A Winter's Promise Page 8

  “Oh, my! Those poor, hungry men!”

  “Well, Old Peterson said, they found some hay to sleep on and wished they could tell that Swede a thing, or two. The next morning they started out with their stomachs growling. They saw some German log houses along the way. Each time they saw one, Ole wanted to stop and ask for something to eat, but the other two said they’d starve before they’d ask a German for food. They laughed at the way the log houses were built and said the Germans didn’t know how to use a broadax or an adz. They said, ‘Only tool a German knows how to use is a grub hoe.’”

  Al chuckled. “Can’t blame ‘em. You know, a lot of Swedes used to be shipbuilders, and they—”

  “So,” Emma interrupted, “did they get anything to eat at Stone’s camp?”

  Al shook his head. “Nope! That camp was deserted, too. That Swede they talked to didn’t know that the camps shut down for the summer.”

  “Well . . . what did they do? “

  “They saw a porky, and Gust wanted to shoot it. He had a sawed-off Harper’s Ferry loaded with shot, but the others said they wouldn’t eat porky, no matter what. By the time they got through arguing, the porky was gone. Finally, they got to the meadows. Gust told the other two to go look at the meadows while he caught some fish. He made a hook out of a piece of wire and was sure he’d catch some.”

  Again Al let his chair down with a thump and leaned forward. “Those meadows were good—bigger than the men had dreamed they would be, and they decided it sure would be the right place to homestead. But Gust hadn’t caught any fish. They crawled into Stone’s camp hungry as a bear in spring and slept on the cook shanty floor.” Al laughed. “I bet they had a few choice things to say about that Swede.

  “The next morning they didn’t even feel like moving, and here they had all that way to hike to Jenny. Before they left, Gust started hunting around and saw something way down in the bottom of a barrel. He reached down and grabbed a handful and took it over to a window to see what it was. What do you think, Emma? Dried fruit! I don’t know just what—apples; prunes, and such, I suppose. There were some specks of mold on it, but they didn’t care. There musta been a couple pounds, Old Peterson said.”

  Emma laughed. “I can just see those starved men trying to chew that hard, dry stuff.”

  Al chuckled. “Bet they didn’t have their mouths empty all the way back to Jenny! But at least the trip wasn’t for nothing. The next year they filed claims at Wausau and brought their families up and settled. I pass pretty close to Gust’s house on the way to Ogema. They did get work at Stone’s camp and got to eat Mrs. Johnson’s pies all right—but nothing ever tasted better than that moldy dried fruit from the old barrel!”

  Emma smiled. For the last ten minutes or so, it was as if someone else had carried her load of trouble.

  Al got up and took a drink of water from the dipper in the water pail. “Someday when I’ve got a little time, I’m gonna stop and take a look at Gust’s house. Sure looks solid. The corners look like they’re locked in like this.” He demonstrated by interlacing his fingers. “Bet a man could move that house and it wouldn’t give two inches. Gotta admire their building skill, just like I admire Old Peterson’s skill with horses.”

  Emma shivered. “Fire’s burning down,” she said flatly.

  Al got up and put more wood in the stove. “Yup! One more winter oughta do it,” he said, gesturing with the poker.

  He stuck his feet up on the wood box again. “I’ll cut the pine closest to the river first. Skid it out with the horses and deck it up by the river. By golly, we’ll drive it right down that river with the lumber companies’ logs!”

  “How’ll you know which are yours?”

  “I’ll stamp ‘em with a stamp hammer with my own mark on it. And I’ll cut a watermark about six inches from the end, so no one can cut my mark off and put his on it.”

  “Oh. But, Al, you said the next thing we would buy would be my sewing machine.”

  Al nodded. “Gotta get that, too. A few more young ones come along, and you’ll never keep up with all that sewing.”

  Emma wanted to scream, “What’s the use! Sewing machine or no sewing machine, I can’t keep up, anyway! But Al’s words had caught her up in his enthusiasm again.

  He turned to face her now, the way little Albert did when he wanted to tell her something important—something confidential. “I’ve been hanging around Old Peterson a lot. I told you how no one knows horses better’n him. He’s teaching me a lot. At first I pretended I just wanted to help him, but he was suspicious of anyone wanting to do extra work. So I told him straight out that I wanted to learn about taking care of horses. I think it kinda made him feel good to have someone want to learn from him. If I work with him awhile, I’ll learn to be a good teamster, too. Gotta know how to handle horses to get the most out of them.”

  “Horses! Horses!” Emma muttered to herself. “That’s all I hear.”

  “Ah, can’t you see us, Em? Soon as chores are done Sunday mornings, you’ll get the little ones ready and I’ll hitch up the team. We’ll have a buggy for summer and a little cutter for winter, and we’ll go see your folks or go to Knox to see Winnie and Jack or out to see Fred and Louise. . . .” He slapped his knee. “Can’t you just see Fred, when we pull up in that buggy?”

  The thought of seeing her brother Fred brought tears to Emma’s eyes. It had been so long. “But that would take all day!” she protested.

  “Naw! We could get to Fred’s in an hour and to your folks in half that time!”

