The Deepest Sigh

by Naomi Musch

  She didn't remember feeling ready to sleep, but the baby stirring just before dawn awoke her. She picked him up and pulled herself to the edge of the bed, startled when she felt the springs move and Langdon rise.

  "Can I get you anything to help?" he asked.

  She shook her head, thankful she didn't have to see him dressing behind her.

  "I'll put on the coffee and go milk Fancy. Then I'm heading over to the farm."

  There was no need to respond, so she didn't. She went about changing Bertie and feeding him, and she was glad when she heard Lang leave during that time.

  The sun came up half an hour later. She had bathed Bertie and fixed Dora her breakfast before her bath. Later she would gather up the dirty diapers to wash. If her day went well, Lang would keep himself busy at the farm, and she wouldn't have to face him again for some hours.

  As she went about her tasks, it occurred to her that Lang seemed intent on continuing like before. How long would he manage to do that when she didn't bend to suit him? She thought about taking the babies and going over to Delia's to tell her about their confrontation, but decided that it would be better to leave Delia out of things. Still, she wished she could talk to someone.

  On a shelf above the sink stood a small paddle churn Jacob had given her. He claimed she had earned it with the sale of her butter and eggs many times over. He insisted that with the call for more farm goods by the government during the war, he should have been paying her higher prices. She didn't believe him, but she accepted the simple kindness of his gesture. She pulled the churn from the shelf. Having only the one cow at the cabin, she could manage the smaller amounts of butter more easily with the gallon jar churn. She set it on the table and retrieved the cream she'd saved in the icebox from yesterday. She poured it into the jar and put the lid fitted with the paddles and hand crank back on. She dashed her hands over her apron.

  Dora played with her baby doll, and Bertie cooed in his crib while Marilla turned the crank. She'd been at it about five minutes when the sound of a motor car drew her to glance out the window.

  Jacob.

  Her heart leapt and grew nervous at once. What if Lang came home? She told herself it didn't matter. Jacob was a friend, and he had every right to stop and see her. For all she knew, he might have come to see Langdon now that he’d returned from the battlefield.

  "Come in!" she called, before she even heard his knock. He opened the door and stepped inside, his arms bearing a small open crate.

  "Hello." He set the crate on the far side of the table and pulled his hat off, giving her a nod with his greeting. "It looks like I caught you at a busy time."

  She kept turning the handle. Her words came out a little breathless from the effort. "This is nothing. Oh, Jacob, how I thank you for the churn. It makes my life so much easier, being able to churn right here on the kitchen table where I’m able to watch the children."

  "I am happy it helped. It was such a small thing. I wish I'd thought of it sooner."

  She smiled and continued churning, the paddles making a gentle whapping sound as the butter and whey separated. She nodded at the crate. "What's in there?"

  "Just some items from the store. With Langdon coming home, I thought you might like to have some special things to prepare."

  She stopped cranking and pushed a falling strand of hair back from her brow. She set her hands on her hips and looked at him. Then she raised her eyebrows and peered into the crate. Canned goods, white sugar, a package of pre-made cookies, mushrooms, and a bottle of wine filled the container. She scowled. "There was no need to bring all this, Jacob. Lang will do just fine with a steak and potatoes, just like he's used to—or he was anyway."

  "But he is your husband, Rilla, returning from war. He is a hero." His voice was soft and his eyes questioning.

  "Is he? I don't know. He hasn't told me much of anything he did over there."

  Jacob's hands bunched around his hat, and his brow bent. "Hasn't...told you?"

  She gasped. "Oh, Jacob, that's right, you don't know. Lang is home. I picked him up at the station yesterday."

  "Oh." His face fell into an unreadable expression. She moved closer to him and touched his arm. "I'm sorry you didn't know."

  "He is well then, like he said?"

  She nodded and dropped her hand. "I…I don't know if I'll get used to him being here, Jacob. I..." She shook her head and lowered her eyes. When she looked up again, she couldn't say what she wanted to say, that she wished Lang had stayed away for good, and that it was him, Jacob, she loved. Didn't she? Her heart turned over. She had never been more confused, hurt, and lost in her life, even if she did do her best to present Lang with a solid front.

