14

1917

Niclas and Mr. Helgerson had gone out to look for some missing cattle the day Marta went into labor. When her water broke, she started to cry, which frightened poor Bernhard. She calmed herself with an effort and reassured him Mama was fine, just fine. Then she tried to remember what preparations she needed to make.

She stoked the stove with prairie chips. She spilled blocks on the floor to distract Bernhard. Thankfully, he grabbed them and banged them together happily while she paced, rubbing at her aching belly.

The contractions came fast and hard. Sweat beaded her forehead. As the pain bore down heavily, she sat and closed her eyes. Oh, God, oh, God, bring my husband home soon. This baby is not going to take all day and half the night like Bernhard did.

Bernhard didn’t want to play anymore. Pushing himself up, he toddled over to her. “Mama, Mama,” he said over and over again, holding his arms up. He wanted her to hold him.

“Not now. Mama is busy.” He clutched at her, trying to climb up, but she had no lap on which to hold him. Her swollen abdomen became as hard as a rock. She groaned and Bernhard cried. When the pain eased, Marta pulled herself up and tried to lift him, but another contraction had already begun. When she set him on the floor again, Bernhard screamed.

Taking him by the hand, she pulled him along to his crib. As the pain eased slightly, she lifted him. “Go to sleep. Mama’s all right. You’ll have a little brother or sister soon. . . .”

Rubbing her back, she went to the window and looked out, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Papa will be home soon. Take your nap, Bernhard.” Wiping tears away, she leaned heavily against the sill, counting the seconds through another contraction. It lasted longer this time.

Still no sign of Niclas.

“Oh, God.” She moaned, wanting to bend her knees and lower herself to the floor. “Help me. Jesus, help me. . . .”

Marta spread a blanket over the rug. She went outside and scooped snow into a pot and put it on the stove to melt. The contractions were coming closer together and lasting longer. She cut twine and dropped it into the steaming water. Yanking a drawer open, she took out her paring knife and dropped that in as well. Trembling violently, she waited a moment before fishing the twine and knife out of the hot water. She had no more time to wait.

Thankfully, Bernhard had cried himself to sleep.

The urge came to push. She rolled a clean rag and bit down on it, muffling the groan. Lowering herself to her knees, she faced the warmth of the stove and hitched up her skirt, cutting away the flour-sack undergarment she had made.

One contraction rolled into another. She bit on the cloth to stifle her moans. Perspiration dripped from her face. Her flesh tore as the head came. Marta bore down again and the baby slipped from her body into her hands. Shaking violently, Marta sat back on her heels.

The baby didn’t cry. Wrapped in its white and red womb’s coat, the infant lay curled on its side, the umbilical cord still linked with Marta.

“Breathe.” Marta leaned forward, gritting her teeth against the pain. She took one of the diapers she had laid out and wiped the infant’s face and body. A little girl. “Breathe!”

She turned the baby over and gave the tiny bottom a gentle slap. “Oh, Jesus, give her breath. Please. Please!” She rubbed gently, praying over and over. A soft, mewling cry came, and Marta sobbed in thanksgiving. Another contraction came and her body expelled the placenta.

The door opened, filling the small cabin with a blast of cold winter air. She heard Niclas cry out her name. He closed the door quickly, stripped off his coat, and came to her. “Marta. Oh, mein Liebling! What can I do for you?”

“She’s hardly breathing.” Marta sobbed harder. “Bring the hot water in that pan. And snow! Quickly, Niclas.” She mixed the scalding with the cold and tested the temperature. Then she carefully lowered her daughter into the pan, supporting the baby with one hand while washing her gently with the other. The infant’s arms and legs jerked, and her tiny mouth opened and wobbled in a weak cry.

Bernhard had been large and chubby, his skin pink. He had screamed so loudly, his face turned beet red. This little girl had spindly little legs and a thatch of dark hair. Her tiny body quivered as from cold. Heart breaking, Marta dried her tenderly and swaddled her in a cloth Niclas had warmed by the fire. “I need a fresh pan of hot water and salt.” She felt the blood running down her legs and remembered the midwife’s warning about infection.

Niclas quickly did her bidding. “What can I do?”

“Take her. Hold her close against you, inside your shirt. Keep her warm or she’ll die.”

“But what about you?”

“I can take care of myself!”

Though the pain was excruciating, Marta completed all she knew she must. “I need your hand.” Niclas helped her to her feet while holding the baby. She sank onto the bed. “Give her to me now.” Lying on her side, she tucked the baby close.

It took several minutes of trying before the little one finally latched on to her breast.

Bernhard awakened and saw Niclas. “Papa! Papa!” He held out his arms.

Marta felt the prickle of tears. “He’ll be hungry.”

