by Naomi Musch
Her father nodded. "Yes. You do that. Don't worry about anything here on the farm. If you can just help with milking..."
Lang nodded.
Earlier, in the car, there had been a brief moment when Marilla thought perhaps she was dreaming, and none of the past hour's events were real. The solemnness of her parents' reaction proved her wrong. She would pray. Pray hard, but…the truth was that he might have to go. Lang—her Lang—could be gone for a long, long time. She could lose him forever. She stepped closer and reached for his hand. For the space of a glance, they shared a look they hadn't in a long time. He squeezed her hand.
~~~~~
She had clung to him last night. Lang couldn't remember the last time they had made love. Since before Dora's birth seven months ago at least. Marilla hadn't been as giving of herself as she had when Emmett was smaller. He didn't know what ate at her, though at moments he admitted it might have been over feelings she suspected he held elsewhere. Still, she couldn't know that for sure, could she? None of it seemed to matter now since the conscription letter. Truth be told, he had wanted her as badly as she wanted him last night. There had been a strange comfort in their need for each other. In fact, he hadn't thought so much about Delia while they made love, only Rilla.
Now, in light of day, he wondered what Delia would have to say or how she would feel. No doubt her parents would tell her the news if they saw her before he did at the evening milking. Would she fear for him? Would any hint of love or longing lie in her eyes?
Rilla's eyes appeared in his thoughts. Those crazy, beautiful eyes surrounded by lashes darker than seemed right for one with hair so fair. He shook her image away and focused on moving the sofa through the narrow door. "Do you have it? I don't want to move until you're ready."
"I've got it," she said.
They pushed and wedged until it was through. Then with his wife's help, they settled the sofa against the wall where the rocker had been. He pulled the rocker to the other side, nearer the bedroom door and Emmett's crib. The already small room closed in. They needed a bigger house. Yet, it would suit her and the children while he was away. For however long that is. He didn't hold great faith in getting the exemption Rilla hoped for, and from the way Mr. Eckert looked when they talked yesterday, he didn't either.
"There." She stepped back and eyed the piece of furniture with a smile. "Thank you so much, Lang. I love it."
"I should have gotten you one long ago."
"We've been okay without it. Besides, it's wonderful that you were able to find a used one in such good shape and so reasonably priced."
He nodded, wishing he could give her more. "Someday you'll have a house big enough for nicer furniture."
Her blue eyes swept him with a gaze. "I—I don't want you to think I'm not happy with our home."
He turned and sat on the sofa, testing the springs. "I don't think that."
She sat beside him and laid her head on his shoulder. "I am happy. I feel like I haven't been in a long time, but I am now."
He stroked her jaw and kissed the top of her head. Then he pushed up. "Well, I would rather stay here sitting on the sofa with you, but I'd better get some more work done. If the army doesn't take me, I'll get busy on the house. Maybe by fall we'll have a foundation, but in the meantime, I'm going to put an eave over the stoop on the cabin so you can sit out there even if it's showering. It won't be a true porch, but it'll feel like one.
She smiled and rose, stepping close to kiss him and thank him again. Perhaps, with her newfound warmth toward him, the next couple of weeks would pass more positively.
He worked the rest of the afternoon and left for milking. He was anxious to see Delia and get her reaction to the news. She met him as she stepped through the screen door of her parents' porch, carrying two clean milk pails. She stalled on the step giving her just enough height to look straight at him.
She faltered. "I…I heard the news. Oh, Lang, I'm so sorry."
He reached for one of the pails. "Nothing to be sorry about."
She stepped down beside him. "Mama said you might not have to go?"
"I'm filing for an exemption, but..."
Her eyes glistened up at him. They took slow steps together toward the barn. "But..."
"I'm prepared for whatever they say."
She turned toward him again. "Are you? I don't understand men at all."
They went into the barn and milked the cows. Delia was quieter than ever. Was it because he was leaving, or had the news made her lose herself to thoughts of Theo? She hadn't heard from him since his one letter upon arriving in France. It had been weeks. Lang decided to broach the subject.
