The Deepest Sigh

by Naomi Musch

  Marilla had asked him to please come home for lunch from now on, something she should have done ages ago. So, Lang worked in the barn and sheds at her father's all morning and then came home to lunch with her and the children. During those midday breaks, he often brought in firewood or accomplished some other small chore before going back to the farm in the afternoon if more work needed completion. Marilla always made sure she had enough tasks to ask him to do to keep him busy if he wasn't needed at the farm. She wouldn't give him a single excuse to wander off to her sister's home to offer his "help".

  Theo's younger brother went to help Delia out nowadays. Two of his other brothers had since been conscripted into the army. Even though she and Lang's marriage had grown difficult over the past months, at least Lang hadn't been drafted. He'd been given a deferment because of his children and the work necessary to the country's well-being on her father's farm. It didn't hurt that he had been able to ship off all those potatoes last fall. Marilla rested in the idea that he, at least, would not be leaving them to traipse off across the world as Theo had.

  Delia had gotten a long-awaited letter from Theo in March. He was still in good health, though he mentioned a few fellows had come down with the flu. He had not seen battle yet. Marilla prayed he never would and that the war would end.

  The sound of a motor car called her attention to the road. It must be Lang. It sounded like their car. He and her father had gone off to town together, and he had taken her grocery list along.

  Dora pulled her head back from Marilla's breast as Lang turned into the drive. She raised the baby over her shoulder to burp her, watching Lang get out of the car. His expression when he glanced up at her was grim. He turned back to speak to her father who was also getting out of the car. Her father carried a newspaper.

  He held it up. "Brought you this." Her breath hitched, and she ceased patting Dora's back. Every day the papers were filled with casualty lists. Her thoughts immediately jumped to Theo and his brothers again. Then he turned the paper outward so she could see the main headline saying a flu epidemic had swept over parts of the world.

  She reached for the paper.

  "Sounds serious, so take precautions." Her father glanced at Lang and turned away. "I'm going to walk home after we unload that hitch. Bring those other things up to the house after you've eaten."

  "Yes sir."

  "Won't you stay for some coffee, Daddy?"

  "No. Your mother will be waiting." She looked at the paper again. Dozens More Dead as Flu Spreads. Communities are urged to limit and restrict public gatherings. "Is it really so bad?"

  Lang set a foot on the stoop and rubbed a thumb over his forehead. "It appears so. Anyway, we won't be going anywhere we don't have to. I think you should stay away from that study group for a while. Church too, even. There might not be any cases of flu hereabout, but somebody will catch it and bring it to town. Wait and see."

  She sat back and read further. The flu had killed forty-eight soldiers in Kansas at Camp Funston in March. Who knew it could become a danger that would sweep across the country? "What about over there, in Europe? What are they saying?"

  Lang shifted. "Thousands dying. It's especially bad in the trenches and such."

  Her heart thumped. "Theo mentioned it in his letter to Delia last month, but he didn't express much concern. Do you think he'll be all right?"

  He shrugged. "I couldn't say."

  "Theo will use good sense." Her father jerked his head at Lang to help unload the heavy hitch in the back of the wagon.

  Rilla didn't know what good sense had to do with it, especially if you were living in the midst of a war. She spoke as she rose. "We'll need to let Delia know."

  "Don't worry about that. I'm sure she'll hear."

  She took a long look at him, but she didn't want to ask how Delia would hear. Pulling his foot off the stoop, he turned back to the car.

  He plans to tell her himself. He wants to protect her. Like a man protects a woman he loves.

