Marta imagined the sorrow Liam must feel and shuddered at the thought of losing Bernhard. How would she bear it? If Bernhard was to become ill, how long would it take to reach a doctor? She must learn enough to doctor him herself. Her mother had shown her the medicinal herbs that grew in the Alpine meadows, but she would have to order a book on what grew here in this windswept prairie.
Leaning over, she ran her hand lovingly over Bernhard’s blond head. Please, God, keep him healthy. Make him strong like his father.
Dearest Marta,
I thank God you crossed the Atlantic when you did. You had only to worry about icebergs, but now the danger is man-made and moves at will beneath the surface. Father read to us this morning that a German U-boat sank the Lusitania off the Old Head of Kinsale, Ireland. Over eleven hundred people went down with the ship. Several hundred were American citizens, and Father believes this will bring America into the fighting.
The war grows with no end in sight. Men are dying by the thousands in trenches. Arik, Hermann, and my brothers are all on active duty. I have heard rumors that our men will blow up the roads if they must.
The entire country is on alert. I pray our leaders can keep us out of the fray. . . .
Marta prayed constantly for Rosie and Arik. She prayed for her brother, Hermann. She prayed Switzerland would stay out of the war.
The hens began laying more eggs than the family could eat. Marta took only what she needed and let the hens sit on the rest. Soon she had a dozen chickens and two roosters fighting for dominance. Having watched Niclas do it the first time, Marta built a second coop and separated the males, giving half the hens to each. She beat out and ground enough grain for feed.
The cow’s health improved under Marta’s watchful care. One Sunday when Liam Helgerson came over for his chicken dinner, she asked if she might pasture the bovine with one of his best bulls. “You can have the calf when it’s weaned or a portion of the cheese I hope to make.”
“I’ll take the cheese. You’ve got yourself an enterprising wife, Waltert.”
“She had her own boardinghouse when I met her in Montreal.”
“Then what are you doing out here on the plains?”
Marta gave a short laugh. “I asked him the same thing.” When Niclas’s face tightened, she changed the subject. “You can change your mind about the calf, Mr. Helgerson. Being Swiss doesn’t mean I know how to make cheese.”
He laughed. “Maybe not, but I’ve no doubt you’ll learn.”
Niclas plowed and sowed winter wheat. While he waited for the crops to grow, he hired out to clean wells. Sometimes he would be gone for several days. Marta tried to get used to the silence and loneliness of the prairie, but it wore on her nerves.
“Helgerson said there’s a soft-coal mine five miles from us,” Niclas announced one evening. “I can dig out whatever we can use and sell the rest in Brandon.” He stored the coal in the basement. Marta covered the coal with a tarp to keep the black dust from seeping through the floorboards.
When the weather turned, Niclas moved the coops into the barn and piled bales of hay around three sides to keep them warm. Then the snows came, and Marta looked out on a frozen wasteland.
Niclas and Mr. Helgerson went out with axes to cut holes in the frozen river so the horses and cattle could drink. Niclas returned home so stiff from cold he needed her help to walk through the door. Marta spent the rest of the night tending him, afraid he would lose his ears, fingers, and toes.
“We’re going home to Montreal when the thaw comes!”
“No, we can’t. I signed a four-year contract.”
Four years? She wept. “I hate this place! What happens when the holes you chopped fill with snow and ice? What if you end up in a blizzard and can’t find your way home? What if—?”
“I’m all right.” Niclas gripped Marta’s head between his bandaged hands and kissed her hard. “Don’t frighten our son.”
Bernhard sat in his crib, crying loudly.
She put her hands over his. “And what will our son do without his father?” She stood and went to lift Bernhard from his crib.
Niclas wiggled his fingers at them. “See? I am thawing nicely.” When she glared at him, he sighed. “Bring him to me.” Bernhard never cried long in his father’s arms.
Marta threw more prairie chips into the woodstove while Niclas played with their son. “You can’t keep the cold out of this house!” She left the stove door open and rolled rags, stuffing them tightly against the space under the door. “If we have to stay three more years in this godforsaken place, then we’re going to dam the creek so you won’t have to risk your life cutting holes in that frozen river.”
