A Family for Christmas (6 page)

“But he'll get better,” Wendy said. “I was impressed with the little I saw of the hospital's rehab department. Looks to me like he's in good hands.”

Evan lifted his head, and Wendy wiped the tears from his face. He leaned toward her and pulled her close. “Thanks for encouraging me, sweetheart. I'm sorry that you won't have the opportunity to see our area in normal times. We're all troubled about Daddy, and according to the local meteorologist, we're in for some record-breaking winter weather. I'd like for you to have seen us as the happy family we usually are. Christmas is one of our most special seasons, and we always have a good time visiting with our far-flung cousins.”

Wendy thought it might be better that she was seeing the raw side of life with the Kessler family. If she'd visited during the summertime, when all was well with them, she might not have learned the things she needed to know in deciding her future with Evan.

B
efore they returned to the farm, Evan decided to show Wendy the business section of Gallipolis. “This city was settled by wealthy Frenchmen a few years after the Revolutionary War ended,” he explained. “It's always been a prosperous, active city.”

He drove along First Avenue to point out Our House Tavern, which had hosted two famous visitors in its heyday—Louis Philippe, Duke of Orleans, who later became king of France, and the Marquis de Lafayette. “The building is a museum now,” he said.

“But the Kesslers aren't French?”

“No,” Evan said, as he pulled into the parking lot of a pizza restaurant. “I'd mentioned before that we're Germans, but my ancestors were farmers, so they didn't settle in town.”

The restaurant wasn't crowded, and the waitress gave them their choice of tables. They chose one close to the window, where Wendy had a glimpse of the Ohio River. They ordered a medium-size pizza
and a pitcher of soda. While they ate, Evan explained more about the history of the area, which was also a part of his heritage.

Before they went home, Wendy stopped at a department store and bought an inexpensive pair of boots that would keep her feet warm during her visit. And she could also use them during rainy seasons at home.

True to her word, Hilda had laid out several of her niece's garments on Wendy's bed. Wendy felt like she was accepting charity, a no-no according to her mother. Emmalee preferred to do without, rather than to take help when it was offered. Wendy had her share of pride, but when she slipped into the calf-length, down-filled coat that had a hood and deep pockets for her hands, any pride she had about accepting hand-me-down clothes disappeared in a hurry. Wrapped in that coat, she felt as if she were sunning herself on a Florida beach.

She put on a sweat suit and went downstairs to meet Evan, carrying the heavy coat over her arm. Evan was waiting to take her on a tour of the farm.

It took them several hours to check out the six hundred acres that made up Heritage Farm. The dairy barn, with four blue silos beside it, where Evan worked each morning, was located close to the house. Attached to the barn was a milking shed for the cattle and a cooling room to preserve the milk. Several sheds, where the cows could find shelter, were built around the dairy complex.

Evan said that most of their cattle were Holsteins, but that in recent years, they had mixed their herd
with Jersey cattle. The majority of the animals were still black and white, but the younger stock showed the mixture of Holstein and Jersey blood.

Evan drove first to the river tract where corn and soya beans were raised. Then they traveled slowly through a creek valley passing many outbuildings, employees' homes and pasture fields where cattle and horses grazed.

Before they returned to the house, Evan accessed a narrow road that led up a sharp incline through the woods. They came into a clearing, the site of a brick-veneered small house. Shrubbery bordered a wide porch along the entire front of the house. Snowflakes drifted through the barren tree limbs of the oak trees. A small herd of deer grazed in the clearing. Evan watched closely for Wendy's reaction to the house. He wasn't disappointed.

She stepped out of the truck and looked at the dwelling, her eyes wide with delight. “Evan,” she said breathlessly. “You've saved the best for last. This is a storybook setting. Who lives here?”

“Nobody. It was the first home built by my ancestors. It's been vacant since my grandmother died three years ago.”

“Let's go inside,” Wendy said, starting toward the house.

“It's locked, and I didn't bring the key. We'll look at it another time. We need to get back to the house now. Snow and sleet are forecast for tonight, and I need to help our workers put out extra feed for the cattle.”

