A Winter's Promise Page 10

  They were bursting with excitement about the calf. “She’s got a white spot on her head, an’ Papa says it’s a star an’ we’re gonna call her ‘Star,’ Albert informed her.

  Fred was trying to wedge in some words, so Emma turned to him and ignored Albert. Fred gulped and said, “Ah ... ah ... she’s all ... soft, an’ Ellie gwabbed her ear. . .”

  Albert interrupted, “An’ she wouldn’t let go!” He started to giggle, and Fred and Ellie joined in, too.

  They giggled and jabbered, and Emma nodded and smiled. But inside she was planning what she would say to Al—right after dinner.

  Nine

  The Right Moment

  After telling their mama about the calf, the boys had immediately gone back outside. Ellie cried at the window a while before she settled down to play. Momentarily, peace reigned.

  As the minutes ticked by, bringing Al’s departure ever closer, Emma’s glances at the clock became more frequent. Almost half past eleven. He should be in for dinner any minute now.

  The fragrance of freshly ground coffee filled the air. It would be the last she would enjoy until Al was home again. Each time she ground coffee, she visually measured the remaining beans and wondered which would come first—the bottom of the jar, or money to buy more. During the week Emma drank piping hot water and milk.

  The table was set, bread sliced, leftover potatoes, carrots, and gravy heated. A moment ago she had been eager to eat but now, when she glanced at the clock again, her stomach churned.

  Emma tried to push aside thoughts of tomorrow, but back they came again. Ellie would cry and whine all day because she missed her papa but didn’t know how to explain how she felt. The boys

  would miss him, too, and take their feelings out on each other. There would be fights all day.

  But Ellie’s whining and the boys’ fighting would be nothing compared to having to struggle through the chores alone. Emma’s back, though considerably improved, was far from better. Slipping on icy bumps would not be pleasant. And the worst part would be rushing, heart in her throat, to get back to the house. What if she, or one of the children, got hurt again?

  Tucked here and there between the dread was disappointment. There would be no time for Al to hold her close and give her that all-put-back-together feeling. No time for tender kisses—or any other kind.

  No time. No time. During those golden days of the autumn before their summer wedding, Emma had never imagined life would be like this.

  She could almost hear the leaves rustle, remembering how she and Al had walked through the brilliant woods that fall—talking and talking. No one had ever cared what she thought before. No one had ever encouraged her to talk, not even her friend Hattie. Emma had always been a listener.

  But Al was different. He wanted to know what she thought. Of course he talked plenty, too. Emma listened, enraptured, as he told of his experiences and his dreams for the future—dreams he had shared with no other person.

  Al valued her opinion and said she had good common sense. Anyone could get an education if he made the effort, Al had told her, but not everyone could have common sense. He knew Emma had only gone as far as the third reader in school, because she could only go to school when there wasn’t much work to do at home. He hadn’t got much farther himself. But once a person learned to read, Al said, he could learn all he wanted to by himself.

  One thing concerned her, though. She had always heard that “true love never runs smooth.” Could theirs really be true love? They didn’t have the stormy quarrels the other girls confessed to. Oh, they disagreed about things, and sometimes it took a lot of talking—pretty loud talking—to get it straightened out, but Al never left with anything unsettled between them.

  Emma saw no sense in playing silly games, either. Winter would come all too soon, and Al would go to camp down near Jenny until spring. She was always aware of their limited time together—especially when he held her close.

  Each time he came, Emma hoped he would talk about marriage but, to her keen disappointment, he didn’t mention it at all that fall. He left one Sunday evening with fervent kisses and assurances that he’d miss her, but that was all.

  She avoided Ma’s searching eyes the day Al left. If only she could have said, “I’m engaged to Al Verleger.” Ma encouraged Emma to work on her hope chest. A girl didn’t have to be engaged to work on her hope chest.

  Emma was touched by Ma’s kindness that winter. Ma could be cross and despondent, but that winter she sang as she worked and made an effort to brighten Emma’s days. One time she dug out an old, old quilt pattern and suggested that Emma might want to piece a quilt that winter. They made a big, braided rug, too.

  Of course baby Anne brightened their lives. If it hadn’t been for her cheery smile and adorable antics, the winter would have been unbearably long.

  “Good practice for you,” Ma said when Emma bathed and fed her.

  Sometimes Emma pretended that Anne was her baby—their baby, hers and Al’s.

  “Spring thaw’s early this year,” Pa told Ma one day, and Emma’s heart leaped. Al would come back to his father’s house and start work on his log cabin on his land again.

  At time doubts plagued her. She didn’t have to worry about him finding another girl—not in camp. But maybe he had changed his mind about her. Then she could remember those golden fall days and all the laughter and good-natured banter and serious talk and the kisses that left them reeling, and she knew he’d be back and things would be the same.

  One sunny day early in April, she was out piling wood when she saw Al hiking up the lane. She wanted to run to meet him, but forced herself to pretend she hadn’t seen him. It was better to be sure things hadn’t changed first.

