by Linda Ford
“You are indeed fortunate.” Her words scratched past a tight throat.
“Do you not remember your mother at all?”
“I’ve tried. Sometimes I used to think I did. Like when I peeked into that window. But I think mostly I want to remember things.”
“And your father?”
“I saw so little of him. I remember a man with a big moustache. I was a little afraid of him. I stayed with a neighbor lady until he took me to Mrs. Miller’s. He would visit only an hour or so. Remind me to be good and mind Mrs. Miller and promise to see me again next year. And then he stopped coming. I used to look at every man with a full moustache and think it was him.” She tried to shrug away the feelings assailing her as she recalled the slow, sad realization that he wasn’t coming back. She’d grown used to the idea he had likely died somewhere in the west. Yet when she and Johnson first moved to the Dakotas, she had studied every man, hoping she’d find him. “I’m certain he must be dead. Otherwise—” She couldn’t finish.
“Otherwise he would have found you.”
She nodded, unable to speak. If he wasn’t dead, then he had abandoned her. She ducked her head over Charlie, pressing her forehead to his smooth, silky hair. Everyone had left her. Her mother. Her father. Johnson. Charlie was all she had.
Anker reached for her hand. “We are family now.”
She lifted her head and hungrily met his eyes. “It’s only for a few months.”
“For as long as you want.”
She heard his words, read the offer in his clear gaze, but still she couldn’t believe he’d spoken the invitation. To belong. To be part of a family. She shook her head. She’d done it once with Johnson. Had lost him. “You talk of God’s love. I know you believe it. I know God loves the world. I know Jesus died to pay for our sins. But I can’t believe He loves me the way you portray it. If He did He wouldn’t take my parents and then Johnson. All I have left is Charlie and my farm. I will do everything in my power to keep and protect both. And I won’t”—she sat back with decided firmness—“allow myself anything more only to lose it.”
He frowned.
She knew she had disappointed him, but she couldn’t help it. She wasn’t willing to open her heart to more pain.
Then a gentle smile erased the frown. “You might be missing out on the best God has to offer you because of your fears.”
She locked on to the one thing she could deal with—denial. “I am not afraid.”
He only grinned.
“I’m going to put Charlie down.” Gathering her dignity about her, she rose and headed for the bedroom. She settled Charlie and stood watching him. She did not want to face Anker again. If she thought she could fall asleep, she’d close the door and climb into bed beside him. But she knew she’d only stare into the darkness and shiver at the sound of the wind. And her tossing and turning might disturb Charlie, so, with a resigned sigh, she returned to the living room and tried to concentrate on her knitting.
She kept dropping stitches and made a sound of exasperation.
“Something wrong?” Anker asked far too innocently, obviously aware of her inner turmoil.
“It’s all your fault.”
He chuckled. “What is?” The way his eyes twinkled she knew he enjoyed this far more than he should.
“You keep suggesting things could be different for me. I know they can’t, and I don’t appreciate you saying otherwise. It’s not fair. I’ve learned to live with who I am and what I have. I don’t need you or anyone else reminding me of what I don’t have and can’t have.” She stopped to suck in air.
His eyes still crinkled as he considered her with mock seriousness. “But that’s not true. You can have family and love, if you are willing to trust.”
“Well, I’m not.”
Chapter 12
Anker selected the pieces of wood he wanted and cut them to the correct size. Seeing Charlie play with the wooden animals at the Nilssons’ had given him an idea to carve some for Charlie. They would make a good Christmas gift and gave him an excuse to be away from the house.
The storm had ended late the second day. Drifts as high as his head leaned against the south side of every immovable object. Hard drifts streaked the path between the house and the barn.
Anker smiled at the little argument he’d had with Lena over shoveling his way through them. She insisted she must do it and he must protect his frostbitten hand and feet. He was equally determined that he would not stand by like a man on his last legs and allow Lena to tackle that snow. Little did she know how difficult it had proved to dig through each drift, the snow packed so hard he had to chop it out block by block. The effort had broken the blister on his hand and he had endured her scolding over that. Her concern brought a pleased warmth to his heart.
Over the passing days, his feet and hand had healed nicely. She no longer had to dress them or fuss over him. He missed it.
He studied the pieces of wood and counted them. Twelve. He figured that would suffice. Keep his hands and mind busy in the evenings when his thoughts wandered down pathways he had no business exploring.
He wanted things he could not have.
He wanted a real marriage with Lena.
He wanted Charlie to be his son always.
He ached for Lena to trust him, love him, and want to stay as much as he wanted her to. She had turned aside his every offer. Why did he keep making them? He should have learned his lesson well enough with Stina and then Celia. But it seemed he couldn’t close his heart to possibilities.
Or rather, impossibilities.
Why did he think that realizing God’s love was full and free should make him worthy of being loved by a woman?
Moreover, he had given his word to protect her and let her go just as he had promised Johnson to keep them safe.
Several weeks, months perhaps, stood between him and spring. Father God, it is plenty of time for You to do Your work. Teach her how much You love her so she can love You back. Not even to God would he whisper the echoing prayer. So she can love me.
