“But what about us? What about Rose? How can we risk putting her in a crowd?”
Joe pointed to the article they had cut out of the newspaper. “They say this flu is no different than other years. If we do what we’ve done before, we’ll be all right.”
Liddie frowned as she ran a finger down the article. “If this is like other years, why are they canceling meetings? Some people at Nessie’s funeral wore masks.” She rubbed her left temple. “Even thinking about it gives me a headache.”
“We talked about this. In the cities, people crowd together. Not like here. Besides, they say it’s winding down.” Joe shook his head. “Look. If you’d rather not go, Hank will understand. A funeral is no place for a baby, anyway.”
Liddie lowered her eyes. Now that she’d gotten him to agree, she was ashamed of herself. How could she not be there for their friends? They would be there for her and Joe.
She went to the kitchen window and looked out over the fields, her arms crossed tight at her waist. The maple and oak trees flamed red and yellow under the October sun. She loved the color and smell and temperatures of fall, but sometimes, October left like a tease. A last bit of good weather before the harsh cold of winter.
When she turned around, Joe had not moved. He waited. This was her decision. She could go or not. She managed a weak smile. “If you’re going, I’m going with you.”
“You’re sure?”
She nodded.
Joe kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you, Liebchen.”
Liddie nodded. No doubt Joe was right. She was worried for nothing.
“Let’s surprise Daddy with a little lunch.” Liddie spoke as though fifteen-month-old Rose understood. “Won’t that be fun?” She raised her eyebrows and screwed up her face in a way that made Rose crow with delight. “That’s my girl.” Liddie hugged her.
Liddie still felt guilty for being so selfish that morning. Of course they’d go to Minerva’s funeral. Of course Joe would be a pallbearer. It was an honor to be asked.
She put the camera in the basket along with the cornbread. With the onset of the flu, people had stopped asking for pictures, which was just as well. She took her own pictures, developing the film after she put Rose down for naps. She checked with Joe before working in the darkroom at night.
Now, hoisting Rose onto her hip, she got a grip on the basket and headed to the field.
“Hello, Joe!” She picked her way over the uneven ground, kicking her skirt out of the way when it snagged on downed cornstalks. “Do you have time for lunch?”
“I always have time for food. And for my girls.” He tossed an ear of corn into the wagon, peeled off his gloves, and reached for Rose.
Liddie set the basket on the ground by the wagon and fished out the camera. “First, a picture of the two of you.”
“I’m not so clean.”
She laughed. His protests at being photographed had become a game between them. She’d taken pictures of him with holes in his trousers, with a brace of rabbits dangling from his hand, with sweat soaked through his shirt as he chopped wood.
“How do you want us?”
“Sit up there.” She gestured to the end of the wagon. “Hold Rose by your side.”
Joe swung up on the wagon and held his daughter securely under her arms as she tottered on the pile of corn.
Watching through the viewfinder, Liddie framed the picture and waited. When Joe hugged Rose to him, his head and hers side by side, Liddie depressed the lever.
“Oh, that will be a good one,” she exclaimed. She put the camera aside and began to pull food out of the basket.
“If you’re happy, I’m happy.” Joe hopped off the wagon and set Rose in the middle of two rows, handing her an ear of corn that went right into her mouth. Joe took a square of cornbread and crouched down, his back braced against the wagon wheel.
“You know, I always wished I had a picture of me and Papa,” Liddie said.
“I thought you did,” Joe said.
“There’s only the family portrait taken before I was born.”
“I have a picture of me and my Pa with a horse.”
“You do? Let’s find it. When Rose is older, she can know both her grandpas.”
“Our little girl is never going to want for pictures of her and me, is she?”
“Not if I have anything to say about it.” Liddie tilted her head back, her eyes closed. The warmth of the afternoon sun radiated through her chest, melting away her earlier anxieties. “This is a perfect day, don’t you think?”
“Yup,” Joe said.
“Yup,” Rose mimicked her father.
Liddie laughed.
Chapter 47
“Here now, sweetie.” Liddie scooped Rose up off the floor. “It’s not so bad as all that. You took a little fall. You’ll be fine.” She kissed away the baby tears. “How about we have a cookie?”
At the mention of cookies, the child stopped crying. Liddie rubbed her temple as she sat with Rose on her lap, watching her baby stuff bits of cookie into her mouth. The headache simmering behind her eyes when she woke that morning had worked itself to a full boil. She had hoped that by cleaning and cooking she could distract herself. But the pain did not go away.
Propping her elbow on the table, she rested her head in her hand. She ran a finger across Rose’s forehead and along her hairline, then paused with her fingertip in the indentation behind her daughter’s ear. The softest place in the world, she thought as she closed her eyes.
She was sure she’d closed her eyes for only a second, but when she opened them, she did so with a jerk. The late October sun cast golden streaks on the kitchen floor. Rose played with her blocks on the rug. How long had she been sitting there? How had her daughter gotten down from her lap?
Liddie folded her arms on the table and laid her head down. When she opened her eyes again, it was nearly dark. She had to make supper. When she tried to stand up, her legs went rubbery, and she fell back in the chair.
