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“Yours as well now.” His voice deepened with what she supposed was pride.

  The structure rose like a mountain in the center and then drifted into lower rooflines on either side. Why would he build such a house when he was a bachelor? Or did he have an intended somewhere? She swallowed hard. If so, she would not be happy about Lena taking her place.

  While she considered the matter, Anker scooped her into his arms.

  “I can walk,” she murmured, but with the blanket tight around her and Charlie she couldn’t even squirm. “Thank you,” he called to Mr. Hampton as he prepared to drive away.

  “No problem and congratulations to you both.”

  “We are here.”Anker set her down inside the door, and his boots thudded across the floor. He lit a lamp. In the golden light, she watched as he flipped open the door of the heater and tossed some lumps of coal on the glowing embers. A shower of sparks raced for the chimney.

  Lena shuddered. The fire reminded her of her own home…the flames burning above her head. “I should have found drier cow patties.”

  “Come here by the stove.”

  She seemed incapable of moving.

  He returned to her side, took Charlie from her arms, and gently guided her toward a chair. “You will soon be warm.”

  “I tried to find deadfall, but the bluffs are picked clean. There’s nothing to burn in this desolate country.”

  “I offered to get you a load of coal.”

  She flashed him a hot look. She’d refused because she had no way of paying.

  The fire sizzled and she stared at the heater. “I fashioned a stoneboat. Charlie rode as I picked up cow chips.” She couldn’t stop thinking about what happened. “I knew when they smoked so bad that they were damp, but I was cold. Charlie was cold. I had so much to do.”

  She shot him a look that dared him to remind her of his repeated offers of help.

  He only nodded as he perched Charlie on one hip and allowed the baby to play with the hat still on his head.

  “I should have pulled them out. Started again. Instead, I just shoved in more, hoping some were dry enough to start to burn. Finally, they did.”

  Though the fire did little more than provide a promise of warmth. But she hadn’t dared use any of her meager supply of coal. If winter were cold, or long, or likely both, she’d need every scrap to see them through.

  “When I first heard the crackling sound overhead I thought the wind tore at my shingles and wondered if I’d have to repair the roof.” She’d looked upward at orange tongues of flame dancing along the edge of the boards. She’d stared, mesmerized by the way the flames chased themselves into a longer and longer line, and then her heart slammed against her ribs. She’d grabbed Charlie and dashed for safety.

  She should have known better. Johnson had warned her about the dangers of a hot chimney. “I burned down my own house out of stupidity.”

  Anker pushed things off a stool and sat facing Lena. He shifted Charlie to one knee and took Lena’s hands.

  She let her hands rest in his, feeling his strength, needing his reassurance. This fire and loss had shaken her. Temporarily. She must not let it distract her from her purpose.

  “Lena, things happen that don’t make sense to us. But Father God—” He tilted his chin upwards as if pointing out who he meant. “He always has a plan. We just do our duty and trust Him to do His.”

  Anker’s words wound around the things Johnson said. Both men seemed to be able to trust God with the future. They made it sound so easy, but bitter disbelief flooded her. Besides, didn’t she try to do her duty?

  She jerked her hands away. “I fail to see how losing Johnson, and now my house, can be part of a good plan from a loving God.”

  She pulled her gaze away to study the room.

  The ceiling in this room seemed to go up forever. . .right up to the rafters. She lowered her chin and drew her gaze along one wall. Three doors besides the one through which they had come. Two doors were ajar but Lena could make out nothing in the dark interiors beyond. She could only pray there were two bedrooms—one for her and Charlie, one for Anker.

  Her insides churned bits of ice. She’d made the conditions of their marriage clear, but should Anker think otherwise. . . She shuddered despite the heat radiating from the potbellied stove.

  Newspapers overflowed a box. Behind the heater were book-lined shelves. She’d never seen so many books in one place before. If he brought all those with him, it’s a wonder he didn’t sink the ship.

