Then Came the Thunder

by Rachael Huszar

  Felicity, the brunette, looked Sam up and down appreciatively. “You always did have a good eye, Jessalyn. Ow!” She squeaked in pain as Charity elbowed her in the ribs.

  “That’s so exciting!” Charity said loudly, trying to cover up her action. “We haven’t had a new face around here in a good while!”

  “And what a face,” Felicity said.

  Which earned her another jab in the ribs from Charity.

  Sam glanced at Jessalyn to see her reaction to this circus act. She was failing to keep up the sunbeam smile, and something dark seemed to be settling in her eyes.

  Patience pulled his attention back to the conversation. “Are you looking for land, then?”

  “I reckon so,” said Sam. “Or I will be soon.”

  “You know what that means, ladies,” Patience said to the other two. “Come autumn . . .”

  “Oh! We can have a barn raising!” Felicity clapped her hands in delight.

  “Wait, is it still a barn raising if we build a house?” asked Charity.

  “Does that matter?”

  “Sort of?”

  “It’s a party, Charity. What else needs to be said?” clarified Patience, a hand on her hip.

  “Oh, this will be so fun!” squealed Charity.

  “Mister Brooks, you must let us plan the whole thing. We won’t take no for an answer,” Felicity said.

  Sam wasn’t too sure how the conversation had arrived here in the span of what felt like seconds. Maybe there was no secret behind the unfailing hospitality of Three Willows’ residents. Not that the ulterior motives of these three weren’t clear. Still, who was he to refuse? “With you three lovely ladies at the helm? I wouldn’t dream of intruding.” It wasn’t complete flattery. They were quite pretty.

  “Wonderful!” said Charity. Then, like it was an afterthought, she added, “Jessalyn, um, you can be involved, too, of course.”

  “Yes,” Jessalyn said, even though Sam thought she’d probably rather die than plan a party with these three.

  “My gears are already turning! Girls, we must meet up later in the week,” said Felicity.

  “Yes, yes,” Patience agreed.

  “Welcome to Three Willows, Mister Brooks!”

  “Yes, welcome!”

  “We’re glad to have you!”

  Then in a whirlwind of giggles, they departed.

  Sam let out a low whistle. “What do they put in this town’s water supply?”

  With the three ladies gone, Jessalyn seemed to have come back to herself a bit. She looked at Sam, a touch sly. “I’d watch that charm of yours, Samuel Brooks.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because two of those women are happily married.”

  Oh, shit. “. . . which ones?”

  Jessalyn turned away, tapping her chin. “I just can’t remember . . .”

  Okay. She’d won this round. Chuckling to himself, Sam kicked at the dirt with the toe of his boot before jogging to catch up with her.

  10

  JESSALYN COULDN’T REMEMBER A TIME when her house had felt as crowded as it did now. She and Lilah had taken up their usual spots at her kitchen table. Samuel was occupying a chair in front of the fireplace. Out on the porch, Charlie Templeton, who had tagged along with his big sister, was keeping himself busy. The sound of heavy rain drummed against the roof.

  After giving Samuel the full tour of the town, they had spent some time back at her home. She’d prepared for that evening’s lesson while Samuel had tended to his horse. It had given her a lot of time to ruminate on the fact that he wanted to watch her this evening. And perhaps all that over thinking was what had landed her in this position.

  “ ‘I see a beautiful city and a brilliant people rising from the abyss, and, in their triumphs and defeats . . .’ ”

  Jessalyn began each lesson with having Lilah read aloud the passage they were going to discuss, both as a comprehension and diction exercise. It was critical to hear the tone Lilah used to make sure she had understood the text. Jessalyn knew she had to listen. Yet, her eyes kept darting to Samuel. She watched Samuel yawn. Samuel sip from his coffee mug. Samuel cross and uncross his legs. Stand to procure more coffee.

  She was beginning to know him a bit better, and because of that, she couldn’t shake the feeling that his desire to watch her lesson was leading up to some grand punchline.

  Jessalyn tracked him across the kitchen as he walked back with a full mug of coffee.

