A Winter's Promise (16 page)

Now, from the sound of things, neither Molly nor
the calf would make it.

As Emma opened the door she said to herself again,
“
What if the calf had come yesterday, or waited until
to
mo
rrow
?
”
She began to thank God for the perfect
timi
ng, and
for allowing her to
forget the
calf was coming and sparing her that worry, but she took a deep breath
instead.

“
Where
’
s Papa?
”
Albert yelled when he saw her
come in.

Emma blinked in the dim room, hung up her coat,
and told him that Papa had gone to the barn. Of course, the boys begged to go to the barn, too, and Ellie clung to
Emma
’
s skirt and whined.

“
Papa
’
ll be in soon,
”
Emma assured them.
“
When he
comes back, we
’
ll
see
if you can go out with him.
”

Albert pouted.
“
He always lets us go with
‘
im.
”

Emma began to clear the table, thinking that soon the calving of a cow would be a common occurrence for the boys. But not this one. She
’
d have to think of something
to keep them occupied.

She went to
put wood in the stove and noticed that
there were only a few
sticks
left.
“
Boys! The wood box is almost empty. Hurry and fill it before Papa comes in,
and I
’
ll have a surprise for you.
”

It
worked.
Albert carried arm loads and dumped
them into the wood box, Fred dragged in a few sticks,
and Ellie got in
the way, as usual. At
least they were
busy.

Emma flipped over the still-wet socks and long-legged underwear.

Perhaps the boys would play contentedly in the fresh
snow while Al drank a cup of coffee. Then she
’
d sit
down, look him right in the eye, and say,
“
Al, we have
to do something about my being alone while you
’
re
gone.
”

What they could do, she didn
’
t know. If only Gebers
l
ived closer, so Cla
ra could run over while Emma was
ou
tside.

“
Mama! It
’
s full!
”
Albert announced.

“
My goodness, it sure is! We
’
ll have enough wood to
last until to
morrow!
”
Emma exclaimed.
Sit down at
the table, and I
’
ll get your treat.
”

She went to the pantry and got the peppermint
can
dies her mother had
sent and gave them each one
piece.

“
Look what Grandma Kamin sent you!
”

She popped one into her own mouth, too.

Albert and Fred giggled, and Ellie drooled.

Emma waited a
few
minutes until she knew the can
dy was almost gone. Then, eyes twinkling, she said,
“
Now I have another surprise for you. Come here and
take a drink of water and see what happens.
”

She held the dipper for each of the children, and as
soon as one had a drink there were squeals of,
“
Cold!
Cold!
”

Emma glanced at the
clock.
After ten already. She began to slice the leftover venison to heat for dinner and
for sandwiches for Al. He wouldn
’
t get to camp until after supper.

Her thoughts turned to poor Molly struggling to have her calf. Again she stifled the urge to pray.

“
Papa
’
s comin
’
!
”
Albert yelled and dashed to the
door.

Emma poured warm water in the washbasin before
Al strode in, his hands outstretched in front of him.

“
Got a surprise for you boys,
”
he called over his
shoulder as he washed his hands.
“
Get your overshoes
and coats on!
”

Fred
’
s eyes opened so wide the white showed all the way around the blue.
“
Another s
’
prise?
”

Al grinned
at Emma and
whispered,
“
She did
it!
Nice big heifer calf.
”

“
Oh! I
’
m so
glad! What
happened? How come she
had trouble?
”

“
It
’
s a pretty big calf,
and she needed
help. I had to
really pull!
”

“
What would I have done if it
had come yesterday,
or tomorrow?
”

Al shrugged.
“
Helped her.
”

“
How?
”

He
dried
his hand on the roller towel.
“
You just take
a
piece
of rope and tie it around the little hooves—you
’
ve seen how they always come first, unless some
thing
’
s really wrong—and then tie a stick on, so you can
get a good grip. When she pushes, you pull!
”

“
But I
’
m not strong like you. . . .
”

“
Just brace yourself against the gutter edge or a post,
and use all
your weight.
”
Al started for the door without
noticing Emma
’
s pale face.
“
You fellas ready?
”

When Ellie saw the boys getting dressed to go outside,
she flung herself at Emma, wailing,
“
Go out! Go out!
”

Al smiled down at her.
“
Get her dressed,
”
he said.

“
But she doesn
’
t have any overshoes.
”

“
She won
’
t need
‘
em. I
’
ll carry her.
”

“
It wouldn
’
t hurt him to dress her,
”
Emma grumbled
to herself. But she had to smile as Ellie waved to her over Al
’
s shoulder, tears still glistening on her pink cheeks.

“
Mama? You co
min
’
?
”
Albert yelled from the lean-to.

