asleep without coming to a decision and rose the next morning, stiff and sore. He had managed to feed the boys supper the night before, but only because there was bread and cheese in the cupboard. He was not up to making anything for breakfast, but they must eat. Bread and syrup would have to do. All he had wanted was to sit by the stove, wrapped in a blanket.
Milo went to the door and looked out. “Mrs. Haevre was mad at you.”
“I know.”
“You should say sorry to her.”
When Ward didn’t answer, Milo took Storm and went outside, closing the door firmly behind him.
Kit rocked back and forth on his heels, Skunk clutched to his chest.
“What’s wrong?” Ward asked.
“I don’t like mad.”
“I don’t either.” He rubbed his legs again and made up his mind to do as Milo suggested. “Would you like to go visit Mrs. Haevre?”
Kit grinned and raced outside. “We’s gonna see her,” he called to his brother.
As Ward stepped outside, he saw something that gave him an idea. “Wait a minute.”
The boys could barely contain their impatience as he went past the barn. By the time he returned, they were bouncing with their excitement. He moved a good deal slower than usual and the boys raced ahead, reaching Freyda’s house ahead of him.
She greeted the boys then looked past them. When she saw him, her smile flattened.
Milo noticed her reaction. “Papa’s come to say sorry.”
“H
as he now?” She looked at him again. “How are your legs?”
“Nothing serious.” Ward did not detect any welcome in her tone, but he had made up his mind what to do and he meant to do it. “Boys, would you let me talk to Mrs. Haevre alone?”
Milo took Kit’s hand and led him away. “He doesn’t want us to hear him tell her he was wrong.”
“But he will?” Kit didn’t seem convinced of his papa’s good intentions.
Ward waited until they were far enough away then brought the bouquet of purple flowers from behind his back. “I brought you some purple phlox.” He held them out but she didn’t take them.
“I thought you considered them weeds.”
“I might have been wrong. About more than the flowers.”
“Care to explain?”
“You aren’t making this easy, are you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know if I truly know what you think.” She took the flowers. “Come on in.” She put the phlox in a jar of water and set them on the table.
At least she hadn’t thrown them out the door. That gave him a degree of encouragement. “I wasn’t thinking yesterday. I know how you fear thunderstorms, so I had tried to think how I could get out from under the tree without you. I didn’t think you’d come.”
Her blue eyes revealed no emotion. “I knew something was wrong. Was I supposed to cringe in my house and not act?”
“Freyda, I’m sorry for misjudging you. I wasn’t thinking clearly. If I had been, I would have known you would face any danger to do what you wanted to do. After all, you came across the ocean, across America, and learned how to handle two difficult horses in order to have a farm of your own.”
“That isn’t why I came.”
He blinked. “It’s not?”
“It’s why I thought I came, but I’ve discovered otherwise.”
Was the hope that flooded his heart only wishful thinking? “Freyda, you conquered your fear of thunderstorms to rescue me. Now I must conquer my fear of disappointment and rejection to say what I think.” Never before had he faced a larger risk, but it was one he must take. “Am I right in thinking you mean you care about me and my boys more than your farm?”
The blue of her eyes warmed like a summer sky. “You are indeed.”
The ice around his heart that had been there so long he had grown used to it melted at the look on her face. His whole being felt alive for the first time ever.
He stood, pulled her to her feet, and into the circle of his arms. “Freyda Haevre, you have melted my heart, your tenderness has opened it to feeling things I have always denied myself.”
“What kind of things?”
“Love.” The truth of his confession flung open his heart. “I love you.”
She smiled so tenderly it brought a sting to his eyes. She cupped her hand to his cheek. “Ward Rollins, I love you. I believe God brought me to America for the sole reason of meeting you and falling in love with you.”
“And I shall always be grateful.” He looked at her lips, lips he had tasted before, but this time was different. This time he knew his feelings, was sure of her response, and he claimed her mouth tenderly. She sighed and wrapped her arms about him, pulling him closer.
The door squeaked open.
Milo and Kit giggled.
Grinning at Freyda, Ward turned to them. “I said I was sorry and she’s forgiven me.”
Milo looked from one to the other. “Does that mean she’s going to be our new mama?”
He looked from one boy to the other. “I didn’t ask her.”
Milo got a look on his face that clearly asked why not?
Ward took Freyda’s hands and went down on one knee, ignoring the pain reminding him of his injuries. “Freyda Haevre, I love you. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
“I certainly will.” She leaned over and kissed him.
Milo and Kit ran to them. Ward managed to get to his feet then hugged his family. He had finally found a love he could trust and he gladly shared it with his two sons.
Epilogue
Both Freyda and Ward had wanted their wedding to be a small, intimate affair. Only a few close friends and family were in attendance. Anker, Lena, and Charlie were there. The Nillsons. The Hoffmanns. Freyda wore a new grey silk dress for the occasion.
