Free Home Fires by Jana Richards

awake most of the night.

Chapter Ten
    Anne stoked the fire in the woodstove and prayed she’d given it the correct amount of fuel this time. If it was the last thing she did, she’d tame the iron beast. In the month since her wedding she’d subjected the family to both burnt offerings and undercooked meals.
    Sometimes she felt overwhelmed by all she needed to learn to be a farm wife. Thank goodness the family was patient with her. More than anything, she wanted to make Erik proud of her.
    Ingrid stepped into the kitchen carrying two pails of milk. Anne took them from her and poured them into the separator. Most days she helped with the milking and was pleased she was getting faster. By summer she’d be able to take over the job from Ingrid when she married John and moved to her own farm with him. Perhaps that would help ease some of Erik’s worry about his sister’s impending move. She knew he was concerned, not because he’d told her but because Ingrid had. She wished he’d share his thoughts and his worries with her. She remembered heated discussions in her parents’ home as they hashed out decisions about money, about which schools to send her and her sister to, about what to have for dinner. They’d talked about everything together, shared worries and fears. That was the kind of marriage she wanted.
    But Erik was determined to keep his troubles to himself. Was he trying to spare her, or did he not trust her enough to tell her? Either way, she didn’t like it.
    Astrid and Erik entered the house a few moments later, Astrid carrying two more pails of milk. She set them on the floor next to the separator.
    “The bread smells good,” she said. “When is it ready to come out of the oven?”
    “In about ten minutes.”
    “Wonderful! I can hardly wait to taste it.”
    Anne finished separating the milk, then put the milk and cream cans into the porch, where they would stay cool. She took apart the pieces of the separator so she could wash them.
    Astrid checked the clock. “It looks like it’s time to take the bread out, Anne.”
    She used her oven mitts to pull the loaves from the oven and set them on the door. They had risen majestically in the pans and were a lovely shade of brown, their tops shiny from the egg white she’d brushed over them.
    Astrid rapped the top of each loaf with her knuckles. A hollow echo sounded.
    “Perfect,” she said. “The first batch that you mixed, kneaded, and baked yourself. Well done.”
    “With a lot of help from you. I hope it tastes as good as it looks.”
    Ingrid squeezed her arm. “It will, I’m sure of it. I’m so proud of you, Anne. I knew we could make a farm girl out of you.”
    Anne laughed and thanked her. She looked to Erik, who was seated at the table, watching her. He smiled, but said nothing. She turned away, disappointed. Why couldn’t he acknowledge she’d done something right for a change? Why couldn’t he tell her he loved her?
    It was only in their bedroom at night that, with passionate kisses and tender touches, Erik showed her he cared for her. The rest of the time she felt he was holding a part of himself back from her.
    She wanted all of him, not just bits and pieces.
    Perhaps it was up to her to make the first move. Maybe she’d have to take a leap of faith and be the first one to whisper “I love you” in the night.
    ****
    The windows rattled as the north wind vented its fury on the small farmhouse. It howled through the trees protecting the yard, whipping snowbanks into frothy peaks. For the past three days the wind had pummeled the farm, making the short walk to the barn cold and perilous. It was easy to get disoriented in the white-out conditions. Erik had heard stories of farmers becoming lost between their house and their barn, walking out into a field where they froze to death. Some farmers tied clothesline between the two buildings so they had something to use as a guide during a blizzard. Even during inclement weather the cows needed