The Deepest Sigh

by Naomi Musch

  He reached for his good coat. "I'll comb my hair on the way." He held the door for her and followed her to her car.

  Ensconced in the automobile with Delia, he was able to look at her from time to time behind the wheel. Her eyes shone in the moonlight. "You finally learned how to drive this thing."

  She smiled. "Do you think it's a boy or a girl?"

  "Yes."

  She gave him the fullness of her smile. "Don't tease. Really. Which do you think?"

  He shrugged. He'd not given it any thought at all. This baby coming had seemed surreal, but he supposed before long he would get used to another small individual sharing his and Rilla's bed. He glanced at Delia again, wondering over how empty her bed must feel. "A boy then."

  "Men always say so."

  He laughed, and she giggled. It was a sound he never tired of hearing. His laughter fell away as she turned onto Shell Lake's main street. "Where are we going?"

  "Your car is at the store. Jacob said you can collect it there."

  "I'd rather do it later, if you don't mind. Can we go straight to the hospital?"

  She flashed her eyes at him. "If that's what you want." Delia continued straight through town, heading north toward Spooner. "I am rather anxious to see the baby."

  "No sense driving all the way alone."

  "No." She glanced again, but a quieter look had stolen over her features. Did she think about that day a couple months ago when he had almost kissed her? Did she understand how he felt yet? He wanted to tell her outright, but every time he considered doing it, some inner sense stopped him. She would push him away or tell Rilla if she wasn't ready. He could ruin everything if he took the wrong moment to speak.

  He had just become a father for the second time. "I'm anxious to see the baby," he said. "And Rilla, of course. I hope she's well."

  She nestled against the seat, both hands on the wheel. "Me too. Oh, I hope so."

  Their headlights made a tunnel of the dark, country road. "Have you heard from Theo?" Of course, she hadn't, or she would have said she had right away.

  She shook her head. "I wrote to him again. I hope he gets my letters."

  "He will. Maybe not right away. It's a crazy place over there, they say, but those letters will catch up to him at just the right time." He paused. "You know, Delia..."

  She looked at him, and he waited until she realized he had something very important to say. "What is it?"

  "If anything should happen to Theo—" Her intake of breath brought him pause again, but he pressed on. "If anything should happen, you know you can count on me."

  "Yes." She shook her head. Swallowed. "I know. You've been more than helpful. I can't imagine a kinder, more helpful...brother." She looked at him again and put on a smile. "But nothing is going to happen. I know it. Nothing will."

  "Right." He smiled back. "Nothing will."

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Marilla's eyes drifted open. Her body felt more restful than it had in weeks. Tranquility like a balm lay over her, and she wakened with a joy she didn't remember feeling since...since some time ago.

  "Good morning."

  She turned her head against the hospital pillow. There was Lang, sitting in the chair beside her bed, a small smile on his lips. "You're here."

  He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "Where else would I be?"

  "Have you seen her?"

  "Who? The nurse?"

  He teased her. She could tell. "Have you seen Theodora, our daughter? I want to call her that, after Theo. In case...you know." She blinked sleepily. "We can call her Dora perhaps."

  He nodded. "If that's what you want. I'm sure he and Delia won't protest."

  She smiled and took a long, deep breath. "It feels good to breathe. I haven't been able to inhale so deeply in months."

  He chuckled.

  "Did Jacob bring you? I'm sorry I fell asleep. I was so tired I couldn't hold my eyelids up any longer."

  Lang reached out and gave her arm a gentle rub. "I'm glad you slept. You needed it. No, I haven't seen Theodora, and no, I didn't come with Jacob. Your sister picked me up. She's waiting out there." He jerked his head toward the door.

  Marilla pushed up on the bed. "Call her in. Please." Lang rose and stuffed pillows behind her. "I want you both to meet our princess."

  He straightened the blankets over her again and stepped into the corridor. A minute later Delia came inside. She rushed to hug Rilla. "How are you, darling?"

  "I'm all right, I suppose, though I probably look like I've been through a battle. I guess I have actually. She was a stubborn little thing."

