A Winter's Promise (5 page)

Although she
knew that Al would have to go to the
lumber camp in
winter, she had pictured them
t
ogether
year in and
year out.
“
Come help me, Em
!
”
he
would
say, and she
’
d give him a
hand, at whatever the
task happened t
o be. With his strength, skill, an
d
,
knowledge
and
her devotion,
diligence, and compassion they
would build a home, raise
a
nice, big family, and be hap
py. Ther
e would be laughter and fun and
music when
the work
was
done
—and
love. She smiled to
herself. As
hard as Al worked, he was seldom too tired
for love.

Emma, turned on her side, and
tried to pretend
Al
’
s
arm
wa
s
around her and her
head was lying on his
shoulder. When
he held her close like that, she felt as
though she was absorbing his strength, his faith, his hopes for the future. In her contentment, her sense of
completeness, she
’
d forget
for
a while that anything ex
isted but the two
of them—until a little one cried.

What if Al hadn
’
t been attracted to her? She never
ceased to marvel
that he had chosen her. She remembered
the first time he had come to her house, to talk to
her father with
several other surveyors. He hadn
’
t been in the house ten minutes before she knew he was differ
ent from the ordinary run of lumberjacks. He laughed
and
bantered,
but she didn
’
t hear a profane word out of
him.

Where, she
wondered, had
she seen him before?
Then she
recalled.
Several years earlier she had been al
lowed
to go with her older sisters on a hayride,
and Al
had been along. He had played the accordion and sang. Shedidn
’
t know where he had come from, or where he had gone afterward. In the north woods, many men came and went.

That day at her folks
’
home, he didn
’
t speak to her directly. She wasn
’
t certain that he was even aware of her, yet
she thought she felt his eyes follow
her as
she
helped
her mother cook
supper it was li
ke
she
was seeing her
self working,
and she was conscious of every
move. She
wished
she
we
re graceful and beautiful, with wavy black hair a
nd big brown eyes, instead of straight brown hair
and
plain old average-size blue eyes.

A
t
least she wasn
’
t ugly. She
’
d heard Pa say to Ma one
night, when they
thoug
ht she had gone up to bed, that
Emma w
as getting to be a real pretty
girl. When Ma
agreed, Em
ma
’
s eyes filled with tears. Ma wasn
’
t one to
compliment her children,
for fear they
’
d get prideful
. A
nd
once her friend Hattie had said she wished she had
a nose like Emma
’
s, so she knew her nose must be all
right. And one time her
older brother, Fred, had said
his
girl had a complexion almost as
clear as
Emma
’
s.
So
whenever she was getting ready to go out
to a
gathering,
she
’
d pull these comforting thoughts out of her memo
ry bank to bolster her confidence.

Emma recalled how she had joined Ma in the front
ro
om with her knitting that night,
after the dishes were
done
, and stole glances at the men
as they talked at the
kitchen table.

“
The tallest one,
”
Ma whispered,
“
That
’
s Al Verleger.
I
’
ve he
ard some good talk about him.
He
’
s no ordinary
man.
You take notice of him, girl.
”

Take notice she did. Glancing up from her knitting,
she had managed to record a whole catalog of details
—
the
deep dimple in his chin, arms too long for his shirt,
his hearty, but not boisterous laugh, his
air of confidence
in who he
was
and where he was headed.
Al Verleger.
So
that
’
s who
he
is.

She told her mother where she had seen him before, on the hayride.
“
When we got to the top of the hill and stopped to let the oxen rest, he pulled out his accordian and played and sang.
One song I never forgot
—
’
The Maple on the Hill.
’
I
wonder
where he
’
s
been since then.
”

“
I heard he
’
s been
working with the surveyors down
around Tomahawk in the summer and in the logging
camp in winter.
”

He had left that day without so much as a glance in
her direction, and Emma didn
’
t see him again for sever
al months—not until just before that awful square
dance.

