by Jane Hoppen
Evelyn had a moment of panic. Did Poker Pete follow me out? Did some of the other jacks have their suspicions, also? That would be the one thing that could make her remaining time at the camp more difficult. She studied Whiskey Jack’s face for some sign of concern, but saw none.
“Told you before,” Evelyn said. “I’m a family man.”
“Lots of us are family men, Bauer,” Poker Pete said. “But it’s February, and we’ve been up here for nearly four months or so now. A man’s got needs.”
“Sounds like you’re talking more about yourself than me,” Evelyn said, and a few of the men who were still awake chuckled.
“Whiskey was thinking about heading out to look for you,” Poker Pete said, with the scratch of irritation in his voice. “I told him you weren’t worth it.”
A number of the jacks laughed. Apparently, more than a few were having a hard time sleeping through the noise of the brutal winds.
“That’s all right with me,” Evelyn said. “I would have said the same about you.”
The laughter rose one last time, and then the bunkhouse fell silent, except for the winds. Evelyn closed her eyes. She tried to remember the touch of Sarah’s fingers on her skin and warmed with the memory. She was embarrassed, too, though. She must think I’m a rather brutish woman, she thought, with or without the male clothing. Her next thoughts were ones of puzzlement. Why do I even care? This camp is changing me in more ways than I know.
Chapter Eight
Sarah woke the next morning to a hush, and she knew the blizzard had passed. She stalled for a moment, huddling under her blanket, not quite ready to brave the cold. She thought about her visit with Evelyn. Everything about her enamored Sarah—her ability to feign being a man, her motherhood, her solemn strength, her persistence. She made Sarah feel weak and unsubstantial. Sarah was also drawn to Evelyn physically, though she doubted that she would ever have the opportunity to approach her in any way romantically. She didn’t think Evelyn could fathom such a relationship, or would ever want one. She had her home, her children. She was settled, even with her husband gone.
The night before, after Evelyn left, Sarah had been disappointed, though she wasn’t sure what she had expected. She had wanted…more. She craved closeness. She had tried to imagine Evelyn’s hands sliding over her, touching her, exploring her curves, holding her. Sarah had slid a hand under her garments, then between her legs, and she rested her fingers on her clitoris. She was still moist and excited from her brief encounter with Evelyn. She began to rub her clitoris, gently, slowly, and as it hardened, she rubbed more vigorously. She could feel herself throbbing, and then her entire body quivered with a flood of relief. She thought of Abigail and began to weep quiet sobs until she fell asleep.
The early morning chill slipped through the shed’s walls, and Sarah rose and quickly pulled her dress on over her underlayers. She stoked the fire in the woodstove and put on her coat, ready to head to the shanty. At the door, she heard Mack’s and Annie’s voices and loud scraping sounds, and she knew they were clearing a path from the shanty to her shed. Sarah attempted to pull the door open, but it barely budged. She pulled harder, using all her weight, and the door finally creaked open to brilliant sunlight.
“You made it through the night,” Mack said matter-of-factly.
“I did,” Sarah said. “It was a bit noisy, but the building’s still standing.”
She glanced about the camp. The snow was pristine and had drifted to nearly five feet in some places. The boughs of the evergreens bent beneath the weight, and she could hear light crashes throughout the forest, the accumulated snow sliding from limbs as the sun began to melt it.
“I’ve got to get some water and then I’ll start breakfast,” she said.
“It’ll be a difficult trudge through the snow,” Mack said. “Give me the buckets. I’ll make a path to the river and get the water while you and Annie work on the grub.”
Sarah handed him the buckets, and she and Annie headed into the shanty. As Sarah prepared pots of coffee and Annie set the tables, Sarah could hear the lumberjacks stirring outside. They were clearing the snow out of the common area, setting up the washtubs and a spot for haircuts and shaves. She could tell by some of the yelling and jeers that a good bit of roughhousing was going on, too. She quickly mixed up some shoepack pie and went to the fireplace to remove the pot of beans she had prepared the night before from the glowing coals. She thought about Evelyn the entire time. When the camp closed down in the spring, Evelyn would return to the farm and her children, and she would return home, where she would always be shadowed by memories of Abigail. She found the prospect daunting.
