A Winter's Promise Read online

  Emma gulped. “Well it happened Thursday night. I was just putting the stool down; I hadn’t even touched her—”

  Al pushed back his chair and set Ellie down. “You can tell me about it at suppertime. Looks like the snow is stopping now, so I’d better get some shoveling done while it’s still light. Wanna help me, boys?”

  They ran to pull on overshoes and coats.

  Emma held the tears back until the three were out the door. She could hardly see to take the bread out of the oven and put the roast in. “He could have at least set the clock before he went out,” she sobbed.

  What a joke her daydreams had been—Al putting her to bed, urging her to rest. He hadn’t even come near her.

  When she thought about him not stopping at Ma and Pa’s, she cried some more. “And he didn’t even ask if I got hurt,” she sobbed, tears dripping into the dishwater. “And he laughed.

  She thought of crawling back to bed, leaving the dirty dishes, the wet baby, the soggy clothes by the door, the potatoes unpeeled, and Ellie wailing by the window. But she kept plodding along, doing what needed to be done, crying all the while. About the time she thought she was cried out, she’d remember Al’s laughter and start all over again.

  What seemed like a long while later, Albert poked his head in the door. “Papa wants to know if supper’s ready, or should he do chores first?”

  “Tell him to do chores first. Wait! Take some water to the chickens.” She fixed warm, not hot, water for him to carry. “I need water in here, too,” she said, giving him the empty pail as well.

  While she peeled the potatoes and limp carrots, Emma planned how she would tell Al he’d have to stay home. She’d wait until the children were in bed. “One more week,” she’d say.

  There was so much she should do—carry out the ashes, shake rugs, sweep the floor. She stared out the window at the pale light from the barn window, feeling more lonesome than ever. The ashes and the floor could wait, she decided, and sat down with her knitting. Ellie, having given up her window watch, played contentedly with blocks beside her.

  I’ll tell him it just isn’t safe for the little ones. My heart’s in my throat the whole time I’m outside, and I can’t take them all with me. What would have happened if I had been hurt worse and couldn’t walk at all?

  She thought of other Saturday nights and how she’d bustle around cooking a good supper and tidying up the house while Al did chores. As she worked, she’d hum tunes that Al would play later on his accordion. She’d listen so hard that through the week she could hear it again. But tonight even the anticipation of the music didn’t thrill her.

  We’ve got to get this settled. It won’t be easy. I have to say, “Al, I’ve got something important to talk about.” He’ll have to listen instead of talk, for once.

  Once they got that settled, and he’d promised to quit next week, they could talk about other things. It would be good to hear what was going on in the world, Sometimes Al even brought a newspaper home, but not tonight. Not even a note from Ma.

  It must be time to set the table, she thought. She let Ellie put on the forks and a knife for Al and for her. Then she made a fresh pot of coffee and added a little water to the roast. The potatoes and carrots tucked around it were almost done. It smelled so good Emma could hardly wait for supper.

  “Liebchen, Liebchen,” she crooned as she sat down in the rocker with Ellie. “I know how you feel. It doesn’t seem like Papa is ever going to get done with chores.”

  She sang to Ellie, song after song, but her mind wasn’t on the words. She was thinking that she felt more lonesome now that Al was home than before. There was so much to say and no chance to say it.

  Al doesn’t know what it’s like cooped up here like a setting hen day after day. He doesn’t know what it’s like to work like crazy, so I can get back in here with the little ones. He’s working out there now with his mind free; he doesn’t have to give a thought to what’s going on here.

  I don’t care if we don’t have money; I can’t take any more of this trying to do a man’s work along with a woman’s.

  “Mama! Sing!” Ellie demanded.

  “Bring them in! Bring them in! Bring them in from the fields of sin,” Emma sang. “Bring the wandering ones to Jesus.”

  She sang on, while in her mind having a conversation with Jesus, telling Him if that He’d take care of this situation, she might have faith in Him again. But I can’t see that You’ve done very much lately, she told Him. Then her face flushed. I have to admit Al got home when I didn’t think he would. I suppose that could have been Your doing. I want to trust You, Lord. I need to trust You. I don’t know what I’m going, to do all those days after Sunday.

  Sunday was tomorrow! She saw herself bundling up Al’s clothes into his turkey. He’d swing it, up on his back, and off he’d trudge again. Her stomach knotted. One more week in, camp. That’s all!

  The baby began to cry. Emma let Ellie hold the pins while she changed him, telling her what a big, helpful girl she was.

  “Watch for Papa and the boys,” she urged Ellie, as she sat down to nurse George. She had barely gotten settled before she heard their voices, and Ellie was running to the door. “Papa! Papa!”

  They’ll just have to wait a few minutes for supper, Emma decided. She wasn’t about to put the baby down before he was content. With a mixture of pleasure and envy, she listened to their laughter as they stomped in. Al set the milk on the table and went back out for water. The boys scuffled and hollered and made Ellie cry, but they calmed down when Al came in.

