Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Copyright

“I’m not a female who will cling
and ask favors of a man.

“I’ll do my duty by your children and your house. That’s what you told me you expected of me.”

His eyes narrowed. “I think we’ll come to an understanding eventually, ma’am. In the meantime, we’ll just have to work it out as we go.”

She was a magnificent specimen of womanhood, he decided. Standing tall, as if her spine were made of finest steel, yet only reaching his shoulder in height. She was a strong woman, carrying a graceful figure, with hair not quite golden, but rather, streaked and honey-colored. Her eyes were the true blue of her ancestors, her slender body well-proportioned. And then he allowed his gaze to scan the length of her.

Her cheeks had turned more than rosy with his scrutiny, and she pursed her mouth. “Do I pass muster, sir?”

Dear Reader,

This month we’re celebrating love “against all odds” with these four powerful romances!

Carolyn Davidson’s voice has a warmth to it that always assures a happily-ever-after for her characters, even during moments of great adversity. Set in Minnesota, The Midwife is the poignant story of Leah Gunderson, a young “spinster” fleeing from her past as a midwife, and Garlan Lundstrom, the taciturn farmer who presses Leah into helping care for his newborn after his wife dies in labor. Leah has secretly admired Garlan from afar, which makes it all the more complicated when he proposes a marriage in name only…

Lady of the Knight by rising star Tori Phillips tells the tale of a courtly knight who buys a “soiled dove” and wagers that he can pass her off as a noble lady in ten days’ time. The more difficult charade, though, lies in ignoring their feelings for one another! Catherine Archer returns with Winter’s Bride, a medieval novel about a noble lady, long thought dead, whose past and present collide when she is reunited with her beloved and overcomes her amnesia.

Rounding out the month is Barbara Leigh’s The Surrogate Wife, set in the Carolinas in the late 1700s. In this story of forbidden love, the heroine is wrongly convicted of murdering the hero’s wife, and is sentenced to life as his indentured servant…

Whatever your tastes in reading, you’ll be sure to find a romantic journey back to the past between the covers of a Harlequin Historicals® novel.

Sincerely,

Tracy Farrell

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Harlequin Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

The
Midwife
Carolyn Davidson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CAROLYN DAVIDSON

Reading and writing have always been major interests in Carolyn Davidson’s life. Even during the years of raising children and working a full-time job, she found time to read voraciously. However, her writing consisted of letters and an occasional piece of poetry. Now that the nest is empty, except for three grandchildren, she has turned to writing as an occupation.

Her family, friends and church blend to make a most fulfilling existence for this South Carolina author. And most important is her husband of many years, the man who gives her total support and an abundance of love to draw on for inspiration. A charter member of the Lowcountry Romance Writers of America, she has found a community of soul mates who share her love of books, and whose support is invaluable.

Watch for her next Harlequin Historical novel, The Bachelor Tax, coming in January. She enjoys hearing from her readers at P.O. Box 2757, Goose Creek, SC 29445-2757, and promises to answer your letter.

The Midwife came into being because of my granddaughter, Rachel, a wonderful young lady who aspires to that profession. When she asked me to write a book about a midwife, I agreed to consider it, and was surprised and delighted when she sent me a brief outline of a story. Although I chugged down a different road and steered in different directions than she, and even though I added characters I thought were important to my book, this is basically Rachel’s midwife story. To her I dedicate the total effort, with all good wishes that her dream will one day be fulfilled.

And as always, to Mr. Ed, who loves me.

Chapter One

Kirby Falls, MinnesotaJanuary 1892

“It’s a pity that such a handsome man should always look so forbidding.” Bonnie Nielsen’s eyes cast a longing look at the man she spoke of.

“He’s married, Bonnie.” Leah mentally calculated her purchases and searched through her purse for coins, spending barely a glance in the direction of the man in question. He stood on the outskirts of a group of menfolk who clustered around the stove in one corner of the general store. His arms were crossed, his mouth formed in a thin line, and he did indeed glower, Leah decided as she favored him with a second look.

Bonnie’s cheeks flushed a becoming pink and she looked up at her customer through a pale fringe of lashes. “All the good-looking ones are. More’s the pity!” Her hands were making quick work of Leah’s sparse selections, and she tied the package deftly as she spoke.

“Don’t you even look at the men, Leah?” Bonnie pushed the paper-wrapped bundle across the counter and accepted Leah’s coins in return.

“It’s enough that I wash their clothes. Why should I look at the men who wear them?” Leah picked up her foodstuffs, then made a liar out of herself as she allowed her gaze to pass over the group of men who were laughing at some private joke as they warmed themselves.

As always, her eyes hesitated, just for the smallest second, on the somber man, the tallest of the group. The one who said little, who seemed drawn to the noisy, friendly men, even though he appeared not to belong in their midst.

Gar Lundstrom. He did look forbidding. Bonnie had it right on the money. And yes, he was handsome, with pale hair that never darkened in the winter, as did her own. His eyes were striking, pale blue beneath dark brows, another puzzle. He should have been fair, right down to his eyebrows. Perhaps the hair on his chest…

Leah closed her eyes, aghast at the thought she had allowed to enter her mind. She’d been too long indoors, spent too many evenings alone, talked to herself too many hours on end.

And always, she kept the vision of Gar Lundstrom from her mind. Only when she caught sight of the man did she allow her thoughts to stray in his direction. But to what purpose? The man was someone’s husband. Hulda Lundstrom was the woman he’d chosen to wed: a small, nondescript woman who seldom came to town, and whose son always remained close at hand when she did venture into the general store.

Lundstrom was no doubt on his way home now, Leah decided, taking care to turn aside as he said terse goodbyes and made his way from the store. The talk resumed around the stove and Leah walked to the door, aware of eyes that watched her progress, her own gaze straight ahead, lest she mesh glances with one of the men who gathered on these winter mornings.

Most of them were married, but there were always, in their midst, one or two bachelors. Several had approached her, the elusive widow, hoping to strike a bargain of some sort.

She closed the door behind her and walked down the wooden sidewalk, her package dangling by the string with which it was tied. Tea, a bit of sugar, and a small piece of bacon weighed little, and cost less, but it had taken most of her cash. If the menfolk didn’t pick up their bundles of laundry today, she would be hardpressed to find money for the rent this month.

Her feet turned up the path to the small house she called home, and she stepped onto the porch, reaching for the doorknob.

“Yoo-hoo! Mrs. Gunderson!” From next door, a fragile voice called her name and Leah halted, one foot already past the threshold.

“Yes, Mrs. Thorwald,” she answered, pulling the door closed, lest the heat escape. “Are you all right?”

“I believe I have a touch of the quinsy, dear,” the old woman answered, barely visible behind the windowpanes, bending low to speak through the narrow opening she’d allowed above the sill.

“I put some soup bones on the stove to cook before I went to the store. I have to find some vegetables to put in with them, and then I’ll bring you a bowl of soup when it’s ready,” Leah promised, knowing that, more than soup, the widow lady wanted companionship. She waved a hand as she opened her door again and stepped into the warmth of her parlor.

The heat from the kitchen cookstove permeated the whole house, each room opening up into another. She could walk in a circle and visit each room within seconds. Leah hung her cloak by the front door and placed her boots on a mat beneath. Then she donned her knitted slippers.

Her skillet awaited, warming on the back of the shiny black stove. She unwrapped the bacon quickly, her mouth watering at the prospect of such a luxury this noontime. She sliced it, then placed the thick pieces in the pan, inhaling the scent as the edges began to sizzle.

A knock at the door halted her while she was pouring water from her teakettle into her favorite flowered cup.

“I’m coming,” she called, her slippered feet silent as she crossed the parlor.

“It’s Hobart Dunbar, Mrs. Gunderson,” the man said loudly, as if he would allay any concern a man at her door might bring.

The owner of the only hotel in Kirby Falls was most circumspect, always careful to remain on her porch while she brought him the big bundle of tablecloths and aprons she washed and ironed with such care. Bleach and starch were commodities he paid extra for, and gladly, since, as he’d told Leah upon their first encounter, his wife refused to spend half a day over a scrub board twice a week.

“Do come in, Mr. Dunbar,” Leah said cordially, waving her hand to usher him in.

As always, he shook his head. “No, no. I’ll just wait right here, ma’am. Close the door. Don’t waste your heat.” And all the while, he stamped his feet and shrugged his ears down into the collar of his heavy coat, until the brim of his hat met with it.

Leah hastened to the room she used as her laundry and snatched up the washing she’d completed late last evening. Wrapped in a stained sheet, the bundle contained sparkling white, heavily starched linens. Even the caps that Mr. Dunbar’s three waitresses wore when they served tables had been ironed and creased, ready to be buttoned at the back when the wearers donned them.

The three women also cleaned the hotel rooms and lobby daily, in between mealtimes, a sign of Hobart Dunbar’s frugality. Even his wife took her turn, standing behind the walnut desk, her lacy handkerchief attached to the front of her dress, her hair curled and pinned, her eyes ever watchful.

Mr. Dunbar accepted his laundry and pressed his money into Leah’s hand with a nod. “Thank you, Mrs. Gunderson. I’ll send the boy over tomorrow night with another batch.” He backed from her door and Leah closed it quickly, her fingers closing over the coins that were cold against her palm.

Through the glass that centered her front door, she watched as another gentleman passed through her gate, pausing to speak with the hotel owner. Quickly she hurried to find the appropriate bundle of laundry for Brian Havelock, knowing only too well that he would more than welcome an offer to enter her parlor.

Leah was breathless from her hasty movements when she opened the door for him, her smile barely moving her lips. “I thought I saw you coming through the gate,” she said brightly.

Brian peered past her into the house. “Are you all alone, Leah? Can I join you for a cup of tea, perhaps?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m about to step over to visit with Mrs. Thorwald. She’s not feeling well.”

His disappointment was visible, and his gaze swept the length of her body, from the crown of her head to where her slippers peeked from beneath the hem of her dress. “I’d really enjoy spending time with you, you know.” His words were wistful, and he smiled with beguiling charm.

Leah sighed. “I know what you want, Mr. Havelock. At the risk of being too bold, I must tell you that I am not available for such a thing.”

“My intentions are otherwise, Leah,” he said quickly, a blush climbing his cheeks, turning them even more rosy than the wind had done.

She blinked, mouth open and mind wiped clean as he denied her accusation. “Otherwise?” she said after a moment.

He nodded, edging closer to her. “I’d like to come calling on you, ma’am.”

“I thought you were courting Kirsten Andersen,” Leah said bluntly. Her hand waved distractedly. “No matter. I’m entirely too old for you, Mr. Havelock, and too busy to waste either my time or yours.”

“Will you at least dance with me Saturday night?” he asked hopefully.

She nodded quickly, willing to promise that small boon, if only he would leave her house with his clean underwear and work clothes.

He smiled eagerly, counting out the money he owed her, managing to squeeze her fingers as he placed the coins in her palm. “I’ll plan on it, Leah.”

She shut the door behind him and leaned back against its cold surface. Now if he were only taller, with wide shoulders and the hands of a…She shook her head. The image in her mind was forbidden to her, the features of Gar Lundstrom taking form behind her closed eyes.