“Can I help?” she said.

“Maybe, but we'll have to find some work clothes for you.”

Back in the utility room, Evan said, “You can keep your sweats on, but take off your coat and your new boots.” He rummaged around in a closet until he found a pair of coveralls. “Try these on for size,” he said. “I used to wear them before my final growth spurt. We don't throw anything away around here.”

He held the coveralls while Wendy stepped into them. “You can roll up the sleeves and legs, and they'll fit better.”

He took a blue knitted hat from the closet and put it over her head. She looked so cute in the oversize coveralls that he leaned forward and kissed her lips softly.

He handed a bulky pair of socks to Wendy. “Here are some wool socks, and I'll help you put on these boots.”

She sat on a bench to put on the socks and he knelt beside her, so thrilled to have her taking an interest in his work that he could have shouted for joy. He slid the boots on her feet and tied them tightly.

“Stand up and see if you can walk around.”

Feeling as if her feet weighed a ton, Wendy took a few experimental steps. Grinning at the difference these clothes made in Wendy's appearance, Evan said, “You look like a farm girl now. Here's some stretchy gloves. They'll fit snug around your fingers.”

As they were leaving the house, Marcy drove up. She took one look at Wendy's getup and laughed. “Don't tell me he's roped you into helping with the chores! You'll be sorry.”

Wendy quickly defended Evan. “I volunteered to help.”

“How'd your exam go?” Evan asked amicably, but he made up his mind to have a private talk with his sister.

“Okay, I guess. That's the last one. I'm free until the first of the year. Have fun,” she said, disappearing into the house.

Wendy shivered as the sharp wind pierced the heavy coveralls she wore. This was her first trip into the dairy barn, and Wendy was amazed at the extensive operations. Evan explained that they milked one hundred and fifty cows each day. The milk ran through the automatic milkers to a thousand-gallon cooling tank. Once a day, the milk was pumped directly into a refrigerated truck and hauled to the processing plant.

Wendy and Evan watched as twelve cows entered the milking shed, six on each side of the room. A female employee attached the automatic milkers. The cows ate grain while the milking process continued. When the milkers automatically disconnected from all of the cows, the worker opened two doors. The first cows moved out into the loafing sheds, and another group entered the building to be attached to the milkers.

Wendy found the smells of animal waste, disinfectant and grain overwhelming. She was glad when they went into an office where Evan explained the computer system that kept a history of the herd.

Each cow had a separate page and number in the computer program, as well as a registration number
recorded on its ear tag. Records of the milk content and productivity were listed, as well as the reports of samples taken often to prove that the milk was pure. The current history of each cow was available at all times. There was more to dairy farming than she'd ever realized, and Wendy knew that in the future she'd have a greater appreciation for each glass of milk she drank.

They went into the pasture field behind the barn where the cattle and a few horses grazed on the short grass. Evan pointed to some round bales of hay.

“The animals won't be able to reach the grass if it snows, so we'll scatter hay around the corral.” He broke the strings on one of the bales and demonstrated how he wanted the work done. “You'll soon get the hang of it.”

It wasn't difficult to understand what she should do, but the half-frozen ground sucked at her footwear, and every step she took was an effort. As the boots slipped up and down on her feet, blisters formed on her heels.

Before long Wendy realized that she wasn't cut out to be a farm girl. Her forearms ached from pulling the hay from the bales and scattering it while Evan was busy on the other side of the corral. She was cold, and her feet hurt. She cried in frustration. She wanted so much to be a part of Evan's life and to do the things he wanted her to do, but if this was what marriage to Evan would be like, she couldn't do it.

She'd receive her teaching degree in the spring. As a farmer's wife, could she ever follow her chosen profession? Tears blinded her eyes, and Wendy stum
bled over a small rock and fell facedown in the pile of hay she'd just scattered. When Evan reached her, she was sobbing.

“Did you hurt yourself?” he asked, lifting her and cradling her in his arms.

“I…don't…think…so,” she said, sniffing between each word.

Evan picked her up and started toward the house.

