[2016] Widowed and Pregnant

by Christian Michael

Ida tried to maintain her usual behavior, she truly did. But she was certain that she’d failed, that Asher would never learn of God’s love and that the fault rested solely on her. Something about her husband’s broken heart brought her own heart to a low place.

  But then there were moments when she looked at Asher, and just being with him made her heart lighter. What exactly was responsible for that sentiment, she was wasn’t sure. Despite her lack of knowledge to the origin of the feeling, it grew stronger every day. She found herself walking along his side of the wagon in order to see him, too hear his voice better.

  In the evening, when they stopped for one last night on the trail, Ida sat close beside Asher, enjoying the feeling that someone was with her. Someone she cared about. Perhaps the word care was not quite strong enough for her feelings, but she dared not use another. Not yet.

  “This is good,” he said, taking a bite of the biscuits and gravy she’d cooked. Ida smiled, proud to be improving.

  “Thank you. I tried to remember what Ma did when she made this, but Cora was always the cook in our family. I was always better at sewing or school things. Cooking was never my strong suit.”

  “Well, you would never guess that now.” He took a sip of water from the cup between them, then set it down with a clank.

  “When do you think we’ll get to Silver Bell?” Asher swallowed the bite he’d taken, thinking.

  “We’ll reach the town by noon at the latest. I’m sorry to say it, but we won’t be home until nightfall.” Despite the impatience in Asher’s voice, Ida was elated. She’d be able to sleep in a real bed again, and take a hot bath. Oh, to bathe in something other than a river!

  Ida opened her mouth to put her excitement to words, but her lungs seemed to tighten, rebelling against the idea of taking in air, let alone speaking. Burying her face in her elbow, she was overtaken by a coughing fit, unable to take in enough air.

  “Ida? Ida, are you alright?” She nodded, still coughing.

  After what seemed like hours but was only a minute, the coughing subsided. “I’m perfectly fine,” she said, her voice hoarse, her throat pained. “Just a tickle in my throat, that’s all.”

  “Are you sure?” Ida reached over, boldly taking his and giving it a reassuring squeeze before releasing it.

  “Quite,” was all she could manage. While she’d had a cough and her breathing rattled, she’d assumed it was a simple cold, nothing to fret over. But now she began to worry some.

  ********

  As they rode into town the next day, Asher noticed one specific thing that had him worried; Ida was sitting beside him. Though she’d seemed more inclined to enjoy his company lately, she loved to walk. She said it brought her closer to God.

  But today, she sat silently beside him. No singing, no speaking. Just a sad substitute for his wife. He’d begun to enjoy the way her eyes lit up as she spoke to him, the way she walked lighter when she sang. But she seemed heavier, like she wore a pack of stones across her back.

  “Are you feeling alright, Ida? You’re awfully quiet today.” She shrugged. “Maybe you’ll feel better if you sing? Would you sing for me?”

  She just shook her head, absently leaning towards him to rest her head on his shoulder. He blushed, unsure what had made her do such a thing. If he was honest, it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant occurrence. But it worried him. Ida was always so careful around him.

  Asher had intended to stop in town and get a few things he needed - fence posts, leather oil, et cetera - but, in light of her behavior, he decided it would be best to get her home. Whether she liked it or not, she would be heading straight to bed the moment they arrived.

  ********

  Ida fell asleep on the way to the house, her head on Asher’s shoulder. When she woke, it was only because the wagon stopped.

  “Wake up,” she heard her husband say. If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought he kissed her forehead. But that was unlikely. “We’re home.”

  She sat up slowly, opening her eyes. It was dark, at least eight o’clock by the looks of things. With a sigh, she asked, “How long have I been asleep?”

  “A few hours. But you probably needed it. Are you feeling any better?” Ida could hear the rattle of mucus in her chest and knew she couldn’t expect wellness anytime soon.

  “Yes, I believe sleep was all I needed.” Asher seemed relieved, believing the lie that had come to her so easily.

  “Good. You should still go to bed, though. You need to rest so you’ll keep getting better. She smiled at the concern in his voice. Maybe he cared for her like she cared for him.

  Though she would have normally protested, Ida let her husband help her out of the wagon and followed him into a small house with just a single room. Asher pulled back the covers on the bed in the corner, telling her to lie down before he went outside to bring in their things.

  Gratefully, she did as told, quickly slipping into a deep, dreamless sleep. She wasn’t awake to see Asher make his bed on the floor, or the way he looked at her, a small, wistful smile on his face.

  Silver Bell Arizona

  December 1876

  Asher had to cook his own supper the next night. It tasted beastly, but that was nothing compared to watching Ida suffer. He sat at the table, eating his poorly seasoned chicken while he watched her mindlessly turn the pages of one of her dime novels.

  Finally, she set it on the floor beside the bed and just sat, staring at the wall. He could hear her struggling to breathe correctly, her lungs rattling. She knocked over one of her shoes with her foot, then kicked it away a bit.

