A Winter's Promise Read Online Free Page B

certain that he was even aware of her, yet she thought she felt his eyes follow her as she helped her mother cook supper it was li ke she was seeing her self working, and she was conscious of every move. She wished she we re graceful and beautiful, with wavy black hair a nd big brown eyes, instead of straight brown hair and plain old average-size blue eyes.
    A t least she wasn ’ t ugly. She ’ d heard Pa say to Ma one night, when they thoug ht she had gone up to bed, that Emma w as getting to be a real pretty girl. When Ma agreed, Em ma ’ s eyes filled with tears. Ma wasn ’ t one to compliment her children, for fear they ’ d get prideful . A nd once her friend Hattie had said she wished she had a nose like Emma ’ s, so she knew her nose must be all right. And one time her older brother, Fred, had said his girl had a complexion almost as clear as Emma ’ s. So whenever she was getting ready to go out to a gathering, she ’ d pull these comforting thoughts out of her memo ry bank to bolster her confidence.
    Emma recalled how she had joined Ma in the front ro om with her knitting that night, after the dishes were done , and stole glances at the men as they talked at the kitchen table.
    “ The tallest one, ” Ma whispered, “ That ’ s Al Verleger. I ’ ve he ard some good talk about him. He ’ s no ordinary man. You take notice of him, girl. ”
    Take notice she did. Glancing up from her knitting, she had managed to record a whole catalog of details — the deep dimple in his chin, arms too long for his shirt, his hearty, but not boisterous laugh, his air of confidence in who he was and where he was headed. Al Verleger. So that ’ s who he is.
    She told her mother where she had seen him before, on the hayride. “ When we got to the top of the hill and stopped to let the oxen rest, he pulled out his accordian and played and sang. One song I never forgot — ’ The Maple on the Hill. ’ I wonder where he ’ s been since then. ”
    “ I heard he ’ s been working with the surveyors down around Tomahawk in the summer and in the logging camp in winter. ”
    He had left that day without so much as a glance in her direction, and Emma didn ’ t see him again for sever al months—not until just before that awful square dance.
    The baby stirred and whimpered, and Emma scooped him out of the cradle be fore he could disturb the other children.
    Got to stop day dreaming and think about what ’ s ahead of me today.
     
    Three
The Empty Road
    Emma perched precariously on the edge of the chair, keeping the weight off her spine, and ate her oatmeal with the children. She tried to see the snow-covered road out of the window—the frost had melted a few inches.
    It was rare that anyone used the road, especially with all the men in the lumber camp for the win ter. It wasn ’ t likely Grandpa would come today. He never came two days in a row. But surely someone else would come. Maybe Clara Geber would walk over, as she often did in summer, Emma mused, but then—Clara was fourteen now and worked like a grown woman. Her mother would hardly let her go gadding off on a busy weekday.
    Little Fred bounced on the bench behind the table. “ Papa ’ s Coming home today! ” he told Ellie.
    “ Papa! Papa! ” Ellie squealed, waving a spoonful of oatmeal.
    Before Emma could catch her hand, the sticky gob landed on Fred ’ s head. He reached u p and got it on his hand and le t out a wail.
    Jaws clenched, Emma hobbled to the washstand for a cloth. “ No, Papa ’ s not coming home today, ” she told Fred as she wiped the oatmeal out of his hair. Fred wailed louder, and Albert gave him a shove. “ Crybaby! He ’ ll be home tomorrow. ”
    Emma ignored their shoving and kicking. I ’ ll have to get diapers washed today, she told herself. Can ’ t wait for someone to come and carry water. Maybe I could let the boys carry in snow to melt for wash water. “ Boys! Stop fighting! I ’ ve got an idea. ”
    Albert listened, but