  “Come, I will show you your home.” He stood and waited for her to accompany him.

  “Your house.” It was necessary to establish boundaries from the beginning. This would never be her house except for the winter months.

  “Our house.” His soft voice carried with it a gentle insistence.

  “For now.” Better to concede on this point, and win the more important ones.

  He held the lamp in front of them as he led her on a tour.

  One door led to a bedroom. She caught a glimpse of rumpled bedding and clothes scattered about as he waved the lamp inside.

  Her feet refused to move. The room lay in shadows, but the sight of the bed, more than wide enough for two, filled her mind. What had she gotten herself into?

  “Coming?”

  The door behind the chimney, he explained, led to a shed where he kept the coal and things like his hammer, saw, and shovels. It was too cold to bother showing her and she’d have plenty of time to see it.

  He pointed out a ladder in the corner and lifted the lamp to reveal a loft.

  “For dry goods.” Onions hung from the rafters. “I will sleep there. You can have the bedroom.”

  He strode into the last room, leaving her struggling to contain a rush of tears as her heart overflowed with relief.

  She followed him. He set the lamp in the middle of a polished wooden table.

  The kitchen was roomy with plenty of cupboard space.

  “The pantry,” he said, pointing toward a door. She judged the pantry and storage shed were connected.

  She sought in vain for something to say. But what did she say to the man who was now her husband? She was Mrs. Anker Hansen. She hugged her arms around herself. If God didn’t help her, she would never make it through this. Yet, could she depend on Him? He didn’t seem to care to help her when she desperately needed it. Seemed the best thing she could do was find what she needed within herself.

  Johnson would be disappointed if he knew her thoughts. She ignored the sliver of guilt. Johnson was gone. She had to do things the way she saw fit.

  Anker pulled out two chairs and indicated she should sit. Charlie threw his head back and wailed.

  She reached for her son. “Charlie, be a good boy.” He fussed against her shoulder, but she spoke around his protests. “I’m prepared to do my share.” Mrs. Miller had taught Lena the value and necessity of hard work. Johnson had shown her how to do things that wouldn’t normally be considered women’s work. Her pa had taught her . . . he’d taught her to trust no one. “I can help with the chores. I can fix most anything. I can sew and clean and cook.”

  “Enough.” Although he spoke softly, she recognized an order when she heard it. “I have seen much you can do.” He paused as if searching for the words he wanted. “Here it will not be necessary. All you need do is take care of Charlie. He needs his mama.”

  She felt Anker’s accusation. Guessed he remembered a certain occasion as well as she did. “I would never hurt him.”

  Charlie continued to squirm and whimper.

  * * *

  Anker wanted to take Charlie and get him to stop fussing, but Lena rushed on as if she had to explain something. “That time in the hayfield, I thought he was sleeping.” Instead, he had wandered into the path of her scythe.

  If Anker hadn’t appeared out of nowhere and stopped the swing of the sharp blade. . . . “I am not . . . what is the word?” He shook his head as he searched for the right way to say it. “I’m not blaming. Only saying yo
u need only take care of him while you are here. I would not object if you did the cooking and cleaning too.”

  “I’ll certainly do that.”

  Charlie let out a wail.

  “What does the little one need?”

  Her gaze went to a spot beyond his shoulder. “I’m afraid he’s hungry.” The words practically choked her. Was it that hard to accept his kindness?

  “Then we must feed him. Have you eaten?”

  “The fire interrupted my supper plans.” She stood. “I’ll look after our needs. Did you have your meal?”

  “Could eat again. I’ll show you where things are.”

  “I’ll find them.”

  They stared at each other. Her eyes signaled her determination even as her chin edged forward.

  He tucked away his protests without voicing them and smiled. “Most everything is in the...” He pointed, but was unable to find the word.

  “Cupboards?” she supplied for him.

  “Yes.”

