The Clash Between the Minds

by Nann Dunne

  Sarah felt her face harden; her forehead, cheeks, and chin turned to stone. Her voice grated. "Do you want to leave me, permanently?"

  Faith reached out again, and Sarah backed farther away. Faith dropped her arms to her sides. "I love you, Sarah. But right now, our being together puts all of us in danger. I can't get that out of my mind."

  "Then come away with me."

  "We already talked about this. I gave my word. I need to stay here."

  "Well, I don't." Sarah grabbed her jacket and hat, strode to the door, and yanked it open. "Tell Benjamin I love him." She stepped onto the porch and slammed the door as hard as she could.

  She shoved the hat onto her head, donned the jacket, and stomped down the three steps to the ground where Joel waited.

  She grabbed Joel's arm. "You're leaving, too. It's not proper for a decent woman to have a gentleman caller so late in the evening." She steered a foot-dragging Joel toward his buggy. She heard Faith open the door and saw the rectangle of light on the ground widen.

  Sarah gave Joel's arm a shake. "Say good night."

  "Good night, Faith," he called. "I'll see you tomorrow."

  "Good night," Faith answered.

  Sarah wanted to slam him to the ground when she heard his remark, but she restrained herself.

  She let go of his arm, and he straightened his coat. "I understand that you're upset, but you better not stop by again or even talk to Faith in town. You can only cause trouble for her and Benjamin."

  "Don't worry. I can wait until the school year is over. You just take care of your own business, and I'll take care of mine."

  "Fair enough, as long as you leave Faith alone." Joel climbed into his buggy and just sat there.

  Sarah walked into the woods to get Redfire. Leave Faith alone, leave Faith alone, leave Faith alone drummed into her mind. What right did Joel Litchfield, or anyone in town, have to demand that from her? She and Faith were good people. The unfairness of it weighed heavily on her.

  She mounted and rode back toward the schoolteacher's house. She couldn't think of it as Faith's house and vowed that she never would. When she got back to where Joel waited, he nodded to her and they both left. Sarah looked back and saw Faith still standing on the porch. Faith waved, but Sarah didn't. She dug her heels into Redfire's flanks and cantered toward home, confused and heartsore.

  Halfway there, she recalled Leah's advice. In spite of Sarah's good intentions, her temper had overcome her. She had tried to make allowances for Faith's worries, but Joel Litchfield's recurring appearance put a different slant on things. Sarah was quickly learning to hate him.

  Sarah hung her hat and jacket on the wall peg and scooped up Paddy. She had heard him bark as soon as she rode into the yard. After putting Redfire in the barn and unsaddling him, she again heard Paddy bark before she unlocked the door and entered the kitchen. "Good boy." She patted him and set him back on the floor, where the pup jumped around her feet. She took a sulfur match from her pocket, scratched it against her pants, and lit the hurricane lamp that rested on the kitchen table. She checked to make sure Paddy still had food and water in his bowls. When she sat at the table, Paddy calmed down and lay next to her feet.

  Sarah put her elbows on the tabletop and pounded her palms on the sides of her head. What the hell was going on with Faith and Joel Litchfield? Was he trying to steal Faith from her? Was Faith being persuaded that their love for each other was wrong? Was it? After a moment, Sarah sat up straight and pondered that.

  No, she decided. True love between two grown women who love each other as much as she and Faith did couldn't be wrong. They weren't hurting anyone or two-timing anyone.

  She turned in her chair, straightened one leg, and dug a folded piece of leather from her pocket. She hunkered back to the table and laid the leather object on it. Gently, she turned back the overlapped pieces of leather to reveal a folded handkerchief. She opened the handkerchief and spread it wide, laying bare its contents. With the hint of a smile, she recalled the day she had received this.

  She had been sitting at the writing desk in her workroom with her pencil poised over the half-written page. She gazed off into space. Her writing hadn't been going well that day; she couldn't find the right phrasing for what she wanted to say. Just as she became aware of the warmth behind her, Faith's hands closed on the back of her neck and began a light massage.

  "Having trouble?" Faith asked.

  "Um-hmm. The words just won't come."

  "It's Saturday, sweetheart. Why don't you take the day off?" Faith moved her hands up and down on Sarah's back.