Mack returned with the water and rang the triangle, and just as Sarah and Annie finished pulling breakfast together, the jacks filed in. Sarah scanned the crowd of men until she saw Evelyn, and her heart flipped. Evelyn looked at her only briefly and then turned her attention to her plate. Sarah scurried about the shanty, refilling platters of food, pouring coffee, grabbing up plates as the jacks finished their meals. When the shanty finally cleared out, Annie went to get some more firewood, and Sarah began to wipe off the tables and sweep the floor, occasionally peering out the small window to see if the jacks were assembling outside yet. She was also keeping an eye out for Sam. His return was inevitable, and she didn’t want to be caught off guard. She looked out the window one last time, and she finally saw Evelyn, taking her usual spot. Sarah went to the shed, gathered together the clothes that she wanted to wash, and a few items to mend. She put a needle and two spools of thread in her coat pocket and went outside.
Annie soon joined her, and they cleared away an area to build a fire and set up their wash tub. Then, as they had done many times before, they went to the river to get some water, following the trail that Mack had forged earlier. The snow in some places was so high and such a struggle to push through that they had to stop occasionally and catch their breath. When they finally returned, they started the fire, put the tub in place, and filled it with water. The whole time Sarah kept taking sideways glances at Evelyn, who was stooped over on the stump, focused on her stitching. Sarah kept waiting for a look her way, a meeting of the eyes, but Evelyn rarely lifted her head, and that was most often in response to some noise the other jacks were making.
With their tub filled with garments, Sarah and Annie sat on a log, one of them stirring the water now and then with the wooden paddle.
“Were you scared last night?” Annie asked.
“Not really,” Sarah said. “A bit cold more than anything, but I kept the fire going all night.”
“There were a few times I thought the shanty was going to blow down,” Annie said. “I hope I never have to come up here again.”
“Have you told your father?” Sarah asked.
“Now is not the time,” Annie said. “He’d just worry. But when we return home… Do you think you’ll be back next winter?”
Sarah chuckled.
“Most days I barely think I’m going to make it through this winter,” she said. “I have a small calendar and a pencil I use to keep track of the days—how many done, how many ahead. It seems like there’s no end in sight.”
“But we should only have about two months to go, right?” Annie asked, with a touch of desperation in her voice. “It is the end of February.”
“I think we’re at the mercy of nature,” Sarah said.
She dug into her coat pocket and pulled out the two spools of thread and her darning needle. She was anxious to talk to Evelyn. She stirred the clothes in the tub and looked around. Most of the jacks were washing clothes or repairing equipment. Others gathered around the large stump that was used as a barber chair and waited for trims.
“I’ve got to return this thread that I borrowed from Bauer,” she said.
“Sometimes I think you just like to have a reason to talk to him,” Annie said. “I’ve never seen you talk to any of the other jacks.”
“I’ve already told you that I’m perfectly happy w
ith my life back home,” Sarah said rather harshly, hoping to steer Annie away from any thoughts she might be harboring about her and Evelyn.
“Oh, I know,” Annie said, blushing and falling silent.
* * *
Sarah approached Evelyn, clearing her throat when she was beside her. Evelyn looked up, then quickly glanced around at the other jacks before settling her eyes on Sarah.
“You made it through the night,” she said.
“I’m glad you made the trek back to the bunkhouse,” Sarah said. “I was worried. The winds picked up quite a bit after you left.”
“I held tight to that rope, that’s for sure,” Evelyn said.
Sarah sensed some uneasiness coming from Evelyn.
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
“Was questioned by a few of the jacks when I returned last night,” Evelyn said. “Poker Pete thought I had snuck my way to your shed.”
“Oh?” Sarah said.
