Lonely Souls

by Rosemary Fifield

  “I love this,” Shelby said.

  Larry mopped the sweat from his forehead. “She loves this,” he said, rolling his eyes.

  “So do you,” Suzanne laughed. “You live for this time of year, and you know it.”

  Grant relieved Suzanne of her duties, and she came up to Shelby and introduced herself. She had already met Shane at the hardware store, she said. She asked Cassie about her due date, then took her to a protected corner of the sugarhouse where her baby lay sleeping in his carrier. Shelby held on to Shane’s arm and savored the smells and sound and feel of the sugarhouse. The humid warmth eventually became too much, however, and they were prepared to leave.

  “We’re planning a sugar-on-snow party here on Sunday,” Suzanne said, as they were going. “Around three o’clock. I hope you can come.”

  “We’ll try,” Shelby smiled. She placed an order with Suzanne for several gallons before she, Shane, and Cassie went out into the chilly darkness.

  “Do you think they’ll come?” Suzanne asked Larry and Grant, staring after them.

  “I doubt it,” Larry said. “Shane takes off almost every weekend, and she’s not much for parties. Maybe Cassie will come.”

  “Man, is she big.” Suzanne shook her head. “She’s going to have a rough time of it.”

  “Well, old Claude’s no chihuahua,” Larry answered. “I sure hope he was worth it.”

  Grant’s jaw tensed, but he kept his thoughts to himself. “Syrup coming off,” he said. “Let’s tend to business.”

  Shane left for Portland early Saturday morning. Before he left, he brought a hammered dulcimer into the living room, and Shelby spent part of the day practicing the things he had taught her. The dulcimer made her think of Dawson and their encounter in the barn two weeks before. She wished she understood the man, how he could go from cold to hot to cold so quickly. Or was it simply Shane’s attitude that kept him away?

  Of course, it wasn’t something she could discuss with Cassie. The poor girl had been a mess since learning the truth about Shane. Her attempts to see Grant had been preempted by his sugaring, and she seemed to be floundering in a sea of confusion over which way to turn. Still, she appeared excited about the party on Sunday and was trying to convince Shelby to go.

  “I don’t go to parties.”

  “Why not? People won’t gawk at you. You already know a lot of them, and the others know about you. If you’re going to live here, you should get to know people.”

  “I’m just not comfortable yet.”

  “Well, how will you ever get comfortable? Look, it won’t be some stuffy Dartmouth College party. It’s sugar-on-snow. They’ll have homemade donuts and pickles and coffee and hot syrup, and then they’ll pour extra-thick syrup on clean snow and it gets like taffy.”

  “Donuts and pickles?” Shelby laughed.

  “Jeezum, you flatlanders don’t know anything,” Cassie grinned. “You dip the plain donut in hot syrup and take a bite, then eat a sour pickle to cut the sweet. Everybody know that! Come on, Shelby. Be a sport.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Sunday was a warm and sunny day, and the sap was coursing through the lines. The sugarhouse cupola poured out twin columns of steam that rose through the trees. Suzanne and Corey had set up a table outside with the donuts and pickles Cassie had predicted. A charcoal grill kept a pan of syrup warm and a coffee pot hot, while trays of clean snow gathered from the woods behind Grant’s house sat in the shade of the table. The road down to the sugarhouse was ankle-deep mud and only the die-hards in the group made the trip to see the action. The rest gathered around the table or took sleds to the snowy treeless banks. A few cross-country skiers braved the soggy snow, but soon gave up and reluctantly acknowledged that skiing season was coming to an end.

  “Mud season is here,” someone said. “No way around it. I don’t even try to keep my floors clean.”

  “Or the kids. Now’s the time to go on vacation.”

  “It’ll snow again. Don’t kid yourselves. It snowed in April last year. Biggest storm of the year.”

  “Yeah, but spring snows don’t last. I just hate spending all my time in the dooryard trying to channel the water away from my back door.”

  “You should have had Dave grade your yard last year like he did ours. And lay down some gravel.”

  “We live in a swamp, remember? The whole place is springs until July. I could grow rice.”

  Shelby smiled at the conversations around her. Corey had taken her in hand and introduced her to everyone there, and they had all sounded friendly and seemed interested in her. The majority seemed to be people her own age, contemporaries of Grant and Larry. A few were older—Corey’s father and Grant’s parents and a couple whose name she forgot. Neither Dawson nor Blake were there which did not surprise her; she had suspected they did not travel in the same circles.

  Grant and Larry took turns coming up to socialize after Wes Dayton went down to help them out. On one of their trips, they brought up hard-boiled eggs they had cooked in a pan of boiling sap. The eggs had a slightly sweet taste to them and made an interesting addition to the already unusual fare.

