"Victor!" Kirsten Roland (nee Larson) called out jubilantly to her husband. The young wife flew down through the large orchard, in a most unladylike respect.

At twenty-one Kirsten had become a keen Minnesotan at heart, though she still remembered and put to practice the old Swedish traditions Mama had taught her. She had married an American sailor, Victor Roland, four years ago and now was the mother of his three year old twin sons. Though Kirsten had no especial passion for Victor when she had agreed to marry him, the two were blissfully happy now, in their little log cabin by the bay.

The young girl was heartbroken when she had heard they would be moving a distance away from the old farm and even Maryville, but she had come to love her new home. And almost every month she, Victor and the boys would hitch up the wagon and make the twenty five mile trip - when Victor was not away on a voyage, which was often. They would visit Morfar and Mormor, as Kirsten's parents were called by their grandchildren by way of carrying on the Swedish ways, Uncle Lars and Aunt Lisbeth – for the happy couple were married now – and their pretty daughter Inger, whom the boys loved greatly, and Kirsten's Uncle Olav and Aunt Inger.

Also waiting for them was the latest news of "the children's" – in other words Peter Larson and his older cousin Anna's – courtship. This was a great source of interest in the family, for the cousins' relationship was always taking a turn. Twelve year old little Britta loved to see her nephew, but also was an expert on her brother's latest goings-on. The letter Kirsten had in her hand proved that.

Life as a sailor's wife was an interesting one. When Victor was on a voyage, Kirsten took up her job of being the cook of the nearby Alfred family, which she enjoyed heartily, though it could be sometimes tough. Cooking that one big meal a day in itself could be stressful, working in that warm, stuffy kitchen. And she had her two sons as well, to look after. They sat on the big kitchen chair for the four hours Mama worked each morning, and sometimes got restless and caused mischief. "Just two more years until they will be old enough for school," Kirsten repeated again and again. It would be easier then.

The twins continued to prove wrong the theory that twins were alike, for two less similar children could not be found. Victor, named for Papa of course, was really a handsome little chap, with straight reddish-brown hair almost covering those black, almond shaped eyes of his father's. His skin was often found to be pink and sunburned, though, due to many pleasant larks in their marvelous orchard. Steven, named for Morfar, was much like Mama, with corn blond, wavy hair, and grey-green eyes. He had a rather scrawny face, covered with freckles, and inherited his Mama's spirit. They were good lads; and were brilliant friends with the Alfred children. A-times they might play with them whilst Kirsten was cooking.

After work came play, and Kirsten, Vick (as he was called by his father, "He ain't alf the size a me, so why shouldn't his name be's well?" jolly Papa had demanded) and Steven had many splendid afternoons on the shore, or in the orchard, or in the cosy log cabin affectionately known as "Apple Blossom", for in the spring the aforesaid flowers bloomed deliciously, forming a beautiful alley down the stone path to the door.

Currently, on this glorious May day, Kirsten was enjoying the rare feeling of having Victor at home for a few weeks. She wasn't going to be cooking at the Alfred's; Victor had brought home enough wages to settle that. A letter from Maryville had now brightened the prospect of the days ahead. Kirsten came, gasping, to a halt, where, in the orchard, Victor was showing Steven and little Vick how to behave around their hens. The boys were only just taller than them; and approaching them was a rather frightening prospect.

"Oh – Victor - dear me! Look - at this!" Kirsten thrust a letter written in a familiar childish hand into her husband's hand.

"Why, if it isn't from our own little Britta! Kirsten, you look flustered! What ails you so?" said Victor, raising his eyebrows, surprised.

"Peter – has proposed – and she's – accepted!" gasped Kirsten impatiently. Her English was perfected and fluent now, but she still kept a rather thick accent.

"Who's accepted? Britta? His sister!" Victor's eyebrows rose even higher on his forehead.

"No – why – Anna, of course!"

***

"And him only seventeen," Mrs Georgina Alfred shook her head over her spice bread – Kirsten's special recipe - at the prospect. "'tleast it is better that the girl is older rather than younger than him – that would be too young for her, now. The folk's wouldn't want it."

"Anna is nineteen, Georgina," Kirsten sighed, and dusted some flour from her hands. "Though – I suppose I was the same age as Peter when I was married, now. They aren't to be married for at least a couple of years yet. But what I am worried about is if it will break off, for Anna and Peter are great ones for stubbornness, and if an argument breaks out…"

"Well, dearie, we'll just have to wait and see. They've plenty a time yet." Mrs Alfred concluded. And apparently that settled the matter.