  A nurse stepped through the door holding a tiny bundle. Delia walked toward her as if she were going to worship. With head bent, she gazed down at the baby. Lang followed. Marilla leaned back and watched them.

  "The princess Theodora," Lang said.

  "Really?" Delia's eyelashes swept up at Lang. He put his arm around her shoulder, and together they murmured over the baby while the nurse held her.

  A stab of something unconscionable stole through Marilla. Lang's arm drifted down from Delia's shoulder to grasp her arm and pull her closer. Did he even realize how he held her? Did Delia? Marilla looked away and back again. The thoughts in her mind must be put there by the devil. Her husband meant nothing by his posture. He was Delia's brother now.

  Delia turned around, breaking from Lang's embrace. "She's beautiful, Rilla. She looks just like you."

  "Does she?"

  Delia nodded.

  Lang sat down again. No kiss. No gentle embrace such as Delia had given her. "She looks small," he said.

  Delia turned toward him. "That's only because Emmett has grown so. You've forgotten how little babies are."

  Lang grinned at Delia in a way that reminded Marilla of the playfulness he had shown when he first wooed her. The pang sharpened. She fought for words. "The doctor says she's strong and healthy."

  "She'll be a tomboy like you, Rilla." Delia sat on the edge of her bed and crossed her legs. Her shoulders rocked with obvious pleasure over her new niece. Rilla could find no fault, but Lang...

  His eyes were on her sister. "What if I want her to be a fine lady like her aunt Delia?"

  "I'm sure we'll enjoy our share of beauty parties and tea parties and dress parties." Delia might infect Rilla with her smile if her heart was not so bruised. "But she will probably love to play dress up with the piglets and build a play house in the hayloft."

  "If she's like me, you mean." Marilla pasted on a small smile, but she ached, and it wasn't from giving birth. She scooted downward on the bed. "I think I'll lie back again."

  Lang stood again and helped her lower herself.

  "My pillow is flat."

  He fluffed it up. "Better?"

  She nodded. He moved back to the chair. She pretended to settle in, but her glance took in his returning gaze upon her sister. Delia chattered on about the baby and the things they would do together. Marilla said nothing. Lang said nothing, but he laughed with Delia just the same.

  At last, she grasped a thread of anger. "What do you think, Lang? Will you enjoy having a daughter as much as you enjoy Emmett?"

  "I suppose I must. I hadn't really thought much about it. Girls spend more time with their mothers anyway."

  "She will need you to tell her what a princess she is," Delia said, scolding in her tone.

  He smiled and cocked a brow. "You are both right, of course. I swear I won't forget."

  "Don't swear." Marilla could find no lightness in her heart to joke.

  They left a short time later. Lang said he couldn't stay. Their car was still at Jacob's, and he would need to go with Delia to retrieve it. Besides, he was tired, having spent the night in a chair in the waiting room and this morning by her side. Delia too. They would go home and come back again tomorrow after morning chores. He kissed her brow before he said goodbye. "I'll get to know Dora more tomorrow. I promise." With a tweak of her nose, Lang left her. He waited at the door for De
lia as she gathered her coat and hat, and he put his hand on her back to guide her out.

  Marilla turned her gaze out the window. She loved Lang with every part of her. She always had. A long time ago she figured out his love for her wasn't as strong as hers for him, but she was certain she would win him when she could put their children in his arms. Now the truth assailed her. It burned in her chest, singeing her heart. She didn't own his love. Not really. But her eyes were open now, and she knew who did.