Yes, these twelve pieces would do to occupy the evening hours. He tucked them into his pocket and headed back to the house.
Before he crossed the yard, he could hear Charlie screaming. He ran the rest of the way and burst through the door without bothering to stomp the snow from his boots. Charlie lay flat out in the center of the room. “What’s wrong?” He stopped long enough to kick off his boots and rushed to the boy’s side. “Is he hurt?”
Lena grabbed his arm and stopped him from reaching for Charlie. “He’s angry because I won’t let him have another piece of candy.”
“Make him stop acting like that. My mor would never—”
“I’m not going to fight with him. It just gives him more attention. When he’s done, I’ll talk to him.” She walked away.
Charlie, whose cries had softened as his mother talked, screamed like someone stabbed him.
Anker looked at Charlie then after Lena and decided the best thing was to follow her example. He joined her in the kitchen. “I suppose he’s bored. He’s been shut indoors for a long time. When he quiets why don’t we all go to the barn and visit the animals?”
“That would be nice.”
He gave her a closer look. Her eyes pinched at the corners. Her mouth had an unfamiliar tightness. Maybe she needed to get out too.
“I done.”
At Charlie’s announcement, Anker had to press his lips together to keep from laughing. He didn’t dare look at Lena, suspecting she would share his amusement.
“Want to go to the barn and say hello to the animals?”
“I go.” He headed for the door and waited expectantly for the adults to join him.
Anker grinned at Lena and reveled in the answering light in her eyes. “Bundle him up.”
A few minutes later, they stepped into the brittle sunshine and Lena shielded her eyes from the brightness. She sucked in air like she couldn’t get enough to fill her lungs. Anker held Charlie, who s
quirmed at the delay.
“See cow.”
“You will.”
He took Lena’s hand and they headed for the barn. Inside, they paused as their eyes adjusted to the dim light. Charlie sneezed and chuckled. Anker took him to the cow—Lena’s cow. And the calf.
“Look how much she’s grown,” Lena said.
They paused to pet the horse. A cat scampered across the alleyway and Charlie squealed.
“Cat. Charlie want cat.”
“You don’t want to catch that thing. It’s a wild cat.”
“Charlie want cat.”
Anker decided it was time to head outside and sidestep another tantrum from Charlie. He put him down where the snow was packed flat. The little man bent over to pat the snow. He sat down and felt it. He lay on his tummy and pressed his face to it, looking shocked. “Snow cold,” he announced.
Then he got to his feet and padded over to a snow bank and picked up small clumps that he carried over and dropped at Anker’s feet. “Snow.”
“Yes it is.”
“He’s enjoying this,” Lena said.
Anker knew he shouldn’t do it, but he did anyway. He draped his arm across her shoulders and pulled her to his side. Even though he knew it wouldn’t be for always, he couldn’t overlook the temporary enjoyment. “He needs to be outside more. Run off some of his energy.”
She didn’t make any effort to pull away. “You’re probably right. It’s been so cold of late, though.”
Charlie carried more and more snow to Anker’s feet.
“I’ll soon be encased if I don’t move. Let’s walk.” Slowly, they made their way to the end of the path where it joined the road. Charlie ran ahead of them, squealing with abandon.
They paused to look across the snow-swept landscape.
“It’s beautiful in a wild sort of way,” Lena said.
“I love the space. Reminds me of the sea. Same sort of wind.” Sharing this moment of contentment with her filled his heart with sweet delight. If only . . .
* * *
Christmas approached. With the yarn Anker bought at the store Lena worked on a pair of thick mittens for him, knitting when he was outside so his gift would be a surprise.
She longed to buy a special toy for Charlie but she had no money. She saw the little animals Anker carved and felt a twinge of mixed emotions—joy for Charlie’s sake that Anker was so caring, but also a touch of resentment that she could not think of a gift equally thoughtful.
Anker carved on the last one tonight. “I just have to polish them and they’re ready. Just in time too.”
Restless, Lena strode to the window. The moon shone silvery shadows across the snow. She sighed.
“Something wrong?”
“I don’t have anything for him.”
“You knitted those nice warm socks.”
“I mean a toy. I have nothing.”
Anker put down the little cow he shaped and stared at her. “If it’s that important, why don’t you make him something?”
She tossed her hands up. “Like what? I can’t carve. Besides...” She indicated that he’d already done it.
“Lena, surely you can do something if it’s that important to you. What sort of things did you enjoy as a child?”
She snorted. He never quite understood the fact that she’d never been a child. She’d been a servant, a slave, a wife, a mother. But never a child. Behind a dark curtain, something flickered. A memory? Or only a wish? She didn’t know, but what she saw was a little girl, thrilled with a gift given by . . . she couldn’t see who gave it. Her insides yearned toward the shadowy figure, but she couldn’t make it out. Nor could she see what the child had received. She only knew whatever it was, the child was filled with pleasure. She sighed. “I can’t think of any gifts except practical things.”
“Practical things are fine.”
“I know but . . .” Again, she caught a glimpse of that shadowy figure in her imagination. She sat down and stared hard at Anker as if she could find what she sought in his gaze.
He smiled, as always gentle and patient. “What is bothering you?”