  “Wash your hands,” he ordered as he poured water into the washbasin for them and rolled up his sleeves. He turned to Emma. “That barn sure was a mess. Looked like you didn’t clean it all week.”

  She opened her mouth to explain, but shut it again. This was certainly no time to discuss the matter, and she wasn’t going to try to out-yell the children. Besides, she knew she couldn’t explain without crying.

  The boys scrambled up on the bench behind the table and began drumming with their spoons until Al yelled, “Hey! Enough of that!” They stopped drumming, but kept pushing and shoving each other.

  Al ignored them, took his watch out of his vest pocket, and set the clock hands at half past six. “Still can’t figure out how you could forget to wind the clock, Emma,” he called to her.

  “Eat! Eat!” Ellie yelled, banging her plate. Al frowned at her, and she stopped her banging.

  He looked, questioningly at Emma. Want me to dish up?”

  “You can take the roast out. I have to thicken the gravy.” Stiff-lipped, Emma finished the supper and set it on the table. She dished up food for the children and cut their meat. Then she filled her own plate and was about to take a bite when Al held out his empty coffee cup.

  “He could pour his own coffee once,” she grumbled to herself as she got up to get the coffeepot. Pain shot up her spine.

  Al was so engrossed in telling the boys about what they ate in camp he didn’t even notice her grim expression.

  “. . . and we always have pie for dessert—sometimes cake, too.”

  Fred listened, round-eyed. “We gonna have pie, Mama?”

  “No, we’re not having pie. You can have some jelly on your Kuchen.

  “Ah, Mama, we never have pie,” Albert complained.

  The roast that had smelled so delicious stuck in Emma’s throat. She felt like throwing down her fork and running, but where, she didn’t know. Never enough. No matter how hard I work and how hard I struggle, there’s always more I should have done. I didn’t have supper on the table when they were ready to eat. Didn’t clean the barn. Didn’t have pie for dessert. One more, and she’d tumble in a heap like Ellie’s blocks.

  She managed to eat a little and to answer Al when he talked to her, but she was glad when supper was over.

  Seven

  A Vision of Horses

  Emma was swishing the bar of soap in the dishwater when she heard Al’s yell. “Where in thunder is my r
azor?”

  Hastily she dried her hands and scurried to the bedroom. When she handed it to him, he scowled. “What’s it doing in the bedroom?”

  She cleared her throat and gripped the back of a chair to keep her hand from trembling. Albert and Fred stopped running and glued their eyes on her.

  “I—I came in from watering the stock this noon, and—Fred had it. He was up on a chair by the corner shelf.” She took a quick breath. “And he had it—open—in his hand.” She shivered. “Albert was trying to pull it away from him.”

  Emma wanted to go on, to spill out her anguish and say, “See! That’s why you have to stay home,” but the words wouldn’t come. She watched Al put the razor up on the shelf, stoop down and, with smooth motions of his long arms, grasp each boy by a shoulder. He shook Albert, his eyes boring into the small boy’s teary ones. “Did your mama tell you to watch Fred—not to let him climb on anything?”

  Albert nodded, his chin trembling.

  Then Al shook Fred. “Did your mama tell you not to climb on anything while she’s outside?”

  Fred’s face crumpled, and he twisted away.

  Al shook him again. “Look at me! Did she?”

  Fred met his father’s eyes briefly, nodded, and began to cry.

  Al dropped Albert’s shoulder and grasped both of Fred’s. The little boy looked up at Al, tears streaming down his face.

  Al frowned. “Don’t you ever climb on anything when your mama’s out doing chores. Understand?”

  Fred nodded. As soon as Al released him, he ran like a shot to the bedroom.

  Before Albert could run off, too, Al grabbed his arm and said, “You will watch the little ones better when Mama is outside.”

  Albert nodded and disappeared.

  Al glanced at Emma. “You spank ‘em?”

  “I sure did!” She took a step toward Al, so she wouldn’t have to talk so loud, but then she stopped. He had turned to the washstand and was whistling as he began mixing his shaving soap.

  Tears sprang to her eyes as she went back to her dish washing. Just like that and it’s all over! And he can whistle yet! He can hike out of here, free as a bird. Doesn’t he see I can’t be two places at once?

  Emma was still prowling around in the dark corners of her thoughts when Al got out his accordion. The little ones went wild before he played the first note.

  Oh! It was good to hear music! She washed the oilcloth on the table absentmindedly, watching the children’s shadows leap high on the walls. She poured the dishwater into the slop pail and hung up the dish pan. Then she dried her hands and picked up little Georgie. He sat, wide-eyed, on her lap, and she settled back to enjoy the melody.

  If only there were some way to keep the music, so she could hear it again anytime she wanted to. Emma closed her eyes and let the music wash over her, relieving her, at least for a time, from the load she carried.

  Al played one German tune after another while the children danced and pranced and squealed at their grotesque shadows. When he finally closed the accordion with a flourish, the boys pleaded, “One more! Please, Papa! One more.”

