Mr.Thomas folded the paper,creased it on his knee with his palm and looked troubled indeed."What have I said to give you the idea I was taking you home for Christmas?"he said.
Mrs.Thomas paled."You said...you said a day last summer,just before school took up,when we had planned to go home,and then someone died and you had to preach his funeral sermon,‘Never mind.There will be Christmas.I can take you home then.'"She set her teeth on her underlip to keep it from trembling and turned her head away.
"I did?"he asked,his voice as sad as it was astonished."If you say I did,I did.I'm sorry to have completely forgotten saying it."
"We're not going?"she whispered.
"We can't.Christmas Day I am driving fifteen miles in the other direction to marry a young couple.And by the bye—I'm sorry it slipped my mind—I'm supposed to bring you and the baby to the wedding.Thank you for reminding me."He looked up at her very seriously."I am sorry indeed.But you have said nothing at all of this counting on going home for Christmas.How was I to know?"
How was he to know?Had he utterly forgotten his promise to her mother?Had he not seen her sewing the little gifts she had made for her family?How could he be unaware of the work she had done,making the new clothes for the baby,the new red dress for herself and even a tuck-bosom shirt for him?Had she not,night after night,talked with the baby while her husband read,told him how she and his father would take him to church in all their new finery so that all her cousins and old schoolmates would marvel at his beauty and intelligence,be awed by his father's dignity in his black broadcloth and new white shirt and see her own womanliness and motherhood?
She bowed her head,answering nothing,and after a moment found the presence of mind to spoon the mush into bowls and sprinkle it with brown sugar,to pour the coffee and to say in a voice that trembled only a little,"Will you come to supper now,Mr.Thomas?"
While they ate he talked to her,said,"I wish your parents were here,with their tuning forks and their fine voices,to perfect the singing for the Christmas program.One of the older girls has been to singing school,can read music.But I fear her voice,her pitch and rhythm,leave something to be desired.Only in my mind can I read the notes.It is eternally too bad I cannot carry a tune."
Augusta wanted to say,"I could have taught the children their songs,had you asked me.I can read music,and Pa says my voice is true."But she could not trust herself to say anything.
When the supper dishes were on the shelf she rocked the baby to sleep,and again brought out paper and pen,sat down at the table and wrote her mother that they would not be home for Christmas after all.Not a word of complaint was in the letter.Her family must see that she was a woman grown and could take life as it came.She did not seal the letter but left it for Mr.Thomas to add to it,as he liked to do,for he loved her parents.
She had saved the potato water,and set the bread sponge before she went to bed.Mr.Thomas was asleep before she blew out the light.Well to her side of the bunk bed,with a hill of her feather bed between them,she wept as silently as she could,her wrist tight pressed to her mouth to try to still the sobs that shook her.The wedding to which she was so belatedly invited,and which under other circumstances would have filled her with happy anticipation,she did not want to think about.
Augusta overslept,and wakened to see the baby sitting astride his father's knee,listening raptly to a poem chanted in Greek.Then her husband trotted the baby merrily,singing in his monotone,"Old Grimes,he had a yeller dog."
When he saw she was awake he said,"Don't get up,darling,until the house is warmer.I'm getting breakfast."He brought the baby to her to nurse and,smiling down on them,said,"Why don't you come to school with me today?The big girls would be glad to mind the baby while you hear the little ones say their Christmas pieces.And after recess,in the afternoon,we could have a spelldown in your honor."
Augusta's heart leaped at his"come to school,"but sank again at the thought of possibly missing a word and being spelled down by one of the children.She shook her head on the pillow,told him she had best stay home for she had bread to bake.
"Your letter will go directly to your mother,and today,"he said."Neighbors near the school are taking calves to Smith Center and will stay the night at your folks'place on the way.I added a few lines to your letter before Ozro woke up,made a clean breast of forgetting I was to take you home for Christmas and explained why I cannot bring you."
Augusta scarcely heard what he said beyond the news that a wagon was leaving for her parents'home today."Oh,"she cried,"do you suppose I could go with them—take the baby and go,and stay until you can come for us after Christmas?"
"On first thought,a good idea,"he said."On second,a poor one.There's no seat on their wagon.You could not stand up all the way,among the calves.A raw wind is blowing this morning.It would be too hard on you both."
Augusta nodded agreement,acceptance.She was too busy fighting tears to protest that she could wrap the baby well and sit on a box in a corner of the wagon bed.To be denied the trip,promised,long planned,seemed all but unbearable.
Most mornings,the weather fit,Augusta caught up the baby and,the two of them wrapped in her shawl,went out to the buggy with her husband,to be kissed once again and then to stand by the well,watching him out of sight.This morning she stayed where she was,by the cradle.He kissed them both,said he would see the letter on its way and went.He did not mention again the broken promise.
