Second-Chance Bride (Dakota Brides Book 3) Read online

  She watched the boys play. Milo glanced at her and shifted so she got a good view of his back. He was different than her boisterous cousins. More like—

  She chuckled. More like she’d been as a child. Defensive, and, as the youngest of her siblings, always trying to prove herself. In fact, wasn’t she still doing the latter? It continued to irk her that Baruk had refused to bring her with him to America. She could handle the challenges. If she’d been here, she might have nursed him back to health. Instead, he died alone in the new land with only his neighbor to check on him.

  She hadn’t asked Ward for details about Baruk’s passing. All she knew was what was written in the letter sent by Reverend Sorrow. I regret to inform you of the passing of your husband, Baruk Haevre. He died 01-14-1886. He succumbed to pneumonia. His neighbor, Mr. Ward Rollins, was with him at the end. Your husband had a good Christian funeral attended by friends and neighbors. He is buried by the church in Grassy Plains, Dakota Territory. My sincerest condolences.

  Her family assumed that was the end of her dream of going to America.

  Her family was wrong. She would not let anything deter her. Not two stubborn horses nor two motherless boys. Her heart saddened at what Milo and Kit had to deal with. It made her realize how sweet her childhood had been even though there were times she was pushed aside because she was the youngest and no one thought she could keep up. Baruk’s refusal to let her come to America with him made her feel the same way she had when she was shuffled off with the younger cousins.

  Milo and Kit had been steadily moving away and she followed them.

  Milo glared at her. “You stay away.”

  Freyda shook her head. “I won’t bother you, but I do need to keep an eye on both of you to make sure you’re safe.”

  “I can take care of myself and Kit.”

  She barely managed not to smile at how familiar his words were. “I know you can, but I have an agreement with your papa to watch you.”

  Milo grabbed Kit’s hand and dragged him out of sight behind the barn.

  Freyda followed, keeping as much distance between them as safety allowed. At least Milo couldn’t swing from the loft door any more.

  He found a sharp rock and jabbed at the ground, digging a hole. He whispered to Kit as he worked.

  Freyda caught a few of his words, enough to know the boy meant to dig a cave so he and Kit could hide in it.

  She didn’t blame him and shifted her back to the barn. She could see them and hear them. She turned her thoughts to how she and Ward could make this temporary agreement work.

  She’d only agreed to take care of the boys. Did that include making meals for them? What else? Without any delays it would take at least three weeks to seed the crops. If Ward stopped to make meals, it would take longer. Longer was not good.

  Thanks to her search of the kitchen and pantry, Freyda knew there were plenty of supplies for preparing meals. She began to plan what she would make for them.

  Ward had stopped at the end of the field to get a drink and let the horses rest a few minutes. He looked her direction. She waved and then jabbed her hand toward the boys to indicate they were safe.

  He flicked a hand back and returned to seeding.

  The shadows grew longer. Where had the day gone? If she meant to have supper ready for Ward and the boys, she needed to get started.

  “Boys.” She made sure to signal her approach. “Come to the house. I’ll make you a good supper.”

  Milo continued to dig as if he hadn’t heard her.

  She knew he had. She held out a hand to Kit and he scrambled to his feet and gripped her fingers.

  “Milo, let’s go.” She touched his shoulder.

  He jerked to his feet and flew at her, fists flying.

  She put Kit to the side, out of harm’s way, as she backed away from Milo.

  Milo charged after her. “You aren’t my mama. I don’t have to do what you say. You can’t make me.” His fists hammered at her.

  She sidestepped him and, before he could face her again, she wrapped her arms around him, trapping his flailing fists, and held him tight. “Milo, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. You are safe. I won’t let anyone hurt you. It’s okay. It’s okay.” She murmured comfort and calmness to him. At least half the words were in Norwegian, but she didn’t think it mattered.

  Slowly, the fight left him. She sank to the ground and cradled him against her, still holding tight. Anger that erupted so suddenly and violently would take time to calm. To help soothe him, she told him a story of her childhood.