  Al called to her as soon as he rounded the corner of the house. Emma kept her feet still and merely smiled her welcome. As soon as she looked into his eyes, she knew nothing had changed, and a wave of joy left her weak.

  “How are you?” he asked huskily.

  She smiled up at him. “Fine! Just fine!”

  “It was one long winter for me, I can tell you. Was it long for you?”

  Head down, Emma nodded.

  Al lifted her chin and saw that her eyes were brimming with tears. His arms closed around her so tight she let out a little gasp. “I was afraid you might have found someone else,” he said before he kissed her. He held her more gently then, and she didn’t ever want to leave the circle of his arms again. “I’ve got so much to tell you,” he said, releasing her.

  “Want to go in the house?” she asked, remembering her manners.

  “I’d just as soon stay out here, if you’re warm enough.” She sat down on a block of wood, and Al rolled another one beside her, close enough to keep an am around her. There they sat, while he told her story after story about camp life, and she told him bits of local news.

  The sun disappeared over the barn roof, and Emma shivered.

  “You’re cold,” Al said. “You better go in.”

  “Will you stay for supper?”

  “Can’t tonight, but I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

  He gathered her in his arms again when they stood up. “Oh, I missed you! Em, let’s get married this summer. I think I can get the cabin ready by . . . around July first. How would that be?”

  She couldn’t find her voice, so she simply looked up, and nodded.

  “I’ll talk to your pa soon. Sunday, maybe.”

  Al came in long enough to greet Ma, and Emma knew she saw the glow in their eyes. She didn’t even scold her for sitting outside and talking so long. She didn’t ask any questions, either, and Emma had been grateful. She wanted to tell her so badly, but she wouldn’t say a word until Al had talked to Pa. Surely Pa wouldn’t have any objections—but she couldn’t be sure. She was only seventeen.

  She barely drew a peaceful breath until Sunday, when Al and Pa had their talk and came in laughing. Ma was obviously pleased. Emma knew she couldn’t wait to tell the neighbor ladies that her daug
hter was going to marry Al Verleger. At least two of them were cherishing hopes for their own daughters.

  So long ago all that seemed now. Emma tried to recall that wonderful, protected feeling Al had given her then. How she had loved to walk at his side, though she had to remind him over and over to shorten his stride so she could keep up. And he had been proud of her accomplishments and the way she coped with difficult times back then. He didn’t carry on about those things, but he had ways of letting her know she had done well. It would mean so much now to know that he realized what she had been through while he was away—to know he was proud of the way she managed to get the work done and take care of the children. It would only take a minute.

  Work, work, work, work. That’s all he has on his mind. Doesn’t he know that feelings are important?

  Anger threatened to crowd out her disappointment, but Emma choked it back and wiped her eyes with her apron. “Oh, Al, hurry up!” she whispered as she stared out at the gleaming whiteness, oblivious of its beauty.

  Beyond her eagerness to talk to him lay a more profound reason for wanting him back in the house. As soon as Al and the boys came in, the dark thoughts, always at the edge of her consciousness, would recede—the thoughts about God. Eventually, she would have to face those awful doubts, but not now. If God wasn’t going to help her, she had to help herself by having it out with Al.

  When she heard them coming, she quickly tried to rehearse what she would say to Al after dinner. Into the kitchen they tramped, red cheeks glowing, noses running, the boys laughing and shoving each other. Emma pulled out a piece of soft rag from her apron pocket. “Blow,” she ordered each in turn.

  “Star’s eatin’ already,” Albert said, “but her legs are real wobbly.”

  Emma chuckled. “Your legs were more than wobbly the day you were born! You didn’t walk for almost a year. This little calf can walk the very first day.”

  Albert hung up his coat, which promptly fell off the hook He ignored it.

  Emma pointed to it.

  He sighed and hung it up, saying, “Calves are smarter than people, huh?”

  Emma tried to hide her smile. “Well, not really. Just in some ways. Nature knew mama cows couldn’t carry their babies like people can, so calves have to be able to walk right away.”

  “Oh,” he said, looking puzzled. “What’s ‘nature’?”

  “Ah. . .nature is, nature is. . .God. God made everything.”

  “Then why don’t people just say ‘God’ instead of saying ‘nature’?”

  Before she could come up with an answer, she heard Al stomping off snow in the lean-to. “Quick! Wash your hands before Papa comes,” she said as she poured water for them.

  “Calf looks good,” Al announced.

  “How’s Molly?”

  “Fine.”

  Emma heaved a sigh of relief.

  “I dragged in enough hay to last you this week,” he said rolling up his sleeves.

  As she dished up the vegetables, Emma muttered to herself, “I need a lot more than hay dragged in from the stack.” Then more loudly she said, “Hurry up, boys. Come and eat.” But as soon as Al finished washing his hands, he began swinging the boys on his long arms until they squealed with delight. Ellie clung to his leg, squealing, too.

  Emma scooped her up and set her at the table, but Ellie screamed and tore off the dish towel Emma tried to tie around her neck. She wanted a ride on Al’s arm.

