Cut from the original manuscript to help reduce the word count, this chapter is presented as a free gift to my email subscribers or anyone considering buying my novel Eden’s Daughter. Try before you buy!

CAN THIS MARRIAGE BE SAVED?

The supper Eden and Doris prepared for the men was consumed in gloomy silence. Everyone was keenly aware of Barbie’s absence. No one acknowledged the glass of whisky George Senior was consuming at the table.

Only George Senior spoke: a disjointed discourse about which crops were ready to combine, how long he expected harvest to take this year, to which fields Vic Hughes and Garth Pedersen were likely to move their outfits tomorrow, and how much ahead of Krasinski he was this year.

Finally, Doris snapped. “George. Just shut up.” Seemingly unoffended, George shut up.

Eden heard Barbie clattering dishes in the kitchen the next morning. She hadn’t heard her mother return to the house. Where was she all night?

Eden lingered in bed as long as she reasonably could, knowing that Barbie’s ire would rise incrementally the longer she dallied. When she walked reluctantly into the kitchen, she discovered her mother skinning tomatoes while quart sealers bubbled in the large blue canner on the stove.

“Eden, get dressed and go pick more tomatoes. We’ve got to get these canned before it freezes and there’s frost in the forecast.”

Rebelliously, Eden slipped on her flip-flops and walked to the garden in her thin cotton nightgown. The day was already furnace hot. She crouched down in front of the straggly tomato plants, picking all the remaining red and green tomatoes and placing them carefully into a yellow plastic pail. When the pail was full, she returned to the house, kicking her flip-flops off at the door.

“Put those away.” Barbie did not look up from the large pot steaming with crushed tomatoes. “Get dressed and help me stir these.”

She spoke mechanically, but Eden suspected that Barbie’s anger was bubbling red-hot just below the surface, like the pot of tomatoes. Eden hoped she wasn’t around when it boiled over.

“And put your hair into a ponytail.” Eden flicked her hair with the back of one hand. Quit telling me what to do. But she knew better than to say anything. Let’s spend another morning working, working, working, and not talking. Story of my life.

In a couple of hours, eighteen jars of canned tomatoes gleamed on the counter, and a final batch of sealed jars simmered in the canner. Eden was still disgruntled, but she had to admire the product of their labour. Soon, the jars would be neatly stored on rough wooden shelves in the basement, waiting to inject a burst of summer into Barbie’s favourite winter recipes. Eden’s stomach groaned. She needed lunch.

“This batch should be finished in half an hour,” Barbie said. “Take them out of the canner and then wash the dishes. I’ll take dinner out to the field.”

Barbie had pulled a beef roast out of the oven an hour ago and was now slicing it to make sandwiches for the men. When she arrived at the field with coolers of food, the men would crouch in the shade of the truck to eat, smoke, and drink a large thermos of coffee. These time-saving meals were key to a successful harvest season.

When Barbie left, Eden made herself a sandwich with a few scraps of roast beef and two slices of Barbie’s homemade bread. She found dill pickles and milk in the fridge. Drinking the milk triggered a small tremor of revulsion. She hated milking the cows, but the task would fall to her today because the men were in the field, and Barbie would have to take supper out to them around milking time.

It must be nice to have an unpaid servant. But Eden knew she would have to earn her keep, especially now that there was another little English on the way. Attitude adjustment required. Eden started to clean up the kitchen.

A few salty tears fell into the sink as she worked. George had fallen off the wagon for the first time in four years. Eden hoped fervently that her father would crawl back on the wagon today. She opened the cupboard door under the sink; yes, the whisky bottle was still there, about a quarter full. Should she dump the booze down the drain? George would have a fit if she did, but maybe—just maybe—it would make him realize how much his family wanted him sober.

Eden knew that Barbie was extremely angry. Was it because George was drinking yesterday? Or because Eden had run away from the hospital to save her baby’s life? Was it due to the community’s reaction to Skylar’s accident and the death of Jennifer Miller? Mom hates her life right now.

Eden vowed to do everything she could to make life easier for her mother until all this blew over. After all, Barbie was going to be a grandmother soon! Eden felt a little flutter of excitement in her abdomen at the thought. Or—whoa!—was that Ava she was feeling? A living, kicking baby?

Eden finished the dishes, wiped her hands on the dish towel, and ran down the path to Doris’s house. Her grandmother was sitting in her dark, overstuffed living room, the blinds and curtains drawn against the heat. It was always so cool and calm in Doris’s house. Eden flung herself on the couch and clutched her favourite pillow to her chest.

