by Jane Hoppen
Sarah became more morose as the wagon jolted and rumbled over potholes in the dirt road and focused on the scenery surrounding her. The road from the farm to Pine Creek was a winding one. First, nothing was in sight, and finally a few farm buildings became visible, surrounded by fields waiting to be cultivated, the road flanked with barbed wire fences. Large crows flying overhead, flapping their long black wings, made shadows as they passed by, their hoarse caw-caws breaking the silence. Red-winged blackbirds perched beside potholes that were filled with water from melting snow.
“How do you feel?” Evelyn asked.
“I’m not sure,” Sarah said. “I had never thought about not returning to Pine Creek, even with Abigail gone. It’s the only place I’ve known, the only life I’ve known, besides the orphanage.”
“I know your life there was much different from life on the farm,” Evelyn said. “The farm is quite secluded, less social. Do you think you’ll be…lonely?”
“Not lonely,” Sarah said. “I just… I haven’t really had time to adapt to the idea of life without Abigail. After her death, I was in shock, numb. Then I was rushing to prepare for the camp. Everything has been so…surreal. A part of me feels as if I have walked into a dream, and no matter how much I try, I just can’t wake.”
Evelyn took the reins in one hand and gently placed an arm over Sarah’s shoulder.
“Everything takes time,” she said. “When I saw Will pull up this morning, all I could think of was George. We must both now partake in different kinds of lives, lives we never expected.”
Tears began to trace down Sarah’s face and Evelyn’s heart sank. She began to doubt that life with her and the children on the farm could ever fulfill Sarah or represent a life that she would want to lead.
* * *
When they arrived in town, Sarah straightened in her seat. She felt her chest tighten. Familiar buildings came into view—the small schoolhouse, the blacksmith shop, the mercantile store that she and Abigail had always shopped in, the feed store. Will pulled his wagon over on the side of the road and halted, waiting until Evelyn pulled her wagon up beside his.
“You’ll have to lead the way to the house,” he told Evelyn.
Evelyn looked at Sarah.
“Will do,” she said.
“The house is on the other side of town,” Sarah told Evelyn. “Stay on the main road and I’ll tell you where to turn.”
“Okay,” Evelyn said. “Let’s go, Smokey.”
She took hold of the reins and set the horse into motion. The horse plodded on, and twenty minutes later, with most of the town behind them, Sarah finally spoke.
“Turn down the next road,” she said. She released a jagged breath. “It’s the fourth house on the right.”
“Got it,” Evelyn said, and her stomach flipped.
She was anxious about seeing where Sarah once lived with Abigail. She knew that her life on the farm would greatly pale in comparison. Sarah pointed out the house when it came into view, and Evelyn felt that her worries had been substantiated. It was like one of the many houses she had admired whenever she and George traveled to Maple Grove, much like the home Helen shared with Jess. The house was like a quaint cottage, with two front doors, windows flanked by shutters, and a spindled porch that wrapped around the front. She pulled the wagon up to the house and Will followed. They climbed out of the wagons and stood before the house for a moment.
“You two head in and I’ll tie up the horses and put down some tarps in the wagons,” Will said.
“Are you ready?” Evelyn asked Sarah.
“Yes,” she said. Her voice slightly shook. “I think so.”
Evelyn followed Sarah into the house and scanned the hallway that led to the parlor. Such a different life, she thought. The floors were finished, polished to a glow, and the walls were covered with decorated paper. The parlor held two stuffed chairs, a rocking chair, a brass standing lamp, a writing desk, and a small woodstove. The dining room nearly took Evelyn’s breath away—a cherry-wood cabinet that held pieces of china and glasses, a beautiful round table with four wooden chairs, and a light that hung from the ceiling. The kitchen was twice as big as the one on the farm, and everything in it was shiny and in place, the cupboards and drawers fashioned from unscarred wood. The sink was porcelain, bone white, with no stains or scratches. Beyond the kitchen was the bedroom. Sarah led the way in—lace curtains over the windows, a decorative rug centered on the floor, and a bed that looked like one could melt into it. Everything represented a peace and femininity that was not prevalent on the farm.
Evelyn noticed two photographs hanging over the dresser and went over to look at them. Sarah, she recognized. The other woman must be Abigail, she thought, as she studied the picture closely. The woman was as beautiful as Sarah was. Evelyn felt, again, like a clumsy oaf in comparison.
“Well, this is it,” Sarah said. “This is…was…home.”
She sat on the bed, ran a hand over the flowered quilt, and bent over, cradling her head in her hands. Evelyn sat beside her.
“Are you all right?” she asked. “I thought that once you returned you might change your mind about leaving, despite your reservations.”
Sarah sat up straight and looked at her.
“I could stay in this house only if I could move it,” she said, Her voice quivered. “Trust me, I can’t believe that I have to leave this, that I’m losing this because of Sam.”
Her eyes began to swell with tears, and Evelyn placed an arm around her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry. If there was anything else I could do…”
Sarah held back her tears.
“You’ve already done more than enough,” she said. “My life here would have never been the same again anyway without Abigail. Maybe it’s time for a change. I can’t forever lament over what I no longer have.”
