by Jane Hoppen
* * *
When she entered the cook shanty that evening, Evelyn was not surprised to see Sarah wearing her blue apron. Earlier in the day, she had seemed so distraught that Evelyn had sensed that something had gone awry. Sarah moved around the tables pouring coffee, and Evelyn found a free seat next to Henry. They nodded to each other and held up their cups simultaneously. Sarah avoided their table, and Annie soon served them, the hot coffee steaming in the brisk shanty air. Evelyn looked about the shanty until she spotted Sam staring directly at her. She settled her eyes on him. She had a feeling he hadn’t taken his eyes off her since she entered the room, and she felt a knot in her stomach and sensed that unavoidable trouble lay ahead.
Later that night, about an hour before lights out, Evelyn hesitated, then took out her pipe and tobacco and pulled on her coat and hat. When she reached the door, Poker Pete’s voice rang out.
“Careful out there, Bauer,” he said. “You never know what might be lurking in those woods.”
Evelyn ignored him and continued out the door. As soon as she reached the trees, she heard the door to Sarah’s shed creak open and then close. She heard footsteps crunching through the snow, and when she finished packing her pipe and looked up, her eyes met Sarah’s.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
Sarah leaned against her. She was trembling.
“Sam tried to force himself on me,” she said. “Down by the river.”
Evelyn grabbed her hand.
“You need to talk to Johnny,” she said. “He’s the only one who will be able to do something.”
“He won’t do anything,” Sarah said. “His hands are tied. Without Sam, the camp closes down.”
“Well, I think Sam suspects there is something going on between us,” Evelyn said. “I saw Poker Pete pull him aside and tell him something that seemed to put him in a rather foul mood. We need to distance ourselves or you won’t be safe. Try to stick close to Mack and Annie.”
Sarah began to cry, and she quickly wiped the tears from her face.
“I’m not going to make it up here,” she said.
“We’ll figure something out,” Evelyn said. “You don’t have that much time left here. Stay strong.”
Sarah began to walk away, and Evelyn reached out and took her hand.
“I will,” Sarah said. “I’ll try.”
Evelyn returned to a bunkhouse of thunderous snoring and incoherent groans. She lay down, but all she could think about was Sarah. She knew that the longer she had to be around Sam, the less safe she would be. Evelyn didn’t know what she could do to help her, and she felt helpless and frustrated. She stared into the darkness that surrounded her. Only a slight flicker of light escaped from the woodstove, and she felt that same darkness settle in her—a heavy, oozing feeling. She was homesick—aching for both the children and her daily life on the farm. She was weary from her masquerade and the harshness of the male energy that pervaded the lumber camp. Evelyn reached into her pack and fingered the calendar. Those pages held her only hope. On one of those future days, she would be heading home, back to the world that was familiar to her. She wondered about Sarah, having to return home with Sam so nearby. What will her future be now? Even at the camp, with so many people around, Sarah’s predicament, her proximity to Sam, worried Evelyn a bit more every day.
Chapter Nine
Evelyn had begun to feel a slight rush of excitement knowing the days remaining at the camp were numbered. Within a month, if all went well, she would be back on the farm, with the children. One morning, in the second week of March, she woke to what sounded like rain, a constant pitter-patter, and she smiled—the first thaw. That was the true indicator of winter drawing to an end. The sound of the triangle rang out, and as the men pulled on their outer layers, they were boisterous, light-hearted almost, sensing the end of the season.
When Evelyn stepped outside to head to the cook shanty, she looked about the camp. Icicles were dripping and chunks of snow were sliding off tree limbs. She entered the shanty with a sense of joy, but when her eyes settled on Sarah, the feeling quickly fled as she was reminded of Sarah’s new predicament. She couldn’t help but wonder what was going through her mind and how she now saw her future.
As soon as the men finished eating and began to gather their tools, Johnny Jones called them all together.
“The first thaw is setting in, which means that this season’s chopping is done,” he said. “Every jack’s job now is to load the logs on the sleds, get them to the riverbank, and stamp them. They all need to be moved before the ice melts and the roads turn to slush. We don’t know how much time we’ll have, so every minute counts.”
