Lonely Souls

by Rosemary Fifield

  Shelby crossed the kitchen and paused at the door to her room. “You will keep this to yourself, won’t you? Grant knows, but he’s the only one.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”

  Shelby smiled at her. “Thank you. I’m sorry, Cassie. I really am.”

  Cassie nodded, not caring that Shelby could not see the gesture. “Me, too, Shelby,” she said with a short, humorless laugh. “Me, too.”

  It was after midnight when Shelby slowly climbed the living room stairs. She felt her way along the wall and paused in the doorway of Shane’s room.

  “Shane?”

  No answer.

  She moved into his room and quietly closed the door behind herself. “Shane? Are you awake?”

  When he did not answer, she moved forward until her shins bumped into the side of his bed. He was there; she could feel his presence. The head of his bed was to her right; she reached out and felt for his shoulder. He was lying on his side with his back to her.

  She sat on the edge of his bed, then swung her legs up and lay down beside him, pressing herself against him as she settled onto the pillow. She had always loved his smell – it was one of the special things she had noticed about him the day he picked her up and carried her to the pond at Mike and Carol’s house. Now she snuggled against his warmth and gently kissed the back of his neck.

  “Don’t be mad at me,” she said softly. “You’re going to have to be able to do this. You can’t let someone think there’s hope when there’s not.”

  Silence.

  Shelby brought her hand up and ran her fingers through his curls. “I know you’re awake. Otherwise you’d be making snorty noises.” She could feel the change in his breathing; she had made him laugh in spite of himself. “She’s not going to say anything. She’s just very sad right now.”

  Shane’s body rose as he drew in a deep breath. Shelby snuggled closer to him, pressing hard against the firmness of his back. “I love you, Shane. You know that.”

  Small rhythmic movements shook Shane’s body, and Shelby realized he was crying. She put her arm around him and they lay in spoon formation, each one sobbing quietly—together, yet alone—until they fell asleep.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Grant was too busy now to give Cassie or Shane much thought.

  He and Larry were working constantly to string the last of the new pipeline before it was time to tap the trees. As the first of March approached, the days began to reach the upper thirties while the nights remained below ten. This was the beginning of perfect sugar weather, the combination of warm days and freezing nights that would cause the sap to surge upward through the trees. The cold night temperatures were as important as the daytime warmth, for too much warm weather would bring out the buds, changing the chemistry of the sap and giving it a bitter taste. Once the buds were out on the maples, sugar season would be over.

  Their various orchards faced different directions, giving each its own microenvironment. Dayton’s with its south-facing slopes would start first, while the sheltered valley around Grant’s cabin would keep its chilly temperatures late into the season. Leon Dumaine’s trees would fall somewhere in between, and the groupings of buckets throughout town would come and go at different rates.

  They cleaned a year’s accumulation of cobwebs from the sugarhouse rafters and took down the sap buckets and lids. Gathering tanks and storage tanks were uncovered and washed out once more. The large flat sugaring pans had been stored upside down on the arch; they righted them now and checked them for leaks. The arch needed to be leveled to account for any frost heaving and the grates inspected and the final length of smokestack put in place. The preheater, a gleaming tent-like cover made of tin, was lowered onto the back pan where it would trap the rising steam and channel it through a stack to the cupola on the roof. When the rig was running they would open the sidewalls of the cupola and twin columns of steam would billow toward the sky.

  They checked their supply of filters and cases of containers and lids. When the time came, they would stock the sugarhouse with cans of soup and enough snacks to keep them going for long hours. At its peak, sugar season would be a time of intensive labor and unpredictable schedules, exhausting and all-consuming. Yet it was definitely Grant’s favorite time of all. It held so many satisfactions for him, the greatest being the element of tradition. When he stood in that sugarhouse full of steam with the fire roaring in the arch, he was one with generations of Vermonters before him. The clear amber syrup he produced was secondary to the ritual from which it sprang. The camaraderie that a sugarhouse spawned was testimony to that. Friends who had never sugared a day in their lives would be coming by to be a witness to the process. And old timers, like Wes Dayton, who could no longer sugar on their own would be there to keep a hold on that part of their lives.

  Dawson and Blake were finishing up at the Dayton farm; by March first they intended to be gone. Blake had expected to continue with new projects, but Freeman had said nothing further was currently planned. Dawson set up in one of the workshops to finish the large table and some bookshelves for the walls, while Blake concentrated on final details and general cleaning up.

  Dawson had made no further attempts to visit Shelby after witnessing the scene in the barn. He had been a fool to think she wasn’t in love with Shane and that she might have an interest in him. His mother was right anyway; with a farm of his own to run, he would need a working, able-bodied wife. Cassie would have been perfect, but now she would have nothing to do with him. And he still was not sure he could accept her child, whoever the father might be. Perhaps it was time to look around and be more aware of the women in town. On the other hand, how many of them would be willing to go out with him? He cursed his father for begetting him as a displaced half-breed freak. Blue-eyed, ruddy-cheeked Blake had women falling all over him, and the man was a two-timing animal.

