by Ruth Reid
“Nay,” she whimpered. Her eyes filled with tears as she held up a soiled remnant of material not much bigger than a lap cover. “Do you know what this is?” Her voice hitched.
He studied the various shades of green blocks. “It’s our wedding quilt, right?”
She nodded.
“Can it be fixed?”
“Nothing is fixable. It’s—it’s all destroyed.” Her eyes flicked with anger. She stormed over to the wagon and threw the scrap of blanket over the sideboard with the other trash. “There isn’t anything worth salvaging, is there?”
His throat swelled. She wasn’t talking about the house anymore, not even the quilt. How can I fix it, Lord? Show me, please.
She turned her back to him and, falling against the wagon, buried her face in the crook of her arm.
Thomas inched up behind her. “Please don’t cry.”
“I shouldn’t have gone to the cellar.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s mei fault we lost the haus. I know that’s why you’re upset.”
He shook his head, but she wouldn’t have seen him. “I’m upset because it seems like we’ve had one thing after another go wrong for years. I’m mad at myself. I should have cleaned the stovepipe when I noticed creosol building up.” He inched closer, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself. The fire isn’t your fault.” When she didn’t immediately respond, he gently pivoted her shoulder in order to see her face. The heaviness in her eyes told him the bishop had been right. He should have been more aware of her feelings and not so callous. “I’m sorry, Noreen—for everything.”
And in that very moment, it felt as though God was removing the blinders from his eyes. Noreen was adorable with soot smudged on her nose and forehead. Her eyes held a sadness that instantly caused his throat to tighten.
He swallowed hard. “I didn’t exactly break mei promise last nacht.”
Tears collected on her lashes and she lowered her head.
Wrong thing to say. He lifted her chin with his thumb and gazed into her puffy, red-rimmed eyes. “I promised I would never go to bed angry.”
She stood straighter as though readying herself to respond. Her icy, blank stare could freeze fireflies midflight, but he was made of stronger stuff than a bug.
Thomas grinned, but that didn’t simmer the angry hornet. “I never went to bed—yet,” he explained.
Her shoulders went limp. When she blinked, tears spilled over her lashes, clearing a path down her soot-smeared cheeks.
He kissed her forehead despite the dirt, inhaling the smoky scent on her kapp. “I’ve been short with you lately and I’m sorry.”
“It feels like we’ve lost each other,” she whispered.
Thomas inwardly cringed. Lord, I never meant to cause her pain. She was right. They had lost each other . . . years ago.
Noreen squared her shoulders. “We should get back to work.”
Lord, we need You. Our marriage needs You. “Wait,” he said, reaching for her hand. “Let’s pray.”
“Nau?”
He nodded. Normally, they said their prayers silently at the table or before bed. They hadn’t been as faithful in their devotions as when they were first married. He reached for her other hand and held them both as much for support as for leadership. He didn’t wait to see if she bowed her head before closing his eyes.
“Father, we’re like sheep that have lost our way,” he began. “Please, help us. Restore our marriage. Show us how to rebuild what we’ve allowed the trials in life to erode.” His voice choked as he thought about his words. “I love Noreen. I want to be a gut husband. Show me how to start over before it’s too late. Amen.”
“That was beautiful, Thomas.”
His eyes moistened. These sappy emotions had sent him off-kilter. Until he held Noreen’s hand and began praying, he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her. Missed the intimacy they once shared. “We’re going to start praying more together. Every day.”
A smile creased her lips.
He squeezed her hands reassuringly. “The fact that the quilt didn’t burn completely means something. Perhaps it was God’s way of getting our attention. A remnant of hope, jah?”
She half shrugged, then looked over her shoulder at the mound. “We should get back to work.”
As she turned, he stepped in her path. “I meant those words I prayed. I want to be a gut husband. I love you, Noreen.”
She stared at him quietly, lips trembling.
Say something. Don’t give up on us. When she averted her gaze, he continued. “I was thinking about lying down for a little while.”
“Jah, I imagine you must be tired.” She flipped her thumb over her shoulder at the ash pile. “I—um—I’ll see if I can fill up the wagon and get it ready to take to the dump.”
He moved closer, wrapping his arms around her small waist. “I was hoping you would kumm with me. Fraa.”
August, fifteen years earlier
“Guder mariye, Mrs. King.”
Noreen opened her eyes to find Thomas standing at the bedside, wearing only his pajama bottoms, a coffee mug in each hand. She grasped the edge of the quilt, covering herself as she scooted into an upright position. “I didn’t expect kaffi in bed.”
He set the steaming mugs on the nightstand. “I know you don’t like it when it’s hot. Let it cool a few minutes.” He slipped under the cover and sidled up beside her.
“I still can’t believe we’re married,” she said, her voice quivering in the same nervous pitch as last night when they climbed under their wedding quilt together for the first time.
“You don’t need this blanket,” he said, uncovering her bare shoulder. He kissed her exposed skin. “I love you, Mrs. King.”
“I love you too.” She giggled when he playfully nuzzled her cheek.
He watched her intently.
Looking him in the eye, she said, “You have to promise me something.”
