A Winter's Promise Page 4

  When she stepped in the door, Albert ran to her, picture in hand. “Mama? Are you cryin’?”

  She evaded his question. “Well, now! Let’s see what you drew.” She tried to concentrate on his lengthy explanation as she yanked off her overshoes. “Tell you what,” she said, “let’s you and I lie down, and I’ll tell you a story.

  Albert’s eyes sparkled as he hopped up on the bed.

  Very carefully, lest she cry out, Emma stretched out beside him. Pain engulfed her, and she patted Albert’s back until she could trust herself to speak. “Let’s see. Once upon a time... there was a little boy, and he… and he…” A spasm of shivers shook her.

  Albert patted her cheek. “Mama? You want me to tell you a story?”

  Emma sighed. “That would be nice. You tell me a story. He wiggled his arms out from the covers. “Uh. Once there was a little boy, ‘n’ his Papa bought him a b-i-g ax.” He stretched his arms to show how big it was, bumping Emma in the nose. “An’ his papa took him along to camp. . . .

  Emma murmured appropriate sounds as Albert talked and talked.

  When he stopped, she said, ‘That was a nice story,” but Albert didn’t respond. He was asleep. Smiling, Emma eased the covers up to his dimpled chin—a miniature of Al’s.

  How often she had thought of Al’s deep-dimpled chin those weeks after his first visit to their house. For a while, she had no idea where he was until she heard her father tell her mother that Siegfried Verleger was homesteading a few miles south, and his son Albert had filed claim to the adjoining quarter section.

  Then one July day, right after a thundershower, there had been a knock on the door. There stood Al, smiling down at her.

  “Pa’s not home,” she said quickly, feeling her face flush, “and Ma’s down with a sick headache, and the baby’s sleeping, so I can’t ask you in.”

  “The baby?”

  Emma nodded. “My sister Anne died in May. Ma and Pa took little Anne.”

  “Oh, yes. I remember hearing about your sister. I’m sorry. I didn’t know her baby was here. Uh . . . mind if I sit here on the steps in the sun and dry out a bit? Got caught in that shower.”

  She had hesitated at the door, not knowing if she should join him, “ Then he said, “Got time to sit and talk awhile?” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t come to see your father. I . . . I came to see you.”

  “You did?” she exclaimed, and immediately wished she could take back the words which had betrayed her delight. She sat down several feet from him.

  “The air smells good after the rain,” he commented.

  She murmured agreement and added, “I like the brick color of the ground while it’s still wet.”

  “Down where I come from, we have dark brown soil. It still surprises me to see things grow so well in this red clay.”

  “Where do you come from?”

  “Wind Lake, near Hale’s Corners—not too far from Milwaukee.”

  “I was born in Oshkosh. We came up here when I was ten.”

  “Ever wish you were back in the city?”

  “Sometimes. It gets lonesome here. But I like the country better than the city,” she added quickly.

  “Then you’re not planning to run off to the city like a lot of girls do.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “My sister Gustie used to work for some real rich people in Milwaukee. She used to tell us what it was like. I don’t think I’d like it. Anyway, Ma needs me now that the baby is here.”

  They talked on about many things until Emma heard the baby cry. She brought her out in the sunshine. When little Anne smiled at Al, he reached out his arms for her. For a few moments he talked to the baby as though he had forgotten Emma was even there. He sang a silly little song and bounced the baby on his knee. He grinned at Emma. “I hope I have about a dozen kids.”

  “Me, too,” Emma agreed. “I can’t imagine how anyone could not like babies. My mother always says not to trust anyone who doesn’t like babies and flowers.”

  Al smiled. “I’ll have to remember that.” He pulled his watch out of his vest pocket and stood up. “Gotta get goin’. Pa’ll be waiting for me. Hey! Would you, like to go to the square dance at the schoolhouse Saturday night?”

  Of course Emma had said yes, though she hated square dancing.

  Albert rolled over, bringing Emma’s thoughts abruptly back to the present. She smiled. Well, they certainly had a good start toward those dozen children.

  Four

  Strength for Each Task

  From far down in the dark depths of slumber, Emma heard the baby cry. She struggled to open her eyes, but they were glued shut and her body anchored to the bed.... For what seemed like hours she tried to move, until her right leg jerked and pain streaked along her nerves. Her eyes flew open.

  Morning? No. She was wearing her clothes. Now she remembered. She had watered the stock, and then had lain down to rest with Albert.

  Both the baby and the fire needed tending. Emma rolled out of bed and gasped as pain held her in its grip.

  “Oh, dear,” she muttered. “Watering the stock didn’t do me any good.” She grasped the back of a chair for support. Before she got to the stove, the three little ones were clamoring at her feet.

  Albert grinned up at her. “I woke up, but you still kept sleeping.”

  “You sleeped long,” Fred chided, as though she had forsaken them.

  I took care of ‘em real good, Mama!” Albert said, nodding his head. “You gonna tell Papa?”