“I keep remembering something.”
“What?”
“That’s the trouble. I don’t know what it is. It keeps flitting back and forth across my mind. It seems as if it’s something about me when I was very young.”
“Perhaps it will come if you talk about what you see.”
She shook her head, confused by her feelings and the fleeting images. “All I see is a little girl. I think she’s me.” She explained what she saw but when she finished, she had no fresh insight. “I’m not even certain it’s me.”
“Maybe it was Christmas and making plans makes you remember it.”
“I suppose.” No explanation seemed adequate nor did it solve her problem about a toy for Charlie. “I guess I can always make him another ball.” But he had the one Anker bought at the store besides the one she’d already knit.
“You’ll think of something.”
She wished she could be so certain. But what could she make out of nothing?
“I remember my mor making dolls and little dresses for them, but I don’t expect that will be what you’re wanting to make.”
“Not for my son.” An idea fluttered, faded, and returned. “I’ve got it. I once saw a knitted dog made with some kind of loopy stitch that made it look furry.” She grabbed her knitting supplies. “If I can figure out how to do it ...” The dog, if she could make it, would be of assorted colors of leftover yarn, but that didn’t matter.
By the time Anker pulled the Bible from the shelf, Lena had invented a way to create the stitch. It didn’t matter if it matched the original design. It would work.
She rolled up the project. “I shouldn’t have any trouble finishing it up in time.” She grinned with satisfaction.
Anker smiled gently. “I knew you would think of something. There isn’t much you can’t do once you put your mind to it.”
“I’ve had to learn that.”
He studied her a minute. “No. I think it is who you are. What would have destroyed another person only made you fight to overcome it.”
Was it a compliment? She searched his gaze for what he meant. Did he admire her for her stubbornness? Several times over the past weeks he had said she didn’t have to go back to her farm in the spring. She guessed he meant they could make this marriage real. Always she said she would return. Just thinking of it made her lower jaw come forward.
He must have seen it and recognized it as resistance to any change in their plans. But he only smiled again. “You will always find a solution to your problems.” Before she could think of an answer, he opened the Bible and began to read.
* * *
“Come,” Anker called from the doorway. “Dress Charlie and bring him outside.”
The excitement in his voice triggered an answering response in Lena’s heart and she joined Charlie as he ran to the doorway. “Coat, Mama.”
“Yes, dear.” She bundled him up. “Now wait for Mama.” She hurried into her own outerwear and stepped out into the glistening morning sunshine. Days like this, bright and calm, made up for the many stormy, overcast days.
Anker stood expectantly to one side of the house, a sheaf of wheat at his feet. He waited until they were at his side. “This is a Norwegian tradition.” His eyes shone with some deep emotion.
Lena realized his traditions meant a lot to him. To have him share them with her touched a lonely, hungry place in her heart. The depth of that need frightened her. She hesitated on her way toward him, wanting to protect herself. She tried to remain slightly disinterested, but his excitement was palpable and contagious. “You Norwegians seem to have a lot of traditions.”
He grinned. “That we do. And my family probably has more than most. My grandfather put great importance on passing on the old ways. On every special day, the grandchildren gathered around him and he would explain how important it is to remember the past.” Anker got a far
away look in his eyes and Lena understood he had gone back in his thoughts to those days.
“You must miss your family. If I had such a large family, I don’t know if I would want to be so far away from them.”
He shrugged. “I miss them, but I do not want to go back. There is a new world here where we can build our own traditions, keeping the old ones if we want and adding new ones that work for us. The past does not call to me.” He looked up and his gaze circled the wide, open landscape surrounding them. He completed his sweep of the never-ending prairie and brought his attention to her face. “It is the future and all its possibilities that I care about.” His eyes filled with gentle caring.
She couldn’t look away, couldn’t deny the things he communicated without words—his gentle, loving feelings toward her. Her heart almost burst at his look. She longed for the things he silently offered—home, family, traditions—but a hard knot inside prevented her from responding the way he wanted, the way she wished she could. She couldn’t let go of whatever caused that tightness. He’d said she needed to trust—trust him, trust God. But she couldn’t, not enough to respond to his open offer of affection.
Something flickered across his expression.
He’d correctly read her resistance. She didn’t want to hurt him and patted his arm, hoping he would understand. “Tell us about this tradition.”
He smiled, gentle in his disappointment.
Such a good man. She wished things could be different between them, different in her own heart.
“In Norway we always save our best sheaf of wheat from the harvest and start the time of Christmas celebration by putting it out for the birds.”
“Why?”
He grinned. “I’m not sure how it got started but Grandfar had his own story.” He chuckled. “Grandfar had many stories. We never knew if he made them up or if they’d been told to him by his grandfar.” He leaned back, his blue eyes dancing with amusement. “The story is this. When Mary and Joseph were on their way to Bethlehem, they did not have enough food. They tried to buy some, but so many others had been before them that people weren’t willing to share. They tried to glean grain from the nearby fields but again, so many people had been there already they couldn’t find even a kernel. Both were very hungry. Joseph was concerned for Mary. He knew she needed to keep up her strength for the journey and for the sake of the baby who was to come soon.”