  She went to them and pulled open the long doors. Touched the array of canned goods. Stared at preserves his good friends had provided. She opened a jar, sniffed, and jerked back.

  He chuckled. “Fish.” He’d eat the fish later when it wouldn’t offend her.

  She put the jar back in the cupboard and took out a can of syrup. “I think Charlie would like pancakes.” She soon had the ingredients out and mixed up a batter.

  He watched as she stirred. She moved quickly and smoothly. Of course he knew she was skilled in the kitchen. Hadn’t Johnson bragged about her cooking? Hadn’t he tasted it on occasion when Johnson invited him to share a meal?

  In no time at all, she had a stack of pancakes prepared. She put one on a plate for Charlie, placed it on the table, and put him on a chair to eat.

  She handed Anker a plate of the griddlecakes and stood at the stove, preparing more.

  “We will eat together.”

  She opened her mouth to argue.

  “I wish it.”

  She nodded and turned away before he could read her expression. She flipped the cakes and waited a moment for them to brown. In a minute she sat opposite him, Charlie between them.

  Having someone share his table reminded him of one reason he’d come to this new country. To find a wife who would fill his home with love, laughter, and many children. When he’d met Celia on the train trip from New York, he’d thought she would be the one to share his home. He’d built this house for her. But when he returned to ask for her hand, she had refused him. He pushed away the disappointment that still reared up at how inadequate it had made him feel. Just like it had back in Norway when….

  No point in letting the past control him. Now he had a wife, but not one who wanted to stay. It appeared he still didn’t have enough to offer a woman. “I will pray.” His will became vill as his accent deepened.

  After his “Amen,” he tasted the pancakes. “Is good.”

  “Thank you.”

  A few minutes later, Charlie finished and scrambled down. Lena grabbed him to wash the sticky syrup off his fingers before she released him. Filled with endless energy, he ran back and forth by the table.

  She gave Anker a wary glance as she captured Charlie and sat him on the floor. “Play quietly, son.”

  Charlie scowled and waited until she stepped away before he scooted himself up and started running again.

  When she reached for him, Anker caught her hands. “The boy needs to play. I’ll take him in the other room and watch him while you clean up.”

  He didn’t give her a chance to argue, but lifted another lamp from the cupboard, lit it, and strode from the room. “Come along, little man.”

  Charlie didn’t protest as they escaped the kitchen. Anker would have offered to help wash the dishes, but understood she would take his offer as indication he didn’t think she could manage. He kept his chuckle within his chest. He knew she could do whatever she set her mind to.

  Soon he and Charlie played a form of chase. Anker grabbed Charlie as he raced by and swung him upward. Again and again. Each time, Charlie giggled. They swung around and came to a stop as Anker saw Lena watching from the doorway.

  Charlie saw her. “Mama.” But he made no effort to escape Anker’s hold.

  Lena turned away.

  With Charlie hanging from his hip like a small sack of grain, Anker followed her. “Is something wrong?”

  She kept her back to him. “I have done my best since Johnson died. But Charlie misses having his papa to play with him.”

  Anker moved close enough to rest his hand on her shoulder, hoping she would take his touch as only for comfort. “I won’t play with Charlie if it bothers you.”

  Her shoulders sagged, and then she reached for a dish, forcing him to pull his hand back.

  “I won’t object. It’s good for him.”

  Anker returned to the other room to continue chasing Charlie and swooping him into the air. They both laughed as he caught the boy.

  He would do everything in his power to do what was right for Charlie.

  And for Lena, though he knew she would protest at the idea.

  * * *

  So many scents surrounded Lena in this unfamiliar bed. The comforting sweetness of Charlie curled up next to her, his breathing deep and even. A more masculine fragrance of hay and barn and leather—smells known, and yet unknown, stirring shadows in her mind. She tried to capture and identify these strange thoughts and feelings, but as quickly as she thought she’d grasped one, it slipped away.