  “That I will,” she promised him as she shoved wood in the stove, grateful for a bed of hot coals.

  While Ellie begged to be held, Emma stole a glance at the clock. “Oh, dear,” she said, “It’s nearly three.” Emma put a hand on Ellie’s soft curls and asked, “Want to cuddle in bed with me while I feed baby Georgie?”

  Ellie beat her to the bed.

  “Boys!” Emma called when the baby had quieted. “I forgot to gather the eggs. You want to do it?”

  They ran for their coats.

  “Be sure you swing the bar all the way over,” she warned, “so you don’t get locked in if the door slams shut.”

  When they were finally dressed and out the door, Emma tried to let her body go slack, but the nagging pain kept her taut.

  Ellie soon grew dissatisfied with Emma’s brief answers to her chatter, and crawled out of bed to run to the window. “Go out! Go out!” she wailed. She charged back to the bed and lunged against it.

  Emma cried out, and Ellie stopped, wide-eyed.

  “You’re just a little girl,” Emma explained when she had caught her breath. “You have to grow bigger, and then you can go out with the boys.”

  “Big dirl! Big dirl!” Ellie insisted, tears dripping down her cheeks.

  “I know what!” Emma said brightly. “Wait just a minute.” She rolled the baby to the center of the bed, got up, and hobbled to the pantry. “Sit down at the table,” she called to Ellie. “I’m bringing you a surprise.”

  Ellie wriggled on her tummy, trying to crawl up on a chair, as Emma put a handful of raisins on the table.

  “Eat ‘em one at a time, Liebchen,” she said, giving her a quick hug.

  Once more Emma eased herself back in bed with the still hungry baby and tried to relax. She smoothed his soft hair with her forefinger. “Drink all there is,” she crooned. “Mama will feed you often.” I must remember to take a big drink when I get up, she reminded herself.

  If she could keep the baby satisfied one more day, surely her milk supply would catch up when Al did the chores Saturday night and Sunday morning. But what about all the days after Sunday? The familiar knot of fear tightened its grip, and Emma groaned so loud Ellie heard her.

  “Mama?”

  “It’s all right. Eat your raisins now.”

  “All gone,” Ellie announced, running to the bed and bouncing against it again.

  Emma winced. “Oh! I hear the boys. Go see!”

  They tramped in, white with snow.

&n
bsp; “Shake your coats by the door—no, wait. Albert, come here.”

  She took a square of soft cloth from under her pillow and wiped his nose before she said, “I need a piece of venison from the woodshed. Think you can reach it if you stand on the splitting block?”

  His eyes brightened. “Sure I can!”

  He ran off, Fred right behind him. “No! Fred, you stay here. Albert will be right back. He’s just going to get some meat.”

  Reluctantly, Fred shed his coat, but he couldn’t get his overshoes off and started to cry. Ellie wailed at the window again, wanting to go out.

  Emma sighed. At least the baby wasn’t crying.

  She tended the fire again, pulled off Fred’s overshoes, and limped over to comfort Ellie.

  “Oh, my! Look how it’s snowing. Good thing it’s snowing today, instead of tomorrow when Papa walks home from Ogema.”

  Ellie stopped crying.

  “Papa? Papa?”

  “Not now! Tomorrow he’ll come home.” Emma shook her head. How did one explain “tomorrow” to a seventeen month old?

  Fred snuggled against her. He asked, “Mama? What’s a Ogema?”

  “Ogema is a town. Papa will ride the train in to Ogema from the camp and walk home from there.”

  “What’s a train?”

  “A train is… well, it’s something people ride on, and it hauls logs and things. It has a big black engine and goes ‘Woo! Woo!’ “

  Fred liked that. He ran around the rocker, crying, “Woo! Woo!” and Ellie chased after him.

  The baby started to cry, and Emma picked him up and held him close. Lord, I don’t want these little ones to grow up never even seeing a town or a train or stores or people. We need those horses! But how am I going to keep going alone?

  She changed the baby, laid him down, and tried to think about supper. Surveying her meager supplies, she decided on potato soup. Her aching body yearned for the bed, but a glance at the clock told her it was time to peel potatoes.

  Albert must be having trouble reaching the meat, she thought, as she dug out wrinkled potatoes and broke off the white sprouts. She peeled them, put them in a pot with barely enough water to cover them, and set the potatoes to boil.

  “Where is that boy?” Emma muttered, looking out into the snow-covered backyard. “I should have told him not to play. It’s getting dark.” She put wood in the stove again and looked out the window, wishing the shed door faced the east so she could see it.

  Ellie was running in circles, with Fred in pursuit, and bumped her head on the table. Emma kissed the hurt.

  “Fred! Stop it now. You’re getting too wild.”

  He made one more circle, ending at the window. “Albert ain’t comin’ wight back,” he pouted.

  “He’ll be back in a minute, she assured him.

  “You watch for him.”

  Emma opened the door, and a swirl of snow blew through the lean-to and into the house. “Albert!” she called. She listened for an answer but heard nothing but howling wind. No use yelling.