Never in her almost thirty years had she found herself in such little control of the thoughts and desires she lived with daily. Garlan Lundstrom had done nothing, said nothing, to insinuate himself into her mind. And yet he dwelt there.

She bent her head. From the very first time, over a year ago when she’d seen him in church, she’d felt a yearning for the man and scolded herself all during the long walk home. He was married.

And she was Leah Gunderson, wash lady to most of the bachelors in town. Not that that was anything to be ashamed of. On top of that, she was fairly skilled in the art of healing, enough so that she had been called upon to sew up cuts and set broken bones.

Her skills as a midwife were not known to the townspeople, and never would be, she had decided from the first. The doctor who tended the new mothers was old and beyond his prime, content to let the widow lady on the back side of town care for the odds and ends of healing that came her way.

Yet Leah mourned for the disuse of those abilities she had learned in her young years. She’d visited women in all stages of labor with her mother, Minna Polk. She’d helped with birthings from the time she was sixteen. And then called herself a widow in order to set up her own practice.

A single woman could not deliver children. There was a stigma against it that forbade such contact. Young girls were supposed to be innocent.

Innocence. Sometimes Leah could not remember the meaning of the word.

Laundry came first, as always, and the soup kettle was moved to the back of the stove so Leah could heat wash water in the copper boiler. She scrubbed on her board in between cutting up her store of vegetables for the kettle on the stove. The day was waning by the time she reached the bottom of Orville Hunsicker’s laundry basket, and Leah hurried now to complete her mission to the neighbor who depended on her kindness.

The soup was a bit thin, but Mrs. Thorwald was most appreciative in any case, tasting each spoonful with appropriate murmurs.

“You are such a joy to have right next door,” she said sweetly, her spoon scraping at the bottom of her bowl. “You’ll never know how much I appreciate your company, dear.”

Leah smiled, ashamed of her impatience, as she watched the old lady enjoy her soup. “I’m happy to help out,” she said, pleasantly enough. Her mind raced ahead to the pile of washing she had yet to hang in her kitchen tonight. It would be dry by morning, and she would iron it before noon.

“Do you have any more of that salve you gave me to rub on my chest, dear?” Peering up at Leah, the wizened old woman’s eyes were rheumy and her mouth trembled.

A pang of guilt struck Leah. “Of course, I have. I’ll just run home and bring it back to you, Mrs. Thorwald.” She rose and eyed her soup kettle. “Why don’t you just keep the rest of the soup, and I’ll take the kettle home to wash.”

Mrs. Thorwald’s eyes brightened, and the widow nodded eagerly. “It’ll be just the thing for my quinsy, won’t it, dear?”

Leah donned her boots and coat and let herself out the front door, walking on the path to the gate to her own yard. The sun had gone down, and dusk had settled while she sat in the widow’s kitchen. Beneath her feet, the snow was too deep to attempt crossing the yards.

“I feel I’ve adopted a grandmother,” Leah muttered to herself, stomping up the stairs to her house. And that wasn’t all bad, she admitted silently. It was just that some day, she yearned—

“Mrs. Gunderson.”

The voice was dark, deep and richly resonant. It halted her in her tracks, one foot on the porch, the other on the top step. From the shadows beneath the steep roof, a tall figure stepped forward, and Leah watched as one long arm reached up to scoop the wide-brimmed hat from his head.

“Ma’am?” That single word held the power to set her heart beating almost double time, and Leah pressed her palm against her chest.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Leah made her way slowly, carefully, to her door, her legs trembling as she turned to face Gar Lundstrom. “You only startled me, Mr. Lundstrom. I was thinking about my neighbor. About her quinsy, actually.” She peered up at him. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m not sure, ma’am. I was told you might be able to help, since the doctor is…indisposed,” he said carefully.

She leaned forward. “Are you hurt? Have you sustained a wound?”

He shook his head. “No, it’s not me, ma’am.” He stepped closer and she caught sight of his face, strained and anxious in the twilight.

“What, then? Your boy?”

“My wife. She is about to give birth, and she needs help. The women in the store have told me you are learned in the art of healing, and I thought—”

“I don’t deliver babies, Mr. Lundstrom,” Leah interjected forcefully. “I can sew up a cut or give herbs for some ailments, but babies are the business of the doctor.”

“He’s—”

“Yes, you said. Not available.”

He stepped closer, and his dark eyes burned with an intensity that stopped Leah’s breath in her throat. “I’ve driven my team hard to come back to town, ma’am. I fear to leave my wife alone longer.” He reached to grip Leah’s arm. “I need you to come with me. Surely you know about birthing babies. There is no one else to ask.”

“Doesn’t your wife have any women friends?” Leah asked, her voice hopeful.

He shook his head. “She doesn’t leave the farm much. Only to church, when she’s able, and to the store.”

“I haven’t seen her for quite some time.” Leah tried to remember the last occasion.

“She’s been in bed most of the time. For months,” Gar Lundstrom said tightly. “She’s not been well.”

“I can’t do it,” Leah told him, tilting her chin and gritting her teeth as she faced him.

His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “You must. There is no one else. My wife needs your help.”

She shook her head even as her heart raced in response. How could she turn this man away, knowing that, as they spoke, his wife was probably in the throes of labor, alone in a farmhouse, miles outside of town.

Gar Lundstrom’s big hand slid up her forearm and gripped her elbow more firmly. “You must come with me. Do you need a warmer coat?”

He hesitated only a moment as she stared up at him. “Come then,” he said tightly, tugging her to the steps.

Leah closed her eyes. It was too much. How could she deny the woman what small help she could give? Either she would deliver a healthy baby or she wouldn’t. “I’ll get my bag,” she whispered, snatching her arm from his grip.

He followed her into the house, and she fumbled for the lamp, striking a match and lighting it quickly.

“Wait here,” she said, striding purposefully through the doorway into her bedroom. Falling to her knees before the big chest she kept beneath the window, she opened it wide. Under her summer dresses was a leather bag, and she gripped the handles, feeling them warm in her palm.

She rose to her feet and drew a deep breath. It was happening again. She could feel the hopelessness grip her as she turned to face the man who had followed her into her bedroom. As if he were afraid she would disappear, he stood in the doorway, eyes alert and scanning the simple contents of her room.

“You needn’t follow me, Mr. Lundstrom. I said I’d come with you.”

He nodded his head. “Yes, you did.” His eyes were bold as he surveyed her. “Are you stronger than you look, Mrs. Gunderson?” He waited for a moment and nodded again. “Yes, I think you are. You may need to be, ma’am.”

He turned and she followed him, her gaze filled with the broad back, the slight hitch in his gait and the glow of his golden hair in the lamplight.

She blew out the lamp and they walked out onto the porch. “I need to tell my neighbor where I’m going, and I promised her some salve for her quinsy,” she said, suddenly remembering Mrs. Thorwald. “Pick me up by her gate.”

She hurried down the path, aware of his big sleigh sitting in the street. It was a wonder she had not noticed it earlier.

Mrs. Thorwald accepted the jar of salve with thanks, then clucked her tongue knowingly as she heard Leah’s words of explanation. “That one will keep you up all night, I’ll warrant. She’s what they call a hard delivery, Leah. Perhaps she’s lucky the doctor’s not available. He hasn’t done her much good in the past.”

With those words ringing cryptically in her ears, Leah made her way to the sleigh, where a gloved hand reached down to her. She hesitated for only a second, then placed her palm in that of Gar Lundstrom. He pulled her with little effort into his sleigh.

A fur robe was tucked over her lap, and Gar cast her one searching glance before he picked up the reins. Leah felt the heat of his body beside her, yet shivered as if an icy blast had cut through her covering.

“Sit closer,” he said bluntly. “You need to stay warm.” His big hand circled her shoulder, and he moved her across the seat until their thighs were brushing.

Leah swallowed words of protest that begged to be spoken. He was too big, too warm, too close; yet, for just a moment, she relished the warmth, the size and the nearness of the man. For just this short time, she allowed her mind to be blank of all else, to dwell only on the presence of Gar Lundstrom beside her.

The woman who labored on the big bed was as pitiful a sight as Leah had ever been exposed to. Hulda Lundstrom’s dry lips were drawn back over clenched teeth and her hair hung lank with sweat. She groaned unceasingly.

In less than a second, Leah cast a glance around the bedroom, tossed her cloak aside and placed her bag on a chair. “I need water to wash with, good hot water.”

“Right away.” Gar Lundstrom’s voice was gruff with emotion as he left the room, Leah’s cloak over his arm.

“How long have you been like this?” Leah asked Hulda Lundstrom, who panted harshly as her body convulsed with the pain of a violent contraction.

“Not long…a couple of hours maybe.” Her voice was raw, weakened by her pain, and Hulda opened her eyes to reveal a dull acceptance of her state. “It’s no worse than the other times.” She rested, taking deep breaths as the pain left her, her body seeming to sink into the depths of the mattress.

“How many other times have there been?” Leah asked, looking up as the door opened and Gar backed into the bedroom, his hands cradling a basin of steaming water.

“Two. No, three. But one was only three months gone and it was nothing.” Hulda’s gaze fastened on her husband. “You don’t need to be here, Gar. Go be with Kristofer,” she whispered. “It will be a long time yet.”

Leah turned to the man, anger rising in her throat. “You didn’t tell me your wife was having a difficult labor. I think you need to go back to town and find the doctor. If she has lost several babies already, we need to use every precaution this time.”

The wash water was deposited on the dressing table with care, lest it slosh over the edges. The tall man straightened to his full height, turning to face the bed.

“He won’t come.” There was a finality to his words that sent a chill down Leah’s spine.

“He told her the last time that she would not be able to deliver a live child, that her organs were damaged from the other times. He said he would not be responsible for encouraging her in her foolish efforts.”

“Foolish efforts.” Leah repeated the words without emotion, though her heart was pounding within her, and her anger rose even higher.

“I want to give my husband another child. Is that so bad?” Hulda’s eyes filled with tears as she turned her head to look at Leah. And even as she spoke, she stiffened, groaning as another contraction knotted her belly. Her hands spread wide over the mound, and her head tipped back against the pillow as the pain ravaged her.

Leah stepped to the side of the bed and sat next to the woman who labored now in silence before her audience. “Wring out a cloth in the warm water,” Leah said, glancing only momentarily at Gar, who watched from across the room.

He took a clean flannel square from atop a pile and wrung it out in the basin, then brought it to the bed. “Let me do this while you wash,” he said quietly.

Leah rose, giving way to him, and walked across the room, rolling up her sleeves as she went. Immutable sadness enveloped her as she scrubbed at her hands with the carbolic soap she carried in her bag. The chances of a live birth seemed small, given Hulda Lundstrom’s history. And yet, Leah must do all she could to birth a live child for this small, needy woman.

“Pull back the sheet,” she told Gar, returning to the bed. “Then put a clean sheet or blanket beneath her.”

“I don’t…” Hulda gasped for a breath, her face contorting as she allowed a groan to escape her lips. “Leave, Gar. Go…I don’t…”

“He can leave when he’s done as I asked,” Leah told her softly. “Let him lift you, Hulda. I want you to have clean bedding beneath you.”

