A Promise to Love (13 page)

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Ja,” she answered, “I am fine.”

“Where have you been all this time?”

“Virgie and Richard's.”

“All day?”

“Ja. They are nice people.”

This was news. “Did they like your strudel?”

“They like it fine.”

He fell into step beside her. “Want me to carry the basket for you? It looks heavy.”

Her face, when she turned to him, was so filled with joy she practically glowed in the moonlight.

“Ja. It is heavy. You carry.”

She very carefully handed him the basket, and he discovered that it was not weighted down with bricks or pastry after all. It was filled with the precious sleeping body of his son.

He felt the breath go out of him. “They gave him to you?”

“Ja.”

“How in the world did you manage this, Ingrid?”

“I pray and pray all day at Virgie and Richard's. God listen. They give us Bertie.”

“I thought I was going to have to fight my father-in-law to get my boy back.”

“Richard not so strong,” Ingrid scoffed. “You win—easy.”

He handed the lantern to Ingrid and laid the basket on the ground so he could scoop the baby up into his arms. He reveled in the solid weight of the little boy who had grown since he had held him last. Virgie and Richard had taken good care of him.

The little girls were still waiting in the open doorway of his home, big-eyed and barefoot.

“Is it Bertie, Pa?” Agnes leaped off the porch and came running toward him.

“It is, indeed.” He got down on one knee so the girls could cluster around. He pulled the blanket away from the baby's face, and Ingrid held the light up so they could all look their fill at their little brother.

“His cheeks are fat,” Agnes said. “Grandma fed him good.”

“Yes, she did,” Joshua admitted.

“We get to keep him now?” Trudy asked.

“We do.” He looked up at Ingrid. “Thanks to your new mother.”

“Can we go see Grandma and Grandpa or are they still mad at us?” Agnes asked.

“They not mad at girls,” Ingrid quickly interjected.

“Are they still mad at me?” Joshua asked.

“You.” Ingrid gave a small shake of her head. “Maybe best you stay away.”

“Is it working?” he asked.

“More food on me than in baby,” Ingrid said.

It was true, her dress was splattered with the thin, milky gruel she was trying to feed Bertie with the little “pap boat” that Virgie had sent along with him. The device resembled a narrow gravy boat with a small spout that could be inserted into the baby's mouth. Keeping a trickle going, just enough for him to suck but not enough for him to choke on, was exceedingly difficult.

Joshua caressed his son's dark hair. “It must be possible,” he said. “Virgie managed to use it.”

“Virgie have not so much to do.” Ingrid glanced around at the four girls. “Except feed baby.”

It was the first time Joshua had heard Ingrid say anything resembling a complaint.

Bertie gagged, spit the milky gruel back out, and began to cry. Joshua grabbed the pap boat out of Ingrid's hand so she could sit the baby upright. Agnes brought a cloth to wipe his chin.

“It'll be all right, Bertie,” Trudy said in a soothing voice. “We're gonna take good care of you.”

Ellie waggled a little clothespin doll in front of him that Agnes had made for her just that morning. It was now Ellie's favorite toy.

Bertie stopped crying when he saw the girls. His eyes sparkled and he kicked his feet as he reached out for the clothespin doll.

“Don't give him that,” Agnes chided Ellie. “He'll stick it in his mouth and the clothes'll come off and choke him.”

Ellie immediately put it behind her back. Bertie stretched out his arms to her as though he thought she was playing a game with him, and gurgled happily.

“Did he manage to eat anything at all?” Joshua asked. He had never witnessed this process before. Diantha had experienced no trouble nursing their babies.

“He eat some.” Ingrid placed the baby over her shoulder and rubbed his back. “Bertie need his bed. Bring down?”

Joshua went up to the loft and came back with the walnut cradle Richard had made for Agnes while Joshua was away at war, and which had also held all of their other children.

When he got it downstairs, Ingrid was holding the baby cradled in the crook of her arm, with four admiring little girls clustered around her.

“Can we hold him?”

“Tomorrow,” Ingrid said. “Time for bed now.”

“He sure is pretty,” Agnes said. “Prettier than Ellie or Trudy. They were kinda funny-looking.” She glanced down at her little sisters and ruffled their hair. “But they got over it.”

Polly, evidently jealous of the attention Bertie was getting, tried to climb onto Ingrid's lap. Agnes held her back, and she started to wail.

“Joshua?” Ingrid said. “Take Bertie?”

He gladly plucked his baby boy out of her arms, and Ingrid opened her arms wide to Polly. The little girl climbed onto her lap.

“Polly my baby too,” Ingrid crooned as she placed Polly in exactly the same position that she had held the baby. “Bertie not change that. I love Polly always.”