Rubbing her eyes and temples, she realized her skin felt hot. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Yet she saw the fire in the stove was nearly out.
“Rosie, are you cold? Come here by Mama.” Liddie reached out her hand. The child’s tiny fingers curling around her own felt like ice. “Oh, honey! You’re freezing!” She ran her hands along the baby’s arms, only then realizing Rose’s skin felt cold because her own was so warm.
Liddie gripped the edge of the table, steadying herself as she stood. I’m fine, she told herself. It was only a headache. Maybe a little fever. She wiped her face with her sleeve. The wooziness passed as she threw corncobs into the stove to stoke the fire.
“You feeling okay?” Joe asked later as he mopped up gravy with a slice of bread. “You didn’t eat much.”
“A bit of a headache.” Liddie eked out a smile, though her head was throbbing so fiercely she could barely focus her eyes.
Joe put his hand on her forehead. “You’re hot. You should be in bed.”
“It’s only a headache. It’ll pass. Besides, who would take care of Rose and get meals ready?”
“Did you forget that I spent two years on my own in Canada? And lived to tell?”
“I have wondered. Were you really on your own?” Liddie attempted to joke as she let him guide her to the bedroom, where she sank weakly to the edge of the bed.
He helped her out of her housedress and slipped her nightshift over her head. “You sleep. I’ll get Rose to bed.” He brushed Liddie’s hair back from her forehead and planted a kiss above her left eyebrow.
The next morning, Joe woke her. “How are you feeling?”
“Not perfect.” She threw back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Where’s Rose?”
“In her crib. She’s had breakfast.”
Liddie pulled a shawl around her shoulders and forced herself t
o stand. She willed herself to feel better in spite of a pan-banging headache. She kissed him on the cheek. “I love you, you know.”
He put his hand against her forehead. “You’re still hot.”
“I’m fine.”
“I only woke you because I have to feed the hogs.”
“Go.” She nudged him toward the door.
As soon as Joe left, Liddie sank back on the bed. Yesterday’s headache was joined by an ache in her bones. When she had been sick as a little girl, Mama had brought her glasses of water and kept cool cloths on her forehead. She wished her mother could do the same for her now.
By late morning, Liddie had put Rose back in the crib and propped herself on a stool to peel apples. Then the phone rang. She stared at it but made no move to answer it. It would be bad news. What was the point of walking all that way for bad news? The phone jangled again, a harsh, metallic sound that made her ears hurt.
Pinpricks of white flashed in her vision as she finally laid the apple and paring knife on the counter and pushed herself off the stool. She picked up the receiver, braced a shoulder against the kitchen wall, and closed her eyes.
“Hello?” she said.
Then she slid toward the floor in a dead faint.
When Liddie woke, she was confused to find herself in bed. Dim light seeped in at the edges of the curtains, but she couldn’t tell what time it was. Joe sat in the rocker pulled close to the bed, his eyes closed. Rose slept in his arms.
“Joe,” she whispered.
He opened his eyes.
“What happened?” She struggled to focus.
“You fainted. I caught you.” Joe laid Rose in the cradle he’d brought to the bedside, then held Liddie up so she could sip water from a glass. “You had the phone in your hand, and you collapsed.”
“I’m going to get up,” she said, though she made no move to do so.
He put his palm on her forehead. “You’re still sweating. Lie still.” He sat back in the rocker. “I’ve been thinking Vern and Minnie might take Rose until you’re back on your feet.”
“Rosie’s never been away from us overnight. She’d be scared.”
Joe stopped rocking. “I’m sorry, Liddie. I wanted you to go to that funeral. And you got sick. It’s my fault.”
“It’s not your fault.” She covered her mouth against a barking cough. “I expect I’d have gotten it anyway.”
“We have to do something. I’m afraid to leave you alone with Rose. If she was with a neighbor, you could stay in bed.”
Liddie forced herself upright. “I’m fine, Joe. I’m fine.” She managed a weak smile. “Put Rose in the crib. I’ve had the fever two days now. It has to be over soon.”
When Joe returned to the house, Liddie was doubled over beside the kitchen table, her hands over her ears to block the sound of Rose’s crying. He took Liddie’s face in his hands.
“God, Liddie. You’re burning up.”
“I’m so cold,” she whimpered. “I hurt all over.” She let him take her back to bed. “I can’t stop shaking,” she mumbled as he pulled blankets around her shoulders. Joe’s hand felt cool against her forehead, and she put her hand over his to hold it there. She was so hot and so cold.
He tucked the quilt in tight. “You sleep. I’m calling the doctor.”
“What about Rose?”
“I’ll take care of everything.”
Teeth chattering, Liddie closed her eyes and tried to lie still. “I’m so sorry, Joe,” she whispered through gritted teeth.
He kissed her forehead. “Schlaf, Liebchen. Schlaf.”
The next time Liddie woke, she didn’t open her eyes immediately. The memory of how it hurt to see light was too strong. From behind closed eyelids, she assessed her body. Her skin no longer felt on fire. The deep ache in her bones was gone, though her ribs hurt. A sour smell rose from the clammy bedclothes. She slowly opened her eyes. It was dark.