“Put me down,” she protested. “I can walk.”

“But I like carrying you,” he said.

Hilda met them at the door, with Marcy hovering behind her. “What's happened?” Hilda said.

“Wendy stubbed her toe and fell.”

“I knew she wouldn't like it,” Marcy said with a smirk.

“That's enough,” Hilda said to her daughter in a tone that brooked no argument, and Marcy disappeared into the kitchen.

“I'm all right,” Wendy said. “Sorry to make such a fuss. The boots were too big for me, and I couldn't keep my balance.”

Evan set her on a bench in the utility room, and he knelt to remove her dirty boots. “She was doing a fine job scattering hay, Mom. The boots were the problem.”

Wendy figured that Evan was saying those things to encourage her, but it didn't help.

“The next time you go out to work,” Hilda said, “wear my boots—they're closer to your size.”

After he'd helped her out of the bulky coveralls, Evan said, “Go upstairs and rest. I'll finish my work and be in for supper soon.”

 

An onslaught of rain against the windows woke Wendy about midnight, followed by wind that whistled and roared as it snaked its way around the house. The strong gusts seemed to shake the building, and when it sounded as if someone was throwing pebbles against the windows, Wendy knew that the dreaded ice storm had reached the valley.

She snuggled down under the heavy blankets and went back to sleep. The next time she awakened, she was cold, and she soon realized why. The electric mattress pad no longer soothed her body with warmth. A chilly black silence enveloped her. She slid her arm under the pillow and pulled out the flashlight. She splayed its beam around the room and pulled the chain on the table lamp, but the light didn't come on. The electricity was off. The continual howling of the wind unnerved Wendy, and she wished she had never left Florida.

Wendy spread an extra blanket on the bed, but she still shivered. She thought more sleep was impossible, but she must have dozed for she roused to a soft knock on the door.

“Yes?” she said.

Evan opened the door and, holding an oil lamp, stepped into the room.

“You're probably aware that we're having an ice storm,” he said, “and that we have no electricity. You might as well stay in bed as long as you can. The only heat we'll have is the fireplace and a gas space heater in the family room. We also have a gas cookstove, so we'll be okay.”

Wendy sat up in bed and pulled the blankets around her. “How long will the storm last?”

“Hard to tell. We have a battery radio in the kitchen, so we can keep up with what's going on. It's not unusual to lose power throughout the year, so we're prepared for it.”

“Aren't your milking machines powered by electricity?”

“Yes, but we have gasoline generators for auxiliary power. I wouldn't want to milk that many cows by hand. When you get up, put on your warmest clothes and your boots and come downstairs.”

As he walked to the barn, Evan again bemoaned the fact that Wendy was seeing Ohio at its worst. He should have invited her to come for Easter when flowers bloomed and the trees would be starting to leaf. Instead, she was here, according to the meteorologists, during the hardest winter storm of the century. With this power outage, he'd be spending more of his time in the barn and wouldn't have much time with Wendy. He'd sensed her despairing mood last night, as if she found the farm more than she could tolerate.

 

When Wendy got out of bed, she soon learned that light wasn't the only amenity she didn't have. She turned on the faucets and didn't get a drop of water. She went into Olivia's room. A mound of blankets on the bed indicated that Olivia, curled up like a kitten, was sleeping in.

“Are you awake?” Wendy whispered.

Olivia uncovered her face. “Uh-huh.”

“I can't get any water.”

“And you won't get any until the power comes back on. We have a private electric well system.”

“What do we do for baths?”

“We'll heat some water on the kitchen stove and take sponge baths. Evan will hook up a generator to the system later on today to run the freezers for a few hours to keep the food from thawing. He might connect to the pump so we can take showers. It just depends on how much he has to do with the cattle.”

“During hurricanes we often lose power. But in the part of Jacksonville where I live, we haven't lost electricity for several years.”

“There's only one advantage of this storm. Evan told me that school has been dismissed until after Christmas. I'm going to stay in bed. When we don't have electricity, there's not much we can do except sleep.”

“I'm going to get dressed and go downstairs. See you later.”