A Flicker of Hope Page 8

  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 th
e 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.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  February, fourteen years earlier

  IT HURTS,” NOREEN SAID, EXHALING. HOLDING HER BELLY with both hands, she sucked in another breath. Her face contorted, turning a deep shade of red.

  “I’ll hitch the buggy.” Thomas lunged for the door, but she grasped his arm.

  “Nay! Don’t leave me.”

  “You need to see the doktah.” He struggled to keep his tone even, but it didn’t ease her panic-stricken grip. She wrenched his arm tighter.

  “Noreen, calm down. I’ll be back as soon as I get the buggy ready.”

  “Nay!” She doubled over. “This can’t be happening. It’s too”—she squeezed her eyes shut—“early. I’m only twenty-seven weeks.” Suddenly, her eyes opened wide and she looked down.

  He followed her gaze to the small puddle on the floor. Melted snow?

  “Mei water broke,” she said.

  The pace of his galloping heart made the room spin and set alarms off in his head. Think! Don’t panic. Stay calm.

  “Thomas.” Her fixed glare demanded attention. “I have to lie down.”

  He swept her into his arms and carried her down the hall. Inside the bedroom, he lowered her gently onto the mattress. “Please, try to relax.” He paced the length of the room and stopped at the window facing the barn. Still snowing. He’d have to figure out a way to attach the runners to the buggy. Surely the snowplows had cleared the main roads by now. Hearing heavy panting, he turned away from the window.

  Noreen pulled the quilt off the bed.

  “Honey,” he said, “please, lie down and rest.”

  She sat on the edge of the bed, held her belly with one hand, and pointed to the chest of drawers with her other. “I’ll need a nachtdress, please.”

  “Sure.” He went to the dresser and jiggled the middle drawer loose. He removed the garment. “Can I get you anything else? A glass of water? Warm milk?”

  “Towels,” she said, easing off her dress. The garment fell to the floor as she held the edge of the mattress, gripping it with white-knuckle force. “Several towels,” she said, forcing her words through gritted teeth.

  “Ah—jah, okay.” He left the room, grabbed a stack of towels from the bathroom closet, taking a moment to wet a washcloth, then returned to find Noreen sprawled out over the bed. Bruises had already formed on her arms, ribs, and legs. She rested her hand on the purplish area of her ribs, breathing erratic. Perspiration dotted her forehead, soaking into her prayer kapp. This was his fault. He shouldn’t have taken a nap. Now his battered wife was writhing in pain, and what could he do to ease her suffering? Nothing. Thomas swallowed. Do something.

  He set the towels on the dresser and approached the bed with a washcloth. Easing down on the edge of the bed, he slid her prayer kapp off and blotted her forehead with the damp cloth. “Do you want help getting changed?”

  She was still a moment, breathing easy, but as he studied her midsection, her rounded form grew lopsided as a bulge the size of his fist pushed from the inside. Her face grimaced. “The pressure is—” She pursed her lips and she blew as though blowing on a whistle. “Check for the boppli’s head.”

  He moved to the end of the bed. “Nothing yet.”

  Seconds later, her back arched. She lifted her upper body, her face a bright shade of red. Releasing a loud cry, she dropped back against the mattress.

  “I—I’ll get Patty.”

  “Nay, Thomas. Stay. Don’t leave me.” She barely had time to recover before the next wave of contractions brought her off the mattress, hands clutching her bent knees. Lasting no more than a minute, she collapsed, exhausted and with tears streaming down her face. “I can’t do this.”

  He sat next to her. “Yes, you can.” He kissed her forehead. “You can do it, darling.” Using the damp washcloth, he blotted her forehead again.

  Her eyes closed. Her breathing slowed. “We should be timing the contractions,” she said, her voice weary.

  The only clock was hanging on the wall in the sitting room. Guessing, he’d estimate the contractions no more than three or four minutes apart. The last two, almost on top of each other, were more intense if he was to measure by the volume of her cry. They had subsided, at least for the moment. His only experience with the birthing process was with cows. Most progressed fairly rapidly and he just monitored. Only once did he have to step in and pull the distressed calf out. But assisting his wife—his baby’s arrival—he needed Patty. Thomas eased off the bed.

  “Don’t leave,” she whispered, sounding half-dazed.

  “I’ll only be gone a few minutes. I promise.”

  Her eyes shot open. “Nay, please. I’m afraid.”

  Thomas paced, torn between getting help and staying with his wife. He wanted nothing more than to stay and reassure Noreen, but in the end, his wife would need someone much more qualified than him. He had no idea what to do for her. He could deliver a calf, but not his son or daughter. Noreen needed Patty. He waited until her eyes closed once again, then slipped out of the room.

  “Thomas?”

  He paused half a second, her whimpers tugging on his heart, then continued down the hall. I’ll make it quick. He grabbed the lantern from the sitting room and donned his coat and scarf on the way out the door. More snow had fallen and the freezing wind numbed his cheeks and the tip of his nose. He debated whether he should harness the horse, but there was no telling how bad the road was. He decided not to risk getting the buggy stuck, so he trudged across the field, the snow thigh-high, to reach Jonathan’s house. Patty answered the door.

  Without waiting for her greeting, Thomas blurted, “There’s been an accident. Noreen’s water broke. We need your help.”

  “I’ll get mei coat.”

  Jonathan rounded the corner from the kitchen. “Did you say something about an accident?”

  Thomas nodded. “Patches came down on Noreen while she was mil
king. The boppli’s coming early.”

  Patty’s mother came out from the kitchen, dish towel in hand. “Don’t worry about little Jacob. I’ll listen for him.”

  Jonathan removed his coat from the hook. “I take it from the snow on your pant legs that you didn’t get the runners on yet.”

  Thomas shook his head. He wouldn’t use the excuse of being sick. A fever was nothing compared to what Noreen was going through. He should have been prepared.

  “I’ll hitch the sleigh.” Jonathan shoved his boots on. “Do you want me to go after Sadie?”

  The midwife lived five miles west of them. It’d take extra time, going in the opposite direction of town. Burning with fever, he wasn’t thinking straight. The baby was early. They needed someone with experience. Thomas reached for the doorknob. “Jah. Let’s go.”

  As Thomas pulled the sleigh out from under the lean-to, Jonathan harnessed his mare. Meanwhile, Patty gathered a few supplies and met them outside.

  The road home wasn’t as bad as Thomas had expected. The packed snow made it easy for the sleigh to glide over the surface. His brother dropped Thomas and Patty off next to the porch.

  As he opened the door, Noreen’s curdling scream filled his ears. He rushed into the bedroom. Soaked in sweat, Noreen was beet red and bearing down.

  Patty whizzed past him in a flurry, shedding her coat at the foot of the bed. After a quick look she gave the frantic order, “Stop pushing.”

  “I can’t,” Noreen panted. A second later, her face pinched and she cried out again.

  “Noreen,” Patty said sternly. “The boppli’s in the wrong position.”

  Thomas caught a glimpse of what Patty was talking about and almost went faint. One of the baby’s arms was exposed as well as the cord. Exchanging glances with Patty, he recognized her fear-stricken expression as someone at a loss for what to do. Acid rose to the back of his throat.

  “Thomas, go rewet the washcloth,” Patty said, handing him the damp cloth and shooing him toward the door. “Kalt water.”

  He’d offer to boil water if it’d help, but he’d heard that was a remedy for impatient fathers, not a necessity. Thomas gazed at his wife, lying in the center of the bed, a section of the sheets fisted in her hands, and moaning in agony. Tears pricked his eyes.