25

“Are you really getting better, Tante Lark?”

Lark opened her eyes and met her nephew’s dark-eyed stare beside her bed. She smiled and reached for Robbie’s hand, hoping to bring a smile to those eyes. She hadn’t seen him so sober in a long time.

“I really am, Robbie boy.” Her voice rasped, but the terrible pain in her chest was gone. “Your pa says so, and he’s a pretty smart man, isn’t he?”

Robbie heaved a sigh. “He sure is. And he’s a real good doctor.”

“That’s for sure.” Lark squeezed his hand, then released it to sink her arm back onto the covers. Even that much effort and she felt as feeble as an old sheep.

“How long till I get over this blasted weakness?” she’d asked Adam yesterday.

He’d leveled a glare at her. “As long as it takes. And if any of us catch you doing any more than you should, we’ll hogtie you in bed and station a guard. One brush with death is quite enough for a lifetime as far as your family is concerned.”

Fair enough. Seemed she’d given everyone the scare of the century to hear her sisters talk.

And Isaac. But surely she’d imagined him sitting at her bedside, sometime in that fevered haze of days and nights?

“There you are, Robbie.” Forsythia came in, chubby Nils riding on her hip. “Are you letting your Tante Lark rest?”

“She likes to talk to me.” Robbie clasped his hands behind his back and tipped his head toward his ma.

“Indeed I do.” Lark smiled at her sister, hating the new lines on Sythia’s gentle face. Knowing she was the cause.

“I know she does. But she also needs to rest. Come home with me and play with Sofie and Mikael for a bit. I need to put Nils down for his nap.”

“Okay.” Robbie leaned to hug Lark, then bounded out of the room.

Lark met Forsythia’s eyes. “You think all this brought some memories back for him of losing his ma and pa?”

She nodded, her eyes damp. “I do.”

Guilt squeezed Lark’s chest again. So much she’d put them all through, at least partly because of her own stubbornness, her insistence she had to do everything herself. She tried to say something else but coughed instead, bringing up brown phlegm.

Forsythia handed her another handkerchief. “It’s good you’re getting the rest of that out. I’ll send Lilac to check on you. She’s supposed to be along shortly. She was meeting Sam at the school for a bit. Something about Farfar Nielsen’s journal.”

“How are those two getting on?” Lark lay back on her pillows.

“Very well, from the look of things. Sure is a different feeling than with Reverend Pritchard, isn’t it?”

Lark nodded. “I’m so glad.”

Nils fussed and grabbed at Forsythia’s bodice. She shifted and bounced him in her arms. “You need anything else before I go?”

“I don’t think so.” Lark hesitated. “Sythia . . . Isaac wasn’t here at all while I was ill, was he?”

“He was, actually.” Forsythia’s eyes softened. “That night we thought we might lose you. I don’t think he left that corner all night, wouldn’t even take a chair.”

Mingled wonder and disappointment pricked tears into Lark’s eyes. So he had been here, bless him . . . but not sitting by her bed, holding her hand. That—and the words she’d imagined murmured into her feverish ears—had been merely a figment of her sickness and imagination.

“That was kind of him.”

“Kind? Lark . . .” Forsythia blew out a breath, then glanced out the window at a call from her children. “I’ve got to go. But sometime . . . we’ve got to talk about that man.”

Lark avoided her sister’s look till the door shut behind her.

With Forsythia gone, Lark glanced about the room, seeing it now as she hadn’t while so ill. The new timber walls still smelled of fresh wood, covering the lingering odor of sickness, and sunshine beamed through a window near her bed. Another cot tucked into the corner, where Lilac still slept at night for now. Perhaps someday, Adam could hire a nurse to watch patients here. A small table with a basin stood near, also a little tin pitcher of goldenrod blooms—Forsythia’s touch. Warmth from the potbellied stove in Adam’s office radiated through the wall next to her bed.

After the dark valley she’d struggled through, this place seemed pure heaven.

She dozed till a soft rap at her closed door roused her. Must be Lilac. “Come in.” Her throat croaked like a bullfrog. She cleared it and reached for the glass of water by her bed. “Come in.”

The door creaked open, but a broad-shouldered male frame stepped through instead of her sister’s slender one.

For an instant, Lark could only stare. “Anders?”

Her older brother pulled off his hat and grinned at her. “When a man gets news his sister’s on her deathbed, there’s only one road to take. And that’d be a railroad.”

“But didn’t they tell you I was better?” Her voice was muffled by his hug, enveloping her in his woolen coat and scent of train soot.