“I shouldn’t have left you.” Niclas cut a piece of the bread Marta had made that morning and gave it to their son. “I should’ve been here.”

“We didn’t know she’d come two weeks early.”

“She’s so small. She looks like her mother.”

Marta gazed at the tiny girl lying so still and quiet, her little fist clenched against Marta’s white flesh. She felt a sudden overwhelming love for this child, a bond so tight, she felt her heart ripping open. Oh, Mama, is this what you felt when you held Elise for the first time?

“We should name her now.”

She heard what lay behind Niclas’s quiet, broken words. He didn’t think their daughter would live long. Please, God, don’t take her from me! She’s so tiny and weak, so helpless. Give her a chance, Lord.

Brushing her finger lightly against the silky pale cheek, Marta watched the tiny mouth work again, tugging lightly at her breast for sustenance. “Your mother’s name was Ada.”

“Yes, but let’s not give her that name. What about Elise?” When Marta glanced up sharply, he frowned. “What’s wrong?”

She had never told Niclas about her sister. “Nothing. It’s just not a name I will ever give any daughter of mine.” When he searched her face, she lowered her head and closed her eyes. She felt his hand rest gently on her head.

“You decide.”

“Her name will be Hildemara Rose.”

“It’s a strong name for such a frail baby.”

“Yes, but God willing, she’ll grow into it.”

While Marta healed, Niclas went into town, taking Bernhard with him. He came back with supplies and a long-awaited letter from Rosie.

Dear Marta,

Even if you are out in the middle of nowhere, you are fortunate to be in Canada, far away from this war that never seems to end. It must be strange to have only one neighbor closer than five miles. Liam Helgerson sounds like an admirable man.

The news we receive is never good. Germany is bleeding France dry. Two hundred thousand Frenchmen died at Somme, and half a million German boys with them.

London is being bombed by Germany’s new aeroplanes. Your brother remains on guard with his unit on the French border. Your father was recalled to duty along with my father and the other men in our town. Only young boys and old men are left in Steffisburg. No one has crossed our borders, thanks be to God.

Herr Madson sounds like a despicable sort of man, but I admire Niclas more and more. How many men keep their word no matter the provocation to break it? You can count on a man like that to love and cherish you in sickness and in health for as long as you both live.

Marta wrote back, but had to wait a month before Niclas took her to Brandon and she could post it.

My dear friend,

I am delivered of a baby daughter I have named Hildemara. Her middle name is Rose after you. She is very small and delicate. She barely cried when she was born, and she doesn’t cry much now. Bernhard was big and robust from the beginning.

I fear for this little one. I understand now how Mama’s heart broke every time she held Elise. She was small and frail, too. Bernhard put on weight right away, but this little one isn’t much bigger than she was a month ago. Bernhard screams for what he wants. My little Hildemara is content to sleep warm at my breast.

Bernhard is fascinated by his little sister. We let him hold her in his lap while Niclas reads from the Bible.

Pray for your namesake, Rosie. One breath from heaven could blow her away, but God forbid I go too far in protecting her and bring her up to be weak like Elise.

1918

When Niclas’s time under contract came to an end, Madson returned.

Marta saw the car approaching and went out onto the porch, Hildemara riding on her hip. Niclas, covered with dust, came in from the field to welcome Madson in his tailored suit and hat. He tipped his hat to Marta. She gave a cool nod and went back inside the house, keeping watch through the window. She had no intention of inviting the man to dinner.

Madson didn’t stay long. After he climbed into his car and drove away, Niclas stood with his hands shoved in his overall pockets, shoulders stooped. Rather than come to the house, he went out to the field and stood staring off into the distance. Marta knew the reason for his despair and struggled between anger and pity.

When Niclas finally came inside, she placed his dinner in front of him.

Sighing heavily, he put his elbows on the table and covered his face. “Four years of hard work, all for nothing.” He wept. “I’m sorry, Marta.”

She put her hand on his shoulder and pressed her lips together, saying nothing. “We all learn hard lessons in this life.”

“He wants me to sign on for another four years. He said things are getting better. . . .”

The hair rose on the back of Marta’s neck. She lifted her hands and stepped back. “You didn’t sign anything, did you?”

“I said I’d think about it.”

“Think about it? You know the man is a cheat and a liar!” Bernhard looked between them. Hildemara started to cry.

“I won’t sign.” Niclas lifted Hildemara from her high chair.

“It’s good you didn’t tell him that. He’d have put our two cows on leads and carted away all our chickens!”

Niclas sat again, bouncing Hildemara on his lap and trying to soothe her. He raised bleak eyes to Marta. “Quiet down. You’re scaring her.”

“She’s not half as scared as I am you’ll keep us here another four years!”

“I’ve got to figure out what we’re going to do.”

