A Winter's Promise (7 page)

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.
On
ce upon a time... there was a li
ttle boy,
a
nd
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 sto
ry.
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. . . .

Em
ma 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 mini
ature 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 home
steading 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 an
d 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 t
he ground while it
’
s still wet.
”

“
Down where I come from, we have dark brown soil.
It
still surprises me to see thin
gs
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 any
one 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 ge
t
go
in
’
. 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 abrupt
ly
back to the present. She smil
ed. Well, they certainly
had
a good start toward those dozen children.

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 an
chored 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 coal
s.

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 an
swers 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.

“
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 win
dow 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 but
ter to the po
tatoes, and went to the window. Still
no Al
bert. 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 wh
at 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,
”
s
he said, hiding a brief smile.
“
Watch
me from the window.
”

Heart thumping, she shuffled through the soft snow,
i
magining 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.