A Winter's Promise (14 page)

A smile tugged at the corners of Emma
’
s mouth as
she
watched his eyes shine with little
boy eagerness.

“
F
ellow named Shaw is building a tannery in Rib
Lake.
I hear
he
’
s gonna need no end of hem
lock bark.
That
’
s why he
’
s building it here—because of all the
hemlock. They
use it to tan the hides. Call it
‘
tan bark.
’
I
don
’
t know exactly how it
’
s done. It
’
s supposed to be starting up this summer.
”
Al
leaned forward.
“
You
know, we got almost as much hemlock as pine on our
land. Always wondered what on earth I
’
d do with it.
”
He pounded his fist into his palm.
“
And here comes that tannery, less than fifteen miles away.
”

He got up and paced between the door and the stove.
“
Best part is that the bark
’
ll peel after the snow
’
s gone
for hauling logs. A man can peel clear up to the fourth
of July, they say.
‘
Course it will take awhile to get the money for it,
‘
cause I
’
ll have to wait till it snows again
to haul it outta the woods and into town. But I
’
ve been
thinking, there
’
s no reason why I can
’
t peel some this spring, so it
’
s ready to haul when we get the team.
”

“
I suppose. But we haven
’
t got that team yet, you know.
”

“
Aw, we
’
ll have it. Have to go ahead and dream, or a
person never does anything. Dreams always have to come first.
”

“
I
’
ve been doing a little dreaming, too,
”
Emma ven
tured, her eyes on her knitting.
“
I thought sometime we
might sell butter and eggs and things in Tomahawk. You know—to the boarding houses.
”

Al rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“
Hmm . . . good
idea. It would take the better part of the day, now; it
’
s
twenty miles. But when we get the team, we can do it.
”
He grinned.
“
You could shop at Oelhafen
’
s and pick out
dress goods for you
and Ellie.
”

“
That would be nice,
”
Emma said wistfully.
“
But I
’
d
be satisfied just to go see Ma and Pa.
”

“
By golly! I clean forgot!
”
Al jumped up and dug a little packet out of his coat pocket.
“
Your ma sent this
along when I stopped.
”

“
You stopped?
”

“
Sure! Aaron said he
’
d
wait. I just stood by the door
a
minute,
‘
cause I was fulla
snow.
”

Carefully Emma pulled off the store string and
opened the packet.

“
A letter from Gustie!
”
she squealed. Quickly she ex
amined the other items: a piece of red ribbon, enough
for a bow for Ellie
’
s hair; a little brown bag holding a few
round white peppermint candies; some pictures c
ut from a magazine of a train, a
lady talking on a tele
phone, and a man and lady all dressed up, sitting in a
two
-seated surrey drawn by a team
of dark horses. She
handed that one to Albert.

He laughed.
“
Think we
’
ll ever dress up like that? I can
’
t quite see you wearing ostrich plumes.
”

Emma wasn
’
t listening. She was reading Gustie
’
s let
ter, lips moving as she read.
“
Oh, I
’
m so glad t
he baby
was born in January. Doesn
’
t say anything about expect
ing again. She probably is, though.
”

When she finished she slipped the letter back into the
envelope and held it between her hands.
“
Gustie says
she
’
ll come down on the train sometime next summer,
if we can meet her at Ogema.
”

Al poured hot water in the washbasin and began to
scrub his body.

“
When you write, you tell her we
’
re gonna get a team
and then we can meet her at Ogema,
”
Al said confident
ly.

Emma sat with her eyes closed seeing horses
. . .
horses. She could see her mother and father waiting in
the doorway as she and Al drove up with the four little
ones snuggled in
the cutter.
She could see Gustie getting
off the train with her four little boys and Fred, her broth
er, giving her a big bear hug when they went to visit him. And Winnie! Winnie would cry; her tears came easily.

She could see Al skidding logs, the horses
’
muscles
rippling as they
moved
along at twice the speed of the
ox.
Al could earn twice as much in camp with a team. A
thrill ran through her. Why, if they had a team it would
be like Al was working two winters at the same time!

In her imagination she saw him hook a chain on a stump, saw the horses strain, harness taut, saw the stump slowly release its grip from the soil. She saw
smooth fields after the stumps had been pulled out and
Al had plowed them
—
crops growing in straight rows,
not in spots here and there between the stumps. She saw
the horses prancing along the road toward Tomahawk,
Al riding in the light, new buggy loaded with butter and
eggs and vegetables to sell.

Al
had
to stay in camp. Somehow, Emma had to manage alone. If only she could count on God to take care of the children while she was outside. But He
hadn
’
t sent help when she needed it so badly. It must be
that He had more important things to do than take care
of little children in log cabins.

Emma took a deep, determined breath as she took out
her hairpins and braided her hair for the night.
I
’
ll
just
have to do the very best I can.

“
Time for bed,
”
Al announced, playfully slapping Emma on the knees as he walked by.