  He began to fasten the strap, but when Ellie toddled over with one pink finger in the air, mimicking the boys, he relented. When they begged again, he said sternly, “To bed now! Lots to do tomorrow.”

  “Aw . . . “ they groaned, but they began to pull off their socks.

  Emma sighed. “If only they’d mind me like that,” she said to herself. “Most of the time it’s as though they don’t even hear me.”

  When the children were in bed, Al pulled a chair close to the stove, propped his wool-stockinged feet up on the edge of the wood box and tilted the chair back He clasped his hands across his chest and grinned at Emma.

  Emma picked up her knitting and tried to sort out just the right words. Now was her chance.

  But before she could utter a word, Al was saying, “Oh, Emma, Emma! If only you could have been with me on that sleigh this afternoon. The snow didn’t bother that team one bit—they plowed right through. ‘Course that little sleigh with a few supplies and the two of us wasn’t anything, compared to a load of logs.”

  He pulled his feet down, and the chair rocked forward with a thud. With his elbow on his knee and chin in hand, he talked on, more to himself than to Emma. “A man could really get ahead with a team. Wouldn’t need dynamite for most of the stumps back of the barn. They’re rotted pretty good now. A team like that could pull them out like baby teeth.” He nodded, staring past Emma. “One more winter in camp, I figure.”

  He put his feet up on the wood box again and clasped his hands behind his head. Emma sensed a story, coming on. Usually she welcomed Al’s stories; he could make her feel like she was right there when it happened. But tonight, with words piled up inside her ready to tumble out, she hoped he’d tell it fast.

  He cleared his throat and said, “I figure it’s about time the Germans got to know the Swedes and the Norwegians better. It’s time we found out why they do things the, way they do.”

  “Not me,” Emma replied. “If they leave me alone, I’ll leave them alone. ‘Live and let live,’ like Ma used to say. There’s room enough for all of us to live the way we’re used to living.”

  “Now, Emma, we’re all Americans now. We gotta live together.”

  “Were you going to tell me something that happened at camp?” she asked, eager to get the story told.

  “Oh, yeah. There’s this old Swede. His name is John, but everyone calls him Old Peterson.”

  “I know. You’ve talked about him before.”

  “Well, one night Old Peterson told me how three of the families happened to come and settle here. They came over from Sweden about twenty years ago to live in Albany, New York. Then a real estate man talked them into going to work on farms near Sheboygan, Wisconsin.

  “Well, life wasn’t much better there than it had been in Sweden, so they kept looking for something better. One day they heard about the new railroad that would run all the way from Menasha—that’s on Lake Winnebago—”

  “For goodness’ sake, Al, I know that,” Emma said impatiently. “I was born in Oshkosh, you know.”

  If Al was aware of her impatience, he ignored it. “Well, they heard it would go all the way to Ashland on Lake Superior. They knew that there would be homestead land opening up all along the rail line and figured they’d scout around and see if they could find good land. But they couldn’t get away from the farm work until August when the hay was in and before the oats were ripe enough to harvest.

  “They took the train to Wausau—just John and his friends, Gust and Ole, not their whole families. In Wausau they found there was a tote road to some lumber camps north of Jenny. It went right through the place where some German families were already homesteading along the Spirit River. They hiked to Jenny and stayed overnight there. They went to the store to buy some grub, enough for a couple of days, and met another Swede in the store.”

  Al got up to put wood in the stove, and Emma knitted furiously, waiting for him to get on with the story. “Well, that fella told ‘em they’d be foolish to buy food, when they could eat at the lumber camps free, so they just bought a loaf of bread and a ring of bologna to eat till they got to the first camp. He—the other Swede—said he had worked for a man by the name of Isaac Stone. He told ‘em about hay meadows about half a mile from Stone’s camp. Good homestead land, they figured.”

  “So did they find the meadows?” Emma asked, hoping to move the story along a bit faster.

  “Hold on! Things didn’t go quite that easy. This other Swede told ‘em to head north of town up along the Wisconsin River to Grandfather Falls and to cross there and keep going on that tote road to McCrossin’s camp. He said there was an Irish cook there that never turned anyone away without a good meal, and at Stone’s camp there was a cook, Mrs. Johnson, who baked the best pies a man ever ate. Their mouths were about watering already.

  “He told ‘em they could sleep at the camps, too, on hay in t
he barn, and that was all right with them. They figured they’d sleep at McCrossin’s camp and then go on to the Spirit River the next day.”

  Emma tried to listen to Al’s story, but her thoughts kept slipping back to what she wanted to tell him.

  “They started north from Jenny, feelin’ good about not having to buy food and being able to save some money. They found the tote road and didn’t have any trouble crossing at the falls. They ate their bread and bologna and sure were hungry when they saw McCrossin’s camp up ahead. A good supper and a night’s sleep, and they’d go on to the meadows the next day. But before they got real close to the camp, they figured something was wrong. It was just too quiet.”

  Emma’s knitting lay idle in her lap now. “There wasn’t anyone there!”

  “That’s right! Not a soul. It was deserted.”