Shortly after they began the project, a neighbor to the south appeared on horseback. Niclas had gone hunting with Mr. Helgerson, leaving Marta alone to fill in the gaps between the larger boulders he had set. Seeing the rider coming, Marta waded out and untied her skirt from above her knees. She lifted Bernhard and set him on her hip as the man came closer. “So that’s why the water’s so low. What do you think you’re doing? You can’t dam this stream. The United States owns the water rights.”
“No one told me.”
“Consider yourself told.” He swung his horse around and rode back the way he came.
Marta set Bernhard down and put her hands on her hips, watching him until he disappeared in the distance. She went back to stacking stones. When Niclas returned that afternoon, she told him. He ran his hand around the back of his neck and rubbed.
“Well, if it’s the law, we’ll respect it.”
“If it’s the law, it’s unjust! The stream goes through this land, Canadian land! Our animals need water in winter. Why should you go two miles to cut a hole in the river when we can make a pond half a mile from the house?”
“I’ll see what Helgerson has to say.”
Mr. Helgerson came over to help dismantle the dam. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Waltert.” He heaved stones onto the bank.
“Not half as sorry as Niclas is going to be by the time he finishes digging us a well!” Swinging Bernhard up in her arms, she headed back for the house.
Robert Madson came after the second harvest. Marta took an immediate and intense dislike to the man with his bulging belly and fancy new automobile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Waltert. I see you’re expecting another baby.” He bent and pinched Bernhard’s cheek. “You’ve got a grand little fellow here.”
Marta served dinner and noticed how Madson didn’t hesitate to take the platter of chicken first and pick the best for himself without thought of leaving an equal share for anyone else. When the men went out onto the new porch Niclas had built, she overheard Madson say prices were down this year and he hadn’t made as much profit as he had hoped. When she came to the door, Niclas took one look at her and suggested he and Madson take a walk about the place to see the improvements he and Marta had made.
Furious, Marta left the dishes stacked and brought a chair outside. She let Bernhard play in the dirt while she watched the two men. They didn’t walk far, but stood talking outside the barn. Niclas walked out toward the field and Madson headed back toward the house. Marta noticed the stoop of Niclas’s shoulders. She stood as Madson came closer. “Leaving so soon?” She didn’t try to take the chill from her voice.
“I’ll have someone come and get the cow.”
“You will not.”
He looked surprised. “It’s my cow.”
“That cow is part of our contract, Mr. Madson.” She had seen enough to know the man cared nothing about those who worked for him, least of all whether they had enough to eat. “We must have milk for our children.” She put her hand on her swollen abdomen to press her point.
“I’ll give you another cow.”
“I spent months nursing that cow back to health. Our son will not go without milk while I tend another one of your sick cows.” She jabbed her finger toward the field. “That cow stays right where it is.”
His face flushed red
. “Then I’ll take the calf.”
“Only if you fathered it.”
His eyes darkened. “You’re a hard woman, Mrs. Waltert.”
She glared back at him, undaunted. He reminded her of Herr Keller. “Hard, yes, but not hard-hearted like you.” Niclas would keep his word to this man, but it remained to be seen whether Madson would keep his word to Niclas. She doubted it.
His gaze shifted. He looked here and there. When he spotted the coops Niclas had moved outside the barn, his eyes gleamed. “If I can’t have the calf, I’ll take the chickens.”
“Of course. You can have your rooster and four hens. That’s what belongs to you. And I will fetch them for you right now.” She stepped off the porch and headed toward the smaller coop. Pausing, she looked back at him. “Do you want them dead and plucked, or alive and kicking?” She looked pointedly at his nice new automobile. “They tend to make a mess.”
“Put them in a crate.”
“Do you have one in your backseat?”
“Oh, never mind!” Slapping dust off his hat, he headed for his dusty black car. “We’ll settle up at the end of the contract!”