A nod signified Hulda’s agreement, and Gar did as Leah had requested. His big hands were gentle as he slid them beneath his wife’s limbs to spread a clean, folded sheet under her lower body. He stood erect and looked at Leah, awaiting further instructions, and she was struck by the hopelessness in his eyes.

No longer the possessor of the dark, arrogant glare of a strong man, he cast her only a pleading, anxious look that begged mercy at her hands. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you want me.”

Leah nodded and took his place on the side of the bed. “Pull up your gown, Hulda,” she said quietly. “I want to feel the child.”

Hulda’s fingers twisted in the white flannel cloth, and she tugged it high over her stomach, exposing the swollen mound that contained her child. As Leah watched, it rippled, the muscles still strong as the womb fought to expel its contents. She placed her hand against the hard surface, closing her eyes as she felt for the body parts within.

Nothing nudged her hand, no trace of movement, only the pulsing rhythm of the pain that would not cease until the child was delivered.

“Has the baby moved since you began laboring?” she asked once the spasm had passed.

Hulda shook her head, her eyes closed. “For a bit, then not so much.” A sob escaped, and she spoke between gritted teeth. “This time he must live. I cannot do this again.”

For the first time, a cry passed through the lips of the woman who suffered, and Leah called out for Gar, pulling Hulda’s gown down over her writhing belly.

“Look in my bag and find the containers of dried roots. I need the ones marked baneberry and wild yam. Brew one piece of each, please, and make a cup of strong tea with it,” she ordered, not ever looking up as he awaited her orders near the doorway. “It will ease her pain.”

Gar hastened to do as she asked, and Leah heard the rattle of a kettle in the kitchen. In less than ten minutes, he was back.

“Here.” He placed the cup on the bedside table and hovered for a moment. “There is more when this is gone. Can I do anything else?”

Her tone was sharp as Leah glanced up at him, rebuffing his offer. “You’ve done enough already.”

His eyes narrowed as he caught her meaning and he retreated, shoulders stiff, as if he would deflect any further insult. The door closed behind him, and Leah picked up the cup and stirred the brew.

She filled the spoon, blowing a bit on its contents, then lifted it to. Hulda’s lips. “Here, open your mouth for me, Hulda,” she said quietly.

Hulda obeyed, allowing the warm liquid to enter her mouth, and swallowed. Leah repeated the movements until the tea was half-gone. Then she swirled it in the cup, deeming it cool enough to drink.

“I want you to lift up, just a bit, and drink this down,” she said, careful that the woman did not choke on the liquid as she drank.

There was no cessation of the labor, but as the tea began to work its magic, Leah whispered a prayer of thanksgiving. She lifted Hulda’s gown again, easing her hands beneath, spreading them wide on the distended belly as another contraction made itself known. Then, as it reached its peak, Leah bent to watch for the sight of a baby’s head, hoping fervently that the hours of labor had begun to reap some results.

There was no sign of imminent birth, only a steady leaking of bloody fluid. The skin beneath her hand was stretched and taut as Hulda’s body tried to complete this process.

It was not going well. Leah shook her head. She needed to know what was going on inside, there where the mouth of the womb held its prisoner. It must be done, she thought grimly, readying her hand with a coating of oil. She slid it within the straining woman’s body and sought the opening of Hulda’s womb. There, instead of the rounded head she prayed to come in contact with, she found twin globes—the buttocks of a baby. Too large to be born in this manner, the child was slowly tearing his mother asunder.

Leah withdrew her hand and sighed. “Is he dead?” Hulda whispered in a faint, hopeless voice. She had begun to perspire from every pore, it seemed, drenching her nightgown and the bed beneath her.

“No, he’s alive,” Leah said quietly. “It’s a breech birth, Hulda. Our only chance is for me to turn the baby around.”

“Then do what you must,” the woman said, each word punctuated by a moan. “If I cannot give Garlan another son, I don’t want to live.”

“Your life is worth more to your husband than another child,” Leah whispered fiercely.

Hulda shook her head in a hopeless gesture. “Nay, not so. But if I give him another live child, another son, perhaps he will love me.”

Leah’s eyes filled with useless tears, and she brushed at them with her forearm. “You will not die,” she vowed. “You will not.”

Chapter Two

Gar Lundstrom’s face was pale and twisted with anguish, his eyes sunk deep from lack of sleep. His fists hung at his sides, and he swayed in place. As if he gathered energy from some unknown source, he lifted both hands beseechingly, then twisted them together as he glared at the woman who faced him.

“Why?” The single word seared the air, and Leah felt its lash, bracing herself against the scorn of the man before her.

“I’m not a doctor, Mr. Lundstrom. I’m a woman who knows a little about healing.” Leah drew a deep breath, unable to absolve herself, even in her own mind, let alone free herself from the taint of guilt cast upon her by Gar Lundstrom.

“Have you ever delivered a child before, Mrs. Gunderson? Or was this the first time you’ve butchered a woman?” His voice rasped the accusation, his shoulders hunching as if he bore a great burden.

Leah was reluctant to answer, and yet she knew she must defend herself against the blame he cast on her. “I did not ask to come here, Mr. Lundstrom.” She drew in a deep breath, as if to calm herself in the face of his accusations. “Yes, I have delivered other babies. But none whose mother presented such problems as your wife.”

“She survived three times being brought to childbed before this. What could have caused…” He waved his hand as he groped for words to express the horror so vividly written on his face.

Leah shook her head wearily. “She was a small woman, delivering a breech baby.” She raised her head and glared at him, determined not to let him brand her as careless. “I tried to turn the child, but it was not possible. You were here. You saw the bleeding. The birth was more than she could stand this time, Mr. Lundstrom.”

Between them, Hulda lay beneath a clean sheet, her face serene in death. She was a slender bit of a woman, who, to Leah’s mind, should not have been subjected to such an ordeal. An ordeal that had killed her.

Leah closed her eyes, as if she would erase the vision before her, as if death could be evaded so easily. “You’d better go into town and let the undertaker know, Mr. Lundstrom. See if there is anyone who can nurse the child for you.”

From the depths of a small cradle in the far corner of the bedroom, a thin, fretful wail caught Leah’s attention. “She sounds hungry now,” she said quietly, then turned to answer the infant’s cry.

Gar’s glance followed Leah as she went to the child. “I will take my boy and make arrangements for my wife. There is milk in the washroom from this morning.”

Leah looked from the window onto a freshly fallen snow. Sometime during the long night, several inches had created a pristine landscape. Now, beneath the newly risen sun, it glistened and shimmered, offering a clean slate on which to begin this day.

The fourteenth day of January. The birthdate of Hulda Lundstrom’s daughter.

Leah picked up the child, cuddling the slight form against her breast, rocking back and forth to soothe her cries. “There, there…” she whispered, breathing in the newborn scent that never failed to touch a chord deep within her.

“What will you call her?” she asked, sensing Gar’s lingering presence behind her.

“Hulda could not decide between Linnea or Karen.”

“Karen is a good, strong name,” Leah said. “She can always take another name when she makes her first communion.”

Gar nodded and Leah watched as the tiny babe pursed her lips and made a suckling movement. “So soon they learn,” she murmured.

Gar stood by the door, his head bent, his whole body seeming to have shrunk during the long, stressful hours of the night. “I’ll go to the church and speak to the pastor first. He is more likely to be up than the doctor.”

“Where is your boy?” Leah asked. She’d heard the soft murmuring of their voices, then the muted crying of a child in the kitchen only minutes past. “Is he all right?”

Gar cast her a scornful look. “His mother is dead. He will never be ‘all right’ again.” Turning abruptly, he left the bedroom. Leah followed slowly, unwilling to embarrass the grieving child by coming upon him without warning.

She waited in the doorway as Gar led the boy from the house and firmly closed the door behind them. On weary legs, she made her way to the window, watching as father and son walked through the snow to the barn, where Gar must have already harnessed the team to the sleigh.

Within moments he led the rig through the wide double doors, the young boy ensconced in the front seat with the fur lap robe warm about his small body. Gar joined his son on the carved seat and picked up the reins. With barely a glance back at the house, he set his team into motion and turned his sleigh toward town.

The milk warmed quickly on the stove. She poured a small amount into a saltshaker and tied a double layer of tightly woven flannel over the top. Holding the baby in her left arm, she allowed the milk to drip slowly into the child’s mouth.

“A nipple would work much better,” she whispered aloud, her little finger rubbing the babe’s lips, coaxing her to open them enough for the milk to enter. “Maybe the doctor will think to send one back for you, little girl.”

The baby twisted her head toward Leah’s breast, opening her lips in a timeless gesture. “I cannot help you, sweetheart,” Leah crooned, coaxing the tiny lips with a slow drip, drip, drip of skimmed milk. “This is the best I can offer for now.”

It was a frustrating task, but Leah knew it well and she worked patiently with the baby for almost an hour, until both infant and woman were well nigh exhausted from their efforts. At least an ounce or so of the milk had gone down the baby’s throat, Leah guessed, the rest of it dampening the blanket she was wrapped in.

“I must bathe you, little girl,” she sang in a tuneless fashion. “But not until you’ve had time to sleep a bit and gain some strength from your nourishment.” A pillow provided a sleeping place for the baby, and Leah anchored it on two chairs, near the stove.

A ham bone with large bits of meat still attached sat on the kitchen bureau, covered by a dish towel, as if Hulda had planned for its use today, probably for soup. Making soup was the least she could do for the small family, Leah decided, transferring it to a kettle.

She cut up an onion, which she plucked from a string of them hanging from a ceiling beam, and added it to the kettle of water. A visit to the pantry, just off the kitchen, produced a quart of tomatoes, and she added that too, along with a measure of dry beans.

From the looks of it, Hulda had planned well for the winter. Her pantry shelves were filled with the harvest from her garden. Leah’s fingers rested on the jar she had just emptied, as if she might sense some lingering trace of the woman who had spent hours in this kitchen, providing for her family.

Her heart was heavy with a guilt she knew she didn’t deserve yet must bear. Gar Lundstrom had been more at fault than she, with his need for more sons to work his farm. And for his efforts, he had gained a puny girl child. There seemed a sense of rightness about that, she thought.

The boy…she wrinkled her forehead as she considered him—Kristofer, Hulda had called him, who was now in the midst of plans for his mother’s funeral. How would he survive such a loss? It was almost easier for the babe. She would never have known a mother’s love, and so could not miss it.

As for herself, her own life must be put to rights after the events of the past night. The laundry she’d left in a basket would need to be hung, for there would be at least two gentlemen banging on her door, looking for their clean clothes. And here she was, ten miles out in the country, tending a newborn baby.

For now, she would do what she could to help while she waited for Gar Lundstrom to come home. Sweeping the floors and dusting the furniture took but thirty minutes. And all during her efforts, she stayed far from the bedroom on the second floor, where Hulda Lundstrom lay beneath a white sheet.

Leah warmed a fresh bit of milk and spent another half hour feeding the baby, then washed the infant with tender care before rocking her in the big oak chair in the parlor.

The ham was falling off the bone by the time the sleigh traveled past the kitchen window. Close behind it came the black, covered vehicle that Joseph Landers drove when the occasion called for it. Leah went to the door, shivering from the cold draft of air as the menfolk came in.