She put her hands on her hips. “We’ll sell what belongs to us and go back to Montreal. That’s what we’ll do!”

He raised his head, eyes darkening. “We’re not going back to Montreal. That much I do know! There’s no work for me there. And I’m not living off my wife!”

“Winnipeg, then. It’s another railroad hub. There’ll be work for you there. I’ll wire Carleen and offer her the boardinghouse for a fair price. If she can’t buy it, I’ll put it on the market. As soon as I get the money, I’ll buy another boardinghouse.”

“No, you won’t! You can’t run a boardinghouse with two children and another baby on the way.”

“Watch me!”

He stood and thrust Hildemara into her arms. “You’ll take care of our children and whatever house we find to rent. That’s what you’ll do! I’ll get a job. I’ll support my family!”

Marta turned away, afraid she’d remind him he’d done a lousy job so far. “How long before Madson wants an answer?”

Niclas let out his breath. “He said he’d be back in ten days.”

“That gives us ten days to build enough crates for two hundred chickens. We’ll take the cow and calf to Mr. Helgerson. He’ll pay a fair price and add our calf to his herd and have one of his men take care of the cow until Madson comes back.”

“I don’t think Mr. Ingersoll will take two hundred chickens.”

“I don’t plan to sell them in Brandon. We’ll load the wagon and take them to Winnipeg. We’ll get a better price in city markets.”

“We can’t take the wagon, Marta. It doesn’t belong to us. Neither do the horses.”

“We’re not stealing them, Niclas. We’re borrowing them. Or do you expect us to walk back to Winnipeg, dragging our trunks behind us? Once we’re there, we’ll send word to Mr. Madson and he can send one of his other serfs to fetch them.”

Marta thanked God she had gone to Brandon with Niclas the last time. Knowing the contract was coming to a close, she had told Mr. Ingersoll he needed to settle the account with her. He hadn’t been happy about it, but she had cash enough to pay rent and buy what they would need to set up housekeeping in Winnipeg.

Dear Rosie,

Niclas found work at the locomotive works. His old supervisor, Rob MacPherson, transferred to Winnipeg. When he saw Niclas had applied, he hired him. And just in time. Our third child, Clotilde Anna, arrived a month after Niclas went back to work. She is as robust as Bernhard, and every bit as loud in her demands. Think of it, Rosie—two miracles in the very same month! We have finally seen an end to this awful war, and we have been blessed with little Clotilde.

Hildemara Rose has none of the sibling jealousy you talk about with your children. She adores her brother and sister, so much so she will give up anything if one of the others wants it, whether it’s a toy or food off her plate. They take advantage and she lets them. I will have to teach her otherwise.

Carleen and Nally Kildare bought my boardinghouse in Montreal. They couldn’t afford the full price, but they managed to get a loan from the Bank of Montreal. I don’t intend to touch the money unless Niclas loses his job again. God forbid that happens! I mentioned buying this house once, but he was adamant we should wait and see how things go. As far as I can see, things are going very well.

Rumors abounded as soldiers returned home from Europe. The locomotive works let some foreign workers go in order to rehire those who had served overseas. When she asked, Niclas said his job was secure as long as MacPherson was supervisor. Other than that, Niclas didn’t talk about much of anything. He came home from work each day and sat in the parlor, head back, eyes closed. He roused enough to play with Bernhard and Clotilde. Hildemara always stood back, waiting her turn.

After dinner, Niclas read Bible stories to the children before Marta settled them in bed. Then he would fall silent again, sitting in his chair, gazing out the window. He always seemed worn down when he came home from work. She wondered how he could be so tired all the time when he no longer had to get up before dawn and work until dusk. Surely working at a drafting desk was preferable to the backbreaking work of plowing forty acres.

Marta waited until they were alone in bed, the lamp extinguished, before she asked. “Will you stay angry with me forever, Niclas?”

He turned to her in the darkness. “Why would I be angry?”

“Because I insisted you work for the railroad.” She knew he had loved working the land. He loved seeing the wheat and barley grow. He had felt such pride in the crops he brought in. Would he become like Papa, blaming her for making him give up an impossible dream and eventually taking out his discontent on her and their children?

“I took the work available.”

“But you’re miserable.” Her voice broke.

He drew her into his arms. “A husband tries his best to make his wife happy.”

When he kissed her, she wanted to weep. She had seen little joy in him since they had moved to Winnipeg, and guilt tore at her. What if he tired of her? What if he began to see her as Papa always had: a homely, ill-tempered, selfish, and worthless girl? “How can a wife be happy when her husband is miserable?”

“You hated the wheat farm, and I hate my job.” He tilted her chin and cupped her cheek. “I promise I won’t take you back there, but I don’t know how long I can bear to stay here.”

“You’ll leave me someday.”

“Never.”

“Do you promise?”