She glanced around the house. Wildflowers filled a dozen containers. She smiled at the bouquets of purple “weeds” as Ward insisted on calling them, though he did so with a smile. She would always love those purple flowers.
Ward waited for her and she went to his side. They stood hand in hand before the preacher. Ward was as handsome as she’d ever seen him, his hair slicked back. He wore a crisp white shirt and a black string tie. She swallowed hard at the admiration and love that swelled up her throat.
Milo and Kit, in matching brown long pants and new pale brown shirts were in front of them. Lena and Anker were their witnesses.
“Dearly beloved,” Reverend Sorrow began.
She listened carefully to each word. The English wedding ceremony was different than Norwegian customs, but she had insisted she belonged in a new country. Silently she added, with a new husband who saw her the way she had long desired to be seen—capable, but still wanting tenderness.
Mr. Nillson brought out his fiddle and Anker danced like only he could do—traditional Norwegian dances. He kicked out his legs, bounced up and down. The others clapped in time to the music as did Freyda, but she couldn’t wait to have Ward to herself.
The ladies had baked traditional Norwegian treats and served them with pot after pot of coffee.
Later, their guests departed. Anker and Lena took Milo and Kit home with them.
They had decided to live part time in Freyda’s house and the other in Ward’s in order to prove up both homesteads. They’d been married at Ward’s and he carried her over the threshold into his home.
“It seems strange to welcome you into a house you’ve been in so much already but, Mrs. Rollins, welcome home.” He set her on her feet. “My house is your house.”
She reached up and kissed him and for a few delicious moments they forgot all else.
She broke away. “And my house is your house. My farm is your farm. And most importantly, my heart belongs to you.”
“And mine to you.” He chuckled softly. “Welcome to America.”
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Sneak peek of Reluctant Bride
Agnes Bland is alone and anxious to keep it that way. She’s learned the hard way just how crushing it can be to trust in someone else. She has a second chance at family when she is made guardian to three little girls. But when the boarding house refuses to rent to them, Agnes and the girls have nowhere else to go.
Nels Hanson has an empty house. Built for his intended—who jilted him and married another—the house sits empty. Until Agnes and the girls fill up the structure—and his life—with their giggles and tears. Nels never expected to feel like this again. Alive. Maybe even in love. When tongues start wagging about Agnes living in his house, he decides a marriage of convenience isn’t the worst thing in the world. Until Agnes rejects his proposal.
Agnes would do anything to keep the girls. Anything but marry Nels. Marriage would make her too vulnerable. She can’t trust Nels with her heart… can she?
Coming soon!
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Temporary Bride (Dakota Brides Book 1)
Lena Stevens huddled on the col
d ground and clung to her eighteen-month-old son, trying to silence his screams of terror as flames licked up the roof of her house and poured down the walls like a boiling pot.
Back and forth she rocked, pressing Charlie to her chest, whispering, “Hush, hush. Stop now.”
Dark shadows leaped and danced around her like someone in agony. Her nostrils filled with the smell of burning wood and wool, vegetables and sugar. It was the odor of despair.
She and Charlie had nothing left. No home. No place to get away from the bitter wind filling her veins with ice. No food. Nothing but the clothes they wore and the thin blanket about them like a shawl.
A horse reared to a stop at her side. The rider hit the ground running and skidded to the trough to pump water like mad.
She glanced up and saw Anker Hansen, her neighbor. The man who had been at her husband’s side last winter as he lay drawing his last tortured breaths. The man who had promised Johnson he would take care of her and little Charlie. He took his vow seriously, often coming by to make sure she was all right and to offer help. But she didn’t want taking care of and had frequently been rude to the persistent man.
A wagon pulled up a few feet from her. It was Mr. Hampton from the south. Four gangly youths armed with shovels, buckets, and gunnysacks tumbled over the side. They quickly filled the buckets and attacked the fire.
Water hit the flames and sizzled.
One of the boys dampened his sack and beat out flames springing up where sparks hit dry grass.
A second wagon pulled to a stop beside the first and two men jumped down. In the glare of the firelight and the sharp shadows, Lena wasn’t certain but thought them to be the two families from down by the river. The men joined the battle.
After a hard fight, the fire died down to glowing embers. Lena shuddered at the sight of the charred corner posts. Her house had been reduced to rubble.
“I’m sorry, missus.”
She nodded to Mr. Hampton, unable to speak around the throb in her throat.
“It’s too bad,” one of the other men said. “But now you’ll have to go home, for sure. This is no place for a young woman with a baby.”
By “home” she knew they meant back east. But she had no one back there to go to. Her only friend, Sky, shared a tiny room with her husband at the back of their store and had recently had a baby. They had no space for two more people.