  She knew it, but she just didn't know what to do about it. Now she wasn't even supposed to go to church where she might at least hear what God had to say.

  ~~~~~

  May 1918

  Lang didn't go back to town again that month. He had done the same as they had all decided to do—stay home—though he hadn't kept the rule down to a law. He had gotten away when he could to make sure Delia was all right. He managed to do so a lot less often than he would have liked, however. She stayed to herself in that empty house except for evening milkings, now that the weather had warmed. He always walked her home or drove her if he had the automobile. What Marilla didn't know wouldn't hurt her. The women seldom talked except on Sundays when they would gather at her parents' to share a meal. Delia seemed to have the sense not to mention Lang's vigilance, or maybe it didn't register enough with her to make talking about it worth her time. He frowned. He preferred to think it was the first reason.

  Lang observed how the countryside had greened with springtime around him as he drove into Shell Lake, and his thoughts turned to how he had told her the news. She had been sweeping debris off her porch when he drove up to the house later that day. She had greeted him with a smile that made him feel like he was her man coming home after a hard day's work. Their closeness stopped there, though he wanted more. He took off his hat. "Hey, lady, things are looking good around here."

  "It's taken time, but I'm getting everything freshened up. Seems like winter lasted forever. It's nice to open the windows again."

  He came to the bottom of the step. "I've got some news."

  Her smile vanished. "Not about Theo."

  "Oh, no. Nothing like that."

  She sighed. "Oh, Lang, you scared me. Come on in."

  He followed her inside but turned down her offer to make a cup of coffee. He couldn't stay long today. Marilla had noticed his attentiveness to her sister, though he had tried to brush off her suspicions. "No, it's news about the flu. They say it's an epidemic. The government is warning everyone pretty strongly about it."

  "Oh, goodness. I hope no one catches it around here."

  He stepped closer. "Let's hope not. I've told Marilla, and your father agrees; we shouldn't go anywhere we don't have to. You girls shouldn't get any ideas about going visiting or anything."

  She let out a huff. "I haven't gone visiting in ages. I don't think you need to worry."

  "Even shopping or the like. Just stay home if you can help it."

  "What about church?"

  "I'll come read the Bible with you if you want."

  She looked at him like he was joking, but he meant it. "That's sweet of you, Lang."

  He frowned. "You know...Theo could use our prayers."

  Her eyes batted and froze on him.

  "They have it pretty bad over there. The army I mean. Hospitals are filling up. Some aren't leaving the trenches."

  She gasped.

  He touched her arm. "I'm not trying to scare you, but we should be prepared...and pray for him of course."

  She wobbled, and he reached out, steadying her with both hands.

  "Well, I am scared now."

  He gave her a hug. "You don't have to worry."

  She straightened her shoulders, and he released her. "No, no I don't. I'll pray. I always do."

  "You remember what I said before; you can always count on me, right? I mean...if the worst were to happen."

  She swallowed and nodded. "Yes, I know. Thank you for being honest, Lang. I know I have to think about the what-ifs, even if I don't want to."

  He gave her a gentle smile. It was wrong that he wanted to think about the what-ifs, but he just couldn't help it. Now, as he drove toward town almost a month later, the what-ifs played through his thoughts again. He parked in front of Hessman's Store and found Jacob counting rolls of colored thread sorted into boxes. A squeaking hinge on the door had announced him, and Jacob's head came up from his work as Lang strolled into the store.

  "Hello, Langdon. It has been a
long time since you were last in."

  "We're doing what the government tells us. Keeping close to home."

  "Good. I am glad you're all taking precautions. At least I know you haven't stopped coming to my store because you have taken your business elsewhere."

  Lang chuckled. "No, we sure haven't."

  "You heard about that professor in Ashland?"

  Lang shook his head. "No. What happened there?"

  "It was a while back. A month or more ago. His name was Shimler." Jacob looked at Lang from beneath a bent brow.

  A sick feeling crawled in Lang's gut. "They didn't..."