  With a quiet gasp, she turned her face into her pillow and wept.

  ~~~~~

  December 1917

  Lang worked stiff gloves off his red, frozen fingers. His toes bit with cold, and his whole body ached with it. Hopefully, Rilla had been able to keep the fire going at the cabin. Delia had determined to spend the winter back home at her folks' house. He could be thankful for not having to worry about her staying warm all alone there at her house. While it had not been her original plan to move home for the winter while Theo was away, the heavy snow and frigid temperatures this year made it impractical for her to stay in her big house alone and attempt to keep it warm. She had no animals back there to care for, and her parents could always use her help on the farm, so it made sense. They all worried about Theo and how he fared in France. Was he warm? Was he safe? Lang tired of hearing them wonder about it. He had enough to worry about without speculating on his brother-in-law's comforts.

  He stomped snow off his feet before entering his mother-in-law's kitchen. She didn't bother him about removing his boots. The floors weren't warm and could be mopped of melting snow. Both women sat at the table near the stove, slicing meat along with some potatoes and carrots they brought up from the cellar. His father-in-law came in right behind him.

  "Cold enough to freeze out the devil today." The older man sniffled.

  "There's a fresh pot on the stove. Pull up a chair and warm yourself," Mrs. Eckert said.

  Lang smiled at Delia and tilted his head. "What are you cooking?"

  "Just some stew. You can stay for supper if you want, but we thought we'd make it up early and send some home with you for Rilla so she doesn't have to cook. How was she feeling today?"

  "She feels all right. Just a little weak and tired still."

  Mrs. Eckert cubed a potato and plopped it in a pot. "Babies take a lot out of a woman. She just needs to rest as she can."

  Mr. Eckert loosened a boot and pushed it off, wiggling his toes near the stove. "I hope she's not freezing in that cabin."

  "I brought in a big stack of wood before I left. Told her to burn as much as she needs." Lang didn't want Rilla or his babies freezing. He didn't want them to lack anything, but that didn't mean he wanted to be home with them right now. The house, shut up tight against the winter air, stunk of sour diapers. Rilla was wan and didn't care to talk much. He would much rather spend his afternoon here by the cheerful fireside where Delia warmed him with her presence as much as the cook stove did.

  Mr. Eckert tugged off the second boot. "You don't have to stay. I don't plan on doing any work out there today. Come back for milking tonight, but go on back and tuck in for the day if you want."

  He wanted to tuck in all right, here with Delia, but hanging around with them when he could be home with his wife and babies would appear awkward. "After I warm up with a cup of coffee, I'll do just that." He returned Delia's smile as though conceding to her sister's needs was a gift to her.

  Forty minutes later, he trudged home to find Rilla tending the fire with one hand, with Dora bundled in blankets and tucked tight against her in the other. Emmett played in his crib, which Rilla had pulled nearer the kitchen stove. "It's too cold in that bedroom for anybody," she said in lieu of a greeting when Lang looked down at the baby.

  "I could move the bed out into the main room if you like."

  She didn't answer, only shrugged.

  "Anything else the matter?"

  She gave him half a glance as she turned away to fetch the kettle.

  She'd been more than weak. Rilla had been a different girl since he brought her home from the hospital two months ago. He had heard of women who took to sadness after giving birth. This cold shoulder she bore him went beyond being tired, he was sure of it. "Rilla. I asked you a question."

  "I'm fine."

  She set the kettle on the stove, and he touched her shoulder, turning her. "No. You're not."

  "I'm just tired."

  "That's not it either. Rilla, what's the matter?"

  Her eyes twitched. She tried to look away, but he stopped her with a touch to her chin. Beautiful eyes stared back, wide, growing glassy.

  "Did I do something, or…did I forget to do something?" His voice turned whispery, and real concern took hold.

  She dashed a finger under her eye. Dora fussed, and Rilla bounced.

  "Here, let me take her." He had barely held his daughter since she'd been born. Now he scooped the baby into his arms. She felt so small and effortless to hold onto. He looked down into her face and thought maybe she'd changed. She was less wrinkled than he remembered. How long had it been since he had looked at her? Her eyes opened wide, taking him in, big eyes turning a strange shade of blue. Rilla's eyes. But Dora had dark hair like him, and she had it in abundance. "See? I guess she wanted her daddy."