She stood, arms akimbo. “I know the price of wheat. I asked in Brandon. Don’t take me for a fool!”
“Your husband signed a contract!” He squeezed into the driver’s seat and slammed the door. “Everything on this place belongs to me!”
“We are not slaves. And workers are owed their wages! God sees what you do, Mr. Madson! And God will judge between you and my husband!”
Dust billowed up behind him as he drove away.
Marta fumed the rest of the afternoon. When Niclas came in for dinner, she released her pent-up anger. “You wait and see, Niclas.” She took another roasted chicken from the oven. “That man is not going to pay you anything when the contract is up.” She kicked the oven door shut. “He thinks we’re his serfs!” She yanked the lid off the pan and sent it clattering into the washbasin. “You added a porch to the house and dug a well, and what thanks did you get? He wanted to steal our cow and all our chickens! The man is a liar and a thief. And now you know it. You know as well as I do he’ll find an excuse to weasel out of his part of the contract and you’ll have nothing after four years of hard work. We should pack up and go right now.”
Niclas spoke quietly. “I gave my word.”
“What about his word?”
“My word is what matters. My yes is yes.” He looked so weary. “That chicken smells good.”
Marta cleaved the roasted bird in half and put it on the platter. “Next time you’re in town, Niclas, buy another gun.”
He looked up in alarm. “You’re not planning on shooting the man, are you?”
“I’d like to shoot him!” She put the platter on the table and slumped in her chair. “Rabbits are getting into the vegetable garden, and I saw a deer yesterday. I think they know when you’re out hunting and they come here for lunch. If I eat any more chicken, I’ll sprout feathers. Get me a rifle, and we’ll have venison and rabbit stew!”
Dear Rosie,
What I feared is happening. Niclas is being cheated by Madson, and I’m going to have our second child in the dead of winter, twenty-five miles away from the nearest town and midwife.
Niclas went to town without me last time. This baby isn’t sitting as well as Bernhard, and I didn’t want to take any risks riding so far on a bouncing wagon. Niclas had three crates of chickens, butter, and eggs to sell, but came home with empty pockets. Mr. Ingersoll gave him credit at the general store. I told Niclas credit is fine, but cash is better.
I have never seen a man work so hard. But at the end of his contract with that thief Madson, he will have nothing to show for it but muscle and calluses.
14
1917
Niclas and Mr. Helgerson had gone out to look for some missing cattle the day Marta went into labor. When her water broke, she started to cry, which frightened poor Bernhard. She calmed herself with an effort and reassured him Mama was fine, just fine. Then she tried to remember what preparations she needed to make.
She stoked the stove with prairie chips. She spilled blocks on the floor to distract Bernhard. Thankfully, he grabbed them and banged them together happily while she paced, rubbing at her aching belly.
The contractions came fast and hard. Sweat beaded her forehead. As the pain bore down heavily, she sat and closed her eyes. Oh, God, oh, God, bring my husband home soon. This baby is not going to take all day and half the night like Bernhard did.
Bernhard didn’t want to play anymore. Pushing himself up, he toddled over to her. “Mama, Mama,” he said over and over again, holding his arms up. He wanted her to hold him.
“Not now. Mama is busy.” He clutched at her, trying to climb up, but she had no lap on which to hold him. Her swollen abdomen became as hard as a rock. She groaned and Bernhard cried. When the pain eased, Marta pulled herself up and tried to lift him, but another contraction had already begun. When she set him on the floor again, Bernhard screamed.
Taking him by the hand, she pulled him along to his crib. As the pain eased slightly, she lifted him. “Go to sleep. Mama’s all right. You’ll have a little brother or sister soon. . . .”
Rubbing her back, she went to the window and looked out, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Papa will be home soon. Take your nap, Bernhard.” Wiping tears away, she leaned heavily against the sill, counting the seconds through another contraction. It lasted longer this time.
Still no sign of Niclas.
“Oh, God.” She moaned, wanting to bend her knees and lower herself to the floor. “Help me. Jesus, help me. . . .”