“Things take time,” Evelyn said. “This is a rather monumental change. You’ve got reason for lamenting.”
Having seen the living that Sarah was accustomed to, Evelyn began to doubt her decision to take her to the farm, but she had no idea what else she could have done.
“Let’s get some things together,” Sarah finally said. Resilience crept into her voice. “I know Will doesn’t have all day to tarry around here. First things first—clothing.”
She went to a trunk on the other side of the room and opened it.
“Much of what I need is in here,” she said. “The rest is in the closet. I’ll try to find my most practical pieces.”
“Bring what you are used to wearing,” Evelyn said. “There’s no need for you to change every aspect of your life. What about furniture, or trinkets? I’m sure you must treasure many of the things here.”
“I hadn’t planned on… The farmhouse doesn’t have much free space.”
“What we can’t find a place for in the house we can store in the barn,” Evelyn said. “I want you to bring as much of your life with you as you can. I want my home to feel like your home, too, for as long as you’re there.”
“I’ll go through the clothing,” Sarah said. “You could see what we might need from the kitchen. Baking is my forte, so we should take my baking pans and utensils, and there might be a few pots or pans that we can use. Also, I know you like to read, so you should go through the bookcase and pick out some books.”
“All right,” Evelyn said.
She left the room and went to the kitchen. She heard the front door swing open.
“I’m in the back, Will,” she called out.
He entered the room, balancing empty wooden crates in his arms.
“There are more crates on the porch if you need them,” he said. He set them down and shifted from foot to foot, looking about. “I think I’ll ride into town while you two sort through things here. I reckon it’ll be hard on her, leaving this place. I’ll be back in a few hours to help load up the heavy stuff.”
“Thanks, Will,” Evelyn said.
She knew he wanted to avoid a
ny emotional outbursts that might ensue. Evelyn continued to go through cupboards and drawers. She felt strange, rummaging through Sarah’s and Abigail’s belongings, and a wave of empathy overtook her. Compared to this house, the standard that Sarah was accustomed to, everything on the farm was so rustic, raw and unfinished. That is my norm, Evelyn thought, as she placed items that Sarah might need for baking on the table, along with a few other assorted pieces of cookware. When she finished she returned to the bedroom, where she found Sarah folding a few last pieces of clothing and placing them in a trunk.
“Can I help with anything?” Evelyn asked.
“Those blankets and quilts can go in a crate,” Sarah said. “I’ve no doubt we can use them on the farm. All the clothes I need are in the trunk.”
“What else do you want to take?” Evelyn asked. “What about furniture?”
“I don’t really want much,” Sarah said. “We could take the chairs from the parlor, and I’d like to take the rocker. It’s my favorite reading chair. I already put a few keepsakes in the trunk. Just some…memories. I packed my old checkerboard, too, so I can teach the children how to play. It was the one game I took with me when I was sent to the orphanage.”
“You’ve had to leave so much behind,” Evelyn said.
Silence descended over the room like a shadow, Sarah slowly, sorrowfully, accepting that she had, again, been delivered to a life of transience.
* * *
When Will returned, they had already moved the filled crates onto the porch, as well as the chairs and rocker from the parlor. Will helped them move the dining room table and accompanying chairs, which they had finally decided would make a fine addition to the farmhouse. They tied everything down and climbed into the wagons, and as they started to make their way down the street, out of town, Sarah took one last glance back, and then turned to find Evelyn looking at her pensively.
“Everything will be fine,” Sarah told her. “I’m ready to begin again. We need to make one last stop in town so I can withdraw the money Abigail and I have in the bank. Otherwise, it’ll end up in Sam’s hands.”
“All right,” Evelyn said. “In the meantime, I’ll pick up some treats for the children.”
By the time they made it back to the farm and unloaded the crates and the furniture, the purplish bruising of dusk filled the sky. Will left with Helen and Jess to return them to town and then head back to his farm. Inside, Evelyn, Sarah, and the children gathered around the table for the dinner that Helen and Jess had prepared, and Evelyn opened a bottle of dandelion wine that she had made the summer before. She poured her and Sarah a glass, and then raised her glass in the air.
“A toast,” she said to the children and Sarah. “Now that it’s official, let’s welcome Sarah home.”
The children, even Peter, raised their cups of milk, and they sang out in unison, “Welcome home, Sarah.”
Sarah didn’t yet feel the home as hers, but she felt embraced in the moment.
That night when Evelyn went upstairs, Sarah was still awake, reading. Evelyn drew the curtain across the room and got ready for bed. She dimmed the kerosene lamp until darkness filtered into the room.
“You must think me so weak,” Sarah said.
She put down her book.
“Why would you say that?” Evelyn asked.
“You don’t think me dependent, unable to forge my own way?” Sarah said. “First, Abigail took me in, and now you. I’ve never really been on my own.”
“Neither have I,” Evelyn said. “George and I married only a few months after my father passed away. We all find our own way to manage our lives, to survive. Sometimes it seems as if a path is already laid out before us. I don’t fault anyone for the path that he or she takes, except maybe a few of those stinky jacks!”
Sarah laughed.
“Good night, Evelyn,” she said.
