A Winter's Promise

by Jeanette Gilge

  “Raw onion sandwich?”

  “Oh, yes! Haven’t you ever eaten one? My grandmother used to say it wards off colds, but I eat them because they taste so good!”

  Emma chuckled. ‘Well, we have plenty of onions—and bread.”

  At the supper table Emma was grateful that shyness kept the children quiet. Miss Clark said the soup was delicious, and she smiled so openly at Emma that her nervousness vanished. Emma found herself freely asking questions.

  “I know you come from out East, but I don’t know where.”

  “I was born in Connecticut, but I lived most of my life near Boston.”

  “Why did you come here? Didn’t you like it there?”

  Miss Clark chuckled. “Oh, I liked it there well enough, but when I heard of the opportunity to teach in the Northwoods, I felt an excitement that’s hard to explain. I knew I had to come. I had been praying for the Lord’s will for my life, and I knew this was where He wanted me.”

  Emma was both startled and happy to hear this frank statement of faith in the Lord’s guidance. The only person she knew who came close to talking about her faith like, that was Kate. But in spite of her gladness that Miss Clark was a special kind of Christian, Emma felt uncomfortable—as though Miss Clark might somehow know that Emma wasn’t on speaking terms with God at the moment.

  Quickly she asked, “Were you ever in New York City?”

  Miss Clark nodded.

  “What’s it like?”

  “Oh, it’s noisy and crowded. I like to see the skyline from a distance, but I don’t like to be in it. I enjoy nature more than what man has built.”

  “The only city I’ve been in is Oshkosh—and Phillips, of course, but that’s just a town. Do you have brothers and sisters?”

  Miss Clark finished her soup before she replied. “I have two sisters—both married—and a brother who is younger.”

  “And your parents?”

  “They still live near Boston. I wonder how they are,” she said pensively. “It takes so long for our letters to get through. Someone usually goes to the post office on Mondays. I’ll have to stop at Grandpa Verleger’s tomorrow night and see if I have any mail.”

  “Al said Grandpa didn’t like it much that you were moving here.”

  Miss Clark sighed, “I’m sorry about that. He’s a nice old man. I know he wanted me to come for your sake, but still it hurt his feelings to think I’d leave.”

  “He’ll get over it.”

  “I suppose he will. But he warned me not to come crying to him if I got in trouble.” Her brow furrowed.

  “That puzzles me. What kind of trouble could I have? He said he didn’t mean that the two of us would have trouble getting along.”

  Emma shrugged. “Who knows? He has a way of looking at the dark side of things.”

  They talked a while longer and then made plans for the morning. Miss Clark said she wanted to leave the house by seven.

  A long while after Miss Clark—Jenny—had gone to bed, Emma was still awake, thinking over all the things they had talked about. They had decided to call each other by their first names, except when the children were around. Emma said it wouldn’t be proper for them to call her anything but Miss Clark.

  It had surprised Emma to learn that Jenny was twenty-eight—five years her senior. She looks younger than I do, and she’s so pretty, Emma thought, as she recalled Jenny’s slim waist, glowing red hair piled high, and long, graceful fingers. And their differences went far beyond the obvious physical ones.

  Jenny’s family had been in America since before the Revolutionary War; Emma’s parents, only since the War Between the States. Jenny had grown up in Connecticut, lived near Boston, and visited New York, Philadelphia, and even Washington, D.C. Except for her move from Oshkosh at age ten, Emma had never traveled outside a thirty—mile radius of Ogema, Wisconsin.

  Jenny had gone to school until she was eighteen; Emma, only as far as the third reader. Jenny had read more books than Emma knew existed; Emma had actually never read a complete book.

  The wonderful part about it was that, in spite of their differences and Jenny’s advantages, Jenny didn’t make her feel inferior. It wasn’t so much what she said that kept Emma from feeling like an unlearned farm woman, but the way she looked at her—with approval, bordering on admiration. Emma couldn’t even remember the color of her eyes—only that they held a rare warmth that melted Emma’s apprehension.

  Emma saw, too, that they had many things in common: their mutual love of nature and children, the pleasure they found in accomplishment, their desire for everyone to be loving and kind.

  A shiver of excitement made Emma cuddle deeper into the covers. Questions swarmed into her mind. Jenny had to be the answer to Al’s prayers—maybe even the answer to hers. But the thought of God banished the excitement and left only regret.

  Even in the darkness she wanted to hide her face when she thought about how angry she had been at God for not helping her. How many times she had felt this way as a child, when she had sassed her mother or disobeyed her. She could see her mother working, tightlipped and grim, refusing to speak to her for hours, even days after Emma had misbehaved.

  She sighed and groaned. She didn’t blame God for being angry and disgusted with her. Here He had been planning all along to send her help—help for all winter, not just, for a day or two, but she had insisted on help right now! She rolled over, trying to get away from the echo of her impatient words and the memory of all the times she had doubted and refused to pray.

  When the baby cried at five, Emma didn’t want to move but, remembering that cold room upstairs, she hurried to fix the fire. Her excitement returned with the dawn, and she chattered happily through breakfast, thankful that shyness still kept the children comfortably quiet.