Realizing how very stiff she was, Liddie attempted to roll over and bumped up against Joe. She brought a hand out from under the covers and sought his face. In his sleep, he covered her hand with his and brought it to his lips.
“Joe,” she whispered.
“Liddie,” he mumbled. “Liddie?”
“I’m fine, Joe,” she said.
He propped up on one elbow and put his palm on her forehead, her cheek, the back of her neck.
“I’m really fine.”
He pulled her into his arms, and she felt his tears on her cheek.
The next morning, Liddie tried to get up, but her legs barely supported her.
“No wonder,” Joe said, helping her to a chair. “You haven’t eaten anything but a few spoonfuls of soup for five days. Sit there. I’ll bring you something.”
“Five days? What do you mean?”
“You’ve been out of your head with fever. It’s November second.”
“How can that be?” Bewildered, Liddie looked around. “Where’s Rose?”
A muscle twitched in his cheek. “You were so sick.”
Even though the lamp was turned low, she saw how haggard his face had become.
“I couldn’t take care of Rose and you and the farm,” he said. “I had to give her to Vern and Minnie.”
“She’s all right?”
“She’s fine.” Joe raked his hands through his hair. “I guess you may as well have all the news right away.”
The hair on Liddie’s arms stood up. “What?”
“Fred’s gone. He’s not coming back.”
“Oh no.”
“Amelia sent a telegram. He left a note. Said he was going to California, that she’d be better off without him.”
Liddie was speechless.
“Vern said he’d go get her. She said he didn’t need to. Said she’d been living on her own for a long time, and she’d get herself and the kids back to Iowa if Vern wired money for the train. Bastard didn’t even leave her money for that.”
“Poor Amelia.” Liddie pulled the blankets closer. “When will she be here? Where will she live?”
“She should be here in a week, maybe less. They’ll live with Vern and Minnie until we get it figured out.”
A cough erupted from deep in Liddie’s chest. Now she knew what caused the ache in her ribs.
Joe held her until the coughing fit passed. “I had the doctor here. He said it had to run its course.” His voice was heavy with weariness.
“I’m better now. The fever is gone, or mostly gone. Feel my face.” She lifted his hand to her cheek. “See? My skin isn’t burning. My bones don’t ache like they did.” She choked on another cough.
“That cough is bad. I could go to the doctor and see if he has anything to help it.”
“Let’s give it a few days. It should clear up on its own. And bring Rose home? My arms ache to hold my little girl.”
“I’ll get you something to eat first.”
“I am hungry.” She ran a hand across her shrunken stomach.
“Now, that’s good to hear.” His face lightened. “How about pancakes?”
“Sounds perfect. Bring me a pan of water. I’ll clean up. I must smell like I’ve been spending time with the pigs.”
“Not so bad as all that. But . . .” He wrinkled his nose and went for water.
By the time Liddie made it to the kitchen, Joe was pouring batter on the griddle.
“You look exhausted,” she said.
“Nothing sleep won’t take care of.”
Through the kitchen window, she saw the sun rising, a big copper ball in the cloudless sky. She pulled her shawl up around her neck. Today would be grand. She was weak, but she was well. She would eat breakfast with Joe. He would bring Rose home. She was happy her sister was coming back, whatever the reason. And she felt only a little bit guilty for her happiness.
Chapte
r 48
Though she was better in most respects, her dry cough persisted over the next week. She put meals on the table. She tended to Rose’s most basic needs. At least once a day, she retreated to bed after putting Rose in the crib to play. Her cough kept Joe and her both from sleeping, but she did her best to get their lives back to normal. One night, after the supper dishes were done and Rose was asleep, she suggested to Joe that they spend a few moments in the parlor.
“Sit with me.” Liddie patted the cushion next to her.
“Don’t you think you should be in bed?”
“Soon enough.” She patted the cushion again. Joe sat, his shoulder touching hers. “Tell me what’s going on with the farm,” she said. “I haven’t been outside in so long.”
Stretching out, Joe leaned back and closed his eyes as he talked. “The corn’s in. Vern’s going to help us butcher. When you feel up to it, we’ll look at the records. We should be able to pay ahead on the mortgage.” He opened one eye to look at her. “You were right about the photos. What you sold made a good dent in what we spent for the darkroom.” His eyes closed again.
She squeezed his hand. It meant a lot that he acknowledged the photos. She chewed the inside of her lip as she watched him. Ever since he’d told her that Fred left, she hadn’t been able to shake an uneasy feeling. She finally asked, “You’re glad you came back to Iowa?”
He opened his eyes. “Why are you asking me that?”
“I can’t help it. I think about Amelia all the time. How could Fred leave her and the children? Was he always unhappy? Was she?”
“And you wonder if I would leave you?”
Liddie didn’t answer.
“You and Rose are my life. I will never leave you. Never. This is our home for the rest of our lives.” He leaned over and kissed her squarely on the mouth.
Liddie pulled his arm around her shoulder. “I can’t hear you say it enough. I look forward to seeing my sister, but I’m sad for her. How will she manage?”
“She’ll live one day at a time. Like everyone does. She won’t be alone. We’ll help.”
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