“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.
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.