  Jacob closed his eyes for a second and shook his head. "No. He's alive. About a dozen masked men took him from his boarding house. They carried him out of town and stripped him of his clothes and belongings before they tarred and feathered him. Liberally, by all accounts."

  "They haven't caught the culprits who did it?"

  "A reward was offered, but police say they have no way to apprehend the men since Mr. Shimler could give them no clues."

  Lang harrumphed. "Very unfortunate."

  Jacob moved the box of thread to the side and pressed his palms onto the counter. "An American citizen."

  "You needn't worry, Jacob. We haven't forgotten you were born here. You're more a citizen of Shell Lake than I am."

  Jacob smirked. "I will hope that everyone remembers. Some men came in and tried causing trouble the other day. Salesmen, they called themselves. Swindlers more like. They tried selling me a case of so-called flu preventative. When I refused to purchase it for the store, they accused me of wishing to withhold help from good Americans who needed it."

  Lang's mouth slackened, and he frowned. "What did you do?"

  "I stood my ground and pointed them to the door. By God's grace, Mr. Berg stepped in with the day's papers just then. He waved one in front of them. Claimed there was a story inside about charlatans such as them. He told them he would see to it no one was bamboozled by their chicanery." He shook his head. "But enough of my troubles. How can I help you?"

  Lang let out a whoosh of breath and withdrew a list from his pocket. "Would you mind putting some of these things together while I walk over to the post office? I haven't picked up our mail in a while." He handed the list to Jacob.

  "No trouble. I'll have it all together for you when you get back." Jacob perused the note and Lang left.

  He stepped outside and whistled a tune. The day was bright and warm. He had left Rilla back at the cabin planting her early garden crops: peas, onions, lettuce, and cabbage. The other more sensitive seeds and seedlings would go in at the end of the month, after the last full moon, when danger of further frosts had passed.

  A motor car passed him by before he crossed the street to walk to the post office a block away. There were more people driving automobiles now. He was glad he had gotten him and Rilla the Ford while they had the money. Even though they didn't go places often these days, it comforted him to know they could easily get from point A to point B. Lang hopped onto the boardwalk in front of the post office and opened the door. Mr. Berg, the postmaster turned around. "Well, hello there, Mr. Prescott. How are you today, sir?"

  "I'm fine, Mr. Berg."

  "What can I help you with?"

  "I'm here to pick up my mail. That's about it. I do have a few letters to send on Mr. Eckert's behalf."

  "All-righty. Let me see what you've got there." Mr. Berg looked over his spectacles and sorted through the short stack of letters. "Five letters. Looks like that'll be fifteen cents." Lang pulled out his change and counted out the amount. He paid the postmaster, and Mr. Berg turned to the mailboxes along the wall behind the counter. He reached into one of them and pulled out a catalog, various letters, and one envelope that he held separate from the rolled up stack. "It's fortunate you stopped in today, Mr. Prescott." Mr. Berg looked first at the letter in his hand, and then his gaze rose to meet Lang's. "This came for you just yesterday. I would have needed to deliver it if you hadn't stopped by."

  Lang's breath slowed to pitch sticking in his windpipe. He looked at the envelope. Mr. Berg looked too. They both knew what the letter contained. "Thank you."

  Mr. Berg cleared his throat. "Well, then. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

  "No, thank you. That'll be all." Lang tipped his head in farewell and escaped back into the open air. He walked up the street and crossed again to his motor car parked in front of Hessman's General Store. He opened the passenger door and set the mail on the seat, all except for that one letter. With a glance up the street, he tore the end open, sliding his finger along the edge. He withdrew the single sheet inside and unfolded it.

  You are hereby notified that pursuant to the act of Congress approved May 18, 1917, you are called for military service of the United States by the Local Board from among those persons whose registration cards are within the Jurisdiction of this Local Board.

  Lang scanned the rest of the letter.

  Your Serial Number ... You will report...for physical examination on May 27, 1918, at 8:00 A.M.

  Any claim for exemption or discharge must be made on forms ... before the SEVENTH day after the date of mailing this notice.