An excited murmuring traveled through the crowd of men, and they gathered up the chains and skidding tongs that they would need to move the logs. Whiskey Jack sidled up to Evelyn with a chain in hand and gave her a pair of tongs.
“There’s a touch of spring in the air today, George,” he said. “You feel it?”
“Felt it the moment I woke,” Evelyn said. “Couldn’t come soon enough, if you ask me.”
“You ready to head back to that farm of yours?” Whiskey Jack asked.
“Been ready since the day I left,” Evelyn replied.
She had been sensing a change in the weather, a slight quiver of warmth in the winds. The days were growing longer, with the sun climbing over the tree line earlier and sinking a bit later each night. All Evelyn could do was speculate as to when she might be able to leave the camp and head home.
* * *
After the harsh days of February, the windblown days that ushered in March offered some relief, a slight touch of spring pushing in and winter edging out. Sarah had become more and more depressed, worrying about her daily interactions with Sam, being constantly on guard, and despairing over her future once her days at the camp came to an end. She felt lost. She felt completely unprepared for life, unanchored in regard to any kind of future. She knew that Evelyn would be returning to the farm and her children. They had spoken only sparingly since the altercation with Sam, and their talks were quick snippets of conversation, making Sarah feel even more alone. Evelyn would leave the camp without ever knowing that Sarah had grown to have feelings for her.
The atmosphere in the camp lightened with the shift in the weather. As much as Sarah despaired over her future, even she felt a wave of relief, until one night in late March. As Sarah prepared for bed that night, she could hear Sam outside her shed. She sat on the edge of her bed and listened as she brushed her hair to remove any lice. She thought she heard him mumbling to himself as he padded back and forth near her door.
At one point he stumbled against the building. He’s drinking, she thought, and as she rose from her cot to wedge the chair under the doorknob, Sam crashed through the door, knocking her to the floor. Startled, Sarah quickly got up with the goal of escaping the shed. Sam lurched toward her, trying to grab her. He latched onto her dress, drew back an arm, and landed a solid slap on Sarah’s cheek. She reeled back, stunned by the pain, and tried for the door again, pushing Sam off balance. In his drunkenness, he fell to the floor. She reached the door and Sam caught hold of her dress again. She heard the material tear and felt a moment of relief as Sam lost his grip.
She made it out of the shed and ran toward the cook shanty. As soon as she reached it, she grabbed the beater and struck the triangle, again and again, hoping someone would hear it—Mack or one of the teamsters. Sam was on her before she knew it, and he grabbed a handful of her hair and began to drag her toward the woods. Petrified at the thought of what would happen if he succeeded, Sarah started to scream and tried to fight him off. With his free hand, Sam slapped her hard again, still dragging her. He pinned her against a tree with one arm. She could smell the liquor on his breath. Sam began to undo his belt. Sarah tried to push him off her, and she screamed again, tears streaming down her face.
* * *
The days in the woods had grown longer and no less strenuous with the moving of the logs, and all
the jacks, including Evelyn, edged sheer exhaustion. Evelyn’s sleep became even more disturbed than usual, her thoughts constantly on the farm and all the tasks that would need to be accomplished when she returned to ensure a good crop that year. Her pulse quickened when she thought of seeing her children again. She wondered how much they had grown. Peter and Karl were probably a good bit taller than when she left, and Louise was probably talking up a storm.
With sleep evading her, she lay buried beneath her covers. She thought about stepping out for a smoke, thinking it might settle her down. She heard something outside, faintly rising over the sounds of the snoring jacks. She sat up and listened. The cook shanty triangle was ringing. Evelyn reached into her rucksack and pulled out her pocket watch, then lit a match—two o’clock, too early for breakfast. She heard the sound again, then some other noise—a voice, faint screaming. Someone’s in trouble, she thought. She gently shook Whiskey Jack until he woke.
“What the hell, George?” he grumbled.
“Something’s wrong,” Evelyn said. “Someone’s ringing the triangle, and it’s too early for chow time.”
Whiskey Jack climbed off the bunk, grabbing his coat and boots.