“Kristofer, stand near the stove and warm yourself,” Gar said abruptly to his son, and Leah watched as the boy obeyed. His thin hands were red from the cold, and his nose and ears were the same rosy hue. His eyelids barely lifted as he passed Leah, the skin swollen around each eye as if he had spent the whole time aboard the sleigh crying.

And so he probably had, she thought, shaking her head as she watched the boy. He rubbed his hands together, then wiped his nose on his shirtsleeve. Leah pulled the square of cotton from her own pocket and pressed it into his hand.

“Thank you, ma’am.” His child’s voice was rough with the tears he had shed, and Leah felt a pang as her heart ached for his loss. This was a house of sorrow, and it weighed heavily on her.

She watched the men proceed to the second floor, heard their footsteps as they entered the bedroom over her head, and listened to the soft murmur of voices through the vent in the kitchen ceiling.

“Kristofer?” Leah tasted his name upon her tongue, liking the sound of it. Had his mother chosen it? Likely so. Gar would probably have preferred Lars or Igor or some such harsh-sounding name. Kristofer was a name a mother would choose for her tow-haired son.

“Ma’am?” The boy looked up, his vivid blue eyes bloodshot with the hours of weeping he had done.

“Are you hungry, Kristofer?” she asked kindly. “I made you some beans and ham. You should try to eat something.”

His gaze flickered toward the kettle on the stove and he licked his lips. “Yes, ma’am. I didn’t have any breakfast.”

Leah snatched the opportunity to perform a task, bustling about the kitchen, her movements masking the sounds from overhead. “Come to the sink and wash,” she said, her keen hearing aware of the men on the stairway.

She stood behind the boy, her body a shield as the wrapped, frail body of his mother was carried through the kitchen. Then, as the back door closed behind the two men and their burden, she placed her hand on the boy’s slender shoulder.

“Come, eat now. I’ll slice you some bread to go with it,” she offered, steering him to the table and pulling out the chair for him. He obeyed listlessly, only his trembling fingers revealing his hunger as he picked up the spoon she provided.

Leah busied herself on his behalf, slicing bread, searching out the butter and jam. Each trip past the window revealed to her the progress outdoors. She noticed a man opening the boxy black undertaker’s wagon back door, where a rough, wooden coffin was slid from within as Gar held his wife’s body in his arms. Gar closed the black door and the two men stood talking, Gar’s head bent low as he watched the toe of his boot kicking at the wheel of the wagon.

Before long, Leah heard the sound of a harness jingling in the yard, and moments later Gar came in the door. “You need to eat something, Mr. Lundstrom,” Leah said. “I’ve made some soup with beans. I hope you don’t mind.”

His shrug spoke an answer. What does it matter? he seemed to say in silence. Then on a sigh, he admitted his frailty. “Yes, please, if you would. I’m hungry.”

While she dished up a generous helping, he washed at the sink, then paused beside his son as he stepped back to the table. “Kristofer.” As if he had only needed the comfort of the boy’s name on his tongue, he closed his eyes.

“I’m here, Pa.” Mumbled through a mouthful of food, the answer seemed to satisfy the man, and he sat down next to the boy.

“What will you do with the baby? Did you see the doctor in town?” Leah asked quietly, pouring fresh coffee for the man who gazed into the bowl of meat and beans. As if he had no notion of what to do next, he lifted his head and focused on her.

She fished a spoon from the glass container and placed it next to his bowl. “Go on. Eat,” she said briskly, aware that his mind was not on the food before him.

“Yes.” He spooned sugar into his coffee and stirred it, then lifted the cup to his mouth, glaring down at it after a moment. “There is no cream in it,” he said accusingly.

“I’ll get you some,” she offered, snatching the small pitcher from the dresser. The cream was rich, yellow and thick, and she poured the china container full to brimming.

“Thank you,” Gar said, his voice more subdued, watching her intently through narrowed eyes as she added a dollop to the black coffee, where it swirled and changed color.

He picked up the soupspoon she had provided and ate with automatic movements, chewing and swallowing in silence. Leah watched from across the room, nursing her own cup of coffee.

And then the baby stirred, snuffling softly. In seconds the faint sounds became a wail, and Leah put her coffee cup down to hasten to the makeshift bed beside the stove. She bent to pick up the small bundle and held it against her shoulder, murmuring soft words of comfort.

“Give her to me.” Gar’s face was a mask, a forbidding frown furrowing his brow, his mouth taut. His arms outstretched for his daughter, he repeated his demand. “Give her to me.”

Kristofer gaped at his father, his glance sliding to Leah and then back.

“Go to the barn, son, and help Benny feed the stock,” Gar told him. “I did not do it well this morning.”

The boy nodded, donning his coat and leaving the house quickly.

“I will take my child now, Mrs. Gunderson.” Before she could voice any words of agreement, he lifted the baby from Leah’s arms and stepped back. “I watched my wife bleed to death, right before my eyes. I cannot find it in myself to excuse what you did.”

Leah’s legs trembled as she heard his accusation and she sat down in the chair across the table from where he stood.

“I told you when I came here that I was not a doctor. I did the best I could, sir. The doctor had told you and your wife that she should not have any more babies. Her organs were damaged so badly that the child could not have been born had I not drawn her out forcibly.”

The vision of gushing blood and mucus flowing onto Hulda’s bed was still vivid in Leah’s mind, and she closed her eyes against the horror. “Hulda could not have lived through the birth, no matter who attended her.”

She looked up, her mouth trembling, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “You are the one who must take the blame for this, Gar Lundstrom. You got her with child, after the doctor told you she should not bear another baby. Don’t lay your guilt at my feet.”

His skin changed from the ruddy complexion of an outdoorsman to the ashen gray of a man with a grave illness. “I know what guilt I must bear,” he said harshly.

“Be ready to leave in ten minutes,” Gar told her. Then, snatching up a quilt to bundle around the tiny infant, he left the house.

Where he took the child, she did not know. His steps were purposeful as he went toward the barn, then on to a small house at the edge of the meadow. When she could bear to watch no longer, she turned from the window.

He took her home, both riding atop the wagon in silence, as if they could not abide each other’s company. He drove his team to the front of her house, and waited only long enough for her to slide from the seat before heading on his way.

“My bag! You have my bag, Mr. Lundstrom!” she cried, running behind the wagon.

He bent to lift it from the floor near his feet and tossed it in her direction, his eyes filled with an anger and a depth of despair she knew only too well. It had been her companion for many a long night.

The wet clothing was hung, draped over lines that crisscrossed the kitchen. Her task finally completed, Leah ducked beneath Orville Hunsicker’s second-best white shirt as she escaped from the sea of laundry. The house closed up for the night, she left the kitchen for her bedroom.

She was bone weary and though she had thought sleep would not come, the pillow was barely beneath her head when she sank deeply into oblivion.

The woman suffered without sound, her dark eyes holding only hatred for the child she bore. Then, in a twinkling, that sweet, healthy infant, suddenly unmoving, lay beside his mother, his neck at an awkward, unnatural angle.

Shrieking, the mother pointed at Leah, her accusation resounding in the eerie light. “Murderer! Murderer!” Waving angry fists, the vengeful father roared his fury and Leah backed from the room, then turned to run; fleeing, always fleeing.

She breathed harshly, running blindly through a maze, only to enter another room, where Hulda Lundstrom rose up in the midst of a bloody bed to point her finger accusingly, her voice hoarse. “Murderer! Murderer!”

Leah awoke to a dark room, gasping for breath, as if she had been running for a very long time and her accusers were fast on her heels. The window held a full moon within its grasp, and it was there she focused her sight.

Beyond the white curtains she caught a glimpse of the hotel on the town’s main street. Next to it the grocery store and the bank lined up neatly, their rooftops visible from her viewpoint. No longer was she running through the streets of Chicago, escaping the vengeance of a distraught father.

Leah bowed her head into her hands. How long? For how many years would she be haunted by the memory of that tiny baby boy, by the cold eyes of the mother who wanted nothing of the man she had married, least of all his child?

And now, as if that were not enough, she was to be tormented by the death of Hulda, who had sought only to please the man she had married.

The week passed more slowly than any she could remember, each day longer than the last. She walked to the store once, but the gossip was rife, with word of Hulda Lundstrom’s death on every tongue. Leah was relieved to receive sympathetic glances and words of encouragement from the ladies who knew her best.

Yet even that was not salve enough for the wounds she bore within her soul. The thought that she must do something for the tragic little family struggling alone without a wife and mother in their midst filled her mind.

And yet at the end of that long, dreary week, when Gar Lundstrom appeared on her doorstep with a tiny bundle in his arms, her kind thoughts disappeared as he glared at her through her screen door.

“I have brought you my child,” he said bluntly, his fingers gripping the door handle, forcing her to step aside as he entered her small parlor.

“Whatever for, Mr. Lundstrom?” she said, her gaze intent on the wiggling form of the child he carried.

“I have found that it is not possible for me to care for the baby at the farm. I left her with Ruth Warshem, my Benny’s wife, but she had to bring her back to me at night. I cannot do my work when I am up with a crying baby for all hours.”

“And you want me to take care of her?” Leah was flabbergasted. The very nerve of the man, to intrude in such a way, with his demands.

“I can do it no more. I have stock to tend to and chores to keep me from the house all day, and I am weary at night. It is all I can do to keep Kristofer with me and care for him.”

“What makes you think I’m the one to take on the job?” Leah asked, anger vying with astonishment at his edict.

His head tilted at an imperious angle. “There is no one else.”

Leah laughed, the sound harsh and grating. “Well, you can forget it, Mr. Lundstrom. I am not available.”

His mouth tightened and his eyes snapped with an icy flame, the pale blue depths piercing her. “I will pay you well,” he growled, a penitent without a scrap of humility in his bones.

Leah’s mouth opened and words of denial begged to be spoken, yet in her mind fluttered a small flag of caution. She could salvage her pride while lending a helping hand to this family if she accepted a token amount and gave the man a respite from his overwhelming responsibility.

“Perhaps, for a short while, I could do it,” she said slowly, her eyes drawn again to the bundle he carried, which was emitting small cries of distress.

“Here, let me take her,” she said, her hands itching to touch the infant form.

He handed over his burden, his hands reluctantly releasing the baby, as if it were not his choice but a dire necessity that had brought him to this.

Leah opened the blanket, where round blue eyes blinked at her and a small mouth opened in an O of surprise. Then those rosy lips yawned widely, squeezing the blue eyes into tiny slits. Leah touched the soft cheek with her fingertips.

“What have you been feeding her?” she asked, turning away as she felt unwelcome tears mist her vision.

“Milk from the cows, but it must be heated to almost boiling first. Then Ruth said to cool it. I got nipples at the store and bottles to use.”

“Ruth cannot do this twenty-four hours a day?” Leah asked, wondering privately how the woman could have given up this precious package so easily.

“No.” Gar shook his head. “She has a sister who needs her, and she never knows when she must go there. There has been sickness in the family, and now the sister is going to have a child.”

“It would mean being available night and day. Babies require a lot of care, Mr. Lundstrom. I would need fresh milk daily for her.”

“I will bring you a cow.” His words fell like stones against her wall of objections.

