A Winter's Promise Read online

  A tear splashed on the hot stove and sizzled. Please Lord, help me stop crying. Please take, this awful pain away. I’ve got to keep going and get the children to bed.

  Teeth clenched, guarding against a sudden groan, Emma washed little hands and faces, answered questions, tugged at tight sleeves, and- fumbled with buttons. When they were all, in their flour-sack nightgowns, she kissed them, tolerated their hugs, and shooed them off to bed.

  But Fred whined, the baby began to cry, and Ellie clung to her, pleading to be rocked.

  Emma hugged her. “Albert will sing to you, Liebchen. Mama has to feed baby Georgie.”

  Albert dragged Ellie off to bed, and reluctantly she cuddled in between the boys. “Du, du liegst mir im Hertzen,” Albert sang, and Ellie twirled a yarn knot in the comforter with her chubby little finger.

  “Shh … Mama’ll feed you right now,” Emma crooned to the baby as she changed him. Only four diapers left. She had planned to wash diapers, tomorrow, but how could she possibly carry the water?

  With George in her left arm, she unbuttoned her dress and sat down in the rocker. Albert heard her gasp.

  “Mama?”

  “It’s all right!” she giggled. I just forgot I’d hurt my sitter.”

  He giggled, too.

  She winked at him from the doorway on her way to the bed, and he began to sing again.

  Even lying still, the pain throbbed. She hoped the baby wasn’t aware of the tension in her body.

  How can I get the diapers washed? Maybe tomorrow someone will come. Father, she prayed, please send someone to help me.

  She knew one way to make diaper washing easier—she would line those last four diapers with clean rags that she could burn in the stove. It was a temporary measure—she’d soon run out of rags, too—but for now it would have to do.

  Her thoughts rushed to the other tasks ahead of her. The cattle had to be fed and watered. Now that the river ice was too thick for them to reach the water, she had to hoist buckets of water up for them. She groaned, at the thought. And she’d have to milk Cora, too.

  Surely someone will come, she encouraged herself. ,Someone will come.

  TWO

  Night of Pain

  Eight leaden bongs floated through the rooms from the pendulum clock. Emma heard none of them. Nine. Then ten. Still she slept.

  The baby stirred, and Emma’s eyes flew open. The house was quiet. Too quiet! All she could hear was the tick, tick of the clock and the howl of the relentless wind.

  “Oh, my goodness the stove!” she whispered, as she rolled over and tucked the baby in his cradle beside her bed. She tried to get up, but a stab of pain sent her groaning back onto the pillow.

  Jaws clenched, she forced herself up and clutched chair backs for support as she made her way to the stove. Not a crackle. Teeth chattering, Emma crumpled paper and tucked in slim sticks of kindling wood. “How could you go out?” She berated the cold black, stove, feeling as though a trusted friend had abandoned her.

  She struck a wooden match and watched the precious paper disappear. Only a little left. Hope Al brings a newspaper when he comes home.

  Ignoring her pain, Emma hovered over the fragile flames, feeding new wood into the stove as the fire gained strength until it reared healthily up the chimney. The frost, she noticed, had crept up to the very top of the windows.

  In the children’s room she pulled the covers high around their heads. Many times she had wished Ellie could have a room of her own, but tonight she was glad that all three were cuddled together in one bed

  Again she fed the fire, aware that she could put off tending her knees no longer. She brought her medicine box from the pantry and poured warm water from the teakettle into the washbasin. Perched on the edge of a chair, Emma mercilessly peeled the stockings from her knees and let them sag around her ankles, wincing in pain as she bathed the bleeding spots.

  Her nose wrinkled as she tried to apply some of Grandpa Verleger’s vile-smelling brown salve. Although Grandpa had never had any medical schooling, his own studying had given him the status of neighborhood medical “expert.” The ointment slid off the seeping wounds, so Emma spread it on scraps of rags, laid them on her knees, and wrapped bandages around them. She would need to roll more the next time she ironed. (Grandpa had taught her to how to prepare bandages from muslin, too.)

  Expertly she wound the bandage around her leg, snug, but not so tight as to hinder movement. She tore the last few inches of the strip in half lengthwise, then wound one part in one direction, one the other, and tied them where they met.

  After she had undressed and pulled on her nightgown she wedged another stick of wood into the stove, adjusted the draft, and, blew out the lamp. Then, disgustedly, she lit it again. She had forgotten to wind the Clock.

  Finally in bed, jaw clenched against the pain, Emma thought how thankful she was to be there. The stove was full, the clock wound…The geranium! It would freeze if she left it on the windowsill.

  “Oh, why didn’t I think of that when I wound the clock?” she chided herself. For days she had watched a fat bud cluster emerge, and today she had seen brilliant red peeping through a crack.

  “I just can’t get up again,” she muttered into her pillow.

  But the remembrance of that red cluster of blossoms that had bloomed at Christmas came back to her. It had glowed comfortingly even in the lamplight, and in the sunlight it had fairly danced. How many times a day had her eyes sought it out—the only spot of color amid the wood-browns and grays.