“I’ll go with you,” he said.
Evelyn led the way past the slumbering jacks and pushed open the bunkhouse door. She and Whiskey Jack let their eyes adjust to the darkness and turned toward the noise. The voice was Sarah’s. Then another voice—Sam’s. Evelyn immediately knew what was happening. She grabbed Whiskey Jack’s coat sleeve.
“Sam’s attacking the flunky,” she said.
She broke into a run.
Sarah and Sam were about fifty feet from the cook shanty. As Evelyn neared them, she could see that Sarah’s dress was torn. Sam had her pinned against a tree with one arm and was using his other hand to try to lower his pants.
Evelyn yelled, “Stop, Sam! Stop now!”
Whiskey Jack rushed Sam, trying to throw him off balance, but Sam reeled around and caught him with a swift right hook. Sarah broke free of Sam’s grip and stepped back. Sam lunged toward her, trying to grab her again, and Evelyn quickly glanced about and picked up a good-sized branch off the ground. She approached Sam from behind and swung the branch with all her strength. The crack that followed when the branch connected with Sam’s head resounded through the woods, and Sam toppled backward. A pool of blood spread out about him, soaking into the snow. For a moment, Whiskey Jack, Evelyn, and Sarah stared at him silently. Whiskey Jack reached down to check for a pulse, and Evelyn took off her coat and draped it over Sarah. Sarah’s cheek was swollen and her left eye was nearly shut, the skin below already blooming into black and blue.
“Are you okay?” Evelyn asked. “Did he…?”
“No, but he would have,” Sarah sobbed. “He cornered me in the shed. I barely made it out…”
She crumpled to the ground in defeat, and Evelyn bent over her, not knowing what to say.
“He’s still alive,” Whiskey Jack said.
The door to the teamsters’ shed opened and Johnny Jones stepped out.
“What the hell’s going on out here?” he asked as he pulled on his coat.
He then saw Sam on the ground, surrounded by blood. He looked at them.
“He attacked me,” Sarah said. “I was barely able to escape out here and ring the triangle. They were only trying to help me.”
“Who took him down?” Johnny asked.
“I did,” Evelyn said without hesitation. “He wouldn’t let her go.”
“You’re going to have to leave, George, get out of the camp,” Johnny said. “Tonight.”
“Leave?” Evelyn said. “You want me to leave tonight?”
Johnny nodded.
“When he finally comes to and recovers, you’re a dead man. And who knows what the other jacks might do before then. Poker Pete’s bound to rile some of them up.”
“But what about…”
Evelyn gestured toward Sarah.
“You’ll have to take her with you, make sure she gets home,” Johnny said. “She can’t stay here. She won’t be safe.”
“But how…?”
“Go get Jankowski,” Johnny said. “You’re going to have to take his horse if he’ll let you. It’s either that or walk.”
“I can’t leave without my wages,” Evelyn said. “My farm will go under without that money.”
Johnny hesitated for a moment. He looked down at Sam and then nodded.
“I’ll draw up a check,” he said. “You and Whiskey Jack need to move him into the shanty. Get him out of sight.”
Shaking his head, he returned to the teamsters’ shed. Whiskey Jack grabbed Sam beneath the armpits, and Evelyn hoisted up his legs. When they reached the shanty, Sarah, still sobbing, opened the door, and they dragged Sam inside. Evelyn looked at Sarah and took her gently by the shoulders to try to calm her.
“Pack your bag quickly and put on your warmest clothes,” she said. “We’ll meet you at the teamsters’ shed.”
Sarah nodded but glanced at Sam with apprehension.
“He’s out cold,” Whiskey Jack assured her. “I’ll get Mack to tend to him once you’re gone.”
Sarah nodded again and turned to the shed to gather her belongings.
“Let’s go get Henry,” Whiskey Jack said to Evelyn.
“Meet us as soon as you can,” Evelyn hollered to Sarah.
She and Whiskey Jack headed out of the shanty and toward the bunkhouse.
“I’ll wake Henry while you grab your stuff,” Whiskey Jack said.
