Marta's Legacy Collection (17 page)

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.

The baby didn’t cry. Wrapped in its white and red womb’s coat, the infant lay curled on its side, the umbilical cord still linked with Marta.

“Breathe.” Marta leaned forward, gritting her teeth against the pain. She took one of the diapers she had laid out and wiped the infant’s face and body. A little girl. “Breathe!”

She turned the baby over and gave the tiny bottom a gentle slap. “Oh, Jesus, give her breath. Please. Please!” She rubbed gently, praying over and over. A soft, mewling cry came, and Marta sobbed in thanksgiving. Another contraction came and her body expelled the placenta.

The door opened, filling the small cabin with a blast of cold winter air. She heard Niclas cry out her name. He closed the door quickly, stripped off his coat, and came to her. “Marta. Oh,
mein Liebling
! What can I do for you?”

“She’s hardly breathing.” Marta sobbed harder. “Bring the hot water in that pan. And snow! Quickly, Niclas.” She mixed the scalding with the cold and tested the temperature. Then she carefully lowered her daughter into the pan, supporting the baby with one hand while washing her gently with the other. The infant’s arms and legs jerked, and her tiny mouth opened and wobbled in a weak cry.

Bernhard had been large and chubby, his skin pink. He had screamed so loudly, his face turned beet red. This little girl had spindly little legs and a thatch of dark hair. Her tiny body quivered as from cold. Heart breaking, Marta dried her tenderly and swaddled her in a cloth Niclas had warmed by the fire. “I need a fresh pan of hot water and salt.” She felt the blood running down her legs and remembered the midwife’s warning about infection.

Niclas quickly did her bidding. “What can I do?”

“Take her. Hold her close against you, inside your shirt. Keep her warm or she’ll die.”

“But what about you?”

“I can take care of myself!”

Though the pain was excruciating, Marta completed all she knew she must. “I need your hand.” Niclas helped her to her feet while holding the baby. She sank onto the bed. “Give her to me now.” Lying on her side, she tucked the baby close.

It took several minutes of trying before the little one finally latched on to her breast.

Bernhard awakened and saw Niclas. “Papa! Papa!” He held out his arms.

Marta felt the prickle of tears. “He’ll be hungry.”

“I shouldn’t have left you.” Niclas cut a piece of the bread Marta had made that morning and gave it to their son. “I should’ve been here.”

“We didn’t know she’d come two weeks early.”

“She’s so small. She looks like her mother.”

Marta gazed at the tiny girl lying so still and quiet, her little fist clenched against Marta’s white flesh. She felt a sudden overwhelming love for this child, a bond so tight, she felt her heart ripping open.
Oh, Mama, is this what you felt when you held Elise for the first time?

“We should name her now.”

She heard what lay behind Niclas’s quiet, broken words. He didn’t think their daughter would live long.
Please, God, don’t take her from me! She’s so tiny and weak, so helpless. Give her a chance, Lord.

Brushing her finger lightly against the silky pale cheek, Marta watched the tiny mouth work again, tugging lightly at her breast for sustenance. “Your mother’s name was Ada.”

“Yes, but let’s not give her that name. What about Elise?” When Marta glanced up sharply, he frowned. “What’s wrong?”

She had never told Niclas about her sister. “Nothing. It’s just not a name I will ever give any daughter of mine.” When he searched her face, she lowered her head and closed her eyes. She felt his hand rest gently on her head.

“You decide.”

“Her name will be Hildemara Rose.”

“It’s a strong name for such a frail baby.”

“Yes, but God willing, she’ll grow into it.”

While Marta healed, Niclas went into town, taking Bernhard with him. He came back with supplies and a long-awaited letter from Rosie.

Dear Marta,

Even if you are out in the middle of nowhere, you are fortunate to be in Canada, far away from this war that never seems to end. It must be strange to have only one neighbor closer than five miles. Liam Helgerson sounds like an admirable man.

The news we receive is never good. Germany is bleeding France dry. Two hundred thousand Frenchmen died at Somme, and half a million German boys with them.

London is being bombed by Germany’s new aeroplanes. Your brother remains on guard with his unit on the French border. Your father was recalled to duty along with my father and the other men in our town. Only young boys and old men are left in Steffisburg. No one has crossed our borders, thanks be to God.

Herr Madson sounds like a despicable sort of man, but I admire Niclas more and more. How many men keep their word no matter the provocation to break it? You can count on a man like that to love and cherish you in sickness and in health for as long as you both live.

Marta wrote back, but had to wait a month before Niclas took her to Brandon and she could post it.

My dear friend,

I am delivered of a baby daughter I have named Hildemara. Her middle name is Rose after you. She is very small and delicate. She barely cried when she was born, and she doesn’t cry much now. Bernhard was big and robust from the beginning.

I fear for this little one. I understand now how Mama’s heart broke every time she held Elise. She was small and frail, too. Bernhard put on weight right away, but this little one isn’t much bigger than she was a month ago. Bernhard screams for what he wants. My little Hildemara is content to sleep warm at my breast.

Bernhard is fascinated by his little sister. We let him hold her in his lap while Niclas reads from the Bible.

Pray for your namesake, Rosie. One breath from heaven could blow her away, but God forbid I go too far in protecting her and bring her up to be weak like Elise.

1918

When Niclas’s time under contract came to an end, Madson returned.

Marta saw the car approaching and went out onto the porch, Hildemara riding on her hip. Niclas, covered with dust, came in from the field to welcome Madson in his tailored suit and hat. He tipped his hat to Marta. She gave a cool nod and went back inside the house, keeping watch through the window. She had no intention of inviting the man to dinner.

Madson didn’t stay long. After he climbed into his car and drove away, Niclas stood with his hands shoved in his overall pockets, shoulders stooped. Rather than come to the house, he went out to the field and stood staring off into the distance. Marta knew the reason for his despair and struggled between anger and pity.

When Niclas finally came inside, she placed his dinner in front of him.

Sighing heavily, he put his elbows on the table and covered his face. “Four years of hard work, all for nothing.” He wept. “I’m sorry, Marta.”

She put her hand on his shoulder and pressed her lips together, saying nothing. “We all learn hard lessons in this life.”

“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.”