“Of course I denied it,” Evelyn said. “But it has me a bit worried that some of the jacks are even thinking that we, that you and I…”
“I brought your spool of thread back,” Sarah said meekly.
She felt a distance between them that hadn’t been there before, and she wondered, was it only because some of the jacks had questioned her, or was it… Maybe she had made her feel uncomfortable somehow. Did I touch her in a way I shouldn’t have, she wondered. Evelyn took the spool from her.
“Just in time,” she said. “I’ve got a pile of socks to mend.”
Sarah rested a hand on Evelyn’s shoulder, and Evelyn quickly shrugged it off.
“Not now,” she said, sounding urgent. “We’ve got company.”
Sarah removed her hand just as she heard a horse and wagon crunching over the freshly fallen snow. She turned around and saw Sam. She was instantly overcome with dread.
“Let’s try to meet tonight after dinner,” she said quietly before leaving Evelyn’s side.
“If I can,” Evelyn said curtly.
Sarah felt a bit hurt and slighted by Evelyn, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it, as the jacks had already begun to help Sam unload the supplies from the wagon.
“We weren’t sure you’d make it back,” she heard one of the jacks say to Sam.
“I made it to town and was able to load up on supplies and get the horses to shelter just before the worst of the storm blew in,” Sam said. He sounded quite chipper. “The wagon got stuck once on my way back, but a nearby farmer helped me get it out.”
“You have any time to partake in some creature comforts, Mighty Man?” Poker Pete asked. “Maybe a bit of time with one of the gals from the saloon?”
Some of the jacks laughed.
“I knew that would be your main concern,” Sam replied with good humor as he smacked Poker Pete on the back. “Now, let’s get these goods to the shanty. Where are my flunkies?”
Sarah and Annie had already removed their clothes from the washtub and hung them from a rope they had strung between two trees so they could soak up some fresh air before they took them inside. They emptied the tub, leaned it against a tree, and extinguished the fire. As they finished, Sam approached them, carrying a box. He settled his eyes on Sarah.
“You weathered the storm okay?” he asked.
“Everything’s still standing,” Sarah said.
She felt no joy at seeing him.
“Good enough,” Sam said. “Let’s get these supplies in the pantry. You know where everything goes.”
He entered the shanty ahead of them and slid the box he was carrying under his bunk. Sarah wondered what he had in there—whiskey, perhaps. If nothing else he’s in good spirits, she thought. We’ll see how long that lasts.
She, Annie, Mack, and Sam spent the rest of the afternoon putting away the supplies. Sam remained in a pleasant mood, but Sarah couldn’t help but notice that he missed no opportunity to stretch over her while placing something on a shelf, or brush against her when reaching for something. When everything was in its place, Sam looked about, seeming content. He picked up two water buckets and looked at Sarah.
“Let’s go get some water while Mack and Annie start dinner,” he said.
Sarah was startled. Sam had never fetched the water before, always sure to draw a clear line between which duties belonged to whom. He handed her one of the buckets and led the way outside. An uncomfortable silence ensued as they headed to the river, and when they finally reached it, Sarah stooped on the snowy bank and plunged her bucket into the water. Sam knelt beside her and, before she knew it, he wrapped a firm arm around her waist.
“Don’t want you to slip in,” he said.
He was so close to Sarah that his breath tickled her ear. She abruptly stood, breaking his grasp, but he rose with her, again lassoed her waist with his arm, this time from behind, and she could feel him, hard, butting up against her back. He turned Sarah toward him and moved to kiss her, shoving his tongue into her mouth and sucking her breath out of her. Sarah struggled against him to push away, but his grip was tight. When he finally removed his mouth from hers, Sarah gasped for air. She tried again to push him away.
“Sam, stop!” she said.
“Stop?” he said.
He pulled her in even closer.
“You’re all I thought about when I was gone.”
He forced a brutal kiss on her as he tried to wedge a hand between her legs. With his hand pushing against her, he stopped kissing her.