The baby stirred and whimpered, and Emma scooped
him out
of
the cradle be
fore he could disturb the other
children.

Got to stop day
dreaming and think about what
’
s
ahead
of me today.

Emma perched precariously on the edge of the chair, keeping the weight off her spine, and ate her oatmeal with the children. She tried to see the
snow-covered road out of the window—the frost
had melted a few inches.

It was rare that anyone used the road, especially
with all the men in the lumber camp for the win
ter. It wasn
’
t likely Grandpa would come today. He never came two days in a row. But surely someone
else would come. Maybe Clara Geber would walk
over, as she often did in summer, Emma mused,
but then—Clara was fourteen now and worked like
a grown woman. Her mother would hardly let her
go gadding off on a busy weekday.

Little Fred bounced on the bench behind the
table.
“
Papa
’
s Coming home today!
”
he told Ellie.

“
Papa! Papa!
”
Ellie squealed, waving a spoonful
of oatmeal.

Before Emma could catch her hand, the sticky
gob landed on Fred
’
s head. He reached u
p and got it on his hand and le
t out a wail.

Jaws clenched, Emma hobbled to the washstand for
a cloth.
“
No, Papa
’
s not coming home today,
”
she told Fred
as she wiped the oatmeal out of his hair.
Fred wailed louder, and Albert gave him a shove.
“
Crybaby! He
’
ll be home tomorrow.
”

Emma ignored their shoving and kicking.
I
’
ll
have to
get
diapers washed today,
she told herself.
Can
’
t wait for
someone to come and carry water. Maybe I could let the
boys carry in snow to melt for wash water.
“
Boys!
Stop
fighting! I
’
ve got an idea.
”

Albert listened, but Fred kept poking him with his el
bow.

“
Do you know what happens when you put a tub of
sn
ow on the stove?
”

They shook their heads.

“
It makes water! Let
’
s make a whole tub of water!
You can help me.
”

Albert and Fred looked puzzled.

“
You boys can carry in pails and pails of snow, and
we
’
ll see how much water it will make. Hurry up and
finish eating now!
”

Ellie waved her spoon again.
“
Baby cwy!
”

Emma sighed.
“
I know, I know.
”
She had nursed
George while the boys were dressing, but she knew he
was still hungry.

“
Albert,
”
she called as she picked up the baby,
“
help
Fred with his overshoes when you
’
re done eating, so I
can feed the baby.
”

While Emma nursed the baby, Ellie hung on her
knees and cried to go out, too.

“
No,
Liebchen.
You stay in and help Mama.
”

After the first two loads there was only a scant inch of
water in the tub, and the door was open so much Emma
had
to
put a coat on Ellie and more wood in the stove.

I
should
have just gone after a couple pails
of
water
myself,
she thought. But even walking on the level
floor, she winced with every step, catching her breath at each stab of pain. How would
she be
able to carry water pails over that slippery, bumpy path?

She peered
into the water pail on the bench. With
care there would
be enough
water for drinking and
cooking until tomorrow.

After the third load, Albert slumped on a chair.
“
We
’
re tired.
”

“
Oh, we need lots more!
”
Emma said. She let him
climb on a chair to see into the tub.
“
Look how
little
there is.
”

“
All right,
”
he grumbled, and dragged Fred out with
him again.

Emma dumped their next loads and handed them the pails again.

Albert set his down.
“
It
’
s no fun,
”
he pouted.
“
No fun,
”
Fred echoed.

“
Tell you what,
”
she said cheerily.
“
I
’
ll help you.
”
She
pulled on her coat and grabbed her largest kettle. Glanc
ing hopefully toward the road, she scooped the kettle
full of snow. The boys filled theirs, too. Twice more they carried in heaping loads of snow.

Albert heard her groan as she dumped his pailful.
“
Mama? Is your back hurting?
”

She bit her lip and nodded.

