by Naomi Musch
She drove past the cabin and straight to the end of the road where Delia's house sat tall and shaded among the trees. What an enchanting home. Lang had finished clearing ground for their own house, and he had been selecting and cutting trees for lumber. The man from the sawmill said the boards needed to dry for a long time, so she didn't see how they could begin building this year before the harvest. However, there would be no reason not to begin by next spring. The new baby would be here by then, so Marilla would be able to help too.
She found Delia in her sewing room, studying the details of a new Butterick pattern. "Here you are. Didn't you hear me knocking?"
"I did, but I looked out the window and saw your car, so I knew you'd find me. What do you think of this?" She held up the instructional sheet and a folded piece of fabric.
"I love it. How about I buy some material and you make one for me for after the baby is born?"
"Would you like that?" Delia smiled her usual warm smile. "I'll do it if you want me to."
Marilla sighed. "I haven't had a new dress in ages. I just keep letting out material and adding pieces to my old ones."
"Well, I'd be happy to be in your place."
Though her voice wasn't sharp or bitter, Marilla felt her pain. Delia had told her more than once how she wished she'd been able to have a baby before Theo went away. Then his departure might have been easier to bear. He might not have even chosen to enlist.
"I'm sorry, Delia. I do have something that might make you feel better." She withdrew the letter from her dress pocket. "It's from Texas."
Delia's eyes lit up, and she rushed to open the envelope, scanning the first lines. "Theo's in Texas," she said, as though they both hadn't already figured that out. "He says he's in Waco, and he's been assigned to a group once called the Iron Jaw division during the Civil War."
"I bet he's excited about that."
Delia read on to herself. Her whole being softened as she soaked up her husband's words, her expression full of longing. "He still doesn't know when they'll ship out. They haven't been told. He said he'll write as often as he can." A weak smile played on her lips, and her eyes grew glassy, as she finished the letter and folded it. She picked up a scrap of fabric and wiped beneath her eyes. "I'm sorry."
Marilla laid a hand upon her back and rubbed. "Don't be sorry. I don't know how I would manage if Lang was gone. You've held up well so far."
"Do you think so?"
"We all do."
"Truthfully, I don't know what I would do if you didn't loan me Langdon so often. Between him and Theo's younger brother, I don't have to worry about next winter, because they've been cutting my firewood whenever they can."
"And I suppose Archie too?"
Delia strolled to the window and stared out, then looked back at Marilla over her shoulder. "Yes. He's here a lot. More than Lang would like. More than I like."
"So you know he likes you. I mean...in that way."
"Of course I know. He makes no secret. But you must understand." She put her hands on her chest, pressing the letter to her heart. "There could never be anyone but Theo. I wish he believed me."
Marilla sighed, relieved to hear her say so. She knew Archie wasn't Delia's type, so why had she been worried in the first place? She shouldn't have been. Delia would be true to Theo. She would never think of another. Why...why then was it such a relief to hear?
Delia turned back to the window and gazed into the sunlight streaking through the treetops. "He's a nice man, and I really shouldn't complain. Just a red-blooded American boy, I guess. But I'll be glad when he leaves. I think Langdon will too."
~~~~~
"I'm going to need the motor car today, Rilla." Lang buttoned a shirt over his chest and plopped onto the edge of the bed to tug on his socks.
Marilla laid down her hairbrush and turned to face him. "I was going to take the butter to Jacob's store, though I haven't sold as much lately. His clientele has declined since the war began."
"It's a shame." He pushed aside the curtain that hung across their bedroom door separating it from the main room. "Anyway, if your butter can wait..." She walked into the main room ahead of him.
Archie stood by the stove, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "I can take you if you have to go somewhere, Rilla. Sorry, I didn't mean to overhear." He indicated the thin curtain.
Lang rolled up his shirt-sleeves. "Could you? She wants to deliver her butter, but I have to see a man about some parts up in Hayward."
"Oh, but Archie probably wants to go along with you."
