Second-Chance Bride (Dakota Brides Book 3) Page 2

  Mrs. Haevre put a cup of coffee before him, pulled out the chair opposite, and sat down. “May I speak openly to you?”

  “Sure.” He guessed she would whether or not he gave permission. Baruk had said his wife was a headstrong woman. He’d said they’d argued because she wanted to come to America with him and help set up the homestead, but Baruk had insisted it was too much of a challenge for a woman. Ward wondered what Baruk would have said to his wife now. She’d come on her own and planned to run the farm on her own. Someone ought to tell her how much work it was. But it wouldn’t be him. He had enough problems of his own to deal with.

  “Mr. Rollins.” No mistaking the warning in her voice. “I do not believe it is wise to leave your children unsupervised.”

  “I will supervise them.” He kept his voice firm.

  “Do you not have crops to seed and plowing to do?”

  He took time to enjoy a mouthful of coffee before he answered. “Yup. Same as you.”

  That stalled her, as he had hoped.

  But only for a moment.

  “I will find a way,” she said.

  “I, too, will find a way.”

  She intertwined her fingers where her hands lay on the top of the table. “The difference is that I have to find a way to work with two horses. It’s frustrating to discover that it is more difficult than I anticipated and that they seem to prefer your home to mine. But you have two little boys who can manage to get into a pile of trouble in only a few minutes.”

  He pushed aside his empty plate and swallowed the last of his coffee before he got to his feet. “I will help you take your horses home and then I must return to my own work.”

  She nodded and went out the door ahead of him.

  “Boots and Boss, come.” The horses came at his call. “Milo and Kit, come. We’re going to take the horses home.”

  He led a parade down the path to the Haevre place—two boys who scampered along at his heels, two horses who followed quietly, and a woman who walked on the other side of the horses.

  They reached her corrals. “You’ll need to close the gate better,” he said.

  “It was closed securely.”

  “Make it more secure. I don’t have time to bring these horses back every day.” Especially now that he had to care for the boys on his own.

  “They must know how to open the gate,” she said.

  “Then figure out a way they can’t.” He handed her the lead rope for the two horses.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “And thank you for watching the boys for me.”

  They looked at each other. It seemed she was as much at a loss for words as he. So he sketched a goodbye salute, took his boys by the hand, and headed for home.

  “I can do this,” she called after him.

  “Me too,” he murmured, for no one’s ears but his own. How hard could it be to keep two little boys safe and fed on top of planting and plowing? He refused to answer his own question or think of the thousands of things that could go wrong.

  Freyda waited until Ward and his sons were back at their farm to turn her attention to the horses. Boots and Boss. Had Baruk named them? He’d never said, but then Baruk hadn’t had time to include much news in the letters he sent. But the animals were aptly named. One thought it was boss, the other stamped his white-booted feet and studied her with defiance.

  She shifted her attention to the plow and the seeder that Baruk had been so proud of. “They will repay themselves over and over because I’ll be able to plant faster.”

  Freyda clenched her jaw. “I will do it.”

  But first, she would eat. She hadn’t felt free to eat the Rollins’s food, and no one had invited her to.

  She made a sandwich. It had been fun preparing a simple meal for Milo and Kit. All her life, she had been surrounded by lots of family. Cooking for herself seemed an empty, but necessary, activity.

  As she ate, she stared out the window at the horses and the piece of farm equipment.

  “I will do it.” How hard could it be? Hundreds of people did it every day. Surely some of them must be women, otherwise the American government wouldn’t allow women to be homesteaders.

  She marched back outside to the corrals. “Come on, you two big boys. Boss and Boots. You will cooperate with me, ja?” She led them through the gate and took a step toward the plow. They headed down the trail, dragging her. She yelled, “Stop. Halt. No.” The horses didn’t understand any of her commands. Or if they did, they ignored her.

  They didn’t stop until they reached the Rollins place.