“I don’t know how to milk a cow,” Leah snapped, moving the baby to her shoulder and bouncing her lightly.

His look of exasperation touched her face and moved to the child she held. “Then I will teach you.”

“For how long?” she asked, unwilling to look away although uneasy beneath the burning scrutiny of his gaze, fearing the return of the tears she had fought to subdue.

“For as long as it takes you to learn,” he said impatiently.

Her teeth clenched and she sighed with an equal amount of aggravation. “You know what I mean. How long do you expect me to keep her?”

“As long as need be.”

And wasn’t that a dandy way to leave open her term of responsibility for a newborn child? Leah inhaled sharply and lifted her chin. “I’ve never had a child. How do you know I will provide for her well?”

His eyes traveled her length as if he gauged her ability, and his words were firm and final. “I know.”

“But why me?”

“You owe me.” He leaned forward, his nostrils flaring, his teeth bared, and for a moment Leah caught the broadside of a fury she could not fathom. “I know what guilt I must bear,” he said. “As for you, perhaps you can ease your conscience and earn a respite from whatever blame you feel.”

Had she not wondered earlier what she could do? And now, for all his male arrogance and stubborn Swedish pride, he had given her a chance to help. Her arms were full with the soft movements of a newborn, and her heart was touched by anticipation of the joy inherent in tending the child.

“All right, I will keep her. For six months. Perhaps by then you can find a woman to live in your home and care for both children. In six months you will be past the sowing of crops and the first cutting of hay.”

Gar stood beside her and she focused on his boots, heavy and work worn, laced up the front, with his trousers tucked in them. They shuffled on the floor, as if he sought words to speak.

“Well?” The warmth of the child Leah held was welcome against her cool flesh, as were the infant’s small, awkward movements. The pattern of its breathing soaked into her almost as if it were her own.

“Yes, for six months,” he agreed. “I will pay you two dollars a week, and I will bring the cow and some more clothes for the baby tomorrow.”

She came near to refusing his offer, her mouth opening as she watched him take two coins from his small leather purse, placing them on the table before the window. It was too much. Two dollars was more than she had expected. And yet, the thought of buying what foodstuffs she pleased and perhaps putting a small sum away every week was tantalizing.

“I have a basket with some of her things in it, out in the wagon. Enough to get by with for a day or so. Ruth is washing up her diapers today and I will bring them back with me.”

He stepped through the door, across the porch and down the path to his wagon. His arms hugged a basket when he returned and he placed it on the floor near the door.

“I think we are agreed, then?” he asked.

She nodded and he focused on the baby she held, one hand reaching to touch the downy head. With his long index finger he brushed the fine, pale hair.

And then he was gone.

* * *

Leah had slept fitfully, aware of the living presence next to her, then wakened at some small noise. Beside her, warm in her cocoon of pillows, the child she had taken into her home made her presence known. She fussed, whimpering for only a few seconds as she turned her head from side to side. As if she sought the warmth of a mother’s breast, she nuzzled against her own hand, then, with a howl of displeasure, she announced her hunger.

Leah watched the baby in the moonlight streaming through her window, smiling as she recognized the healthy cry of need, a need she could supply in minutes.

She rose from the bed, donning her robe and slippers, then gathered the baby girl into her arms. For a few seconds the cries abated, and the child gazed up at her with wide eyes.

In the kitchen, she heated the bottle she had prepared, placing it in a warm pan of water and moving the pan to the hottest part of the stove. It was snowing again, flakes spitting past the window. But in the kitchen it was warm, and Leah dragged her rocking chair closer to the stove.

The baby fussed as her blankets were opened in order to change the wet diaper, and Leah clucked her tongue and whispered soft endearments as she worked. “There, there, wee one. We’ll soon have you warm and dry. There, there, little bird.”

The cries rapidly grew in intensity and only the fitting of the rubber nipple in the baby’s mouth brought about peace and quiet. Leah rocked back and forth in the chair, her arms and hands busy with the feeding and the burping and the comforting. The presence of the child warmed her, erased the horrid dream from her mind, bringing her peace.

This child, whose destiny was forever changed from what it might have been. Leah felt a sadness for the woman who had been buried just days ago, who now lay beneath the snow-covered ground while her babe was cared for by another.

She felt a moment’s guilt that she should reap the reward of pleasure in the tending of this infant, that, from another’s pain, she should find such comfort in the middle of the night. Yet, she knew a sense of satisfaction that her arms held this precious being and provided it nourishment.

And almost, she felt like a mother.

Chapter Three

Kirby Falls, MinnesotaMay 1892

“Miss Leah!” Against her screen door, a nose pushed the wire as eager eyes gazed into the parlor. On the porch, Kristofer Lundstrom waited impatiently for Leah’s response, his hand on the spool handle, only good manners keeping him from stepping inside.

“Come in, Kristofer,” she called, her feet moving quickly across the kitchen floor. He was late today. School had been dismissed for almost a half hour already and Leah had been listening for his voice for nearly twenty minutes.

She could set her clock by the boy. His feet clattered up her steps and across the small porch every afternoon, his intentions clear. Always there was the traditional greeting, a nod of his head as he spoke Leah’s name. And then his eyes searched for the small form of his sister, seeking her out as if she drew him like a lodestone.

Even at six years of age, he was the picture of his father, his hair golden in the sunlight, his eyes a pale blue beneath dark brows. He was tall for six, straight and sturdy, somehow seeming stronger now that he must stand alone, without the hovering presence of his mother.

Leah touched his head with her fingertips, ruffling the hair just a bit. “Did you stay after school, Kris?”

He shook his head. “No, ma’am. I saw Pa at the store and he had me to wait for a few minutes while he bought something for Karen.”

Leah looked down at the package the boy carried. “For the baby? What is it?” She reached for the paper-wrapped parcel and Kris placed it in her hands.

“He thought you might need to make her something for summer. You know, not such heavy stuff like she wears now.”

Leah’s fingers were quick as she untied the string and sought the contents of the package. A piece of lightweight cotton, batiste, she suspected, met her gaze. It was covered in a delicate print of pink flowers, with pale green leaves forming a vine upon which the blooms and buds trailed.

“Oh, so pretty,” she whispered, already envisioning the dress she would create from it. Tiny puffed sleeves and a high bodice, with a long skirt that would cover bare baby toes in the warm summer days.

“Tell your father I’ll make it up before Sunday, so he can see it,” she said with a smile.

From the kitchen, the baby squealed her opinion of being neglected even for so short a time, and Kristofer headed toward her door, intent on seeing his sister. Leah heard his murmurs of welcome, her smile widening as the baby greeted her visitor with cooing sounds signifying her pleasure.

“She gets bigger every day, don’t she, Miss Leah?” the boy asked, bending low to place a kiss on the infant’s downy head. He hastened to the sink, with backward glances as he went. “I’ll wash up quick, so I can hold her, all right?”

Leah nodded. “She’s been waiting for you, Kris. It’s almost time for her to have a bottle. Would you like to feed her?”

Kristofer smiled, showing a gap where two front teeth were missing. “Yes, ma’am, I surely would.”

That his hands were still damp was a small matter, Leah decided as he held out eager arms, and she nodded at the rocking chair, gathering up the four-month-old infant from the clothes basket where she spent most of her daytime hours.

With a pillow beneath his elbow, Kristofer held the baby tightly, offering the bottle to her eager mouth. Tiny hands groped for a hold on the glass, and the boy chuckled as he shared his grip with his sister’s slender fingers.

“Look, Miss Leah! She’s holding it, too. Before long, she won’t need me to help her. She’ll be eating all by herself.”

Leah shook her head. “We’ll still hold her, Kris. It’s important that we cuddle her while she eats. It’s what happens when a mama nurses her baby and holds her tight. Just because Karen has to drink from a bottle doesn’t mean she has to do without the cuddling.”

His small face was stricken. “I didn’t think about that. She’s sure lucky she has you, isn’t she?” He bent his head to look with longing eyes at the babe he held. “I wish we could have her at home where I could see her all the time. I’ll bet my pa wishes he could see her, too.”

“He comes on Sunday afternoons,” Leah reminded him. And those visits were the highlight of Leah’s week, she admitted to herself. The sight of Garlan Lundstrom on her porch after church on Sunday was welcome—and not only for the eggs he brought to her, emptying his small blue-speckled enamel bucket into her egg bowl on the dresser with care.

His next task was to transfer two dollars into her keeping, placing it on her kitchen table. Then he inquired about the health of his daughter, watching as Leah brought the baby from her basket to the rocking chair where he settled himself. He managed to look at home there, his big body filling it, his feet flat on the floor, his arms surrounding the bundle that was his daughter.

Leah had found it easier to leave him there alone with the child rather than watch as he spoke in halting words and sentences, his voice soft and almost too tender to bear. Gar Lundstrom was a good father, a kind man. And yet, he wore a harshness about him that spoke of long, lonely days and nights.

Only when he held the baby or spoke to his son did that veil of austerity part. His eyes, when he looked into Leah’s, were icy. His hands, when he took the babe from her arms, were hard and callused. His mouth, when he said his greetings and farewells, was firm and thin lipped.

He did not allow her to share the warmth of the spirit he spent so generously upon his children, and that was a pain Leah bore in silence. Gar Lundstrom looked at her with eyes that still held chill accusation. Even as he spoke words of thanks for her care of the babe, he was reticent. His only generosity was in the money he provided for that care.

She picked up the dainty fabric Kris had brought, her fingers smoothing it as she folded it neatly. “I’ll make up Karen’s dress tomorrow,” she told the boy.

He nodded absently, caught in the wonder of the baby’s blue eyes and the plump body that filled his arms. “I’ll be glad when summer comes and we take her home with us, Miss Leah.”

“Did your father find someone to keep house, Kris?” she asked quietly, holding her breath lest his answer shatter her heart. The presence of a baby had filled this small house to overflowing with warmth, and she had played the game for four months already, with herself as not only nursemaid but mother to the child.

Kris shook his head. “Naw. Mrs. Andersen said she has to keep house for Lester. My pa said Lester was old enough to be on his own, but his ma doesn’t think so.”

Leah smothered a laugh. Lester Andersen was a big strapping man of twenty-two, working at the lumber mill at the north end of town. If his mother didn’t spoil him so thoroughly, he might make a good husband for some woman, or so the ladies at the store said beneath their breaths.

Where Gar Lundstrom would find his housekeeper and child minder was a problem he would have to solve on his own, Leah decided with a sigh. And if he didn’t come up with an answer when the six months’ time was up, she would continue to accept his two dollars every week and bank half of it gladly. Her dresser drawer held a tidy sum besides, hidden in a wooden box beneath her extra nightgown. Her laundry service was prospering, with seven clients every week.

“Miss Leah?” Kristofer’s small face held a frown. “I have to go home now. Pa will be waiting for me at the store. I told him I’d ride home on the wagon with him.”

Leah nodded, rising from her chair to take the baby from the boy’s embrace. “I’ll see you again,” she said lightly.

“Tomorrow. I’ll be here tomorrow. My pa says I mustn’t get in your way or be a bother, Miss Leah. You must let me know if it’s not conven…” He hesitated, as if he sought the word his father had used.

