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?
Eight
Bittersweet Beauty
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
“ 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?
Eight
Bittersweet Beauty
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
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