Free A Winter's Promise by Jeanette Gilge Page B

need water in here, too, ” she said, giving him the empty pail as well.
    While she peeled the potatoes and limp carrots, Emma planned how she would tell Al he ’ d have to stay home. She ’ d wait until the children were in bed. “ One more week, ” she ’ d say.
    There was so much she should do—carry out the ash es, shake rugs, sweep the floor. She stared out the win dow at the pale light from the barn window, feeling more lonesome than ever. The ashes and the floor could wait, she decided, and sat down with her knitting. Ellie, having given up her window watch, played contentedly with blocks beside her.
    I ’ ll tell him it just isn ’ t safe for the little ones. My heart ’ s in my throat the whole time I ’ m outside, and I can ’ t take them all with me. What would have hap pened if I had been hurt worse and couldn ’ t walk at all?
    She thought of other Saturday nights and how she ’ d bustle around cooking a good supper and tidying up the house while Al did chores. As she worked, she ’ d hum tunes that Al would play later on his accordion. She ’ d listen so hard that through the week she could hear it again. But tonight even the anticipation of the music didn ’ t thrill her.
    We ’ ve got to get this settled. It won ’ t be easy. I have to say, “ Al, I ’ ve got something important to talk about. ” He ’ ll have to listen instead of talk, for once.
    Once they got that settled, and he ’ d promised to quit next week, they could talk about other things. It would be good to hear what was going on in the world, Some times Al even bro ught a newspaper home, but not tonight. Not even a note from Ma.
    It must be time to set the table, she thought. She let Ellie put on the forks and a knife for Al and for her. Then she made a fresh pot of coffee and added a little water to the roast. The potatoes and carrots tucked around it were almost done. It smelled so good Emma could hardly wait for supper.
    “ Liebchen, Liebchen, ” she crooned as she sat down in the rocker with Ellie. “ I know how you feel. It doesn ’ t seem like Papa is ever going to get done with chores. ”
    She sang to Ellie, song after song, but her mind wasn ’ t on the words. She was thinking that she felt more lonesome now that Al was home than before. There was so much to say and no chance to say it.
    Al doesn ’ t know what it ’ s like cooped up here like a setting hen day after day. He doesn ’ t know what it ’ s like to work like crazy, so I can get back in here with the little ones. He ’ s working out there now with his mind free; he doesn ’ t have to give a thought to what ’ s going on here.
    I don ’ t care if we don ’ t have money; I can ’ t take any more of this trying to do a man ’ s work along with a woman ’ s.
    “ Mama! Sing! ” Ellie demanded.
    “ Bring them in! Bring them in! Bring them in from the fields of sin, ” Emma sang. “ Bring the wandering ones to Jesus. ”
    She sang on, while in her mind having a conversa tion with Jesus, telling Him if that He ’ d take care of this situation, she might have faith in Him again. But I can ’ t see that You ’ ve done very much lately, she told Him. Then her face flushed. I have to admit Al got home when I didn ’ t think he would. I suppose that could have been Your doing. I want to trust You, Lord. I need to trust You. I don ’ t know what I ’ m going, to do all those days after Sunday.
    Sunday was tomorrow! She saw herself bundling up Al ’ s clothes into his turkey. He ’ d swing it, up on his back, and off he ’ d trudge again. Her stomach knotted. One more week in , camp. That ’ s all!
    The baby began to cry. Emma let Ellie hold the pins while she changed him, telling her what a big, helpful girl she was.
    “ Watch for Papa and the boys, ” she urged Ellie, as she sat down to nurse George. She had barely gotten settled before she heard their voices, and Ellie was running to the door. “ Papa! Papa! ”
    They ’ ll just