the girl’s bonnet, wisps of hair, escaping the coronet of light braids, framed her face. A quirk of a smile dimpled in the corners of her mouth. “You look like the fox been in the chickens,” Mam said. “Here, spread this over your lap and make yourself useful.” She handed her daughter a dishcloth and shoved a bowl of peas to the center of the kitchen table. Sarah opened a pod and, picking out the peas one by one, popped them into her mouth. “Don’t you go eating these,” Mam protested. “Not so many you can go eating them raw. It’s early yet.” Margaret dragged the bowl away, but not before Sarah had grabbed a handful. “What’s got into you?” Mam chided.
A dog barked and Mam leaned to see out the door. Emmanuel was riding in with Sam. “Guess your pa was just about home.” She looked at her daughter. “You and Sam seem to be getting on better.” Sarah shrugged indifferently and ate another pea. “It’ll come,” Margaret said.
Walter, wearing a long-sleeved flannel shirt and wool trousers that fell down over his boots, emerged from the shade behind the shed. His boyish grace was gone, and at seventeen he was a stocky, lumpish young man already red in the face and turned down at the mouth. He joined his father and Sam by the gate.
Mam sighed. “Walter’s a good boy, works harder than any boy I know, but somehow Davie got all the fire. Maybe burnt himself up with it-I ain’t heard.” Sarah quit eating the peas and started shucking them properly.
“Mam, I missed.”
“Well, pick it up and dust it off. A little dirt never did anybody harm.” She pushed the half-filled bowl nearer Sarah.
“No, Mam. I missed.”
Margaret looked up and Sarah nodded. “I been expecting it!” the older woman crowed. “Lord! No wonder you look so pretty, filling out.” She laughed, dumping the unshucked peas off her lap and back into the bucket. “How you feeling? You sick mornings?”
“Some. Not much, though.”
“Who’d’ve thought it? Not sick much.” Mam glowed. “You’re going to have a baby, hon. I’m pretty sure.”
Sarah clutched her mother’s arm. “You think so, Mam? You really think so? I thought maybe that was it, I been feeling so good. I feel full inside, like there was a hole in me that I never knew was there, and now what was missing ain’t.” Jumping from her chair, she caught her mother unawares and swung her around. “I can’t believe it! I been praying every chance I got.” Suddenly worried, she stopped herself. “Mam, ought I be doing this? I mean jumping around?”
Margaret hugged her. “Well, you might stop a bit, as much for me as for the baby. You use your head, and your stomach will tell you when you should stop doing what. It’ll just plain get in the way.”
“I’m going to have a baby.” Sarah sat down with her palms on her cheeks and as quickly bounced up. “I’ve got to tell Imogene.”
“Don’t you think you better tell Sam?” Sarah looked blank. “If he’s going to be a father, he might want to know. You don’t think you got that baby all by yourself, do you?” Mam teased. “Sit down now. Another minute’s going to make no difference. We’ve got some figuring to do. When did you last bleed?” Sarah’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling as she ran over the weeks. “You weren’t at Easter service. Sam said it was female trouble,” Mam suggested, and Sarah looked immensely relieved.
“That was it, the last of March.”
Mam counted on her fingers, naming the months. “Looks like December, or maybe even November.”
Sarah hugged herself. “Maybe the winter won’t seem so long.”
Sam called from outside, and Mam gave Sarah another quick squeeze. “I’m so happy for you, Sare. For you and Sam.”
“Don’t say nothing, Mam.”
“ ’Course I won’t. The news is yours to tell, and rightly so.”
“Grandma Tolstonadge.”
“Oh! My, I hadn’t thought. Sounds just right. Old-but good to my heart.”
Sam called again.
“Will you two quit pulling taffy?” Emmanuel added. “Man’s got business in town.”
Mam helped Sarah into the wagon with elaborate care, twittering and poking her daughter gently in the ribs. Once she caught Sam’s eye and winked broadly; Sam jerked his head back as if she had spit in his eye, but never changed expression.
Sarah untied her bonnet strings and let the breeze carry them. The sky was a flawless blue, and the fullness of summer swelled under it in shades of brown and green. Underbrush crowded the edges of the wagon track, rustling with small birds foraging for their young, hidden in nests overhead. Oblivious of the damage to her complexion, Sarah lifted her face to the sun and breathed deep of the warm, scented air. Cupping her hands over her stomach, she petted it. Sam stared out between the horse’s ears, his eyes fixed on nothing, his chin echoing the dogged tread of the cart horse. Glancing at him, Sarah smiled a secret smile to herself.
As they approached a ragged burst of rock, thrusting through the creepers, a cottontail bunny, frightened by the noise of the wagon, darted out from the safety of the brush. The dog bounded from between the rear wheels and caught the terrified animal in its jaws.
“Sam.” Sarah grabbed his arm. “You’ve got to stop.”
Sam Ebbitt looked over at his young wife and pulled up on the reins.
“Dog’s got a rabbit, Sam.”
He leaned across her to look. “His rope tangled in something?”
“Take it away from him,” she pleaded.
“Rabbits are thick this year, Sare. Be eating the crops.”
“Please.”
“Why’re you taking on over a rabbit? You’ve cleaned and et ’em plenty of times.” He clucked to the horse.
“Please,” she begged.
Sam blew air noisily out between loose lips and, shaking his head and muttering, climbed out of the wagon. “C’mere, boy. Lemme see what you got.” The dog looked suspiciously over the inert form of the rabbit and growled. Sam cuffed him. “You don’t by-God growl at me.” The dog dropped the rabbit and ran under the wagon. “Looks like the neck’s broke, Sare. No sense wasting it.” He whistled and the dog pricked up his ears.
“Wait.” She jumped from the wagon and scooped the little body from the ground. “It ain’t dead, Sam, feel.” He laid a finger on the rabbit’s neck where a pulse beat rapidly. “Just stunned, you think?”
“We been long enough now. Leave it be.”
“Let me take it. It ain’t dead, Sam.”
“Leave it be now. We fiddled enough of the day.” Sarah held it cradled in her arms. “You don’t have to let the dog have it if you don’t want to,” he conceded. She walked back down the road and put the bunny out of reach of the dog, under the overhanging brambles of a chokecherry bush.
“Sare,” Sam said without looking back, “I said enough now.” She ran back to the wagon and scrambled onto the seat.
Sam let her off in front of Imogene’s. As soon as his back was turned, she caught up her skirts and ran up the path. Clay had pounded planks into the earth that spring to give Imogene footing through the mud, and Sarah’s boots rang loud on the wood. Pulling up the latch of the door, she threw it open. Imogene was standing in the middle of the room; she turned when the door banged.
Sarah was through it and in her arms in a moment. “Imogene!” she cried. “We’re going to have a baby!”
“Sarah, that’s wonderful!” Imogene hugged her and held her away, resting her hands lightly on the girl’s narrow hips. “We’re going to do this right.” She pulled her nose thoughtfully, her face grave. Sarah waited while Imogene paced, lost in thought.
“Shall I put on some water to boil?” Sarah asked in a timid voice.
“Not yet.” Imogene looked at her and smiled for the first time since she’d received the news. “I think we’ve got a few months yet. We will learn. Everything.”
“I meant for tea.”
Imogene went with her into the kitchen and was measuring tea into the pot while Sarah put the kettle on. She put the canister down with a bump and turned to the young woman. Sarah was kneeling in front of the stove, striking a match. “Sarah, you must promise you will send for me the minute you feel anything. The moment. You must promise to make someone come for me.”
The kindling caught and flared up. “I’ll send for you, Imogene.”