“Anything.” He kissed her neck.
She stifled another giggle before it erupted. “I’m serious about this, Thomas. You have to look at me and promise you’ll never go to bed angry—about anything.”
He propped up on his elbow, his hair ruffled, and smiled. “I promise.” He winked. “Nau, may I have a few minutes of your time this morning before I have to leave you to milk cows?”
“Uh-huh,” she said, sliding completely under the quilt.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Present Day
AN ANGELIC GLOW OF SUNLIGHT SHED THROUGH THE cracks of the barn planks. Noreen squinted at the flecks of hay dust floating in the golden haze of morning light and sighed. God had a marvelous way of making all things new. Beautiful. She hadn’t felt this cherished in a long time.
The beam of sunlight highlighted the spot next to her—where her husband should be. The goose-down pillow still had the indent where Thomas had rested his head. Exhausted from lack of sleep, he’d fallen asleep quickly. She’d laid next to him, listening to his muffled snore and feeling blessed. God had answered her prayers.
Something clanged directly below the loft where the milking station was located. Thomas muttered something to one of the cows. Noreen tossed the cover back and scrambled to her feet. She dug through the paper bag Patty had left with her, found a clean dress and apron, and changed into her sister-in-law’s garments. The freshly laundered scent wafted, making her smile. Until she took one look at the dirt caked under her fingernails and the smudges of soot on her arms. A clean dress would do little to make her presentable. Noreen adjusted her kapp and pulled a piece of hay from her hair. She needed a brush. Noreen searched the bag. Not finding anything, she resigned to accept her unkempt appearance.
She made her way to the wooden ladder and descended slowly. Beyond the wall partition, Thomas was milking a cow—and singing. Something Noreen hadn’t heard in years, but it’d been years since she helped Thomas with the barn chores. Usually she was busy preparing breakfast while he did the
morning milking. She eased around the wall divider and into the milking area. The cow munched on grain while immobilized in the milk stanchion. Thomas sat on the three-legged stool, his forehead resting against the cow’s side, and his hands gently squeezing down on the front teats.
The horses needed feeding—the hogs, piglets, and chickens, too—but hearing Thomas serenade the jersey was more enticing. His mood had certainly lifted since getting some sleep. Noreen leaned against the wall. His deep baritone voice still held the same soothing quality she had longed to hear again. She rested her head against the pole, pretended it was Thomas’s shoulder, and for the briefest second, she was fifteen years younger, life was growing in her belly, and she and Thomas were filled with joy.
“How long have you been standing there?”
Opening her eyes, she found him smiling, his gaze on her midsection. She dropped her hand and straightened her posture. “I haven’t heard you sing in a long time.”
He shrugged. “The cows are a captured audience.”
“Jah, I seem to remember you said singing kept them calm.”
His smile faded and he returned to milking.
Wrong thing to say. Noreen rubbed her hands on the sides of her dress. “What can I do to help? I haven’t milked a cow . . .” since we got married, “in a while. But I think I can get the hang of it again.”
He glanced up, a twinkle of surprise in his eyes. “Are you sure you want to?”
She nodded.
He stood. “I seem to recall you were a fast milker.”
“A better singer,” she said, making her way across the concrete slab to where another stool was suspended on a spike protruding from the wall.
“Let me get it.” He crossed the manure gutter, which ran the length of the barn and dumped into the compost area outside. “You don’t have to do this.”
Unlike many men in the district, her husband had never expected her to help with the barn chores. But she had to do something. Without meals to prepare or windows to wash, she felt useless. “I’d like to help.”
Thomas hesitated a moment, then reached for the stool and brought it down. He carried it over to the stanchion and placed it beside Bess. “Have a seat. I’ll get the bucket of sudsy water and a rag.”
“I, ah . . .” She stared at the cow chewing its cud. “Does she kick?” A wife shouldn’t have to ask whether or not their cow kicked. She was her husband’s helpmate, or at least that was supposed to be her role.
“Maybe you shouldn’t do this.” He bent down and picked up the stool.
“Nay, please.” She grasped his forearm. “I want to help.” She wanted to get over the fear of what kept her out of the barn.
“I don’t want you to get hurt again,” he whispered.
She smiled, finding comfort in his concern. “I should be able to—” Bess’s ropy tail snapped, swatting Noreen’s backside and causing her to jump and let out a high-pitched squeal, which startled the cow. Noreen squeezed her eyes closed and braced.
“Kumm on,” Thomas said in a gentle tone. “You’re nett ready for this.” He reached for her hand and gave it a tug.
She lowered her head and followed him out of the milking parlor. She shouldn’t be frightened. Thomas had sold the ill-tempered beast. Besides, the accident was years ago.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I thought I could handle . . .” A shudder ratcheted along her spine as she recalled the crushing weight of the cow pinning her to the cold concrete floor. She squeezed her eyes closed in an attempt to block the memory of her body tangled around cow hooves, and how in a frantic scramble to loosen itself from the stanchion, the cow panicked, stepping on Noreen’s leg, arm, and finally coming down on her entire body. Noreen bore the brunt of the heifer’s weight for no more than the few seconds it took for the beast to right itself, but the damage was done.
