A Winter's Promise Read online

  Where, she wondered, had she seen him before? Then she recalled. Several years earlier she had been allowed to go with her older sisters on a hayride, and Al had been along. He had played the accordion and sang. Shedidn’t know where he had come from, or where he had gone afterward. In the north woods, many men came and went.

  That day at her folks’ home, he didn’t speak to her directly. She wasn’t certain that he was even aware of her, yet she thought she felt his eyes follow her as she helped her mother cook supper it was like she was seeing herself working, and she was conscious of every move. She wished she were graceful and beautiful, with wavy black hair and big brown eyes, instead of straight brown hair and plain old average-size blue eyes.

  At least she wasn’t ugly. She’d heard Pa say to Ma one night, when they thought she had gone up to bed, that Emma was getting to be a real pretty girl. When Ma agreed, Emma’s eyes filled with tears. Ma wasn’t one to compliment her children, for fear they’d get prideful. And once her friend Hattie had said she wished she had a nose like Emma’s, so she knew her nose must be all right. And one time her older brother, Fred, had said his girl had a complexion almost as clear as Emma’s. So whenever she was getting ready to go out to a gathering, she’d pull these comforting thoughts out of her memory bank to bolster her confidence.

  Emma recalled how she had joined Ma in the front room with her knitting that night, after the dishes were done, and stole glances at the men as they talked at the kitchen table.

  “The tallest one,” Ma whispered, “That’s Al Verleger. I’ve heard some good talk about him. He’s no ordinary man. You take notice of him, girl.”

  Take notice she did. Glancing up from her knitting, she had managed to record a whole catalog of details—the deep dimple in his chin, arms too long for his shirt, his hearty, but not boisterous laugh, his air of confidence in who he was and where he was headed. Al Verleger. So that’s who he is.

  She told her mother where she had seen him before, on the hayride. “When we got to the top of the hill and stopped to let the oxen rest, he pulled out his accordian and played and sang. One song I never forgot—’The Maple on the Hill.’ I wonder where he’s been since then.”

  “I heard he’s been working with the surveyors down around Tomahawk in the summer and in the logging camp in winter.”

  He had left that day without so much as a glance in her direction, and Emma didn’t see him again for several months—not until just before that awful square dance.

  The baby stirred and whimpered, and Emma scooped him out of the cradle before he could disturb the other children.

  Got to stop daydreaming and think about what’s ahead of me today.

  Three

  The Empty Road

  Emma perched precariously on the edge of the chair, keeping the weight off her spine, and ate her oatmeal with the children. She tried to see the snow-covered road out of the window—the frost had melted a few inches.

  It was rare that anyone used the road, especially with all the men in the lumber camp for the winter. It wasn’t likely Grandpa would come today. He never came two days in a row. But surely someone else would come. Maybe Clara Geber would walk over, as she often did in summer, Emma mused, but then—Clara was fourteen now and worked like a grown woman. Her mother would hardly let her go gadding off on a busy weekday.

  Little Fred bounced on the bench behind the table. “Papa’s Coming home today!” he told Ellie.

  “Papa! Papa!” Ellie squealed, waving a spoonful of oatmeal.

  Before Emma could catch her hand, the sticky gob landed on Fred’s head. He reached up and got it on his hand and let out a wail.

  Jaws clenched, Emma hobbled to the washstand for a cloth. “No, Papa’s not coming home today,” she told Fred as she wiped the oatmeal out of his hair. Fred wailed louder, and Albert gave him a shove. “Crybaby! He’ll be home tomorrow.”

  Emma ignored their shoving and kicking. I’ll have to get diapers washed today, she told herself. Can’t wait for someone to come and carry water. Maybe I could let the boys carry in snow to melt for wash water. “Boys! Stop fighting! I’ve got an idea.”

  Albert listened, but Fred kept poking him with his elbow.

  “Do you know what happens when you put a tub of snow on the stove?”

  They shook their heads.

  “It makes water! Let’s make a whole tub of water! You can help me.”

  Albert and Fred looked puzzled.

  “You boys can carry in pails and pails of snow, and we’ll see how much water it will make. Hurry up and finish eating now!”

  Ellie waved her spoon again. “Baby cwy!”

  Emma sighed. “I know, I know.” She had nursed George while the boys were dressing, but she knew he was still hungry.

  “Albert,” she called as she picked up the baby, “help Fred with his overshoes when you’re done eating, so I can feed the baby.”

  While Emma nursed the baby, Ellie hung on her knees and cried to go out, too.

  “No, Liebchen. You stay in and help Mama.”

  After the first two loads there was only a scant inch of water in the tub, and the door was open so much Emma had to put a coat on Ellie and more wood in the stove.

  I should have just gone after a couple pails of water myself, she thought. But even walking on the level floor, she winced with every step, catching her breath at each stab of pain. How would she be able to carry water pails over that slippery, bumpy path?

  She peered into the water pail on the bench. With care there would be enough water for drinking and cooking until tomorrow.

  After the third load, Albert slumped on a chair. “We’re tired.”

  “Oh, we need lots more!” Emma said. She let him climb on a chair to see into the tub. “Look how little there is.”

