Free A Winter's Promise by Jeanette Gilge Page A

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    He sat down in the rocker with the baby in one arm, Ellie in the other, and one boy hanging on each knee. “ W ell, now ... you guys got anything to tell me? ”
    “ Ellie tore the catalog, ” both boys tattled in unison.
    Al frowned. “ Hey. You wouldn ’ t want anyone telling on you, would ya? ”
    Emma turned the hot Kuchen out on a clean dish towel before she explained, matter-of-factly, what had happened. Just let him yell because I gave them the cata log, she thought. He ’ ll get it with both barrels. I ’ d like to know what he ’ d have done in my place.
    She was almost disappointed when he ignored the in cident and came to the table, a little one still in each arm, dragging a boy on each leg. He told them how fast the horse pulled the homemade sleigh, while Emma poured coffee, cut the Kuchen, and took the baby. Ellie clung to Al, daring Emma to make her move.
    Albert took a drink of milk, leaving a white mustache. “ Can we get a horse and a sleigh? Can we? ”
    Al grinned and nodded. “ Yup! Pretty soon. Pretty soon. ”
    He talked on about the week ’ s work, but Emma hard ly heard him. His words were drowned, out by the screaming in her mind, What about me? What about what went on here while you were gone?
    Several times she tried to break into his monologue but, failing, retreated into silence. If he ’ d just look at me, she thought, he could see I ’ ve had trouble.
    “ Your ma sure bakes good, ” Al said to the boys, his mouth so full his words were mushy.
    Sure, that ’ s all you care about—your wants, she screamed silently.
    He held up his cup. Emma struggled to her feet, babe in her left arm, and got the coffeepot from the sto ve .
    A l glanced up at the clock. “ What on earth? The clock ’ s stopped! ”
    She nodded. “ I forgot to wind it last night. ”
    “ You forgot to wind it? ” he boomed. You ’ d think she had said she ’ d forgotten to feed the baby.
    Now was her opening. She wouldn ’ t tell him how bad it had really been. He might think she was making it worse, and he hated exaggeration.
    “ I — I had a little accident. Cora kicked me. ”
    “ What? You let old Cora kick you? ” Al slapped his knee and roared with laughter, and the children started to laugh, too. “ Emma! I ’ m surprised at you. You know, that old crosspatch! How come you let her get you? And what ’ s that got to do with the clock not being wound; anyway? ”
    Emma gulped. “ Well it happened Thursday night. I was just putting the stool down; I hadn ’ t even touched her— ”
    Al pushed back his chair and set Ellie down. “ You can tell me about it at suppertime. Looks like the snow is stopping now, so I ’ d better get some shoveling done while it ’ s still light. Wanna help me, boys? ”
    They ran to pull on overshoes and coats.
    Emma held the tears back until the three were out the door. She could hardly see to take the bread out of the oven and put the roast in. “ He could have at least set the clock before he went out, ” she sobbed.
    What a joke her daydreams had been—Al putting her to bed, urging her to rest. He hadn ’ t even come near her.
    When she thought about him not stopping at Ma and Pa ’ s, she cried some more. “ And he didn ’ t even ask if I got hurt, ” she sobbed, tears dripping into the dishwater. “ And he laughed.
    She thought of crawling back to bed, leaving the dirty dishes, the wet baby, the soggy clothes by the door, the potatoes unpeeled, and Ellie wailing by the window. But she kept plodding along, doing what needed to be done, crying all the while. About the time she thought she was c ried out, she ’ d remember Al ’ s laughter and start all over again.
    What seemed like a long while later, Albert poked his head in the door. “ Papa wants to know if supper ’ s ready, or should he do chores first? ”
    “ Tell him to do chores first. Wait! Take some water to the chickens. ” She fixed warm, not hot, water for him to carry. “ I