They entered the bunkhouse quietly. Evelyn went to her cot to grab her belongings. She could feel her heart palpitating, and she felt a mix of emotions—anger, panic, elation. Things had not gone as planned, but she was heading home. Whiskey Jack woke Henry and told him he was needed outside. In a sleepy daze, Henry grabbed his coat, pulled on his boots, and followed Whiskey Jack and Evelyn out of the bunkhouse.
“I have to leave the camp tonight, and I’m going to need your horse to do it,” Evelyn said. “I have to take the flunky with me. Sam attacked her tonight. There’s been a bad fight.”
“I’ll ready the horse,” Henry said. “I’ll hitch a way back with one of the other jacks when we’re done for the season, and I’ll come get the horse after I return home.”
“Thanks, Henry,” Evelyn said.
“It’s nothing, George,” Henry said. “I owe you.”
Evelyn and Whiskey Jack followed Henry to the teamsters’ shed, where Sarah was already waiting, her satchel of belongings in hand. Evelyn and Whiskey Jack waited with her without speaking, and Henry finally emerged with his horse. Johnny Jones also joined them and handed Evelyn her check.
“You did good work, Bauer,” he said. “Never caused any trouble. I know all about Sam and his ways, and I can’t hold this against you.”
“Thanks, Johnny,” Evelyn said.
“You’ll have to keep an eye out when you get home, though,” Johnny said. “He’ll come looking for you when he can.”
“Sam has your wages,” he said to Sarah. “There’s nothing I can do.”
Sarah, still crying, said nothing. Whiskey Jack extended a hand to George.
“This is it, George,” he said.
Evelyn reached out and gave it a firm shake.
“It’s been a pleasure, Whiskey,” she said. “Help her up after I get on.”
Evelyn fastened her pack and ax and Sarah’s satchel to the back of the horse’s saddle and climbed up on the horse, grabbing the reins. Whiskey Jack boosted Sarah up behind her, and Sarah wrapped her arms tightly around Evelyn’s waist. Evelyn could feel her trembling, and she knew she was weeping again. The best thing she could do was get them to the farm.
“Safe travels, George,” Whiskey Jack said.
Evelyn gently yanked on the reins and the horse slowly began to plod through the snow.
* * *
When Evelyn and Sarah were about an hour away from the camp, the moon dimly lighting the trail, Evelyn st
opped the horse.
“Are you all right, Sarah?” she asked.
“I don’t know what I’ll do, where I’ll go now,” Sarah said. “I feel as if my life has been destroyed in one single moment. I must now call everything that I once knew into question.”
Before heading to the camp, Sarah had assumed that she would return to Pine Creek, but Sam’s brutal attack had undoubtedly changed her future. She wouldn’t have any level of comfort or security at home, and she felt abandoned, strangely orphaned—again.
“I’m so sorry this has happened,” Evelyn said. “I’m taking you with me to the farm. You can stay there until you decide what you want to do, where you want to go. I can always use an extra set of hands, especially now, with George gone. You might decide that you can stay in your home after all, but if not, my brother-in-law will take you there at some point so you can pick up some of your belongings.”
As the horse plodded on, Sarah sat behind Evelyn, stunned—by Sam’s brutal attack, by the blur that had become her life. Before the camp, before Abigail’s death, her life had a clear direction. She questioned nothing. Now everything that had been securely in place had unraveled, vanished before her eyes. She felt physically ill, nauseated by her prospects, the bleak path ahead.
* * *
As the sun began to descend, with the moon slowly climbing into the sky, they finally reached the farm. Evelyn pulled the horse to a halt as soon as it was in sight.
“There it is,” she said to Sarah.
Sarah leaned over to look past Evelyn, her eyes settling on the farm. The house was small, but the lights faintly flickering in the windows looked welcoming. The barn seemed to be sagging to one side and was flanked by a silo. A few other small structures stood beyond them. Behind the farm was a wooded area, thick with trees. Evelyn nudged the horse again, and they headed to the house. When they arrived, Evelyn helped Sarah down from the horse, removed their gear, and tied the horse to one of the porch railings. The door to the house opened and a woman stuck out her head.