November, fifteen years earlier
NOREEN FASTENED THE LAST PAIR OF PANTS ON THE clothesline. Five loads washed, wrung, and now flapping in the fall breeze. In addition to catching up on the laundry, she’d swept and mopped the floors, dusted, and cleaned the soot off the oil lamp chimneys.
They’d already had a few snow flurries and a hot cup of herbal tea sounded good, but she didn’t want to sacrifice the freedom of being outdoors just yet. It wouldn’t be long before ice and snow would keep her indoors most of the day. Besides, she’d been cooped in the house too long. Morning sickness had kept her in bed more days than she cared to count. Patty had warned her that the first trimester might be rough, but Noreen was in her fourteenth week and still was unable to eat much more than saltine crackers without getting nauseous. On top of that, the scent of brewing coffee, a favorite aroma prior to pregnancy, now caused her stomach to rebel.
Noreen inhaled deeply, letting the crisp air fill her lungs. The trees were bare, their brilliant shades of reds, oranges, and yellows gone. Now the dead leaves carpeted the brown-tinged grass. Thomas was predicting a hard winter due to the number of foggy mornings he’d counted in August. As he liked to point out, the old folktale had proven true in other years. He wanted to be prepared and have a surplus of firewood stored up. Winter didn’t matter to Noreen. Springtime was much more important—the month of May in particular, when they would welcome their first child into the world.
Noreen walked the line, patting the towels and bedding she’d hung out earlier. The towels were still damp, but the quilt was dry. Reaching for the clothespin, a fluttering tickled her middle. She placed her hand on her abdomen and waited for it to happen again.
“Hey, Noreen?” Thomas called from the woodshed a few feet away.
“Jah?”
He leaned the axe against the chopping block and jogged toward her. Concern illuminated his face as his gaze traveled to her midsection. “Everything all right?”
“Jah.” She smiled, experiencing the movement again.
“What’s wrong?”
“I think the boppli kicked.” She reached for his hand and placed it on her belly.
“I don’t feel anything,” he said.
She frowned. “Nay, I don’t either. Maybe it wasn’t anything.”
“Or maybe your body was telling you to rest.” He cupped his hand over her shoulder and turned her toward the house. “Let’s go inside. I’ll make you a bowl of soup.”
“You go ahead. I want to bring the quilt in since it’s dry.”
Thomas glanced up at the sky, but thankfully said nothing about the slim chance of sleet or snow. He unclipped the corner closest to him and helped her fold the blanket. “Do you want me to get the towels?”
“Nay, they’re still damp.”
He carried the quilt into the house, taking it straight to their bedroom.
“I already changed the sheets, if you want to spread out the blanket.” She went to the head of the bed and caught the end as it landed. After tucking the side next to the lampstand, she leaned across the bed and adjusted the other side.
Thomas flopped on the bed and pulled her into his arms.
“Thomas King,” she scolded. “Your clothes have sawdust on them.”
“Oh well, I’ll have to do something about that.” He rolled off the mattress and slipped his suspenders off his shoulders, then unfastened his shirt buttons, a mischievous glint in his eye.
“That’s nett what I meant.”
“But you have to admit, it’s a gut idea.” He peeled off his shirt, his arm muscles taut. “Just think,” he said, flinging the shirt on the floor. “In a few months we won’t have any afternoons to ourselves.” He lowered her to the bed and showered her with kisses.
“When the boppli starts schul we will,” she said as his hand roamed her abdomen.
“By the time the first one is old enough for schul, we’ll have three or four more.”
Feeling a flutter, she directed his hand to the spot.
His eyes widened. “Is that the boppli?”
She nodded.
His brows arched, then fell, and his smile faltered a little. No doubt struggling with both pride and fear over the responsibility God had entrusted to them. She placed her hand over his. This moment she would store in her memories forever.
February, fourteen years earlier
Outside the kitchen window the icy February wind howled. This was the third day it snowed so hard that the whiteout conditions prevented Noreen from even being able to see the barn. Thomas had been right. This was one of the hardest winters on record. The stick he used to measure snowfall had registered over three feet and even more had drifted across the open fields and closed the roads.
Noreen was grateful she had enough supplies and didn’t need to go into town to buy groceries. February was the shortest month and yet it felt like the longest. The door opened in the sitting room and the cold draft reached the kitchen. Noreen rounded the corner as Thomas pushed the door closed with his boot.