  For a little while the bed’s solace and the flower’s beauty hung in the balance.

  Beauty won.

  Keeping the red blossom in her mind’s eye, Emma. groaned her way to the window, set the flowerpot on the table, and hobbled back to bed. She couldn’t stop shivering, and her stomach felt sick. She rolled Al’s pillow tight against it.

  Oh, Al If only you’d come home! Maybe he’d sense something was wrong. Foolish thought! I’ve got to face it! I’ll have to get up and do chores before the little ones wake up.

  The baby usually woke about five. Emma would nurse him, he’d go back to, sleep, and she could slip out to do the chores before the others woke. But now she could rest, except to get up every hour or so to put wood in the stove. It was odd how her built-in alarm clock alerted her hourly all winter but, allowed her to sleep in summer—except tonight, when she had been unusually exhausted.

  Emma wriggled into a more comfortable position, expecting the sting of her freshly dressed wounds to ease any moment. But that position hurt her bruised thigh, so she moved again. The next position hurt her back.

  “I’ll think of something pleasant,” she told herself, “and I’ll go right back to sleep.”

  Spring! First there’d be mayflowers in the woods, then trilliums, then violets all along the riverbanks. Al would spade a plot for her garden, and she’d watch for the tiny green sprouts and teach the little ones the name of each plant. She could see the deep red soil and the rows of green after she had finished hoeing them. And Al would clear more land. On, how he would work! One night he’d light the pile of brush and logs, and they’d feel the heat of it all the way to the cabin.

  The waste bothered her, and she had told Al so last spring. “I know we need fields for crops, but it takes so long for a tree to grow. It’s a shame to see all that good wood burn—enough to heat every home in Phillips all winter.”

  Al had chuckled. “What you want me to do? Can’t sell it. Can’t burn it all for firewood.”

  She knew he was right, but that awful waste still bothered her.

  Emma turned over carefully and sighed. I suppose I’ll feel the same way when I see that fire this spring. If only there was some way to use all that good wood.

  But spring wouldn’t come for a long while. A chill raced through her, and a knot of fear lodged in her stomach. It would be only a matter of time before this pain would be gone and she would be able to work comfortably again. But what if she had another acci
dent? What if the little ones had an accident while they were alone in the house?

  I’ll have to taker them to the barn with me she reasoned. I’ll bundle baby George up—take the oval clothes basket out to the barn and put him in that. He’ll probably cry the whole while, but at least he’ll be safe. And Ellie? Emma sighed. She’ll be into everything. Can I count on Albert to watch her and Fred while I work? He’s only five. He gets, interested in what. he’s doing. I’ll have to carry the baby and Ellie out there and back. Albert can carry the water for the chickens, but I’ll have to make another trip back for the milk. Oh, dear! I’ll be all worn out running back and forth. What if it storms? Or gets down to twenty or thirty below zero?

  She allowed the same thoughts to circle, through her mind again.

  No! Taking them along to the barn won’t work. I’m going to tell Al he’ll just have to stay home. We’ll manage, somehow, without the money from the lumber camp.

  But if there was no money, she knew, there would no horses. No horses, no trips to see Pa and Ma. Tears threatened again. No money, no sewing machine. Each year it was harder to sew all those clothe for the children by hand. And the taxes—they had to have money for taxes. And shoes for all of them. She could knit and sew, but she couldn’t make shoes.

  The clock struck twelve. A precious hour gone, and she hadn’t even begun to rest.

  “Got to stop worrying. Got to stop worrying,” Emma muttered to the pillow. “I’ll think of some songs.. ‘When the roll is called up yon-der,’ “ she hummed, but the words didn’t make her feel better at all. She had a lot of living to do before she was ready for that roll call.

  “Bringing, in the Sheaves” didn’t help, either. It made her back hurt to think of carrying sheaves.

  “May as well put wood in the stove again, as long as I’m awake,” she told herself.

  Emma was barely out of bed when the shivering began. Quickly she piled wood on the glowing coals and hobbled back to bed, wishing she didn’t have to move again for hours and hours. She longed to sink into the cozy depths of sleep—down, down where pain couldn’t find her.

  “Sing another song,” she ordered herself. “‘Abide with me, fast falls the ev-en-tide. The darkness deep—ens; Lord, with me abide.’ O Lord, I’m so lonesome. It’s so dark. I’m scared,” she sobbed.

  Suddenly, there was Kate! She had burst in the door wearing one of her cotton housedresses, and the light was shining on her hair as it had that day in Phillips. “Emma-lass?” her voice rang out. “Where are You? Heard you cryin’. There be trouble?”

  With all the energy she possessed, Emma tried to call out, “I’m here! I’m here in the bedroom!” but no sound came. I’ve got to get up! Kate will go away if I don’t get out there! Pain!

  Emma jerked awake. All was dark. There was no Kate.

  “Kate ... Kate ..” she whispered. “What I wouldn’t give to have that dream come true! Oh, Kate, I miss you so much!”