  There was something so sad about a person like Ida being still, being quiet. It was like watching a bird with a broken wing, or butterfly that had just been stepped on by an uncaring stranger. After a long while of trying and failing to go about eating his supper, Asher finally went over and sat beside her, wrapping an arm about her shoulders. She leaned into him.

  “Why did I have to be ill?” she asked him, her voice hoarse. “I was so looking forward to being outdoors and wandering around, free as a bird.”

  Asher chuckled. “Well, you can be outdoors all you want when you’re well. It won’t be long. You’ll probably be back to your usual, active self in a week.”

  “Just in time for Christmas,” she whispered, her eyes closing as she grew close to sleep. “Will you have Christmas with me, Asher?”

  “Let’s make a deal, shall we?” She nodded. “Get well, and I'll celebrate Christmas every day, whenever you want.”

  “What about in summer, when not a soul cares?”

  “I’ll care because you do.” When Ida began to nod off, he stood, helping her lie down. “Remember your end of the deal. You have to get well.”

  But she was already asleep. “God,” Asher whispered the beginning of the prayer, a now unfamiliar thing. “Please, make her well. If you’re there, if you can hear me, I just want her well again. Please.”

  ********

  Nothing changed, and Asher watched Ida struggle more and more to breathe for three days. He prayed almost constantly, though he wasn’t sure if anyone heard. But on the fourth day, he woke to find his wife missing.

  She wasn’t in bed, or in the house at all for that matter. He threw off his blanket, running outside without shoes. He found her in the barn, brushing one of the horses. When she turned to look at him, her face pink from the slight chill, he sighed in relief.

  “What are you doing out here? You can hardly breathe.” She shrugged, setting the brush aside.

  “I woke up before the sun, and I could breathe more easily. It still rattles, but I’m not coughing up pink anymore, and pneumonia takes a while to leave one's body.” The way she spoke about it was so casual, as though she hadn’t been coughing up blood.

  “Ida, you shouldn’t be well.” She shrugged, heading for the house.

  “It must be a miracle, then. Someone must have been praying for me.” Asher blushed, wondering if she’d heard him.

  “But you can’t re
cover so quickly.”

  “You said I would be well within a week, by Christmas.” Asher’s mouth opened and closed several times as he tried to gather his thoughts.

  “I was just saying that to make both of us feel better!” He shut the door, and when he turned around, he was surprised to find himself being hugged.

  “Asher, when you’re given a miracle, you ought to say thank you, not ask why.” He sighed, wrapping his arms around her. “And I do recall someone, namely Asher Blaine, promising to celebrate Christmas if I got well.”

  “I suppose a deal is a deal.” Silently, he thanked God, who, beyond even Asher’s doubts, had a hand in this.

  ********

  “I think we should bake some cookies.” Asher raised an eyebrow and Ida rolled her eyes. It was the day after she’d first begun to feel better, and she still didn’t feel entirely well, but she could feel herself healing.

  “Are cookies necessary?”

  “No, but they taste good.” He laughed as she went about gathering the right ingredients. “Will you pour some flour in the bowl?”

  “Alright.” Asher shook one cup of flour in.

  “I think we’ll need more,” Ida advised. He dumped more flour. “Good. Now we just dump things in until it’s a dough and tastes good.”

  They went on like that for ten minutes, just dumping and pouring, hoping for the best. Ida enjoyed the faces Asher made whenever she asked him to try the incomplete dough. Finally, though, they succeeded, making cinnamon cookies, the recipe for which never had and never would be written. It was just one mistake after another, leading to an end that left both parties satisfied.

  “So, Christmas is a lot of food,” Asher said when, hours later, they sat at the table eating cookies and drinking hot tea.

  “No, it’s not a lot of food. You make the food because food is a blessing, a lot like Christmas itself. Well, that’s what my mother and father always said.” She laughed, remembering so many lovely things. “Pa always told me that, one day, I’d have to make my own memories, without him. I would never have guessed how soon.”

  “I’m sorry about the way I’ve behaved, Ida.” Asher took her hand in his, both of them still covered in flour. “I’ve been selfish and angry, and from now on, I’ll be better.”

  Giving his hand a squeeze, Ida said, “I forgive you. And we can both be better. Together.”

  ********

  When Asher woke up on Christmas morning, the first thing he noticed was a sweet, cinnamon smell. He sat up from his spot on the floor, wondering what could be the cause of it. That’s when he heard singing.

  “Silent night, holy night. All is calm, all is bright.”

  He stood, catching sight of Ida, standing by the cookstove. Her voice was clear, not a hint of illness in it. And for once, there was no doubt in his mind that there was a God. Asher, in that one moment, knew several things; he was blessed, he would celebrate every Christmas he had, and that he loved Ida more than he’d ever loved anyone.

  ********

  Ida’s mouth watered as she looked at her freshly baked pie. There wasn’t anything terribly extravagant by most standards. Just the one pie and a rabbit outside, waiting to be cooked. But she couldn’t help but feel as though she had everything.

