by Naomi Musch
"You don't say," he murmured. Then Archie fell quiet the rest of the way to town.
~~~~~
Lang picked up Theo's last letter lying on Delia's kitchen table as soon as she left the room. Her voice rose sounding like a silver chime, laughing in the back sewing room with Rilla. He glanced toward the door once, but it sounded like they would be in there for a while. He opened the page and read, skipping over greetings.
It looks like we'll be on our way, maybe by the time you get this. No one tells us anything. Top secret, you know. At any rate, it sure looks like this is it. The word is that our side is holed up strong at the Hindenburg Line, somewhere on the German western front. You remember me reading to you about the Battle of the Somme last year? Near there, I guess. If they get through that line, who knows, it might be all over before our division gets there, so don't you worry about a thing. They can't hang on forever with our boys pushing them back.
But that's not what you want to hear about. Oh, my sweet Delia, darling, I miss you. I miss you so much it hurts sometimes. It's like a cold ache in the center of my body that spreads out to my toes and fingertips. I just want to hold you...
Lang swallowed around a knot in his throat. He was no fool. A letter like that fed her, strengthened her. Gave her hope. Even while it lit a fire of jealousy in his gut.
Lang had pressed hard during the past weeks. While he hadn't tried to touch her like he had that day back in July, he showed his warmth in other ways, letting her know his affection was genuine without saying the words he would have liked to say. He had to guard himself from doing that before she was ready to accept them. As far as Lang knew, Theo hadn't written more than half a dozen times since he left, and once he crossed the ocean, letters would arrive less often. Lang, however, had remained available for her, sometimes at a cost to his work on the farm, almost always at a cost to his wife.
The building project lay dormant, the house untouched since he'd hired a man to bring his sawmill out and cut the trees for lumber. Lang had seen Rilla's struggle to do things. He helped her when he could, but too often, he found himself going up the road to do tasks for Delia instead. She worried about Rilla, but he always assured her Rilla was fine and that he had plenty of time to help her. Until Archie left, he'd not had to be too concerned about the lie. Archie gladly filled in for him, anxious to be busy since he hadn't looked for work.
"I've got plenty saved," Archie assured him. "I won't have to find a job until the end of summer." Instead of getting a job, however, Archie had gotten drafted for war. What was Archie doing now?
Lang was thankful to have him out of the house in one way. They were crowded, even though sleeping on a cot in the main room hadn't seemed to bother Arch. In some ways, his old friend hadn't changed. He was still the same old, happy-go-lucky Archie, content wherever he laid his head and always ready to take on the next adventure or drift toward the next new experience. Lang was happy he didn't have to dodge Archie's curiosity anymore. Archie was more than a little interested in Delia. Lang had to tell him the truth. He waited until after Archie's conscription letter came, until it was too late for his old pal to interfere.
Lang tapped Delia's letter on the table, remembering their conversation in the barn during a late night milking. Rilla's father was feeling poorly. Delia had gone home. It was just him and Archie out there in the barn, working their way down the line of warm-bodied beasts.
"I had a nice ride into town with Rilla today. I have to hand it to you, Langdon. She isn't what I first took her for. You could have done worse."
"But I could have done better, is that what you mean?"
Archie shook his head. "No. I don't think so." His voice dropped a level. "Not even if you had married her sister instead."
Lang's head shot up, but he couldn't see Archie. "Why do you say that?"
"You can't fool me, pal. I know. I know more than you think."
Lang's heart clutched for a long moment. "Did...Did Rilla tell you?"
Archie's voice came ghost-like from somewhere behind him. "How could she? You've got her fooled real well. She doesn't know how hot you are for her sister."
"It's not like that."
"Isn't it? I know you better than you think, Lang. What I want to know now is how come? How come you married Rilla and not Delia?"
He had confessed it then—how he had fallen for Delia the very first time he saw her, how he'd tried to win her away from Theodore Strom. He told Archie how his frustration led him to Marilla and wondering if being with Rilla would satisfy his desire. It hadn't of course. Not in the deeper way beyond physical need. He still wanted Delia. He still loved her. Telling Archie felt good. He was able to get it off his chest. Even though Archie scolded him about the bad turn he was doing a girl like Rilla, he hadn't condemned him outright. He was too good a friend for that.
Now this letter from Theodore stared back at him, even though Lang could no longer see the words. He felt like he had come a long way with Delia until now. Today he felt like he had been pushed back across his own Hindenburg Line.
Chapter Twenty
October 1917
Marilla buttoned the top button on her coat. It was the only one that reached. She checked her hair in the mirror and put on her brown, wool felt hat donning a purple and brown flower on the side of the brim. It was practical but still pretty, and it hid her hair, which she still wasn't fond of.
"Come on Em." She picked the one-year-old out of his crib in the main room. With a new baby coming any day, they'd had to get Emmett out of the bedroom. He had adjusted all right, though he was walking now and harder to keep out of things. She kissed his pudgy cheek and worked his wiggling arms into his coat. It wasn't too cold out yet, but fall added a crisp to the air. They might have already had their Indian summer. She had better add wood to the stove before she left for town. She didn't want to come back later to a cold house.
