A Promise to Love (22 page)

Joshua had been thinking the same thing. He stood, arms crossed, leaning against an empty stall, watching her swing from one partner to another. She was no expert at square dancing, but her enthusiasm and laughter at her mistakes was infectious and added to everyone's enjoyment of the evening.

In the flickering light of dozens of lanterns, his Ingrid positively glowed. She reminded him of a tall candle, her blonde hair a beautiful bright flame as she danced to the homemade music. The lovely soft fabric of her dress emphasized the graceful curves of her body, and her smile lit up the whole room.

For the first time since he met her, it struck him that Ingrid had never been a pretty woman. As Agnes and his mother had pointed out—Ingrid was beautiful.

A man he had never seen before came over and introduced himself.

“The name is Downy. Jesse Downy. I just bought a farm a few miles north of here. I was wondering if you gentlemen would mind pointing out the women who are spoken for and which ones are single. I'm in the market for a wife. A new farm isn't worth much without a woman to share it.”

Lyman helpfully pointed out each single woman who had attended. Joshua was amused by the fact that Lyman studiously avoided mentioning Susan.

The newcomer didn't seem all that interested in any of the women Lyman indicated. Instead, he seemed distracted. Finally he asked, “Who is
that
beauty?”

“Which one?” Lyman said.

The man nodded toward the dancers. “That tall blonde with the big smile. I noticed her the instant I came through the door.”

Lyman frowned and glanced worriedly at Joshua. “Are you talking about the woman in that purple-colored dress?”

“She's the one. I've not been able to tear my eyes away from her.”

Joshua's voice was low and deadly. “That, sir, is my wife.”

“Your wife?” The man gave a low whistle. “My sincere apologies. But you are one lucky son of a gun, if you don't mind me saying so.”

The man tipped his hat and moved on. In a few moments, Joshua saw him talking to Susan. Lyman, who had stationed himself beside her, was looking distinctly uncomfortable.

“You don't know the half of it, mister,” Joshua whispered to himself after the man was out of earshot. “You don't know the half of it.”

He noticed that George and Millicent had just arrived. Millicent found her way over to a knot of women. Knowing what he knew, he could barely stand the sight of her, but with Millicent occupied, George gravitated over to him. “How's things going, Josh?”

“Things could be better. The drought has hit me hard.”

“Everyone is suffering,” George said. “I keep thinking that it has to rain soon—this can't go on forever.”

“How are those shelves holding up?”

“Real good. I see Ingrid is enjoying her new boots.”

“That she is.”

Joshua had no problem with George. The man did the best he could . . . considering to whom he was married.

“Speaking of the drought, I've got some news you might be interested in, Josh.”

“Oh?”

“A man came through today. Said Robert Foster is opening up a new section a couple days northwest of Saginaw. Foster is putting out the word he's hiring. Didn't you tell me you worked in a lumber camp a while back?”

“I was eighteen, it was right before the war,” Joshua said. “I've heard of Foster. He runs a good camp.”

“I've heard that Foster's wife and an old cook from up in Maine set a real fine table.”

“When's he wanting a crew?”

“Soon as enough men get there. The man I was talking to wasn't losing any time. He said Foster's a fair man and the shanty boys trust him. He said he was going to try to get there before all the jobs are taken.”

“What's he paying?”

“Standard. A dollar and a quarter a day.”

“We could use the money.”

“What with the drought and all the responsibilities you got—I figured so. Speaking of food—I think I need me some punch.” George went off in search of refreshment.

Joshua continued to watch Ingrid as she laughed her way through an especially intricate dance step. The woman seemed to bring light with her everywhere she went.

As he looked around the room, to his great consternation, he saw that the newcomer was not the only man admiring his wife. Several male eyes were fastened upon her as she concentrated on keeping up with the movements of the dance. He also noticed that one of the men, during certain parts of the movements, was holding her a little closer than the dance warranted. A strong wave of possessiveness came over him, and he grew anxious for this song to end. He had checked on his mother and children, and they were fine. The moment this set was over, he intended to cut in and not leave the dance floor again until his wife was ready to go home.

The news that George had given him niggled at his mind. There would only be so many spots at that camp. The idea of coming home in the spring with a pocket full of greenbacks was a great temptation. He still had some cash from last year's crops and the carpentry work he had done for George—but he didn't have much. Come spring, he would need to buy seed, and . . . a paying job for the winter would be quite a welcome thing.

He hated to go, but if he was going to take the job, he needed to leave at once. He would talk to Ingrid about it later, when they were alone.

“You be gone how long?” she asked.