  “. . . ‘I see the evil of this time and of the previous time of which this is the natural birth, gradually making ex—’ . . . um . . .”

  Distracted as she’d been, she’d failed to notice Lilah tripping on vocabulary. Her eyes skimmed down the page, trying to find the guilty word, when Samuel leaned over the girl’s shoulder.

  “Expiation. Means making amends. Atonement.”

  Jessalyn blinked. He was correct. Then she scolded herself. He’d told her he read, why couldn’t she bring herself to believe he was an educated man? He’d even repeatedly chided her on making assumptions about him. And yet. If he turned to her and proclaimed he’d been lying the whole time, she’d be more likely to believe that story than the fact that this scruffy man was well-read. And she knew she ought to feel ashamed of that thought, but there it was.

  Lilah nodded up at Samuel. “Okay. Thanks!” She continued reading. “. . . gradually making expiation for itself and wearing out . . . I see that child who lay upon her bosom and who bore my name, a man winning his way up in that path of life which once was mine. I see him winning it so well, that my name is made ill . . .” Once again, Lilah paused on a five-dollar word.

  Quickly, maybe too quickly, Jessalyn said, “Illustrious.” Now she was following along.

  “. . . illustrious there by the light of his . . . It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest I go to than I have ever known.”

  “Good,” said Jessalyn.

  Lilah put down her copy of A Tale of Two Cities like it was something precious, and looked up at Jessalyn, eyes wide. “I don’t even know what to say, Miss Joy. At the end, with Sydney Carton and the seamstress? I just couldn’t stop crying. Grace was asking me what’s wrong and it felt so silly to tell her I was crying about made-up people in a book.”

  “When a piece of writing stirs an emotion in you like that, it’s worth examining.” That was something her professor used to tell her time and time again. Remember, Jessalyn. Remember to feel.

  “He gave up everything for the sake of someone else.”

  Jessalyn nodded. Lilah had caught onto a theme. “That is one of the main ideas throughout the story. Resurrection, and how it can transform people and thoughts. If the only way to truly enact change is to bring something down for it to rise up again, then that makes the act of sacrifice a necessity. To willingly bring about change for the future, you have to give up what you have now.”

  “Change for Carton, or change for all of France?” Lilah asked, tilting her head.

  “There you go. Now you’re thinking analytically.”

  “I think I get it,” said Lilah. “There’s examples of that all over. Noble sacrifices.”

  “Huh.”

  She’d almost done it. In the thrill of seeing a student thrive, Jessalyn had almost forgotten Samuel was there. Then he’d spoken up.

  Lilah looked over her shoulder to Samuel’s chair. Then back at Jessalyn. Their lessons weren’t usually interrupted like this. Fine then. If he wanted to watch her and throw everything off kilter, he could be involved.

  “Did you have something to add, Samuel?” she said, hoping her voice sounded chilly.

  Samuel rubbed his chin and jaw, the short facial hair sounding scratchy against his palm. “It’s just not something I buy into. The idea of the noble sacrifice. Sacrifice and martyrdom are inherently selfish acts.”

  She could never tell what this man was going to say next. And she hated it
. “I wouldn’t say that’s a very popular opinion.”

  “Look at the text.” Samuel sat forward, leaning his elbows on his knees, like this was a casual conversation. “ ‘I see him winning it so well, that my name is made illustrious there by the light of his.’ Sydney Carton didn’t give up his life for Charles Darnay or for France. He did it for himself. So that he’d be remembered. So that one act of supposed heroism would be what everyone talked about, erasing all his other misdeeds.”

  Even as Jessalyn’s brain screamed at her to rebut his argument, she couldn’t help but be slightly impressed. “It was the first thing he did that brought meaning into his life.”

  “What’s the point of giving your life meaning if you aren’t going to live it anymore?” Samuel said. “Abandoning your life is easy. Surviving is the hard part.”

  It was more than what he was saying, it was everything. He’d intruded on her lesson. He’d intruded in her home. He’d intruded in her town. Amos’s town. During a war. And said things like this.

  Jessalyn closed her eyes. “Lilah. Would you mind stepping outside for a moment?”

