“You mean . . .” Ruth’s face again reflected shock. “You mean you married one of them? I hesitate to say this, Blake, but you’re going to lose some friends over this, choosing their side over the people you’ve known all your life.”
“You know I’ve never been one to choose sides. And Hanna’s a fine girl, from an honest family.”
“But—wait! I know who she is. That pretty little blond girl. I heard some rumor about you befriending her family, but I never thought you’d marry their daughter. Why, she’s barely more than a child.”
“It was a sudden decision. But I haven’t regretted it.” That much was true, Blake realized. He couldn’t fault Hanna in any way.
“I remember now.” A note of bitterness had crept into Ruth’s voice. “She’s a friend of that red-haired woman who’s married to the old farmer. I’ve seen them together.”
“Yes, I suppose she is.” Blake was growing more uncomfortable by the minute. “Nice seeing you again, Ruth. I wish you the best.”
“The same to you.” Her expression had frozen. “I thought you and I had a lot in common, Blake. I guess I was wrong.”
She walked away, her proud head held high. Only then did Blake see the gray-haired matron, a notorious busybody, standing on the other side of the display, close enough to have heard every word.
* * *
Lars and Alvar returned home in time for supper. Another neighbor had hired them to do some carpentry, and they were grateful for the little money it brought in.
Both of them were surprised to see Hanna. Alvar, who’d visited her a few times, squeezed her shoulder and went back outside to put away the horses. Lars hugged her as if she were made of blown glass. “Is your husband treating you well?” he asked with a worried look. “You haven’t left him, have you?”
“No, Papa. I’m just here for a visit. Blake has treated me fine. His whole family has been kind. Let Mama show you the presents they sent with me.”
“Yes, come and see, Lars.” Inga led him outside to the shed, leaving Hanna alone with the younger children.
“Come here, Britta.” While Axel and Gerda were setting the table, Hanna motioned her sister aside. “I brought you something special,” she said, opening her satchel. “Blake’s sister gave it to me, and she said I could pass it on to you when I was finished with it.” She reached into the satchel, slipped out a leather-covered book, and handed it to Britta.
“Little Women.” Britta gazed at the title on the cover. “You brought this for me?”
“It’s a wonderful story, Britta, about a family of sisters. One of them, Jo, reminded me a lot of you. I know you can read well enough to enjoy it.”
“But Papa—” Britta protested. “You know how he is. I’ll have to hide it from him, and maybe from Mama, too, or she might tell him.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it. I’m going to talk to him. Now that I’m a married woman, maybe he’ll listen. Besides, I know that Alvar will back me up.”
Britta hugged the book to her chest. Her eyes shone. “Can I really keep it?”
“Of course, you can. Maybe you can pass it on to Gerda when she’s older. Or maybe you could even read it to Mama. I’ll bet she would love it.”
Growing up as a poor Swedish farm girl, Inga had married and become a mother at fifteen. Neither her parents nor her husband had cared about her learning to read. At least, to her credit, she’d allowed her daughters to attend school in the city and encouraged them to continue their lessons at home.
Britta was still admiring the book when the door opened. Hanna’s parents came in, followed by Alvar.
Lars was grumbling as usual. “Do I have to remind you that we’re not a charity case? It’s all too much. You should have told him to take half of it back, Inga. We can do for ourselves.”
“Blake is family now,” Inga said. “And with winter coming, we can’t eat your fool pride or burn it in the stove or use it to keep our children warm at night. If he’s given us too much, we can share with the neighbors.”
“And what if they think we’re showing off?” His words broke off as he saw the book in Britta’s hands. “Where did that come from?”
Hanna stepped between them before he could snatch the book away. “I brought it for her to read, Papa. It’s a good book. She’ll enjoy it.”
He made a harrumph of annoyance. “Well, take it back where it came from. It’ll just waste her time when she should be learning to keep a house and be a wife. You know my feelings about the duties of a woman. Just because you’re married, that doesn’t mean you can come in here and start changing things.”
Hanna stood her ground. “Some things need to be changed, Papa. This is the twentieth century. Women are becoming educated. They’re going to college, having careers—and reading books.”
“She’s right, Papa,” Alvar said. “Blake’s mother was a teacher, and she knows a lot about doctoring. Blake’s sister is going to become a real doctor. Even women who stay home need to learn about the world. They need to read.”
“Then maybe I was born too late!” Lars declared. “Look at your mother. She’s never read a book in her life. But you wouldn’t find a finer woman or a better wife and mother. And she’s happy as she is, aren’t you, Inga?”
“For heaven’s sake, supper’s ready.” Inga hung up her shawl. “Stop fighting and sit down. Hanna’s with us. We have a warm home and enough to eat—and nobody’s sick. Let’s count our blessings.”
Hanna took her old seat at the table and lowered her head for the blessing on the food. She was happy to be here, but until she’d arrived, she hadn’t realized how much being Blake’s wife and living with his family had changed her.
Months ago, she would have meekly resigned herself to marrying Ulli Swenson. As a dutiful wife and daughter she’d assumed that she had no choice in the matter. Now the thought that her sisters might face a similar fate steeled her determination to change things for them—and maybe even for her mother.
She would be here all day tomorrow and through tomorrow night. Somehow she had to make a difference for them, even if it meant going toe-to-toe with the most stubborn, intractable man she had ever known—her father.
* * *
Blake stood on the porch, watching a bank of clouds darken the western horizon. The morning breeze carried the crisp, biting scent of snow.
Would the approaching storm be another flurry like the last few had been, or would this one be the roaring blizzard that, sure as winter cold, was bound to arrive?
Maybe leaving Hanna with her family for two days had been a mistake. If a big storm struck, she could be stranded there, and possibly in danger. The prudent course of action would be to hitch up the buggy and go get her now.
But based on what he knew of Hanna, she might refuse to go home with him until the promised time was up. If he were to persuade her, or even force her to go, and the storm turned out to be no more than a few flakes, she would be justifiably bitter. Time with her family was precious. She wouldn’t choose to be deprived of a single minute.