Polly stuck the inevitable thumb in her mouth and settled back against Ingrid. As Ingrid hummed a tune, the little girl's eyes began to droop, and soon she was asleep.

“She is so tired. That why she cry,” Ingrid said. “Now, girls go to bed.”

“We wanna stay up and play with the baby,” Trudy said with a pout.

“Bertie here in morning. You get much time now with baby.”

“Come on.” Agnes gave Ellie a light swat on the bottom. “Let's go to bed. You'll get tired of him soon enough, just like I got tired of you.”

“You never got tired of me,” Ellie said.

“You're right,” Agnes said. “But I might if you don't hurry on to bed like I said.”

The drama of getting Bertie here had seemed to placate Ingrid. She was a different woman than the one he had found chopping kindling at three in the morning.

While Ingrid rocked Polly to sleep, Joshua had a chance to get reacquainted with his son. Had it only been six months since Diantha had given birth to this little boy right here in their bed?

It seemed like a lifetime ago.

 12 

“Breakfast is ready.” Ingrid had come to the barn to find him. “What you doing?”

“Building a bed.”

“Who for?”

“For me. I'm tired of sleeping in the barn under a horse blanket.”

“Aww. I sleep much good in
my
bed. Plenty room stretch out. Nice, clean, smell-good sheets.”

She turned and went back inside the cabin while he quietly fumed. In his opinion, this thing between them over what had happened the night he had left her to sleep in the barn was getting a little ridiculous. He had apologized. He had even picked her a bouquet of spring flowers and apologized a second time. He had asked nicely for permission to sleep in his own bed again, but no matter what he said or did, no matter how well they got along during the day—come nightfall, she protected her space with a ferociousness that astonished him.

Women never forgot anything!

As he threaded the rope back and forth through the holes he had drilled, making a foundation for a mattress, he contemplated the differences between the two women he had married. Diantha went silent and brooded for weeks when she was hurt—and it took forever to find out what he had done wrong. In the meantime, the whole family would suffer. Ingrid spoke her mind, even if it meant giving him a tongue lashing in Swedish, since she tended to forget her English when she was upset. Then she would brighten up and be all cheerful again, often leaving him to wonder what had just happened. The nice thing was, her temper blew over quickly and supper would invariably still appear on the table.

But his rejection of her that one night?
That
she did not forget.

So he was building a bed.

A lot of families kept a bed in the sitting room of their cabin. It was handy when someone was ill or if there was a sleepover guest. For a family such as his, which didn't have money to purchase a sofa, the bed could be used for the same function.

He blew the last shavings away and put his tools back where they belonged. Then he carried the bed with him to the house. He hoped he wouldn't need to make his own mattress too—but that would depend on whatever mood Ingrid might be in. He would fold up some blankets and simply sleep on the rope webbing if he had to. He'd slept in worse places during the war. It hadn't exactly been a picnic in the barn with mice scampering over him.

“There.” He positioned the bed in the corner of the sitting room.

Ingrid, holding baby Bertie on her hip with one hand and a wooden spoon in the other, came over to inspect it. “I make mattress.”

Ah. She was in a good mood. “I appreciate that, Ingrid.”

“Need nice heavy cotton ticking.”

Ticking. He hadn't thought about that. “We could go into White Rock and see if George has some in stock.”

“He have.” She seemed pensive.

“Is there something wrong?” Joshua asked. “Do you not want to see him?”

“Who? George? He not problem.” She dismissed George with a wave of her wooden spoon. “We maybe visit Susan?”

“Susan Cain?”

“Ja.”

“That's right,” he said. “She did invite us.”

“Agnes and me have new dresses.”

He vaguely remembered seeing her working with some pink flowered material.

“This afternoon, right after we've eaten dinner, we'll pack up the children, go into town for the ticking, and stop by the Cains' house to see if they're home. Would you enjoy that?” he asked.

“Ja!” She gave him the benefit of a sunny smile and immediately handed Bertie off to him. “You hold baby. I cook breakfast. Cinnamon rolls. And omelet.”

Even though she wouldn't let him have his bed back, it was hard to remain upset with Ingrid for long. Her breakfasts alone were enough to turn a man into a slavering fool.

“I can't keep her anymore, Josh. I'm sorry, but Barbara's in the family way again, and she says it's your turn.”

“Turn?” Ingrid asked.

Their family had just gotten back from the mercantile and from paying a short visit to the Cain family. It was their first venture out as a married couple, and she had enjoyed the outing tremendously. Susan had even expressed admiration for the dresses she had made for herself and Agnes. Susan's father had been quite interested in the principles of Pietism and had questioned her in detail. It had been a wonderful day.

But who was this man awaiting them in their front yard, and who was Barbara?

Joshua frowned. “We're kind of in a fix here ourselves, Zeb. I don't know . . .”