  The baby gave a little I’m-getting-hungry cry and was quiet again. What time was it? Emma listened intently. She heard the clock’s tick, tick, tick—the children’s soft breathing—but no fire snapping!

  “Not again!” she groaned and hoisted herself out of bed.

  Not one living coal remained.

  Shivering so violently she could scarcely hold the poker, Emma shook down the Ashes, crumpled more precious paper, and added more of the meager kindling supply.

  While the kindling caught fire, she limped back to the bed, grabbed a comforter and wrapped it around herself.

  The baby let out a loud cry. Emma gathered him up and began to nurse him as she stood by the stove, waiting to add more wood.

  She anticipated the usual tingle as the milk let down when the baby began to nurse. It didn’t come. He nursed a moment and then pulled away and cried.

  “Liebchen ... Liebchen... Mama’s sorry!” Under her breath Emma scolded herself. “Should have eaten last night, or at least should have drunk more.”

  With the baby on her shoulder, she poured a cup of water from the teakettle and drank it without stopping. At least it wasn’t ice cold.

  She put the wood in the stove and took the crying baby to bed with her. When she offered him the other breast, he nursed and dozed.

  0 Lord ... thank You! Please, keep him sleeping!

  Hardly daring to breathe lest she wake him, she gradually relaxed—jaws ... shoulders …arms.

  “You must rest,” she instructed herself. She wished.... she had water within her reach. Her, body, she knew, needed water—and food—but rest, she decided, was most important.

  Father, I thought, I had asked You for just about everything. But now I come to You with one more need. Please help my body make the milk my baby has to have.

  Rest. Rest.

  The clock bonged six.

  “Not already!” Emma whispered as she eased the baby into his cradle with another prayer that he would sleep until she had finished the chores.

  The cabin was still far from warm as she dressed her shivering body, put more wood in the stove, and drank more water. Had she been less intent on getting the chores done, she, might have cried with the pain that stabbed through her with each movement.

  Daylight was still far away, and the lantern sat in the barn. Carrying water for the chickens in her right hand and wooden matches in her left, she felt her way to the barn, guided by the high snow banks on either side of the path. Although she groaned with pain, her legs didn’t buckle under her as they had last night. She didn’t even spill the water.

  She wanted to rush through the chores and get back to the house, but she held herself back, knowing she must use .as little energy as possible so her body could produce milk. The baby wouldn’t sleep long, she knew. She wondered what little Albert would do if George cried and cried. Even though she had told him never to take the baby out of the cradle, would he try? Maybe drop him?

  She wasted no time feeding the chickens and cattle. Then, warily, she approached Cora. Her knees trembled and pain made her eyes tear, but she managed to hold the pail.

  With a firm grip on the milk pail, Emma made her painful way back to the house. Silence greeted her. “O Lord! Thank you! I’m so glad they’re still sleeping,” she whispered as she took off her coat.

  When she had pulled off her overshoes and washed her hands, she poured a cup of warm, foamy milk. She hated warm milk, but she took a deep breath and drank it all. She shuddered and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, willing that milk to go directly where it was needed. Now, if she could just get a little more rest…

  Quietly, she put wood in the stove, stirred oatmeal into boiling water, and set the pot on the right-hand lid to simmer. Soundlessly, she crept into bed.

  She hadn’t even pulled up the comforter when Ellie called, “Mama?”

  Emma choked back a groan and whispered, “Come here, Liebchen.”

  “Go potty first,” Emma whispered, when Ellie stated to crawl into bed. “Pull your nightie way up! You can do it. You’re a big girl. Then you can come and cuddle in with Mama.”

  Emma held her breath. Would Ellie bang the lid and wake the boys?

  “Good girl! Mama’s big girl,” Emma crooned into Ellie’s soft curls when she had snuggled in beside her. She let her breath out slowly, and the quiet settled around her.

  Oh, Al! If you only knew . . . you’d come home. I know you would.

  Being alone hadn’t sounded scary back in Phillips. After living in the clatter and racket of the city, the quiet country had sounded like a haven. She hadn’t even thought about trouble, only about the hard work—and that she was willing to face.

  Although she knew that Al would have to go to the lumber camp in winter, she had pictured them together year in and year out. “Come help me, Em!” he would say, and she’d give him a hand, at whatever the task happened to be. With his strength, skill, and, knowledge and her devotion, diligence, and compassion they would build a home, raise a nice, big family, and be happy. There wou
ld be laughter and fun and music when the work was done—and love. She smiled to herself. As hard as Al worked, he was seldom too tired for love.

  Emma, turned on her side, and tried to pretend Al’s arm was around her and her head was lying on his shoulder. When he held her close like that, she felt as though she was absorbing his strength, his faith, his hopes for the future. In her contentment, her sense of completeness, she’d forget for a while that anything existed but the two of them—until a little one cried.

  What if Al hadn’t been attracted to her? She never ceased to marvel that he had chosen her. She remembered the first time he had come to her house, to talk to her father with several other surveyors. He hadn’t been in the house ten minutes before she knew he was different from the ordinary run of lumberjacks. He laughed and bantered, but she didn’t hear a profane word out of him.