Josh had been sleeping on the bed in the sitting room ever since his mother had moved upstairs, but tonight, after the family was asleep, he went into the bedroom, closed the door, and sat on the bed beside where Ingrid lay. He wanted to talk in private with her before he allowed the rest of the family to weigh in on this decision.

“Eight months, maybe less. It depends on when the spring thaw comes.”

“That is long time.”

“I know.”

A full moon was shining through the window, and he could see that she was chewing on her bottom lip, thinking hard.

“How much monies again?”

“A dollar and a quarter a day.”

She frowned as she calculated in her head. “That is nearly three hundred dollars.”

“I know.”

“Do we have any monies left?”

“Not much. Barely enough to get the children and you through the winter.”

“There is no monies from grain crops?”

“Not with the drought.”

“Well, then.” She gave a long, shuddering sigh. “I guess I take good care of family when you go away.”

“I know you will take good care of them. That's the only reason I can go.”

“When will you leave?” There was a catch in her voice.

“In the morning. Foster runs a good camp. Safer than most. The jobs will fill up fast. Lyman has promised to help you with the livestock, and I've gotten in a good store of wood. It should last you through the winter. The cherry trees should be dormant soon, so the burden of watering them every day will be over.”

Her thick golden braid lay over her right shoulder, and she absently curled the end around and around her finger.

“I will miss you.”

“And I will miss you.” His voice softened. “You looked beautiful tonight, Ingrid.”

“Ja?” She sounded surprised.

“I was proud to tell other men that you are my wife.”

“Thank you for saying that kind thing,” she said in a small voice.

“I'm not being kind.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “It is the simple truth. I found myself feeling sorry for every man there tonight who was not lucky enough to be married to you.”

He braced himself with one hand on each side of her and leaned in to kiss her. She, who had rarely stopped smiling the entire night, was now deadly serious, watching him with wide eyes. He heard her quick intake of breath when she realized what he was intending. His own heart, to his surprise, pounded like a youth awkwardly trying to steal a first kiss from a sweetheart.

Then he saw that tears were starting to trickle down Ingrid's cheeks, and he pulled back, wondering if he had forever ruined his chances with this beautiful woman. Was she remembering all the mistakes he had made, all the hurtful things he had said? He wiped her tears away with his fingers.

“I couldn't see you, Ingrid. For a long time my grief was so dense I could barely see through it.”

“Pa!” Agnes burst through the door with Polly on her hip. She stopped dead in her tracks. “Why is Ingrid crying?”

“That is none of your concern,” Joshua said. “What do you want?”

“Tell me why Ingrid is crying!” Agnes frowned at him. “Have you hurt her feelings again?”

“I cry from happiness, my
dotter
.” Ingrid gazed up at him, her eyes shining.

“Oh, well then.” Agnes's voice was relieved. “That's all right.”

He looked down at Ingrid's face, reading the love in her eyes, the miraculous love that was still there in spite of him. He smoothed a wayward curl away from her face and wished with all his heart that Agnes would leave.

“I'm really sorry to have to interrupt you two lovebirds, but Polly's sick.”

As though to demonstrate, the little girl promptly threw up all over the floor.

“See?” Agnes said.

Joshua and Ingrid both leaped up at once. She grabbed the little girl and felt her forehead.

“No fever.”

“Thank God for that,” Joshua said.

Influenza had killed more than one small child.

“It could be all the cake and punch she ate,” Agnes suggested.

“How much did she have?” Joshua asked.

“A lot.”

“Why didn't you stop her?”

“Ingrid was busy dancing and you were talking to George. I didn't want her to start squalling and bother everyone, so I let her eat all she wanted. It kept her happy.”

“Poor little girl,” Ingrid crooned, sitting down on the bed and rocking her against her chest. “You feel better now? Get all bad stuff out?”

Polly nodded with her head tucked up against Ingrid's neck.

“Next time you be more careful, ja?”

Again Polly nodded.

“Can I go to bed now?” Agnes said. “I'm awful sleepy.”

“Go ahead,” Josh told her. “Thanks.”

Agnes started toward the ladder, then turned around. “Can Polly sleep with you—just in case she starts puking again?”

“Yes.” That was the last thing he had wanted to happen tonight.

“And it stinks up here,” Agnes announced. “Do I have to clean it up?”

“I'll take care of it,” Joshua said.

Ingrid threw him a grateful look as she carried Polly into the sitting room and sat down in the rocking chair. “Please ask Agnes to find Polly clean nightgown?”

“Of course.”