  “All right,” he grumbled, and dragged Fred out with him again.

  Emma dumped their next loads and handed them the pails again.

  Albert set his down. “It’s no fun,” he pouted. “No fun,” Fred echoed.

  “Tell you what,” she said cheerily. “I’ll help you.” She pulled on her coat and grabbed her largest kettle. Glancing hopefully toward the road, she scooped the kettle full of snow. The boys filled theirs, too. Twice more they carried in heaping loads of snow.

  Albert heard her groan as she dumped his pailful. “Mama? Is your back hurting?”

  She bit her lip and nodded.

  “Come on!” he urged Fred. “We’ve gotta help Mama, ‘cause her back hurts.” Albert’s sympathy lasted through two more loads.

  After Emma let them climb on a chair—Ellie, too—to see how much water there was, the boys carried in one more load.

  “Aw, Mama, can we quit now?” Albert begged.

  Emma sighed. I’ll have to make it do, she decided. I’ll wash just enough diapers to get through another day or two. She hugged one boy with each arm and thanked them. “Now you can run and play until you get cold. Maybe you’ll find rabbit tracks.”

  “Or deer tracks!” Albert yelled on his way out the door.

  Grateful that Ellie was content to watch them from the window, Emma stretched out on the bed while the water heated. “Rest!” she ordered her body and proceeded to relax, muscle by muscle. But when she thought about watering the cattle at noon, her body tensed again. How could she make it down that hill and back? How could she haul those buckets of water up out of the river? The ice was so thick she had to get down on her knees and lean way over to lower the bucket.

  “Oh, please, Lord, send someone to help me,” she pleaded.

  Again she tried to let her arms and legs go limp. She imagined her breasts filling, filling with good, warm milk for her baby....

  Suddenly Ellie screamed, and Emma lunged out of bed. There was blood running down Ellie’s little chin. The last Emma knew, the child had been standing on a chair, watching the boys. She must have slipped and bitten her lip when her chin hit the windowsill.

  Emma grabbed a little snow from the tub and
pressed it against Ellie’s lip, assuring her it would stop hurting soon, but Ellie wanted to be rocked. Emma tried to rock her without leaning back, but Ellie wasn’t happy in that position. She cried until the boys came in.

  Albert couldn’t get Fred’s overshoes off, so Emma had to tug at them.

  The clock struck ten. Tears sprang to Emma’s eyes. All those hours yet ahead....

  Careful not to spill a drop, Emma poured a little of the water into a washtub to rinse out the diapers. Nose wrinkled as she worked, she wrung them in tight little twists. She poured the dirty water into the slop pail, filling it. She’d have to carry it out. Thankful that the children were playing contentedly, she pulled on her coat, carried out the slop pail, and threw the water down the hillside near the house. Usually she walked all the wav to a spot down by the outhouse; she’d have to carry the pot way down there later, she reminded herself.

  The worst part of this hurt spine, she decided, was never knowing when or where the next pain would shoot. Now and then she could take a step without hurting, but suddenly a sharp pain would grip so hard that one or both of her legs would buckle under her.

  Back in the house she dipped hot water into the tub, saving most of it for rinsing. I’ll only use a little soap, she thought. That will be, better than not getting all the soap rinsed out—and I’ll boil them real good, too. She had rubbed only two diapers on the washboard when the baby started to cry.

  “Albert! Rock the cradle. Mama’s got to get these diapers washed.”

  But the baby kept crying and Albert wailed, “Mama! He won’t stop!”

  “Oh, dear,” Emma muttered as she dried her hands. “Maybe he’ll look around a little and be quiet.” She took George out of the cradle and set him in the rocking chair. “Albert, hold your hand here on his tummy while I tie him in.” She grabbed a strip of old blanket she had often used for this very purpose when the other three were little, and tied it under George’s arms and around the back of the chair. “There, now. Rock him gently and talk to him.”

  She went back to scrubbing diapers and smiled over her shoulder at the antics Albert and Fred went through. Trying to, make the baby laugh.

  “Mama! He likes it!” Albert squealed.

  But before Emma had finished rinsing the diapers, the baby was crying again. Hurriedly she rinsed the last few and flung them over the rack behind the stove. These would have to be rewashed when she had more water. The rest, which she had already rinsed well, she set on the stove to boil.

  “There, there,” she crooned as she took the baby out of the chair. “Mama’ll feed you again.” When he was contentedly nursing, she murmured, “Seems like all I do is feed you.” Her milk supply was still meager. Lord, she prayed silently, I’m trying to drink a lot and eat and rest all I can. I can’t do anything more. Please help me!

  She toyed with the idea of giving the baby a little cow’s milk with a spoon. No, she wouldn’t try that. She remembered too well the baby three houses down in Phillips. His mother had tried that, and it had made him terribly sick. If Georgie were a few months older, she would feed him some strained oatmeal, but he wasn’t quite three months old. Surely by tomorrow she’d have plenty of milk again.

  As she put the baby back in the cradle, she thought about watering the cattle, and a wave of panic washed over her. She would have to do it while Fred and Ellie took their naps—if no one had come by that time.