Archie shrugged. "I'll get to places north eventually. I don't mind taking you on your errands, Rilla."
She looked to Lang. "When will you go?"
"After morning chores."
"Is my father going along?"
Lang shook his head and got his own coffee. "No. He and your mother are butchering chickens."
She looked at Archie. "I suppose. If you don't mind, I would like to deliver the butter. Can we do it before the day gets too warm?"
"I'll help Lang milk those cows. Then you and I can go to town."
"All right." She stepped next to Lang and reached for a cup. "What time will you be home?"
"I shouldn't be away too long. I'll see you by supper time." He kissed her forehead and left the house with his cup in hand.
"Hey, wait for me."
Archie ran out behind him. "You skipped breakfast."
"Sorry about that. Wasn't too hungry today, I guess." The men got in the car and drove the short way to the farm in the early dawn silence, while Archie closed his eyes. Lang liked the solitude. He was glad Archie had volunteered to take Rilla to town. It would keep him out of the way for a while. He wanted to get over to Delia's before he left for Hayward. Rilla had told him about Theo's letter. In a perfect world, Lang would convince Delia to ride along to Hayward with him, but he doubted the possibility of her agreeing. Still, he couldn't let the letter go without mention.
He knocked on her screen door two hours later. The sun had risen, and the dew was still on the grass. The morning smelled fresh and promising. He could hear her humming inside.
She appeared around the corner from her kitchen, dressed for the day, her hair all prettied up. "Hi, Lang. Come on in. What are you doing out and about so early?"
He stepped into her kitchen, holding the screen door so it would close quietly on its spring hinge. "I've got an errand to run, but you look like you're all ready to go somewhere." It was purely a compliment. She always looked ready to take on the world.
She waved off the remark. "Not me. I've got nowhere to go."
Dare he say what he wanted to? "You could drive on up to Hayward with me if you want. Nothing exciting. Just for some parts for your Father, but I've got an empty seat if you care to ride shotgun."
"Archie isn't with you?"
He shook his head. "Nah. He didn't feel like going today. He's going to help Rilla haul her goods to town."
"That's nice of him." Her brow lifted. "You can trust your friend with my little sister?"
Lang laughed. Trust Archie with Rilla? "Rilla would slap him before she let him lay a hand on her. He said so himself."
Delia laughed too. "Yes, you're probably right about that. So...what did you stop for?" She reached for a dishtowel and picked up a glass from the sideboard next to the sink.
"I heard you got a letter from Theo."
She wiped the glass, set it down, and leaned back against the sink. "Yes."
"Is he all right?"
She nodded, knotting the dishtowel in her hands.
"How about you?"
She nodded again, but tears sprang up. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I cry. He's all right.” Her voice wavered. "I just miss him, I guess."
Then it happened. What he hoped for. She stepped forward, and he did too. His arms opened, and she leaned into them, resting her head on his shoulder. Let her cry there all day if she wanted. He'd not move any sooner than he could help it.
He patted her fir
st on the shoulder, cooing. Then, before she could be completely assuaged, he lifted his hand to her hair. It felt like silk, just as he had imagined it would. He caressed it, and his heart swelled with a great ache that pressed against his chest. Longing built inside him. She started to raise her head, but he gentled it down again, wanting this thing to linger. Finally, though, she straightened, but she was still in his arms. He was going to lose her any second.
He leaned closer, and their eyes caught. The scent of her lingered in his nostrils, the heat of her body still warmed him. He kissed her forehead. An array of expression passed across her face in a moment. Sadness, worry, loneliness. Her lips moved, and a world of longing filled him, a vision of all they could have together. Then she stepped back with a gasp.
"I'm sorry." Jerking, she turned away for another dish to dry.
She had no reason to be sorry. No right to be. Lang wasn't sorry. He stood his ground, watching her wiping dishes that appeared already dry. "I'm not. I'm here for you, Delia."
There.
