Free Dandelions on the Wind by Mona Hodgson

heads of the wheat stalks.
    “Miss Maren.” Gabi tugged her hand.
    Slowing her steps, Maren looked into the child’s sweet face. “Yes, little one.”
    “I am really happy PaPa is here with us.”
    Maren couldn’t help but giggle when she nodded. “I am happy too, little one.”
    Woolly looked over his shoulder at them, his bright teeth revealing a warm smile.
    Of course she was happy he’d come home … happy for Gabi and for Mrs. Brantenberg. He was family, and they needed a man around the farm. Especially today. Even though he was still protecting his injured shoulder, Woolly’s help would make the work shorter.
    Maren smiled, remembering Mrs. Brantenberg coming down the stairs with Woolly’s zither, handmade by his father-in-law. Then, the sweet gathering around the piano. She couldn’t recall when she’d had so much fun. Certainly not since her childhood in Denmark. If she were being truthful to herself, she’d admit that she was also happy Woolly had returned to the farm. And thankful. She liked Gabi’s PaPa, and why wouldn’t she? He’d made mistakes that hurt his family—mistakes he regretted—but he was a good man. She knew Mrs. Brantenberg didn’t have the money for the supplies he’d brought home. Nor the credit. But Woolly had seen to it. He was a generous man who was doing his best to make things right. She’d miss her brief morning chats with him at Bootsie’s stall. She would miss him and all of the family when she found work and moved to town.
***
    At the only tree on the hilltop along the north edge of the wheat field, Woolly added several sheaves to the growing stack in the wagon, then reached under the seat for the food sack and quilt. The sun had risen to high noon, time for a break. He carried the sack around to the shady side of the tree and knelt on the drying bed of wildflowers. After he spread the quilt on the ground, he pulled a loaf of crusty bread and dry sausage from the sack and set them on quilted napkins. He chuckled. It seemed everything in Mother Brantenberg’s life had become fodder for quilting.
    He stood and looked over the field as Gabi picked up sheaves from where Miss Jensen was reaping. The young woman hadn’t slowed down all morning, the rhythm of her sickle so steady you could set a clock by it. He should’ve brought the scythe out. His shoulder couldn’t hurt any more than his pride did watching Mother Brantenberg and Miss Jensen bent over, taking the brunt of the physical work in the harvest.
    Gabi toddled toward him, her eyes barely visible over the tops of the bundles she held in front of her like a giant ragdoll. “PaPa, Miss Maren said I am a good helper.”
    “You are indeed!” He took the sheaf from Gabi and added it to the stack.
    “Oma said it’s time to break for water.”
    “Yes. And something to eat.” He looked across the field past Miss Maren. About ten paces down the slope, Mother Brantenberg was straightening herself. She looked like a tree growing up from the field, its branches unfolding and stretching. A sickle hung at her side, looking as tired as she did.
    Pulling a tin cup from its hook on the water barrel, he held it and the loaf up. If he didn’t get his shoulder working right soon, he might just have to start wearing an apron. The role reversal wasn’t something he would be able to live with long, although he was able to at least be of some help.
    Waving, Mother Brantenberg walked across the stubble to where Miss Jensen gathered cut stalks into a sheaf. When the older woman placed her hand on Miss Jensen’s back, she stood and wiped her brow with her sleeve.
    Woolly scooped the cups into the barrel and had the makeshift dinner table set by the time they got to the tree.
    It was hard to tell which of the women was helping which up the rise, but it wasn’t hard to tell that they were close. He heard laughter from them both as they approached, and his heart was warmed that Gretchen’s mother had found a surrogate daughter