Noreen gasped a short breath, vaguely aware of Thomas dropping the stool.
He ushered her into his arms. “Don’t think about it.” He kissed her temple. “Please, don’t think about it.”
She burrowed her face into the crook of his neck, inhaled the smoky scent on his skin, and sobbed. Her husband was patient, holding her close, not rushing to return to milking. She rested her head against his chest. Feelings she had bottled up, painful memories she thought she’d buried, resurfaced from being back in the milking parlor.
Thomas cupped her face in his hands. “I’m going to take you to the bishop’s haus. He offered his daadihaus to stay in until our place is built. Unless, you would rather go to visit your family.”
“Nay,” she said immediately. “I want to stay with you.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
November, fifteen years earlier
NOREEN FASTENED THE LAST PAIR OF PANTS ON THE clothesline. Five loads washed, wrung, and now flapping in the fall breeze. In addition to catching up on the laundry, she’d swept and mopped the floors, dusted, and cleaned the soot off the oil lamp chimneys.
They’d already had a few snow flurries and a hot cup of herbal tea sounded good, but she didn’t want to sacrifice the freedom of being outdoors just yet. It wouldn’t be long before ice and snow would keep her indoors most of the day. Besides, she’d been cooped in the house too long. Morning sickness had kept her in bed more days than she cared to count. Patty had warned her that the first trimester might be rough, but Noreen was in her fourteenth week and still was unable to eat much more than saltine crackers without getting nauseous. On top of that, the scent of brewing coffee, a favorite aroma prior to pregnancy, now caused her stomach to rebel.
Noreen inhaled deeply, letting the crisp air fill her lungs. The trees were bare, their brilliant shades of reds, oranges, and yellows gone. Now the dead leaves carpeted the brown-tinged grass. Thomas was predicting a hard winter due to the number of foggy mornings he’d counted in August. As he liked to point out, the old folktale had proven true in other years. He wanted to be prepared and have a surplus of firewood stored up. Winter didn’t matter to Noreen. Springtime was much more important—the month of May in particular, when they would welcome their first child into the world.
Noreen walked the line, patting the towels and bedding she’d hung out earlier. The towels were still damp, but the quilt was dry. Reaching for the clothespin, a fluttering tickled her middle. She placed her hand on her abdomen and waited for it to happen again.
“Hey, Noreen?” Thomas called from the woodshed a few feet away.
“Jah?”
He leaned the axe against the chopping block and jogged toward her. Concern illuminated his face as his gaze traveled to her midsection. “Everything all right?”
“Jah.” She smiled, experiencing the movement again.
“What’s wrong?”
“I think the boppli kicked.” She reached for his hand and placed it on her belly.
“I don’t feel anything,” he said.
She frowned. “Nay, I don’t either. Maybe it wasn’t anything.”
“Or maybe your body was telling you to rest.” He cupped his hand over her shoulder and turned her toward the house. “Let’s go inside. I’ll make you a bowl of soup.”
“You go ahead. I want to bring the quilt in since it’s dry.”
Thomas glanced up at the sky, but thankfully said nothing about the slim chance of sleet or snow. He unclipped the corner closest to him and helped her fold the blanket. “Do you want me to get the towels?”
“Nay, they’re still damp.”
He carried the quilt into the house, taking it straight to their bedroom.
“I already changed the sheets, if you want to spread out the blanket.” She went to the head of the bed and caught the end as it landed. After tucking the side next to the lampstand, she leaned across the bed and adjusted the other side.
Thomas flopped on the bed and pulled her into his arms.
“Thomas King,” she scolded. “Your clothes have sawdust on them.”
“Oh well, I’ll have to do something about that.” He roll
ed off the mattress and slipped his suspenders off his shoulders, then unfastened his shirt buttons, a mischievous glint in his eye.
“That’s nett what I meant.”
“But you have to admit, it’s a gut idea.” He peeled off his shirt, his arm muscles taut. “Just think,” he said, flinging the shirt on the floor. “In a few months we won’t have any afternoons to ourselves.” He lowered her to the bed and showered her with kisses.
“When the boppli starts schul we will,” she said as his hand roamed her abdomen.
“By the time the first one is old enough for schul, we’ll have three or four more.”
Feeling a flutter, she directed his hand to the spot.
His eyes widened. “Is that the boppli?”
She nodded.
His brows arched, then fell, and his smile faltered a little. No doubt struggling with both pride and fear over the responsibility God had entrusted to them. She placed her hand over his. This moment she would store in her memories forever.
February, fourteen years earlier
Outside the kitchen window the icy February wind howled. This was the third day it snowed so hard that the whiteout conditions prevented Noreen from even being able to see the barn. Thomas had been right. This was one of the hardest winters on record. The stick he used to measure snowfall had registered over three feet and even more had drifted across the open fields and closed the roads.
Noreen was grateful she had enough supplies and didn’t need to go into town to buy groceries. February was the shortest month and yet it felt like the longest. The door opened in the sitting room and the cold draft reached the kitchen. Noreen rounded the corner as Thomas pushed the door closed with his boot.