That was one good thing about living in the small cabin. It wasn't difficult to heat except during those few occasions in mid-winter when all of Wisconsin plunged below zero, and a stiff wind blew. Delia's large, two-story house required much more wood each winter. She had a big stove in her parlor that emanated heat throughout the house, though Delia said the upper level tended to remain cold in the depth of wintertime. She told Rilla she might move her bed to the parlor for the season. With Theo gone, there was no sense shivering upstairs alone.
Poor Delia. How she missed Theo. If only she would hear from him again. She wrote to him almost daily. Did any of her letters reach him? They had read news that the allied forces fought hard in France, but they suffered in terrible conditions at times. What did that mean? She was afraid to know, and she hoped Delia didn't know. Her sister had difficulty sleeping nights as it was with her worry over Theo.
"Sit still while mommy buttons your coat. Baby mustn't get cold." She sighed. If only Lang could come with her to the market today. Just the thought of carrying in her wares, buying groceries, and hauling them to the car tired her. Yet she wanted to get out. Restlessness had been her companion lately. Any day now, she would begin her labor, and then there would be no time left to make preparations. But if Lang could help, none of it would seem so overwhelming.
He had gone to the farm as usual. His potato crop had produced a large yield, and he said next year's would be even bigger. The government encouraged farm production as part of the war effort. Lang was determined that, with fertilizer and new tilling, he'd have a crop beyond what they imagined this year. Today he was turning under the season's spent plants.
They had dug the potatoes all by hand. She and her mother and Delia picked them up while Lang and her father went down the row turning over the brown and green leafy tops onto the warm topsoil. They saved enough of the crop for winter eating and next spring's seed, and the rest were sent on the train north. From there, the crop would head by rail to the port at Superior where they would be loaded on a ship and eventually reach regions around other parts of the country or the world.
Thinking about the vastness of the undertaking, Marilla smiled down at Emmett. "Wouldn't it be something if one of our potatoes made it all the way over to your uncle Theo in France?" She doubted the possibility of such a thing happening, but it was nice to imagine.
She grunted as she hoisted Emmett to her side and headed for the car. "Your baby brother or sister is stealing your place already, and he or she isn't even here yet." At last, settled into the car behind the wheel, she took a breath and sighed. So much work just to move around. She glanced at Emmett tucked beside her, trying to wiggle free. She wrapped an arm around him. "Keep your blanket around you, or you'll catch a chill."
He settled down with a thumb in his mouth as she put the car into gear and drove off down the road. Only ten minutes later, she pulled in front of Jacob's store. The place looked quiet. She missed the days when customers came and went and passed the time of day in front of Hessman's Store. These days, lots of folks went out of their way to shop in Spooner rather than spend their money in the establishment of someone with a German sounding name.
Marilla maneuvered out of the car and reached for Emmett. "Come on, sweetheart. I'll buy you a treat." She stepped onto the plank walk with effort. "I've never felt so uncomfortable in my life," she muttered.
The door opened before her, and Jacob held it with a smile. "Good day, Marilla. Come in, please."
"Thank you, Jacob. I brought the butter, but I think I'll have to rest for minute before I go back to the car to get it."
"I put a stool by the counter. You rest yourself, and don't worry about the butter. I'll fetch it for you."
She thanked him again. How on earth would she manage with two babies? Lang would have to come along, but as it was, he barely had time now to lend to her. Her father gave him more responsibilities than ever besides the regular chores and Lang's potato crop. Their house might never get built, but he'd have less time than ever to work on it if he had to always go with her to town. Emmett squirmed to be released. She struggled to keep him on her narrow lap as Jacob returned through the door carrying the single crate of butter and eggs.
He set it on the counter. "Here we are."
"I didn't think I should bring too much. We've sent the extra cream to the dairy."
He nodded. "Yes. I am not selling so much these days. I believe things will change though."
"I hope you're right."
"The other stores in Spooner and Shell Lake and Hayward are thriving." He didn't say why. They both knew.
She wanted to offer him encouragement. "You will always have the faithful business of your friends, Jacob."
"You are right. It's true. Now"—he planted his hands on the counter between them—"how can I help you today?
"I forgot my list. Let me see."
Emmett wiggled harder, pushing his bottom away from her.
"Here. Let me help you." Jacob rounded the counter and took Emmett from her arms. The little boy settled down against Jacob and studied him. "Hello, young man. Why are you trying to wear out your mother? Let's see what we have here." He wandered off among the wares, talking softly to Emmett and offering him a wooden toy to play with.
Marilla watched in weary wonder. How long had it been since Lang had played with his son? Not since summer? The last time she remembered was when he and Archie had taken her and Delia and Emmett swimming. Emmett had just begun taking steps. He had toddled over to Delia on her blanket. Langdon had taken a seat with her to play with him. Such a picture he had made with his little boy. It had filled her heart. Such a picture they had made.
She shook the image away and smiled as Jacob played peekaboo with Emmett causing him to giggle. Jacob deserved to be happy. He should have a wife and children to help him run the store. This war stopped everything good.
I need flour and sugar and coffee. She focused on her mental list. I should get some canned peaches for Emmett. She stretched her back and stood. "I think I remember now."