  Grant’s mother sat with Shelby inside the cabin when they both became tired of standing outside. They discussed the history of the old Dayton farm and the architecture of its house. It dated back to the 1780s, Irene said, and was a classic example of its era. She described the house in Chatham Center where she had grown up – a two-story colonial that was only one room deep. The two downstairs rooms were formal sitting rooms, she said, the two upstairs were bedrooms. A single-story wing at the back held the kitchen and a large pantry that had been turned into the house’s only bathroom at the turn of the century.

  Another classic house was the Penfield’s, she said, although it was badly in need of some restorative work. She had heard that Miriam had turned the farm over to the boy named Dawson, so maybe now the house would be taken care of. Old Nate had been a terrible tightwad, “tighter than the bark on a tree” she said. He saved everything and loaded the place with junk. But Dawson seemed to be cleaning it up, and one day he had come into the historical society with some items to donate. He seemed a nice boy, although somewhat shy and unsure of himself. But that was to be expected, she supposed. She suspected it wasn’t easy being Nate Penfield’s son and half Indian, to boot.

  Shelby listened with great interest. She knew the story of Miriam Penfield and the Indian girl’s father, and that Dawson had been raised by his father’s wife. She was surprised to hear that of all the children, Dawson had been give the farm, and she said so to Irene.

  “I guess it’s caused some hard feelings among them, but I can see Miriam’s point. You know, of all those kids, Dawson’s the one who’s turned out the best. Don’t you find that ironic? He treats her better than any of her own children do, and he’s the only one with enough gumption to make something out of that farm. Loretta at the Post Office says he’s straightened right out and stopped drinking, and she swears he’s standing up straighter than he used to. He always kind of hunched over like tall people do sometimes. But she says it’s like he’s got new confidence in himself, and he’s getting friendlier. She was always sort of afraid of him before, but I told her I think the one to be afraid of is Blake if she’s got to be afraid of a Penfield. That man’s his father all over again.”

  Shelby smiled as the woman talked. She could see why Irene McIan was president of the historical society, and she was beginning to understand why Grant McIan rarely had much to say.

  Corey came in with hot coffee for them and a plate of donuts covered with a maple glaze. They were about to make the sugar on snow, but the two women decided to stay indoors.

  “It pulls out my fillings,” Irene said, “ and I think it’s too sweet anyway. So tell me about yourself, Shelby, and that handsome young man I see in the post office …”

  Cassie and Shelby went back to the farm a little after dark. Cassie was very quiet as she drove them home, and Shelby di
d not ask why. She was thinking about Dawson and the things Mrs. McIan had said. More and more, she wanted to know Dawson better, and she needed to find a way. Inviting him to the house wouldn’t work as long as Cassie was there.

  “I think you’re wrong about Grant being interested in me,” Cassie said abruptly. “He couldn’t stay away from Corey the whole time we were there. Even Wes Dayton looked uncomfortable about it after a while.”

  “Wasn’t her husband there?”

  “No, her kid’s sick again.” Cassie let out a heavy sigh. “You know, Sonny’s getting his ma’s farm, and he asked me a couple weeks ago if we could try again. I said I’d think about it. Maybe it’s time I swallowed my pride and took him back. What do you think?”

  Shelby sighed in return and closed her eyes, filled with mixed feelings. “I don’t know, Cassie. Do what you think is best.”

  “I wish I knew,” was all she said.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dawson was surprised by the invitation to dinner. He had not expected to hear from Cassie at all, much less to be invited to the house.

  “I’m not sure I can handle another of your dinners,” he smiled into the phone. “ Just kidding. Look, why don’t we go out instead? You choose, I’ll pay.”

  She picked him up in the brown station wagon, and they went out for a pizza in Wild River like old times.

  “We need to talk, Sonny,” she said, as they sat in the subdued light of the restaurant. “We’ve both made mistakes and said dumb things, but maybe we can still work it out. If you want to.”

  Dawson gave her a quiet smile.“We can try.”

  Cassie nodded. “Okay, first of all, I guess we should talk about this baby.” She drew a deep breath and kept her eyes fixed on the checkered tablecloth. “I want to give it up for adoption. I don’t even want to see it. We can have children of our own and never have to think about this one again.”

  Dawson folded his hands on the table and pondered her words for a moment. “I don’t really want kids, Cassie. They’d look like me and have a hell of a time with life.”

  Cassie stared at him across the table. “Has it really been that bad? Honestly?”

  “For me? Yes.”

  “I think you’re too sensitive.”

  “That’s easy for you to say.”

  Cassie frowned at him. “What? Don’t you think I took my share of crap for hanging around with you?”

  “Well, see?” Dawson’s dark eyes were flashing. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about!”

  Cassie shook her head in exasperation. “Here we go,” she sighed. “Why do we even try? Sonny, you’re going to need kids to help you run the farm.”

  “Then I’ll adopt them.”

  “Fine. You can start with mine,” she snapped.

  Dawson met her retort with a steady gaze as he said, “Maybe. Depends on whose it is.”

  Cassie’s eyes narrowed in anger. “I believe this is where we left off last time.”

