Her Mother’s Hope

“You will not.”

He looked surprised. “It’s my cow.”

“That cow is part of our contract, Mr. Madson.” She had seen enough to know the man cared nothing about those who worked for him, least of all whether they had enough to eat. “We must have milk for our children.” She put her hand on her swollen abdomen to press her point.

“I’ll give you another cow.”

“I spent months nursing that cow back to health. Our son will not go without milk while I tend another one of your sick cows.” She jabbed her finger toward the field. “That cow stays right where it is.”

His face flushed red. “Then I’ll take the calf.”

“Only if you fathered it.”

His eyes darkened. “You’re a hard woman, Mrs. Waltert.”

She glared back at him, undaunted. He reminded her of Herr Keller. “Hard, yes, but not hard-hearted like you.” Niclas would keep his word to this man, but it remained to be seen whether Madson would keep his word to Niclas. She doubted it.

His gaze shifted. He looked here and there. When he spotted the coops Niclas had moved outside the barn, his eyes gleamed. “If I can’t have the calf, I’ll take the chickens.”

“Of course. You can have your rooster and four hens. That’s what belongs to you. And I will fetch them for you right now.” She stepped off the porch and headed toward the smaller coop. Pausing, she looked back at him. “Do you want them dead and plucked, or alive and kicking?” She looked pointedly at his nice new automobile. “They tend to make a mess.”

“Put them in a crate.”

“Do you have one in your backseat?”

“Oh, never mind!” Slapping dust off his hat, he headed for his dusty black car. “We’ll settle up at the end of the contract!”

She stood, arms akimbo. “I know the price of wheat. I asked in Brandon. Don’t take me for a fool!”

“Your husband signed a contract!” He squeezed into the driver’s seat and slammed the door. “Everything on this place belongs to me!”

“We are not slaves. And workers are owed their wages! God sees what you do, Mr. Madson! And God will judge between you and my husband!”

Dust billowed up behind him as he drove away.

Marta fumed the rest of the afternoon. When Niclas came in for dinner, she released her pent-up anger. “You wait and see, Niclas.” She took another roasted chicken from the oven. “That man is not going to pay you anything when the contract is up.” She kicked the oven door shut. “He thinks we’re his serfs!” She yanked the lid off the pan and sent it clattering into the washbasin. “You added a porch to the house and dug a well, and what thanks did you get? He wanted to steal our cow and all our chickens! The man is a liar and a thief. And now you know it. You know as well as I do he’ll find an excuse to weasel out of his part of the contract and you’ll have nothing after four years of hard work. We should pack up and go right now.”

Niclas spoke quietly. “I gave my word.”

“What about his word?”

“My word is what matters. My yes is yes.” He looked so weary. “That chicken smells good.”

Marta cleaved the roasted bird in half and put it on the platter. “Next time you’re in town, Niclas, buy another gun.”

He looked up in alarm. “You’re not planning on shooting the man, are you?”

“I’d like to shoot him!” She put the platter on the table and slumped in her chair. “Rabbits are getting into the vegetable garden, and I saw a deer yesterday. I think they know when you’re out hunting and they come here for lunch. If I eat any more chicken, I’ll sprout feathers. Get me a rifle, and we’ll have venison and rabbit stew!”

* * *

Dear Rosie,

What I feared is happening. Niclas is being cheated by Madson, and I’m going to have our second child in the dead of winter, twenty-five miles away from the nearest town and midwife.

Niclas went to town without me last time. This baby isn’t sitting as well as Bernhard, and I didn’t want to take any risks riding so far on a bouncing wagon. Niclas had three crates of chickens, butter, and eggs to sell, but came home with empty pockets. Mr. Ingersoll gave him credit at the general store. I told Niclas credit is fine, but cash is better.

I have never seen a man work so hard. But at the end of his contract with that thief Madson, he will have nothing to show for it but muscle and calluses.

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.