By the time of that first beginning snow cover the three had settled into easy routines. The women were alone much in the house; Norman save in the worst weather spent free time up in the woodlot felling and skidding trees out to the sawpit for the next winter’s sixteen cords. Connie and Leah worked together, candling and packing the day’s eggs, cooking and baking, cleaning house, three times daily touring the laying pens and brooder house for problems, once a week boiling the big kettle on the stove for laundry, often just sitting in the parlor mending or making clothes, and it was weeks after it began that Leah realized she no longer lifted anything or carried anything, that without obvious effort or awkward excuse her sister-in-law was there before she thought to move and the work was done. They spoke only of the present, as if both had no desire to unwrap their pasts before the other. It was so easy as to seem natural. Leah was secure within this and believed herself happy. Then one afternoon they sat sewing in the parlor, Leah mending a tear from the sawteeth in Norman’s woolen pants before cutting a patch to sew over it, when she looked over at Connie on the horsehide sofa, a great ball of homespun wool from the unsold attic fleece lying beside her as her hands flew in crisscross with needles flashing, a small thing in her lap taking form as she lifted and turned it. Leah stopped her work and watched and then her voice betraying her said, “What’s that you’re working on?”

“A set of little suits for your baby. The cap’s finished. It’s small and so I’ll make another larger.” She turned the piece over in her lap, the needles never stopping. “I think this’ll be more useful than a blanket wrap since I’ve put arms on it. Easier for you I should guess. And I’ll make a larger one to go with the other cap. Should get you through that first year, cold days like this.”

Leah continued sewing up the tear, watching the speed of the woman across from her, watching the soft thing in her lap take a shape and form, her own fingers working the needle and thread in and out of the pantleg at a pace not meant to try and match her sister-in-law but faster than she ever worked and she not watching. The needle ran deep into her left forefinger. The tears came from her in torn sobs that bent her double, her face down now close upon her stalled work. Bent over her swollen belly as if to hide or cover or save it from anything outside of her. As if it was all of her and she betrayed it with her tears. Then felt Connie’s hands on her knees. Not pressing, just there upon her. Leah slowly recovered, felt her breath coming back. Lifted her head slowly just enough to face Connie, her face hushed and serious, waiting. Kind. Leah said, “Look at me. Must be the baby makes me act like this.”