"Have you heard any news?" There was no need to explain what he meant.
The splat of milk paused and started again. "No. Nothing."
"I suppose the mail takes longer to get out over there."
"I suppose it does. It feels—" Her voice wavered, and he rose. He carried his half-filled pail and stepped around the cows to see her. Delia stood. Her eyes shone wet and silvery, like a mirror. He didn't have to think about what to say. He set his pail down and held her. She didn't make a sound, but he felt the dampness of her tears on his shirt. His desire for her paled compared with the need to comfort her. Like a brother and a friend, though he still wanted more.
"Theo's all right. He's a born soldier. He's dependable."
"Do you really think so, Lang?" She leaned back to look at him.
With the back of his knuckle, he brushed the tear rolling down her cheek. A pulse surged inside his chest. He yearned to kiss her tears away. What stopped him? The ghost of Theo? Or was it Rilla haunting him? The beautiful woman in his arms should consume his thoughts. Her lips were tender to look at. He let his gaze linger on them until Rilla fled away.
Then Delia pushed out of his arms and stooped back down beneath the flank of the cow. She reached for the udders.
His heart pounded, pronouncing the ache inside. "I'll miss you, Delia."
She glanced at him, smiled, turned her face away, and pressed her shoulder into the cow. "I'll miss you too, Lang. I'll pray for you every day and hope you can come back to the farm. To...to Rilla and the children." She sniffed, but said no more, and Lang picked up his pail.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Marilla rolled a long braid of colorful scrap material around and around until it no longer sprawled on the floor. She settled the roll beside her on the sofa and pinned the place where she had stopped stitching it into a circle for the rag rug she was making. The rug would fill the center of the room in front of the sofa and rocker, adding a coziness the room still lacked. The cabin was her home, and now it appeared it would be her home for some time longer. An indefinite amount of time in fact.
He's really going to war.
She swallowed against the wave of emotion that dragged over her. There had not been an exemption. The response to his application had been standard:
The "Selective Service Law" exempts no person from military service on the ground of dependency. It only authorizes the exclusion or discharge from draft of "those in a status with respect to persons dependent upon them for support which renders their exclusion or discharge advisable."
The support of Lang’s family's, it was judged, was not dependent upon him, since they lived on her parents' farm and had their sustenance and income there. With a silent shake of his head, Lang left the house when she had asked him if he would do something to fight it. Now the days were winding down. He focused his energy on laying up wood, making repairs, and building a small annex onto her chicken coop. He was out there now, hammering away. He told her it was for a cow. Her own cow, so she would have plenty of milk for the children without going back and forth to the farm. He scrubbed up an old butter churn of her mother's to bring to her too. He had found it in a shed and repaired its broken handle. How she would have time for all that with two babies to care for and him away, she didn't know, but she didn't argue. Lang didn't seem inclined to talk about such d
etails.
The sound of the pounding hammer stopped. She laid aside her sewing and rose to prepare their dinner. While it cooked, if the children didn't fuss, she would start to pack his things. Lord, don't let him be gone long. A lump rose to her throat, fear balling with conviction. How long had it been since she'd asked God for anything? Or maybe that's all she had done was ask Him for things—or tell Him what she wanted.
Lang opened the door while she fried hash on the stove. "Rilla, I'm going to your folks to fetch the cow."
She shook away her dour thoughts. "Do you need me to help?"
"No. I'll be back soon as I can." He moved to pull the door closed behind him.
"Don't you want your dinner first?"
He paused. "No, you go ahead and eat without me. I'll eat when I get back." He closed the door and was gone. She dropped her spoon into the cast iron frying pan and moved the hash off the stove. Pulling out a chair at the table, she plunked down, her shoulders falling as tears washed out her eyes.