“Things up here could be so much better,” he said. “For us both. Think about it.”
“Stop,” Sarah said again.
Tears began to fall down her cheeks.
“This is not what I want,” she said adamantly.
Sam removed his hand and released her. He let out a deep laugh.
“You’ll probably come looking for me tonight,” he said. “Give it some thought.”
He turned to Sarah with a smile and pointed to the path.
“You lead, I’ll follow,” he said.
He walked behind her the entire way, whistling some eerie tune. Sarah moved as gingerly as she could through the snow, tears slipping down her face.
* * *
With Sam walking behind her, his eyes on her, Sarah felt mortified and sick. This man, all these men… She couldn’t trust any of them, wanted nothing to do with them, dreamt only of running away from the dismal camp. In that moment, Sam had become the worst of all the jacks, and she had gone from simply disliking him to despising and fearing him. Abigail had been right about him all along. She had known her brother better than she thought. If Sarah would have heeded her warnings, she never would have even considered coming up to this land of isolation. She would have stayed home, in her and Abigail’s house, and found some other means to support herself. What was I thinking?
Her body was wracked with regret. Now that Sam had made his intentions with her clear, she knew that he would be looming over her constantly, always chasing her down, filling her days with trepidation whenever he visited the home she had shared with Abigail. He would ruin all sense of home for her, and that was a future she didn’t look forward to. Her heart sank at the thought of going back to Pine Creek. She didn’t have much choice. She didn’t know how else she would survive. That home, the sewing, was her livelihood. But now… Her chest heaved and she struggled to keep the tears at bay. The joy she had felt, clung to, when she thought about returning home had suddenly dissipated.
* * *
When Evelyn was gathering the clothes she had mended and preparing to return to the bunkhouse, she saw Sam and Sarah heading back from the river with water buckets. Sarah’s head was down.
As she and Sam neared the cook shanty, Poker Pete yelled out. “You got a minute to spare, Sam?”
“I reckon I do,” Sam shouted back and placed his bucket of water in the snow.
Sarah lifted her head briefly and Evelyn eyed her closely. She looked distressed, as if she had been crying. Sarah lowered her head again and disappeared
into the shanty. Evelyn swung her eyes in the other direction and saw Sam and Poker Pete talking, away from the others. Sam slung an arm around Poker Pete’s shoulder and glared directly at Evelyn. His features were taut, and he was flushed. He fisted his hands, still staring at Evelyn, and rushed toward the cook shanty. Evelyn turned to look at Poker Pete, who had a smirk on his face. He pointed a finger at Evelyn, as if to say, you’re in trouble now, and Evelyn knew exactly what he had told Sam. Poker Pete was always trying to stir the pot.
* * *
When she finally reached the cook shanty, Sarah felt a slight wave of relief. She entered without waiting for Sam and poured her bucket of water into the barrel. She looked up and saw Annie watching her. Sarah looked away. Annie put the pots of coffee on the stove and joined Sarah at the counter.
“Are you okay? You look… Have you been crying?”
Sarah couldn’t even look at her. The shanty door creaked open and Sam stepped in and set his bucket of water on the floor. He turned his head toward Sarah and Annie, and a strange grin crawled over his face. He still maintained his seemingly cheerful disposition.
“Smells mighty fine in here,” he said. “It’s good to be back at camp. All the comforts of home. Isn’t that right, Sarah?”
Sarah remained silent and he let out a loud guffaw. Annie looked from Sam to Sarah, waiting for Sam to go back outside before she spoke.
“Did he do something to you? Just now? When you went to fetch the water? Did he…?”
“We’ve got work to do,” Sarah said stiffly.
She walked over to the other side of the shanty, to the hooks where their aprons hung, and she took down and put on her blue apron, her signal to Evelyn. She went to one of the counters, making eye contact with no one, and she grabbed a stack of tin plates and began to set the two long tables. Her only focus was on staying steady, trying to remain strong. Her biggest mistake would be to show any sign of weakness.