  "Marilla..." Whenever Jacob said her name, it wasn't like when they were children growing up. It sounded different now. It touched her in a raw place. "I don't know what has taken place in your marriage. There are things I suppose you've kept hidden inside, but I will not abandon you if you want me to remain your…your close friend."

  "Oh, Jacob! I—"

  The door opened without a sound, letting in a bright ray of daylight. Lang stepped through. He regarded the two of them standing there, their expressions pregnant with emotion. His eyes drifted between them. "I'm back. Hello, Jacob, what brings you out this way?"

  Jacob wasn't good at hiding his thoughts or feelings. He never had been. He stiffened, his expression reserved. Still, he was gracious. He gestured at the crate of food with the hat fisted in his hand. "I brought something for your homecoming. A gift to welcome you and thank you for your service to our great country."

  Lang grazed the crate with a cursory glance. "Thanks."

  Marilla turned to Lang. She twisted her fingers. "I was telling Jacob that I only planned to make soup tonight. Will that suit you, Lang?"

  "Soup is fine. Do we have any cheese?"

  "Yes." She moved toward the icebox.

  "I don't need it now, Rilla. I was just wondering. Soup and cheese and"—he looked at the crate again—"wine, is it? Sounds like a good meal. Thanks again, Jacob." He stretched out his hand to shake Jacob's. "You didn't have to come out just for that."

  "I wasn't sure when you'd arrive. I wanted to make certain Marilla was prepared."

  Dora had left her doll on the floor by the sofa and now wandered into the kitchen between the adults. She walked to Jacob and pulled on his pant leg before reaching up to him.

  He patted her head, his face reddening. "Hello, Theodora. Yes, I brought you a treat." He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a stick of candy. "She must remember I am the one who has candy at the store."

  "She must," Marilla said.

  Lang watched them with one brow lifted and a look in his gaze that made Marilla's nerves tighten until she thought they might break. "Dora, tell Mr. Hessman thank you."

  "Takou."

  "You're welcome, Dora."

  Lang reached for the door again. "Can I walk you out to your car?"

  Jacob gave a nod and a glance at Marilla. "I will look forward to seeing you at church."

  "Yes, of course. Goodbye."