  “When I was little, I always felt I was being left behind. My brother is four years older than me. My sister seven years older. It seemed to me that they could always have more fun than I did. I don’t know how many times I was told I couldn’t go with them. They said I couldn’t keep up. I insisted I could. One time, they were going to skate down the frozen river to our aunt and uncle’s place. I told them I could keep up. They laughed and left without me. I was so angry I banged my fists against the door that had closed behind them until my hands started to bleed.”

  She’d almost forgotten that event, but not the feeling of being dismissed. It was the same feeling she had when Baruk refused to let her accompany him to America.

  “I don’t know where my parents were. Perhaps doing chores. But my grandfather found me and stopped me. He held me much like I’m holding you right now. And do you know what he said to me?”

  Milo didn’t answer but she knew from the way he cocked his head that he listened.

  “What he said?” Kit stood nearby. Poor little man, watching his big brother’s anger.

  She smiled at him, and he relaxed.

  “First, he washed my hands and put ointment on them and said I had hurt no one but myself with my angry outburst. Then he said, ‘Anger doesn’t solve anything, but it destroys everything.’”

  The boys waited, perhaps wanting to understand what it meant. “Just like my anger hurt me, anger hurts everyone around you and it brings nothing but trouble. It steals away your happiness. Does that make sense?”

  Kit nodded, perhaps more because he thought he should than because he understood.

  Freyda loosened her arms slowly but didn’t entirely let go of Milo. There were other things she wanted to say to the boy, but that was enough for now. She had many days to spend with them. Gud, help me teach these boys how to be happy and trust people.

  Milo remained relaxed in her arms. “I think your papa would like a nice supper. Ja?”

  Kit nodded.

  Freyda waited for Milo’s response but when he didn’t indicate yes or no, she didn’t push him to do so. “I would make supper for your papa and his two handsome young sons, but I would need help. Who would like to help me?”

  Kit waved his hand in the air. “I would. I would.”

  “Fine. I might need two helpers.” She got to her feet, holding her breath as she helped Milo up. Slowly she relaxed as Milo walked beside her to the house.

  In the kitchen, she handed Milo a cup and a mixing bowl. “I need three cups of flour in this bowl. You think you can do that?”

  He nodded.

  She broke two eggs into a smaller bowl and put it before Kit. She handed him a whisk. “You beat these eggs until they are all mixed up.”

  Kit giggled. “It’s okay to beat eggs?”

  “Yes.” She understood what he meant. “But it’s not okay to beat little boys.”

  Milo met her gaze for an instant, but it was long enough for her to see a flicker of hope.

  Takk Gud.

  It took far longer to mix up biscuits with the help of the boys than it would have taken to make them on her own but that wasn’t the point. She wanted them to be a part of what she did.

  Kit scrubbed potatoes and Milo scraped carrots. She let Milo turn the meat that she browned in the fry pan. She let Kit put in flour and add water to make gravy then left the meat to simmer while the vegetables cooked.

  Everything was ready.


  “When will Papa come?” Kit asked.

  “He’s working.” The first words Milo had spoken since his angry eruption.

  Freyda did not know the boys well, but she sensed anger building in Milo again. She hoped she could forestall it. “Let’s go tell him the meal is ready.” She had no idea if he would want to stop to eat or if he wanted to work until dark.

  The boys raced from the house and out to the field. They stopped at the end of the field. Ward reached the spot where they waited. He stopped and bent over to hug both boys.

  Freyda blinked back the tears stinging her eyes. At least Milo and Kit knew their father loved them.

  Ward straightened. “The boys say supper is ready.”

  “I don’t know what you prefer. Do you want me to feed the boys? Do you want to come in now? Do you want to work until dark?”

  He glanced to the west. “I will come in now.” He began to unhitch the team. She watched his every move so she could remember how to do it for herself.

  The boys ran back and forth along the edge of the field.

  Milo kick a clod and laughed when it exploded into a cloud of dirt.

  The sound wrapped around Freyda’s heart. “It’s good to hear him happy.” She hadn’t meant to say the words aloud and hoped Ward would not hear them as criticism.