She gave a little cry of pain, making him stop short.
“
What
’
s the matter?
”

Shyly, she pulled up her skirt, pulled down her stock
ings and unwound the sticky bandages, wincing as she
pulled them loose from the sores.

“
What in thunder ...

“
I told you Cora kicked me.
”
Emma fought pent—
up tears.
“
I fell and struck my spine on the edge of the
gutter.
”

Al frowned.
“
What
’
s that got to do with your knees?
”
“
I couldn
’
t walk back to the house
—
my legs kept go
ing out from under me. I had to keep setting the milk
pail ahead of me and
crawl, and the ice cut my knees.
”

She had to get away before she cried like a baby. Al
hated crybabies.
“
I have to get a bandage,
”
she croaked
and stood up.

Al stepped in front of her and drew her gently into his arms.
“
How
’
s your back now?
”

“
Better.
”

“
When did this happen, Emma?
”

“
Thursday night.
”
Al
’
s arms felt so strong, so safe.
There was no holding back the sobs now.
“
My back hurt
so bad. I had an a
wful time watering the stock . . .
and I
lost my milk, and the baby cried and cried. . . .
”

He held her close, swaying gently.
“
Go ahead. Cry it
out,
”
he said softly.

When she had quieted, he said,
“
You get to bed now. I
’
m gonna sit up a few minutes and fill the stove again.
”

It was several minutes before Emma stopped trembling. She lay rigid, waiting for Al to come to bed. She
heard him fix the fire. The house went black as he blew
out the lamp. Then
the bed creaked under his weight.

Emma tensed.

Gently Al tucked the covers up around her neck and
turned on his side—away from her.

Slowly Emma let her breath out and smiled in the darkness. Ma was right: Al was no ordinary man. Her
body relaxed, but her mind was still at work. He hadn
’
t
said a word to let her know that he was concerned.

Sometimes,
she told herself,
it doesn
’
t pay to act
strong. A man thinks you can handle anything.
Would
he go back to camp without talking things over with
her, without letting her tell him her fears, without making some arrangements for someone to stop by more of
ten? Did he really care?

Father,
she began to pray,
I
’
m in a spot. I
want to trust
You,
but I don
’
t know what to think. So far You have
n
’
t helped me
much. I see now that Al
’
s just g
otta stay
in camp. We need those horses.

But how am I going to keep these little ones safe?
What
if I get hurt again, or one
of
them gets sick? How
will I
keep going for all those weeks until the snow is
gone . . . and then through another whole winter? And
what
^,
if
I have another baby by then?

Emma woke with a start.
The fire! What
time is
it?

Relief flooded over her when she heard Al shak
ing down the ashes. Ahh . . .
she could stay in bed.
She could stay in the house. She wouldn
’
t have to
go out until milking time tonight.

She stretched and winced. It wouldn
’
t be a pain-free day.

Emma couldn
’
t remember when she had slept so
soundly and for such a long time. It must have
been the security of
havin
g Al by her side that al
lowed her this blessed sleep. She hadn
’
t even heard
him get up to put wood in the stove during the
night. And the baby had slept, too. He must be get
ting enough to eat again. As though he had over
heard her thoughts, Georgie whimpered and was
quiet again.

When she heard Al go out to do chores,
Emma burrowed a little deeper into the warm covers. Her thoughts turned to what she had to do today.
“
Oh, my goodness!
”
she groaned.
“
I completely forgot to wash Al
’
s socks and underwear last night.
”

She rolled out of bed and pulled the little tub of
water
Al
had filled the night before over the hot stove
lids.
Someday they
’
d buy a stove with a reservoir, and
she wouldn
’
t have to see that old tub on the stove all the time.

She decided to dress while the children were still
sleeping, but she had hardly buttoned her dress and put
the pins in her pug when the baby announced that he
wanted to eat—now.

Settled in the rocker with the baby at her breast, Emma thought about the team of horses again. Last
night she had been so excited about all they would do
when they got the horses, she had felt equal to any chal
lenge—even being alone with the children for another winter. But now, in the early morning gray, a knot of
fear clutched her middle at the thought of Al trudging
off to camp again.

“
I
’
ve got to talk to him,
”
she told herself.
“
I
’
ve got to
tell him how bad it was. There must be
something
w
e can do. Right after breakfast, we
’
ll talk.
”
She thought
again of her daydream about Al coming home, putting
her tenderly to bed, and saying he didn
’
t know how she
had managed to get through all those hours.

Emma sighed.
“
That sure was a dream! I can do with
out praise,
but at least he could tell me he knows I had a
rough time. I wish I could talk to Kate or Ma or someone!
”

Objects in the room were taking shape by the time the
baby had finished nursing, but Emma still nee
ded to light the lamp to see to
wash Al
’
s things. She opened
Al
’
s
turkey and took out the soggy socks and underwear.
I
’
ll
have to finish knitting his new socks before next
weekend,
she thought, as she examined a pair almost be
yond darning. She scrubbed and rinsed and wrung, scolding herself for not washing them last night. She
wrung each one until she couldn
’
t extract another drop,
then hung them on the rack behind the stove and re
minded herself to turn them often so they would be dry
by the
time
Al had to leave. If only he had enough socks and underwear that he could take clean ones and leave,
these home for her to wash during the week. But under
wear and yarn cost money.

