A Lantern in the Window (10 page)

She disappeared over the hill, and he
walked toward the peacefully grazing horses. “C’mon, boys. Buck,
Bright, time to get back to work.”

He was whistling as he harnessed them
and led them over to another stump, and he was still whistling half
an hour later when he heard the frantic call.

“
Noah—Noah."

His body stiffened as he caught sight
of Annie and Bets, skirts held high, racing towards him over the
uneven ground.

A terrible foreboding filled him as he
ran to meet them.

Bets was sobbing, her face soaked with
tears and sweat. Annie, too, was crying as Noah reached them, her
flushed face contorted into lines of anguish.

"What is it? What’s happened?" He
grasped Annie by the shoulders. "Tell me, for God’s
sake."

"It’s—it’s Zachary. Bets was—she was
coming—to get us,” she gasped. “I met her on the trail, I ran back
to the house with her, but it—it was too late. Oh, Noah—” She
gulped and her voice broke. "He’s gone. Zachary's dead.” She
pressed her hands against her mouth, trying to still the sobs so
she could talk.

"Bets said she—she was playing
checkers with him, and he had some sort of a seizure, just for a
moment or two, and then—then he just fell back on the
pillows—"

An absolute stillness seemed to
surround Noah. He heard the words, but they came from a great
distance. He turned and ran over to unhook the team. Then, with his
hand on the harness, he paused and laid his forehead against Buck's
rough, warm flank.

His father was dead.

Hurrying served no purpose, because
Zachary was no longer there for him, the way he'd been through the
whole of Noah’s life.

His wife, his child, and now his
father. Fate had a way of taking everything he cared about. It was
a reminder, a grim warning, not ever to let himself love without
reservation.

November 14,
1886

My dear
Elinora,

We’re having the first
real snowfall of the year, and it’s still coming down like big,
soft feathers. It's pretty, but it also makes me feel lonely and
rather a prisoner. It’s been over two months now, but Bets and I
still can’t seem to get through a day without crying for dear
Zachary. We do miss him so very much. I find myself longing for the
sound of that cursed cane of his banging the floor.

Thank you for
the letter,
and the parcel. You are altogether too generous, dear Elinora. The
baby clothes are beautiful and much appreciated. Tell Fanny I shall
treasure the shawl she knitted. And the book you sent,
Advice To A Mother,
has cleared away many of my questions
about the birth process. I note that it is written by an
Englishwoman; surely the English are more enlightened than the rest
of us, to publish so outspoken a volume.

You ask when this blessed event
will occur. I see Doctor Witherspoon each time we go to town, and
he says about the third week in January. Although I hate the very
thought, Noah is adamant that I go and stay with friends in
Medicine Hat after Christmas so the doctor will be in attendance at
the birth. Elinora, I can't help but feel in my heart that I'm
being banished, even though my head tells me the idea is a sensible
one. We
are
far from town, it’s winter, and the
doctor might not reach us in time.

Enough of my ranting!
Truth to tell, I am in perfect health, although I grow to look more
like a pumpkin every day. Gladys is quick to inform me that my
rounded shape is going to get worse before it gets better. She and
Rose came to visit again last week, the first time since the
funeral. I think I told you that Zachary is buried in a spot near
the river, alongside Noah's first wife and baby. I go there when
the weather permits; I feel strangely close to all three of
them.

Gladys has become a good
friend, and Rose and Bets are as thick as thieves. Rose can sign
almost as well as I can. We're planning a get-together for
Christmas day. Gladys says her family will come here because of my
“condition, "and we’ll all make Christmas dinner. Bets and I are
busy making gifts—aprons and potpourri from wild roses for the
women and socks for the men. I'm making Noah new mittens from
scarlet yarn; his are full of holes.

You asked in your letter
how Noah is doing with the death of his father, and I have to say I
don’t really know. You see, he won’t talk to me, Elinora. I try,
but it’s as if he’s far away. I did think, just before Zachary's
death, that things had changed for the better, but it hasn’t worked
that way at all.

As
always, he is kind and
very thoughtful
.
H
e brings
all the water in and takes the slops out and warns me not to lift
heavy things. He bought me two new (voluminous) dresses last trip
to town, as nothing I have fits anymore, but he refuses to speak of
the baby, which is what I need and want him to do. Every time I’ve
brought it up, he gets up and walks away.

I love him with all my
heart, Elinora, and I've come to realize I'm an all-or-nothing sort
of person. If he can’t see his way to loving me and this child
equally, the day will come when I will have to leave.

'Well, this is a sad
excuse for a letter, but you told me always to write as I feel.
Enclosed is a note from Bets—her penmanship is getting much better,
isn’t it? I make her do lessons every day. You wouldn’t recognize
her. She’s grown a foot and put on weight and looks a different
girl altogether'. Coming here has been good for her, at
least.

I hope you are well and
not working too hard. Bets and I laughed over your story about the
new boarder. I imagine you have her quite house-broken by
now.

I hope to hear from you
soon. Each time Noah goes to town, I pray for a letter.

Your loving, expectant
friend, Annie.

In mid-December, at Bets’s urging,
Noah cut a bushy willow tree and nailed it to a stand. The sisters
decorated its stark branches with strings of cranberries, popcorn,
and paper angels.

They tied suet to the outdoor
clothesline for the birds and wrapped the gifts they’d made and
stacked them under the tree. Noah bought extra sugar in town, and
Annie made candy and baked cakes in preparation for
Christmas.

The temperature dropped to 38 degrees
below zero and stayed there for a week. Annie and Bets fretted over
whether it would be too cold for their guests to travel, but on
December 23, it suddenly warmed up again, to only 10
below.