  He nodded and prepared to take the horses to the barn. “Come on, boys.”

  They followed him. Freyda walked at his side, again watching how he handled the horses.

  They parted ways at the yard. She went to the house. He went to the barn, taking the two boys with him. She stopped at the door. If he would invite her, she would go to the barn too and observe how he unyoked the animals. But he didn’t invite her and she didn’t ask.

  She waited until she heard the tromp of boots to serve the meal. The table was set with three plates.

  Ward ground to a halt when he saw the table. “There’s a plate missing.”

  “I do not know what you mean.” Was this his way of asking her to join them?

  “You will eat with us.”

  “Thank you.” She put a fourth setting on the table.

  “When you are here, you will eat my food.”

  “And when you work at my place, you will eat my food.” That way there would be no owing.

  “That’s settled.”

  Lest he think she didn’t have a say in the arrangement, she added, “It’s a satisfying agreement.”

  “Boys, let’s pray.” He waited until his sons folded their hands together. He glanced at Freyda as if to ask her opinion. She answered by bowing her head.

  He offered a short grace. “Amen.”

  She handed him the bowl of potatoes, not knowing if he expected to be served first.

  “Help yourself,” he said.

  She did so.

  “I helped with the potatoes,” Kit said.

  “I got the carrots ready,” Milo added.

  Ward smiled. “You did? Great. Soon you’ll be able to make the meal all by yourself.”

  “Then I guess you won’t need me any longer.” Freyda did her best to sound cheerful but, in her mind, she had the same sense of being left out, left behind, as she had as a child. She knew it was foolish, but, still, it was there.

  “Papa’s joshing,” Milo said. “We can’t cook. We can only help.”

  She could have hugged the boy as she read the expression in his eyes. He understood her need to be accepted.

  Just as she understood his need to be cherished and protected. At that instant a tenuous bond formed between them. It wouldn’t take much to break the connection, but it was a good start.

  Kit watched Ward carefully as he took a bite of his biscuit. “Is it good, Papa?”

  Ward nodded.

  “Milo and I made them.” The boy wriggled on his chair.

  Ward chuckled. “I am very proud of you both.” He rubbed their heads. He looked at Freyda. “Thank you.”

  She wondered if he meant for the meal or for the pleasure the boys had helping with the meal. Not that it mattered. She had done both and it pleased her.

  The meal over, Ward pushed from the table. “Do you mind staying while I do the chores?”

  “Not at all.” She did the dishes while he was outside, making a game out of it so that the boys helped willingly.

  Ward returned and she prepared to leave. “What time would you like me to return tomorrow?”

  He scrubbed at his neck and looked toward the field. “I’d like to put in a long day—dawn to dusk—but I can’t ask you to come that early.”

  “I’ll be here as soon as it’s light.”

  “You sure you don’t mind?”

  “We are both anxious to get our crops seeded.” The sooner his crop was in, the sooner hers would be in. It was as simple as that.

  “Okay then. Good night.” The boys stood beside him in the doorway. “Say goodnight to Mrs. Haevre,” Ward said. They did so and Freyda hurried down the dusky trail to her house. She shut her chickens in and then realized she’d left the horses at the Robbins’s farm. Tomorrow she would remember to bring them home.

  Darkness filled the house as she returned from doing her own chores. Her home was silent and empty. It had been nice to spend the afternoon with two little boys.

  She must not allow herself to depend too much on their company even though she had enjoyed the day. Owning her own farm, being independent, living the dream she had shared with Baruk, would be lonely, but she would do it. She would get used to cooking only for herself and talking to the four walls.

  3

  Ward regretted letting Freyda walk home alone with darkness rapidly descending, but he couldn’t see he had any other choice unless he wanted to take the boys over there and back. Perhaps he’d do that tomorrow rather than stare out the window until he couldn’t see her any longer and then assume she had made it back safely.

  “Okay, you two. Time for bed.” He took the pair to the bedroom they shared and supervised them getting into their nightshirts. Both of which were too small. He’d have to locate an old one of Milo’s for Kit but he might have to order Milo’s replacement from the store.