“They telegraphed, but I was already at the train station, ticket bought, when it came through. Wasn’t going to turn back then.” He pulled back and frowned at her. “What have you been doing to yourself? Thinking you have to shoulder the weight of the world or something?”

She winced. “Not you too.”

“Sounds like you’re in need of a good old-fashioned elder-brother lecture. We need our Larkspur around, not working herself into an early grave.”

“There’s just always so much to do—the farm, Leah’s Garden, the boardinghouse—and the other girls are all getting busy with their own lives. I can’t ask—”

He held up a gloved hand. “And there’s your problem. You have to ask for help when you need it. We all do. That’s called being a family, not to mention the body of Christ.”

She pressed her lips together and nodded. She was getting a bit weary of everyone’s sermonizing, not to mention being stuck here in bed.

“Anders?” Lilac slipped in and threw herself into their big brother’s arms. “Where did you come from?”

“The train, where do you think?” Anders lifted her off her feet with his hug.

“I was over at the school, Sam has been helping me translate Farfar Nielsen’s journal. We hope to share it with the whole family soon—how perfect you are here. How long can you stay?”

“As long as needed, or at least till snowfall. Jonah’s recovered enough to run the store, along with Josephine of course. I figured you’d need help out on the farm while Lark’s recuperating.”

“What a good brother you are. But actually, Caleb Hoffman and Isaac McTavish have things well in hand at the farm.”

“Isaac?” Lark burst out. Her siblings turned to stare at her.

Lilac beamed. “I didn’t know either, but I rode out this morning to check on things. Isaac has been staying out there with Caleb, bunking down in the barn, though I told him he could sleep in the soddy. They’ve gotten all the rest of the corn harvest in, nearly finished gathering all the dry stalks too. Caring for the animals, milking, mucking stalls. They even asked my advice on getting in the rest of the flower seeds.”

“Well.” Anders shook his head. “There’s a man to count on.”

Lark lay still, her pulse thumping in her ears. Isaac was doing all that . . . for her?

No, not just for her. For them. He held a remarkable loyalty to their family, for whatever reason.

You know what reason.

Maybe so. But it was too late . . . she had rejected Isaac outright. Barely even listened to him that day he surprised her in the machine shed. She shivered slightly to think of it.

“Lark, I’ll bring you some soup, then take Anders out to the farm. Maybe we can all gather at Forsythia’s for supper in a few days, once Adam says you’re strong enough.”

“That would be good.” Lark sniffed hard and kissed Anders’s bristled cheek when he bent over her to say good-bye. “Thanks for coming, brother mine.”

“Of course.”

With her siblings gone, Lark left the steaming soup on the tray before her and closed her eyes, hot tears spilling down.

Isaac. A man to count on, Anders had said. Had she been so blind to that? If so, it was surely too late now. For if he still cared in . . . in that way, wouldn’t he have come to see her while she’d been recuperating? But she’d not seen hide nor hair of Isaac McTavish, save that night she’d imagined him by her bed, his broken whispers, hand so tight on hers she could still feel his work-roughened grip.

“I will never leave you. . . . I love you.”

She squeezed her burning eyes against the words. They weren’t real—Forsythia had said Isaac never left that corner all night.

Lark sniffed back the tears, opened her eyes, and reached for the spoon. Breathing a prayer, she set into her soup bowl with the determination of her ancestors crossing the Atlantic.

All she could do now was make it up to her family for the scare she’d given them. Get herself well, then figure out a more sustainable way forward to manage all the Nielsen enterprises.

And trust time and the Lord to heal her newly tender heart.

Barely November, yet tonight felt like Thanksgiving.

Lilac bent to open Forsythia’s oven, the scent of roast pork with apples—a barter from one of Adam’s patients—steaming her face as she drew out a tray of biscuits. At the counter, Forsythia mashed potatoes and added butter and salt, while Del sat at the table nearby, nursing Lily Belle. In the dining room, Climie was setting the table with Jesse’s help.

Best of all, Lark lay on the sofa in the Brownsville sitting room, watching the children play. Not well enough yet to help in the kitchen, but better, so much better. After she lay so close to death only a couple of weeks ago . . .

Thank you, Father. Thank you, thank you.

All would be perfect, if only Sam were here. Lilac glanced at the clock and set to washing the mixing bowls. He’d said he would be by now. It was Sunday, but perhaps a student’s family had wanted to talk to him this afternoon or something.

Del buttoned her bodice and lifted Lily to her shoulder to burp her. “This little lady eats like a pig.” Lily beat her chubby fists on her mother’s shoulder and squealed.

“That’s what I used to say about Nils. And now he’s already starting to reach for table food as well. I might let him try these mashed potatoes tonight.” Forsythia smiled and sighed. “Where does the time fly to?”

