Bittersweet

“I’m going to have a baby.” Sarah sat down with her palms on her cheeks and as quickly bounced up. “I’ve got to tell Imogene.”

“Don’t you think you better tell Sam?” Sarah looked blank. “If he’s going to be a father, he might want to know. You don’t think you got that baby all by yourself, do you?” Mam teased. “Sit down now. Another minute’s going to make no difference. We’ve got some figuring to do. When did you last bleed?” Sarah’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling as she ran over the weeks. “You weren’t at Easter service. Sam said it was female trouble,” Mam suggested, and Sarah looked immensely relieved.

“That was it, the last of March.”

Mam counted on her fingers, naming the months. “Looks like December, or maybe even November.”

Sarah hugged herself. “Maybe the winter won’t seem so long.”

Sam called from outside, and Mam gave Sarah another quick squeeze. “I’m so happy for you, Sare. For you and Sam.”

“Don’t say nothing, Mam.”

“ ’Course I won’t. The news is yours to tell, and rightly so.”

“Grandma Tolstonadge.”

“Oh! My, I hadn’t thought. Sounds just right. Old-but good to my heart.”

Sam called again.

“Will you two quit pulling taffy?” Emmanuel added. “Man’s got business in town.”

Mam helped Sarah into the wagon with elaborate care, twittering and poking her daughter gently in the ribs. Once she caught Sam’s eye and winked broadly; Sam jerked his head back as if she had spit in his eye, but never changed expression.

Sarah untied her bo

As they approached a ragged burst of rock, thrusting through the creepers, a cottontail bu

“Sam.” Sarah grabbed his arm. “You’ve got to stop.”

Sam Ebbitt looked over at his young wife and pulled up on the reins.

“Dog’s got a rabbit, Sam.”

He leaned across her to look. “His rope tangled in something?”

“Take it away from him,” she pleaded.

“Rabbits are thick this year, Sare. Be eating the crops.”

“Please.”

“Why’re you taking on over a rabbit? You’ve cleaned and et ’em plenty of times.” He clucked to the horse.

“Please,” she begged.

Sam blew air noisily out between loose lips and, shaking his head and muttering, climbed out of the wagon. “C’mere, boy. Lemme see what you got.” The dog looked suspiciously over the inert form of the rabbit and growled. Sam cuffed him. “You don’t by-God growl at me.” The dog dropped the rabbit and ran under the wagon. “Looks like the neck’s broke, Sare. No sense wasting it.” He whistled and the dog pricked up his ears.

“Wait.” She jumped from the wagon and scooped the little body from the ground. “It ain’t dead, Sam, feel.” He laid a finger on the rabbit’s neck where a pulse beat rapidly. “Just stu

“We been long enough now. Leave it be.”

“Let me take it. It ain’t dead, Sam.”

“Leave it be now. We fiddled enough of the day.” Sarah held it cradled in her arms. “You don’t have to let the dog have it if you don’t want to,” he conceded. She walked back down the road and put the bu

“Sare,” Sam said without looking back, “I said enough now.” She ran back to the wagon and scrambled onto the seat.

Sam let her off in front of Imogene’s. As soon as his back was turned, she caught up her skirts and ran up the path. Clay had pounded planks into the earth that spring to give Imogene footing through the mud, and Sarah’s boots rang loud on the wood. Pulling up the latch of the door, she threw it open. Imogene was standing in the middle of the room; she turned when the door banged.

Sarah was through it and in her arms in a moment. “Imogene!” she cried. “We’re going to have a baby!”

“Sarah, that’s wonderful!” Imogene hugged her and held her away, resting her hands lightly on the girl’s narrow hips. “We’re going to do this right.” She pulled her nose thoughtfully, her face grave. Sarah waited while Imogene paced, lost in thought.

“Shall I put on some water to boil?” Sarah asked in a timid voice.

“Not yet.” Imogene looked at her and smiled for the first time since she’d received the news. “I think we’ve got a few months yet. We will learn. Everything.”

“I meant for tea.”

Imogene went with her into the kitchen and was measuring tea into the pot while Sarah put the kettle on. She put the canister down with a bump and turned to the young woman. Sarah was kneeling in front of the stove, striking a match. “Sarah, you must promise you will send for me the minute you feel anything. The moment. You must promise to make someone come for me.”

The kindling caught and flared up. “I’ll send for you, Imogene.”

Imogene knelt and took her by the shoulders. “Promise.”

“I promise.”

“There are other things, too. We should start now. You mustn’t let Sam make you do heavy work. And maybe you should eat certain things. I don’t know.” She stood and brushed off her skirts. “I’ll find out. I’ll get books.”

Sarah put the kettle where the blaze was highest. “Women have babies every day. You oughtn’t to worry so.” She pulled her small mouth into a stern line, but still she looked pleased. “I’m going to have to call you Papa Grelznik.”

They carried their tea into the front room and settled themselves near a window where the breeze blew in.

“I’ve wanted this so much,” Sarah said. “When I was coming into town today, sitting up there beside Sam, I couldn’t help thinking I’d stole something from him. All those times he thought he was taking from me, I was really taking from him.

“Something’s mine. My baby. I look at everything-trees and birds, everything-and I feel a part of it. Like I was always skimming along just above, and now I’m down in it.” She smoothed her hands over her belly. “Do I sound crazy? I don’t talk like that in front of people.”

“You sound a little crazy, but it is lovely. I wish everyone were as crazy as you.” Imogene laughed uncertainly. “Papa Grelznik will take care of you, then it will be my baby, too. Would you mind?”

Sarah took the spinster’s hand and pressed it to her stomach, though it was far too soon for life to show. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Sam came for Sarah at six o’clock, and she took her place beside him. Imogene watched until a bend in the road took them.

“You forget your packages?” Sam asked. “I ain’t going back for them now. It’ll have to wait till next trip.”

“I never bought anything.” She waited for a reply, but none was forthcoming. “Don’t you want to know why?”

“You don’t want a new dress, that’s your business.” Sam sounded nettled.

“I never got to the dry goods. I was talking with Imogene. The whole time.” Sam wouldn’t take his cue. He squinted uninterestedly, eyes front. The sun’s last rays, knifing through the trees, barred the road with orange light. “Don’t you want to know what we talked about?” Sarah asked.

“You’re going to tell me anyways.”

“I’m going to have a baby.”

Sam looked over at her and a slow smile illuminated his beard. He slapped his knee and the horse put its ears back. He reached over and slapped Sarah’s knee. “Good girl.” Smiling, he lapsed back into silence. As the sun touched the horizon, he addressed her again. “You going to have a boy?”