by Naomi Musch
He had to tell her. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Rilla is fine, at least I think so. Actually, there's another reason why I came. I wanted to tell you and Theo our news."
Her eyes widened as though she sensed what was to come.
"Rilla's pregnant."
She pushed back her chair and rose, stepping toward him. "Oh, Lang!"
He stood up and allowed her to embrace him.
"That's wonderful news!" She stepped back, but her hands held his arms. "Why didn't you say so sooner?"
He shrugged. "I didn't know how to say it."
"Oh, you silly man. Things like that you just holler from the roof tops." She plopped back down and cupped her chin in her hand with her elbow on the table, so he sat too. "My little sister..." She smiled back at him. "You devil."
"Hey now."
She laughed, and the sound was like springtime. "You tell Rilla I'm coming over tomorrow to hear all about it. We're going to plan a baby trousseau."
He reached for his coffee and shook his head. "Women." He drank down the rest of his cup's contents while Delia chattered on about how exciting it was and all they had to do for Rilla. He agreed as best he could, wondering all the while and imagining the enthusiasm he'd feel over Delia having his baby and realizing it could be her and Theo having a child. He pushed back from the table. "Thank you for the coffee. I suppose I'd better be on my way."
She followed him to the door. "Thank you again, for sharing your news, Lang."
"We haven't told anyone. Shucks, she just told me last night."
"Really? Then I'm the first?" She hugged him again. "That's even more exciting. I can't wait to tell Theo."
He pulled on his cap and gave her a nod. "Yes, tell him for me. And tell him to stop on by to talk about whatever it was on his mind."
"I will. Please kiss Rilla for me."
"I'll be sure and do that." He turned into the cold, thinking again of Delia's lush, full lips.
Chapter Eleven
July 1916
Marilla carried the heavy churn across her mother's porch and sat it on the floor in front of her chair just as Delia came out of the house. "Rilla! You shouldn't be lifting things like that."
At eight months along, Marilla couldn't imagine how she could get any bigger. She lowered herself into the chair with a hand to her back. "I know, but it's got to get done. I plan to take an extra-large batch of butter to Hessman's market tomorrow."
"Isn't Lang doing that for you?"
"He doesn't have time. He's been clearing the lot behind the cabin. I don't want him to pull back on doing that just to run errands for me."
"You can't be riding on that wagon either. You'll have my niece or nephew on the roadside."
Marilla smiled, though she felt weary, and the very thought of a wagon ride tomorrow made her body ache. "I doubt it'll happen like that. Mama says she labored with both you and me for a full twenty hours."
Delia frowned. "I certainly hope you have to do no such thing." She shook her head. "I know you're anxious for Lang to get more done on the property so you can build a house, but really, Marilla, you should let him take care of you right now."
She would, but Lang didn't often do things to take care of her. Last winter, when he had first learned she was pregnant, he did. He had shoveled the paths and carried in the water. He had taken over all her milking, but as the months waned and the warmer weather arrived, he did less. He still milked alone in the morning so she could use the time to fix him a good breakfast, but she often walked over to the farm with him for evening chores. That activity would cease soon, however, as she could barely squat down on her three-legged stool to reach the cows' udders. How could she tell Delia Lang had lost interest?
It seemed the bigger she grew, the less he hovered over her. He'd stopped making love to her altogether, even though she had insisted it wouldn't hurt her or the baby. He sometimes looked at her in a way that made her think he wanted her, but he didn't tell her he loved her ever, unless she coaxed the words out of him. Things would change once the baby was born. She was sure of it. He was nervous, that was all. She would make him love her again, like he had when they'd first married.
"Lang takes care of me as much as he's able. I'm not an invalid just because I'm pregnant." She plunged the dasher up and down with vigor.
Delia rolled her eyes. "You're just as stubborn as ever. I'm going out to collect the eggs. When I get back, you're going to let me take a turn at the churn."
