Free Dandelions on the Wind by Mona Hodgson Page B

raised and swung right then left. He had seen her.
    “Sweet dreams, Rutherford.” He deserved to sleep well. And comfortably. Despite a sore shoulder, he had worked alongside them every day, today swinging the scythe. She hadn’t seen him wince, but she knew he had to be hurting.
    When the lantern disappeared through the barn doors, Maren closed the curtain and blew out the lamp, then knelt at her bedside. Her prayers were full of thanksgiving, as they should be. But tonight, between her praises she stacked petitions for Caroline Milburn, Hattie and her family, and for herself—for a job. Because of Rutherford’s help in the fields and with the chores this week, they’d take all day tomorrow for the quilting circle and finish the wheat harvest Friday.
    At the close of her prayer, she hung her dressing gown on the bedpost and laid her head on the pillow. Poor Rutherford had been through enough, losing his wife, fighting in two wars, separated from his daughter and the mother-in-law who still loved him deeply. He deserved to sleep in a bed … in the house with his family.
    After the wheat harvest, she’d do some deep cleaning for Mrs. Brantenberg, but the next time they went into town, she’d see about a new job.
***
    His strength buoyed, Rutherford pulled the barn door closed behind him. Trudging the path from the house, he’d barely had the energy to place one foot in front of the other. But then he’d looked up at the window on the second floor. Lamplight glowed behind the young woman, creating the image of a guardian angel. Maren hadn’t waved, but he knew she was watching for him, watching over him. He hoped she’d been able to see the lantern swinging to and fro, his good-night .
    A rooster protested the disturbance with a cackle and fluttered across the rafter. “Clearly, Orvie Christensen is a fool. What kind of man would walk away from the gift of Miss Maren? She is a treasure more valuable than a boatload of pure gold.”
    So were his daughter and Mother Brantenberg. “Turns out me and Orvie aren’t all that different.” Orvie had run from Miss Jensen, and Rutherford had run from a newborn and Mother Brantenberg.
    Rutherford shook his head. Partly because of the mistakes he and Orvie had shared, but mostly because he was in a barn talking to a rooster as if the bird were a confidant.
    As he climbed the ladder to the loft, new memories swirled about him. Maren on the ladder that first day of his return, her wielding the shovel like a weapon when she thought him a threat, her cradling and comforting his daughter like a mother would. Her quiet faith ran deep and her wisdom wide.
    After Maren and Gabi had retired for the night, he’d lingered in the kitchen with Mother Brantenberg. She’d taken his hands in hers and shared with him what Maren had said to her on Sunday that had awakened her heart and pushed her up the stairs to retrieve his zither.
    Grace cannot be earned, only given .
    She pulled him into an embrace and kissed his cheek.
    His soul feeling quenched, Rutherford sank onto his cot and unbuttoned his shirt. Now, he couldn’t help but think how good it would feel to have Maren rubbing mint poultice on his aching shoulder.
    Like a wife would.

Eleven
    O n the last day of August, the wheat harvest completed, Rutherford couldn’t help but smile walking hand in hand with Gabi from the livery up to Main Street, then north to Gut’s Saddlery and Harness shop. Two old harnesses draped his shoulder and slapped his back with every step while Gabi hummed a happy song. His daughter’s warm love was more than he’d dared dream of when he’d made the long trek back to Missouri from Arizona Territory. Yet, Gabi and Mother Brantenberg had given him a far warmer reception than he deserved. And Maren, well, she was a true marvel. Her music. Her hard work. Her heart and soul. The way her mouth curved into a captivating smile that made him want to say yes to the spark of hope burning inside him.
    Could