  “Just one ride?” Al said, and lifted her down from her chair.

  While Ellie rode, the boys tackled his legs. When he set Ellie down, he made a ferocious face, growled, and grabbed a boy in each arm and pinned them to the floor. Ordinarily Emma thoroughly enjoyed their horseplay but now, one eye on the clock, she yelled, “Come on! Dinner’s getting cold!”

  She bribed Ellie with a piece of bread and syrup and managed to get her seated, the dish towel securely tied.

  “The baby will be crying any minute now,” she muttered. How he could sleep through this commotion, she didn’t know.

  Finally, breathless and flushed, the boys slid behind the table on the bench. Al sat down, looked at her intently, and said, “You know, we didn’t ask the blessing last night or this morning.”

  Emma dropped her eyes and nodded. Did Al suspect she wasn’t on speaking terms with God? She tensed. What if he asked her to pray? Relief washed over her when she heard his deep voice.

  “Father, forgive us for forgetting to thank You. We do thank You for this food and for all You have given to us. And, most of all, we thank You for sending Jesus. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.”

  He picked up his fork and shook it at the boys. “Boys! That was a terrible thing we did, forgetting to pray and to thank God. He has to have first place in our lives. We just can’t forget Him like that. We better not get so caught up with other things. . .

  His words drifted past Emma as she poked the meat plate at him. A sermon, yet! Absentmindedly he took the plate. “. . .and when we forget to thank Him. . .”

  Emma’s jaws tightened as she cut her meat. She chewed a bite and forced it down. “He could have at least prayed for our safety,” she grumbled to herself. Anger brought a sting of tears, and she blinked furiously.

  “Hey! I forgot to tell you!” Al boomed. “I had my picture taken last week. The whole camp did.”

  The boys’ eyes widened. “You did?”

  Al nodded. “A photographer—that’s a man who takes pictures—came out to the camp. The woods boss ordered us to load up a sleigh for the picture, and we all stood around it. You should have seen that load! ‘Course we were just showin’ off—the horses couldn’t have pulled that load, but it looked good. Didn’t get much work done that afternoon. “

  Emma frowned. Al hadn’t even taken a bite, and it was after twelve. Only two hours till he had to leave, and he hadn’t watered the stock yet.

  “You gonna get a picture, to bring home?” Albert asked, Fred waved his spoon. “Kin I see it?”

  “How’s it get outta the camera?” Albert asked before Al could answer either question.

  “Can’t tell you now,” Al said, glancing at the clock. “I gotta eat. There’s a lot to do yet.”

  “Thank goodness,” Emma said to herself when she saw him shovel in his food. “Are you leaving about two?” she asked.

  He nodded. “I could use an extra pair of socks this week,” he said with his mouth full of food.

  Albert started to protest, but Emma shushed him. “Papa knows he shouldn’t talk with his mouth full, but this is an emergency.”

  “What’s a ‘mergency?”

  “It’s when something has to be done right now.”

  “Like when we gotta pick up our blocks right now?”

  “Well ... not exactly. I’ll explain it better later. I hear Georgie crying.”

  Emma took a quick gulp of coffee and went to tend the baby. The sooner she got him changed and quiet, the sooner she could talk with Al. Should she get Fred and Ellie down for naps and let Albert go out to play before she tried to talk with him?

  “Such a good little boy,” she crooned to George, as she laid him on the bed. He stopped crying and grinned.

  She heard the door slam. With deft movements she lifted the baby by the ankles, pulled out the soggy diaper, and whipped a dry triangle under him. She pulled the three corners together, pinned it, and swept him into her arms.

  When she returned to the table, Al’s place was empty! “Papa go out already?” she said, wondering if the boys would sense her dismay.

  Albert nodded. “He said he was going to Grandpa’s, and we couldn’t come along.”

  “To Grandpa’s!” Emma whirled and headed back to the bedroom, too angry to cry. Less than two hours left, and he goes to his pa’s. Even with his long legs, it would take him nearly twenty minutes one way, and he’d talk awhile, and the stock hadn’t even been watered.

  The baby screamed, and she swayed with him in her arms until her legs began to tremble so badly that she
staggered to the rocker. Of course, the boys were squabbling and Ellie had climbed down from her chair and was crying and tugging at the towel around her neck. Emma untied it with one hand.

  “Go potty now, like a good girl, and maybe Albert will sing to you when you get into bed,”

  There was no way this tired little girl could stay awake another hour until Al came back. Maybe she’d wake up before he left. Emma groaned. If Ellie got to say good-bye to him, she’d cry and cry when he hiked away. But if she didn’t see him go, she’d wake up, find him gone, and still cry. What was the difference. . .

  “Albert! Are you done eating? Come here!”

  Eventually he came, with Fred right behind him.

  “I need you to help me,” Emma whispered. “I want to get Fred and Ellie to bed. They’ll settle down if you crawl in with them and sing to them.”

  Albert frowned and stuck out his lower lip.