"Whatever you say, bossy big sister of mine." She raised a brow and with it gave Delia a scolding grin.
The next day, sticking to her plan, she loaded the crates of butter and eggs packed in straw into the wagon. Sometimes she wished they had a motor car. Lang talked about his desire to get one, but Rilla was afraid if they spent the money they had saved on an automobile, it would prolong the time before they could begin building their home. With a baby coming, it would be nice to have the extra space a house would afford. At least their child would stay an infant for some time. She didn't really mind the idea of the baby sleeping in their room with them.
After two tries, she pulled herself onto the wagon and sat down with a gasp. Lifting the reins, she headed into town. Other than the bumping along on the dirt road, it was a pleasant drive, a nice change of pace to making butter or doing housework. Twenty minutes later she rolled into town and parked in front of Hessman's.
Jacob stepped out of the store as she was climbing down. "Wait, wait, Rilla. Let me help you." He held out his hand for hers and steadied her as she lowered herself to the ground with as much grace and aplomb as she could manage.
"Thank you, Jacob."
A frown creased his brow as she turned to face him. "You should not have come alone. You must be nearing your time."
"I have a few more weeks yet, believe it or not. I know I look like I'm about to burst."
He reached for one of the crates in the wagon bed. "You look just fine, Marilla. Don't fool yourself into thinking you are less than lovely in your state."
She warmed. It was a kind thing to say. Even Lang had not spoken so since May at least.
He gave her a warning glance. "Do not lift that other crate. I will come back for it."
She didn't argue. She followed him into the store and looked at some fabric, while he brought in the other crate. "This is pretty." She stroked a bolt of baby blue.
"It just arrived on the last shipment. You should take some for a blanket for your little one."
"What if it's a girl?"
"Girls can wear blue." He gave her a nod, indicating the full blue skirt she wore. "Girls with blue eyes, especially." His glance was pointed.
"You are right, I guess. Perhaps I will take a yard or two."
"I will let it be a baby gift."
She turned to face him. "No, Jacob. Mark it against my credit."
He fidgeted with his notebook but didn't try to change her mind. "I have something else for you."
She didn't want him giving her gifts. It was wrong. She tilted her head, about to speak, but he held up his hand.
"It is something from your husband. An order that came in."
"Oh?" What could it be? A tool of some kind probably. Something for her father perhaps, that Lang had taken care of purchasing. "What is it?"
"I'll be right back." Jacob stepped behind a curtain into the back room and returned a minute later carrying a rocking chair. The curtain fell back into place behind him as he hefted it into the store.
"Oh my goodness! Is that it?"
He nodded as he set it on the tight floor space between his displays. "He sent for it about two months ago. It arrived yesterday. He said you were uncomfortable in the hard kitchen chairs. That he wished he could get you something better."
"This is better." Awe crept out of her voice. The wooden rocker was padded and covered with dark red fabric, embroidered with gold thread. She braced her hands on the armrest and lowered herself, trying it out. A burn grew in her eyes. She blinke
d it away as she rocked. "Oh, Lang," she whispered. Coming to herself, she moved to rise, and Jacob rushed around the chair to lend assistance. He gave her a look but said nothing as he picked up the chair and carried it out the door.
She admitted it now. She feared losing Lang. Yet, just when she thought he cared nothing at all, he'd done this kind, even loving, thing.
~~~~~
It was the least he could do. She struggled to sleep, to get up from the bed, and even to sit at the kitchen table. She stood hunched over the sink while she worked. It all sickened him. He had done this to her, and for what? Lust. He didn't love her. Not enough anyway. He sickened himself. Yet feeling so didn't change anything. His want for Delia's affection hadn't waned. He would do anything for her. Love her fully, if she let him.
But she didn't. Meanwhile there was Rilla, crying out for a depth of love he couldn't give.