“
Come on
!
”
he urged Fred.
“
We
’
ve gotta
help Mama,
‘
cause her back hurts.
”
Albert
’
s sympathy lasted through two more loads.

After Emma let them climb on a chair—Ellie, too—to see how much water there was, the boys carried in one
more load.

“
Aw, Mama, can we quit now?
”
Albert begged.

Emma sighed.
I
’
ll
have to make it do,
she decided.
I
’
ll
wash just enough diapers to get through another day or
two.
She hugged one boy with each arm and thanked
them.
“
Now you can run and play until you get cold.
Maybe you
’
ll find rabbit tracks.
”

“
Or deer tracks!
”
Albert yelled on his way out the
door.

Grateful that Ellie was content to watch them from
the window, Emma stretched out on the bed while the
water heated.
“
Rest!
”
she ordered he
r body
and proceed
ed to relax, muscle by
muscle. But when she thought
about watering the cattle at noon, her body tensed aga
in. How could she make it down that hill and back?
How
could she haul those buckets of water up out of the riv
er? The ice was s
o thick she had to
get down on her
knees and lean way
over to lower the bucket.

“
Oh, please, Lord, send someone to help me,
”
she
pleaded.

Again
she tried to let her arms and legs go limp. She
imagined her b
reasts filling, filling with goo
d, warm
milk for he
r baby
....

Suddenly Ellie
screamed, and Emma lunged out o
f
bed. There was blood running down Ellie
’
s little chin.
The last
Emma
knew, the child had been standing on a
c
hair, watching the boys. She must have slipped and bit
ten her lip when her chin hit the windowsill.

Emma grabbed a little snow
from the tub and pressed
it against Ellie
’
s lip, assuring her it would stop hurting
soon, but E
llie wanted to be rocked. Emma trie
d
to rock
her
without leaning back, but Ellie w
asn
’
t happy in that
pos
ition. She cried until the boys came in.

Albert couldn
’
t get Fred
’
s overshoes off, so Emma
had to tug
at them.

The clock struck ten. Tears sprang to Emma
’
s eye
s.
All those hours y
et ahead....

Caref
ul not to spill a drop
,
Emma poured a little of
the water into a w
ashtub to rins
e out the diapers. Nose wrinkled as she w
orked, she wrung them in tight little
twists. She
poured the dirty water into the slop pail, fill
ing it. She
’
d have to carry it out. T
hankful that the chil
dren were playi
ng contente
dly, she pulled o
n her coat,
carried ou
t the slop pail, and threw the w
ater down the
hillside near the house. Usually
she walked all the wav
to
a spot down
by the outhouse; she
’
d have to carry
the
pot way d
own there later, she reminded herself.

The worst part of this hurt spine, she
decided, was
never knowing when or where the next pain would
shoot. Now and then she could take a step without hurt
ing, but suddenly a sharp pain would grip so hard that
one or
both of her legs would buckle u
nder her.

Back in the house she dipped hot water into the tub,
saving most of it for rinsing.
I
’
ll only use
a little
soa
p,
she thought.
That will
be
^,
better than not getting all the
soap
rinsed out
—
and I
’
ll boil them
real good, too.
She
had rubbed only
two diapers on the
w
ashboard when
the baby
started to cry.

“
Albert! Rock the cradle. Mam
a
’
s got to get these dia
pers washed.
”

But the baby kept crying and Albert wa
iled,
“
Mama!
He won
’
t
stop!
”

“
Oh, dear,
”
Emma mutt
ered as she dried her hands.
“
Maybe he
’
ll loo
k around a little and be quiet.
”
She took
George out of the cradle and set him in the rocking
chair.
“
Albert, hold your hand here on his tummy
while
I tie him in.
”
S
he grabbed a strip of old blanke
t she had
often used for this very purpose when the oth
er three
were little, and tied it under George
’
s arms and around
the back of the chair.
“
There, now. Rock him gently
and
talk to him.
”