  The last days of February were brilliantly sunny, and Dawson took his lunch outside to eat. The inside corner where the barn met the ell formed a south-facing shelter from the wind. He upended an empty five-gallon bucket to sit on and leaned against the sun-warmed clapboards. Spring was in the air and the promised renewal of life buoyed his spirits. Who said he needed a wife, anyway? There were plenty of bachelor farmers around. He never wanted kids, for no child should go through the hell he had known for being different. His sexual needs were a problem, but Marcia Boardman and others like her helped along those lines. And he was only twenty-five, turning twenty-six next month. Who knew what the future held in store or who might come into his life?

  He closed his eyes and turned his face to the sun with a contented sigh. Maybe life wasn’t that bad after all. The farm was going to be his. Of course, Blake didn’t know that yet, and Dawson dreaded the day he found out. But Ma was going to the lawyer next month to make it official. Blake could not contest it then, for the farm currently belonged to her.

  The sound of a car engine made him open his eyes. The silver-gray van Shane had bought was pulling into the yard. Cassie was driving it, and as she stepped down from the driver’s seat, he noticed how big she had become. The kid was due in April sometime, if he remembered right.

  She followed the plowed edge of the parking area, but instead of heading straight for the house, she turned in his direction. He sat immobile, with only his eyes trailing her as she approached. She held her head high, and her expression was less than friendly. “Hello, Sonny.”

  Sonny nodded his greeting.

  “Gorgeous today, isn’t it?”

  “Yup.”

  She reached beneath her flowing cape and pulled out a set of keys. “I guess it’s really not right for me to keep your truck anymore.” She held the keys out at arm’s length.

  Dawson did not move. “I don’t mind. I’d rather see it used.”

  “Please take them. I drive the van now.”

  Dawson kept his eyes on her face. “And what happens when Shane takes the van and you need a car?”

  “The s
tation wagon’s still here. Really, Sonny, I don’t want it.” She tossed the keys into the open lunchbox at his feet.

  “So, what’s new, Cass?” he asked, determined to ignore the petulance in her gesture.

  “Not much. How about with you?”

  “Well,” he said slowly, “I’ll be taking over the farm next month and Ma and I have decided to rebuild the herd.”

  “Oh, really? Giving up carpentry?”

  “Not totally, at least not at first. But I won’t be doing big jobs like this anymore. Someday, I hope to see the farm supporting me.”

  “What about Blake and your sisters?”

  “Pa willed it to me.”

  Cassie’s face registered surprise, but her manner remained aloof. “He did? Well, that’s wonderful. You must be very happy. But what did Blake say?”

  “He doesn’t know yet. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell anyone.”

  Cassie shook her head. “Well, I’m glad for you.” She moved forward and bent to give him a quick hug. Dawson put his arms around her to keep her from moving away again.

  “Can we try again, Cass?” he asked softly, his face close to hers. “I’ve missed you.”

  “You’re hurting my back, Sonny. Let me go.” She stood up and pressed her hands to the small of her back, forcing her rounded abdomen to protrude even more. “I’m very confused right now, Sonny,” she said, looking down at him. “And I’m afraid I’ve had it with men. I really just want to be left alone.”

  Dawson shrugged his shoulders and settled back to his place in the sun. “No problem, he said, closing his eyes.

  Cassie said nothing, and when he opened his eyes again, she was gone. The sun had gone behind a cloud, and his sheltered spot was turning cold. He closed up his lunchbox, retrieving his keys and putting them in his pocket. He would take his chances and drive the truck home; no use leaving it here in her way. He returned to the barn with a frown on his face. Thank God this was his last day here. He was ready for a change.

  Shelby was listening to Shane’s dictation on tape, but she couldn’t bring herself to type. She pulled the earphones from her head and pushed the button to stop the cassette. Cassie had gone to her room with a headache; Shane had been gone all day. He had had little to say this morning; he had gone out and not come back. Shelby’s heart was aching for him, yet she felt she had done the right thing. He couldn’t let Cassie go on hoping and caring when there was no hope. He had to get used to telling the truth, to facing up to the facts. Staying in the closet wasn’t going to work; not when his looks attracted women the way they did.

  Shelby rose to her feet and moved away from the table. She walked slowly across the kitchen and into her room to find her wool sweater. She had felt the sun beating in through the window. On such a beautiful sunny day one should be outside, and she would just have to take herself. Cassie had said the driveway was mud rather than ice, and Shelby knew she could handle that. She found her boots in the closet where she had asked Cassie to keep them, and she laced them up carefully. The easiest path for her would be out the front door, and that was the way she went.

