by Kay Moser
She drifted through the crowd, refilling coffee cups until her pa’s raised voice directed her attention back to the campfire. “I’ve got an announcement to make!” he proclaimed. “An important one for both our families.”
Sarah’s heart lurched. He isn’t going to—but I haven’t agreed!
“My wife, Jana, and I are proud to announce—”
“No!” Sarah shouted.
“Quiet, girl!” Pa glared at her. “This ain’t got nothing to do with you.” He turned his attention back to the group. “Jana is gonna have another baby come June. Gonna be another boy. I feel it in my bones.”
The crowd burst into applause and shouted congratulations as Sarah sank to the ground, her whole body quivering.
“Ain’t that grand?” Havel jerked her to her feet. “Just think of it. Our first baby will have an uncle about a year older than he is. Why, they can play together, and one day they’ll work these two farms side by side.”
Sarah dropped the coffeepot, and, oblivious to the scalding liquid splattering her ankles, she ran.
CHAPTER 19
On January second, before anyone else stirred, Sarah slipped out of the farmhouse into a landscape so blanketed in fog she could not see her immediate destination, the crest of the hill that closed off the farm from the rest of the world. Weary from sleepless tossing through the night, she resisted the urge to sink to the ground and cry. Instead, she stared into the grayness and, clenching her jaw, pressed on.
After the Sykoras had left the night before, her mother slipped into the attic to comfort her, to assure her that this new pregnancy need not affect Sarah. But Sarah did not believe her. She knew that the coming of another baby—a son in Pa’s opinion—would seal her fate. Mama would soon need her at home, and Pa, eager to enlarge his farm for his new son, would insist on bonding with the Sykoras through her marriage to Havel. In short, all the circumstances of her family life had colluded to stop her forward progress.
“No reasonable person would continue on this path,” Sarah muttered, meaning much more than continuing up the fog-shrouded road. Still, she continued and soon began the climb out of the valley. At the top, she turned and looked back. The farm had disappeared into the rolling grayness, and Sarah was alone in the dark. She trembled.
“Oh Lord,” she whispered, “what should I do? Perhaps Pa is right. Perhaps I am just being selfish, but there is this yearning in my heart ...”
She turned a full circle, peering into the impenetrable grayness, fear growing inside her. Her pulse began to throb in her ears, and her breath grew shallow as the fog wisped around her. Whipping her head from side to side, Sarah turned again and again until vertigo overtook her and flung her down onto the road. She broke her fall with her left hand, which skidded painfully into the dirt as her forehead hit the ground.
Sarah closed her hand around the soil and brought her fist close to her eyes. “Is this all there is for me? Is my destiny just scrubbing dirt out of clothes and struggling to make it grow food?”
Contempt for her own weakness scalded through her. “No! It’s not enough.” She flung the dirt into the dark, and, gritting her teeth, she struggled up, determined to go on. But the fog had stolen her sense of direction.
Sarah shook her throbbing head. “Which way, Lord? Please ... show me.”
Ever so gently, the fog began to roll and shape itself into forms that moved in front of her. Sarah peered into the movement, struggling to recognize a design, until finally she made out a group of ghostly children moving away from her. She followed, each step bringing her increased calm in spite of her aching head. In time she crested a hill. The first ray of dawn shot over the horizon in front of her, turning the fog into golden air. The children vanished, but the town lay below Sarah.
“Yes!” Tears stung her eyes, but she hurried down the hill and into town.
When she reached the Episcopal church, she felt a compulsion to stop. She entered quietly, slipped into a back pew, and attempted to compose herself by praying. “Lord, I don’t want to leave my family, but I will if I must. I love them, but I cannot follow Pa’s plans for me. There’s something bigger in me, something that’s driving me to teach. I love to learn, and I just know I can help all kinds of children, even poor ones. If they could just get an education—” She stopped. An eerie sensation came over her, a compulsion to look to her left. There she saw a stained glass window depicting the figure of Jesus, his arms raised and held out to her. Tears sprang to her eyes, blurring her vision so she could read only one word of the text below his image: Teach.