  Jenny was hardly out of the house, though, before they reverted to their usual noisy selves.

  When Emma watered the cattle at noon, she realized her back didn’t hurt nearly as much as yesterday. Gratitude flooded through her. While the little ones napped, she rolled out molasses cookies and let Albert help cut them with a scalloped cutter Kate had given her. If only, she could tell Kate all that had happened. Kate would love Jenny!

  “Oh my, you look tired!” Emma said as Jenny sagged into the rocker when she got home Monday night.

  “I’ll get used to the walk,” Jenny assured her. “There’s a lot of snow. I tried to brush the snow off my skirt, but it was wet until noon.”

  “It’s probably wet now. Can I get you a dry skirt?” Jenny jumped up. “Oh, no! I’ll change. Is it all right if I hang my wet skirt behind the stove?”

  Oh dear, Emma thought when Jenny went up to change. I hope we don’t have another snowstorm.

  After Jenny had changed her skirt, she ate her onion sandwich and the children ate cookies. They showed her their treasures: pictures, pretty stones, Ellie’s red ribbon. Emma let them chatter. She’d have her turn to talk after the little ones were in bed.

  At suppertime, Emma saw that Jenny was waiting for her to ask the blessing, but she busied herself getting Ellie settled. Surely Jenny would simply bow her own head and pray silently, as she had done last night and this morning.

  Then Albert piped up, “When Papa’s home, we pray, too.”

  Emma felt her cheeks flush. She didn’t dare look at Jenny. Then Albert began to chatter, and the uncomfortable moment passed. Jenny, she noticed, bowed her head a moment before she ate.

  Later, when the children were in bed, Emma made up for her silence. She told Jenny about her fears for the children, how she had yearned for someone to talk to, how she missed Kate and her parents, and many other things. She carefully avoided talking about her discord with God.

  All too soon the clock struck nine, and the two women reluctantly prepared for bed, Emma filled the stove. “I hope you won’t be cold tonight. I’ll try to keep the fire going.

  “I’ll be fine,” Jenny assured her, filling the china pitcher with hot water. “I’m so glad I
’m here. We’re going to have a wonderful winter, Emma. You have such a keen mind—I can’t wait to see you enjoy some good books. I’ll read to you while you knit or sew, if you like.”

  “I would like that!” Emma exclaimed.

  It was comforting to hear the floor squeak above her as Jenny prepared for bed. Surely tonight I’ll go right to sleep. Snuggled in bed, Emma tried to think about all the pleasant things they’d talked about. But, once again, guilt-ridden thoughts plagued her. When sleep finally came, she dreamed that Jesus was frowning at her.

  Twelve

  Raw Onions and Green Wood

  “When will Miss Clark be home?” the children asked on Tuesday, more times than Emma could count. She didn’t blame them. She was eager, too, for the light and laughter that Jenny brought with her.

  Gratitude welled up in her as she shaped bread dough into loaves. She wanted to thank God for sending Jenny, but she could still see Jesus frowning at her as He had in her dream. Over and over she pushed aside those troublesome thoughts and concentrated on the new things she had heard from Jenny. But no matter how hard she tried, regret clung like a bad taste in her mouth.

  When Jenny got home, the fragrant brown—crusted bread was cooling on Emma’s whitest dish towel. Only her best would do now, as she saw everything through Jenny’s eyes.

  “Yum ... the bread smells good,” Jenny said as she made her onion sandwich.

  Emma and the children joined her at the table with bread and syrup.

  Jenny told them how the schoolchildren had sung song after song that morning, and how well the little ones were beginning to read. Even Ernie, who had tried her patience almost to the limit all winter, had done neat sums on his slate.

  Albert wrinkled his nose. “What’s a slate?”

  Jenny flashed him a smile. “I have one of my own at Verlegers’, Albert. Instead of telling you about it, I’ll stop by and pick it up tomorrow night, and you can use it.” She turned to Emma. “I need to bring more of my things over here. Grandpa said there was no hurry, but I know Grandma!”

  When the children ran off to play, Jenny said, “Wait ‘til you see what I brought for us to read tonight!” Eyes twinkling, she pulled a book out of her schoolbag and handed it to Emma.

  “Little Women,” Emma read.

  “It’s about four sisters. I read it twice a long while ago, but I don’t mind reading it again.”

  Reverently Emma fingered the pages. “My goodness, it’s long. It’ll take us all winter.”

  “I thought you could read some during the day, and we’ll pick up at night where you leave off. I don’t mind.”

  “But my work! My knitting! I can’t waste time reading!”

  “Emma, reading isn’t a waste of time. Some of the most important things in life are the ones we can’t see!”

  “But I have work to get done.”

  “You will. You’ll be surprised how fast you’ll work, when you have a reason to get it done—something to look forward to.”

  After supper Jenny began to clear the table, but Emma said, “No, you rest. You look all worn out.”

  For a moment Emma thought Jenny might burst into tears. “Want to tell me about it?” she asked gently, as she filled the dishpan with hot water.