  Freyda gathered her battered dignity and looked around. It was strangely silent. Leaving the horses, she hurried around the barn and glanced up to the loft. Her breath whooshed out when she didn’t see any little boy clinging to the chain.

  Should she have told Ward about the incident? Somehow, she didn’t think so. The children had enough to deal with without incurring their father’s anger.

  She glanced over her shoulder at the sound of approaching steps. “Hello, Mr. Rollins. I’m sorry, but my horses prefer your place to mine.”

  “Fine. Take them home.” He rushed by her. “Milo, Kit, where are you?”

  “You have lost your sons?” Freyda’s heart stalled midbeat. She again glanced up at the loft. No little boys.

  “Not lost. Just don’t know where they are.” He stood, arms akimbo, looking about.

  “I will help you find them. You look in the barn. I will look in the house.” She didn’t wait for him to say yes or no but trotted to the house. She searched every room, pushing aside the sense of trespassing. She opened closet doors, looked under beds, and peeked into cupboards. Then she went back outside.

  Ward came from the barn. “I did not find them.”

  “Nor did I.” She looked about, trying to think where she would have hidden, or where her little cousins liked to hide. “Sometimes the most fun in hiding is when a person can see those looking for them. Like in those bushes over there.” She nodded the direction she meant. “In fact, I think I see something dark amidst the leaves.”

  Ward dashed across the yard and plucked his two sons out by the collar. “Enough of this nonsense. I need to get the plowing done. You must stay where I can see you.”

  “Yes, Papa,” Kit said.

  “We could see you.” Milo was not ready to make things easy for his father.

  “Come along now and no more running off.” Ward guided the boys ahead of him toward the field where his horses, hitched to the plow, waited. He realized Freyda was still there and stopped. “Do you need something?”

  The boys ran ahead to the edge of the field and began to play in the dirt.

  “My mor always said a naughty child is an unhappy child. Fix the unhappy and the naughty will disappear.” Ignoring the warning in Ward’s dark eyes, she hurried on. “I think Milo and Kit have many reasons to be unhappy. They will not be content having to stay at the side of your field day after day.”

  “I will do what I must. There’s no other way to take care of my farm and look after the boys.”

  An idea sprang full grown to Freyda’s mind and she spoke before she could think better of it. “Maybe there is another way.”

  He scrubbed at his neck. “None that I know of.”

  She pushed on, ignoring his impatience. “I need to get farm work done.” She would prove she could run her farm, but she wasn’t above asking for help.

  He kept his attention on the boys and didn’t respond.

  She would have to spell it out. “You need someone to help with your boys. I need help with my farm.”

  He looked at her with no flicker of understanding.

  “Mr. Rollins, we could help each other. I will look after your boys. In return, you will do my farming.”

  He stared at her long enough to make her squirm. Would he agree to her suggestion? Would it solve her problem and his or make them worse?

  2

  Ward objected to her suggestion. It was the s
ensible thing to do, but her accusation that his children were unhappy left him feeling disagreeable. “My children are not bad.”

  Her gaze darted to the barn and then back to him. “I did not say they were, nor do I think it.”

  “I do my best to make them happy.” Why was he defending himself before this woman? He didn’t care what she thought of him.

  “No doubt you do, but I think my suggestion would be good for all of us. Your boys too.”

  Why did she stare at the barn? He followed her gaze to the loft. The block and tackle hung at the loft door. Strange. He had left it chained inside the loft and the door closed. “I use it to lift hay,” he said, thinking she wondered what it was for.

  “I know the use of a block and tackle.”

  If she knew what it was used for, why did she continue to stare at it? “Do you see something wrong?” Baruk hadn’t found any fault with it, so Ward couldn’t imagine that his widow would.

  Mrs. Haevre shook her head and turned away from looking at the barn. “Do you agree to my suggestion?”