“Convenient? It’s always convenient for you to stop by, Kris,” she said easily, following him to the front door. Her hand rested on his shoulder for just a second as she stood beside him. He hesitated there, his face soft with yearning as he stood on tiptoe to press his lips against the brow of the baby Leah held.

And then he was gone, the door slamming behind him as he jumped from the porch, ignoring the steps, and ran to the gate. He half turned, lifting a hand in farewell as he opened the gate and crossed the street to make his way toward the grocery store.

Leah watched as he picked up a stone, examined it and stuck it in his pocket. She smiled, then walked back across the parlor and into her kitchen, bouncing the baby as she walked.

“He’ll be back tomorrow, Karen. And on Sunday, your papa will be here to see you.” It would be three days until Sunday. Three long days.

The spring was unusually warm for Minnesota. All the farmers predicted an early cutting of hay. By the end of May the crops were coming up in the fields, and the cows and horses in the pastures were accompanied by their own yield of calves and colts. The farmers’ wives tended clutches of newly hatched chicks, gathering them into the henhouses at night lest the cool air should creep beneath their mothers’ hovering wings and kill the youngsters.

Leah stepped into the hubbub of activity in the general store on a Monday morning in early June, Karen Lundstrom on her shoulder. Around her, the local ladies were catching up on gossip, most of them repeating stories heard at Sunday church.

“Ah, Mrs. Gunderson, here with the little one this morning,” Hazel Nielsen called out. “Bonnie, come see your friend,” she said, moving aside the curtain that led to the storeroom.

Eyes swung in Leah’s direction, and she found a smile for the eager ladies who hovered around her like bees surrounding a hive.

“How is the baby doing?” Lula Dunbar asked, her forefinger nudging at a dimpled elbow. “Look how blue her eyes are, just like her mama’s were.” She dropped her voice in deference to the dead mother. “Not pure ice like her pa’s, thank the good Lord. He’s a cold man, that one.”

Leah swallowed a retort and turned to listen to Eva Landers, the town’s postmistress, who had left her desk in the corner of the store, where she had been sorting the day’s mail.

“Let me see that little girl. What a darling she is!” Eva’s long, slender fingers threaded through Karen’s hair with a gentle touch, and Leah halted her progress through the store. “Don’t pay any mind to Lula Dunbar,” Eva whispered next to Leah’s ear. “She hasn’t said anything nice about a man since the day she married Hobart.”

Leah smothered a laugh. Eva was a kindly woman, married to the undertaker, who doubled as the town’s cabinetmaker. It was handy, being accomplished at woodworking, when you were the one in charge of providing caskets for the occasional burial in town. Joseph was a sturdy man, solemn, as befitted his occupation, and Leah had often wondered how he managed to catch a joyous woman like Eva.

“I’ll stop by for tea, if I may, later this afternoon,” Eva suggested brightly.

Leah nodded eagerly. Visitors were frequent but usually bearing some cut needing stitching or seeking a poultice or remedy for the ills of another. Her practice had expanded since the winter months, ever since the Lundstrom baby had been hers to care for. As if every woman in town wanted a peek at the child, Leah had been inundated with requests for cough syrup or chest rub.

“Leah! It’s good to see you.” Bonnie Nielsen came from the stockroom, brushing at dust on her sleeve as she passed her mother behind the counter. “What can I get for you today?”

Leah groped in her dress pocket for the list she’d made up at breakfast this morning. “Not too much, Bonnie. Are there any early peas, yet?”

Bonnie nodded. “Old Mrs. Havelock planted some next to the house where they get the morning sun, and she covered them at night so they wouldn’t freeze last month. She brought me a peck of them this morning.”

“I’ll take a pound, if you can spare them,” Leah said quickly, aware of the treat she’d been offered. “How are the potatoes?”

“Pretty much shriveled up, I’m afraid,” Bonnie answered. “I’ll see what I can find for you.”

“If you need potatoes, you need only ask, Mrs. Gunderson,” a male voice said from behind her. A hush fell over the store as Gar Lundstrom stated his offer, and Leah pasted a smile on her face before she turned to face him.

“I didn’t see you in the store, Mr. Lundstrom,” she said brightly.

“I just came in. Just in time to hear you ask about potatoes. I have plenty left in the dugout. I’ll bring you some tomorrow.”

She shook her head quickly. “Oh, you mustn’t bother. Just bring them to me on Sunday when you come to see the baby.” Leah felt a flush climb her cheeks as she became aware of the hush within the store as the women moved closer, the better to hear the words she spoke.

Garlan Lundstrom shifted uncomfortably, as if he had only now become aware of the several women who surrounded him. “Well, maybe I can hang a bag over my boy’s horse when he rides to school tomorrow. He can bring them to you.”

Leah nodded. “That would be wonderful. I’ll pay you for them when I see you next.”

His brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed at her words. “You will feed my child with them, no?”

Leah swallowed, unwilling to get into a confrontation in the middle of the store. “Yes, certainly,” she agreed.

“Then you don’t need to pay me.” His gaze scanned her, softening only when he smiled at his daughter. “Give the child to me,” he ordered gruffly, holding out his arms. “I’ll carry her to your house and wait for you there.”

Leah gave over the child, nodding her thanks as Gar turned from her to leave the store. Karen was growing by leaps and bounds, her small, round body weighing heavily after a time in Leah’s arms.

The store buzzed with half a dozen voices as the tall Swede left, the door closing with a bang behind him. “He’s a stern one,” Lula Dunbar said with a sniff, peering at Leah over her glasses. “You’ll do well to be rid of him once he finds someone to live out there and tend those children and his house for him. Though I don’t know where he’s going to look next. I declare he’s asked every old maid and widow in the county.”

Leah shrugged. “I’m in no hurry to have him take the baby. She’s good company.”

Bonnie called her name, and Leah turned gladly to heed her questions. “Do you want green tea today? We just got in a new shipment. And how about fresh baking powder? We’ve been out for almost a week, and I remember you asked for a tin last Friday.”

“Yes and yes,” Leah said with a smile. “Green tea is good for the stomach, and after today—” she nodded surreptitiously at the black-clad figure of Lula Dunbar “—I’ll need something soothing to drink, I believe.”

Bonnie nodded, then spoke in an undertone. “Everyone’s thinking the only way Gar Lundstrom will find help out there will be to marry someone.” Her voice was wistful.

Leah blinked. “Marry? You think he’s going to get married?” she whispered. “It’s only been five months since…” She still had trouble speaking the words.

“Mourning is a privilege reserved for those who can afford it,” Bonnie said sagely. “Around here, a man’s lucky if he can find somebody willing to take over a family if he loses his wife. Of course, a handsome man like Garlan might not be so hard put to talk some lady into it.” Bonnie’s eyes grew soft, as if she yearned in that direction, and Leah nodded.

“You like him, don’t you, Bonnie?”

“Yes, for all the good it does me. He looks right through me. Always has, always will, I suspect. I’m not pretty enough for a man to take a second look at.”

Leah privately concluded the same, but her tender heart prompted her to disagree. “One of these days, the right man will come by and snap you up like a bolt of lightning, Bonnie. You just watch.”

Without Karen to carry, Leah added ten pounds of flour to her order, then pondered over a piece of yard goods for a dress. Her bundle was large, and she carried it in both hands as she made her way to the small house where Gar Lundstrom waited for her.

He sat on the porch, leaning against the upright post, his long legs propped on the second step. Karen was across his thighs, and her feet pushed at his waist as he lifted her to stand on his lap. She swayed, holding his index fingers, cooing and gurgling her delight at the man who held her.

“She enjoys seeing you,” Leah said, watching from the bottom step.

Gar looked at her, his gaze stern as always. “She is growing before my eyes. I miss much, only spending time with her on Sunday afternoons.”

Leah smiled brightly. “Well, as soon as you find a housekeeper, you can take her back, Mr. Lundstrom. I only agreed to keep her for six months.” Any longer than that would be a mistake, Leah had already decided. As it was, giving up the baby would be heart wrenching.

“I wonder if I have been looking in the wrong places, Mrs. Gunderson.” His eyes met hers, and Leah was stunned by the calculation she sensed in their depths. He allowed his gaze to sweep over her length, pausing almost imperceptibly on her narrow waist and the flare of her bosom above it.

“I think I need more than a housekeeper, Mrs. Gunderson,” he said quietly, his eyes once more touching her face with pale concentration. “I’m in town today to speak with you about a matter of interest to both of us.”

Leah’s heart bumped, halted and quivered in her chest. Surely not, she thought. The man didn’t even like her, even though his hatred had waned over the past months. Surely he couldn’t be thinking of making her an offer?

“Shall we go inside?” she asked, drawing in a breath lest her voice break and reveal her uncertainty. She stepped past his seated figure and opened her door, holding it ajar as he stood and carried the baby into the parlor.

He watched while Leah carried her bundle into the kitchen, and her mind raced. Perhaps it would be better to speak with the man in the parlor, where the atmosphere was not so homey, where she might sit on the horsehair sofa and listen to his offer. For, sure as the world was turning, an offer was what she was about to hear. She’d be willing to bet her bank account on it.

“Mrs. Gunderson. Leah.” He’d followed her into the kitchen, speaking her given name, as if what he was about to say was too personal to merit formality.

“Yes?” Leah turned to face him, the table between them, her fingers working at the string that tied her purchases.

His hand waved at her efforts. “Leave that alone for a moment and sit down. Please.” He drew a chair from the table, waited until she had obeyed his order and then sat down, facing her.

Leah bit at her lip, nervous as she anticipated the words he was about to speak. If he should offer to hire her as housekeeper, she would refuse, for the gossip would not allow her a reputation worth having.

Her eyes lifted to meet his gaze and she tilted her chin, as if she dared him to suggest such a thing. Again his eyes made a survey, this time touching the honey-colored braids she wore as a coronet atop her head, then focusing on the set of her jaw and the tight pursing of her lips, before he returned to meet her gaze.

“I would like to ask you to marry me, Leah Gunderson.”

His voice was solemn, his words slow and ponderous, as if he had thought long and hard before he made his offer. “I need someone to live at my place and care for my children. I want my daughter where she belongs, and my house shows neglect.”

Well, that was about the most honest proposal a woman had ever received, Leah decided. He hadn’t minced any words, just spelled it out and let it lay.

“I’m being offered a dirty house and two needy children. Am I right?” she asked quietly.

He shrugged, his wide shoulders moving almost imperceptibly as he lifted an eyebrow in response. “Perhaps I’m also making a way for you to clear your conscience, Mrs. Gunderson.”

“I bear no guilt, sir,” she said firmly, her mouth quivering as the pain of his words vibrated within her. She’d spent too many hours going over the events of that night to accept blame for the death of Hulda Lundstrom. “I did the best I could for your wife.”

“No matter,” he said, dismissing her words. “If you will come to my farm and be Leah Lundstrom, I will give you a place to live for the rest of your life. I will treat you well and never lay a hand on you in anger.”

“Well, that’s some offer,” she said smartly. “It’s not really what I had my heart set on, though.” Her voice mocked him, and she felt a pang of remorse as he dropped his gaze.

“It’s all I can propose,” he said after a moment. His hand lifted and swept the circumference of the room. “It will be better than this.”

