Part 5 (2/2)

Joe grinned inwardly. Emma seldom raised her voice to any of the youngsters and she never struck any of them. But somehow she managed prompt and unquestioning obedience to any order she issued, and that was more than Joe could do. There was about his wife a mysterious force which was always recognizable, but which Joe could not explain. It was strange, he reflected in pa.s.sing, that this force did not carry over into anything outside the immediate family. It was strange that the thought of leaving the house should be so fearsome when in other respects Emma was so sure of herself. But he brushed the thought aside, as he had brushed it aside each time it came to plague him.

Joe entered the house and kissed Emma, and for the moment his weariness lifted. He wrinkled his nose.

”Something smells good!”

”Raspberry preserves. We'll try some tomorrow, but we can't now because it isn't done. We found good picking; some of those berries were as big as my thumb.”

A black kettle in which simmered the fruits gathered that day was pushed toward the back of the stove. Spicy odors filled the room, and Joe knew that, when snow lay deep on the ground, Emma would bring her jams, jellies and preserves from the shelves where she kept them and they would be a little bit of the summer back again. Joe remembered the delights of winter morning feasts when all had spread pancakes a quarter inch thick with jam, and he smacked his lips.

The four younger children, their hands stained like Barbara's, rushed toward him and he braced himself to meet their charge. The youngsters hadn't anyone except one another to play with and they always looked forward to his arrival. He plumbed his brain for a story to tell them or a little play to act out. Then Emma turned from the stove and spoke to the children:

”Your horses are trampling everything in the house and I won't have it.

Tie them up again.”

The happy youngsters returned to the game, obviously a game of horses that they had been playing, and Joe felt a swelling grat.i.tude. It would be nice to rest, and Emma had known it. At the same time he felt a vast admiration for his wife; she had relieved him of any more responsibility without offending the children. It went to prove all over again what Joe had always suspected; for all their supposed fragility, and despite the fact that they were allegedly the weaker s.e.x, women had strength and power about which men knew nothing. Strength and power, that is, when it came to dealing with their children. Regarding other things, though, such as making a sensible move in a sensible direction--but again he brushed the thought aside. He sank into a chair, and with a real effort managed to keep from going to sleep.

”How was it today?” Emma asked.

”I had a good day.”

All things considered, he had had a good day. There was much about ax work that he enjoyed. An ax in the hands of a man who knew how to use it ceased to be a mere tool and became a precision instrument. To an ax man, an ax was much like a good rifle to a hunter.

”Are you going to cut more trees?” Emma asked.

”I'll work in the timber until the hay needs cutting.”

That was all they said but that was all they had to say because the rest fell into a precise pattern. When the trees were felled and trimmed some would be split into rails for rail fences and the rest used for firewood. As soon as snow eliminated the danger of forest fire the brush would be burned. That was always a minor festival. The whole family turned out for the brush burning. The children watched, fascinated, while leaping flames climbed skyward through crackling branches. Then, while Joe raked the unburned branches together and fired them, Tad and baby Emma built a snow man or a snow fort for the delectation of the rest. It usually ended with Emma and Barbara serving a lunch beside still-glowing coals and Joe always saved enough branches so everyone could have a dry seat.

Emma went to the door and called ”Tad!” and as though the eight-year-old were on some invisible leash that attached himself to his mother, he appeared out of the lowering night. His seal-sleek hair proved that he had already washed at the well, but no mere water could suffice for Tad now. His face and arms were laced with deep gashes from which blood was again beginning to ooze, and there were fang marks on his upper forearms.

Joe said in astonishment, ”What the d.i.c.kens happened to you?”

”I caught a wildcat!” Tad said gleefully. ”Caught him right in a snare I set myself!”

”Don't you know better than to fool around with wildcats?”

”It's only a little one,” Tad said, as though that explained everything.

”Not hardly big enough to chew anything yet. Got him in the barn, I have. I'm goin' to tame him.”

”Get rid of him,” Joe ordered.

”Aw, Pa!”

Joe was inflexible, ”Get rid of him now! One thing we don't need around here, it's a wildcat!”

<script>