  Emma set the boiling diapers aside to cool and crept back to bed. Nine hours until bedtime.... If only she were back in Phillips. She closed her eyes and pictured herself in her little house with Kate right across the street. What would she have done without Kate the time the children had burned with fever for three days and she didn’t know what was wrong with them?

  She had seen one of the Riley girls outside that cold winter day and called to her that the children were sick. Would she ask her mother to please come over?

  Emma smiled as she recalled how quickly Kate had come.

  “Albert, let me see your tongue,” Kate had said sternly.

  He had whined and turned his head away. “Come, lad,” she said in a patient, yet compelling, way. “I need to see it.”

  Gently she turned his head to the light. “Ah. ‘Tis the measles, he has. Another day ‘n’ they’ll be breakin’ out, and the fever will go down some.”

  Kate told her to keep giving them water, little sips real often, and to pull the shades down so the light wouldn’t hurt their eyes.

  “Pitiful, they are,” she said, looking back from the door. “An’ I see your black eyes ‘n’ my heart aches for ye! But it’s courage you’ll be needin’, not pity, and you’ll not be gettin’ it from the likes o’ me.” Then, taking Emma’s face between her hands and ignoring Emma’s tears, she said, “These days will soon be behind ye. Take one hour. Do all that ye should that hour the very best you can. When the next hour comes, do the same—all the while knowin’ God will give you all the strength you’ll be needin’.”

  Emma had nodded then, wiped her tears on her sleeve, and smiled a tiny smile. Now she opened her eyes and stared at the rough log wall. Kate might as well be a thousand miles away, rather than forty. There was no way she could come. Emma turned her face into the pillow so the children wouldn’t hear her. “Al ... how could you leave me like this? How can you go away each Sunday, not knowing what will happen while you’re gone?” Sobs shook her body. “And even if I get through these days,” she continued, “what will I do about all the days after Sunday?”

  The clock struck twelve.

  “Cryin’ won’t help,” she could hear Kate say. “Soon as a body starts feelin’ sorry for herself, it’s all downhill.”

  Emma took a deep breath, struggled out of bed, smoothed her hair, and hobbled to the washtub. She wrung out the diapers, gave each one a smart snap, and hung them on the drying rack.

  High time she fed the children, she realized, as Al and Fred began fighting and Ellie ran and clung to her skirt. She scrambled eggs, sliced bread (she’d have to bake tomorrow), and poured milk. She tied a dish towel around Ellie’s neck and took another look up the road.

  The children were curious and craned their necks in the direction of her gaze.

  ‘The chickadees are looking for bread crumbs. I forgot to put some out,” she explained. “Here, Albert, put these way up on the snowdrift—as high as you can reach—so we can watch from the window.”

  Albert came in shivering. “Mama? Don’t their feet get cold?”

  “I guess not. They don’t seem to mind the cold snow.”

  “Wish I had feet like theirs,” Albert mumbled.

  “Where do the birds sleep, Mama?” asked Fred. Emma told him they had nests somewhere in the trees. All the while she kept glancing toward the road. Lord! she prayed silently. Have someone come now!

  Ellie yawned. Nap time. Emma decided to let the children stay up while she washed the dishes, but she soon regretted it. Ellie whined, and Fred and Albert squabbled.

  When the younger children were asleep, Emma stood for another moment staring up the road. Then, with a sigh, she took a piece of brown wrapping paper and a pencil from the clock shelf. “I’ll sharpen the pencil for you, and you can draw pictures while I’m outside,” she told Albert.

  As she sharpened the pencil over the open stove lid, she still hoped to look up and see a dark figure coming down the road.

  Albert chattered happily. “I’ll draw trees . . .and rabbits ... and deers.”

  One more look. Emma took her coat off the hook. “Don’t take the baby out of the cradle. And if Fred and Ellie wake up, don’t let ‘em, climb on anything—”

  “I know, Mama. You always say that!” Albert said with an exasperated sigh. He set to work drawing.

  Tears of disappointment brimmed in her eyes as Emma carried the pot out with her. She left it by the path while she let out the ox and the cows. No need to chase the thirsty animals to the river. They headed for the water hole the minute she untied them.

&nbs
p; She dumped the pot and took time to use the outhouse before she went on down to the river to water the livestock. She had to crawl under the fence Al had put around the hole in the river ice and then get down on her knees.

  Her knees! Emma had forgotten her cut knees. She tried to pad them with her coat, but they still hurt as she plunged the bucket into the icy water and pulled it up by the rope tied to the handle. She shoved the first bucket under the fence to the ox. Once he had his fill, the cows would have room.

  By the time she had hoisted up the third bucket, searing pain was shooting up her back and down her legs. She knew how important the water was to the cattle, but her knowledge didn’t ease the pain a bit.

  When they had finally drunk their fill, Emma rolled over onto her right hip and rested a moment before getting up. “Lord, I don’t understand,” she said out loud, her breath making white clouds around her. “You know how much this hurts. Why didn’t You send someone to help me?” She wiped tears on her rough sleeve and struggled to her feet. She cried out her disappointment on the way back to the house, but stopped before she opened the door to compose her face.