Second-Chance Bride (Dakota Brides Book 3)(49)

He found no answers to his questions and went to bed.

The next morning, he set his heart resolutely to doing the work, finishing his task, and getting on with his life. He was fully prepared to be business-like, but Freyda seemed to have other ideas. Rather than have the horses harnessed and ready to go, she waited at the laneway and greeted him with such a bright smile, his decision was driven cleanly from his mind.

She hugged the boys, squeezed Ward’s arm. “Isn’t it a lovely morning?”

It is now, Ward acknowledged. Being with her drove away his fears and worries, though he knew they lingered in the corners of his mind and would return as soon as they had a chance.

“It looks to be another hot day,” he said by way of reply. “Can already feel the heat.”

Her smile never faltered. “The heat makes things grow.”

She followed him to the barn and stood watching as he harnessed the horses.

He stole a quick glance out the corner of his eyes. This was the first time she didn’t insist on doing things herself or at least helping. What did it mean? Was it because of how Anker treated her? He didn’t have the answers and headed for the field.

Freyda walked at his side, the two boys running ahead. They seemed to enjoy playing by the field, which made him think they would be happy to accompany him when he returned home and started plowing the new field.

Freyda chattered away as he got the horses into place. She mentioned the weather again, and pointed toward a patch of wildflowers. “What are they?”

He glanced at where she pointed. His insides knotted as he recognized the flowers. He felt again the sting of his aunt’s switch and the bite of her angry words. Would he never see those purple blossoms without that memory returning? “Purple phlox is what some people call it but most see it as a dirty weed.” He grabbed the reins and called at the horses to move.

Freyda touched his arm before he could escape. “You mean your aunt called them weeds.”

“I don’t suppose she’s the only one.” He moved down the field.

Freyda called the boys, but rather than head for the house, she took them to the flowers and filled her apron with them.

Ward pretended disinterest but he couldn’t imagine what she meant to do with them. He found out when he went in to dinner. They filled a jar of water in the center of the table. His gaze went to them and he couldn’t look away.

“Such pretty flowers,” Freyda said. “I thought we should enjoy them. Sit down and we’ll eat.”

He hadn’t moved since he entered the house and saw the flowers and forced himself to the table. The purple blossoms filled his view.

“Would you ask the blessing?” she asked.

He bowed his head and sucked in a deep breath and somehow managed to get out a few words.

Throughout the meal, his gaze went constantly to the flowers. Then darted toward Freyda, who seemed rather pleased and content with herself. As soon as he was done eating he hurried to the door. “Got to get the crop seeded,” he murmured, as he escaped.

All afternoon he thought about the purple flowers. The weeds. Only they didn’t look like weeds in the house. Like Freyda said, they were pretty. What did she mean by filling that jar with them? Surely she was trying to tell him something. But what? As he paused at the end of the row, he looked toward the purple patch a few feet away and brought one hand to his chest. To the very spot Freyda had touched on the way to church.

The two were connected, but he failed to understand how. And the whole idea left him unsettled. As if the world he knew, the one he had learned to deal with, and in which he had constructed safe boundaries, was about to change. A glance toward the house showed Freyda and the boys playing. His life had changed dramatically since she had entered their lives.

Change was a fearful thing. He wanted to pull back and stay safe.

For the next two days, he managed to hold on to the safety of his world. He joined Freyda and his sons for meals. He walked to her place every morning and returned to his own each evening. Every night he put the boys to bed and every morning fed them breakfast before their return journey to the Haevre homestead. The horses were tended, the chickens fed. All familiar activities that should have made him feel safe, but he felt as if he teetered on a crumbling dirt cliff.

“I’ll finish today,” he announced Wednesday morning.

“That’s good.” Her words were breezy as if he had announced nothing of more consequence than he was going to move Kit from his right side to his left.

“I thought you’d be excited.”

She smiled, her eyes full of depths that invited him to plumb. “I’m pleased.”

“Good to know.” He finished shortly after noon, put away the seeder, brushed Boots and Boss until their coats gleamed. Strange that Freyda had not come out to rejoice in the completion of the task. Finally, with no more excuses for delaying it, he went to the house. He stepped inside.

Thankfully, the purple flowers had wilted and she’d thrown them out.

“Join us for coffee and cookies.” The boys sat at the table, anxiously waiting, which made it impossible for him to refuse. At least that was the reason he gave for accepting the invitation.

“I want to thank you for putting in my crop,” she said, her eyes watchful. Hopeful? Now why would he think that?

“Thanks for taking care of the boys while I worked.”