  Kit slipped his arms through the sleeves and let Ward button the front. Kit could do it himself but Ward liked the little ritual as much as Kit did. “Papa, Mrs. Haevre said we were handsome. What does that mean?”

  He grinned to know she had praised the boys. “It means you are fine-looking young men.”

  “Like you, Papa?”

  He chuckled and pulled the boys close to him. Dorothy had complained that both were exact copies of him. “I suppose that is true, seeing as you look like me.” Handsome, Freyda thought? He couldn’t help but push his chest out a bit.

  “Are we raff raff like old Mrs. Wright said?” Milo asked.

  “She said things she shouldn’t have. Did things she shouldn’t have. That doesn’t make them true or right. You are boys who sometimes get into mischief but that’s part of growing up. There are times I must punish you for disobedience or meanness, but I would never be cruel.” He knew too well the damage of that sort of treatment.

  Milo leaned back to study his father. “You know what she said?” He nodded toward the Haevre place, so Ward took him to mean Freyda. “She said getting mad hurts me.”

  Ward closed his eyes and prayed for wisdom. He’d seen growing evidence that Milo’s temper often got the best of him, and he didn’t know how to help the boy. He would not use his Aunt Myra’s methods. Spare the rod, spoil the child. Seemed to him the rod could be misused. Seeing Mrs. Wright strike his son over and over had drained the blood from his heart. He would not allow his sons to be treated as his aunt had treated him.

  “Milo, did you get angry?”

  He hung his head. “Maybe.”

  “He hit Mrs. Haevre,” Kit said.

  “Let Milo tell his own story.”

  “Sorry, Papa.” Kit’s bottom lip trembled at the slight rebuke.

  “Milo?” Ward promp
ted.

  “I was so angry I couldn’t stop myself.” A flash in his eyes warned Ward that the anger lingered.

  “Why? What upset you? Did Mrs. Haevre do something?” If she had struck his son their agreement would be over and done with.

  “No. She was nice. She held me until I wasn’t so angry and she told me a story about when she got angry when she was young.” He leaned back. “She has a mama and a papa and a grandpa. And I don’t know what else. How come we don’t?”

  “My parents died when I was little.” He’d never told his sons about his childhood. Some things were best laid to rest.

  Kit wrapped his arms around Ward’s neck. “No papa?”

  “No.”

  Milo studied his father a moment. “Where did you live? Who looked after you?”

  Ward had hoped this day would never come, but he had prepared for it and decided he would not tell them he had an aunt and uncle back in Ohio. He never wanted them to meet. “A man and lady raised me. She was a lot like Mrs. Wright.”

  “Oh, Papa. No.” Milo pressed his face to Ward’s chest. Silent tears soaked Ward’s shirt front. He rubbed Milo’s back. “It’s okay, Son. She can’t hurt me anymore.” He eased Milo back to look him in the eyes. “Milo, I will not let someone hurt you like that. You must tell me if anyone ever whips you.” He guessed it wasn’t the first time Mrs. Wright had used a switch on his son.

  Milo nodded. “I will.”

  The boys were quiet a moment before Kit spoke. “Is Mrs. Haevre coming tomorrow?”

  “Yes. She will stay with you while I plant my crop and then hers. Is that okay?”

  Kit nodded. “She’s nice.”

  Ward looked to Milo for his answer.

  “She’s okay.” His voice contained guardedness.

  Ward understood. Trust did not come easy once it was shattered.

  “Okay, say your prayers and into bed with you.” As he listened to the boys pray he said his own silent one. Thank you, Lord God, for someone to help. And so far she is fair with the boys. He would not rest easy until—

  Until what? He needed help even though he didn’t want it.

  He wakened the next morning to the knowledge that he must get the boys up, make breakfast, and milk the cow, all before Freyda arrived. Pink tinged the eastern sky by the time he woke the boys and set them to dressing themselves. He tried to decide if he should make breakfast or milk the cow while they dressed.