  "We didn't have anything planned. I thought it was a good time to put some more work in on the story."

  Faith ended the massage and seated herself backwards on the workbench, facing Sarah. "Benjamin went to the Hurley's for the day, remember? Betty Hurley invited him to stay for dinner." She laid one hand on Sarah's thigh and, with the other, untied the tunic cords at her neck. "Someday," she said, "I'm going to buy you a buttoned shirt. More anticipation, more fun." She gazed at Sarah, and the green in her eyes deepened. "What were you saying about nothing being planned for today?"

  Sarah turned and gathered Faith into her arms. Faith's hand slipped between Sarah's thighs and moved farther toward her body. They kissed and Sarah groaned as the hand reached its goal. She stopped the kiss for a moment and whispered, "I think we've found a plan."

  Somehow, during their lovemaking, they had wound up in bed. Now they basked in the afterglow, naked and tangled together. Faith lay with her head just under Sarah's chin with strands of her hair strewn across one of Sarah's breasts. Sarah picked up a handful of the strands and held them to her lips. "I love your hair. It's so beautiful."

  "Mmm. I love all of you. You're beautiful, too," Faith murmured against her breast.

  Sarah grabbed her and rolled over, so she was on top. "I meant that, too, you wench," she said, huffing a laugh. She bent to kiss Faith, and the fire reignited.

  Later, after supper, Faith said, "I have something for you." She left the room, returned, and presented Sarah with one of the handkerchiefs she had embroidered. It was folded so that one corner showed the initials, FPC.

  "FPC," Sarah read aloud and looked up into Faith's eyes, one eyebrow lifted in question.

  "Faith Pruitt Coulter," Faith said without hesitation. "I've put that on all my handkerchiefs."

  Sarah's eyes moistened. "I didn't know that. Thank you."

  "There's something in the handkerchief. Open it up."

  Sarah picked up the edges of the fold, one by one, and gave a huge smile when she saw what the handkerchief contained. She lifted a long lock of curly red hair that had been compressed into a small bundle. Still smiling, she held it to her cheek and looked up at Faith. "Where did you cut this from? I can't even tell."

  Faith shook her head so that curls spilled everywhere around her face and shoulders. "I have so many, I can't tell either. Do you like it?"

  "I love it." Sarah's voice grew husky, and she reached for Faith. "I'll keep it with me forever."

  And she had done just that. She wrapped it in leather to protect it and always carried it in her pants pocket. The curl lay on the table, and she touched it almost reverently then kissed it. "Never thought this would be the closest I could get to you, sweetheart." Her voice hitched as she said this aloud. She rewrapped the lock of hair and put it back in her pocket.

  She got up to get ready for bed, and as she carried the hurricane lamp past the calendar, a big black X on one date caught her eye. Damn. That idiotic Klan parade was this coming weekend. How would the town react to that? She rubbed her neck. The hell with it. She had other more pressing issues to think about.

  Upstairs, Paddy followed her down the hall, and after Sarah finished washing and changing into her nightshirt, they went back downstairs to the living room. Sarah set the lamp on the table. She'd been sleeping on the sofa ever since Faith left, and she kept a pillow and quilt on it. She patted the oval rug on the floor in front
of the sofa, and Paddy lay on it almost as though he'd been trained.

  Sarah scratched his ears. "Good boy. And smart. Good night, Paddy." She put a hand behind the hurricane lamp's chimney, blew out the fire, and settled onto the sofa.

  When she slid under the quilt, she ran her hand over some of its squares. She and Faith had made this quilt together. Sarah drew two designs, one of interconnecting rings and another of interconnecting hearts. Using white material purchased especially for this purpose, they cut matching squares. Sarah stippled the ring design on half the squares of material and hearts on the other half. Faith embroidered the designs in various colors. Afterward, they sewed the squares together over cotton batting to make a blanket they called their Love Quilt.

  Sarah's throat felt tight, and she fought against her tears. No, their love wasn't wrong. The Ten Commandants said nothing against it, and neither had Christ. She firmly believed that God didn't condemn them for it.

  But down deep in Faith's heart, what did she believe?