She bowed her head. "I don't know what to say to you, God. I don't know how to pray anymore. Am I so wrong for asking that he wouldn't have to go away? For expecting You to fix us? You know how it's been. You know...and now I'm losing him." She gulped a sob. "In every way, God...I'm losing him." Tears fell into her lap. Her nose ran. She raised her head and sniffed. Lifting her apron, she wiped her face and stared at the steam rising off the pan on the table. Like her prayers going up and dissipating in the air.
Maybe she had lost Lang a long time ago.
An hour later, she heard him outside and found him tugging old Fancy into the single stall barn. Fancy had been Marilla's cow since she was little. Marilla had bottle fed her as a calf. Though she hadn't wanted to deal with caring for a cow now, a sense of familiarity coursed through her offering her a peace she hadn't expected. She patted Fancy's flank and welcomed her.
Dora was asleep, so she brought Emmett out to meet their new addition. "Pet the cow, Em. See? She's nice. She doesn't mind you petting her, do you, Fancy?" Fancy swished her tail and focused on the grain and hay Lang offered. "It's a nice little barn, Lang. Thank you. Makes it feel more like a home around here."
"It'll have to do for a while, I guess."
She knew he was thinking about the unbuilt house. There wasn't any call to mention it. Two more days. That was all they had before he left. Houses didn't seem important now. "I was wondering." She walked out of the barn, and he closed the door, latching it behind them. "Do you suppose we could go to church on Sunday? Seems like it might be a good idea before you go."
"I told you, Rilla, it isn't smart to go mixing with people right now."
"It just seems like spending time together in church before you go couldn't hurt."
"Rilla." He turned to her. "I don't have time to waste sitting around half the day on Sunday."
"But you might not be away long."
"We don't know that, do we?" His voice snapped, and Rilla pinched her lips closed. Any further prayers she had today would stay buried in her heart.
On Saturday, Lang was gone all day at the farm. He finished planting his potatoes on the chance he'd be home for harvest. If he wasn't, Marilla and her father would bring in the crop. Marilla spent the day laundering their clothes and packing a bag for Lang. Her heart ached with each article she folded and placed inside. On Sunday, she woke to the sound of the door closing well before sunrise. Milking time had come. Even today, he would go to the farm.
Tomorrow everything would change. She rose and lit a lamp. Quietly, so as not to wake the children, she dressed and washed her face. The haze of day peeked over the horizon as she wrapped a blanket around Emmett and tucked him in the motor car. She returned to the house to gather Dora in her arms. The baby squirmed. "Shh... I'll feed you in a bit," she whispered.
The pre-dawn erupted as the car's engine roared to life. Again, she was thankful Lang had gotten them the automobile. She would be hard pressed to get along without it now with the children to care for and Lang going away.
Going away.
The thought permeated every other thing. She would not cry. She would keep this day. There would be days ahead for tears if the army kept him.
She was surprised to see Delia's motorcar at the farm too. Delia didn't often come for morning chores. If she came to the farm at all, it was in the afternoon to help Mama with work and supper and to stay for the evening milking. She must have felt it too, the need to capture this time.
A sharp tinge jabbed Marilla. She had tried to squash down the feelings that threatened ever since Dora's birth, but they still hovered there on the edges. Did Delia keep some hidden feelings for Lang beyond those of brother and sister-in-law? She huffed out a breath and released the anxiety tensing her shoulders as she parked the car and turned off the motor. One by one, she carried her babies into the house and laid them on her mother's sofa.
Her mother stepped out of her bedroom in her work dress. "You're here early."
She nodded. "I wanted to come today." Dora fussed, so she bent to uncover her and strip her of her wet diaper. The baby worked up a holler until Marilla had finished changing her and sat down with her in her mother's rocker to nurse her.
Her mother had gone to the kitchen. Now she came back in and tied on an apron. "Do you want coffee, Rilla?"
"Yes, please. Is Daddy in the barn with them?" She didn't have to say who she meant.
Her mother gave a curt nod. "They'll all be back for breakfast 'fore I know it, so I'll start the eggs. We'll have pancakes today too," she added, not having to say that it was because Lang wouldn't be with them tomorrow.