He came behind her and touched her waist, but she flew like a trapped bird out of his touch. "I don't think I'm up to a drive today. I have things to do." She raised her eyes to look at him. "You should go, so you won't be away from Rilla for long."
He stared at her a moment longer, until he could feel her wariness growing. He didn't want that. "Yes. I'd better hit the road. Good bye, Delia." He turned, and she walked behind him to the door, but when he paused to open it and glanced at her again, she had stayed back, effectively erecting a wall between them.
He didn't have her. Not yet. But maybe now she knew she was what he wanted.
Chapter Nineteen
September 1917
Everyone was present around the dining table in the Eckert's kitchen. Marilla and Lang had joined them along with their guest Archie, who didn't seem inclined to leave now that summer had ended. Delia took dinners with them often, and she sat across from Marilla next to their friend. Marilla's father lifted his head from saying grace. With a pang, she thought about how seldom she and Lang prayed over their meals together at home. Since Archie's arrival, they rarely even went to church together. Lang and Archie did chores on the farm in the mornings and were never finished in time to join Marilla and Delia and their parents at service, even if they could have been. But, did it matter?
Despite an occasional prayer murmured when she was alone, Marilla had felt distanced from God for a long time, almost since her and Lang first married. Certainly since Emmett's birth. She spooned a sloppy bite of mashed carrots into Emmett's mouth and tried to remember if that was when things had changed. When had she first begun to drift? She really couldn’t recall. It didn't matter anyhow. What mattered right this minute was that Archie sat among them looking dour. She didn't have to wait long to find out what his reason was.
"I have something to tell you all." He reached into his shirt pocket and removed a folded square of paper. The edges had worn thin and dirtied. If it was a letter, how long had he kept it there in his pocket? He unfolded it and then turned it to face him. "I guess they've finally managed to catch up to me."
Lang's expression stiffened.
"Who?" Marilla didn't understand.
"Uncle Sam's minions. The Selective Service."
She lowered Emmett's spoon, and he erupted in a gurgle of dissatisfaction. "You've been drafted?"
He smirked. "Not drafted. Selected. Sounds nobler, doesn't it?"
Mrs. Eckert frowned and lowered her head. "I am sorry to hear this, Archie." She raised sad eyes to him again.
"Thank you, Mrs. Eckert. I feel the same." He refolded the paper and tucked it back into his pocket. "I figured even though I kept to the law and registered, it would be some time before the paperwork caught up to me. Vain hopes I guess."
Delia took a slow bite, worry pressing her brows into a line.
"You can be sure of one thing though." Archie turned sideways to look at Delia, pulling her gaze upward to him. "If I run into that husband of yours over there in France, I'm going to punch him right in the nose."
Her eyes widened. Delia had gotten word at last that Theo was shipping out to France any day. They didn't know where or when, or what he would be doing between now and the next time he was able to send a letter out.
"Why he would up and leave a pretty wife like you without Uncle Sam forcing his hand, I'll never know. I think somebody ought to bring him to his senses."
"I'm certain by now he's figured that out," said Marilla's mother.
Marilla peeked at Lang who watched Delia but said nothing. Perhaps he was hoping, as they all must be, that Theo would remain safe wherever he was sent. Safe enough for Archie to find him and give him that punch in the nose even.
Delia pushed her plate away. "I can't eat. I hate this war!" She shoved her chair back and rose. Then she rushed to the door and fled from the house.
Glances passed around the table, and Lang rose. He touched Marilla's shoulders, settling her. "You stay here. I'll go after her."
"Maybe you should let her—"
Her words were cut off as he hurried out, the door shutting forcibly in his wake. At eight cumbersome months pregnant, she would have trouble catching up to her sister anyway.
Archie seemed penitent. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said such a thing. I don't know what gets hold of my tongue sometimes. The devil, I guess."
Marilla's father held a pork chop in his fingers. "She'll be all right. She's as worried about you as she is Theodore right now. It's hard on everyone, seeing our boys go off to war."