  Lilah, to whom the impending battle royale was probably just as palpable as the heavy evening storm clouds, sprung from her seat. “Uh, sure. I should go check on Charlie, anyway.” And she left in a hurry.

  As soon as the door shut, Jessalyn rose and turned her full gaze to Samuel. “What are you doing?”

  He took a long sip from his mug, and when he lowered it, the smug smile had crawled back onto his face. “Offering an alternate viewpoint. Is that so wrong?”

  Jessalyn balled her fists. “I understand that you derive some sort of twisted pleasure in pulling the carpet out from under me, but please do not do it in front of one of my students.”

  “You don’t want to teach her to blindly swallow the answers she’s given, right?”

  “What? Of course not! What part of—”

  “That girl idolizes you,” Samuel said. “She was lapping up every word you said. How will you get her to think for herself if she never hears a different opinion?”

  A laugh of disbelief rose from Jessalyn’s stomach. “That was you assisting? You honestly think you’re helping me?”

  “Seemed that way.”

  “What, may I ask, gives you the authority to judge the way I do my work?”

  Samuel held up his hands. “No judgement. I’m simply stating what I feel.”

  “Well, I do not need your feelings on my teaching strategies. Or,” she added, since the louder her voice got, the more satisfied she felt, “your opinions on the nature of sacrifice. Both of which are wrong.”

  He laughed.

  He laughed at her.

  “Jessalyn Joy,” he said. “Worldly wise, well-read, holier-than-thou schoolteacher of Three Willows. Smartest person in the room because she won’t listen to anyone else.” For the first time since she’d met him, an expression that wasn’t one of mockery settled on his face. “Tell me, then. What have you sacrificed? What part of your life have you burned down in the hopes that something better would rise from the ashes?”

  A horrible slew of memories burst into Jessalyn’s brain. The way her father had looked at her when she’d said she planned to attend teaching college. Her friend Kitty’s face when Jessalyn chose to stay in and study, again. The looks she’d earned in the first town she’d taught at. Amos’s face when she’d refused him. Amos’s face when she’d accepted. The achingly awful journey to Three Willows. Amos leaving for war. Amos. Amos. Amos.

  She wanted to rage and scream and tell Samuel that he knew nothing about her.

  But another scream rang out instead.

  Their eyes connected. Lilah.

  Jessalyn flew out onto the porch, Samuel right behind her. The rain came down in sheets and pounded deafeningly into the dirt road. Lilah wasn’t on the porch, neither was Charlie. Jessalyn ran into the road, trying to shield her eyes from the rain. The dull and intermittent pulses of lightning did nothing to illuminate the street, but another wail cut through the din. Jessalyn ran towards the sound, eventually seeing two small lumps in the middle of a side road that led behind a neighbor’s toolshed.

  “Lilah!” she shouted.

  Lilah didn’t answer, but continued to wail and cry.

  She was crouched over the body of Charlie Templeton.

  One of his legs was twisted badly in a direction it was never meant to turn. The front of his shirt and pants had been shredded. And a dark liquid mixed with the rain and mud flowing across his skin. Blood.

  “Good Lord,” she said.

  “What the hell—” Samuel was right beside her.

  “Lilah, what happened?” Jessalyn crouched down, grabbing Lilah’s shoulders.

  Samuel bent over Charlie. “We’ve got to stop the bleeding.”

  The roar of the rain mixed with Lilah’s wrenching sobs. It sounded like she was having trouble breathing. “Lilah!” Jessalyn tried to pull her away from her brother, to break her gaze just for a moment. She threw her arms around the girl’s shoulders and squeezed tight.

  “Charlie!” Samuel shouted, lightly slapping Charlie’s face. “C’mon, son, can you hear me?” No response. “I think his leg is broken.” Samuel had taken off his vest and laid it over the boy’s chest, trying to cover the wounds. “We’ve got to get him out of this wet, fast. This town have a doctor?”

  “Of course, it does!” Jessalyn gripped Lilah’s face in both her hands, forcing her to look at her. “Lilah. It’s going to be all right. We’re going to the doctor right now.” She hauled Lilah to her feet. “It’s this way!”