All the Christmas preparations were
finished, and the house was clean. Annie awoke that morning filled
with energy, determined that the time had come to tidy Zachary’s
bedroom and turn it into a nursery for the baby. She’d been putting
it off.

Noah had shut the door to his father’s
room after the funeral, and it had remained closed. Now, for some
reason, it was urgent to her that the room be in order before the
next day, when the Hopkins family came over.

She told Noah that morning at
breakfast what she was planning, and as usual these days, he didn't
really answer her. He simply nodded in. that distracted way he had,
pulled on his heavy coat and hat, and disappeared out the door in
the direction of the bam.

Half the time, she thought
despondently, she didn’t know whether he even heard what she said
to him.

Annie enlisted Bets’s help in
dismantling Zachary’s bed and setting it against the wall. They
folded his clothing neatly into a box, dusted down the walls, and
scrubbed the floor. Annie lined the dresser drawers with fresh
paper and lovingly laid her meager collection of baby things there,
flannel diapers and tiny dresses and knitted leggings that she was
certain were too small to fit anything human.

In spite of the freezing temperature,
Bets carried the rag rug out to the clothesline and gave it a
vigorous beating.

Noah had been out in the barn all
morning, shoveling hay down from the loft to load on a sled to take
out to the cattle in the south pasture, and when he came in at
noon, Annie showed him what they’d done.

"Now we need your help in moving the
bed and mattress to the attic,” Annie told him, adding with her
heart in her throat, "and Noah, do you think you could bring the
cradle down?”

All morning, she’d worried over his
reaction to that suggestion. She knew Noah had built the cradle
before his son was born. Zachary had carved the angels and flowers
and wood sprites into the satiny wood, and having it in plain view
would be a painful reminder of both dead father and lost
child.

The roof in the attic room was too low
for him to stand upright. With Bets’s help, Noah lowered the
awkward mattress to a spot against the wall and, half crouching,
forced himself to look around at the things he’d sworn never to
look at again, Jeremy’s cradle, his high chair, the soft blankets
and shawls that had kept him warm, the trunk packed with his baby
clothing, the wooden box Noah had fashioned to hold his son’s
toys.

Bets plucked a stuffed kitten, its
tail gone, out of the toy box and stroked it. Then, with a nervous
glance at him, she carefully put it back again.

Noah winced, remembering his sturdy,
mischievous son pulling on that tail until it finally came loose
from the toy.

"Broke,” he’d said matter-of-factly,
handing it to Noah. "Da fix.”

How he missed his little son. How he’d
loved him, right from the moment Molly told him she was pregnant.
He’d begun the cradle that very day. With pride and delight, he’d
watched his wife’s body changing, placing his hand on Molly’s belly
and laughing with awe and joy to feel their child moving. He’d
rubbed her back and teased her and laced her boots each morning
when she could no longer reach them.

And what had he done for
Annie?

Nothing. Nothing at all, except make
it plain in every way he could that he didn’t want her child. He’d
witnessed the anxiety in her eyes just now when she asked him to
bring down the cradle.

She’d actually thought he would refuse
her even the use of the cradle for the baby she carried.

He straightened suddenly and smacked
his head on a rafter. He swore viciously, but the pain mirrored the
sudden, shamed anguish in his heart.

He couldn’t pretend he wanted this
child, because he didn’t.

But neither could he deny his feelings
for Annie. In spite of himself, against every vow he’d made, he
cared for Annie.

It was for her sake that he lifted the
trunk that held Jeremy’s baby clothing and carried it downstairs.
It was like slowly plucking the scab from a deep, half healed
wound, but he returned for the cradle, the box of toys, and the
high chair, setting everything in the room that Annie was preparing
for the baby.

She watched wide-eyed as he brought
down all of Jeremy’s things. When he had finished, she came over to
him and, without a word, locked her arms around his neck and pulled
his head down to kiss him full on the lips.

“
Thank you, Noah. I know
it’s difficult for you, and I thank you.” Her green eyes shimmered
with tears, and the gratitude and love on her face were more than
he could bear.

God, she was beautiful. She’d spilled
something brown down her front and she smelled of cooking, and her
fiery hair rose like a nimbus around her head, curly and messy and
wild, and it came to him that he loved her. He’d loved her for a
long time, without being able to admit it to her or to
himself.

Longing overwhelmed him, and he
wrapped his arms around her and held her close against him, his
eyes shut tight, his heart aching for release, imagining for a
split second how it might have been with her if only ..
.

But he could feel the mound of her
belly pressing his, and the babe inside suddenly kicked hard
against him.

Panic filled Noah at the emotion that
contact created.

He jerked away from her embrace and
blindly reached for his overcoat and hat. "I'm taking a load of hay
out to the cattle this afternoon. I’ll be home in time for
supper.”

His voice was harsh, because something
was happening in his chest. A tight knot that he’d never allowed to
unwind was stubbornly coming undone.

He fought with all his strength, but
the sobs started when he was halfway across the yard, tearing,
painful sobs that he'd denied when Molly was taken from him, when
Jeremy died, when he lost his father.

He knew that strong men didn't cry,
but he couldn’t stop himself any longer. He stumbled into the bam
and stood there, arms braced against a stall, tears raining down
his face, the savage agony of all his losses bursting in his chest
and erupting in an avalanche of grief that he couldn’t force down
anymore.

At first he fought the tears with all
his strength, horrified, ashamed of such weakness, but their power
overwhelmed him and at last he gave in, sinking to his knees on the
hay and weeping until he was empty.

At last he staggered to his feet,
mindful of his cattle needing to be fed. Still in a daze, he
harnessed Buck to the loaded sleigh, not taking note that the wind
had changed and was now blowing from the north, or that the western
sky was bruised looking and inky dark, heavy with storm
clouds.