A Winter's Promise (2 page)

Emma had felt
so brave then, when she assured
Al
she could do
it. Why hadn
’
t she thought about the lone
li
ness or the cold
or
the hazards of leaving four little
children in
the house on their own?

They moved back in May. That first day back on the farm had
been one of
the happiest days of their lives. In spite of being weary from the all-day trip,
Emma h
ad ex
plored a
ll a
round the house and barn, carrying little
Ellie
while
the boys
trailed
behind
her like ducklings.
While Al and Grandpa Verleger unloaded
the wagon,
she had found the forget-me-nots under tall weeds
and
the
Wi
nd Lake roses with
their tiny green sprouts. She
could hardly wait till morning to tear out the
dry weeds
that choked them:

That night, lying
on their straw mattress listening to
the river
—
their river—she
and Al had agreed that it
was the plea
santest sound in the world. Emma never
wanted to leave their homestead again, no matter how
hard things became.

She had planted a big flower garden while Al planted
potatoes, oats, corn
,
and rutabagas. Then he had worked
at home,
cutting wood and clearing land,
until after Christmas
so Emma could regain her strength after
George was born in late November.

Emma served M
olly
a forkful of hay.
“
Eat good
,
mama, cow. Grow a big, strong
calf,
”
she
urged as she
w
ent on
remembering.

She
thought
of the first
time she had seen their
house. The walls were up, but the roof wasn
’
t on. Emma
had
stood by the south window opening and squealed,

“
Oh!
I can see right down on the river!
”

Al had come up
behind her and gathered her in
his
arms.
“
You like that?
”

“
You know I do.
”

“
Remember
once when we were walking along
the
creek at your folks
place, you said you loved
the sound
of running water and you
’
d like to have a house by a
river
where you could hear the water—
and
s
ee it,
too?
”

She turned and nuzzled her face into his, neck.
“
And
you remembered!
”

Emma dragged more hay, recalling the many ways Al
had found to delight her. I
t was almost a wom
an-like
quality, b
ut it made him more of a man, no
t less, in her
eyes. Maybe, she mused, he could risk being thoughtful
and tender
because he had no doubts about
his own
manhood
. He was respected by the other men not only
for his physical strength and
intelligence, but for his
honesty and loyalty as well. And he
’
d certainly had no
trouble attr
acting girls—especially Millie Luft
, that
hussy!

Silly goose! Why ever are
you
thinking about that
now!

Emma finished feeding the cows and rested her head
against patient
Molly
’
s
flank while she stripped her. A
few more days and Molly, waiting for her calf, would be
dry like Bessie. Good thing Cora was still milking, cross
old thing though she was. No wonder Grandpa Verl
eger had insisted they have her.
Even this morning, when he
had come by to see how Emma and the children were,
he had insisted tha
t Cora was a good cow. Emma knew
better than to disagree with him. Besides, she was grate
ful for the milk
.

Before
she started
to milk Cora, she scratched
a peep
hole in the window frost so she
could
see the
house.

Every time sh
e came to the barn she had the
same
ar
gu
ment with herself. Should she run back halfway
through her chores and
see
how the children, were
do
ing, or quickly finish he
r work so she could go back and
stay in with them?

Emma sighed and hurried over to Cora with stool
and pail. Before she had even set the stool in place,
Cora
’
s hind leg shot out and kicked
her on the thigh.
Emma reel
ed backwards, and the pail and stool—and Emma—clattered to the floor. She gasped as the pain
raced up her spine.

“
Dumm
ese
l
”
she
wailed.
“
Just because I
’
m in a hur
ry!
”
She tried to get up, but her legs
wouldn
’
t move. She
rolled toward a post and
pulled herself upon
her knees.
Her head was spinning, and she shook so violently it
was, hard to
hold onto
the post. She grunted and
strained,
but her legs refused to move.
“
Father! H
elp me!
”
she sobbed. The thought came,
This is
like
^,
when
you hit your elbow or knee
—
your
“
crazy
”
bone. Just
wait.

She
sagged down a moment into a pain-filled world,
thinking about the little ones waiting
for her
in the
house.

“
Try again!
”
she ordered her body.

Slowly
…shakily…
she stood
.

“
O
Lord, thank You!
”
she whispered.
“
Help me milk
the cow. Please
help me.
”

Breathing hard, Emma righted the stool, retrieved
the
pail, and
edged cautiously around Cora.
“
You old cow,
yo
u!
”
she
sobbed.
“
I didn
’
t even touch you!
”
She sat
down with a groan and tried to hold the pail between
her knees. It slipped to the floor.

“‘
I
’
ve got to do
it!
”
she told herself.
“
Albert
can
’
t milk,
and
he
’
s too little to go for help i
n this cold.
”
Clenching
her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering, she prayed,

“
Please, God,
send
Grandpa Verleger or one of the Gebers
—
somebody!
”

She wedged the pail between her knees again and squeezed hard.
The pressure made her gasp with pain,
but
she managed to hold on. At first her hands refused
to
obey her, but she took a deep breath, tri
ed a
gain,
and
heard
the st
reams of milk hit the bottom of the
pail.

There seemed to be
no end to Cora
’
s milk tonight. As
the pail grew
heavier, Emma
’
s pain increased
until her
tears ran again. But
Emma gritted her teeth and kept
milking. When Cora was finally dry,
Emma sidled away,
keeping a wary eye
on
those
hind legs.

Usually she carried the lanter
n
in one
^,
hand and the pail
of milk
in
the other. Tonight, she decided, it would
be all she could do to carry the milk. She blew out the
lantern, left i
t in
the barn, and set the pail out the door
ahead of her.

The wind fought for the door again, but Emma got be
hin
it, leaned all her weight against it, and slammed
the bar in place. As she did so she realized that she
had
l
eft her mittens in the barn. But
the lights
of the cabin
beckoned, and she chose to endure
cold hands rather
than fight the wind again. S
he
staggered a few steps, lost
her balance,
and fell. She
couldn
’
t see how much milk
she had spilled, but the pail still felt quite heavy.

Emma got to he
r feet, took a few more painful
steps,
and fell again when her legs went weak under her.
“
Why didn
’
t I go back for mittens?
”
she
wailed as
she
tried to pull her hands up into her sleeves to protect
them.

Once more she struggled to her feet. By now the milk
was nearly gone. There would be more in the
morn
i
ng
—
if she could get back to the barn—but the little ones
nee
ded milk tonight. She couldn
’
t
risk spilling more.
There was only
one way. Emma
set the pail ahead of her
and inched her way toward
it.

Her
coat kept getting in the way and, when it pulled open, ice cut her knees
. With every
m
ovement, pain
shot up her back and down her legs, but she kept
crawli
ng. Over a
nd over she set the pail ahead of her, and
la
boriously
made her way to it
. She thought
of the count
l
ess
times she had hurried back and
forth on this path
on
strong legs, never thinki
ng about the distance from
house to barn.

She looked up at the dim light, still so distant, then
turned her head away from the wind and crawled like
a
mechanical, grunting thing. She couldn
’
t feel the pail
handle anymore,
but somehow she managed to keep
setting it ahead, setting it ahead.