Second-Chance Bride (Dakota Brides Book 3)(8)

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

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

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

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

He flicked a hand back and returned to seeding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She smiled at him, and he relaxed.

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

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

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

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

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

Kit nodded.

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

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

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

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

He nodded.

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

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

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

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

Takk Gud.

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