“What's going on?” Mary came down the stairs and wandered over, wearing a voluminous white nightgown and cap. “What's all this commotion down here?”

“We think a little girl ate too much cake tonight,” Ingrid said.

“That was good cake,” Mary said. “I wouldn't have minded another piece myself. Is everything all right down here, then?”

“We are now.”

“Talking about cake made me hungry. I think I'll fix myself some bread and butter,” Mary said.

A half hour later, Joshua had finished scrubbing the floorboards upstairs and down with soft soap. Polly had been dressed in a clean nightgown and now lay sprawled and asleep in the middle of their bed. Bertie had awakened and needed to be changed and fed. Ellie and Trudy were awakened by all the activity going on around them, came downstairs, noticed that their grandmother was eating bread and butter—and wanted some too.

Once the family finally settled down, both Ingrid and Joshua fell exhausted into bed on either side of Polly.

“Just for your information, this is
not
what I had in mind for tonight,” he said.

Her eyes sparkled. “You not like cleaning up cake and punch?”

“Not especially.”

Ingrid started to giggle at the ridiculously complicated evening. Her giggle was so infectious that before long both of them were trying to smother their laughter so as not to awaken Bertie and Polly.

“Thank you for sticking with me and this crazy family,” he said when they had finally sobered up. He reached over his daughter's sleeping body and grasped Ingrid's hand. “When I get home in the spring, we will start over, you and me. Things are going to be very different between us. I promise.”

 21 

Joshua did his chores the next morning, gave Lyman some instructions, and then he packed up what the lumbermen called a “turkey,” which was nothing more than a bag flung across his back. He wouldn't need much—just warm clothing and a couple of heavy blankets.

His family was sacrificing so that he could do this, and he would be one of the few who would not so much as step foot inside of a saloon come spring—no matter how glad he was to see civilization. He was determined to bring back every penny.

It was so much harder to leave them than he had expected.

“How far will you have to walk?” his mother asked.

“It should take me about four to five days.”

“That is very far,” Ingrid said.

“I'll be fine.”

“Shouldn't you ride Buttons?” Agnes asked. “We could use one of the plow horses to pull the wagon.”

“The foreman won't want to stable and feed my horse through the winter.”

“Oh.”

“I packed food,” Ingrid said. “They will feed you good in the camp?”

“This particular camp is famous for its cooking.”

“You have two blankets to keep you warm?”

“I'll be the envy of the bunkhouse, Ingrid.”

“When will you be back, Pa?” Ellie asked.

“Come here, sweetheart.” He got down on one knee and gave her a hug. “I'll be home in the spring. You girls be good to Ingrid while I'm gone.”

“I'll keep an eye on 'em for you, Pa,” Agnes said. “They won't give her any trouble.”

Each girl got a kiss and a hug, and he held Bertie close for a moment, absorbing his smell and feel. His son and his daughters would change so much while he was away. It broke his heart that he would not be here to see it. He was afraid that he would seem like a complete stranger when he came back.

He kissed his mother on the cheek, and then he turned to Ingrid. They had not kissed since their hurried wedding. Now, with the family looking on, he gave her only a peck on the lips, but he wanted so much more.

When had the idea of leaving her become so hard?

Was it only when he saw her in her new dress, dancing with all male eyes fastened upon her?

Or was it when she had trudged beside him, day after day, lugging water to save his orchard?

Was it the evening he found her trying to bury Diantha's diary to save him the pain of knowing the truth?

Perhaps it had happened the night that she had taken in his mother without question and pulled her out of her near-coma of neglect and abuse. Because of Ingrid, his mother looked and acted like a woman twenty years younger than the one who had been left on his porch.

He couldn't pinpoint exactly when she had become necessary to his happiness, but he suspected it was simply the cumulative effect of months of sheer, unadulterated kindness.

It felt strange walking away from his family, knowing that he would be spending the next eight months without seeing them—but if that's what he had to do in order to care for them, then that is what he would do.

Mary took the smaller children back into the house.

“You coming?” Agnes asked.

“In a little minute,” Ingrid said. “You go on inside.”

“All right,” Agnes said, “but watching him won't bring him back any faster.”

“I know.” Ingrid watched him walk away, the sack across his shoulders, headed off to a brutal and dangerous job to make a living for his family—and it was
such
a dangerous job! Had it been a lumber camp that had taken her brother? Would she ever know?

She knew that some women waited and watched for their husband to come home from the lumber camps, only to find out that he had been given a hurried burial beside the river where he had drowned—unable to reach the surface with tons of white pine closing over his head, his only headstone a pair of calked boots hanging on a lonely branch. There were also women who waited and watched, only to discover that the money they so desperately needed had been either stolen or used up in one wild, drunken spree in Bay City after the lumber camp broke up.