  A slab of granite served as the approach to the front door, and she cautiously stepped down from it. The ground beneath her feet felt soft and made a squishing sound, but it did not pull like mud. The real mud would come later when the frost began to come out of the ground. Then they would be wallowing in mud, according to Corey Sloan. Corey had called to say “hi” a few days ago and to apologize for not being touch. Her daughter had been quite sick, she said, and was just now getting back to school. Shelby thought about her with a smile as she slowly moved across the yard. They had talked for over half an hour and agreed to visit again soon.

  She tried to remember the description Shane had given her of how the place was arranged. Directly in front of her would be the parking area and the driveway that curved downhill to the left. Woods covered the incline to her left; there would be a snowbank immediately to her left where a small expanse of lawn edged the drive. To her right, a series of white clapboard additions strung out in a long, continuous ell attached to the gable end of the house. The first would be the summer kitchen, then the garage and the storage areas. This last opened into the barn which went off at right angles to the ell and house. The barn she knew was huge and gray and two stories on this side. Between the driveway and the barn was mostly knee-high snow, except for a path than ran the length of the ell. This path would curve to the left and follow along the front of the barn, ending at the normal size door they had cut into one of the big double doors. In the summer, the entire dooryard would be an open expanse of lawn and paths that led to the various doors that gave the yard its name. Perhaps some day she would feel free to roam the entire yard, but for now she knew she must not get lost.

  She turned to her right and moved carefully along, testing the ground before her in advance of each step. Her goal was to find the garage doors first and then feel her way along the path. If she’d had enough fresh air by the time she reached the barn door she might go inside and practice on the dulcimer. Otherwise, she would simply reverse the process and find her way back to the house.

  She could hear pounding coming from the barn, and she wondered if Dawson were there. Not that she intended to disturb him; he obviously was keeping to himself. She found the garage doors and started along the path, reaching out periodically to touch the ell. The path did not go directly into the corner but began to curve away, and she had to leave the security of the building for a short distance. She inched her way along, stopping when a snowbank seemed to be dead ahead, turning and starting again. She was trying to gauge how close she was to the barn when a man’s voice said, “Hey!” and two very strong hands suddenly gripped her upper arms. The abruptness of the encounter startled her, and she reacted angrily. “Dawson?”

  “Naw, Blake,” the man laughed. “What are you doing out here?”

  “I live here,” she said sarcastically. “Why didn’t you say something to let me know you were there?”

  “I didn’t see you. I had my arms full of stuff.”

  “So where’s the stuff now? I didn’t hear you drop anything before you grabbed me.”

  “It was insulation, the soft pink kind. Sorry.”

  Shelby shook herself free of the man’s iron grasp, irritated by his manner. “How close am I to the barn door?”

  “About fifty feet. Here, I’ll help you get around this stuff in the way.” He put one arm around her shoulders and grasped her other arm with his hand. His fingers were brushing against her breast, and Shelby moved her arm away from her side. Blake laughed and guided her in an exaggerated arc to the barn door. When he released her, his hand moved down the middle of her back, and she waited for him to touch her hip. She could gauge where his face was by his breath on her neck, and she intended to hit him hard. But he kept his hands to himself after that, opening the door for her and advising her to step over the threshold they had built. When he closed the door behind her, she could hear him laughing to himself. Shelby’s face burned with indignation. She had never confronted Blake alone before and had not expected such rudeness on his part. But then, Shane was always telling her she was incredibly naive about most people.

  The room with the dulcimers was to her left behind a closed door. Straight ahead would be the middle workroom, and to her right the third and last workshop. The pounding was coming from the right; she turned and went into the room on the left.

  The sun was now slanting in the large studio windows Shane had installed on the backside of the barn. Shelby gravitated to the pool of warmth on the far side of the center workbench and eased herself to the floor to rest. She sat there like a contented cat, and the dulcimers went untouched. The sun warmed her and made her drowsy after her walk, and she rested her back against the cabinet. Her head nodded and her chin dropped to her chest. She drifted off as the sun continued its travels toward the west.

  “Sonny! I can’t find her!”

  Dawson pause
d with one foot in the cab of his truck and looked back at Cassie’s frantic face. “What?”

  “I can’t find Shelby! She isn’t anywhere in the house!”

  Dawson backed down out of the cab and frowned at her. “Where else would she be?”

  “I don’t know! She never goes anywhere alone!”

  “She’s not with Shane?”

  “He’s been gone all day. I went to lie down about an hour ago, and when I got up, I couldn’t find her. I’ve called and called, but she doesn’t answer.”

  “Could someone have come and taken her somewhere? Grant, maybe, or Corey?”

  “Do you think they’d do that without leaving me a note? Have you seen anyone?” Cassie looked around the yard, and when she looked back at Dawson, her eyes were wide. “Where’s Blake?”

  “Gone to the dump.” Dawson closed the truck door and turned toward the ell. “Have you looked in the ell and all of the sheds?”