He set the chair in the corner nearest the kitchen stove, where she could rest while she cooked. Later, when the baby came, it would be a pleasant corner for them in which to rock together. Rilla's mother had taken a cradle from the attic of their house, and she had filled it with warm blankets for the baby. The cradle was in their room now, but later he would build a bed for the child out here near the rocker.
For the first time, he considered "later." Once the child came and grew a little bit, he would have Rilla back. She'd be slender again and even pretty. Maybe they would get on again like they used to.
"What do you think?" He stepped back from the chair. She folded her arms over the shelf of her belly and looked at it. "I love it, Lang. Thank you." She startled him with a kiss on his cheek. Then she took a seat and rocked. She hummed as though the baby was already in her arms. She had so much to go through before that happened, it frightened him.
"Sometimes I'm sorry." The words escaped him.
She stopped rocking and stared. "For what?"
"For marrying you. For doing this to you."
"Lang."
"I don't want you to suffer."
"Lang... It's the most natural thing in the world."
"Women die in child birth." He looked away. He shouldn't have said it, but she took it in without speaking a word. "I just want you to be okay."
"I am okay. Lang, when people fall in love and marry, it's bound to happen. It's a good thing. I want children."
He looked at her again, thinking thoughts he had to keep. It hadn't happened to Delia. Didn't she want children? Didn't Theo?
Her brow curled. "Didn't you want children?"
"Of course. Eventually."
"We can't always choose the time. God chooses the time."
God. Did God choose this above Lang's wishes? He took in a deep breath and rubbed his forehead with the knuckle of his thumb. "Then you really are all right with this?"
She chuckled. "It would be too late now to say otherwise. But yes. I'm all right. I want to give you a child. You'll be a wonderful father, Lang."
Would he? He hadn't spent much time considering what kind of father he'd make. He wasn't sure.
Every time he came to the house after that, if she wasn't cooking a meal or out by the water pump, struggling to launder his clothes, or even sleeping, exhausted, he would find her sitting in the rocking chair, stroking her bulging belly, sometimes with eyes closed or sometimes while she read a book. Sometimes she rocked and knitted or stitched at more little garments. The fact a baby would soon be part of their lives grew more and more real.
It happened late in the night near the end of August. She woke him with a gentle shake, and he thought it was time to get up for the morning milking. His head felt weighted, as though he had just fallen asleep. It was one a.m.
"I think it's time, Lang." Her breaths were staggered, pulling him into sudden wakefulness.
"I'll take you to your mother's." They hadn't discussed just what they would do when her time came. He had just assumed the pains would come upon her easily at first, in the bright of day, and then they'd gather her bags and go to the hospital.
"I need you to get the wagon ready."
"But—"
"Go do it, Lang." She rested on the pillow, closing her eyes.
He hurried out of bed and pulled on his pants. He ran out the door with his shirt unbuttoned. The wagon? She couldn't ride in the wagon to have a baby. He looked up the dark road. He should get her mother. He ran to the farm and through the door, calling for Rilla's mother. Mr. and Mrs. Eckert staggered into the dark. Mr. Eckert carried a lamp, and both of them wore worried expressions.
"Rilla is having the baby."
Her mother livened, even though she sighed in apparent relief Lang hadn't hollered the house was on fire. "How long has it been?"
He gave a small shake of his head and lifted his shoulder. "I don't know. She just woke me."
Mrs. Eckert laid her hands on his shoulders and turned him around. "It will likely take some time. Go down the road to Delia's. Have Theo get a car and meet you. Then go home to Marilla. I will go there now." She turned back to her bedroom, already busy.
Rilla's father gave him a nod. "Get going."
Theo was at the cabin with the motorcar half an hour later. Lang climbed into the backseat, and Rilla's mother helped her settle in the front seat with Theo. She kissed her daughter's cheek and waved. "You'll be fine, Rilla. Your father and I will be there waiting."
Rilla nodded jerkily and panted.
"Let's get a move on," Lang said.
