This statement had become a recurring refrain that had woven itself through the whole weary day. Ingrid had lost track of how many times she had said it. She was discovering that being an unwanted guest in two angry people’s home was more tiring than anything she had ever done.
Richard had tried threatening her with his gun.
“Big mess.” Ingrid was unimpressed. “Have to clean Ingrid off of floors and walls.” She did not move from the spot she had staked out on the horsehair couch.
Virgie had tried reasoning with her. “You already got four children to take care of and you’re not even their real mother. What’s a girl like you need with another baby to care for?”
“Bertie needs be with family,” Ingrid had repeated.
“I think the woman might be a little slow-witted,” Virgie said to Richard, tapping her finger against her own forehead.
Richard tried bribery. “I’ll give you five whole silver dollars to leave our house.”
“You keep money. I take Bertie.”
The baby began to cry back in the bedroom where they had put him away from Ingrid’s sight. Virgie went in to tend to him. While she was gone, Richard attempted to physically remove Ingrid from the cabin.
It turned into a wrestling match that was not pretty and did not last long once Richard realized he could not win. He soon discovered that if he was going to remove Ingrid from the house, he would have to remove both her and the heavy horsehair couch to which she determinedly clung. There was one long, awkward scuffle in which Ingrid clung tenaciously to the couch and Richard pulled and strained, trying to pry her off of it.
“What in the world do you think you’re doing?” Virgie asked when she reentered the room and found him dragging the sofa across the living room floor with Ingrid still firmly attached.
“I’m trying,” he huffed, “to get her out of here!”
“Leave her be. You ain’t gonna be able to toss her out. She’ll just grab something else to hang on to. Besides, she’ll get fed up with this soon enough. She can’t sit there on that sofa forever.”
They had sorely underestimated Ingrid’s endurance. She sat and sat some more as she watched Richard and Virgie attempt to ignore her as they went about their daily chores. Ingrid did not intend to be ignored. Virgie washed and dried the breakfast dishes, and Ingrid watched.
“You need put those dishcloths out in sun,” Ingrid advised. “Be much whiter.”
Virgie cooked dinner, and Ingrid watched.
“Tablespoon of vinegar in beans make cook faster,” Ingrid pointed out.
“No, no!” she exclaimed when she saw Virgie salting them. “Salt make cook time too long!”
Richard ate the noon meal Virgie prepared, and Ingrid watched every bite he took from her vantage point on the sofa. Soon, his meal half-eaten, he escaped to the barn, leaving Virgie alone to deal with both Ingrid and the baby.
Virgie self-consciously swept the floor.
“You miss spot,” Ingrid pointed out.
“I don’t need you a-telling me how to keep house!” Virgie exclaimed tearfully.
It was at that moment, with Virgie on the point of tears, that Ingrid knew things were beginning to go her way.
From her place on the sofa, Ingrid graciously dispensed free advice on everything that Virgie did for the rest of the day. When Bertie began to cry again, Ingrid kindly offered to hold him so that Virgie could work more efficiently.
Virgie declined. “You’ll just run out the front door with him,” she said, “the minute my back is turned.”
“Ja,” Ingrid agreed cheerfully. “Probably I do that.”
In the late afternoon, with Bertie asleep in a cradle near her feet, Virgie released a thin rope that was attached to the wall and lowered a quilt frame from where it hung near the ceiling. It held a quilt that had been pieced from various shades of blue and white.
“Ah!” Ingrid said. “That is some pretty quilt. You make?”
Virgie preened a bit. “It’s a new pattern.”
“I quilt good. I help?”
Virgie looked confused. “I don’t know . . .”
“I sit here anyway.” Ingrid shrugged. “Nothing to do.”
Virgie looked down at the baby sleeping soundly beside her.
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. Frankly, I’d like to get the thing done. It’s the piecing I enjoy the most, not the quilting. It’s so tedious.”
For the first time that day, Ingrid left the couch and pulled a kitchen chair up to the quilt frame. It felt heavenly to move about. Now, if she could only empty her bladder without being locked out of the house! Hunger she could deal with. Dirty looks she could deal with, but the need to go to the toilet was beginning to be a problem. She estimated she was good for about another hour before things got critical.
Virgie handed her a needle and thread, and Ingrid inspected the quilting done so far.
“Good work,” she said admiringly. “Tiny stitches.”
“I try.” Virgie smiled, then she realized that she was smiling and frowned.
“I try make tiny stitches too,” Ingrid said. “I want not to spoil beautiful quilt.”
Virgie waggled a needle at her. “Now, just ’cause I let you help quilt, this don’t mean you get to take Bertie home.”
“I know,” Ingrid replied.
Quietly, almost companionably, the two women set to work.
“How are the girls getting along?” Virgie bit off a piece of thread. “I ain’t seen ’em since the inquest.”
“They fine,” Ingrid said. “But they miss grandmother and grandfather.”
