A Lantern in the Window

by Bobby Hutchinson

  But he’d been most deliberate about preventing babies. Without ever saying a word, he made it clear each time they loved that he absolutely didn’t want a child with her.

  Well, he was about to have one anyway, Annie thought rebelliously, slamming down the oven door and reaching inside, forgetting that the towel she used as a potholder was threadbare.

  “Owww! Lordie, owww!” She howled with pain and dropped the pot, spilling the entire stew all over the oven door and the floor. Noah would be in for his supper in a few moments, and now the meal was ruined.

  Spill the stew, ruin the bread, get herself with child; couldn’t she do anything right? Annie threw herself into a chair, put her head down on her arms, and burst into a storm of tears.

  Bets patted her back and then quietly cleaned up the mess, wisely letting Annie cry for a while. Then the young girl made a vinegar poultice for Annie’s burned fingers, brewed a pot of tea, poured two cups, and indicated that Annie should take one to Zachary.

  "You go talk with Mr. Ferguson. I will make us eggs and bacon for dinner,” she promised.

  "There’s no bread,” Annie said miserably. “Today’s batch was so bad I took it out and buried it behind the bam.”

  "I will make biscuits,” Bets assured her. “Go, go.” She pointed towards Zachary's room.

  Well, the biscuits her little sister made would be lighter than hers, that was certain, Annie concluded dolefully as she blew her nose and made her way in to sit beside Zachary.

  Zachary looked at her and gave her his crooked smile, and Annie did her best to return it. How strange it was that the old man who'd scared her half to death at first had become someone she liked to be with. She and Bets and Zachary had spent delightful moments together in the past months.

  In short spurts, using his garbled speech and a lot of sign language, he’d laboriously told the sisters tales of his early life in eastern Canada, of how after his beloved Mary died, he and Noah, a young man by that time, had emigrated to the western plains and found this place on the South Saskatchewan River, building the cabin that eventually became this house and slowly building up their herd of cattle. He told of renegade Indians and drunken white men who’d threatened the Fergusons’ very existence here, and of how he and Noah together had fought them off and won.

  Listening, Annie had gained a greater understanding of Noah, of his quiet strength, his courage, the steely determination that made him the man he was.

  The man she'd fallen in love with, she thought despairingly as she handed Zachary his tea and lowered herself wearily into the rocking chair Bets had moved beside his bed.

  Lordie, why couldn’t she have settled for just liking the man she'd married? Why in heaven did she have to love him to distraction?

  Annie tilted her head back and closed her eyes. There were times when she could pretend that Noah loved her back, those rare moments when he smiled at her with affection, or walked with her along the river bank in the evening when they talked together of the day’s happenings. And there were the nights, especially the nights, when he made such passionate love to her. But each time, afterwards, the distancing came again, the drawing away.

  A sound from Zachary made her open her eyes. He was watching her, and the part of his face not affected by the paralysis was smiling, his dark eyes, so like Noah’s, gentle and questioning.

  “Tired?” His hand moved in question. He gestured at the burns on her palms. "Sore?"

  “I spilled the damn stew all over the floor and burned my hands in the bargain.” She tried for a smile, but the tears welled up again and rolled down her cheeks, and despair overwhelmed her.

  “Oh, Zachary,” she wailed. “Why can’t I do anything right?” The words tumbled out of their own accord. “The bread I make is like rock, my piecrust isn't fit to eat, I burned that confounded roast last week to a cinder and—and now—" The words welled up in her and she couldn’t stop them. "Oh, Zachary, I'm—I’m going to have a—a baby, and Noah—he doesn't—doesn’t want babies.” Tears dripped off her chin and wet the front of her dress.

  Zachary groped under his pillow and handed her the clean handkerchief that Bets put there each morning.

  “You want me to talk to Noah?" he asked.

  Alarmed, Annie shook her head, mopped at her eyes, and tried to stop sobbing. She blew her nose hard and gulped. “No, thank you. I—I absolutely must tell him myself.”

