A Winter's Promise (6 page)

She went back to scrubbing diapers and s
miled over
her shoulder at the
antics Albert and Fred
went through. Try
ing to, make
the baby
laugh.

“
Mama! H
e likes it!
”
Albert squealed.

But before Emma had finished rins
ing the diapers,
the baby w
as
crying
a
gain. Hurriedly she rinsed the last
few and flung them over the rack behind the stove.
These would have to be rewashed when s
he had more
w
ater
. The rest, which she had already
rinsed well, she
set on the s
tove to boil.

“
There, ther
e,
”
she crooned as she took the baby
out
of the chair.
“
Mam
a
’
ll feed you again.
”
When he was
contented
ly nursing, she murmured,
“
Seem
s like all
I do
is feed you.
”
Her milk supply was still meager.
Lord,
she
prayed silently
,
I
’
m
trying to drink a lot and eat and
rest all I can. I can
’
t do anything more. Please help me!

She toyed with the idea of giving the baby a little
cow
’
s milk with a spoon. No, she wouldn
’
t try that. She remembered too well the baby three houses down in Phillips. His mother had tried that, and it had made him terribly sick. If Georgie were a few months older, she
would feed him some strained oatmeal, but he wasn
’
t
quite three months old. Surely by tomorrow she
’
d have plenty of milk again.

As she put the baby back in the cradle, she thought
about watering the cattle, and a wave of panic washed
over her. She would have to do it while Fred and Ellie took their naps—if no one had come by that time.

Emma set the boiling diapers aside to cool and crept
back to bed. Nine hours until bedtime.... If only she
were back in Phillips. She closed her eyes and pictured
herself in her little house with Kate right across the
street. What would she have done without Kate the
time the children had burned with fever for three days
and she didn
’
t know what was wrong with them?

She had seen one of the Riley girls outside that cold winter day and called to her that the children were sick. Would she ask her mother to please come over?

Emma smiled as she recalled how quickly Kate had come.

“
Albert, let me see your tongue,
”
Kate had said sternly.

He had whined and turned his head away.
“
Come,
lad,
”
she said in a patient, yet compelling,
way.
“
I need to see it.
”

Gently she tur
ned his head to the light.
“
Ah.
‘
Tis the measles, he has. Another day
‘
n
’
they
’
ll be breakin
’
out, and the fever will go down some.
”

Kate told her to keep giving them water, little sips
real often, and to pull the shades down so the light
wouldn
’
t
hurt their eyes.

“
Pitiful, they are,
”
she said, looking back from the
door.
“
An
’
I
see
your black eyes
‘
n
’
my heart
aches for
ye! But it
’
s courage you
’
ll be needin
’
, not pity, and you
’
ll
not be gettin
’
it from the likes o
’
me.
”
Then, taking
Emma
’
s face between her hands and ignoring Emma
’
s tears, she said,
“
These days will soon be behind ye. Take
one hour. Do all that ye should that hour the very best
you can. When the next hour comes, do the same—all
the while knowin
’
God will give you all the strength
you
’
ll be needin
’
.
”

Emma had nodded then, wiped her tears on her
sleeve, and smiled a tiny smile. Now she opened her
eyes and stared at the rough log wall. Kate might as well be a thousand miles away, rather than forty. There was
no way she could come. Emma turned her face into the pillow so the children wouldn
’
t hear her.
“
Al ... how
could you leave me like this? How can you go away each
Sunday, not knowing what will happen while you
’
re
gone?
”
Sobs shook her body.
“
And even if I get through
these days,
”
she continued,
“
what will I do about all the days after Sunday?
”

The clock struck twelve.

“
Cryin
’
won
’
t help,
”
she could hear Kate say.
“
Soon
as a body starts feelin
’
sorry for herself, it
’
s all down
hill.
”

Emma took a deep breath, struggled out of bed,
smoothed her hair, and hobbled to the washtub. She
wrung out the diapers, gave each one a smart snap, and hung them on the drying rack.

High time she fed the children, she realized, as Al
and Fred began fighting and Ellie ran and clung to her
skirt. She scrambled eggs, sliced bread (she
’
d have to
bake tomorrow), and poured milk. She tied a dish towel around Ellie
’
s neck and took another look up the road.

The children were curious and craned their necks in
the direction of her gaze.

‘
The chickadees are looking for bread
crumbs. I forgot
to put some out,
”
she explained
^.
“
Here, Albert, put these way up on the snowdrift
—
as high as you can reach—so
we can
watch from the window.
”

Albert came in shivering.
“
Mama? Don
’
t their feet
get cold?
”

“
I guess not. They don
’
t seem to mind the cold
snow.
”

“
Wish I had feet like theirs,
”
Albert mumbled.

“
Where do the birds sleep, Mama?
”
asked Fred.
Emma told him they had nests somewhere in the
tre
es. All the while she kept glancing toward the road.
Lord
! she prayed silently.
Have someone come
now!

Ellie yawned. Nap time. Emma decided to
let
the chil
dren stay up while she washed the dishes, but she soon
regretted it. Ellie whined, and Fred and Albert squab
bled.

When the younger children were asleep, Emma stood
for another moment staring up the road. Then, with a sigh, she took a piece of brown wrapping paper and a
pencil from the clock shelf.
“
I
’
ll sharpen the pencil for
you, and you can draw pictures while I
’
m outside,
”
she
told Albert.

As she sharpened the pencil over the open stove lid,
she still hoped to look up and see a dark figure coming
down the road.

Albert chattered happily.
“
I
’
ll draw trees . . .and rab
bits ... and deers.
”

One more look. Emma took
her coat off the hook.
“
Don
’
t take the baby out of the cradle. And if Fred and
Ellie wake up, don
’
t let
‘
em, climb on anything—
”

“
I know, Mama. You
always
say that!
”
Albert said
with an exasperated sigh. He set to work drawing.

Tears of disappointment brimmed in her eyes as
Emma carried the pot out with her. She left it by the
path while she let out the ox and the cows. No need to
c
hase the thirsty
animals to the
river
_.
They headed for
the water hole the minute
she untied them.

She dumped the pot and took time to use the out
house before she went on down to the river to
water the
livestock. She
had to crawl under the fence Al
had put
around the hole in the river ice and then get down on her knees.

Her knees! Emma had forgotten her cut knees. She
tried to pad them with her coat, but they still hurt as she
plunged the bucket into the icy water and pulled it up by
the rope tied to the handle. She shoved the first bucket
under
the fence to the ox. Once he had his fill, the cows
would have room.

By the time she had h
oisted up the third bucket, sear
ing pain was shooting up her back and down her legs.
She knew how important the water was to the cattle, but
her knowledge didn
’
t ease the pain a bit.

When they had finally drunk their fill, Emma rolled
over onto her right hip and rested a moment before get
ting up.
“
Lord, I don
’
t understand,
”
she said out loud,
her breath making white clouds around her.
“
You know
how much this hurts. Why didn
’
t You send someone to
help me?
”
She wiped tears on her rough sleeve and
struggled to her feet. She cried out her disappointment
on the way back to the house, but stopped before she opened the door to compose her face.

When she stepped in the door, Albert ran to her, pic
ture
in hand.
“
Mama? Are you cryin
’
?
”

She evaded his question.
“
Well, now! Let
’
s see what
you drew.
”
She tried to concentrate on his lengthy explanation as she yanked off her overshoes.
“
Tell you what,
”
she said,
“
let
’
s you and I lie down, and I
’
ll tell you a sto
ry.