Rilla resumed feeding Emmett, who seemed to wear more carrots than he ate. She scraped his chin with a spoon while she spoke. "When will you have to go?"
"Says I'll need to report in two weeks."
"You'll be here to celebrate Emmett's birthday." She glanced at him with a warm smile. "He'll miss his new uncle Archie."
Archie's smile was amiable, accepting the compliment. "I'll miss that little fellow too. We were going to be bunk mates."
"I'm afraid you'd not like sharing your cot with Emmett for long."
They all laughed. They had finished eating by the time Lang returned. He had driven Delia home. She didn't want to stay, she said. She just needed time alone.
Marilla reached for his hand and squeezed it beneath the table, grateful again her husband hadn't wanted to run off to war like Theo had. "Thank goodness you were able to calm her down."
The next day she rode into town with Archie again. He had been an unusual man to get used to, but as the past several months had gone by, Archie had grown to feel like her friend as much as Langdon's. Once upon a time, Lang had said Marilla reminded him of his sister Bethia. Maybe she reminded Archie of a sister too. She decided she might even ask him about it as they left the house in his car.
"Do you have any sisters, Archie?"
He cocked a brow at her. "One. What makes you ask?"
"I was just wondering. Is she older or younger than you?"
"Older by eight years."
"You weren't close then?"
He shrugged, both hands on top of the steering wheel. "Not really. She was busy chasing after boys by the time I was old enough to pay much attention." Archie winked at Marilla. "Not that you would know much about that sort of thing. I'm betting you must not have ever gone steady with a fellow other than Langdon."
She tilted her chin and gave him a mischievous look. "You're right about that, and I'm not ashamed to admit it."
Archie laughed and hit a rut in the road.
She held onto her belly. "Ouch! Ouch!"
"You aren't going to have that baby in my car, are you?"
"Heavens, I hope not." She cringed again. "You just make sure and mind the road."
He gripped the steering wheel tighter and leaned forward, staring ahead. She laughed again. Best to reassure him. "These are false labor pains. Not the real thing. But I wouldn't mind if you could go a little slower." She nestled back into the seat and cast him a grin.
"I'll have to pray for your future wife if you're going to be a wreck about it."
"Hey! Let's not marry me off too soon all right?"
She cocked her head at him. "Why aren't you married anyway?"
He smirked and glanced out the side window.
"Really. Why not? You're...handsome, I suppose."
He barked a laugh. "Well thank you...I suppose. Gee, you really have a way of making a fellow feel good about himself." He smiled at her. "I guess I haven't found a girl like you, that's all."
Marilla warmed. She certainly hadn't expected him to return the compliment. "That's nice of you to say, but I'm no catch."
"What makes you say that? I admit you were a little out of sorts the day I arrived, and I didn't see past your work dress and apron. But you're pretty, Rilla. Don't you know that?"
Now she did blush. She didn't need a mirror to tell. Heat crept up her neck and over her face. Another contraction kept her quiet. As it passed, she grabbed hold of the nerve to look at him again. "I don't feel very pretty."
"You're going to have that baby soon. Then you'll feel like yourself again."
Truthfully, how long had it been since she'd felt pretty? Was the last time on her wedding day?
"Lang tells you you're pretty, I bet."
Her heart clenched. She shook her head. He glanced at her once and then again. "Did you shake your head?"
She nodded.
"Wait a second. Lang doesn't tell you you're pretty? Is that what you're telling me?"
She looked long at him. "We've been married almost two years. Why should he? It's not as though we're courting anymore."
Archie frowned and stared at the road ahead. After a while, he spoke again. "Tell me about Lang and you, how you met, how he started courting you. He hasn't told me anything. I found out he was married when I got to town to look him up."
She shifted her bulk and then told him the tale of Lang's arrival at her father's farm, and how hard he worked, and that she'd set her heart on him before he had even noticed her, kid that she was, but how he finally caught on. "It was right after Theo and Delia's wedding."