He'd drunk a bucket of coffee by the time he was presented with his son at noon the next day. The wrinkled, pink-skinned infant was a stranger he didn't know what to do with.
"Just snuggle him close, Lang," Delia urged as he struggled to find a way to adjust the small bundle. She moved Lang's arms closer to his body. For a moment, it felt like it was their child, but only for a moment. Then the strangeness returned.
"What's his name?" Rilla's mother asked.
His name? He hadn't given it a thought.
"Will you call him Langdon Junior?"
He glimpsed Delia's smiling face but shook his head and looked at the baby again. "I'll have to ask Rilla what she wants."
"You mean she hasn't said?" Delia's exasperation was followed with a giggle. "I suppose that sounds like her. Still, I'm sure she has an opinion."
Would she? Rilla had a strong mind of her own, but there was much of it he was not privy to. Why had they never talked about what they would call the boy?
A boy. A new kind of self-doubt washed through Lang. He looked at the sleeping baby again. A soft bit of down covered his head. It was fair like Rilla's. Not golden like Delia's, but lighter than his own dark head. The infant turned its head and suckled its fist. Its chin reminded Lang of his own younger brother, deepening the reality.
He had a son.
Chapter Twelve
November 1916
The congregational singing had begun. Marilla stood at the end of a pew along the right side of the church with baby Emmett tucked in her arms. She sang the memorized words without the need of a hymnal, continuing the verse as she scooted over when Delia and Theo appeared at her side. Delia leaned close to peer at the sleeping baby. "So sweet," she whispered. Theo tilted his head with a smile, acknowledging Marilla and whatever it was his wife had said. The singing ended, the pastor stepped forward, and the congregation took their seats. "Lang still at the farm?" Delia whispered as they adjusted themselves in the wooden pew.
Marilla nodded. Lang hadn't attended church much since Emmett was born. He was tired all the time. His sleep was often broken and cut short by her and Emmett getting up in the night, and a short time later, after they'd fallen back to sleep, he rose sluggishly to slip out and head to the farm. Sometimes he would come home at lunchtime or before and try to grab a short nap before the next round of chores. On Sundays, he returned home just before it was time to leave for worship. He complained he hadn't time to get ready and would just as soon sleep. Marilla didn't like attending church alone, but at least she was su
re to see Delia and her parents in attendance.
Delia slipped her arm through Theo's. Theo couldn't always come either. His railroad job took him away some Sundays. He worked less on his family farm lately, but at least he had his job with the Omaha Road railroad.
Emmett fussed, and Marilla tried bouncing him. As the pastor began preaching, Emmett wiggled more. Any moment now, Marilla's milk would come in. Some days she felt like a dairy cow herself. With a sigh, she excused herself and slipped past her sister and brother-in-law to take the baby down to the basement where she could feed him. She seldom got to take in much of the sermon, and sometimes she wondered why she even bothered coming.
She took a seat in the corner of the church kitchen, covered herself with Emmett's blanket, and unbuttoned her blouse. Emmett settled in and latched on. Truth be told, she knew why she bothered coming. She was lonesome. At least she was able to visit with her friends and family—aside from these still, quiet moments in the church basement nursing her baby.
Too bad she couldn't ask Delia to come down and visit with her. Marilla was the only nursing mother present. There was no one to join her. She would have liked to sit with Delia without any chores to fill either of their hands except for feeding Emmett. She wished Delia had a baby too. Then they would both be able to sit here together without excuse and pass the time while they fed and burped and changed diapers. She should ask Delia to come to her home for a visit soon.
The service had almost ended by the time she finished Emmett's feeding. She stood in the back and listened as the congregation rose to their feet for the final hymn and the pastor's closing prayer. The congregation dismissed. She was greeted by neighbors and friends as they moved past her.
"How is that baby doing?"
"Say hello to Langdon. We hope we'll see him soon."
"Did I hear that husband of yours is buying a car?"
"Have you been comfortable in that little house? It's wonderful how you've fixed it up."