But she had no doubt that if he survived, Joshua would bring every penny back to his family. He was that kind of man.

There was nothing left to do except go back inside the cabin.

Mary looked up from her Bible when Ingrid came through the door. “So now we pray that he comes back safely.”

“Yes,” Ingrid said. “Now we pray.”

It was seventy miles to Saginaw as the crow flew. When he got there, he would inquire about Foster's camp. His only fear was that Foster would already have all the men he needed. If so, Joshua would ask around to see if any other camps were hiring.

He figured he could get there in four to five days on foot. There were rumors that a railway line would be coming through soon—but he didn't put much stock in that. It was all still too raw and unsettled between White Rock and Saginaw.

There were a lot of hopes and dreams about railroads and such these days. With the war over, it seemed like every other man he met had some big idea on how to get rich. White pine was being cut as fast as possible, making wealthy men out of some, and breaking others. He had heard about those who had sunk every dime they had into copper mines in the cold Upper Peninsula only to lose it all on the difficulties of trying to take the ore out. There was a joke going around—probably started by the very ones who had tried mining copper—that a man needed to own a gold mine if he wanted to run a copper mine.

He didn't have the hunger to get rich. He just wanted enough to take care of his family.

There was no schoolhouse in White Rock yet, nor was there a schoolteacher. Each family taught their children as best they could. Joshua and Diantha had taught the girls what little book learning they knew so far. Now Mary, who had once taught school, was working with them. Ingrid was delighted. It gave Mary a chance to do something she had once loved, and it freed Ingrid to do both her and Joshua's chores.

It felt so strange not having Joshua around. Even though their marriage had been awkward at times, she missed him desperately.

As she looked out the window at the fall landscape, she wondered if it would ever rain again. It was now the first of October, and she counted back—June, July, August, September, four months without a drop of rain. If it weren't for the Faraway Spring, they would not even have water to drink.

She worried about food. There were seven mouths to feed, and sometimes eight when Lyman wasn't at Susan's. Their garden had not been abundant, but there had been enough to keep them fed so far. Ingrid had preserved everything they had not eaten.

There was a crock of cabbage pickling in brine in the cellar right now and another crock of pickled cucumbers. There were two apple trees that had fared better than the cherry trees. Joshua said it was because they were older and their roots went deeper. She had dried every last apple, even cutting the worms out of the misshapen ones to save every bite. Those dried apples garlanded the rafters of the cabin now and gave off a lovely scent. There were some potatoes, but not enough to see them through the winter. Joshua had gotten milled what little wheat had survived, and she thought she had enough flour. He had traded their bull calf to George for several bags of beans and rice.

They had not yet butchered the two hogs. Cold weather was needed for that. Lyman said he would help when the time came. After talking with and throwing scraps to the two pigs for months, she had gotten attached to the poor things, but there was no choice. Joshua had said that Richard had always sold them two piglets each spring from the litters he raised for market. She hoped that would hold true next year. The children would need every bit of fatty meat they could get this winter.

There were the chickens, but they were not laying well right now, which was a worry. Their cow, which Ingrid milked morning and night, was still producing enough milk, but there was always the chance that she would go dry before winter was over.

So far, none of the children had gotten sick, with the exception of Polly's memorable stomachache. Ingrid hoped they could make it through the winter without any major illnesses. She hoped to present Joshua with a happy, healthy family when he came home in the spring.

To do that, she needed good food and plenty of it.

She counted out the money Joshua had left with her. He had given her everything he had, and she would not spend it until she absolutely had to.

Agnes noticed that Ingrid was making a list of the food they had on hand. “Will we be all right?”

“We will be fine,” Ingrid said. “When the cold comes, we will kill the pigs, and I will ask Lyman to kill wild animals for us. If a hen stops laying, we will make chicken soup. You children will not go hungry. I promise.”

“It's nice having you here to look after us,” Agnes said. Then she went back to working the arithmetic problems Mary had assigned her.

Ingrid went out to the garden, where she had left two heads of cabbage to eat fresh. She cut the crisp cabbage into pieces and put them into a kettle to steam. Then she cut up some scraps of ham and threw those in. There were two eggs today. Not enough to feed everyone—so she used the eggs and a few handfuls of flour to make into noodles to go with the cabbage. With salt, pepper, and butter, the noodles and the cabbage were a simple dish that the children and Mary enjoyed.