  Emma blinked back tears. Imagine getting to her folks’ house in half an hour!

  “‘Course we’ll probably have a church by that time. We’ll go to church first, and in summer you could pack us a lunch and we’d stop and eat on the way when the weather is nice.”

  Al didn’t even notice Emma’s tears. He was off dreaming again, staring at the rough ceiling boards. “And there’s no reason why I can’t haul hemlock bark to Rib Lake to the tannery. . .

  “The what?”

  “The tannery. I told you about it last week.”

  Emma shook her head. “You didn’t tell me about it.”

  “Come to think of it, I didn’t hear about it till this week.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of Emma’s mouth as she watched his eyes shine with little boy eagerness.

  “Fellow named Shaw is building a tannery in Rib Lake. I hear he’s gonna need no end of hemlock bark. That’s why he’s building it here—because of all the hemlock. They use it to tan the hides. Call it ‘tan bark.’ I don’t know exactly how it’s done. It’s supposed to be starting up this summer.” Al leaned forward. “You know, we got almost as much hemlock as pine on our land. Always wondered what on earth I’d do with it.” He pounded his fist into his palm. “And here comes that tannery, less than fifteen miles away.”

  He got up and paced between the door and the stove. “Best part is that the bark’ll peel after the snow’s gone for hauling logs. A man can peel clear up to the fourth of July, they say. ‘Course it will take awhile to get the money for it, ‘cause I’ll have to wait till it snows again to haul it outta the woods and into town. But I’ve been thinking, there’s no reason why I can’t peel some this spring, so it’s ready to haul when we get the team.”

  “I suppose. But we haven’t got that team yet, you know.”

  “Aw, we’ll have it. Have to go ahead and dream, or a person never does anything. Dreams always have to come first.”

  “I’ve been doing a little dreaming, too,” Emma ventured, her eyes on her knitting. “I thought sometime we might sell butter and eggs and things in Tomahawk. You know—to the boarding houses.”

  Al rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm . . . good idea. It would take the better part of the day, now; it’s twenty miles. But when we get the team, we can do it.” He grinned. “You could shop at Oelhafen’s and pick out dress goods for you and Ellie.”

  “That would be nice,” Emma said wistfully. “But I’d be s
atisfied just to go see Ma and Pa.”

  “By golly! I clean forgot!” Al jumped up and dug a little packet out of his coat pocket. “Your ma sent this along when I stopped.”

  “You stopped?”

  “Sure! Aaron said he’d wait. I just stood by the door a minute, ‘cause I was fulla snow.”

  Carefully Emma pulled off the store string and opened the packet.

  “A letter from Gustie!” she squealed. Quickly she examined the other items: a piece of red ribbon, enough for a bow for Ellie’s hair; a little brown bag holding a few round white peppermint candies; some pictures cut from a magazine of a train, a lady talking on a telephone, and a man and lady all dressed up, sitting in a two-seated surrey drawn by a team of dark horses. She handed that one to Albert.

  He laughed. “Think we’ll ever dress up like that? I can’t quite see you wearing ostrich plumes.”

  Emma wasn’t listening. She was reading Gustie’s letter, lips moving as she read. “Oh, I’m so glad the baby was born in January. Doesn’t say anything about expecting again. She probably is, though.”

  When she finished she slipped the letter back into the envelope and held it between her hands. “Gustie says she’ll come down on the train sometime next summer, if we can meet her at Ogema.”

  Al poured hot water in the washbasin and began to scrub his body.

  “When you write, you tell her we’re gonna get a team and then we can meet her at Ogema,” Al said confidently.

  Emma sat with her eyes closed seeing horses . . . horses. She could see her mother and father waiting in the doorway as she and Al drove up with the four little ones snuggled in the cutter. She could see Gustie getting off the train with her four little boys and Fred, her brother, giving her a big bear hug when they went to visit him. And Winnie! Winnie would cry; her tears came easily.

  She could see Al skidding logs, the horses’ muscles rippling as they moved along at twice the speed of the ox. Al could earn twice as much in camp with a team. A thrill ran through her. Why, if they had a team it would be like Al was working two winters at the same time!

  In her imagination she saw him hook a chain on a stump, saw the horses strain, harness taut, saw the stump slowly release its grip from the soil. She saw smooth fields after the stumps had been pulled out and Al had plowed them—crops growing in straight rows, not in spots here and there between the stumps. She saw the horses prancing along the road toward Tomahawk, Al riding in the light, new buggy loaded with butter and eggs and vegetables to sell.

  Al had to stay in camp. Somehow, Emma had to manage alone. If only she could count on God to take care of the children while she was outside. But He hadn’t sent help when she needed it so badly. It must be that He had more important things to do than take care of little children in log cabins.

  Emma took a deep, determined breath as she took out her hairpins and braided her hair for the night. I’ll just have to do the very best I can.

  “Time for bed,” Al announced, playfully slapping Emma on the knees as he walked by.

  She gave a little cry of pain, making him stop short. “What’s the matter?”

  Shyly, she pulled up her skirt, pulled down her stockings and unwound the sticky bandages, wincing as she pulled them loose from the sores.