  Lang followed him outside and pulled the door closed behind them. Marilla plopped into the nearest chair, leaned her head onto the heel of her shaking palm, and wept.

  ~~~~~

  Lang watched the dust settle until he was sure Jacob Hessman was long gone. A gift of welcome... Right. He glanced up the road in the opposite direction toward Theo and Delia's house before turning back to the cabin. What was Rilla doing in there now? Poring over Jacob's offering? Or did she consider the poor man at all? Lang huffed. Opening a fist he'd clenched without realizing, he scrubbed a hand over his face. He was past understanding what went on in her mind. He spun about, taking long strides out to the shed where he could be alone with his tangled thoughts a while longer before returning to the house. He checked the equipment and horse tack. He had built a work bench along the wall for his tools. Everything still looked organized and cared for.

  A far
cry from the picture of his life.

  He had gone over to the farm this morning after breakfast and put in half a day's work, just as he told Rilla he would. He had been anxious to get back to the job of farming. To what end though? He wasn't sure. He still hadn't seen Delia, and Rilla seemed on the verge of turning him out. Out there in the newly plowed field, as he dug holes and plopped a potato half in each one, Lang had come to a decision. He would go straight over to see Delia and her husband when he finished. He wouldn't wait for Rilla's appropriate accompaniment or blessing.

  So, in the afternoon, he had ridden the horse over before coming home. It felt good to be in a saddle again. Cars and trains had spoiled him, and he'd had enough walking to fill a lifetime. He rode off on Sandy, heading down the lane away from the farm, away from the cabin, past the Strom farm, and coming to the fancy, big house Theo had built. Maybe, despite everything, Theo could find satisfaction in that accomplishment. Lang doubted Theo would be undertaking such projects ever again.

  Lang walked the horse into the yard, noting the peaceful solitude that surrounded him. What did they find to talk about there in that empty house? What could they do but watch the time pass? What did Delia use her time for except to nurse Theo's injury? Such a waste...

  He drew nearer and slid off the horse, tying her where she could graze in the greening lawn. Theo's automobile was parked up past the side of the house where it must sit a lot lately. Climbing the steps to the broad porch, he raised his hand and knocked on the door. A few moments passed, and he knocked again. When no one answered, he turned the knob and opened it a few inches. "Hello? Anybody home? Delia?"

  Lang stepped inside and crept through the kitchen. Maybe she was upstairs, though he doubted Theo could handle the steps. Where would she have set him up, in the living room or her sewing room perhaps?

  "Theo?" No one answered, so he continued through the house. He stopped in the living room and glanced around. Their full-sized bed filled one corner. He remembered helping Theo and his brothers move it into the house after the wedding. Someone had brought it downstairs for Theo—or for both of them.

  The sound of a giggle fell like warm raindrops on his ears. He would recognize her laughter anywhere. His glance carried to the living room window and the back door where he saw her flit past in the lawn. He opened the door. "Delia?"

  She stopped short and stared at him, a croquet mallet dangling from her hand.

  "Lang, is that you?" A man’s voice spoke spoke.

  Lang’s gaze swiveled to his left where Theo sat in a porch chair, a pillow supporting his upper thigh so he wouldn't be off balance. Still, he leaned forward and held out his hand, a smile broadening his face.

  "Theo." Lang let the back door close and stepped over to shake his hand, but Theo pulled Lang into him, almost toppling him, and pounded him on the back.

  "You made it. You're back."

  "You too."

  They laughed together.

  "When did you get in?" Theo asked.

  "Yesterday."

  "I didn't hear you pull up."

  "I rode over on Sandy."

  "Missed her, huh?"

  Lang nodded. "Yeah, sure did." His glance turned toward Delia coming up the step, her expression unreadable. "Could hardly wait to get back to the farm." He glanced at her again.

  Theo held out his hand, and she walked past Lang, settling herself on the footstool supporting Theo's stump. She leaned toward her husband, and he laid a hand on her shoulder. "I know what you mean. All I could think about over there was getting back to this lady here." His gaze upon her was loving. "I might not have made it in one piece, but she kept me alive."

  "Yeah..." Lang murmured. As Delia's hand moved to rest on Theo's, a curious truth settled over Lang. "Rilla too."

  "They sure are a pair, aren't they? We got lucky the day we found the Eckert sisters, Lang. Real lucky."

  Lang allowed himself a smile. "Yeah, we sure did."

  He talked with Theo for the better part of an hour. It felt good to be able to open up a little bit about the things that happened over there with someone who had experienced the same hell. He even mentioned Dickie. He didn't tell him exactly what happened. That agony was still a little too hard to talk about. Lang worried about the nightmares returning, and he feared the memories of Dickie's death would haunt him for a long, long time. Still, the small pieces he and Theo shared were cathartic. For Theo, he thought, as well as himself. Delia had left them alone to talk. He wasn't sure when she had drifted off into the house.

  "I'll come by again in a couple days," he said to Theo a while later.