“I can feel the baby moving,” she announced to Doris’s impassive grey face.

Doris glanced at Eden’s stomach, which was hidden behind the pillow. “How far along are you?”

“I don’t know. About three months or more.”

“That would put you full term around February. Worst time to have a baby. All the roads will be blocked, and you won’t get to the hospital in time.”

Eden shrugged. Nothing could bring her down right at this moment.

“Maybe in your day that would be a problem. But this is 1974. We have highways and snowplows. Bombardiers and Ski-Doos. I think it will be okay.”

Doris smiled a little. “Yes, you are an optimistic person, I’ll say that about you. Too bad you’ve ruined your life already.”

Good grief. “Do you remember when you first felt a baby move?”

Doris’s gaze fell inward. “I was out riding in the pasture when I first felt Irma. I rode back as fast as I could to tell my mother. It was exciting.” She looked at her granddaughter. “Did you tell your mother you could feel the baby?”

Eden shrugged. “Nah. She’s pretty busy today.” Eden stood up. “Do you need help with anything right now, Grandma?” Eden was honouring her vow to be helpful.

“No, I think I’ll lie down for a while. There’s a cabbage on the counter—take it up to your mom. Maybe she’d like to make coleslaw for supper.”

Coleslaw. Eden rushed up the path to the big house, determined to have the cabbage shredded and the dressing made before Barbie got back from the field. Wouldn’t she be surprised! All the men loved coleslaw.

Barbie came back looking hot and exhausted. She nodded with approval at the clean kitchen and even smiled a little when she saw the shredded cabbage and coleslaw dressing chilling in the fridge. She started making cinnamon buns for the men’s coffee break later that day.

“Mom?” Eden stood uncertainly near the door. “Could I go out riding for a bit? Do you need me right now?”

Barbie was aggressively kneading the dough. “Oh, go ahead. Just be back by four so you can milk the cows.”

The horses were standing drowsily in the shade of a poplar tree; they looked at her like she was insane when she approached them. I know, I know, it’s bloody hot out here. Despite his look of disgust, Blackie allowed her to lead him back to the barn. Patches remained in the shade, watching them through half-lidded eyes.

Soon, Eden and Blackie were walking through crisp stubble toward the pasture. Gophers squeaked meekly as they passed; they were wisely avoiding the scorching sun by sheltering in their subterranean mansions.

Eden could see golden dust clouds on the horizon, evidence of the men’s slow but steady progress through harvest season. The horizon itself was a smudged line between parched earth and September sky. As fall approached, summer’s crisp blues, greens, and browns were beginning to blur.

School tomorrow. How could she go to school and pretend nothing was going on? What could she tell Louisa and Carrie about the past week? And if Jason Pedersen said so much as a word to her on the bus . . . Girl, keep your head down. Just ride this out, for Ava’s sake.

Eden urged Blackie into a gallop to cool down. In the pasture, they followed deep cow paths carved into the hills, searching for the cattle. She finally saw them huddled in a coulee near a copse of red and orange saskatoon berry bushes. Most of the calves were dozing on the ground while their mothers chewed lazily, swinging their long tails ineffectually against the horseflies.

To the southwest, Eden noticed turkey vultures circling in the sky. “Let’s check it out,” she said to Blackie, who snorted through stretched nostrils. They found a dead calf by the fence; the vultures were pecking at its eyes and anus, and flies were swarming around the carcass. Eden saw a coyote slink away from the carrion like a bad smell.

A nearby cow looked dolefully at Eden, as if imploring her to use the magical power humans possessed to give or take away. Sobered, Eden recalled the close call she had just experienced. She had succeeded in protecting her own baby this time, but she knew it was a lifetime responsibility fraught with danger and worry.

Eden shrugged off these thoughts. Ava would be okay from this moment forward. Eden would see to that.

The men were home when she got back to the yard. Eden assumed there had been a breakdown. During the race to get the crops off, machinery breakdowns were inevitable. It happened every year. And every year, normally genial George Senior would completely lose his cool. Dread filled her stomach as she unsaddled Blackie.

When she walked into the kitchen, George Senior was smoking at the kitchen table, a glass of rye at his elbow. Barbie was killing flies with vicious, unerring slaps of the red plastic flyswatter. No sign of River, Skylar, and George Junior.