Jacob turned to her, a smile on his face as he held Emmett's hand and gave the wooden toy a rattle. In an instant, she felt it, a small pop and an immediate sensation of something more. She gasped. Jacob's eyes widened.
"What is it?"
"Jacob...I…"
He hurried closer. She looked down. Humiliation and panic swept over her.
"Are you in pain?"
She shook her head jerkily. "No. No. It's my water."
Now he looked panicked. Slack-jawed, his eyes widened.
"I'm sorry Jacob. A trickle ran down her legs, wetting the floor.
He collected himself. "It is not to be apologized for. You are going to have your baby, right? I will help you all I can. Can you come with me?"
She nodded, however uncertain she felt. Where was he taking her? He moved Emmett to his left arm and took hold of her upper arm in a gentle grasp. He led her around the counter and pulled back the curtain to his private quarters. "Come. You will rest on my sofa until we get the doctor."
"I need to go, Jacob. I can't stay here."
He nodded. "I understand. Allow me a moment."
She would not sit. Her clothing was wet and soiled.
She glanced around Jacob's living area. It was tidy but for a couple of newspapers lying on a polished table beside a pretty hurricane lamp. There were comfortable rugs scattered on the floor. Coal burned behind a grate in a stove. His sofa looked inviting. As her first pain came upon her, she wished to lie back and rest upon it but didn't, of course. Her gaze continued to flit about though. Pictures of Jacob's family and a pencil drawing of birds were framed and ornamented the walls. Through a doorway into another room, she spied a cook stove and ice box. The kitchen. She recalled that his parents had lived here for many years. He might have done little to change anything since then. She pushed back a lace curtain and peered out. There was little to view behind the store, only a small plot with a fenced garden. She hadn't realized Jacob cared about such things, but it looked as though he had continued the practice of planting and caring for it in the years since his mother's passing.
He came back into the room wearing his coat but carrying a towel and a blanket. "I will drive you to the hospital. Come." He collected Emmett again.
"What about your store?"
He gave a short laugh. "Who will come? I can leave it. It is fine. Trust me."
Strangely enough, she did trust him. "I am wet and embarrassed."
"You should not be." He led her through the store and out the door and closed it behind them. He turned the key in the lock and pocketed it. "Truthfully, Rilla, I am excited." She paused and looked back at him. He smiled. "I have never been part of such an adventure before, and I do not expect it will happen again anytime soon." He jerked his head. "Come along."
"Shall we take my car?"
"We will leave it here. I will drive out to the farm and bring your husband to collect it later. Will that be all right?"
She nodded. He settled her upon the towel in the passenger seat of his new car. He wrapped her legs in the blanket. He had everything under control, and she really didn't want to think more about such logistics. Another pain grew low in her abdomen. She took a quick breath.
Jacob had settled Emmett between them, but he reached past the boy and squeezed Marilla's hand. He offered her one more smile. "I will get you safely there. You have nothing to fear, Marilla." He rested his hand upon the toddler, stilling him as they drove off down the road. Emmett looked up at him and babbled, but a few minutes later, as the next contraction came, the boy fell asleep.
~~~~~
Lang fumbled with the matches in the dark, finally striking a flame and lighting the lamp on their kitchen table. He looked around the still cabin and shivered. The temperature was already dropping below freezing, and the cold seeped through the clapboard and logs. He opened the lid on the cook stove and stirred the ashes, but no embers remained. Where had Rilla gone that the fire was cold and dead?
He lit a second lamp and opened the icebox, searching for anything he might eat without h
eating it. A horn honked outside at the same instant he heard the motor car pulling in. He closed the icebox and walked toward the door as it burst open. Delia flew inside, flushed with excitement. For a moment he thought—he wished—she had come for him, but he knew it wasn't so.
"Lang! It's Rilla. She's had the baby!"
His body numbed. He fumbled for words. "The baby? When? How?"
"Today. Mother was at the Ladies' Aid. You and Daddy were Lord knows where. I was putting up apples at Theo’s parents’ with his mother. He finally found me there. Come on."
He hadn't taken off his barn coat or his shoes, and he stunk like the barn. He looked at his hands and then at Delia. "Who? Who found you? Let me wash up."
She came inside and closed the door. "Hurry." He caught her looking around the cold, dismal room before he turned away. "It's freezing in here."
He reached for the water pitcher by the sink, thankful it wasn't so cold indoors the water had frozen. "It's probably fifty. Not that cold yet." He stripped off his coat and shirt, and unbuttoned his long johns, letting them drop around his waist, wondering if she paid any attention as he poured water into a bowl and soaped his hands and face.
She cleared her throat. "It was Jacob Hessman. Marilla was at the store when the pains began. He said there was no time to bring her home, so he drove her to the hospital."
Lang wiped his face on a towel and turned around. Delia had averted her gaze. He redressed as he walked closer, forcing her to look up with nowhere else to turn. He half grinned. "Jacob Hessman, huh?"
She nodded. "Mother has Emmett with her. They headed straight up. I stopped at the house first. I thought I might catch you there, but you'd already gone." She moved further away from him. "Almost ready?"
