Loving Against the Grain (Into the West #2)

Chapter 13

                                                                       

On the evening before Thanksgiving, Emmaline sat by the cookhouse fireplace warming her body and resting her aching feet. She’d propped those suffering limbs on the little fireplace stool before the hearth, slouching upon a bench and dozing in the warmth given off by the crackling flames. That morning had dawned crisp and cold, promising a winter storm for the holiday, perhaps even snow, an event not completely unheard of at this time of year. Of course, the logging company didn’t recognize changes in seasons unless forced due to weather, so the lumberjacks flooding the room, cold temperature increasing their appetites, demanded service from the two overworked hashers. Emmie and Muriel worked their fannies off, until most of the men had shoveled down their vittles and now relaxed over tall tales and coffee.

The heat given off by the generous conflagration threatened to put Emmaline to sleep; her eyelids kept drooping no matter how hard she tried to stay awake. Nearly four months pregnant now (had it already been that long?), her body’s double demand to nourish the unborn baby and herself took its toll in the form of exhaustion. Emmie couldn’t remember anymore what it felt like to sail through an entire work day, prepare dinner at home, clean up after it, and then sit down to sew or read. It took all her energy to complete a day’s meal service, let alone return home to organize a meal for Noah and her! She’d taken to filching leftovers from the Cookhouse kitchen. Cookie had grunted noncommittally the first time she’d asked; taking his non-answer as an assent, Emmie pocketed meal portions on a regular basis now. If the grizzled old proprietor felt curious, it wasn’t enough to ask her why, so she continued the practice.

“Hey, Emmie. Why don’t you go home? I’ve got this.” The gentle touch roused Emmaline, who lifted her head from the palm of her hand to stare up into the kind face of her friend, Muriel. That woman’s sympathetic regard brought an immediate sheen of tears to Emmie’s eyes. She’d become extremely emotional the last couple of months; crying or hissing at the drop of a hat, until her victims learned to keep a wide berth in deference to her volatile nature. Even her somewhat husband spent a good portion of his day absent from her company. Lately he’d been finishing his work early and going home to their cabin, laboring on something mysterious at the side of their cabin, while returning to the Cookhouse later to escort her home.

 The only instance Emmie had seen her husband show irritation had been the one time she’d gotten off a little early and walked home alone. Meeting her in the middle of the haul road, Noah had lectured her about the dangers of walking home at dark by herself in a community comprised of nearly all men. It took him almost five whole sentences to articulate his displeasure, an extraordinary feat in itself. Perhaps because he’d been moved to speak so long, and the fact that she had an inkling of what men could do to a woman, Emmie had felt no anger at his autocratic tone, and had accepted the dressing down silently. The pregnancy seemed to be leeching all the fight right out of her temperament. Of course it wasn’t because her usually calm husband had shown genuine concern…

Sitting up now and swinging her stocking feet to the plank floor, Emmie shook her head to clear it and replied, “Did Cookie say it was alright for me to leave? There seems to be a lot of men still here.”

“I’m saying it’s fine, Emmie. Look at you; you’re dead on your feet! You really should consider quitting, Em. No one will think anything of you announcing your pregnancy now. It’s been long enough, and besides,” and here the older girl leaned in and whispered, “you’re starting to show a little.”

Dropping her eyes from Muriel’s to assess her stomach, Emmie already knew the truth of which her friend spoke. She’d noticed her little baby pouch the other day, but had simply tied the apron looser over it. No one else seemed to detect it, though she did work mainly with men. Muriel had explained to her how oblivious men could be, as long as their creature comforts were being met, and Emmie saw the reality in her friend’s axiom. Unless it affected them personally, the male species remained unaware of their surroundings, and that included pregnant hashers.