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manage a milk pail on my own?”
    “That’s just it.” Ruthanna moved one hand to the achy spot at the side of her back more out of habit than pain. “It’s only a milk pail. I can carry it to the house while you get started with the other cow.”
    “There’s no need. I can bring them both when I come. You have the child to think of.”
    “The baby is not coming for months,” Ruthanna said. “There is no need for me to give up simple tasks, at least not yet.”
    “You have a tendency to overwork yourself.”
    Ruthanna bit her bottom lip. How could Eber not see that he had taken his own tendency toward overwork to extremes? Every day that he spent outside in the heat worried her more. Even the brown tones the sun gave his skin did not hide his underlying pallor, and he was breathing too fast for her liking.
    “Eber, please let me take the pail. It’s not even half-full. I will be careful.”
    He relented. “We are going to need all the cheese you can make. We may not have much else to see us through the winter.”
    Ruthanna took the pail before he could change his mind. “Let me bring you some water.”
    Eber shook his head. “That isn’t necessary. We must conserve.”
    “One glass of water is not going to save the crop, Eber. But it might save you.”
    He grunted again, running a dry tongue over chapped lips.
    Ruthanna pivoted as smoothly as she could with her growing bulk and left the barn.
    Inside the cabin, Ruthanna set the milk pail in the corner of the kitchen and took a glass from the cupboard. With the dipper in the water barrel, she filled the glass before looking around for some bit of nourishment to take to Eber as well. He had so little appetite these days. Ruthanna had already taken in his trousers twice. In the evenings, he sat in his chair and stared at her swelling belly. His early exuberance about the child had long ago faded. Ruthanna was sure he would love the baby when it arrived in November, but he wanted to provide a better start for their child’s life than a failed crop and a hungry winter.
    Ruthanna settled on a boiled egg. They still had hens, and the hens still laid. Ruthanna had boiled a batch that morning, carefully setting aside the leftover water to use again for another purpose. With a glass in one hand and an egg in the other, Ruthanna began the trek back to the barn.
    The cow whose udder still hung heavy mooed in protest at Eber’s inattention. He sat on a bale of hay with his head hanging between his hands. Just as Ruthanna entered the barn, he looked up for a fraction of a second, then slid off the hay.
    Ruthanna hastened her swaying progress, gripping the water glass. She wanted to cast it away and run, but her intuition told her Eber needed the precious water more than ever. When she reached him, she cradled his head in her lap and slapped gently at his cheek.
    “Eber! Open your eyes!”
    He obliged, to her great relief. He was breathing far too heavily, and his skin was clammy under her touch.
    “You must drink some water. Don’t argue with me.” She gripped the back of his head and raised it, while at the same time tipping the water glass against his lips. But he seemed to part his lips only to let his faltering breath escape. Water dribbled down his chin rather than down his throat.
    “Eber! You must drink!”
    He seemed to want to speak, but he did not have the strength.
    Ruthanna’s heart pounded. Her husband needed help. The closest neighbors, the Weavers, were miles away even by crisscrossing the back road. She picked up the hem of her dress and dipped it in the water glass, then moved the damp fabric around Eber’s face and against his lips. When his mouth opened again, she squeezed the hem so loose drops would fall into his throat.
    He closed his eyes again.
    “Eber! No!”
    He moaned but did not open his eyes. His head fell to one side.
    Ruthanna laid his head back in the straw and opened the front of his shirt before drenching her hem again and