  Samuel scooped up Charlie in his arms, and they ran.

  11

  Dawn came gently.

  Sunlight spread across tall wild grasses, the landscape full of vibrant greens, blues, and yellows. The prairie seemed to stretch on forever.

  He stood at its center, eyes fixed on the horizon. Tall, proud, hopeful. Early morning dew glistened on the blue wool of his uniform. He turned around and smiled.

  A flash in the distance. A boom that seemed a thousand miles away. A layer of smoke rolled across the field. His smile faded and was replaced by fear. He started to run, but his movements were so slow and the smoke was so quick. Just a bit more. Just a bit more and he would make it. He was mouthing something. What was it? What was it?

  Another flash, much closer this time. Then another. Then a dozen more. He was struck from behind, the impact throwing him forward. His face twisted in panic and pain, the shout finally became clear.

  “Jessa!”

  “AMOS!” JESSALYN SAT BOLT UPRIGHT in pure darkness, breathing fast and shallow. She gripped the edge of her quilt tighter, as if to remind herself it was there. Her face felt hot, and she found it was covered in sweat and tears.

  Her dreams hadn’t been this bad in a while.

  Jessalyn turned to sit on the edge of her bed and took a few deep breaths, wiping her face. It was still dark out, but it must have been past midnight.

  She rose and went to the door, taking her robe from the hook and shrugging it on. She’d fetch a glass of water and then try to sleep again. But she stopped. Light was shining in from the edges of the doorframe. Jessalyn stepped out onto the landing and looked downstairs.

  A fire had been lit. A kettle was just starting to boil. And sitting in one of the old armchairs was Samuel. He looked up and gave her a nod as she descended.

  “What are you doing up?” she asked quietly.

  Samuel reached out with a towel and took the kettle off the flames, carrying it to the kitchen. “I was always taught you never wake someone who’s having a nightmare. It can startle them something fierce,” he said as he returned with two steaming mugs. “Instead, you should be there for them when they wake up. So.” He offered her a mug, sitting back down in the overstuffed chair.

  Jessalyn took it, letting the herbal steam of the tea wash over her face. “That’s very kind of you.”
/>   Samuel nodded again. Then, after a long pause, “Are you all right?”

  Jessalyn felt her face get hot again, but from embarrassment this time. She must have been making an awful racket. “It’s . . . it’s just a dream I have on occasion. No need to trouble yourself. I apologize if I woke you.”

  He waved his hand, dismissing her worry. “Are you thinking about the kid?”

  Images of Charlie’s brutalized body swam back into Jessalyn’s mind. The events of the night were a bit of a blur, but that stood out clearly. They’d managed to get to the doctor’s through the storm, and Charlie had been taken to the table right away. Jessalyn and Samuel had stayed until Lilah had been able to compose herself enough to run home and fetch her parents. After an assurance from Doctor Hale that he would do all he could for the boy, they’d left the family and returned to Jessalyn’s house.

  She rubbed her temples. “Charlie is such a bright boy, cheerful, polite. And Lilah is devoted to him. I—seeing him like that . . . he was just outside, and we argued, and then—I don’t understand.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Samuel said, staring into the fire. “I just wonder what could have happened. Those wounds . . . I’ve never seen anything like that. Those were almost, I don’t know, slashes.”

  Jessalyn thought back to Samuel’s quick action in the rain. The sight of Charlie’s condition had been a shock to them all, but he hadn’t frozen. Rather, he seemed to fall into a practiced set of actions.

  “Where did you learn first aid?” she asked.

  Samuel looked up. “Hm? Oh. In the army.”

  She paused. “I didn’t know you’d served.”

  The corner of his mouth lifted. “It never came up.”

  Jessalyn thought about the last few days, and how sometimes her feelings about Samuel felt like they were tied to an elastic string, bouncing back and forth between amiable and annoyance. It still bothered her that she couldn’t seem to pin him down. It bothered her that she’d been driven to shouting at him in her kitchen. Several times. Perhaps that was the greatest disappointment. After all, the reason she kept getting so upset was because he kept defying her expectations. Expectations she set without understanding him at all.