  “He’s a good man,” Zachary signed with a sigh. "He loved his little son with all his heart."

  "I know that. And I know he loved Molly that way too, and that he still misses her, and—and Jeremy, too.”

  Zachary nodded, his own sorrow for his lost grandson plain on his face.

  “But that’s over, Zachary. They’re dead and gone, and nothing can bring them back.” Her voice became passionate, and all the feelings she’d stifled for so long came pouring out in a torrent of words. “I want him to be happy about my baby, I want him to love this baby and not always just brood over what he’s lost,” Annie went on, her voice filled with anger, not even caring that she was almost shouting. “So what if what Gladys said was right and his blessed Molly was perfect and I’m— I’m not? This baby”—her hands cupped her still- flat abdomen—"this baby deserves a father just as much as Jeremy ever did. It’s not my fault that Molly and Jeremy died, this new baby shouldn’t have to pay just because—”

  "That’s quite enough.”

  Annie jumped and almost fell off her chair as Noah’s voice thundered from directly behind her. She whirled to face him, feeling the blood drain out of her extremities, wondering how in heaven he’d managed to come in without her hearing him.

  And Lord, how long had he been listening? He was in his stockinged feet; he must have taken off his muddy boots outside, and of course she’d forgotten the kitchen door was wide open.

  Speechless now, she stared at him in horror, knowing that the guilt she felt was plainly written on her face. “Noah, I didn’t mean—”

  “Come with me.” He reached down with both hands and grasped her arms, his fingers like iron bands digging into her flesh, almost lifting her off her feet.

  In a moment they were in their own bedroom, and Noah had slammed the door shut so hard that it seemed the whole house shook.

  Annie’s knees were trembling, along with the rest of her. She whirled to face him when he released her arm.

  Her breath caught at the fury on his face. His strong features were cold and hard, his jaw clenched with rage. His narrowed eyes weren’t cold, however; they were like black pools of fire. He glared at her, and she felt as if his gaze had the power to sear her. His hands were planted low on his hips, and she could see that his huge fists were clenched tight enough to turn the knuckles white.

  “Noah,” she began in a shaky voice. "I'm sorry, I never meant for you to hear—”

  “To hear what?” he interrupted, his voice choked with fury. "To hear how you talk when my back’s turned? To find out you’re having a baby"—the word came out as a sneer—"and that I’m the last to know, after you’ve told my father and your sister and that Elinora woman you write to, and probably Gladys Hopkins, who’ll delight in informing the whole of Medicine Hat?”

  "Oh, phooey, I did not tell Bets or Gladys,” she denied hotly, refusing to let him see that he frightened her. She plopped down on the bed before her legs gave out. “I didn’t mean to tell your father, but I burned myself and ruined dinner and somehow it just came out. I said I was sorry.” She swallowed back the nausea that rose in her throat.

  "You will never"—his words were measured and he spoke very low, almost in a whisper—“never again speak of Molly or of Jeremy. Never, do you hear? They are not your business. They have nothing whatsoever to do with you. You didn’t know them, and I will not have you tarnishing their memory.”

  Her mouth fell open and she gaped at him. “Me? Tarnish the memory of your first wife and child? How can you say such a thing?" The unfairness of the accusation overwhelmed her. />
  “And as for the unfortunate child you carry,” he went on as if she hadn’t spoken, “I wish to God it were otherwise. I wish it had never happened, but the blame is mine as much as your own, and I will do my duty by him, just as I have with you."

  Unfortunate child? Duty?

  In an instant, all Annie’s remorse turned to outrage.

  "Your—your duty?” she sputtered. “You—you pompous hypocrite, you. Is duty what you call what goes on in this bed, then?” She thumped the bedcovers with both her doubled-up fists and sprang to her feet so he couldn’t look down on her.

  "It was more than duty that started this baby, Noah, whatever you choose to believe." She spat the words at him and met his eyes fearlessly now, her chin held high. "You cling to the past as if your dead wife and child hold all the love and happiness life will ever offer you, and I'm sorry for you, because you can’t see what’s right under your nose. When I lie with you, I feel much more than duty.”