  Joel Litchfield called at Faith's house the very next evening in a light but steady rain. She let him in and hung his damp hat on the wobbly clothes rack resting in the corner. They sat in the living room. "Would you care for some tea?"

  "No, I'll only be a minute. I came to warn you." Faith cocked her head. "Warn me? Of what?" Joel grimaced. "I overheard some men who have terrible plans."

  This can't be good, Faith thought. "About what?"

  "They said you were married before, so it must be Sarah Coulter's influence that's led you astray."

  Faith raised her eyebrows. "Led me astray? In what way?"

  "In your relationship with her. She dresses like a man. She acts like a man. Shooting people. Giving children wrong thoughts and getting one of them killed. People consider her to be evil, and they don't want the teacher of their children to be involved with an evil person."

  Agitated, Faith stood and paced, wringing her hands. "But Sarah's not evil. Why would anyone think that?"

  "Because the Bible calls your relationship an abomination. I read you that chapter." Shortly after Faith had moved to the schoolteacher's house, Joel had shown up carrying a Bible. He had seemed so sincere when he read her the passage that supposedly referred to the sinfulness of homosexuality. He urged her to think about the words with an open mind. That suggestion sounded strange to Faith under the circumstances. Wasn't Joel the one with the closed mind?

  Now she swung around to face him. "Regardless of what people's opinions are about Bible interpretations, and that's all it is, a matter of opinion about what could be faulty explanations, Sarah's not evil and neither am I."

  "You can say that all you want, but it doesn't change how people perceive the situation." Joel hesitated. "You know...if Sarah wore a dress, she could have avoided this persecution and kept you and Benjamin out of danger." He shook his head. "But she's too foolish to do that. She thinks of herself as equal to a man."

  "She's better than most of the men I know."

  Joel gave her a condescending look. "Maybe you don't know the right men. A strong man could make you very happy."

  "I'm quite happy without a man in my life." Faith knew Joel meant himself. She took pity on him and didn't make a smart remark. She believed his intentions were good.

  "The right man could protect you, if you'd let him. The Bible says women should be subservient to men."

  "That's another matter of opinion."

  Obviously agitated, Joel stood and slowly hit his fist into his palm. "I didn't come here to discuss religion. I came here to warn you. Those people I overheard plan to kill Sarah if she doesn't stay away from you."

  Faith felt the blood drain from her face, and she almost fell into a chair. "Kill her? Kill her?" Faith couldn't wrap her mind around that idea. "Someone wants to kill Sarah because of our relationship?"

  Joel looked grim. "More than one person, I'm afraid."

  "Who are they? How can we stop them?"

  "I have no idea who they are. I merely heard them talking. I didn't recognize any voice." Joel touched Faith's arm. "How to stop them? I can only suggest that you make sure Sarah knows to stay completely away from you. Send her a message through the Showells. They're friendly with her."

  Faith wanted to cry. Joel put his arm around her shoulder and tried to draw her into an embrace, but she slipped out of it. "I can't do that. Sarah's stubborn enough to do the exact opposite. She's fearless."

  "Then you'll have to convince her in some other way that you don't want her near you."

  "You're asking me to push her away." Faith said it flatly, as a statement, not a question.

  A look of annoyance flickered across Joel's expression, but his voice stayed smooth. "If you want to keep her alive, yes. At least until the school year's out and you can make other plans."

  Faith's mind raced, searching for a solution. "Have you told the sheriff about this?"

  Joel lifted his hands and dropped them. "What can I tell him? I have no names, no proof. I'd look foolish, and a town doctor can't afford to look foolish." He walked to the door and took his hat from the rack. "I have to go. You remember what I told you. Sarah has to stay away from you." Faith didn't answer him, and he opened the door and left.

  She put her face in her hands. Joel had mentioned about Sarah wearing a dress. Was that the solution? Surely Sarah would see that it was an easy answer to the objections swirling around her. Or would she? Faith made one decision. She would act coolly toward Sarah and discourage her from visiting until the school year ended.

  But could she keep up the act, when she yearned to be in Sarah's arms? Oh, Sarah, what a mess we've gotten into.