His arms loaded with wood, he stomped snow off his boots, then crossed the room and dropped the logs into the woodbox. He coughed into his gloved hand.
“You sound worse.”
“Jah, I think the cold moved into mei chest.” He removed his gloves and hung them on a hook behind the stove to dry.
“Let me help you with your coat,” she said.
“Nay, please keep your distance. I don’t want you getting this.”
She smiled. “We share the same house. I think I’m already exposed to whatever germs you have.” He’d been sick a few days, but last night was the worst. His temperature soared to 102 despite the acetaminophen she’d given him.
The faint scent of the menthol ointment she’d rubbed on his chest earlier still lingered after he shed his coat. Kicking off his boots, he coughed again, harder, and his entire body seemed to droop in fatigue.
She took his coat and hung it on the wall peg. The boots she left in front of the wood stove. “If you want to sit down, I’ll bring you a cup of tea with honey.” He rarely ate honey and he always preferred coffee over tea, but these last few days that he’d been under the weather, coffee had upset his stomach.
Thomas lumbered into the kitchen. His rosy cheeks were wind-chapped, his lips dry and cracked. He stood before the stove, hands spread above the heated surface. “The snow has already surpassed last year’s mark on the stake. Four inches higher just since this morning.”
“You said it was going to be a bad winter.”
“Even I didn’t think it’d be this bad.”
Noreen readied the cups with tea bags. The water was already hot. She kept the kettle going most of the day to keep a little steam in the house. Otherwise the dry heat the wood stove put out was unbearable. As she poured hot water into the cups, the tea bags floated to the surface. She refilled the kettle with water, then returned it to the stove.
“I didn’t get the new runners mounted on the buggy yet. I’m sorry.” Thomas’s teeth chattered. “I know how much you wanted to go to the sewing frolic.”
“I wouldn’t leave you home alone feeling the way you do.” Noreen dunked the tea bags up and down in the water. “Besides, if this weather keeps up like you’re predicting, the frolic will be postponed. And that’s okay. I have plenty of time to finish making boppli blankets and clothes.” She’d already made several nightdresses using the soft cotton material of one of her old white aprons, and in three months, she would have an entire wardrobe made, knitted socks and everything. “How much honey would you like?”
“A spoonful is gut.”
She added the thick sweetener, then handed Thomas a mug.
“Danki.” He clutched the mug with both hands and gently blew over the surface. He took a sip, making a pinched expression as he swallowed.
“Your throat still hurts, doesn’t it?” He’d refused lunch earlier because his throat was so sore.
“Mei whole body aches. I feel like I’ve gone through that wringer washer of yours.”
“You poor boppli.” She lifted her palm to his forehead and frowned. “You need to go back to bed. You’re boiling hot.”
“If I lie down nau, I might nett get back up to milk the cows. And I still need to bring more firewood inside so it can dry.” He crossed the room and sat at the table.
“Would you like a cookie?” She reached for the jar on the counter.
“Nay danki.”
“You must be sicker than you’re letting on.” She sat in the chair opposite him.
“I’ll feel better after I drink this.” He took another sip.
Several members of their district had been sick. Patty’s little one had only recently gotten over the whooping cough. When Noreen spoke with Patty yesterday, her sister-in-law wasn’t sure if she was coming down with something or if she was pregnant again.
Thomas placed his elbow on the table, rested his head in his hand, and closed his eyes. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
Noreen rose from the chair and gave his arm a tug. “Kumm with me. You’re going to bed.”
He stood. “I have chores to do first.”
“Later.” She slipped her arm around his waist. “I’ll wake you up in a couple of hours.”
“Okay, maybe you’re right. I am feeling a little dizzy.”
Noreen helped him into bed, then went to the kitchen for a glass of water and more acetaminophen. He was already asleep when she returned, and she wasn’t about to wake him. She left the medicine and water on the nightstand, then slipped out of the room.
Spying her knitting needle and the booties she’d started, Noreen scooted the rocker and her yarn basket closer to the wood stove. Three hours later, she lost window light and could no longer see her stitches now that the sun had set. She set the knitting project in the basket and crept down the hall and into the bedroom.
Thomas was snoring.
She stood beside the bed, debated half a second, then couldn’t bring herself to wake him. Between the woodbox in the sitting room and the kitchen, they had plenty of dry wood. Thomas always liked to keep more on hand than they needed, but after milking the cows, she could grab an armload to bring inside.