  She struggled to keep her voice from trembling and failed. "God help me, I feel love for you, Noah Ferguson.”

  Chapter Eight

  Annie could see some of Noah’s righteous anger giving way to shocked disbelief.

  "And as for the child,” she went on, “the only thing unfortunate about our baby is that his father doesn’t want him. Well, I'll make up for that, never fear, because already I love him with my whole heart and soul.” She’d made it through without crying, and she was proud of that. But the turmoil in her stomach made the victory short-lived. She gagged suddenly, pressed a hand over her mouth, and ran as fast as she could for the outhouse.

  Noah didn't move. Annie's words were like blows from a heavy fist that stunned him and held him immobile.

  She’d said that she loved him.

  Pain wrenched at his gut. He didn’t want her love, he told himself savagely. He didn’t want to love her back, or care for the child he'd carelessly allowed to begin. He couldn’t give that kind of love again, didn’t she see that?

  Sweat broke out on his forehead, and he shut his eyes tight, willing himself to remember.

  For weeks now, he’d struggled to recall the exact shape of Molly’s face, the precise sound of his son’s baby voice calling him daddy. They were recollections Noah had believed to be engraved on his very soul, impossible ever to erase.

  But fight it as he would, Noah's memories of them were fading. Now, in his dreams, it was more often than not Annie’s husky voice he heard instead of Molly’s softer, sweeter tones, and God knew that when he held Annie in his arms, in this room, in this bed, the sweet passion he’d awakened in her and the mad, bottomless hunger she stirred in him left no room for memories or thoughts of another.

  Because, some traitorous part of him whispered, with Molly there had never been the sexual intensity he experienced with Annie. And he felt the foulest sort of traitor to acknowledge that there were days—even weeks—now, when he didn’t think of his first wife at all.

  The rest of June passed with excessive politeness and long silences between them.

  July brought blistering heat and long hours of backbreaking work for Noah, and for Annie as well. Days started at four and ended only at full dark.

  The words they’d hurled at each other remained between them.

  In bed, they lay rigidly back to back, each achingly aware of the other's body, each longing for the love-making that had been their only meeting place. Feeling wretched, neither reached out for the other.

  Annie, wounded by his rejection, couldn’t, and Noah, wanting her more with every sultry, wasted night, wouldn’t.

  “Bets, I’ll take the lunch out to Noah today.” It was nearing the end of August, and he was clearing land that bordered the river, about a mile away from the house.

  Annie usually sent Bets out with Noah’s lunch every afternoon, but today she’d been busy making rhubarb jam all morning, and she was hot and thoroughly sick of being indoors.

  The jam had turned out, though. She could hardly believe how impressive the row of jars with their pink contents looked lined up on the table. Even more amazing, she’d made good bread four times now, tall, golden loaves, crusty and delicious.

  It was the most peculiar thing. She’d waited until Noah was out one day and then, feeling both guilty and defiant, she had ventured up to the attic to look at the beautifully carved cradle, setting it to rocking and wondering if the child she carried would ever sleep in it.

  There, in a box behind the cradle, she’d found recipes that Molly must have written. Feeling like a thief in her own home, Annie brought them down and began trying them.

  Unlike the ones Elinora had sent, these were easy to follow, and one after the other, she turned out perfect bread, piecrust, puddings, even a sponge cake.

  And for the first time, Annie found herself whispering fervent thank-yous to the ghost who shared her house.

  Exuberant with the success of the jam, she relished the long walk along the riverbank and through the fields to where Noah was working.

  She saw him from a distance, using the team of heavy workhorses, Buck and Bright, to pull stumps.

  His snug-fitting pants were tucked into high leather boots, and he’d taken his blue shirt off and hung it on a nearby bush. Brown suspenders rested on equally brown-bare skin, and he had a wide-brimmed straw hat on his head. The muscles in his arms and back bulged as he added his considerable strength to the efforts of the animals.