  "I hope you do, Lang. This has been a real good visit. Makes me feel like a new man. I'll be sure and ask Delia to make us some iced tea for next time."

  Lang thanked him and left. He walked around the outside of the house instead of cutting through to the front, while their conversation played through his thoughts. Rilla had kept him alive, even while he'd lain there in a trench next to Dickie, battling the truth. She had crept into his memories fighting for space with Delia, and more often than not, she had won. How many times had he worried about how she fared? Whether or not she was staying warm? If she was managing with the animals? How often had he reminisced about the two of them and Emmett enjoying a summer evening together? He fumbled with Sandy's reins, anxious to get home, wanting to see his wife.

  He was mounting the horse when Delia called his name from the front porch. Lang settled in the saddle and faced her. She looked well. He was finally able to look at her without Theo's presence to govern how long he lingered. Yet, he took her in all at once—her shoulder length hair, blond and drawn back at the sides; her dress, pale and green and fitted loose over her curves; her eyes, older, full of understanding they hadn't held a year ago.

  "Thank you for talking to him. He needs someone like you to talk to. You understand."

  He didn't answer, but he gave a brief nod.

  "Lang..." She took one more step forward. "About your letter..."

  He cringed and tightened his hold on the reins. In his vision, Rilla's eyes held his, questioning and accusing. Today, after seeing Delia—after seeing both her and Theo together, and after all they’d each been through—Lang knew what he needed to do. He should have always known. "I hope you can just forget it."

  She opened her mouth, closed it, and furrowed her brow. She gave a silent nod, and Lang left it there. There was nothing else to do, nothing else to say. She had changed. Or maybe she hadn't. Maybe he had.

  "Goodbye, Delia." He nickered at his horse and turned her head up the drive to the road.

  That's when he went home and saw Jacob Hessman walking into his cabin like he was used to doing so, and having a quiet, serious conversation with his wife like it was a regular occurrence, and sharing a relationship with his daughter that Lang didn't have. And a fist drove straight into his mid-section.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Rilla took one last look in the mirror as she settled her hat on her head. She picked up her gloves and moved from the bedroom to the main room, working them onto her fingers. They had to hurry, or they'd make a spectacle arriving late to church. That was the last thing she wanted. She took Dora's hand and glanced at Lang. "Are you sure you want to come along?"

  Lang looked at Rilla with a raised brow. He held the door open for her and Dora while holding Bertie in his other arm. There was no mistaking how handsome he looked. Marilla couldn't remember how long it had been since she had seen Lang in his suit. He had been gone for a year, and it had been weeks before he left with the army, months even, since he had dressed so fine. The suit still fit him well. His hair had begun growing up top again after the army had cut it short. He'd kept the sides trimmed but slicked his waves back from his brow. With his fedora tilted at an angle, he looked very debonair.

  He must hope to impress Delia.

  The bitter thought stung. Why couldn't she just stop wondering about him? She would move on without Lang. So what if she loved him
once? He had not returned her feelings at the beginning nor since, and she should just stop letting his motives bother her.

  "Of course, I want to come. We didn't get to go to church together before I left. I want to make up for lost time." He reached for her bag. "Let me carry that."

  She relinquished the bag rather than argue and lifted Dora into the car. "Move over honey." She scooted the child to the center.

  Lang stood inside her open car door and handed her the baby. It was the closest she had been to him in days. Even sharing a bed, she had sought to keep space between them. She smelled his shaving lather. He'd used the same clean, soapy scent in the days when she was still too young to be considered by him. She remembered how nice he smelled on the day they rode together to the Independence Day festival.

  His gaze lifted to hers, and she looked away.

  Lang closed her door and walked around to the driver's side. She busied herself settling Bertie as Lang started the car and they headed off. They pulled onto the main road, and he spoke to her. "I was thinking maybe you'd like to go out and catch a bite to eat after the service. It's been a long time since we've gone anyplace together. We could take a drive over to Spooner."

  Marilla shrugged. "I don't know. I was going to use the leftovers from last night's supper for some hash. It won't keep, and I need the space in the ice box."

  "Can't I convince you?" His voice was light, and he reached for her hand.

  It startled her so, she jerked away.

  "Well, you think about it. We don't have to decide until after church."

  Her heart pounded. Why was he acting like this, like nothing was wrong? "We'll see. I'll think about it." She peeked at him. He glanced down at Dora and tickled her under the chin.

  Dora giggled and looked up at him with curiosity in her wide, blue eyes.

  "You have a pretty dress," he said, giving their daughter a big smile.

  Marilla should be pleased at the attention he was giving Dora, but it burned her up inside. Would he win Theodora too and crush her heart later? She tightened her lips into a line and stared ahead out the window until they arrived at church.