He rolled her onto her back. “I promise.” She remembered what Rosie had said about him and drew his head down.

A long time later, she lay facing him again. She combed her fingers through his hair. “What are we going to do?”

“Wait.” He took her hand and kissed it. “God will show us a way.”

Niclas’s hours were cut the next day.

Marta knew something had happened when Niclas came in the door. He didn’t look tired this afternoon. His eyes glowed. “MacPherson is leaving.”

Her heart sank. “Is he going back to Montreal?”

“He’s going to California. He has a job lined up in Sacramento.” He hung up his coat and hat. “He told me my hours are being cut again.” Bernhard and Clotilde clamored for attention.

Marta shushed them and sent them in the parlor to play. Hildemara stood in the doorway, watching them with wide hazel eyes. “Go with Bernhard and Clotilde, Hildemara. Go on!”

“How can they cut your hours again?” He only made seventy-five dollars a month, barely enough to keep a roof over their heads and good food on the table.

“It could get worse.”

She knew that meant he might lose his job after all. “I’ll start looking for property. We can open another boardinghouse. We could manage it together.”

“Railroad men are leaving. The company is giving away free tickets to California.”

California? She tried to absorb the shock. “What would you do in California?”

“MacPherson said he will do what he can to help me find a job. If not, there’s good land in California.”

“You can’t mean you want to go back to farming!”

“I miss the plowing and planting. I miss harvesting crops I’ve sown with my own hands. I miss wide-open spaces and fresh air.”

She tried to remain calm. “I remember frigid winters. I remember thunderstorms and flashes of lightning that filled us both with fear because one strike could burn away a year’s work in minutes!”

“The weather is temperate in California. There’s no ice and snow in the Central Valley.”

She started to shake. “Please tell me you didn’t sign another contract.”

“No, but I applied for tickets. It’ll be a miracle if we get them. They’re going to men who have worked for the company five years or more. But I had to try. There won’t be any more in a week.”

Even having been warned of what might come, Marta wasn’t prepared when Niclas came home with train tickets to California. “This is the answer to my prayers,” he told her, holding them up in his hand. She hadn’t seen that look on his face since they left the wheat fields.

Marta remembered how much they had at the end of four years of farming. Nothing! She knew he wouldn’t listen to that reasoning, and she searched for excuses to delay. “We could wait until after Christmas, at least.”

He laughed. “We’ll spend Christmas in California!”

Bursting into tears, she fled into the kitchen. She thought Niclas would follow, but he didn’t. As she set the table, she heard him telling the children about California, the golden land of opportunity, the place where the sun was always shining. Even after she called everyone to dinner, he kept on about it. She picked at her food and tried not to glare at him and upset the children. Hildemara kept looking at her. “Eat!” she told her. Clotilde already looked like the older sister with her greater height and weight.

“When are we going, Papa?” Bernhard sounded like he’d been invited to a world’s fair.

“The end of the week. We’ll take only what we need.” His eyes met Marta’s. “We’ll sell the furniture and buy what we need when we get to California.”

“All of it?” she said faintly. “What about the new bedroom set we bought last year, and the couch, and—?”

“It would cost more to have them sent by freight than buying new when we get there.”

She lost her appetite completely. Niclas took seconds. “They say you can pick oranges off the trees all year long.”

Bernhard’s eyes grew big. He’d had his first orange for Christmas last year. “As many as we want?”

“If we end up with an orange tree on our property.”

“What property?” Marta said, steaming.

Niclas ruffled Bernhard’s hair. “We don’t have property, yet, Sohn. We’ll have to spend time looking around first.”

Marta cleared and washed the dishes while Niclas took the children into the parlor to read Bible stories.

“Off to bed.” Marta shooed them up the stairs and got them ready for bed. Niclas came up and kissed them each good night. When he headed for their bedroom, she headed for the stairs.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m not tired yet.” Her heart pounded fiercely.

He followed her downstairs and into the parlor. She wrapped her arms around herself and refused to look at him. She could feel him standing behind her, looking at her. She heard him sigh heavily.

“Talk to me, Marta.”

“What is there to talk about? You’ve already made up your mind.”

“What better gift can we give our children than the chance of a better life? Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? Isn’t that why you left home as young as you did?”

“I left because I wanted to make my own choices!”

He put his hands at her waist. “You chose me.”

For better or for worse, whether rich or poor . . .

Niclas drew her back against him. The feelings he stirred with a touch always defeated her. She wanted to resist, but found herself surrendering to him again. When she leaned into him, he turned her around and embraced her. When he raised his mouth from hers, she leaned her head against his chest. His heart beat hard and fast.

“Trust me.”

Marta closed her eyes and said nothing.

“If you can’t trust me, trust God. He opened the way.”

Marta wished she could believe it.