Sarah’s mouth flew open. It had never occurred to her that it might be God calling her to teach, that the force compelling her to study was God. Happiness flashed through her, and she rose, went to the window, and traced the word teach with her finger. The letters seemed to spring forward as she touched them.
When she had spelled out the entire word, she let her hand fall to her side. Still staring at the word, she slipped back from the window and read the whole inscription aloud. “Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost: Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and, lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.”
She heard someone clear his throat, and she realized she was not alone.
“Sarah?” General Gibbes’ voice was unmistakable. “Are you all right, my dear?”
“Yes, sir.” Sarah hastily wiped the drying tears off her cheeks as she turned around. “More than all right, sir.” She smiled at him. “But it’s so early. What are you doing here?”
“I walk over every morning as part of my constitutional.” He gestured toward the figure of Christ in the window. “It gives me a chance to have a quiet talk with Him—and with her.”
Sarah’s eyes widened at the pronoun her.
General Gibbes walked to the window and ran his finger along the writing at the bottom of the window, and Sarah read, In loving memory of Julia Davis Gibbes ... beloved wife, mother, scholar.
“Your wife?” Sarah guessed.
“My beloved. Like you, she adored books, and like you, she was a born teacher.”
“She was a teacher?”
“She taught the slaves to read before and after the War.” He sighed. “Her reward was to be dragged out of her home and forced to watch as the Union soldiers burned it to the ground.”
“How awful. I’m sorry.”
“That is war, my dear, but let’s not speak of that. You are hurt.” He reached up and touched her forehead.
“I fell on my way here. It was so foggy.”
“You have been crying, but I doubt that your tears resulted from your fall. Are they perhaps the result of your father’s resistance to your educational goals?”
“He insists that I marry a farmer for the good of my family.”
“And will such a sacrifice on your part help your family?”
“Yes, sir, but it would be wrong for me. I thought I was just being selfish until—do you believe God speaks to us or shows us the truth sometimes?”
“I know He does.” General Gibbes placed his hand lightly on the top of her head. “Trust Him, Sarah. Trust that loving heart and keen mind He has given you.”
Sarah beamed up at him.
“Never underestimate God’s power to bring about what He intends.”
Sarah nodded.
“Now, I am going to escort you to Hodges House. You need someone to care for you today, my dear.” He placed her skinned left hand into the crook of his elbow and led her out into the sunshine.
***
When they entered Hodges House, Miss Victoria was descending the stairs. “Sarah!” she exclaimed. She rushed to her side and enfolded her in her arms. “What happened?”
“I fell on the road, but I’m all right.”
“You’re bleeding”—Miss Victoria gently touched her forehead—“and cold. Bring her into the drawing room to the fire, General
Gibbes.”
“May I be so bold as to suggest a warm bath instead?”
“Of course. Much better for her. A warm bath and some hot tea.”
“I’ll take my leave now.” General Gibbes bowed.
“Thank you, sir,” Sarah called back as Miss Victoria hustled her up the stairs.
***
After tucking Sarah into bed, Victoria stood at her own bedroom window, trying to calm her temper. Sarah had told her about the events of New Year’s Day at the farm, and Victoria was recounting them to Hayden when she suddenly stopped and peered more closely at the Bellows’ back porch.
“Hayden, do you think those children are under the Bellows’ porch in this cold?”
“I don’t know. I hope not.”
“That’s the difference, Hayden. I don’t have to merely hope for Sarah. I can act; I can bring every bit of wit and influence I have to the table, and I can change things.” She whirled around and faced him. “This culture, this time in history won’t allow me to help those Negro children, but I can help Sarah become a teacher, and she will help those Negro children.”
“Now slow down, darling. When it comes to race, nothing happens fast.”