“What’s up?” Eden asked.

George Senior shrugged without meeting her eyes. “Bearing went in the combine.” He grunted gloomily. “We’ll have to go into town for parts in the morning. Losing the rest of the day. Maybe tomorrow too.”

Eden knew this was bad news. “Well, guess I’ll go milk the cows.” She waited a beat for George to say he’d do it now that he was finished in the field for the day. No such offer was forthcoming, so she grabbed the milk pails and stepped onto the porch. Then she remembered the calf.

“Dad, I saw a dead calf in the pasture. Near the southwest corner. It didn’t look like it was dead long.”

George Senior raised his eyebrows. “You don’t say. Didn’t see that when Loren and I went out there yesterday. GEORGE!” he bellowed in the direction of the stairs. “Go out to the pasture and check on the cows!”

No answer from above.

“Where’s River?” he shouted. “Where did everybody disappear to?”

“River went to see Stacey,” Barbie said coldly. Her contemptuous tone of voice prompted Eden to scoot to the barn. Even milking was better than hanging around with Barbie and George right now.

When Eden came around the corner, Big Mama and Bossy were pressed against the corral gate, gazing longingly toward the house.

“Don’t look at me like that. You’ve got me today, so no use complaining about it!” When she opened the gate, the cows took their places in the stalls, looking expectantly at Eden.

“Okay, chop coming up.” She dumped pails of feed into the troughs, and the cows began chewing contentedly. Maybe it won’t be so bad this time.

But it was bad. She hadn’t milked enough to become good at it. In the end, she filled only a quarter of a pail from each cow. Perhaps the cows sensed that she was revolted by their rubbery teats, shit-splattered haunches, and long, grayish tongues that probed dripping nostrils like giant worms.

When she returned to the house, she was covered in straw and cow dung with very little to show for an hour of work. Dad can do the milking if he doesn’t like it, Eden thought as she clanged into the mudroom, setting the pails on the floor.

“Did you turn off the pump before you left?” George asked as she walked in.

“Oh, shit, I forgot to turn on the water. Damn!” Eden turned back to the door.

“Watch your language!” Barbie barked. “And where’s the milk?”

“Didn’t get much today.” She banged the screen door behind her. If being helpful and doing more chores was the price she had to pay for peace around here, Eden wasn’t sure it was going to be worth it.

The horses and cows congregated at the metal trough that had almost dried up in the heat. Patches leaned her head affectionately against Eden while Blackie, Big Mama, and Bossy slurped greedily at the cold water as it flowed into the trough.

The atmosphere in the kitchen had transformed from icy to hellish when Eden returned.

“Back off, Barbie,” George was saying. “God, woman, you’d drive anyone to drink!”

“There’s a meeting in town tonight and I want you to go. So, stop drinking right now! You won’t be able to drive if you keep that up.”

Eden slipped through the kitchen and upstairs to the bathroom, relieved that she couldn’t hear them in the shower. But when she emerged, she could hear every word. There was no ducking the hand grenades they were lobbing through the air.

“Your fourteen-year-old daughter is off getting herself knocked up, and you don’t even have a clue,” George Senior yelled. “You’ve ignored that kid since the day she was born!”

“And your son is a full-blown alcoholic at the age of twenty-two, and even when someone dies, you make excuses for him! A chip off the old English block!”

Eden ran for her bedroom, her hands over her ears. She passed George Junior in the upstairs hallway; he thundered down the stairs and she heard his truck revving up and roaring out of the yard.

“And where was Eden on Friday night?” George Senior demanded. “You couldn’t even keep your eyes on her for a minute. George said she was with a couple of homeless guys on the street. On the street! What the hell did you raise?”

Barbie screamed wordlessly at her husband. “And where were you when we drove around all night looking for her? Here with your precious bottle! Well, take that precious bottle and get the hell out of here! And never come back!”

Eden heard her father’s truck squeal out of the yard.

Barbie called out from the kitchen, “Skylar and Eden, I’m going out. There’s a spaghetti bake in the oven.”

In a few minutes, Skylar’s truck also sped away. Eden crept down the stairs, listening to the echoes of her parents’ bitter words ricocheting in the silent lonely house. Skylar cowered in the living room like a jackrabbit caught in a trap.

“Why don’t you watch television while I get supper on?” Eden suggested kindly. Her brother obediently switched on the television and propped his cast on the coffee table. It was time for The Wonderful World of Disney.