Boots stamped, and voices rumbled on the front porch.

“Sounds like Sam and Anders.” Forsythia set her wooden spoon down.

“I’ll get it.” Lilac wiped her hands and flew from the room, her sisters’ chuckles trailing behind her.

She opened the door to Sam and her brother, both of them scarved, coated, and red-cheeked from the wind.

“Feels like snow out there.” Anders hung his hat on the rack and unbuttoned his coat. “Good thing I’m heading home on the train tomorrow.”

“Your family will be glad to have you back before Thanksgiving. This feels like an early celebration for all of us.” Lilac reached to take Sam’s coat, giving the slightest tug on the sleeve to ease his shedding of the garment over his missing arm.

He turned and smiled down at her, gratitude in his hazel eyes. And a light that sent swirling warmth through her middle.

He reached his hand to lightly brush her fingers, and she gave them a quick squeeze before turning to hang his coat. This man. How was it he could both make her giddy and ease peace into her heart at the same time?

Because he loved her. The thought gave her pause, and she smoothed her hand over the collar of his brown wool coat, straightening a fold. And she loved him. She knew that now, knew it with a certainty she’d always lacked with Ethan.

She wasn’t in a rush this time for things to move forward. But whenever they did, she knew she wanted her place to be at Sam Gubberud’s side. As long as the Lord would allow.

“Supper’s ready,” Del announced from the doorway. “Sam, Anders, you’re just in time. Isaac didn’t come with you?”

Anders glanced into the sitting room, where Lark lay watching the children play on the rug. William sat near, showing them the new carved animals he’d brought tonight to add to their menagerie. “Isaac said he had too much to do tonight at the blacksmith shop. He’s been spending so much time helping at our farm, you know. Sent his thanks, though.”

Del nodded, though her brows pinched. “Well, let’s gather in the sitting room to pray, so Lark can join us. Then we’ll go sit at the table. Forsythia is fixing Lark a tray.”

They all crowded around the sofa, RJ and Adam holding Lily and Nils, the older children extending hands to the adults around them. Lark looked up from the middle of the circle and cocked her brows.

“I feel like a strange sort of lying-down maypole.”

Everyone laughed. Adam shifted his babbling son in his arms and nodded to Anders. “Would you give the blessing?”

Their brother bowed his head, then had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Our Father, we thank you.”

Thank you, Father, Lilac’s heart echoed. She squeezed Sam’s hand beside her, feeling his steady grip.

“Thank you that we can be gathered together tonight—and that Lark is with us, something we do not take for granted. Thank you for our family, for Sam’s presence here, for William and Jesse and Climie. Thank you for this good food, and the little ones among us and to come.” He drew a long breath. “In Jesus’ name we pray, amen.”

“A-men!” Mikael shouted, sparking chuckles again.

Supper passed in a warm hum of pork roast and potatoes, laughter and stories. Afterward, they carried plates of dried-peach pie into the sitting room and perched on chairs and stools so Lark wouldn’t be alone, the children cross-legged on the rug once more.

“I can’t remember food ever tasting so good,” Lark said, handing her empty plate to Robbie, who carried it carefully to the kitchen. “Thank you, everyone.”

Lilac helped Robbie clear the rest of the dishes, William and Jesse jumping in to help and shooing the young mothers back to their seats, including Climie, her middle now gently rounded. Lilac rinsed and stacked the plates, then slipped into the pantry where she’d tucked her surprise.

Holding the large folder behind her back, she stepped back into the sitting room and paused a moment to drink in the scene of firelight and family. Another picture her fingers itched to draw.

“I’m so grateful we made that last mortgage payment,” Lark was saying. “Now the boardinghouse is well and truly ours.” She craned her neck to look around at everyone. “We couldn’t have done it without all of you, Climie, Jesse, William. And your help, too, Anders.”

“That’s for sure. And, Anders”—Lilac stepped in front of her brother—“since we won’t see you at Christmas, I wanted to give you your present early.” She drew the folder from behind her back and handed the large sheet of paper to Anders, who held it low for Lark to see.

A collective gasp rose from her sisters, and Del and Forsythia rose to peer over Anders’s shoulder.

“Oh, Lilac.”

“It’s beautiful.”

Tears pricked her eyes as she stepped behind them to see the drawing once again too. Enlarged from their grandfather’s own sketches, she’d chosen the picture of their father as a child, kneeling in the garden beside one of his sisters, her towheaded pigtails springing from her small head as she held out a pea pod to her brother. A simple log cabin rose in the background against a wooded hill. The tenderness in the bend of their father’s young head toward his sister, the lines of their rounded limbs and innocent concentration on their little faces—truly Farfar had been an artist, whether he’d realized it or not. She hoped she’d captured the essence of the original in her rendition.

