"Sov i ro, slumra in,

i bädden så fin …" Kirsten sang gently, leaning over her sons' faces so that loose strands of her yellow hair tickled their calm, motionless faces. As she kissed each on their soft foreheads, she finished the old Swedish lullaby she loved so well. They were asleep now.

Creeping soundlessly across the matted floor of the little attic room in which the boys slept, Kirsten lowered the flame on the gas lamp she carried in her hand. Smiling, she trod down the short case of wooden steps to the downstairs room. Victor was sitting at the simply carpentered table, which reposed near the left side of the cosy space.

"What ho, my lass! Are my little alf size lads all tucked up in bed by their Ma?" was Victor's hearty greeting. Kirsten replied, assuring him that his "alf size lads" were happily asleep upstairs.

Spotting the local News in his hand, queried Kirsten, "What tidings does your paper bring?"

"Good ones, I am happy to say, my wife," Victor grinned as he ran his fingers through his thick brown beard, "'The end of war; the sign of peace' is definitelythe end; no worries."

Kirsten sighed in relief. Though that that Civil War the Americans had been fighting had been far-off and unbeknownst to the Larson family – Swedish as they were – it made Kirsten feel uncomfortable and icy inside, thinking of young men fighting like that. A few months ago a sign of peace had been made, but people dared not believe it until true word came. Now it had come Kirsten could enjoy the summer ahead with a truly light heart.

***

The days after this whizzed past in one happy splendor - frolics in the woods picking berries; playing on the shore; nights by the fire telling stories – until one morning in June that stood out of them all.

"Mama!" it was Steven.

"Mama!" Vick's little voice this time.

Suddenly, Kirsten woke with a start, finally registering that someone was calling her. Two faces; a scrawny freckled and a pink sunburned; were staring at her with wide eyes. She blinked. Where was she? What day was it? Then, Kirsten recalled that last night she had stayed up reading another of Mama's special Swedish recipes, puzzling out how she could get hold of all the ingredients. Victor had been long gone in bed when Kirsten had closed her eyes and fallen soundly asleep, curled up in the wooden kitchen chair with a cosy shawl wrapped around her.

The day – she knew it was June – ah! Yesterday had been the seventh. So today must be –

"Happy Birthday to you,

Happy Birthday to you,

Happy birthday dear –"

At this point there was a confused mixture of "Mama" and "Kirsten", then it finished with –

"Happy Birthday to you!"

Now Kirsten was wide awake! Of course it was June the eighth! How she had forgotten her own birthday she did not know, but right away after the jolly chorus, her two be-nightgowned boys had flung themselves onto her lap, distracting her from everything. After she had received her special bear hugs, Victor kissed her on the cheek, and whispered something for his wife alone to hear. Kirsten smiled.

After breakfast, Victor prepared the wagon, and they all bundled up on the front seat with two fleece blankets and a light lunch for later. Kirsten thought it was the best birthday present in the world. They would be staying with Kirsten's beloved family for the next few days, and in but a few hours they would be with them. Their friendly, smiling faces; all the latest updates from Britta. It was a beautiful, clear day, and the air was crisp and cool on their faces as they drove along. There had been frost last night – just enough to make the grass crunch beneath them as the wooden wheels turned on top of it. And even a dear little brook twisted and turned beside the country lane they rode on.

In what seemed like no time at all, they had passed Maryville and were going by some very familiar green pastures. Suddenly, a big, homely farmhouse was in sight; and Kirsten would have sworn she had seen Britta's cheeky little face peering out at them from one of the windows. But then, in a flurry of golden braids, the face disappeared.

"Hello, home," Kirsten murmered.

Soon enough, another pleasure was granted her. Aunt Inger and Uncle Olav, Lars' family and Anna had all gathered at Kirsten's parent's farm, to add to the usual huddle of Mama, Papa, Peter and Britta. All was a blur of surprise and joy; Vick and Steven gave everyone their fair share of trademark bear hugs, Victor shook hands with the men and smiled at and kissed the women, and Kirsten stood dumbly, speechless, smiling.

"It's good to have you home, my daughter," Mama whispered. She sqeezed Kirsten's hand, only to be hurried out of the way by Peter and Lars, excaiming-

"Grattis på födelsedagen! Many happy returns for the day!" as they congratulated her, in the excitement using their old, though dearest, language.

Anna and Lisbeth gave their mother and aunt a rest for once, and cooked a delicious stew for everyone, but nobody took notice of it, of course.

"Why, Anna – you are beginning to become quite a faithful little cook!" was one of the many things Kirsten Roland, now twenty two, noticed had changed.

The meal was a success – and afterwards, they all gathered around the fire. Steven, little Vick and Inger went off with Aunt Britta to where cosy beds and sweet dreams awaited, but the remaining ten stayed to greet a jolly evening - all together again. Many admirings of Anna's simple but beautiful ring were had; Lars was enticed into one of his wonderful stories; even Mama joined in, laughing gaily at the festivities.

But Kirsten excused herself, too gloriously content to trust herself any longer. Only one thing could she do in her happy frenzy. She picked up the pen and dipped it into the ink.

***

June the 8th, 1867

Dear Georgina,

***

A/N: Okey doke. Here goes. I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS except for Victor, little Vick, Steven and little Inger. The rest were created by Janet Shaw - got that? And I did not make up the song either - found it on the net.

ANYWAY, please do review my story, it is really a big credit to me. And, I promise you, someday when I am rich and famous I will pay you back those three minutes you took.

This chapter is dedicated to AmericanGirlAnne, my only one reviewer (so far) on this fic. Hi, Libby!