FLAT NOSE EMORY YARNS A YARN
Chapter 6
When she missed her next monthly courses and the following one, she knew that she was pregnant. Ecstatically, she told him that he was going to be a father. Silently, he played with his breakfast, frightening her. Maybe he didn’t want to be burdened with both a wife and child. When he finally spoke, he put her fears to rest by voicing his own, "What if the child is like me?"
"He will be beautiful," she replied, rising from her own breakfast to move around the table to plant a healthy kiss on his exceptional mouth.
"He?" Vincent questioned. "He might be a girl."
"No, it will be a boy. I dreamt of it one night, and whichever one of us he looks like, we will love him, won’t we?"
He looked down at this feisty woman who had insinuated her way onto his lap and into his heart and was now issuing him a challenge, and his love for her surged stronger in his heart. He nodded solemnly. "Yes, Catherine, we will," he said decisively.
"Good," she patted him on the chest.
"When will he come?" he asked.
"Sometime in the summer, I’m not sure."
"A child of the sun."
"He will be the light of our lives," she said. Then matter-of-factly she returned to her seat and finished breakfast.
* * * * * * * * *
As the seemingly endless winter progressed, the nights lengthened until Vincent figured it was close to Christmas and the New Year. Ordinarily he did not even think of the holiday but, with Catherine there, somehow it seemed appropriate.
Before he could say anything, she asked, "Vincent, do you have any idea when Christmas will be?"
"No, I’ve never had reason to celebrate it, but I’ve been wondering about it, myself."
"Could it be now?"
"I suppose so."
"Let’s say it is. In a week. We’ll have our own festival then."
On the day they picked to celebrate the birth of the Savior, Catherine fixed a special meal for them, and they read the Christmas story from Vincent’s Bible. Before retiring for the night, she regaled him with stories of her past Christmases: the decorations, the candles placed everywhere, the gifts, and the loving presence of her grandparents. That was the extent of their celebration, and with a Merry Christmas, they retired for the night. A week later, much to Catherine’s delight, in place of fireworks Vincent fired his Colt pistol into the frigid night air. He seemed to be unbending more and more and becoming less serious every day.
* * * * * * * * *
Spring is slow in coming to the mountains with some of the heaviest snows blowing in around April. Bitter cold spells were broken by Chinooks, warm winds that swiftly melted the snow and ice, causing the rivers and the little stream by their cabin to flow rapidly over their beds. By this time Catherine’s pregnancy had progressed to the point that she no longer had a flat stomach but a very definite rounding of the belly. She appeared to be 4-5 months along which made her secretly wonder if Vincent had gotten her pregnant the first time she came to his bed.
On several occasions, Vincent would find Catherine staring wistfully out the open window at the snow-covered meadow, her arms wrapped around her waist in an effort to keep warm. On one such occasion, he glided up behind her and surrounded her with his arms. Reflectively she sighed and leaned her head back into his shoulder, clasping his arms tightly. "What is it, my love?" he asked, wondering about her thoughtful mood.
"Oh, I just wish summer would get here soon. I’m anxious to see our child."
Smiling as he nuzzled into her hair, he responded, "He will come when it is his time, not a minute sooner."
"Oh," she said archly, "so now you think it will be a boy too?"
"I bow to your superior wisdom, my love."
She kissed him and sighed, "I’ve had enough winter. I want spring and the new growth of flowers."
"It will come . . ."
"I know, I know," she said, as she stopped his words with a finger on his lips. Together, they laughed happily and turned to their never-ending chores.