  “That’s right. And if I’m going to adopt your kid, I’m at least going to know where it came from.” Dawson paused and his jaw tensed. “And if you’re going to be my wife, I’m going to know who in town knows you as well as I do.”

  “Is that so? And do I get a list of who you’ve been screwing for the last eight years?” Cassie’s tone was heavy with sarcasm as she stared into his eyes. “Come on, Sonny, do I look retarded? Like Angela Glenn?”

  Dawson made a quick glance around the crowded room, then leaned across the table toward her. “Jesus Christ, Cass, keep your voice down. What the hell are we doing anyway? If this is your idea of working it out, I think we’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  “Could be.”

  They sat in angry silence until the pizza came and they could devote their attention to eating. Cassie had little interest in the food, but Dawson ate without hesitation, a fact that infuriated her even more.

  “Let’s go,” she said when he had finished. “I left Shelby home alone.”

  Dawson picked up the check and skimmed it, then counted out the bills from his wallet and left them on the table beside his plate. “Where’s Shane on a Tuesday night?”

  “Who knows? And, furthermore, who cares? I just wish Shelby could find someone else and send him packing.” Cassie gathered up her things and stood up from the table.

  “Why? I thought they were happy together,” Dawson said as he rose to his feet.

  She gave a short sarcastic laugh. “Hardly. I can’t tell you the whole story, but take my word for it, she’d be a hell of a lot better off without him.”

  “Does she think so?”

  Cassie took her cloak from the back of the chair and pulled it over her shoulders. “Oh, she knows it. She says some day they’ll go their separate ways. She stays with him because there’s no one better on the horizon, and they do okay together. There’s just no future there.”

  “Why’s that? Is Shane gay?”

  Cassie looked up at him in surprise. “Why do you say that?”

  Dawson watched her face, intrigued now. “It’s not hard to figure out. I’ve suspected it for quite a while. So has Blake.”

  Cassie turned and led the way to the door. “Just remember, I didn’t tell you that.”

  Dawson stared out the station wagon’s side window at the passing lights as Cassie silently drove him home. Shelby was not hopelessly in love with Shane; he had been wrong all along. There was a chance for him after all. And with his own farm, no one could accuse him of going after her for her money. Not that he cared what anyone thought, as long as she understood that.

  Cassie drove into his driveway and kept the station wagon’s motor idling. “Not much of a success, was it?” she said, staring straight ahead.

  “I guess not.”

  Cassie nodded, her eyes still trained on the windshield in front of her. “Well … see you around, Sonny.”

  Her voice cracked when she spoke, and Dawson, with one foot out the door, looked back at her in hesitation. “Are you going to be all right?”

  “I’m fine. Would you please go?”

  Dawson slid out of the passenger seat and stood in the driveway, watching Cassie drive away. He was filled with mixed emotions, a feeling he hated. The house was dark except for a dim light in the living room; his ma was probably reading a book. He went into the ell and took his snowmobile suit and helmet from the hooks near the door and pulled on his snowmobile boots. The snow in the cornfields had slumped significantly, but there was still enough between his house and Deerkill Road. He pulled the snowmobile out of the barn, started it up, and headed off into the night.

  Shelby was waiting at the front door when Cassie drove into the yard. “Grant called,” she said as Cassie came inside. “They’ve taken your father to the hospital with chest pains. They think it’s a heart attack.”

  “Oh, no.”

  Shelby reached out to touch Cassie’s arm. “You need to go to the hospital. I’ll be all right.”

  “But I could be gone all night. And Shane’s not here.”

  “Cassie, you should be with your father.”

  Cassie was extremely distressed. “Maybe I can call Sonny. He’d come and stay with you. I just dropped him off at home. I know he’s there. Is that okay with you?”

  “That’s fine. Or Grant or anybody.”

  Cassie hurried to the phone and dialed Penfield’s number. Miriam answered and took the message, saying she thought she’d heard the snowmobile, but she would send him over as soon as possible. Cassie gave Shelby a quick hug and rushed out to make the drive to the hospital in Hanover.

  Shelby wandered into the living room and sat down. Her heart was still pounding from the news Grant had given her, for she had feared Cassie might not come home for hours. Now she sat alone and brooded over what had just transpired. She didn’t want Dawson coming here to babysit her. She felt like a fool forcing him to take care of her like she was some helpless child. This whole situation was getting out of hand, and she cursed Shane for
leaving her alone. The house was like a prison; she was trapped on top of this godforsaken hill with no neighbors and nowhere to turn. If he would stay home, it would be okay, but apparently he had someone more important that he needed to see even in the middle of the week. She was coming to hate it all now, and the future held no promise of anything better. Yet, she was the one who had talked him into coming with her, and she had disrupted his life by taking him away from Portland.

  A motor vehicle had pulled up beside the house. Dawson was here, apparently driving without a license, she thought grimly. He knocked on the front door, and she reluctantly rose to answer it, taking her time as she shuffled across the room. A rush of cold air hit her face as she pulled the door open.