  Ward rubbed his chin. He pressed fingers to the tense muscles of his neck. He looked across the yard to where the boys played. If they would stay there while he worked, he didn’t need help. But could he expect they would? Mrs. Haevre’s offer seemed logical but still, he hesitated. Tried to remember what Baruk had said about her apart from her being stubborn, which was not a factor in her favor. “I don’t—”

  “Mr. Rollins, I did not plan to tell you what happened while you were gone to town but I feel I must for the safety of your children.”

  He would not have thought his neck could get tighter but it spasmed enough to make him flinch.

  Mrs. Haevre continued, her words coming slowly whether because she had to search for the English words or was indeed reluctant to say what she meant to say.

  “The boys disappeared while I made sandwiches.”

  And she thought he should trust her to take care of them? She had managed to give him all the reason he needed to say no to her offer.

  “I found them out here. Or more correctly, I found Kit here.” She nodded toward a nearby spot. “And Milo up there.”

  “Nothing unusual about that. He often plays in the loft. Kit won’t go there though.” He wondered if Milo went there to get away from his younger brother.

  “No, you do not understand. He wasn’t in the loft.”

  “But you said he was up there.” Did she not have the right words to say what she meant?

  “He was clinging to the chain.” She pointed.

  Again he wondered if she used the wrong word. “Do you mean the block and tackle?”

  “Yes.” She swallowed. “I was redd…scared when I saw him. I thought he would fall.” A shudder crossed her shoulders.

  He stared at her. Could she be right? He turned to study the block and tackle. It had been moved. He’d noticed that. His stomach clenched so hard he groaned. “If he’d fallen—” He couldn’t go on. “How did he get down?”

  “I went to the loft and pulled him back.” She looked at him and her eyes widened. She reached out a hand as if expecting to have to catch him if he crumpled to the ground. “Are you all right?”

  “My son…” He pointed at the loft door. He couldn’t get another word out. Couldn’t think beyond what might have happened. And then anger raged through him. He turned to the woman beside him. “You were supposed to be watching him. How can I even think of trusting my children to your care? Take your horses and go home.”

  The boys had returned and stared at him with eyes too big for their faces.

  “Papa?” Kit’s voice was thin.

  Poor child had seen and heard too much for his young years. Ward took him in his arms. “It’s all right, Kit. We’ll take care of each other.”

  “But Papa, she saved Milo.”

  It was true. “Thank you.” The words grated from his tight throat. But she wouldn’t have needed to save him if she’d been doing what she said she would.

  “I will leave now.” She lifted her skirts and gave a glance toward the loft again. She gasped. “Milo!” The color drained from her face.

  He spun around and his heart punched into his ribs. “Milo!” The boy clung to the block and tackle as it swung in an arc out the loft door. He put Kit down and raced into the barn. He was up the ladder and skidding across the floor in seconds. He edged to the opening. Dizziness filled his head as he saw how far it was to the ground. He grabbed the chain and slowly pulled Milo to safety.

  As soon as Milo was in his arms, Ward’s anger and fear exploded. “What are you thinking? You know how dangerous that is. And I hear this isn’t the first time you’ve done it. Milo, you can’t do such foolish things.” His glare bored into the eyes of his son.

  Milo nodded. “Okay, Papa.” But Ward feared it was not compliance he saw in Milo’s eyes. What had Mrs. Haevre said? An unhappy child is a naughty child. Was he responsible for making Milo unhappy?

  The question weighted his shoulders. “Let’s get down.” Where it was safe.

  He took Milo to Mrs. Haevre, surprised to see she held Kit. Had he handed his son to her? He honestly couldn’t remember. “Milo, stay here with your brother and Mrs. Haevre until I get back.” He took the woman’s agreement for granted.

  He strode back into the barn, found spikes and a hammer, and climbed to the loft. He nailed the chain of the block and tackle to the floor. No child would be able to get it free. Then he closed the loft door and drove spikes in to hold it closed.

  He shook the door, pushed on it with his shoulder. Satisfied it would not break free, he returned to the three waiting for him. Kit’s eyes were wary. Milo’s guarded and perhaps challenging. He looked at Mrs. Haevre last. Saw sympathy and regret and also challenge.