“Very well then. It will be Sarah’s students who become teachers and lift those children out of their misery. And not only those children, Hayden, but also the millions of immigrant children pouring into this country.”
“I thought we were trying to help Sarah.”
“We are, but it’s all a piece of the same thing. Sarah, immigrant children, Negro children.”
“You can’t rewrite history, Victoria.”
“I know that! I’m not trying to rewrite anything. I’m writing it!”
“Before you expend too much of yourself, darling, consider your chances of success.”
“No! It is the height of immorality to refuse to risk because God does not guarantee me success.”
“I just don’t want you to be disappointed when—if—you fail.”
“Why do you think I’m here on this earth?” Victoria’s fists flew to her waist. “To succeed and then bask in it? No! That’s too comfortable. That can’t be the plan; we would never grow. I ... we ... are here to struggle, to grow, to love. And we must do all that in community, lifting each other up—”
Hayden held up his hand to stop her. “Sarah is our priority at the moment. Just remember that her father can tie her to that farm any time he decides to.”
“But he won’t decide to, Hayden. I won’t let him.”
“Now slow down, Victoria. If you confront the man—”
“You underestimate your wife, Hayden.” She turned toward the wardrobe. “You just sit back and watch.”
***
Victoria hated to wake Sarah. She stood by the bed a few moments, focusing on her protégée’s scraped forehead. I must get her away from that farm! But Hayden’s right. I must be very clever, very cautious.
She leaned over and gently shook Sarah awake. “It’s almost time for Antonio’s farewell luncheon, Sarah.”
“Oh no! I didn’t mean to sleep all morning. What about my duties?”
“Everything is ready. Besides, I want you to be a guest today. You will sit at the table. After all, Antonio adores you, and I have invited Lavinia to join us. You two can study after Antonio departs. Only a few days left before the literary society meets.”
Sarah groaned.
“Now, get yourself dressed, and I’ll see you downstairs. Luncheon is at one, but I’m sure Christine and General Gibbes will come early to visit. They will also wish to see you, so let’s get you comfortable in the parlor.”
“I’m fine, really I am.” Sarah slipped out of bed, winced, and reached for her head.
“Yes, I see how fine you are, young lady.”
***
Antonio’s farewell luncheon was enjoyable but necessarily efficient, and in a little more than an hour, Victoria and Maude were standing in the front hall, helping him into his coat and wishing him bon voyage.
“Oh, mia bella Victoria,” Antonio began an emotional good-bye.
“Sam’s got the carriage loaded and waiting for us at the gate.” Hayden intervened. “No time for excessive sentiment.”
General Gibbes checked his watch. “Train leaves in twenty minutes.”
“Una tragedia!” Antonio exclaimed.
“Not far to go,” Hayden encouraged. “We’ll make it.”
“No, you don’t understand. Una tragedia to leave mia bella Victoria.”
Tears stung Victoria’s eyes, but she blinked them away and kissed him on both cheeks. “Good-bye, dear Antonio. We shall miss you. Write us.”
He took one final look at her, then turned toward the door, sweeping his cape with him.
“Yes,” Christine called after him. “We want to hear all the news.”
General Gibbes ushered Antonio out to the porch as Christine trailed behind.
Victoria bit her lip as she watched him go.
“You’ll see him in Galveston in a month or so,” Maude observed.
“Yes, I know. It’s just that I shall miss having another artist around. But my life is here, and I’m glad of it. Now for Sarah’s father.”
“I hope I don’t need to warn you not to lose your temper.” Maude tilted Victoria’s chin up and looked into her eyes. “No, I can see I don’t. Your eyes are icy.”
“Losing my temper would mean losing the battle. That is not going to happen.”
***
By midafternoon, Victoria and General Gibbes crested the hill that overlooked the Novak farm.
“Now, you must let me handle the father, Mrs. Hodges,” General Gibbes warned.