  He didn’t see her at first, and Annie’s eyes traveled over his long, broad-shouldered body, sweat-sheened and powerful.

  He was a beautiful-looking man. He was a man any woman would be proud to claim as her husband.

  Slowly, torturously, the gigantic stump parted from the earth, and Noah threw his fists to the sky and hollered in triumph, unaware that she was watching.

  It was a revelation to see him this way, exhilarated and noisy. "Hello, Noah. I brought you fresh water and some sandwiches,” she called as she walked across the torn earth to hand him the bucket she’d packed the lunch in.

  He actually smiled at her. His face was streaked with dirt, and sweat poured from him.

  "Thanks, Annie. Whew, it’s a scorcher today. I'm thirsty and hungry both.” He took his hat off and mopped his face with a red checkered bandanna. “There's a shady spot over by the riverbank.” He paused, and she could tell he was uncertain as he added, “Will you come sit and share this with me?”

  Annie hadn't planned to linger, but for the first time since their quarrel, the tension between them seemed somewhat eased.

  “I’d like that, Noah.” She didn’t know about him, but she was sick and tired of the strain between them. She’d never been good at holding grudges. What purpose did they serve? Life went right on.

  Besides, the thought of sitting somewhere cool for a spell was appealing. Her dress was light cotton, but her long skirts were cumbersome. She'd shoved her sunbonnet back, and as usual curls had escaped from under her sunbonnet and were glued to her forehead and neck with sweat. A fresh crop of freckles were undoubtedly popping out like gooseberries on her nose and cheeks, and she didn’t care.

  Noah retrieved his shirt and handed it to her to carry while he took the team down to the water for a drink and then turned them free to graze. When they were settled, he led the way to a sheltered, grassy knoll among the willows that bordered the riverbank.

  Annie plunked herself down, relishing the feel of the cool grass. A slight breeze came drifting from the water. Meadowlarks trilled from the bushes.

  Noah sat down beside her and opened the fresh tea towel she’d wrapped around his sandwiches and held them out to her.

  Good thing she’d packed extra. She accepted a thick chicken sandwich. She seemed always to be starving these days. The early sickness had passed, leaving a bottomless hunger in its place.

  Her belly had begun to gently round, but she was also putting on extra weight all over her body, the first time in her life that she’d been more than skin and bone.


  "I made a dozen jars of rhubarb jam, and they turned out,” she remarked, still feeling pleased with herself.

  "This bread is delicious, too, Annie.” He bit into another sandwich and chewed appreciatively.

  "I guess I’ve finally gotten the knack.”

  “I guess the chickens are relieved,” he said, and Annie blinked.

  Was Noah actually joking with her?

  She looked at him, and he was grinning. Another moment, and they were laughing together, the memory of her calamitous efforts at bread making forming a bond between them.

  They finished the lunch, munching on apples and chatting easily now about the field he was clearing, the new colt that had been born the week before, the latest gossip in the Medicine Hat Times.

  It was growing even hotter. Annie fanned herself with the dish towel, looking at the water, and an irresistible idea began to form.

  “I'm going wading.” She sat up and began unlacing her boots.

  Noah nodded in agreement. “Why not come for a swim? It’s hot enough to melt bullets, and there's a backwater down there just made for swimming. ”

  He stood and, without any hesitation, swiftly removed his boots, pants, and under drawers. Pretending to be oblivious to her startled gaze, he calmly walked down the embankment stark naked and dove straight in, disappearing entirely for a heart-stopping moment before he surfaced a short distance away from the shore.

  "It’s fine,” he hollered, sending droplets flying as he shook water out of his ears. “It’s cool. Come on in.”

  She hesitated for only a split second. Then a kind of madness seized her. She shucked off her dress and stockings, her long petticoat, until all that was left was her white cotton chemise and under drawers. She picked her way gingerly down to the water, aware that Noah, neck deep, was watching her every move.

  The delicious coolness on her toes enchanted her. In a moment, she was up to her knees, and then her thighs.

  "You tricked me,” she gasped. "It’s not just cool, it’s downright freezing."