Noreen quickly bundled up in her wool cloak, scarf, hat, and mittens. She slipped her boots on, then fought the frozen-stuck door to get outside.
The trail to the barn was slick and her feet slid across the frozen ground. It was bad enough that she couldn’t see her feet, but the pregnancy waddle tipped her off-balance. If she slipped and fell, she’d have to roll off the slippery pathway to get traction under her feet to get back up. The mental image made her chuckle. As children, she and her sisters played in the snow, rolling around, flapping their arms to make angel wings.
Biscuit, the buggy horse, neighed when she entered the barn. Noreen glanced at the frozen water in the trough and frowned. As insulated as the hay kept the barn, the water still froze every winter. She grabbed the pitchfork and spiked the ice, breaking it up for the horse to drink. She did the same for the plow team, Peanut and Butter.
The two Holsteins were waiting by the back door, bawling. Thomas usually milked them much earlier. Noreen pushed the large sliding door to the left, its hardware gliding along the metal track. Patches and Buttons plodded into the barn, automatically going into their separate stanchions. She quickly gathered the supplies, a bucket of sudsy water and rag for washing the udders, a milk pail, and a stool.
Thomas sang to the cows when he milked. Noreen had heard him singing in her father’s barn when Thomas had helped with chores after her father’s accident. When she’d walked up on him, his face turned cranberry red. “Cows like mei singing,” he’d explained. Noreen liked to sing, too, but she wasn’t about to serenade a cow. Not today.
Stool in place, she sat beside Buttons, the tamer of the two, and began. Patches stomped her hoof in the next stanchion. “I’ll be with you shortly, Patches,” Noreen said calmly. She should have milked the cows before feeding the horses. Delays in the milking schedule, even an hour or two like tonight, increased the cows’ agitation. Patches was a bit temperamental on good days, never mind the state she was in now that milking was late.
A short time later, Noreen finished milking Buttons. She moved the stool, empty bucket, and wash pail into the next milking stall. Noreen dipped the rag into the sudsy water, her wet hands stiffened from the cold. The moment she lifted the washrag to the udder, Patches kicked up her hoof and struck Noreen’s hand. Dropping the rag, she jerked her hand away. Her wrist began to throb. Wiggling her fingers sent shards of pain up to her elbow. She submerged her injured hand in the cold water, but it did little to ease the pain. Patches shifted her weight and suddenly, the stool went out from under Noreen. In clambering to get up, hooves pummeled her legs, feet, and hands several times. Then without warning, the cow came down, pinning Noreen against the wall divider with its crushing weight. A flash of bright light filled her vision, and her ears rang with a piercing pitch. Don’t panic. Stay calm.
In the process of trying to right itself, the cow kicked, striking Noreen. Shards of pain stabbed her ribs. She let out a cry, but that only startled the cow and increased its frenzied movements.
“Noreen!”
Thomas. Oh, thank God.
He eased between the cow and his wife. “Are you hurt?”
“I don’t think so.” She moaned.
“Don’t move. I’m going to take Patches out.” Thomas grabbed the cow’s halter and pushed her backward.
“Patches hasn’t—” A sharp pain seized her words. She puffed short breaths. Don’t talk. Thomas would see that the cow hadn’t been milked.
He was at her side, kneeling. “Where do you hurt?”
“Everywhere.” She tried to push off the cement, but the hand that had been kicked couldn’t bear any weight, and she flopped back down.
Thomas’s arms came around her and pulled her up. Dizzy. Everything was spinning. She took a step but her ankle collapsed as if poked by a hot iron.
His grip tightened around her waist. Still feverish, heat radiated off him. “Lean on me.”
With his assistance, she passed the horse stalls, the grain bin, the tack room, and by the time they reached the door, she was breathing easier. The icy wind whirled around them, stinging her face, numbing her body. The wind had filled in the path to the house. Fresh snow covered the porch steps.
“Go easy,” he said. “It’s icy.”
Noreen couldn’t see her feet, let alone the steps. Her foot slipped, but Thomas was there to hold her steady. She eased up the remaining steps, entered the house, and tugged off her scarf.
Thomas came up behind her to help with her cloak. “You should have woken me up.”
“I wanted to let you rest. You’re sick, Thomas. I can feel how hot you are just standing next to you.” Noreen cringed as a shot of pain sliced through her side.
“What’s wrong?”
She doubled over. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. No reprieve. The pressure tightened around her midsection.
“Noreen?”
“Something’s . . . happening.”