But Lars shook his head. “No house yet. This money is for next year’s seed and a new plow, and more land if we can find some to buy. This is our family’s future, Inga, right here in my hand.”
Hanna saw the expression on her mother’s face as she turned away. Inga had worked her fingers raw for her family’s survival in a tumbledown shack that was barely fit for livestock. Now she would have to make do for another year, if not longer. And the most grueling season, the winter, lay just ahead. Children died in winter.
But Inga spoke no word of displeasure to her husband or showed him the desperate unhappiness in her face. Instead, she walked to the table, sat, and began peeling potatoes for supper. Without a word, Hanna took a seat, picked up a spare knife, and began helping her.
Only the younger girls were animated. “Now we can have the harvest festival!” Britta sang out, seizing Gerda’s hands and dancing around the table. “There’ll be food and games and music. And dancing—it’ll be the best time ever!”
* * *
Mason brushed the grass off his trousers, wiped his mouth, and headed down the lane to his waiting buggy. When he had a hankering for a woman and there was no one else available, he could always count on Polly Mae Ferguson. She was a little past her prime but still not bad looking. And the fact that she was married to an old farmer who drank himself to sleep most nights made everything simple. All Polly Mae wanted was a good time, and Mason gave as good as he got.
The waning moon was descending the arc of the sky as he drove homeward. The night was quiet, the air crisp, reminding him that the next time he visited Polly Mae, they might need to take refuge in the hayloft. For now, he felt a pleasant buzz of sexual satisfaction. But Mason was a man who craved variety, and it had been a while since he’d been with sweet little Hanna Anderson.
Her first time hadn’t gone as well as he’d hoped. Thinking back, he realized maybe he should’ve taken things slower. Next time, he’d show her what a skilled lover could do, and maybe teach her a few things she could do for a man. With luck he’d see her at the harvest festival and be able to arrange a rendezvous. He was already looking forward to it.
Whistling a tune, he drove through the ranch gate, stopped outside the stable, and roused the sleeping hired man to take care of his horse. In the house, he tiptoed past the closed door of his mother’s room. No doubt Ralph Tomlinson, her foreman, would be in her bed. They’d had the same arrangement for more than twenty years, one that seemed to suit them both.
Ralph was all right. He was nice looking, competent, soft-spoken, and had no problem with taking orders from a woman. But they lived apart on the ranch; and Amelia would never marry him or any other man. Marriage would mean turning over her property and her independence to a husband, something she refused to do.
In his own room, Mason stripped down and fell into bed. He was so deliciously tired that he began to sink into sleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow. As he drifted off, the last image that faded from his mind was of Hanna lying beneath him, the golden glory of her hair framing her face like the petals of a sunflower.
* * *
The harvest festival was held the following Saturday, a day bright with early autumn. On the hillsides, the oak brush and maples had turned a fiery crimson. Higher up, on the mountain slopes, aspen gold contrasted with the dark hues and velvety texture of pines. Ducks and geese, the last of the flocks flying south, strung their long V formations across a clear blue sky.
The celebration would begin in the early afternoon with a buffet, a talent show, and games for the children. A dance would end the day.
Hanna had made up her mind to stay home and avoid the shame of seeing Mason again. She’d pleaded a headache, but her family had overruled her. As she crowded onto the rear wagon seat with Axel and her sisters, all dressed in their best, she cherished one last hope—that the young ones would get tired and want to go home before the dance.
Only Alvar, never one for social gatherings, had gotten away clean. Muttering something about extra work at the lumber mill, he’d saddled his horse and left, no questions asked.
Except for Hanna, the family was in a festive mood. They laughed, joked, and sang the old Swedish nursery songs that Inga had taught them. Even Lars joined in with his big, booming voice. As they neared the town, they could hear accordion music playing a polka. A number of the immigrants were musical, and they’d all been invited to show off their talents.
Hanna scanned the crowd as her father drove down the main street to the area between the school and the bank that was cordoned off for the festival. People were already lining up at the buffet table. Most were farm families, along with a few townspeople, including Sheriff Potter, who was there to make sure there was no drinking or rowdiness. The cowboys and other ranch people would probably show up later for the dance.
There was no sign of Mason. When her eyes searched the crowd and failed to find him, Hanna began to breathe again. Maybe he wouldn’t be coming at all. For now, at least, she could relax and try to have a good time. Taking the apple pies she and her mother had made, she carried them to the dessert section of the buffet table, then joined her family in the line.
Not far ahead of them, she could see Lillian and her husband filling their plates. She hadn’t seen Lillian since the day of Ulli’s daughter’s funeral, and they hadn’t really talked since the day when Hanna had asked her about being married. It would raise Hanna’s spirits to be with her friend again.
But as she waited in line, Hanna couldn’t help remembering what had happened during the last two celebrations in town—the fire that had burned the Gilberg place and the terrible explosion that had killed Ulli’s little girl.
Were those men really gone? Or were they just out of sight, waiting for an event like this one, when the farms were unguarded, so they could strike again?
But no one else seemed to be worried. The harvested wheat fields were nothing but stubble. The money from the crops was safe in the bank. It was time for a party.
* * *
Shaded by golden leaves that cast dappled shadows on their skin, Kristin and Alvar lay side by side on a blanket under overhanging willows. This small canyon had been Kristin’s secret place since she was a little girl. She had never shared it with anyone—except Alvar, the man she loved.
When they were here together, it was all too easy to make the world go away and pretend that nothing mattered except the two of them. But they both knew better. Any chance they found to be together could be for the last time.
When they were kissing and holding each other, it was hard not to go all the way. It was usually Alvar who backed off. Kristin had told him her mother’s story, and she knew he was thinking of her future. But she never stopped wishing that, just once, she could love him as her body and her heart yearned to.
She curled toward him, pressing her face against his chest. “I wish we could just run away,” she whispered.
“Where would we go?” He nuzzled her dark hair.
“I don’t care. Anyplace where we can be together.”
“You’re going to be a doctor,” he said. “If I were to keep that from happening, I’d never forgive myself.”
“But what about you?”
“If my father has his way, I’m going to be a Montana wheat farmer. But I’d wait for you. I’d wait forever if I thought there was a chance you’d come back. But I can’t ask you to promise that, Kristin.”