  He looked up at Rilla, but she hadn't smiled. She turned away again and reached for a canister.

  "Don't make any for me. I had coffee before I left the farm."

  Her cursory glance his way looked more bitter than empty. She went about making a cup of tea for herself.

  "So are you going to tell me what's troubling you?"

  "I guess I'm just not in the mood for talk. I'm not used to it. I spend all my time alone." Her words were sharp.

  "I have to work, Rilla. Your father expects it. He may be my father-in-law, but he's still my boss."

  "Maybe you should get a different job. The railroad will be hiring again."

  His brow screwed up. "What are you talking about? You complain you spend too much time alone, and in the next breath you want me to get a job on the railroad?" He huffed. "That doesn't make any sense."

  She held the tea infuser in the cup with one hand and stirred with a spoon in the other. Tapping the infuser, she set it aside and turned to him, her gaze hard as stone. "You want to know the truth, Lang? All right. You spend more time bothering my sister than you do working for my father. She doesn't need you pestering her and doing for her. She misses her husband. That's Theo, in case you've forgotten."

  She turned her back, staring at her cup. Lang felt like she'd hit him. He'd had no idea she realized...

  "I… You're mistaken."

  "Am I?" Harsh, icy sounding words.

  He shivered. The baby fussed again. "Shh..." He rocked her.

  "Give her to me." Rilla turned around and pried her from Lang's arms.

  "You're talking foolishness, Rilla. You're the one who's worried about how Delia's doing without Theo, so I offer to help. Isn't that what you want me to do?"

  She lifted her chin, but he'd struck a chord. She cast her glance back and forth looking unsure. "Of course, I want her to have whatever help she needs, but I need you too, or doesn't that matter?"

  He stood and took her shoulders, but she was proficient at keeping Dora between them. He studied her face, the worried line on her brow, the downturned lips that hadn't smiled in days. "It matters. Look, if it's that important to you, I'll try to get home earlier. I'll come home for lunch, okay? Oh,”—he gave a turn, remembering the stew Delia had sent—"I almost forgot. I'll put my coat back on and go on out to the car. Your mother sent supper. Hopefully it isn't frozen already."

  He shrugged back into his coat without bothering to button it against the sub-zero blast. How could he do it all? He didn't want to hurt her, didn't want to see the agony or the anger in her eyes. Yet he couldn't stop loving Delia either. His heart was full of her, even while a part was owned by Rilla too, despite his own reasoning.

  Chapt
er Twenty-Two

  April 1918

  The long, awful winter passed in inches, and Wisconsin's April weather was just as fickle as Marilla's heart. The sharp-edged pain that cut her over Lang's obvious feelings for her sister blunted as spring came, though not much had changed between them. Did other women whose husbands' hearts drifted feel both terrible and wanting all at once? She might ask God, but he seemed further away than ever. She didn't want to cry anymore, and she feared she would if she spoke to Him of the ruin she and Lang were making of their marriage.

  She sat in one of her straight-back dining chairs on the front stoop of the cabin and took a deep breath. Today was one of the nicer days. Almost sixty degrees. She still needed a sweater, and both little ones were bundled up against an occasional pinch in the breeze, but Emmett was enjoying playing in the damp dirt, and she kept Dora snuggled close. It felt good to get out of the cramped cabin and into the sunshine.

  She glanced off to the side yard where her kitchen garden waited to be turned. She would do it once in a week or two, and then again in the second half of May before she planted. Right now, dead, unidentifiable stalks and decaying plants cluttered the wet, sandy loam. Was April weather like that everywhere in the Midwest? Marilla would talk to the ladies at the study group about the weather. They had read about many regions around the world. She would like to know in which places people were thinking about spring planting like she was but were waiting out the sudden chances of snow one day and wilting heat the next.

  There was no one to talk to about the other questions of how she should suffer Lang's compunction toward her one day and his compulsion toward her sister the next.

  Lang, too, behaved differently. He was more attentive, even if he didn't seem very affectionate to either her or the children. Marilla kept him at a distance all through the winter like she never had before. Stiffening her heart against believing his apologies, she kept busy as the cold loosened its hold. Delia had gone back to living in her own house, and none of them spent as much time cooped up together, or at least Lang wasn't able to spend as much time around her sister. A small victory.