Virgie looked up from her work. “Did they say that?”
Ingrid nodded. “Agnes, she say, ‘Grandma Virgie make best corn bread. Wish we have corn bread like Grandma Virgie do.’”
Virgie smiled. “Well, I do make a good pone of corn bread, even if I do say so myself.”
“I not know how make right,” Ingrid said sadly.
“Well, that strudel thing you made was right tasty.”
“You like?”
“Very nice. Wish there was some left. Richard ate most of it. I didn’t have much of an appetite at the time.”
“I make again sometime. You come visit?”
“I’ll never set foot inside that house again. Not while Josh is there. But tell me more about the girls.”
“They miss mother. They miss grandmother. They miss little brother. But all right. Not sick.”
“And Josh?”
Ingrid sighed. “He miss Diantha so very, very much.”
Virgie’s voice took on a hard edge. “You made a mistake marrying that man, you know.”
“I know.” Ingrid shrugged. “Too late. I do best I can now.”
It was the truth, and Virgie apparently heard the truth of it in her voice. She glanced up, eagle-eyed. “You aren’t happy with him?”
“Joshua love Diantha. I love children. I cook. I clean. We do all right.”
“You aren’t afraid of him?”
“Joshua?” Ingrid scoffed. “No. He so easy on girls. He let Agnes talk back all the time. I not afraid.”
“That Agnes does have a mouth on her.” Virgie chuckled. “I’m not saying I’d ever let you take Bertie or anything, but if I did, would I ever get to see him again?”
“Of course!” Ingrid said. “You baby’s grandmother.”
“And you’d let the girls come visit me?”
“All the time.”
“I’ve missed those girls something awful,” Virgie confessed. “But I don’t want to see Josh or be around him.”
“No worry,” Ingrid said. “You visit Bertie and girls when Josh in fields.”
“Are you sure you could handle everything? You might be having a baby yourself before long.”
“Nej,” she said sadly. “No baby. Joshua sleep in barn.”
Virgie’s eyes widened. “Josh sleeps in the barn?”
“Ja,” Ingrid said. “Bertie only baby I maybe ever get.”
“Oh.” Virgie digested this piece of information. “So you and Josh haven’t . . .”
“I cook. I clean. I care for the children.” She rethreaded her needle.
“I’ll admit,” Virgie said, “it’s been a little hard taking care of an infant. I’m not as young as I used to be.”
Ingrid quietly sewed and nodded as she listened to Virgie argue with herself. She hoped Virgie would come to a conclusion soon, because she didn’t know how much longer she could hold on to the coffee she had been foolish enough to drink that morning.
“Richard has been complaining a bit,” Virgie said, “about me not being able to help him with his outdoor work as much as I used to.”
Ingrid held her peace as she diligently worked the thread in and out of the lovely quilt.
“You sure you’d let me see the baby any time I wanted?” Virgie asked.
“Ja. And girls too,” Ingrid agreed.
There was a silence for many minutes as both women plied their needles.
“Do you know why my Diantha died?”
“No,” Ingrid said sadly. “But I very sorry for you.”
Virgie threw down her needle and thread. “Let’s go take a walk.”
When Ingrid didn’t move from her place, Virgie picked the baby up from the cradle.
“I’ll let you hold Bertie while we walk, but I gotta go out to the barn and talk to Richard.”
Ingrid held her arms out for the baby, trying not to tremble in her eagerness. The girls would always have memories of their mother, even Polly might have some fuzzy ones that would stay with her, but Bertie would be her baby, and hers alone.
It was getting dark, and he could do nothing but pace the floor and worry about Ingrid. He had completely given up on getting the girls to stay in bed.
“I need to go look for her. Can you watch over your sisters?”
“Sure,” Agnes said. “Do you think Grandpa might’ve shot her?”
“I hope not.” He lit a lantern and reached for his gun. “I should never have let her leave,” he said as he went out the door. His first stop would be Richard and Virgie’s to ask if Ingrid had been there. He had only taken a few steps out onto their lane when he saw a tall figure cresting the small rise between their cabin and his in-laws’. It was Ingrid, and she was still carrying that basket with her.
He went back inside and hung his gun in its place above the door. “Ingrid’s coming. You girls go to bed now. I want to go talk to her.”
He didn’t really expect to be obeyed, and he wasn’t. Before he had left the yard, four little girls were huddled, barefoot and in their nightgowns, in the doorway behind him.
“Try not to scare her off again, Pa,” Agnes advised. “We really need her.”
“I know.” He was surprised at how strongly he agreed. In two weeks, she had become like a comforting flame within their home around which they all huddled, hands outstretched, warming themselves. The house had felt empty all day without her.
She seemed completely unafraid of the dark as she walked toward him, even though the forest loomed on either side of them. In fact, her step seemed surprisingly buoyant for having been gone so long. The large basket swung from one hand, still heavy with those bricks she had heated and placed within.
“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.
A Promise to Love Page 12