“Lilac, I love it.” Anders tapped his finger on the signature she’d copied at the bottom. “But you should sign it too, alongside Grandfather Nielsen’s name. I only feel badly to take this away from everyone here.”

“It belongs in the family home, where we found the journal. And we have the original here.” Lilac squeezed next to Sam on the small upholstered settee and nodded at him. “We thought Sam could read aloud from the translation he’s been working on. If you all would like to hear.”

“Oh yes, please.” Lark pushed herself up straighter on the sofa, her eyes bright.

Sam cleared his throat and pulled the small worn volume from beside him. He leaned forward and opened the fragile pages, withdrawing several closely written sheets of paper. “My translation isn’t perfect, certainly. But I hope it gives you at least a bit of insight into your grandfather’s life. He sounds like a wonderful man. This is an excerpt from his account of the voyage across on the Restaurasjonen.”

Lilac leaned back and listened to Sam’s rich voice begin to read.

5 July 1825. Today our ship the Restaurasjonen departed from Stavanger, our number being fifty-two persons, most of them Quakers. While I cannot count myself a member of their particular faith, my heart admires their courage to stand for their convictions in how they worship the Lord, even against persecution from the government and official Lutheran church in our homeland. For myself, I seek a new chapter in life, though I know not what it will hold. With my parents gone and few prospects here in Norway, I set sail with these Friends and trust the Lord of us all to guide my steps as we journey to the New World.

They listened, even Robbie in rapt attention, as Farfar’s words reached across years and miles to tell the adventures and misadventures of this brave little ship—from nearly getting fired upon by cannons at Funchal Harbor, Portugal, because they neglected to raise their flag to accidentally breaking the Passenger Act when they arrived in New York, having been unaware of the limits America placed on number of passengers for their ship size.

At last Sam lowered the papers in his hand. “Sorry, that’s as far as I’ve translated.”

“Oh, Sam, thank you. That was wonderful.” Forsythia rocked a sleepy Nils, her face shining in the firelight.

“What a lot of trouble they had.” Anders shook his head. “But they persevered and saw the Lord’s faithfulness, even when they made mistakes.”

“A lesson to all of us.” RJ patted the back of his baby daughter, drifting off on his shoulder.

“Thank you indeed, my friend.” Anders nodded to Sam.

“It was a privilege.” Sam folded the translated sheets and tucked them carefully inside the journal once more. “I want to finish, as I have time. It’s been an honor to get to know your family better these last months, both through the journal and in person.” He set the journal aside and clasped his knee with his hand.

Lilac noticed his fingers trembling and raised her gaze questioningly to his face.

“And I’m hoping you might, well, allow me to become a more permanent member.” He turned to meet Lilac’s eyes, and what she saw there sent her heart winging upward, then dipping into her stomach.

“I’ve already spoken to Anders about this, but it seems only right to ask in front of the rest of your family as well.” Sam slipped from the settee to one knee before her, holding Lilac’s hand fast in his one good, strong one. “Lilac Nielsen, you have become so much to me in these last months. So much more than the lively little girl whose pigtails I used to dip in ink.”

Teary chuckles sounded around the room from her sisters. Lilac held Sam’s hand tightly, looking into his hazel eyes, so earnest just now. Eyes of the man she loved with all her being.

“Your wit makes me smile, your heart gives me courage, your presence sets my feet steady. I wish I had two arms to shield you from the storms this life will doubtless bring, but I will offer all I am and have to walk alongside you for the rest of my life, if you’ll have me.” He drew a shaky breath. “So, Lilac Patience Nielsen. Will you marry me?”

“Yes.” She nodded so hard a tear flew out of her eye. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Samuel Jakob Gubberud.”

A grin broke out from beneath his mustache like sun from behind a cloud. He pressed a kiss to her hand, warm and full of promise, then Lilac pulled him to his feet amid the applause of her family, both of them dizzy and beaming.

“Is that why you and Anders were so late?” she whispered, pulling him into the entryway a few moments later, away from the buzz of congratulations.

“Had to seize the chance to ask for his little sister’s hand.” Sam brought her hand to his chest, and she added the other. His eyes damp, he covered both her hands with his one. “Are you sure you’ll be content with . . . me?”

“With you?” Lilac reached to trace the lines of his beloved jaw, as she’d never dared do before. “I love you, Sam Gubberud. I can hardly wait to walk beside you all the days of my life.” And she rose on her toes to kiss him soundly enough to leave no doubt.