“Once it gets cleaned up, perhaps.”

“It shouldn’t take you any time at all, as strong and healthy as you are, ma’am. You will even find a supply of potatoes in my dugout, ready for your use.” His mouth twitched as he reminded her of her need.

The sun from the window over her sink glinted on golden strands of hair as Garlan rose to his feet. It formed a nimbus around him, causing his hair to shine, as if the sun had taken up residence within each lock. Like a warrior from the olden days, he stood before her, long legs spread, wide shoulders and long arms husky with muscled strength.

Only the dainty form of his daughter lent a note of disparity to the picture. Her round face peered from his shoulder as she twisted to view Leah, unwilling to allow her to disappear from sight. And perhaps it was that smiling visage that turned the tables in Garlan Lundstrom’s favor.

“I thought you might ask me to be your housekeeper, Mr. Lundstrom,” Leah ventured. “I didn’t have in mind marriage at this late date. I will be thirty years old in a month.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think that should be a barrier, Leah. Thirty is not so old these days. I am thirty-four myself.”

“It’s different for a man,” she argued. “I’m too old to begin having children.”

His eyes grew chilled, the pale blue orbs turning to ice. “I did not ask for that. I have two children. I have had a woman in my bed. I did not find it rewarding to bring her to the childbed and watch her die. I’ll not take that risk again.”

So it was to be that way, Leah thought She would not know the touch of a man’s hands on her body in the act of loving. Her virgin flesh would know no ease from its aching need.

“You have been married, Leah. Can you honestly say you desire that attachment again?” he asked quietly. “It has been my experience that women do not seek out a bedding, but only endure such a thing in order to have children.”

She shook her head, not even aware of what she agreed or disagreed with. She’d never been wed, had only taken her mother’s maiden name and made it her own, so that she would not be despised as a maiden lady doing the work of a midwife. And now this man was telling her that she would not have the knowledge of his body atop her own, that he would not use her to create more children of his loins.

“Let me think about it, Mr. Lundstrom,” she said, proud of the steady quality of her words.

He turned to place Karen in her basket, his hands reluctant as he slipped them from her body. Then he faced Leah and offered her his hand, waiting till she met it with her own.

His palm was broad, warm and strong. His fingers enclosed hers in a firm grip. Not a handshake as men exchanged, but rather a clasping of hands, as if they sealed a bargain between them. Leah felt her fingers soak up the warmth of his, felt the pulsing of his heartbeat as her middle finger touched his wrist. The heat of his flesh encompassed her palm, spreading to her forearm and up to her shoulder. It met the frantic beat of her heart, and she knew a moment’s panic as that organ seemed to swell within her breast.

“I will call on you tomorrow, Leah,” he said, his words almost harsh in their intensity. She met his gaze as her hand slipped from his grasp, and she noted a flicker of emotion there. As surely as her name was Leah Gunderson, she knew that Garlan Lundstrom held something from her. He was not so forbidding suddenly, not so reserved.

“Bring the potatoes then,” she said pertly, and was not surprised when the flicker became a flame and his eyes warmed for a moment.

“Yes, I’ll do that.” His mouth was firm, his lips thinning as though he forbade them to speak further. He then turned from her and walked to the front door.

“I will come for my answer tomorrow afternoon.” With a nod of his head, which caused a lock of golden hair to brush against his forehead, he was gone.

Leah’s fingers itched to brush that errant lock back into place and she stifled the urge, clenching her hands at her waist as he turned back to look at her from the bottom of the porch steps.

“He doesn’t want a wife,” she muttered to herself. “He wants a housekeeper and someone to watch his children.” Her skirts swished around her ankles as she spun in place and marched back into the kitchen.

From the laundry basket, a squeal of delight greeted her, and Karen’s pudgy fingers waved a distracted welcome as she clutched a string of thread spools in one hand. As always, Leah’s heart melted at the sight, and she moved across the floor and knelt by the wicker basket.

“You are so tempting, sweet one,” she said, twining her fingers in the silky locks of hair that covered the baby’s head. “Between you and your brother, you are enough to steal my heart.”

The baby gurgled a response, and Leah bent to kiss the crown of her head. She rose, stepping to the sink to wash her hands before she got out her teapot for the promised visit from Eva Landers. The sun was almost blinding, brilliant in a vibrantly blue sky, and she blinked, shaking her head against the vision that rose in her mind.

He was there, as vivid as if he stood before her. Gar Lundstrom, tall and golden haired, a man of the earth, solid and dependable. A man who still despised her.

A man who could steal not only her heart, but her soul as well.

Chapter Four

“I will marry you, Garlan Lundstrom.” Leah spoke the words to her mirror and watched as a pink flush rose from her exposed throat to cover her cheeks. She peered closely into the looking glass, willing away the trembling of her hands as her fingers worked the top button of her dress into its buttonhole.

“I’ll marry you, Gar.” There, that was better. More casually spoken, more sincere. Her eyelids fluttered, and she leaned closer to seek the blue depths, groaning at the sparkle within. The man would think her dotty! This was to be a business arrangement, if she had heard him right. And now she blushed and simpered like a schoolgirl.

A sharp rap at the screen door broke her concentration, and she turned from the oval mirror that hung over her chest of drawers. At least he would not marry an ugly woman, she decided, and then chastised herself for vanity’s sake. Her skin was decent, her eyes a clear blue and her nose was only a trifle too long. Her mother had told her that her stubborn chin was troublesome, but then, that doggedness had stood her in good stead more than once.

The rapping increased, and Karen’s squeals of joy signified the sighting of her father through the mesh screening. “Leah! Are you there?” Gar Lundstrom’s voice was strident, and without awaiting her reply, he opened the door and entered her parlor.

She hurried to greet him. “I’m here,” she said, her breathing restricted by the rapid beating of her heart.

He looked up at her from his daughter’s side. Karen was clutching the edge of the basket, leaning toward her father, and Leah was struck by the babe’s fickle streak. Once Gar Lundstrom walked in that door, the rest of Karen’s world ceased to exist. Her lashes fluttered, her mouth cooed soft phrases that might sound like so much babbling to another, but to the man who watched her so dotingly, she was obviously sheer perfection. And in her innocence, she returned his regard a hundredfold.

Now he squatted beside her, one hand touching the crown of gold that curled in a silken cap over her perfect head. “I thought I heard you speaking, Leah. Is there someone here with you?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m alone. I find myself talking to Karen when I’m out of the room. It pleases her.” She held back a smile. Practicing her acceptance of his proposal would certainly please Garlan Lundstrom should he know. It would give him an edge she could not afford to allow. Better that she hold an upper hand in this.

He rose easily to his feet, and Karen let forth a blast of sound that brought a wide grin to his mouth. “Such lungs, little girl. You put your brother to shame!” He leaned over her and extended his hand. “Hush now. I must speak to your friend, Mrs. Gunderson.”

As if she understood, Karen sniffed and rubbed one tight fist against her eye, then smiled with delight.

“She’s flirting with you,” Leah said softly, totally taken with the child.

“And you?” he asked. “Do I get a smile from the Widow Gunderson today? Am I to hear an answer this morning?”

Such levity was almost unknown from the man who stood before her, and Leah’s tongue searched for a reply as she scanned his handsome features. Her head nodded after a moment and she shoved her hands into the deep pockets of her apron.

“Yes, I’ve thought about your offer, Mr. Lundstrom. I’m willing to marry you. It would be beneficial for me.”

“And for me,” he conceded. His gaze fell to the baby in the basket at his feet. “Not to mention my daughter. Kristofer, by the way, is waiting outside to hear your answer. He’s very anxious, Leah. You’ve quite a champion in my son.” The smile flashed again. “He likes your cookies.”

“He’s a wonderful boy.” Such inane words they shared, she thought. Speaking of children and a beneficial relationship, when all she wanted to hear was that she would finally be appreciated as a woman. And now she hadn’t even put to use all the posturing she had practiced before her mirror.

“Saturday next would work well for me. Do you have any objection?” Gar asked, his gaze firm on Leah’s face.

She nodded. “I can be ready by then. I’ll let my bachelors know. Mr. Dunbar will have to make other arrangements for the hotel linens, unless he wants to bring them out to your farm, and I doubt he’d be willing to do that.”

Gar shook his head. “You will find plenty to do there. Don’t even think about washing for the hotel. You’ve done your last laundry for the town bachelors, too, Leah.” His words were firm, decisive and not altogether welcome to her ears. Not that she craved the scrub board, but it was a decision she would have preferred to make on her own.

Her chin tilted and she almost smiled, recognizing the stubborn stance she was about to take. “I’ll let my clients know, but I have time enough and to spare for the rest of this week and next to earn the extra money, Mr. Lundstrom.”

He set his gaze on her, and the look was that of a stormy sea, his blue eyes turning almost gray as his mouth made a thin line across his face. “I will not argue with you over this, Leah. We are not married yet. But mark it well, once you promise to live with me and be my wife, you will listen when I tell you my wishes.”

She gritted her teeth against the words that begged to spew forth, settling for a more docile attitude than was her wont. “I expect to do as you wish in most things, Mr. Lundstrom. However, you’re not marrying a young, green girl. I’m a woman who has lived on her own for a number of years. I’m not a female who will cling and ask favors of a man. I’ll do my duty by your children and your house. And unless my memory is flawed, that’s what you told me you expected of me.”

His eyes narrowed on her. “I think we’ll come to an understanding eventually, ma’am. In the meantime, we’ll just have to work it out as we go.”

She was a magnificent specimen of womanhood, he decided. Standing tall, as if her spine were made of finest steel, yet only reaching his shoulder in height. She was a strong woman, carrying a graceful figure, with hair not quite golden, but, rather, streaked and honey colored. Her eyes were the true blue of her ancestors, her slender body well proportioned. And with that, he allowed his gaze to scan the length of her.

Her cheeks had turned more than rosy with his scrutiny and she pursed her mouth. “Do I pass muster, sir?”

His reply was slow in coming. So intent was he on the woman herself, he barely heard her sharp words of inquiry.

She held herself well, he decided, her breasts generous within the bodice of her dress. It fit her nicely, snug against the graceful line of her waist, then flaring gently over her hips.

“Mr. Lundstrom? Will I do?” Blue eyes flashed with irritation and her skirts flounced as she turned from him to walk across the room. His gaze was drawn by the serviceable boots that nudged the hem of her dress. She would do well with softer shoes for the house, he decided. He would have her fitted at the store before…

He watched her soberly now, his mind fixed on the time, only ten days hence, when they would marry. Perhaps she needed other things, new dresses maybe. With that thought in mind, he stepped closer to where she stood. “Will you go with me to Nielsen’s store next week, before the wedding?” he asked. “Whatever you need…I’ll pay for it.”

Her eyes widened at his words, and he watched as her chin tipped upward. A stubborn woman, if he knew anything about it. She would not take well to his ways, perhaps. There would have to be a time of building bridges between them.

“I don’t think so.” Her full, lush lips separated, opening as she spoke her denial of his offer. And then, from within, her tongue appeared, touching lightly against her top lip as he watched. The sight fascinated him, that tiny bit of flesh leaving a speck of moisture on her lip, then retreating within her mouth.