Marilla rocked and nursed Dora, her gaze out the window in the corner of her mother's living room where she could see the glow of lantern light shining from the barn windows. As the sun rose higher, the barn washed in daylight, and the inside lights grew dimmer. She couldn't see the barn door, couldn't tell if anyone went inside or came out.
Dora fell asleep again, and Marilla took her to her mother's bedroom and laid her in the middle of the bed. The front door closed, and she tiptoed out to see who had come in. Her father stooped to remove his barn boots.
"Rilla, you're here." He went to the sink to scrub his hands.
"Are they finished milking?"
"They're separating cream. Should be in soon."
She lifted her chin in a nod and reached for a second cast iron pan to help fry eggs. Her guts churned. Lang milked almost every day with Delia, but today it felt worse. Today she should be out there with them.
Breakfast was on the table before the pair came in. Marilla caught Lang's glance and thought he looked guilty, but maybe she was imagining things because of everything that had happened, everything that was happening. He was talkative during breakfast, and Delia was less so. His glances drifted to her sister.
I shouldn't have come. She was glad when Emmett awoke. She had to leave the table to change him and then bring him back and attend to feeding him his breakfast. Finally, it was over. Delia offered to stay and help clean up. Lang shook her father's hand and hugged her mother. He hugged Delia too. Then Marilla and Lang gathered the children and drove for home. A weight left her chest. She had been starving her lungs. Now the urge to say what lay in her heart filled her too.
Lang shut off the car and reached for the door handle.
"You love her." She had not dared speak the words out loud until today. Now there was no choice. If her heart lied to her, let him tell her. Lang looked at her. "I'm talking about Delia. You're in love with her."
He turned his face to the sun rising higher in the sky, burning off the dew. He got out of the car.
~~~~~
No. He wouldn't lie. He could have. He could have assured Rilla of his love and devotion, but why? Why, when his heart would have defied him, and she might have guessed he lied? Had guessed. She had known for months now. Lang was relieved by her declaration. He went to the woodshed and reached for his ax while Rilla took the children indoors. They would spe
nd their day like this, he supposed.
He steadied a log on the splitting block, swung the ax, set one of the halves back in place, and repeated the process. Rilla knew. He went back to this morning, as he kept swinging the ax and stacking pieces. His and Delia's time alone in the barn had been brief. Delia's father helped finish the milking, and Lang hauled the cans to the milk house. There, he'd told her.
"If there was a way, I'd rather not go."
Delia smiled a soft, sweet, aching smile that told him she had wished that for Theo.
"And do you know why?"
She ran a skimmer over the vat of milk. "Because of Marilla and the children."
"No."
Her eyes came up. "Then no, Lang. Why?"
"Because you need me."
A tiny wrinkle bend her brow, and she blinked. "I need you?"
"You've been alone all these months. Almost a year. I think Theo was a fool to leave you when he had a choice."
She sucked in a breath and turned to the milk.
"Why would you love a man like that?"
Her gaze darted up again. Her mouth opened to speak, but he stepped nearer, before any excuse or explanation could come. He took the skimmer from her hand and set it down. "Delia..." Her gray eyes widened more. Didn't she see? "Do you know how I feel?"
"You—You feel responsible for me while Theo's away."
"More than responsible. Delia—"
She shrugged out of his hold. "Stop, Lang. Please don't say anymore. Theo's coming back."
Silence fell between them, and he let her turn away to her task, though he longed to soothe the tension in her shoulders and back. He shuddered but moved away. "If he doesn't, Delia, I will. I'll come back, and I'll take care of you."
She didn't answer, but she understood. He knew she understood.
He stayed with her and washed the milk cans while she finished separating the cream. At last, they turned to leave. He opened the door. Daylight washed in. Chickens pecked in the dewy grass outside. He held the door for her. As she passed by he whispered, "Goodbye then, Delia. Remember what I said."