“Don’t worry, I plan to. I shall be as meek as a lamb and just visit with Mrs. Novak.”
“Meek as a lamb,” General Gibbes mused. “That should be quite a performance.”
A few minutes later, they were greeted by a clearly delighted Kazimir Novak and his surprised wife. Having made a minimal welcome to Victoria, Mr. Novak immediately turned his attention to General Gibbes. “I’m honored, sir, to have you visit me again so soon. Maybe you’d like some coffee?”
“No, thank you, Mr. Novak.” General Gibbes bowed to Sarah’s mother. “I’m delighted to see you looking so well, ma’am, and I must tell you what a fine young woman your daughter Sarah is.”
“Thank you, sir.” Her questioning eyes darted from his face to Victoria’s. “Welcome, Mrs. Hodges. Our Sally has the finest things to say about you.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Novak. Sarah is a joy to us all. I’ve come out this afternoon to tell you that Sarah fell on the way to work this morning.”
Mrs. Novak’s mouth flew open.
“She is not badly hurt, ma’am,” General Gibbes interjected. “Just a skinned hand and a small cut on her forehead.”
“Oh, thank the Lord!”
Sarah’s father sighed. “I been wondering how she’s gonna keep walking into town, what with the winter darkness and the fog.”
“I’ve thought of that too,” General Gibbes said, “and I have a plan. I’m afraid it’s a terribly self-serving plan—”
“Oh, no sir, that ain’t likely,” Mr. Novak insisted.
“The truth is I have a favor to ask, Mr. Novak. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. I’ve been asked to write my memoirs. Ridiculous, of course, for anyone to think I know something that should be recorded for history.”
“Not at all, General. Our side of the War needs to be recorded, and a distinguished general like you, why you’re the very man to do it.”
“That’s very kind of you, but I don’t see how I’m going to do it without some secretarial help, and that’s where your daughter comes in. Mrs. Hodges assures me that Sarah has the skills to serve in this cause, and she has kindly offered to share your daughter’s time with me.”
“I’d be proud to have Sally help you in any way, General.”
“Thank you, Mr. Novak.” General Gibbes extended his hand,
and Sarah’s father eagerly shook it. “It occurs to me that now that the weather is worsening, we’ll all be stowed up quite a few days, and it’s a prime time for me to write. The problem is, with the days so short now, Sarah just doesn’t have as many work hours in a day.”
“It’s getting dark early, can’t deny it.” Mr. Novak rubbed his unshaven chin. “But I figure Sally knows her way. Likely she just fell this morning ’cause of the fog. Ain’t likely to happen again.”
“You’re a generous man, Mr. Novak, but my conscience just won’t abide asking you to let your daughter walk around in the dark and cold. She’s sure to get sick, and that would be a terrible burden for you.”
Victoria took a slight step forward. “Sarah is welcome to stay with us, General Gibbes. We have a small bed in the seamstress’ room at the back of the house.”
“You are most generous, Mrs. Hodges, but I wouldn’t dream of inconveniencing you. Still, I don’t see how she can be of any help to me if her work hours are shortened by the darkness and weather.”
“Sally don’t need much in the way of comfort, General,” Mr. Novak assured him. “And she could work extra for Mrs. Hodges, seeing as she’d be in the house at night.”
“I just don’t know.” General Gibbes shook his head. “It’s a lot to ask of you. Of course, we would see to it that she come home on weekends to help out here.”
“Ain’t much for her to do during the winter. I figure she can get the family washing and baking done on Saturday. Now, her mama’s gonna insist she go to church.”
“Of course,” Victoria murmured. “Perhaps Sarah could stay in town from Monday morning until early Saturday morning? Would that meet with your approval, Mr. Novak?”
“Anything to help General Gibbes.”
“I can’t take advantage of you, Mr. Novak. My conscience won’t let me.” The general guided him away from the women. “I’ll need to compensate you.”