The urge to step closer to her assailed him and he fisted his hands at his sides, aware of a heated response deep within his belly. Such foolishness! She was a good woman with a clean reputation, and surely that was what he sought.

“I will provide my own necessities,” she said primly, jarring him from his contemplation.

“I would be pleased to buy you a dress for our wedding, Leah,” he said quietly. “And shoes, and whatever else you need.”

She shook her head. “No. I have money in the bank. I’ll not come to your house a pauper, Mr. Lundstrom. I only need a bedroom with a chest of drawers for my belongings and hooks on the wall for my dresses.”

He nodded, strangely pleased by her prideful behavior. She would serve him well. “I’ll be here on Sunday,” he said, his eyes scanning her again. She’d stepped back from him, and now her hands were clasped at her waist, and she looked the very picture of docile, dutiful womanhood.

Somehow, he doubted the veracity of that impression.

“But if you marry that Lundstrom fella, who will do my washing?” Brian Havelock stood at Leah’s door, bundle of laundry in his hands, and uttered his query with unknowing appeal. To Leah’s eye, he was a boy still. Had she been ten years younger, she might have bent forward and planted a kiss on his rosy cheek. Or ten years older, she amended.

“You know I depend on you, Leah,” he said piteously, his blue eyes sad beneath lowered brows.

“I’m sure Mrs. Pringle will be happy to take you on as a customer, Brian,” she said briskly, holding her fingers closed around the coins he had pressed into her palm.

“You’re wasting yourself on that man, Leah,” he told her firmly, stepping closer. “I’d make you a good husband. I have a steady job at the sawmill, and my house is almost built.”

Leah stepped back from him, easing inside the door into her parlor. Her voice was firm as she dashed his hopes although a twinge of pity nudged her tender heart. “I’m sorry, Brian. I told you last winter, I’m too old for you.”

He opened his mouth to speak and she waved him to silence. “Never mind! I’m set on the matter. I will marry Mr. Lundstrom on Saturday next. I’ll do your shirts on Monday, and that’s the last time.”

Her would-be suitor stepped backward, nearly falling from the porch as he nodded his agreement. “Yes, I understand.” Turning from her, he trudged up the path to her gate and she watched him go.

He would make a fine man for the right woman someday, she thought. Young and still wet behind the ears, he was like a puppy, all rosy cheeked and almost panting in his eagerness to please. Kirsten Andersen had missed a good bet when she married that man from the next county.

Swooping down to Karen’s basket, Leah lifted the baby high in the air, turning in a slow circle as she parodied a waltz across the floor. “You will live with your papa soon, little bird,” she sang tunelessly.

“And you, too,” came a clear, youthful reply from outside the screen door.

Leah whirled to face the newcomer. “Ah, Kristofer! You startled me. I didn’t see you coming.”

The boy swung the door wide and faced Leah from across the parlor. “Are you glad you’re coming to live with us?” he asked hopefully.

“Oh, yes,” she reassured him readily. “We’ll have a good time, Kristofer. You and Karen and I. We’ll pick flowers in the meadow, and you can help me carry in the milk from the barn and sort out the eggs for market.”

“Don’t you like to go hunting?” the boy asked, his mouth pursing as if he scorned the choices he’d been offered.

Leah shook her head. “I could never find it in me to kill a living thing,” she admitted.

“Hunting is different,” Kristofer said patiently. “You only kill what you’re going to eat, my pa says. Unless it’s rats or rattlers.”

Leah shivered. “Do you have a lot of those on your farm?”

He shrugged. “Once in a while.”

Leah hugged the baby to her and then offered her to the boy who had come on such a transparent mission. “Did you want to see Karen?”

His eyes lit with a pale glow, silvery yet blue, like his father’s. Leah handed him the baby, still holding the infant’s weight as Kris made his way to the rocking chair.

“Sit, now,” she said quietly, knowing that the two would speak their own language for several minutes. Kristofer whispered words Leah could not understand and the baby smiled and chortled her delight at the brother who doted on her.

“Leah?” From the porch, her third visitor in ten minutes begged admission. “Are you busy?”

“Come in, Eva. I’m just ready to put my supper in the oven.” Leah smiled at the woman who hurried through the door, then cast an admonishing look at Kristofer. “Watch that Karen doesn’t get away from you.”

“No, ma’am, she won’t,” he answered patiently, flashing her a smile.

“You got a letter,” Eva said quietly. “The first one you’ve had since you’ve been here, Leah. I hope it isn’t anything bad.”

Pulling the envelope from her pocket, Eva offered it to her friend and watched worriedly as Leah inspected the writing, then the stamp, then the back of the envelope, with care. Leah’s long, slender fingers shaped the rectangle, brushing the edges as she straightened out a wrinkle in one corner.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” Eva’s curiosity was evident, but Leah forgave it without thinking, knowing that the woman’s concern was foremost.

“Yes, I suppose I am,” she announced, as if a momentous decision had been made. Her fingers edged beneath the flap carefully and she lifted it to expose the letter within. Written on onionskin paper, it was filled from top to bottom with a scrawling, ink-blotted message.

Leah turned it in her hand, glancing down at the bottom of the page, to first identify the sender, before reading the script. “Anna Powell,” she whispered, her voice tinged with something akin to fear. Her eyes flew to the top of the page and she devoured the words, unaware of the breath she held within her lungs. Not until her head swam and spots appeared before her eyes did she release the soft puffs of air she had held within her. Her hand reached for a kitchen chair and she settled on it abruptly.

“Leah! Are you all right?” Eva knelt before her, eyes filled with concern, her hands gripping Leah’s wrists.

“Yes…yes, of course.” Leah smoothed her tongue over lips gone dry and attempted a smile. “It’s just a letter from a woman I knew, back in…back where I come from.”

She tipped her head to one side, blinking away the dizziness as she caught her breath. “She says that a friend has been looking for me. I’ll have to let her know where I am, won’t I?” Her smile was trembling, but she loosened Eva’s grip upon her wrists, clasping her friend’s fingers tightly.

“You looked so strange there for a minute,” Eva said slowly. “Almost as if you’d seen a ghost, though heaven knows I don’t believe in such a thing.”

“No…” Leah shook her head. “Neither do I.” And yet, within the pages of the letter she held, folded in on itself so that another’s eyes might not see the words, dwelt a ghost she would give much to be rid of.

The nightmare was back for the first time in months. Perhaps having Karen to love and care for had kept the dream in abeyance. The dark was more friendly these days, holding memories of sweet infant scents and the familiar sound of her rocking chair as it moved against the floor.

For a while, the terror of death had seemed far removed from Kirby Falls, Minnesota. As far away as the streets of Chicago. As far as the ornate house in which Sylvester and Mabelle Taylor lived. That house of horror where a baby boy had met his fate at the hands of his evil mother.

His head tilted to one side, his breath forever stilled, his tiny, perfect body…

Leah drew in a deep breath, closing her eyes against the vision she saw. Awake or asleep, this night would hold the memory of death, and she’d as well accept that, she decided.

Her robe brought warmth to her chilled body as she donned it, her slippers adding to the comfort. The banked fire in the stove needed only a bit of kindling to bring it to life, but Leah added a good-sized chunk of firewood for extra measure. She ladled water into her coffeepot and poured beans into her grinder. The pungent odor rose as she turned the handle and inhaled deeply, comforted by the familiar scent.

She settled into the rocking chair, one foot pushing at the floor, setting her in motion. In her pocket, the letter rustled and she drew it forth, the contents already committed to memory.

Anna Powell, neighbor and friend, the only person who had knowledge of Leah Gunderson’s whereabouts. Her fervent assurances had rung true. She’d not divulged anything. But she’d been questioned by an impressive-looking man from a detective agency.

Garlan Lundstrom’s proposal had come at a perfect time. How better to cover her tracks than to change her name, Leah decided. A woman named Gunderson would no longer exist in Kirby Falls. Instead, on a farm outside of town, married to a prosperous farmer, a woman called Leah Lundstrom would live in peace. With the protection of a husband, perhaps even a man like Sylvester Taylor would find it difficult to pursue her and berate her for a sin she refused to own.

As that thought lodged in her mind, Garlan’s daughter announced her displeasure—most likely a wet diaper—from the next room. Leah rose quickly, a smile replacing the somber cast of her face, her steps light as she made her way by moonlight to where the baby lay.

Covers kicked aside, plump legs and dimpled fists waving in the air, Karen Lundstrom was a sight to behold. Beneath the window, she was bathed in moonbeams, her rosy cheeks pale in the absence of sunlight. Leah scooped her from the basket and held her against her breast.

“Hush, little bird. Shh, shh, sweet one! Mama has you now.” Her whispered words of comfort stilled the babe, and Karen gurgled her delight as Leah carried her back to the kitchen. The lamp on the dresser was lit quickly, and the table served dual purpose as Leah stripped the diaper and replaced it with a fresh one.

A soft lullaby eased the babe into sleep in short order, and yet the rocking chair continued to move in its prescribed motion. Not until the sun was fully risen in the eastern sky did Leah’s head tilt against the high back, her eyes closed in slumber.

The farm wagon wore a coat of paint, an unheard-of thing so far as Garlan Lundstrom knew. Red enamel covered the weathered wood, and upon the board seat a leather-covered pad had been nailed into place, providing a comfortable cushion for driver and passenger. More than one pair of eyes followed the wagon’s trail as it wended a path down the main street on Saturday morning. Atop the seat, Garlan Lundstrom and his son sat, the boy waving proudly at each passerby.

“Pa, they really like our wagon, don’t they?” Kristofer’s feet kicked at the front of the wagon, keeping a rhythm with the slow trot of his father’s team of horses. A glance of reproof halted the contact of toes against wood, and he grinned cheerfully. “Sorry, Pa. I was just excited about pickin’ up Miss Leah and all her stuff today. It sure took a long time for Saturday week to get here, didn’t it?”

Gar nodded, his color high as he withstood the knowing glances of the townspeople who watched his progress. Painting the wagon had probably been a foolish gesture on his part, but the old wagon had looked so shabby, and the red paint had been handy, left over from the barn raising last year.

And Kristofer had been adamant.

Gar lifted a ready hand, answering a like salute from Joseph Landers, standing outside his cabinet shop, sawdust apparent against the dark trousers he wore. There was always about the man the fine scent of freshly cut wood. A clean smell, Gar thought.

The sun shone brightly, and the men who sat beneath the wide porch in front of the hotel fanned themselves with pieces of newspaper and an assortment of brightly printed paper fans, red roses vying with the garden of Gethsemane for the preferred design.

The hotel door opened as the wagon passed by, and Lula Dunbar stepped to the sidewalk. Her hand lifted in greeting, then a stunned expression seemed to hold it aloft and suspended, bringing her to a halt. Her mouth half-open, she turned her head to watch as Gar drove past.

“Well, I never…” he heard her say, her words sharp and crisp on the summer air.

“I think Mrs. Dunbar likes our red wagon,” Kristofer said cheerfully, wiggling on the seat as if he could barely stand the inactivity.

“Yah…I noticed,” his father answered glumly, halting before the general store. He slid to the ground, several seconds after Kristofer’s feet had found their way into the store.

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