  “Good morning,” she heard from behind her. She turned, still holding the pie. Asher stood beside the tangled mess of his blankets, his hair sticking up from sleeping. His face had red lines from his pillow.

  “Merry Christmas,” Ida said in a sing-song voice. She set the pie on the table, then went around it, giving Asher a hug. She took a deep breath. He smelled nice, like the rain somehow. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Of course.” He looked over at the pie on the table. “What are we having for breakfast?”

  Ida’s face burned red. She’d forgotten. “Pie?”

  Chuckling, Asher took her hand. “That sound perfect.” There was a pause, and his smile fell. His face reddened. “I have to tell you something.”

  Ida nodded, noting the nervous excitement in his voice. He still hadn’t let go of her hand, and she was enjoying that.

  “We got off to a poor start. The two of us have argued with each other almost constantly, only stopping when one of us was severely ill.” He cleared his throat. “The two of being together has been a lot of trouble for both of us. And I want you to know, it’s been well worth it and always will be.”

  Again, Ida nodded, unsure what he was trying to say. Her heart beat quickened, though, as she began to get an idea of what it might be.

  “You’ve taught me a lot since we’ve been together. And I’m a better person because of you.” He sighed. “What I mean to say is . . . I, um . . .”

  Grinning, Ida said, “I love you?”

  “Exactly. I love you, Ida Blaine, and nothing on this Earth will ever change that.” There was a long moment of silence in which Ida found herself unable to speak. She didn’t notice the anxious look on Asher’s face until he said, “Are you going to say something?”

  “I thought you knew, but if you insist on hearing it,” She paused, kissing him, the first kiss she’d ever had. “I love you too.”

  “You have no idea how good it is to hear that.” Ida shrugged, smiling up at her husband, her favorite Christmas miracle.

  “I think I can imagine.”

  It wasn’t a perfect Christmas that the young couple shared. There wasn’t a grand feast or any gift beyond that of having someone to be with. There wasn’t a speck of snow on the ground, and the fire in the woodstove made the house too hot.

  But it can be promised that, in all of the years Ida and Asher Blaine would live, that Christmas wouldn’t be forgotten. It didn’t look perfect, but it felt just as it should, as though all was right. As though it were, well, Christmas.

  And, after all, what really makes it Christmas?

  *****

  THE END.

  Hannah’s Story

  Mail Order Bride

  CHRISTIAN MICHAEL

  Hannah sat in the parlor with the light streaming in through the window, sipping her tea. If someone were to drop by, they might think her the epitome of a high society lady. She was dressed in her best green dress, hat and gloves, just back from church on a Sunday morning. She had politely turned down the pastor’s wife’s offer to join them for supper and she had assured Mrs. Winkle that she had plenty of reserves in her pantry and the walk in freezer to keep her going for months. Of course that wasn’t true. Her father was killed two years ago…just before the end of the war. Her mother’s illness had dragged on for the last year before she passed away, draining them of any savings her father had left in his coffers. Hannah hadn’t been able to work during that year because her mother needed her. The money was gone and the food was almost gone and to put the icing on an already sinking cake…she’d just found out the day before that the home she lived in and thought was hers was heavily mortgaged. Her father had borrowed against it to revive his business. After he went off to war, the business began to fail. After her mother became sick and neither of them could tend to it, the business failed altogether. Hannah had been discreetly selling of their family heirlooms for the past year. Debtors were clawing at the doors and Hannah had nothing that was worth anything left to sell. Within a week she would be out on the street with nowhere to turn. She took another sip of her tea and reached for the newspaper lying in front of her on the table.

  Hannah’s best friend Mary gave her the paper. She was the only other soul on earth that knew the true state of Hannah’s plight. Hannah’s pride prevented her for asking anyone for help and because of that, her pride had begun to choke the life right out of her. The truth was that since the war ended, everyone was facing challenges of their own and Hannah felt like asking for help would just be adding another burden to her kindly neighbors who were already as overwhelmed as she.

  The newspaper was folded open to the advertisements and one article had been circled with dark ink. Hannah had already read it multiple ti
mes…but she hadn’t quite made up her mind what she would do until that very moment. She read it once more:

  “Thirty-four-year-old widowed rancher with one child seeking wife/long-term companion/mother for my child. Lady between the ages of seventeen and thirty will suffice. Looks would be appreciated, but not required.”

  No matter how many times Hannah read that, she still found herself shocked by it. In the world she used to live in…the one before her parents died and she was still on track for finding a suitable husband before the age of twenty-one, such a letter would have been a source of amusement. It would have been the topic of a dinner party conversation perhaps…or that of a luncheon or a tea. Everyone would discuss this rancher who advertised for a housekeeper and nanny…in the form of a wife. Some would have a good laugh and others would just shake their heads and wonder about the savagery of the west. But that was before…Now, Hannah had to force herself to be pragmatic…she needed the room and board and he needed a wife. Mary was right…it seemed like the solution.