  Jenny nodded. “First of all, I couldn’t get the fire started this morning. There’s so little kindling wood left, and I’ve been trying not to use much. But the wood is so green, it just lies there and smokes. We had to wear our coats until almost noon. I’d have the children get up and stomp their feet now and then to warm up.” Her face brightened. “You should have heard them!”

  Emma chuckled. “I can imagine. And you must have been frozen stiff. When you were at Grandpa’s, did you use to start the fire earlier and then go back to the warm house?”

  “Oh, yes. Sometimes I’d make several trips. The room would be quite warm by the time school started.” She sighed. “I’d better leave half an hour earlier tomorrow morning.”

  Emma washed the last dish and poured out the water, “About the kindling.... Who cut wood for the school this year?”

  “Mr. Schuft.”

  Emma groaned. “I might have known. You could send a note home with young Herman, and tell Mr. Schuft you need more kindling.”

  “I did, last week. He wrote back that I shouldn’t have used it like firewood. He said the school doesn’t have any more money for wood this year, and he isn’t bringing any more.”

  While Emma did chores that evening, she fretted about Jenny in that cold schoolroom. By the time she came in from the barn, Jenny had started getting the children ready for bed. When the little ones were tucked in, Emma’s knitting needles clicked faster than ever as she listened to Jenny read.

  Once Jenny stopped for breath, and Emma said, “Jo is my sister Gustie all over again—always doing something unladylike.”

  “How many sisters do you have?” Jenny asked.

  “Two now. My sister Anne died.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Do the others live near here?”

  “Winnie lives over in Knox, about five or six miles away, but Gustie lives up in Ashland. I was so sad when she got married and moved way up there. I don’t get to see much of Winnie, either.”

  “So you were the last one married. You must have been lonesome.”., Emma nodded. “I sure was. I know Ma must be lonesome now, with all of us gone. Of course Walter and Dick are still home, and she has my sister Anne’s daughter, little Anne. And Pa. But Pa doesn’t talk to Ma much. I can’t ever remember him asking her opinion about anything.”

  Jenny put the book down on her lap.

  Emma continued. “That’s what I especially liked about Al. . .uh . . . Mr. Verleger. He talked to me. He asked me what I thought about things.”

  “Where did you meet him?”

  “Right in my home. He came to talk to my father.”

  “And then?”

  Emma’s face flushed. “Well, I took notice of him that day, but I wasn’t sure he noticed me. He had, though. A few weeks later he appeared and said he had come to see me!”

  “How long was it, then, before you got married?”

  “About a year later. We were married the first of July.”

  “Did you have a big wedding?”

  Emma looked puzzled. “A big wedding?”

  “Yes,” Jenny continued brightly. “Did you have lots of bridesmaids and a big reception?”

  “Reception? Well, up here no one makes much fuss about weddings. The couple just goes wherever they can find a justice of the peace or a minister, and they get married. Sometimes there’s a square dance in their honor.”

  “Oh,” Jenny said softly. She sounded so disappointed that Emma hurriedly explained.

  “You see, people here just don’t have money for anything that isn’t really necessary. I wanted so much to have a minister marry us, but we would have, had to go somewhere on the train and stay overnight, and that would have cost a lot. What, little Al had, we needed for nails and window glass and things for this house and a cow and an ox and seed.... I didn’t have any money at all, because I’d always worked at home. Of course, Ma gave me lots of things to get started.”

  Jenny hesitated a moment. Then she asked, “But you were happy on your wedding day?”

  Emma’s face brightened. “Oh, yes! We were happy. We walked to Ogema to the justice of the peace, Mr. Morgan, and we laughed and talked and—” She laughed. “Well, you know what young couples do.”

  Jenny joined her laughter.

  “Well,” Emma said, “on the way back we stopped at Pearson’s Lake and went for a boat ride.” She leaned back and closed her eyes. “I’ll never forget how beautiful, it was. I don’t know what was more beautiful—the white birch and evergreen trees along the curving shore line, or Al’s big, strong arms rowing that boat like it was no effort at all. He sang some, too. He’s got a real good voice. I remember he sang, ‘The Maple on the Hill,’ ‘cause he knew that was my favorite.”

  “And th
en you walked all the way back here? It must be ten miles from Ogema!”

  “More like thirteen. But we were used to walking, and just being together made it seem no distance at all.”

  “And you didn’t have any celebration?”

  “No. Al kinda wanted a square dance, but he knew I don’t enjoy them. We were too busy just getting down to plain living for a lot of fuss.”

  Jenny sat quietly a moment, and Emma began knitting again. “Shall I finish reading this chapter and stop for tonight?” Jenny asked. “Morning comes fast!” She read a few more pages and paused. “Why don’t you read the last page of this chapter, Emma?”

  Reluctantly Emma laid down her knitting. She hadn’t read two sentences when she came to a word she didn’t know. Patiently Jenny leaned over and helped her sound it out. Whew! Emma pronounced the word and read the rest of the page as rapidly as she could while Jenny’s onion breath engulfed her.