“
No. The baby
’
ll be waking up soon. I
’
d better stay here.
”

She watched them from the window, wondering
again why she hadn
’
t been able to feel joy when she
looked, at all th
at beauty. She went to pick up G
eorge,
wondering if there was something terribly wrong with her.

Settled in the rocker with the baby, she thought about
the calf again. Al made it sound so easy:
“
When she
pushes, you pull.
”
Emma could see herself slipping and
landing in the gutter again. Anger welled up inside of her, and tears threatened. He hadn
’
t even mentioned
her struggle since she told him about it.
“
He hasn
’
t the
least idea. . . .
”
she said out loud.
“
As soon as he comes
back in, we
’
re going to sit down and
talk!
”

But Al didn
’
t co
me
in. The boys brought
Ellie in and
an
nounced,
“
Papa says
to have dinner ready
‘
bout half past
‘
leven
.
”

They were bursting with excitement about the calf.
“
She
’
s got a white spot on her head, an
’
Papa
says it
’
s a
star an
’
we
’
re gonna call her
‘
Star,
’
Albert informed
her.

Fred was trying to wedge in some words, so Emma
turned to him and ignored Albert. Fred gulped and said,
“
Ah ... ah ... she
’
s all ...
soft,
an
’
Ellie gwabbed her ear.
. .
”

Albert interrupted,
“
An
’
she wouldn
’
t let go!
”
He started to giggle, and Fred and Ellie joined in, too.

They giggled and jabbered, and Emma nodded and
smiled. But inside she was planning what she would say
to Al—
right
after dinner.

After telling their mama about the calf, the boys
had immediately gone back outside. Ellie cried at
the window a while
before she settled down to play. Momentarily, peace reigned.

As the minutes ticked by, bringing Al
’
s departure
ever closer, Emma
’
s glances at the clock became
more frequent. Almost half past eleven. He should
be in for dinner any minute now.

The fragrance of freshly ground coffee filled the
air. It would be the last she would enjoy until Al
was home again. Each time she ground coffee, she
visually measured the remaining beans and won
dered which would come first
—
the bottom of the
jar, or money to buy more. During the week Emma drank piping hot water and milk.

The table was set, bread sliced, leftover potatoes, carrots, and gravy heated. A moment ago she had been eager to eat but now, when she glanced at the clock again, her stomach churned.

Emma tried to push aside thoughts of tomorrow,
but back they came again. Ellie would cry and
whine all day because she missed her papa but
didn
’
t know how to explain how she felt. The boys

would
miss
him,
too, and take their feelings out on each
other. There would be fights all day.

But Ellie
’
s whining and the boys
’
fighting would be not
hing compared
to having to struggle through the chores alone. Emma
’
s back, though considerably im
proved, was far from better. Slipping on icy bumps would not be pleasant. And the worst part would be
rushing, heart in her throat, to get back to the house.
What if she, or one of the children, got hurt again?

Tucked here and there between the dread was disap
pointment. There would be no
time for Al to hold her
close and give her that all-put-back-together feeling. No
time for tender kisses—or any other kind.

No time. No time. During those golden days of the
autumn before their summer wedding, Emma had nev
er imagined life would be like this.

She could almost hear the leaves rustle, remembering how she and Al had walked through the brilliant woods that fall—talking and talking. No one had ever
cared what she thought before. No one had ever encour
aged her to talk, not even her friend Hattie. Emma had
always been a listener.

But Al was different. He wanted to know what she
thought. Of course he talked plenty, too. Emma listened, enraptured, as he told of his experiences and his dreams for the future
—
dreams he had shared with no other
person.

Al valued her opinion and said she had good com
mon sense. Anyone could get an education if he made
the effort, Al had told her, but not everyone could have
common sense. He knew Emma had only gone as far as the third reader in school, because she could only go to
school when there wasn
’
t much work
to do at home. He
hadn
’
t got much farther himself. But once a person
learned t
o read, Al said, he could learn all
he wanted to
by himself.

One thing concerned her, though. She had always
heard that
“
true love
never runs smooth.
”
Could th
eirs
really be true love? They didn
’
t have the stormy
quarrels
the other girls confessed to. O
h, they disagreed about
things, and sometimes it took a lot of talking—pr
etty
loud talking—to get it
straightened out, but Al never left
with anything unsettled between them.

Emma saw no sense in playing silly games, eith
er. Winter would come all
too soon, and Al woul
d go to
camp down near Jenny until spring. She was alw
ays aware
of their lim
ited time together—especially w
he
n he
held her close.

Each time he cam
e, Emma hoped he would talk about
marriage but, to her keen disappointment, he
did
n
’
t
mention it at all that fall. He left one Sunday even
ing
with fervent kisses and assurances that he
’
d miss
her,
but that was all.