Marta spread a blanket over the rug. She went outside and scooped snow into a pot and put it on the stove to melt. The contractions were coming closer together and lasting longer. She cut twine and dropped it into the steaming water. Yanking a drawer open, she took out her paring knife and dropped that in as well. Trembling violently, she waited a moment before fishing the twine and knife out of the hot water. She had no more time to wait.
Thankfully, Bernhard had cried himself to sleep.
The urge came to push. She rolled a clean rag and bit down on it, muffling the groan. Lowering herself to her knees, she faced the warmth of the stove and hitched up her skirt, cutting away the flour-sack undergarment she had made.
One contraction rolled into another. She bit on the cloth to stifle her moans. Perspiration dripped from her face. Her flesh tore as the head came. Marta bore down again and the baby slipped from her body into her hands. Shaking violently, Marta sat back on her heels.
The baby didn’t cry. Wrapped in its white and red womb’s coat, the infant lay curled on its side, the umbilical cord still linked with Marta.
“Breathe.” Marta leaned forward, gritting her teeth against the pain. She took one of the diapers she had laid out and wiped the infant’s face and body. A little girl. “Breathe!”
She turned the baby over and gave the tiny bottom a gentle slap. “Oh, Jesus, give her breath. Please. Please!” She rubbed gently, praying over and over. A soft, mewling cry came, and Marta sobbed in thanksgiving. Another contraction came and her body expelled the placenta.
The door opened, filling the small cabin with a blast of cold winter air. She heard Niclas cry out her name. He closed the door quickly, stripped off his coat, and came to her. “Marta. Oh, mein Liebling! What can I do for you?”
“She’s hardly breathing.” Marta sobbed harder. “Bring the hot water in that pan. And snow! Quickly, Niclas.” She mixed the scalding with the cold and tested the temperature. Then she carefully lowered her daughter into the pan, supporting the baby with one hand while washing her gently with the other. The infant’s arms and legs jerked, and her tiny mouth opened and wobbled in a weak cry.
Bernhard had been large and chubby, his skin pink. He had screamed so loudly, his face turned beet red. This little girl had spindly little legs and a thatch of dark hair. Her tiny body quivered as from cold. Heart breaking, Marta
dried her tenderly and swaddled her in a cloth Niclas had warmed by the fire. “I need a fresh pan of hot water and salt.” She felt the blood running down her legs and remembered the midwife’s warning about infection.
Niclas quickly did her bidding. “What can I do?”
“Take her. Hold her close against you, inside your shirt. Keep her warm or she’ll die.”
“But what about you?”
“I can take care of myself!”
Though the pain was excruciating, Marta completed all she knew she must. “I need your hand.” Niclas helped her to her feet while holding the baby. She sank onto the bed. “Give her to me now.” Lying on her side, she tucked the baby close.
It took several minutes of trying before the little one finally latched on to her breast.
Bernhard awakened and saw Niclas. “Papa! Papa!” He held out his arms.
Marta felt the prickle of tears. “He’ll be hungry.”
“I shouldn’t have left you.” Niclas cut a piece of the bread Marta had made that morning and gave it to their son. “I should’ve been here.”
“We didn’t know she’d come two weeks early.”
“She’s so small. She looks like her mother.”
Marta gazed at the tiny girl lying so still and quiet, her little fist clenched against Marta’s white flesh. She felt a sudden overwhelming love for this child, a bond so tight, she felt her heart ripping open. Oh, Mama, is this what you felt when you held Elise for the first time?
“We should name her now.”
She heard what lay behind Niclas’s quiet, broken words. He didn’t think their daughter would live long. Please, God, don’t take her from me! She’s so tiny and weak, so helpless. Give her a chance, Lord.
Brushing her finger lightly against the silky pale cheek, Marta watched the tiny mouth work again, tugging lightly at her breast for sustenance. “Your mother’s name was Ada.”
“Yes, but let’s not give her that name. What about Elise?” When Marta glanced up sharply, he frowned. “What’s wrong?”
Marta's Legacy Collection Page 15
