families came from Germ any, and I ’ ve been working and working ....
She squeezed his hand. “ You ’ re here now. Want to sit down? ”
“ Soon as I get a drink, ” he said, taking the tin cup off the wire hook on the pump. He held the cup in his left hand and pumped with his right—something Emma couldn ’ t do because her arms weren ’ t long enough to reach.
When he sat down, he took her hand again. She, didn ’ t want to pull it away, although the thought flitted through her mind that she really ought to. She soaked up his enthusiastic words about the land he had filed a claim on and about the new settlers coming in. It was wonderful to hear what was going on outside her own household. She hoped he wouldn ’ t ask her what had been happening in her life, because nothing had. The only new things she ever saw were what baby Anne learned.
Al stayed for supper that night, but it seemed to Emma that he paid little attention to her. At dusk he said he had to leave and asked Emma to walk to the main road with him. He didn ’ t even hold her hand, she remem bered, until they reached the road. Then he gave her hand a quick squeeze and said, “ You ’ re gonna be at the box social next week, aren ’ t you? ” and he was gone. She walked back to the house that night in a welter of emotions—miffed because he had talked with the fami ly all evening, disappointed because he hadn ’ t offered to take her to the social, and yet thrilled that he had come to see her and was, perhaps, looking forward to seeing her again.
So long ago. ... Emma held baby George up to her shoulder, kissed the top of his head, and sm iled, remembering how excited she had been preparing her l unch and decorating that box for the social. Ma had helped her cover the box with some material leftover from her new skirt. It had looked real pretty when they were done. Ma found some blue yarn that just matched, and Emma tied the box with it and made a bow on the top.
She ’ d had t o wear her old skirt that night, or every one would know which box was hers. When the bidding started on her box, she could hardly breathe. Big, old, re d-faced Gus kept bidding, but so did Al. He hadn ’ t even placed a bid on another box. How did he know it was hers? Or did he?
Al got it for seventy-five cents, one of the highest bids of the evening. He led Emma to a quiet comer of the hall where the girls hung their coats. She took out the napkins and arranged the sandwiches on them. She ’ d take out the molasses cake later.
“ I was wondering how I ’ d ever kn ow your box, but then I saw your material. You wore that skirt the night I had supper at your house. Emma, I didn ’ t know you were so clever! ”
Emma felt her face burn. “ I never thought of that, Al, honest! I never thought you ’ d remember my skirt mate rial. ”
He gave her a quick, one-armed hug. “ Now I can walk you home. I wanted to bring you this evening, but that ’ s not exactly fair at a box social. I might have had to see another girl home, if I ’ d ended up with her supper! ” What a dummy I was! I was wishing Al would kiss me that night, but still I was scared. Maybe he knew I was scared, and that ’ s why he just hugged me and said it was nice to be with me.
She smiled into the darkness, thinking how Al ’ s huge frame would fill the doorway tomorrow evening. The little ones would cling to his legs, and he ’ d wink at her over their clamor. She ’ d pretend to be busy, but she ’ d be waiting until the children ’ s excitement had subsided. Then he ’ d come and wrap her in his long arms. She wouldn ’ t even mind the odor of greasy camp cooking that clung to his, woolen shirt, or his week ’ s growth of whiskers. She ’ d just cling, unaware for a mo ment of the children, and let all her tension seep into his strong body.
But maybe this time she ’ d better not cling. How could she possibly—Oh, dear! A week was so long for a man. Would he be angry?
She squeezed his hand. “ You ’ re here now. Want to sit down? ”
“ Soon as I get a drink, ” he said, taking the tin cup off the wire hook on the pump. He held the cup in his left hand and pumped with his right—something Emma couldn ’ t do because her arms weren ’ t long enough to reach.
When he sat down, he took her hand again. She, didn ’ t want to pull it away, although the thought flitted through her mind that she really ought to. She soaked up his enthusiastic words about the land he had filed a claim on and about the new settlers coming in. It was wonderful to hear what was going on outside her own household. She hoped he wouldn ’ t ask her what had been happening in her life, because nothing had. The only new things she ever saw were what baby Anne learned.
Al stayed for supper that night, but it seemed to Emma that he paid little attention to her. At dusk he said he had to leave and asked Emma to walk to the main road with him. He didn ’ t even hold her hand, she remem bered, until they reached the road. Then he gave her hand a quick squeeze and said, “ You ’ re gonna be at the box social next week, aren ’ t you? ” and he was gone. She walked back to the house that night in a welter of emotions—miffed because he had talked with the fami ly all evening, disappointed because he hadn ’ t offered to take her to the social, and yet thrilled that he had come to see her and was, perhaps, looking forward to seeing her again.
So long ago. ... Emma held baby George up to her shoulder, kissed the top of his head, and sm iled, remembering how excited she had been preparing her l unch and decorating that box for the social. Ma had helped her cover the box with some material leftover from her new skirt. It had looked real pretty when they were done. Ma found some blue yarn that just matched, and Emma tied the box with it and made a bow on the top.
She ’ d had t o wear her old skirt that night, or every one would know which box was hers. When the bidding started on her box, she could hardly breathe. Big, old, re d-faced Gus kept bidding, but so did Al. He hadn ’ t even placed a bid on another box. How did he know it was hers? Or did he?
Al got it for seventy-five cents, one of the highest bids of the evening. He led Emma to a quiet comer of the hall where the girls hung their coats. She took out the napkins and arranged the sandwiches on them. She ’ d take out the molasses cake later.
“ I was wondering how I ’ d ever kn ow your box, but then I saw your material. You wore that skirt the night I had supper at your house. Emma, I didn ’ t know you were so clever! ”
Emma felt her face burn. “ I never thought of that, Al, honest! I never thought you ’ d remember my skirt mate rial. ”
He gave her a quick, one-armed hug. “ Now I can walk you home. I wanted to bring you this evening, but that ’ s not exactly fair at a box social. I might have had to see another girl home, if I ’ d ended up with her supper! ” What a dummy I was! I was wishing Al would kiss me that night, but still I was scared. Maybe he knew I was scared, and that ’ s why he just hugged me and said it was nice to be with me.
She smiled into the darkness, thinking how Al ’ s huge frame would fill the doorway tomorrow evening. The little ones would cling to his legs, and he ’ d wink at her over their clamor. She ’ d pretend to be busy, but she ’ d be waiting until the children ’ s excitement had subsided. Then he ’ d come and wrap her in his long arms. She wouldn ’ t even mind the odor of greasy camp cooking that clung to his, woolen shirt, or his week ’ s growth of whiskers. She ’ d just cling, unaware for a mo ment of the children, and let all her tension seep into his strong body.
But maybe this time she ’ d better not cling. How could she possibly—Oh, dear! A week was so long for a man. Would he be angry?
Similar Books