She avoided Ma
’
s searching eyes the day Al
left. If
only she could have said,
“
I
’
m engaged to Al Verleger.
”
Ma encouraged Em
ma to work on her hope chest. A girl
didn
’
t have to be engaged to work on her hope chest.

Emma was touched by Ma
’
s kindness that winte
r.
Ma
could be cross and de
spondent, but that winter she
sang as she worked and made an effort to brig
hten
Emma
’
s days. One time she dug out an old, old quilt
pat
tern and suggested that Emma might want to pi
ece a
quilt that winter. The
y made a big, braided rug, too.

Of course baby Anne brightened their lives
. If it
hadn
’
t been for her cheery smile and adorable antics
, the
winter would have been unbearably long.

“
Good practice for you,
”
Ma said when Emma ba
thed
and fed her.

Sometimes Emma pretended that Anne w
as her baby—
their
baby, hers and Al
’
s.

“
Spring thaw
’
s early this year,
”
Pa told Ma one day,
and Emma
’
s heart leaped. Al would come back
to h
is father
’
s
house and sta
rt work on his log cabin on his
land again.

At
time doubts plagued
her.
She
didn
’
t
have to wo
r
ry
about him finding another girl—not
in
camp. But maybe he had changed his
mind about her. Then she could remember those golden fall days and all the
l
aughter and good-natured banter and serious talk and the kisses that left them reeling, and she
knew
he
’
d be back and things would be the same.

One sunny day early in April, she was out piling
wood when she saw Al hiking up the lane. She wanted
to
run to meet
him,
bu
t forced herself to pretend she
hadn
’
t seen him. It was better to be sure things hadn
’
t changed first.

Al called to her as soon as he rounded the corner of the house. Emma kept her feet still and merely smiled her welcome
.
As soon as she looked into his eyes, she knew nothing had changed, and a wave of joy left her weak.

“
How are you?
”
he asked huskily.

She smiled up at him.
“
Fine! Just fine!
”

“
It was one long winter for me, I can tell you. Was it
long for you?
”

Head down, Emma nodded.

Al lifted her chin and saw that her eyes were brim
ming with tears. His arms closed around her so tight she
let out a little gasp.
“
I was afraid you might have found
someone else,
”
he said before he kissed her. He held her
more gently then, and she didn
’
t ever want to leave the circle of his arms again.
“
I
’
ve got so much to tell you,
”
he said, releasing her.

“
Want to go in the house?
”
she asked, remembering her manners.

“
I
’
d just as soon stay out here, if you
’
re warm
enough.
”
She sat down on a block of wood, and Al
rolled another one beside her, close enough to keep an am around her. There they sat, while he told her story
after story about camp life, and she told him bits of local
news.

The sun disappeared
over
the barn roof, and Emma shivered.

“
You
’
re cold,
”
Al said.
“
You better go in.
”

“
Will you stay for supper?
”

“
Can
’
t tonight, but I
’
ll come back as soon as I can.
”

He gathered her in his arms again when they stood
up.
“
Oh, I missed you! Em, let
’
s get married this summer. I think I can get the cabin ready by .
.
. around July first. How would that be?
”

She couldn
’
t find her voice, so she simply looked up, and nodded.

“
I
’
ll
talk to your pa soon. Sunday, maybe.
”

Al came in long enough to greet Ma, and Emma
knew she saw the glow in their eyes. She didn
’
t even scold her for sitting outside and talking so long. She didn
’
t ask any questions, either, and Emma had
been
grateful. She wanted to tell her so badly, but she
wouldn
’
t say a word until Al had talked to Pa. Surely Pa wouldn
’
t have any objections—but she couldn
’
t be sure.
She was only seventeen.

She barely drew a peaceful breath until Sunday, when
Al and Pa had their talk and came in laughing. Ma was
obviously pleased. E
m
ma knew she couldn
’
t wait to tell
the neighbor ladies that
her
daughter was going to marry Al Verleger. At least two of them were cherishing hopes
for their own daughters.

So long ago all that seemed now. Emma tried to recall
that wonderful, protected feeling Al had given her then.
How she had loved to walk at his side, though she had
to remind him over and over to shorten his stride so
she could keep up. And he had been proud of her accomplishments and the way she coped with difficult times back then. He didn
’
t carry on about those things, but he had ways of letting her know she had done well. It would mean so much now to know that he realized
what she had been through while he was away—to
know he was proud of the way she managed to get the
work done and take care
of
the children. It would onl
y
take a minute.

Work
,
work, work, work. That
’
s all he ha
s on his
mind.
Doesn
’
t he know
that
feelings
are
important?