  Her legs ached. She wriggled her toes and flexed her feet to ease the tension.The air pulsated with stillness. The sound echoed in her ears. Then she realized she’d forgotten to breathe and sucked in air. The drumming faded, but her thoughts continued to race. Bursts of yellow and orange flames filled her head, worry about her future, and above all, an agitation about her situation.

  Had she literally flown from one fire into a hotter one? A deep ache, familiar in its shape, filled her mind—a longing to belong, to be secure. She’d had this feeling since childhood. And knew in order to preserve her sanity, she must push it back and ignore it.

  Love that lasted forever would never be hers to have and hold. For a time she had believed otherwise. Before Johnson died.

  She seemed destined to lose everyone she ever loved.

  Not Charlie. Please not Charlie.

  She reached out and touched the sleeping child, welcoming the warmth of his little body. He snuffled at her intrusion and she relaxed, but only until her thoughts returned to her situation.

  What would Johnson say to her if she could talk to him?

  She remembered the day he had entered her life dragging his little sister, Sky, behind him. Mrs. Miller took in girls for a fee and had them schooled. She’d taken in Lena, but when Pa stopped his yearly visits and the fee was no longer paid, Mrs. Miller took Lena from school and taught her far more about housework than Lena wanted to know. Not that the work bothered her. Not like the constant reminders that Lena owed Mrs. Miller for her keep. Nor like the aching knowledge that her father had abandoned her. She didn’t even know if it was his choice or if he had died somewhere and no one knew how to let her know.

  Johnson had offered to do chores for Mrs. Miller in return for a home for Sky. He never chafed at the things he was asked to do.

  Johnson was such a good man—her best friend and her strength. He taught her the uselessness and destructiveness of turning her anger inwards. “You only hurt yourself.” Over and over, he reminded her of God’s love, and how it paid to trust Him.

  It had been easy to believe his words when he was there to speak them. Not at all easy when she had to find the words herself. She squeezed her eyes tight and tried to think of what Johnson would say.

  “In everything, God is there. He always loves us because He is love. He will always take care of us. You don’t need to fret about the future.”

  She tried to recreate the feeling of assurance Johnson had given her.

/>   All she felt was disappointment and defeat. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. God, I don’t know how You are going to change this or how You can work it out for me, but haven’t You promised to take care of me? Johnson said You would keep Your promises. I want to believe it, but why did my house burn down? Couldn’t You have stopped that? But never mind now. Please, just help me. Somehow.

  It was beyond her imagination to see how anything could change for the better, but as Johnson had said often, “God is much bigger than we are. That should make it easy for us to trust.”

  She wanted to believe as strongly as Johnson had, but trusting was difficult, especially when her circumstances were so dire. How would she survive a winter pretending to be married to a man she didn’t love?

  Chapter 3

  The next morning, Anker eased down the ladder. The night had been filled with harsh pictures of the orange twisting flames. When he first saw the fire, his heart had stopped with fear. When he saw Lena and Charlie huddled on the ground, and knew they hadn’t been burned to death, he thanked God for giving him another chance to fulfill his promise.

  He lit the fire in both the kitchen stove and the big round heater in the main room. What did they call the room in English? The living room. That had a nice sound. His neighbors had asked why he built such a fine, big house when he didn’t have a wife in mind. He hadn’t told anyone he hoped to bring a wife from Rockyview, Illinois. He’d built the house for Celia, but even a fine, big house wasn’t enough.

  The big fat stove—again he searched for the word—potbelly? Yes. The man at the store had advised against it when he ordered it. Said it would serve better for a store. But Anker wanted something to heat the room satisfactorily. This stove did the trick just fine.

  The bedroom door flew back and Lena rushed into the room, Charlie in her arms. She wore the same dress she had on last night, rumpled and mud stained, and her hair had been scraped into a loose braid. These were the only clothes she and Charlie owned. The boy demanded to be let down, and she released him to run back and forth across the room.

  Anker smiled. The boy had energy to spare.