  She set soup bowls on the table, added milk and butter to the potatoes, and went to the window. Still no Albert. Maybe he had fallen trying to get the meat down. The baby began to cry, and Emma rocked his cradle. “I can’t stop to feed you again right now. Go to sleep!”

  Emma knew what she had to do. Balancing on the edge of a chair, she pulled on her overshoes.

  “Fred, come here,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm. She pulled on her coat as she instructed him to rock the cradle but not ever to take the baby out.

  “An’ don’t let Ellie climb on anything!” he added.

  “That’s right,” she said, hiding a brief smile. “Watch me from the window.”

  Heart thumping, she shuffled through the soft snow, imagining Albert in a crumpled heap, an arm or leg broken. Oh, Lord! Don’t let him be hurt! She could see that the shed door was shut, the bar in place. “Albert! Where are you?” she called.

  “In here!” a little voice answered through the wailing wind.

  She swung the bar up and to the left and yanked open the door.

  Albert sat huddled on the splitting block, his head pulled into his coat like a little turtle. Stiffly he toddled toward her, dragging the meat in its flour sack.

  “The bar musta fallen down,” he said through chattering teeth. “I got the meat,” he added proudly.

  Emma held him close, not mentioning the tear tracks on his cheeks. “Thank God, you’re all right! Next time be sure the bar’s way over,” she warned. She ushered him ahead of her. “Run on now. I’ll be right with you.”

  As she made her way slowly back to the house, Emma thought how much worse things could be if Albert had fallen and hurt himself. When she got inside, she pulled heavy woolen socks on his icy, white feet. At first they were numb, and she urged him to walk to get the blood circulating in them.

  Even though she warned him that they would hurt when the blood began to move, the little boy wasn’t prepared for such severe pain. He cried. He howled. He wailed. Fred and Ellie cried, too, simply because Albert was crying, and Emma felt ready to sit down and bawl with them.

  She poured the soup in bowls and urged Albert to come and eat, but he sat on the rug in front of the stove, holding his feet and rocking in pain.

  Fred and Ellie didn’t have to be coaxed-Before they finished their soup, hunger drove Albert, still sniffling, to the table. He took a spoonful of soup, choked, and cried again, clutching his feet.

  “There, there. The hurt will stop real soon now,” Emma assured him. But her heart ached as she thought about the chilblains he would suffer. She could hardly remember a winter when she hadn’t had chilblains. The red, sore areas on her feet itched and hurt at the same time. Sometimes she rubbed them with a freshly cut raw potato, easing the itching and pain a bit.

  But frostbitten feet, she realized, were nothing compared to a broken limb. What would she have done if he had broken a bone? That was another question to add to her list for Al when he got home.

  After she cleared the table, she lit the lamp in the wall bracket. Three little faces turned to her, knowing she was getting ready to leave them. As she reached for her coat she began the usual warning: “Don’t climb on anything....”

  She sighed. They were already at play, chattering among themselves, not paying a bit of attention to her warning. “Lord,” she whispered as she pulled on her coat, “keep them safe.”

  As she poured precious hot water into a pail for the chickens, the thought came to her: Let them look at the mail-order catalog.

  For a moment she argued with herself. Should she risk having them tear it? Would Al be angry if they did? She wished she had the old one, but it was fast growing slim in the outhouse.

  She hobbled to the pantry and took the book from the top shelf. “Kinder!” she called, “If you promise to be very careful, I’ll let you look at the catalog while I do chores.”

  “We will! We will!” Albert and Fred chimed as they scrambled up on the bench behind the table.

  “Don’t take it off the tableand let Ellie see it, too.”

  Closing the door softly behind her, Emma headed into the white, whirling world. A misstep sent a jab of pain up her spine. She clenched her teeth and stumbled on. At one spot a drift was deeper than her shoe tops, and she felt an icy ring around each leg. Suddenly a gust of wind threw her off balance, and she landed with her right arm up to the elbow in snow. The pail with the water for the chickens lay on its side.

  She was about to cry over the spilled water when a new fear gripped her—what if the storm got so bad that Al couldn’t get home tomorrow?

  “Lord! Stop the storm! Please stop it!” Emma sobbed as she fought her way into the barn. She shook so violently she had to use three matches to light the lantern. Instead of dragging hay to the ox and cows, she stumbled toward patient Molly and flung herself over Molly’s warm back.

  “I can’t,” she sobbed. “I just can’t do it!”

  A shred
of memory stirred. There was another time she had sobbed, “I just can’t do it!” She could see it plainly in her mind—the vegetable cart and the muddy road in Oshkosh, when she was about nine.

  Walter and Winnie had told her to take the vegetables up the hill to Rommel’s boarding house, while they took baskets to other customers down near the lake. She had done it before, when the road was hard and dry, but on this particular day the road was oozing with mud. The mud lodged between the spokes of the wheels and, before she was halfway up the hill, the cart was stuck fast.