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wider brimmed than most men wore in this area, and carrying something tall and stick-looking on his right shoulder. He waved again.
    “It’s Olaf.”
    Ingeborg looked over the rim of the dipper to see Goodie’s face about to break with the smile so wide. “Fancy that.” Ingeborg took another long draught of water, chuckling inside at the red that swept from Goodie’s neck clear to her cheekbones and up to the hairline. “Maybe he brought mail. Why don’t you go see?”
    Goodie didn’t need a second invitation. She shot Ingeborg a grateful smile and headed out. “Uff da,” she muttered for Ingeborg’s ears alone. “You’d think I was a young maid again.”
    Ingeborg set the dipper down on the bench and smiled to herself. She hadn’t felt so different not that long ago, and like Goodie, she had been married before and widowed too. Thoughts of Haakan striding across the plain with his axe on his shoulder made her smileagain. He’d come to Dakota Territory in answer to his mother’s plea for him to help his distant relatives, and he never returned to the north woods of Minnesota to log the giant pines. Instead he’d set up his own logging outfit here on the banks of the Red River and, together with Ingeborg, farmed the rich alluvial soil of the valley.
    She glanced down at the child on her lap. Astrid reached up and patted her mother’s face, milk trickling out the side of her mouth. She belched, giggled at the sound, and slid to the ground.
    Ingeborg grabbed the fleeing one’s arm and wiped her mouth. “You needn’t waste that milk, you little piglet you.”
    “See Andoo.” Astrid pulled away, giggling all the while. Her laughter rippled out over the garden much like the song of the larks in the early morning.
    “God dag,” Olaf called. “She sounds happy, that one.”
    “God dag to you too. Come sit. I see you brought your own chair.” Ingeborg peered around the corner of the house, letting them know she was decent again. “I’m sure Goodie will fill this dipper for you. Sweet well water on a hot day like this is always welcome.”
    Olaf set down the chair he’d been carrying on his shoulder and sat himself on it. “Ja, I knew the soddy needed another chair.” He drew a handkerchief from his back pocket and lifted his hat with one hand, mopping his sweaty brow and back over his thinning hair with the cloth. “’Tis a warm one, that is for sure.” He took the dipper Goodie offered and drank deeply. “Mange takk. This cold drink is welcome all right, and now I have something for you.” He withdrew a packet of mail from the breast pocket of his white shirt. “Here. This one from Bridget must tell us when she is coming.” He dug in another pocket. “Penny sent these for you. Said they came in on the morning train.” He put the packet of sewing needles with the letters.
    As she took the letters Ingeborg noted that he wore a clean white shirt and winked at him. “You look ready for church, and here it is only the middle of the week. Any special reason?” She ducked her head to hide the smile caused by his reddening neck. Those two blushed so easily it was impossible to keep from teasing them. Not that she or anyone else tried terribly hard—to refrain, that is.
    “And how are you today, Miss Astrid?” Olaf leaned forward, arms extended for the child to come to him.
    She threw her mother a laughing glance over her shoulder and, talking in her own language as if they all should understand her, toddled over to stand within the circle of his arm and the haven of his knees.
    Olaf took the baby hands in his and patted them together. “Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker’s man . . .”
    While he played with the child, Ingeborg carefully lifted the flap of the envelope. With paper so precious, they would reuse the inside of the envelope. Her eldest child, Thorliff, coveted every bit of paper for the stories he wrote. Drawing the thin sheet from the envelope, she started to read aloud.
Dear Ingeborg