  “I know when I’m beat.” He rubbed at his neck, wishing the muscles would relax. “If you will watch the boys while I work I will put in your crop. Are you in agreement?”

  She shifted Kit to one side and held out her hand. “Agreed.”

  They shook on it.

  She set Kit on the ground. He and Milo chased after a bug. At least Ward could see they weren’t in any danger. Mrs. Haevre had crossed her arms and waited as if she expected him to say more. But he’d agreed to her idea. Wasn’t that enough?

  “Now what?” she asked.

  He must have looked as puzzled as he felt.

  “How do we do this?”

  “This?” He scrambled to figure out what she meant. Had he missed something?

  “Where will I look after the boys? Here or my place? What time should I come?” She lifted her hands heavenward to indicate she had more questions she didn’t bother to ask.

  “Well, I don’t know. The only reason I’m prepared to do it is I see how quickly Milo can get into trouble. This arrangement isn’t something I’ve given a lot of thought to. None, in fact.”

  “Nor have I. I’d prefer to manage on my own. My pride says I must. My practical side says it might be Christmas before I can persuade those silly horses to stay home and work for me. I have one goal in mind and that is to prove up the homestead and do what I set out to do. And I will. Once the crop is in, I will have time to deal with the horses and learn how to handle them. So you see, it is just a temporary thing.”

  It took ten seconds after she wound down for him to realize she’d finished. “And I only want someone to watch the boys until I’m done planting.” He would not think of the land that he must plow after that. Surely by that time something would fall into place. He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe slowly. He had no sister, no mother. Yes, he had an aunt, but he’d move to the North Pole before he’d let her near his boys.

  Mrs. Haevre had gone back to standing with her arms crossed. He couldn’t say if it meant impatience or not. The boys turned over another rock and squatted down to watch whatever bugs they had unearthed. He looked again at his neighbor. “You want them at your place or mine?”

  “They’re your boys.
What do you think would be best for them?”

  “Mrs. Haevre, it would be best if they had a mother to take care of them, but they don’t.” At the pained look on her face, he wished he could pull his words back.

  “I would have liked to have children,” she murmured. “There were always lots of cousins around when I was at home. Always a baby or two.” She slowly filled her lungs. “That is not to be.” She drew herself up. “However, I will have the home Baruk and I planned even if it means accepting help.” She looked at the two boys. “They might be happier to be at their own home. So I will come here each morning until you’ve seeded your crop.”

  “And then I will seed yours. Why don’t I bring the boys to your house the days I am working your field?”

  “That will be fine, Mr. Rollins.”

  “Perhaps you could call me Ward.”

  “If you wish. Would it be easier for you to address me as Freyda?”

  He liked the way her name sounded with her accent. “It’s a pretty name.”

  Was he mistaken in thinking her cheeks grew pink?

  They faced each other without looking directly at the other. The air shimmered. The sounds of the boys faded.

  She jerked about to look at the pair. “Do you want me to take care of them now?”

  “Fine. I’ll get back to work.” He trotted out to his team of horses who waited patiently for him. He resumed work, part of his attention on guiding the big horses and part on watching the activity around the house. Occasionally he glanced to the north where his fledgling herd of cows grazed. Dorothy had not wanted him to have more than a milk cow and a steer to butcher but his heart was set on cows. He’d dreamed of riding after a herd, eating at a smoky campfire, sleeping under the stars. He’d hoped he could enjoy that pursuit on occasion after he started the homestead. But Dorothy couldn’t manage the boys on her own.

  He turned his attention back to his home. Freyda perched on a rock near where the boys played. He still had no reason to trust his sons wholeheartedly to a woman who wasn’t even from America. But he had no choice. Milo had made that clear.

  Like Freyda had told Ward—she’d have to work at being comfortable using his Christian name—this wasn’t the way she had planned things to be. But then, shouldn’t she be used to that?