  Your attention is called to the penalties for violation or evasion...

  Local Board Washburn County, Wisconsin...

  Lang's fist closed on the paper, crushing the words away.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Marilla paced about the small front room of the cabin bouncing Dora gently in her arms, although her whole body was unnerved, and anything but gentleness quivered through her. It was as though their lives balanced on the edge of a cliff. What would they do? How could she do this thing, this life alone? Lang couldn't be going. He just couldn't. "I don't understand. How can they make you go? You had an exemption."

  Lang perched on the edge of their kitchen table, one leg dangling above the plank floor. "No, I had a deferment. There's a difference."

  Dora fussed. Marilla jiggled her harder. "So what? Nothing has changed. You still have a wife and children. How can they forget that and make you go now?"

  "The army needs new blood."

  She stopped bouncing Dora and stared. "Don't say it like that."

  "Why not? It's the truth. The ranks aren't full enough. They need fresh men and more of them."

  "But why you?" She looked at the baby staring up at her. "You're a father."

  Lang sighed, his features weary, sagging. "Why not me? Am I better than the next man that I should get to stay home?" He lowered his foot to the floor and stood. He settled a hand on her shoulder. "Look, Rilla. I don't like it any more than you do. I'll do the paperwork. See if I can get an actual exemption."

  Her eyes burned with tears, and he blurred before her. "Will you?"

  He kissed her brow. "I will. Who knows? Maybe I can get one."

  "You're a farmer. That's important." She sniffed. "The government is always telling everyone how important it is. We have to provide food for our own troops, for the French, the British, all of them. They're all in need." She shuddered, but strength returned to her voice and limbs.

  "That's right." He kissed her brow again and let go. "I'll try to get you all set here in the meantime. I don't want you to have need of anything. We have a couple weeks."

  "But you just said—"

  "I said I'll try, Rilla. We have to be ready, just in case."

  She sucked in a breath. It wavered.

  Don't be overcome by this.

  Easy to tell herself, while her throat clogged and her heart throbbed. Harder to do. She blinked until her eyes cleared. She spoke in little over a whisper. "You're right. I know you are."

  He looked at her a moment longer, long enough to make her wonder what he thought. Was he evaluating her? Testing her? Waiting to see if she would crumble?

  "You're a strong girl, Rilla. You keep on telling yourself that. I need to know that you're okay."

  She nodded, but her heart wasn't in it.

/>   "I'm going over to the farm to tell your folks. You want to come along?"

  She nodded again. "Let me get some diapers for the babies."

  They drove over to the farm and found her mother standing by the sink, peeling potatoes into a bucket, while her father sat at the kitchen table poring over a notepad full of figures.

  "This is a nice surprise," Mama smiled.

  Marilla kissed her cheek and turned Dora around so her mother could kiss her too. The baby had fallen asleep the moment they'd driven out of their yard. Sometimes Marilla was tempted to drive the child just to help her fall asleep. Maybe the baby felt her tension and was unnerved by it. Marilla wearied herself to the core at times, especially if Emmett was crabby too. Her father scooped Emmett onto his knees and toddled the little boy. At least Marilla's parents and sister lived close by. In this mad world, where a country could steal away husbands and fathers to fight their wars in faraway lands, the rest of them still had each other. She prayed she wouldn't have to depend on that though.

  Marilla put energy into her voice she didn't feel. "We've come with some news." She glanced at Lang.

  "They've pulled my draft number."

  Her father stilled Emmett. "I'm sorry to hear that." He stood the boy back on the ground. "When do you have to leave?"

  "I go for physical assessment in two weeks."

  Marilla's mother dried her hands and lifted Dora from Marilla's arms. The baby laid her head on her grandmother's shoulder and continued to sleep.

  Marilla stood beside Lang. "He's going to try for an exemption."

  "We'll pray he gets it," her mother said.

  Her father's frown and whatever it was he wasn't saying unnerved her. Lang spoke up again. "As I told Rilla, we have to be prepared, just in case. I'm going to need to get some things done at the house. I don't want her to lack anything while I'm gone, even if it's only for a few days."