The Reaper's Song by Lauraine Snelling Page A

warmth flooding through her body. While Haakan smiled and laughed easily, this smile he savedfor her alone. Perhaps tonight they would come together and the life of their son would begin. He nodded, just a dip of his chin that said he understood and wanted the same thing. A son for Haakan, a son of his own, since both Thorliff and Andrew were Roald’s sons. Close kin but not the same. While he said nothing could make him happier than his daughter, Astrid, she knew he wanted a son, many sons. All men did.
    The men and boys sat down at the well-set table, and the women stood behind them while Haakan bowed his head, followed by the others. “Father God, we thank thee for this food thou hast given us this day. We ask thee to continue thy protection over and around us and fill us with thy peace. Amen.”
    The others chimed in with the “amen,” and Baptiste reached for the mashed potatoes before the n finished sounding. Ingeborg cleared her throat, and he shot her a questioning look before dropping his hand. At her nod, he reached again, as did the others. The bowls of food emptied swiftly and Kaaren filled them again from pots on the stove.
    “We have a letter from home . . . er . . . Nordland.” Ingeborg caught her error. So hard it was to always remember that the prairie, not the mountains of her fatherland, was now home forever. “I can read it while you eat.”
    Haakan looked up from cutting his baked ham. “From Bridget?”
    Ingeborg nodded and slipped the letter from the envelope.
    “Can I have the envelope when you are done?” Thorliff spoke around a mouthful of potatoes and gravy.
    Ingeborg gave him one of her son-you-know-better-than-that looks. A glance that covered a multitude of meanings.
    He ducked his head and finished swallowing. “Sorry. But can I?”
    “May I.” Kaaren, ever the schoolteacher, laid a hand on his shoulder as she set another platter of meat in the center of the table.
    Thorliff sighed and tried again, his eyes rolling in the look of persecuted children, no matter their age. “May I have the envelope when you are finished?”
    “Of course you may.” Ingeborg and Kaaren kept their exchanged look hidden from the three boys at the table. Teaching manners and proper English was a never-ending task. Ingeborg unfolded the flimsy sheet of paper and began reading, enjoying the second time almost more than the first with the added comments from her family.
    She glanced at Andrew, wondering why he was so quiet. Usuallyhe had sixty-five things to bring to everyone’s attention. Did his face look more flushed than usual? Continuing to read, she walked around the table and laid the back of her hand along his bright red cheek. Sure enough, the child was hot with fever. Could it just be from playing so hard in the hot haymow? But inside she knew. Something was wrong.

A choo!” The sneeze nearly knocked her off the ladder.
    Penny Bjorklund swiped the last bucket rim with her feather duster and scrambled down the ladder she’d used to reach the top row of merchandise just under the high ceiling of the Blessing General Store. Another sneeze caught her by surprise and then a third that doubled her right over.
    “God bless you.” A deep voice from the doorway sent the telltale blush whooshing from her neck clear to her forehead. Would she never outgrow that silly habit? Feeling twelve years old again, she quickly wiped her nose on the side of her apron and turned to face her customer.
    “Thank you. Mercy, the dust coats those saddles and things faster than I can keep them dusted. Should take them down and give them a good cleaning with saddle soap. You don’t by any chance need a well-padded, deeply carved western saddle, do you? The horn is built especially sturdy for roping cattle.”
    The man removed his wide-brimmed hat and held it over his heart. “No, but if I did, I surely would buy it from one as comely as you.”
    There went the blush again. Penny ignored it and gave him a smile fit to