“Good night,” said Evelyn.
Her last thought was that everything was as it should be.
Chapter Eleven
The last weeks of March slowly eked by, and the weather shifted from winter to spring in bursts. Evelyn and Sarah found their rhythm running the farm together and caring for the children. Sarah took over the bulk of the cooking and baking, and Evelyn oversaw the livestock and the constant maintenance of the barn and the house. Something always needed to be done—a fence to repair, a loose board to nail down, supplies to replenish. In the mornings, the focus was on the animals, and the remaining chores consumed the afternoons. Evenings were the time when they all settled in together. When dinner was over they often huddled in the sitting room, where Evelyn and Sarah mended clothes or read to the children. Some nights, with the children finally in bed, Evelyn and Sarah would sit on the porch and watch as the stars dotted the sky with sprinkles of blinking light.
The days were long ones for the children, as they anxiously waited for the full-fledged days of spring and summer to arrive with more time to play outside, go fishing, romp through the surrounding woods, or swim in the river and pond. Evelyn and Sarah sat outside one night after a day of intermittent rain.
The boys had argued with each other over every little thing all day. At one point, Peter had attempted to fix a fishing pole with its line tangled in the reel. Karl had been playing with the various flies and dropped one through a crack in the wooden floor. Peter had exploded.
“See what you did, Karl? It’s gone now. That was one of Pa’s favorites.”
He had stomped out of the room as Karl began to cry. Remembering the scene, Evelyn glanced at Sarah.
“I’m sorry about the boys’ behavior today,” she said.
“It’s to be expected,” Sarah said. “They’ve been cooped up inside all winter.”
“Do they overwhelm you?”
“The children?” Sarah said. “Goodness, no. They’re good children. They bring life to the house.”
“I just wondered,” Evelyn said. “You’re not used to having children around.”
“No,” Sarah said. “I do enjoy them, though. When I was with Abigail, I visited the orphanage that I grew up in every weekend to take the children clothing or go with them on outings.”
“You did?” Evelyn said. “That was kind.”
“They say one should never forget where he or she comes from,” Sarah said. “Those children need all the love they can get, and the staff is always short on help.”
“My children seem to be settling in with you,” Evelyn said.
“Well, I’ve still got my work cut out for me in regard to Peter,” Sarah said.
“He’ll come around,” Evelyn told her. “He’s already letting down his guard.”
“I know,” Sarah said. “I’m in no rush.”
She knew the children needed time to adapt. But she felt differently when it came to Evelyn. No part of Sarah could envision a life without intimacy, passion, and she wondered if Evelyn would ever realize that, or feel the same way.
“What was your life like with George?” she asked.
“Pretty much like it is now, except I’ll be working the fields this season,” Evelyn said. “Other than that, the routine is the same. As you know by now, farming doesn’t leave much room for variation.”
“What was George like?”
Evelyn sat quietly for a moment, thinking.
“He was a kind, gentle man,” she said. “The farm meant everything to him, and he loved the children. He never laid a hand on me or them.”
“I’m glad you weren’t with a brute,” Sarah said.
“I never would have wanted children if I had been with a bad man,” Evelyn said. “I got the luck of the draw.”
“Was he handsome?” Sarah asked.
She had never seen even a picture of George. Evelyn sat quietly, pondering the question.
“He had his attractive qualities,” she finally said. “Not that it really mattered. Our physical interactions were more about the means to an end than any attraction to each other. We both wanted children.”
“I see,” Sarah said.
She looked at Evelyn. I guess you can’t miss what you never had, she thought. Her relationship with Abigail had been so different, their intimacy fueled by desire.
* * *
The next morning, just as their breakfast was coming to an end, Evelyn heard some noise outside and went to the window.
“We have company,” she said.
She watched as a wagon with two men pulled up near the house.
“Keep the children inside while I see who it is,” she told Sarah.
As she stepped outside and approached the wagon, she recognized one of the passengers—Henry Jankowski. Forgetting that he had known her only as George, she addressed him.
“Henry,” she said.
“Yes,” Henry said.
A puzzled look crossed over his face as he crawled down from the wagon. He looked at Evelyn with no sign of recognition.
“I reckon you’ve come for your horse,” Evelyn said.
Henry scratched his head and peered at her. Evelyn stepped closer to him.
“I’m Evelyn,” she said. “At the camp I was George…George Bauer.”
“You were George?” Henry said. “What do you mean?”
“When I was at the camp I was disguised as my husband, George,” Evelyn said. “He had passed away last autumn, and that was the only way they would let me work at the camp.”
Henry looked at her closely. Her hair had grown, and she had the physical attributes of a woman.
“Well, I’ll be,” he said. He sounded unconvinced. “I never would’ve guessed.”
The front door creaked opened and Sarah stepped out.
“You remember Sarah, one of the flunkies, don’t you?” Evelyn asked.
“Her I recognize,” Henry said. “Sam was mad as a bull when he finally came to after the fight, said he’d spend the rest of his days tracking down both of you. He was like a rabid dog. He almost took off Johnny’s head for letting you go. The other jacks, except for Poker Pete and his pals, sided with Johnny, though, so Sam backed down.”