A Winter's Promise by Jeanette Gilge

wish you were here to help me! ”
    Before she shifted George to the other breast, Emma leaned over and opened the draft. The baby protested with s harp c ry.
    “ Oh, Liebc hen, you think you have troubles, ” she w hispered. “ I wish I were little again. ”
    She wiggled into a more comfortable position, letting her thoughts take her back in time. She could see the streets in Oshkosh from her early childhood. She re called how strange the board sidewalks of Ogema seemed that day she and Mama and the other children arrived by train, leaving Oshkosh behind.
    Poor, Papa! He had met them at the train and tried to lift her down, but she wouldn ’ t let him because she didn ’ t know him with a beard! He ’ d been gone a year, working in the Northern Wisconsin pine forests so far from his family. He must have been so lonely, she realized now.
    The board sidewalks were soon left behind as they walked through what seemed to be endless woods. Ten long miles they had hiked, taking two days to do it. She ’ d never forget seeing that little log cabin by the creek for the first time. It was like living in a storybook.
    How many times she had walked that ten miles since—including the day of her wedding, when she walked with her right hand in Al ’ s, her left hand finger ing the smooth poplin of her silvery-gray wedding dress.
    Ma would have frowned and scolded, had she seen Emma fingering her dress like that. “ You look like a baby doing that—like you ’ re still dragging your baby quilt around. You used to feel its edge till you were three. Then when you let go that quilt, you ’ d be sittin ’ there fingering your skirt every time I looked at you. ”
    It was an odd habit. Emma wasn ’ t usually aware she was doing it till Ma scolded or her brothers teased. That thought took her back to the night of the square dance. She was sitting, watching t he dancers and feeling the cali co material of her skirt slide through her fingers, when nine-year-old Dick ran past and yelled, “ Want your blanket, baby? ”
    P robably no one el se had heard him, but her face flamed. I neve r should have told Al I ’ d come. I can ’ t dance.
    The last time she ’ d tried, she had made so many wrong turns that Walter and Dick said she looked like a cow trying to find the right stall. This night she felt like all eyes were on her , though she hadn ’ t made quite a s many blunders. When she twisted her ankle, she was se cretly glad and pretended it hurt more than it really did so she could limp to a seat.
    But then she had to sit and watch Millie Luft flashing her big, brown eyes at Al as she swooped and twirled, never making one wrong move. Hattie, her best friend, had sat with her a little while but then off she went, whirling as gracefully as Millie, while Emma sat with the old ladies.
    Surely Al would sit out one dance and talk with her. She waited and smiled at those around her, and even clapped her hands. But Al just kept on dancing.
    When Emma felt like she had been sitting there for hours, Ma came up. “ You ’ re riding home with us. ”
    Emma looked pleadingly at Al, and Ma said, “ Dick, go tell Al Verleger that Emma ’ s going home. ”
    Al didn ’ t even wave when she hobbled to the door.
    Ma had tried to console her when they got home. “ He ’ ll come by tomorrow, you ’ ll see. ” But he hadn ’ t. In fact, it was almost September before she saw him again.
    Emma could see that scene in her mind just as plain as if it had been yesterday. There was Al, coming up the lane, his hair blowing in the wind, his coattail standing straight out behind him. Her first impulse had been to have Ma tell him he could just go see Millie Luft, but she found herself at the door, hoping he couldn ’ t hear how hard her heart was pounding.
    When she opened the door, he took her hand and pulled her right out on the stoop. His words tumbled out. “ Emma, I wanted to come see you the day after the dance, but I had to help Pa. New