  Chapter Six

  Sarah stood on the boardwalk and watched the Ku Klux Klan parade down Main Street. She hadn't expected to see so many men in the column—at least a hundred. She wondered how many were from Bonneforte. Most had sheets covering their bodies, and they all had pillowcases with eye and mouth cutouts over their heads, concealing their faces.

  The men carried rifles loosely in their hands and marched to a cadence set by three drummers who walked directly behind a single Klansman who apparently was the leader.

  Just as the leader neared her, someone gave Sarah a shove from behind that caused her to lurch into the street and collide with him. The drummers stopped, and the column threatened to pile up behind them. Apparently the leader thought he was being attacked. He swung a fist that connected with Sarah's jaw and split her lip. Her hat flew off as, stunned, she fell to the ground.

  Joel had invited Faith to watch the parade with him. They both saw Sarah stumble into the leader.

  "Oh!" Faith gasped and started toward her. Joel grabbed her arm. "Let go of me, Joel, Sarah needs help."

  "I'll help her. You stay here. You don't want to get involved with the Ku Klux Klan." Without waiting for an answer, Joel began pushing his way through the crowd.

  The unspoken threat of the Ku Klux Klan made Faith hesitate just long enough for Joel to get halfway to Sarah. Faith stood on tiptoes to watch his progress with her peripheral vision as she kept her gaze on Sarah. She winced when Sarah got kicked. She took a step forward and then stopped as Joel approached the Klan leader. Thank goodness, Joel was there. He would take care of it.

  Before Sarah could move, the leader drew back a pointed-toe boot and kicked her in the ribs. She lost her breath. He drew back the boot again, but a man ran between Sarah and the Klansman. "Stop. That's enough." Joel Litchfield grabbed her arm and dragged her to her feet. She clutched one hand to her stomach and doubled over from the pain in her side. Joel swiped her hat from the ground and handed it to her then grasped her elbow and urged her away from the marchers. Sarah glanced into the parade watchers and saw Faith looking at her with her bottom lip captured between her teeth. Joel hurried her to a different spot before leading her back onto the boardwalk.

  Sarah blinked and tried to straighten up. She replaced her hat, fumbled in her pocket for a handkerchief, and dabbed the white cotto
n square at the blood seeping from her lip.

  "Are you all right?" Joel asked.

  She felt along her ribcage. "I think so. Just a cut lip and a sore side. Thank you for helping me."

  Joel nodded curtly and strode away. Sarah was tall enough to see over most of the crowd. She saw Joel meet Faith farther along the boardwalk. When Faith took a step in Sarah's direction, Joel grabbed her arm, tucked it in his, and walked her toward the door to his office. Sarah had wondered why Joel came to her rescue. And so quickly. Of course, Faith must have sent him. Now he probably looked like a hero in her eyes.

  Sarah swallowed the bitter reality that he could walk arm in arm with Faith without being challenged, and she couldn't. But she should be grateful for his intervention. Another kick or two from that boot might have broken some ribs. She sighed. More violence not of her doing.

  People quickly moved aside as she turned and shuffled away, still dabbing at her lip. She had recognized those hand-tooled boots. People treated her like an outcast while they admired their Town Council President Morton Blanton, who was leading a parade of Ku Klux Klansmen. She wondered how many other townspeople were hiding under those pillowcases.

  This episode had shaken her up. Had it been planned? What else might these idiots have in store for her? If Faith had been with her, would she have been pushed, too?

  She was thankful that Faith hadn't been involved. But, God, how she missed her.

  Loud barking woke Sarah. Flickering light showed on the walls and ceiling. She threw off the quilt and jumped from the sofa. Yapping and growling, Paddy clawed the door in the foyer. Sarah grabbed the rifle from the corner. She eased back the edge of a curtain and peered outside. The earlier rain had stopped, and a man stood just beyond the porch, holding a burning torch that lit the whole scene. Five men were trying to pound a large wooden cross into the softened ground with their fists, probably to avoid the noise of using a sledgehammer.

  Sarah raised the window and stuck the rifle through it. Aiming at the center of the cross where the horizontal bar lay over the vertical one, she took a breath, held it, and squeezed the trigger. The crash of splintering wood shattered the silence. Four men ran off, leaving the one holding the torch and one other.