“
Money! Money!
”
she muttered.
“
No matter where I
turn, we need money.
”
She stirred oatmeal into boiling
water and was almost done setting the table when the
boys woke up. Of course they woke Ellie, who began to
cry until she remembered Papa was home. Out she flew,
bare feet pattering across the cold floor calling,
“
Papa?
Papa?
”

“
Papa
’
s still in the barn. Come. Let
’
s get dressed be
fore he comes

“
Boys!
”
she called as she dressed Ellie.
“
I
’
ve got a sur
prise for you as soon as you
’
re dressed.
”

“
What? What?
”
they clamored.

“
I can
’
t tell you till you
’
re all done dressing.
”

They ran out of the bedroom in moments, still strug
gling with buttons.

Emma opened the little brown packet and spread the
pictures on the table.
“
See, Fred! That
’
s a train.
”

“
I want the twain,
”
he yelled grabbing it.

Luckily Albert wanted the horses, or there would have been a squabble.

Emma handed Ellie the telephone picture. Soberly
the little girl turned it over and back again, looking up at
Emma for an explanation.

“
Here,
Liebchen,
I
’
ll put it away for you. When you
’
re bigger, I
’
ll tell you all about telephones. You
’
ll like this
better.
”
She pulled out the red ribbon.
“
See! Mama
’
ll make you pretty! Let me tie it in your hair, and you
’
ll
look pretty when Papa comes in.
”
I

When it was secure Ellie patted it, eyes questioning.
Emma picked her up and l
et her see herself in the wavy,
walnut-framed mirror. The pain that shot up Emma
’
s spine almost took her breath away, but Ellie
’
s delight
was worth the cost, she told herself as she set her down.

A chorus of,
“
Papa, lo
ok! Papa look!
”
greeted Al
when he came i
n from doing chores.
Emma
felt a
twinge of envy. They never greeted her with such exuberance.

While Emma tied a flour-sack towel around Ellie
’
s
ne
ck and poured cream on her oatmeal, Ellie waved and
jabbered and fussed.

“
Eat your oatmeal now! See? Mama put sugar on it!
”
But Ellie just banged her spoon and yelled all the
more.

The boys showed Al their pictures, and he tried to tell Albert about the horses
’
har
nesses. Ellie
’
s fussing threat
ened to drown him out.

Al frowned at her.
“
Ellie! What are you yellin
’
about?
”

She pointed at the boys
’
pictures.
“
Mine! Mine!
”
she insisted.

“
Oh, for goodness
’
sake,
”
Emma said.
“
She wants her picture.
”

When Emma gave it to her, Ellie handed it to Al with
a big grin.

“
That
’
s a telephone,
”
he told her.

Fred looked puzzled.
“
What
’
s a tele . . . tele
—
”

“
Telephone,
”
Albert informed him, as though he
knew a
ll
about it.

“
Tell Fred what it is,
”
Al challenged.

“
Well ... it
’
s a ... Mama told me. . . .
”
He shrugged.
“
I forgot.
”

Al smiled.
“
A telephone,
”
he explained
between
mouthfuls of oatmeal,
“
is, well, it
’
s a ...
guess
you
’
d call
it an instrument that you use to talk to people who are
far away. See,
”
he pointed and the boys craned their
necks to look,
“
this is the receiver where you listen, and this is the mouthpiece. That
’
s what you talk into.
”

“
Did you ever see one?
”
Emma asked quietly.

“
Sure did! Watched a man talkin
’
on one in town last year. He let me listen.
”

‘“
Did it, sound
like
a
real person?
”
Albert asked.

“
Yup! Sounded far away, though, and
there was some
crackling sound,
but I
could
hear every word.
”

“
How far away was he?
”
Albert said, spoon
in the air.

“
Clear across town.
”

Emma shook her head.
“
That
’
s
hard to believe.
”

Albert wrinkled his forehead.
“
How does the
sound
get through?
”

“
I don
’
t
know
exactly, but it has something to do with electricity.
”

“
Lectricity? What
’
s that?
”

Al rolled his eyes and rubbed his chin.
“
Now, how
do
I explain that?
”
he asked Emma.
“
Well, you can
’
t see it, but it
’
s a power and it can go through wires.
Somehow
that power is changed back to the sound of the voice
again, when it gets to the telephone receiver.
”

“
Where are the wires?
”
Albert wanted to know.

“
They
’
re strung way up high on tall poles all along
the streets or roads.
”
Al spread a thick slice of bread with
butter.
“
We
’
ll have a telephone someday.
”