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Nora set the cat down in Grace’s arms and patted the little girl on the head. She glanced out the window. “Here comes Reverend Moen. He’s just opening the gate.”
    Nora helped Mary set the table and, with everyone flying to do their jobs, the dinner was on the table by the time the father had hung his coat on the coatrack by the door and had washed his hands. The children scrambled into their places, Grace into her high chair, and, when the adults sat down, everyone joined hands for grace.
    The familiar words of the table prayer transported Nora back to the warm kitchen of her family’s farm. She swallowed a tear and sneaked a peek at the child in the high chair beside her.
    Grace murmured her own unintelligible words along with them all. But her “Ah-men” rang loud and clear and her proud grin prompted giggles from the others.
    Their father eyed them sternly, but they caught the twitch in his cheek.
    Nora tried to suffocate her chortle, but a glance at Ingeborg struggling the same way did her in.
    When they all laughed, Grace announced “Ahh-men” again and banged her spoon on the table.
    Reverend Moen reached over and removed the spoon from the child’s hand. “Ja, that was good.” He smoothed her hair back with the back of his knuckles. “Now you must eat your dinner like Mama’s good little girl.” He looked around the table. “As you all must.”
    Conversation lagged while everyone devoured the soup, both first and second helpings. When they finished, Ingeborg brought cookies and coffee to the table.
    “Now. Did Mary and Knute do all their lessons?” Reverend Moen gazed at each child, then his wife.
    “Mostly,” Mary answered.
    “That’s not enough. You go get your books and bring them to the table while we talk. Knute’s, too.” When the children were settled and the coffee poured, he turned to Nora. “And now, how are you?”
    “I’ll be all right. This all takes some getting used to.”
    “Yes, it does. I want you to know you can remain with us as long as you want.”
    “Mange takk. But we, Ingeborg and I, were talking about—do you know anyone who needs a . . . someone like me to help them? Ingeborg said you might have heard of someone who is sick or a family that needs . . . well, I can cook and clean, manage a house, a barn.” Her voice began to fade away. She took a breath. “I’m not afraid of work.”
    Reverend Moen leaned back against the chair. He looked up at the ceiling, his brow creased in thought. The clock ticked loudly in the silence. “There are so many that need help but they can’t afford to pay anyone. Times are harsh here on the prairie.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose with a long finger. “I’ll ask Doctor Harmon if I see him this afternoon. We’ll be having another funeral in the morning. Old Peder Stroenven died during the night.”
    “Ach, this is so hard.” Ingeborg shook her head. “The young and the old are always hit the hardest.”
    Nora glanced out the window in time to see a horse and sleigh stop in front of the gate. “You have company.”
    Reverend Moen pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. “You’d best make some more coffee. Whoever it is will be cold clear through if he’s driven far. The cold is fierce even with the sun shining.”
    He strode to the door and pulled it open before the knock sounded. “Why, Carl Detschman. How good to see you. Come right in.”
    Nora felt lost immediately. The greeting was in English. She looked up to find frozen blue eyes staring at her. Then the man’s gaze flickered back to the pastor. Their conversation continued.
    The man handed a well-wrapped bundle to Ingeborg and pushed a very young girl forward also. Then he touched his hand to his forehead and left. The door closed behind him.
    “Oh, the poor man.” Ingeborg sank down in a chair and began to unwrap the bundle. A tiny red-faced infant emitted a wavering cry. Tears formed in the little girl’s blue eyes and ran down her