  “What in thunder ...

  “I told you Cora kicked me.” Emma fought pent—up tears. “I fell and struck my spine on the edge of the gutter.”

  Al frowned. “What’s that got to do with your knees?”

  “I couldn’t walk back to the house—my legs kept going out from under me. I had to keep setting the milk pail ahead of me and crawl, and the ice cut my knees.”

  She had to get away before she cried like a baby. Al hated crybabies. “I have to get a bandage,” she croaked and stood up.

  Al stepped in front of her and drew her gently into his arms. “How’s your back now?”

  “Better.”

  “When did this happen, Emma?”

  “Thursday night.” Al’s arms felt so strong, so safe. There was no holding back the sobs now. “My back hurt so bad. I had an awful time watering the stock . . . and I lost my milk, and the baby cried and cried. . . .”

  He held her close, swaying gently. “Go ahead. Cry it out,” he said softly.

  When she had quieted, he said, “You get to bed now. I’m gonna sit up a few minutes and fill the stove again.”

  It was several minutes before Emma stopped trembling. She lay rigid, waiting for Al to come to bed. She heard him fix the fire. The house went black as he blew out the lamp. Then the bed creaked under his weight.

  Emma tensed.

  Gently Al tucked the covers up around her neck and turned on his side—away from her.

  Slowly Emma let her breath out and smiled in the darkness. Ma was right: Al was no ordinary man. Her body relaxed, but her mind was still at work. He hadn’t said a word to let her know that he was concerned.

  Sometimes, she told herself, it doesn’t pay to act strong. A man thinks you can handle anything. Would he go back to camp without talking things over with her, without letting her tell him her fears, without making some arrangements for someone to stop by more often? Did he really care?

  Father, she began to pray, I’m in a spot. I want to trust You, but I don’t know what to think. So far You haven’t helped me much. I see now that Al’s just gotta stay in camp. We need those horses.

  But how am I going to keep these little ones safe? What if I get hurt again, or one of them gets sick? How will I keep going for all those weeks until the snow is gone . . . and then through another whole winter? And what ,if I have another baby by then?

  Eight

  Bittersweet Beauty

  Emma woke with a start. The fire! What time is it?

  Relief flooded over her when she heard Al shaking down the ashes. Ahh . . . she could stay in bed. She could stay in the house. She wouldn’t have to go out until milking time tonight.

  She stretched and winced. It wouldn’t be a pain-free day.

  Emma couldn’t remember when she had slept so soundly and for such a long time. It must have been the security ofhaving Al by her side that allowed her this blessed sleep. She hadn’t even heard him get up to put wood in the stove during the night. And the baby had slept, too. He must be getting enough to eat again. As though he had overheard her thoughts, Georgie whimpered and was quiet again.

  When she heard Al go out to do chores, Emma burrowed a little deeper into the warm covers. Her thoughts turned to what she had to do today. “Oh, my goodness!” she groaned. “I completely forgot to wash Al’s socks and underwear last night.”

  She rolled out of bed and pulled the little tub of water Al had filled the night before over the hot stove lids. Someday they’d buy a stove with a reservoir, and she wouldn’t have to see that old tub on the stove all the time.

  She decided to dress while the children were still sleeping, but she had hardly buttoned her dress and put the pins in her pug when the baby announced that he wanted to eat—now.

  Settled in the rocker with the baby at her breast, Emma thought about the team of horses again. Last night she had been so excited about all they would do when they got the horses, she had felt equal to any challenge—even being alone with the children for another winter. But now, in the early morning gray, a knot of fear clutched her middle at the thought of Al trudging off to camp again.

  “I’ve got to talk to him,” she told herself. “I’ve got to tell him how bad it was. There must be something we can do. Right after breakfast, we’ll talk.” She thought again of her daydream about Al coming home, putting her tenderly to bed, and saying he didn’t know how she had managed to get through all those hours.

  Emma sighed. “That sure was a dream! I can do without praise, but at least he could tell me he knows I had a rough time. I wish I could talk to Kate or Ma or someone!”

  Objects in the room were taking shape by the time the baby had finished nursing, but Emma still needed to light the lamp
to see to wash Al’s things. She opened Al’s turkey and took out the soggy socks and underwear. I’ll have to finish knitting his new socks before next weekend, she thought, as she examined a pair almost beyond darning. She scrubbed and rinsed and wrung, scolding herself for not washing them last night. She wrung each one until she couldn’t extract another drop, then hung them on the rack behind the stove and reminded herself to turn them often so they would be dry by the time Al had to leave. If only he had enough socks and underwear that he could take clean ones and leave, these home for her to wash during the week. But underwear and yarn cost money.

  “Money! Money!” she muttered. “No matter where I turn, we need money.” She stirred oatmeal into boiling water and was almost done setting the table when the boys woke up. Of course they woke Ellie, who began to cry until she remembered Papa was home. Out she flew, bare feet pattering across the cold floor calling, “Papa? Papa?”

  “Papa’s still in the barn. Come. Let’s get dressed before he comes