“What?” Ingrid looked from one man to the other. She saw a strong family resemblance, although Joshua was more striking. This Zeb had the same coloring and features, but he looked weaker.

“This is my brother, Zebulon,” Joshua said. “Zeb, this is my new wife, Ingrid.”

“Pleased to meet you, ma'am.” The brother dipped his hat. “I wasn't aware that you had remarried, Josh.”

“It was a bit sudden.”

It wasn't hard for Ingrid to see that something was up besides a visit and pleasantries between two brothers. There was too much tension in the air.

“You could have written, given us some time to make plans,” Josh said.

“You know how women get when they're . . . that way. Barb wouldn't let me. She was afraid you'd turn us down, and she said she was done.”

“Done what?” Ingrid asked.

“Taking care of our mother,” Zeb said. “She's on your porch. I have to be getting back now.”

“You spend night?” Ingrid asked.

“No, no.” Zebulon's eyes darted back and forth between them. “I'd best be heading back. Barb's close to delivering and it'll take me the best part of two days to get home.”

And with that, Joshua's brother climbed back onto his wagon and drove out of their yard.

“Ain't Uncle Zeb stayin' to supper, Pa?” Agnes asked.

“No.”

“What's he doing here, then?”

“Droppin' off your grandma.”

“The one we don't see all that regular?”

“Yes. That one.”

Joshua started toward the house, but Ingrid stopped him.

“What is this about mother?”

Joshua sighed. “Ingrid, you got a bad bargain when you married me.”

“I know that,” she said impatiently. “You tell me about mother.”

“My father owned a good farm a couple days' ride south of here. When he died, my brother and I divided things up. He got the land, the house, the tools, the livestock, along with the responsibility of our mother.”

“And you?”

“I got no land, no farm, no tools, no livestock—and no responsibilities. It seemed best at the time. I was headed off to war and didn't know if I would make it back alive. Zeb had a slight heart condition and had to stay home. It seemed the best thing to do.”

“Your mother. Is she bad person?”

“No.”

“Why this Barbara want her leave?”

“Barb was not happy about the decision Zeb had made. She did not want to move into her in-laws' place. Then she and Zeb started having children one after another. Last count I heard, they have ten with now an eleventh on the way. I'm guessing Mother is starting to feel like a burden to her—or perhaps she just needs the extra bedroom. Frankly, I never cared much for Barb.”

“Ten children and one more come soon? Zeb's heart must not be so sick!”

As Zeb pulled away, Ingrid saw Joshua's mother sitting on the edge of the porch, a few bags grouped around her.

The poor woman was nearly comatose from the trip. Ingrid collected every extra blanket she had in the house to temporarily cushion the rope webbing of Joshua's bed so that the old lady would have a place to sleep. She decided that sewing up that mattress would be the first thing she would accomplish tomorrow after breakfast.

While Joshua fed Bertie, Ingrid fed his mother, helped her undress, and helped her slip into her makeshift bed. Somehow, some way, they got the children and baggage and beds sorted out until it was just him and Ingrid standing there, looking at his aged mother as she slept curled up like a child.

Joshua expected Ingrid to really let loose, to tell him off, to throw a fit over the unfairness of his brother dumping his mother off on them. Instead, she just stood there, saying nothing.

“I am so sorry, Ingrid,” he said. “I had no idea this was going to happen.”

Ingrid wasn't paying a bit of attention to him. Instead, her foot was tapping—a habit he had noticed whenever she was either upset or thinking hard.

“Are you angry?” He was fairly certain he knew the answer. That foot tapping was getting intense.

“Oh ja. Ingrid
very
angry.”

He didn't blame her. If there was ever a woman who had the right to feel put upon, it was his new wife—and here was yet another load for her to bear.

“Ingrid, I—”

“Why they put old woman through this?” Tears glistened in her eyes. “Treat her like garbage, dump off on porch!” That toe was tapping a mile a minute as she fought back tears.

“You see this?” She pointed at bruises on his mother's arm. “And this?” She touched what looked like the remnants of a slap mark upon his mother's cheek. “That woman be very mean to mother.” Her eyes blazed, and she punched him on the shoulder. “What wrong with you—leave mother with those persons so long time?”

Then the tears came in earnest as she bent to gently smooth the gray hair away from his mother's forehead. “Look how thin! Hair is look like a
mus
nest. In morning I make good breakfast. I comb the hair. You see. Mother be fine.”

He felt his throat close up in response to her words. Why
had
he allowed his mother to stay there for so long? He had known Barb was not particularly kind. He had known his brother Zeb was weak. His only excuse was that he hadn't realized Barb was
that
unkind, or Zeb
that
weak. No wonder his younger brother had been in such a hurry to leave. He had known that once Joshua got sight of his mother's bruises, he would get a thrashing himself.