by Jane Hoppen
“I should have kept an eye on Karl, checked on him at some point,” Sarah said.
“Can’t be in two places at one time,” Evelyn told her. “The important thing is that he’s all right. The day could have taken a dreadful turn.”
Their eyes locked, and Sarah yearned to lean over and softly place her lips on Evelyn’s, but she was frozen in place. Eventually, she told Evelyn good night and retreated to the house.
Damn it. At some point I must be able to cross this bridge, tell her how I feel.
* * *
Two weeks later, after the fields had finally been plowed, torrential rains began to fall. The children busied themselves in the barn and in the house, and Evelyn and Sarah focused on various tasks—sorting through the root cellar and pantry, doing some minor household repairs, and cleaning away the dust and grime that had gathered over the winter. On the third day of rain, Evelyn traveled into town for supplies, and Sarah stayed with the children, trying her best to keep them occupied. They were growing more restless with each passing day. She put Louise down for her nap and returned downstairs to find Peter and Karl playing a game of cards on the kitchen table.
“Come on, boys,” she said as she took bowls and baking sheets out of the cupboard. “You can help me bake while we wait for the rain to stop.”
Peter reared up. “Baking is for girls,” he said.
Sarah chuckled.
“That’s nonsense, especially in this house,” she said. “You know how it goes here. Everyone pitches in.”
“That’s right,” Karl said. “And after this chore, we at least get a reward.”
Sarah looked at Peter. Karl had bonded with her since the incident at the pond, but Peter continued to resist, though less adamantly than before.
“What do you say?”
He shrugged.
“I guess, but only until the rain stops. I’ve got fishing to do,” he said.
He glanced out the window, the rain still streaming down.
“What are we going to make?” Karl asked.
“We’re going to roll out some sweetened dough and make fruit pastries,” Sarah said. “I’ll show you.”
She sprinkled flour on a wooden board and spread it about. She then took a ball of dough and began to flatten it with a rolling pin.
“Peter, can you get the pot that’s simmering on the stove?” she asked.
“Okay,” Peter said.
When he returned with the pot, Sarah took it from him and stirred it.
“What’s that?” Karl asked.
“This is our filling,” Sarah said. “It’s just some stewed apples with a bit of sugar and cinnamon.”
“It smells good,” Peter said.
“Tastes even better,” said Sarah. “Now the fun part begins.”
She cut the flattened dough into small squares and gave each boy a spoon.
“Put a generous dab of stewed apples in the center of a square, cover it with another square, and pinch the four corners together like this,” she said. “Then brush each one with butter and sprinkle it with sugar. Once we have a sheet full, they’ll go in the stove until they’re golden brown.”
She showed them how to do the first one, and they followed suit, filling the baking sheet in no time. Sarah placed the sheet in the stove’s potbelly and poured glasses of lemonade for the boys.
“They’ll take about twenty minutes or so,” she said.
They sat at the table and watched the rain fall. The water traced down the windows, and the sound resounded off the roof.
“It’s coming down pretty steady,” Peter said. “Bad for fishing, but good for the crops.”
“And the garden,” Sarah added.
“Did you have a garden at your house?” Karl asked.
“Yes, but it wasn’t nearly as big as this one, and I grew mostly flowers,” Sarah said.
“Why can’t you go back?” Karl asked.
“My friend who I lived with passed away, like your father,” Sarah said. “The house was hers.”
“Why don’t you go back to your ma and pa?” Karl asked.
“I don’t have parents anymore,” Sarah said. “They’ve both been dead since I was little. I grew up in an orphanage.”
“You did?” asked Peter, sinking in his seat. “Didn’t you have anywhere else to go? Didn’t anyone else want you?”
“I didn’t have any other family,” Sarah said. “I don’t have any aunts or uncles. Not like your Aunt Helen and Uncle Will.”
“Then you need a home,” Karl said emphatically.
“I do,” said Sarah.
Peter nodded in agreement. Sarah checked on the pastries, then removed them from the stove and placed them on a platter.
“You boys can fill up the baking sheet again, and I’ll go check on Louise before I go down to the root cellar and gather some things for dinner,” she said.
“Okay,” Peter and Karl said.
As Sarah headed up the stairs, she paused on the steps for a moment and glanced at the boys, focused on their pastries. They were good children, and they were definitely growing on her. They were, after all, Evelyn’s.
* * *
When Evelyn returned from town, the rain had just begun to lighten up, and the boys ran out to greet her and help her unload the provisions from the back of the wagon. They entered the house with crates of goods and wiped their feet on the mat near the door. Evelyn took a deep breath.
“Smells mighty good in here,” she said.
“We helped Sarah bake,” Karl said. “We made pastries.”
“Is that so?” Evelyn said. She glanced at Peter.
“That’s right,” Peter said, almost proudly. “Sarah taught us.”
Evelyn had noted a slight shift in his disposition since the day Sarah rescued Karl. She looked at Sarah, who smiled and turned away. Evelyn had watched Sarah’s relationship with her children evolve since the day she had arrived on the farm with her. Peter had been rather territorial when it came to the farm, not sure about having a stranger around, and he was less than pleased with Sarah’s presence, though he had recently begun to warm up to her a bit. Louise had taken a liking to her nearly right away, which hadn’t surprised her. Sarah was warm and affectionate, when she thought it was welcome, and Louise was a little girl who loved to cuddle and snuggle. Karl was becoming attached to her, too, their friendship sealed when she pulled him out of the pond. He loved when Sarah read to them, and when she joined him in churning the butter. That was his time. It makes him feel special, Evelyn thought. They were slowly becoming a cohesive unit, and together Evelyn knew that she, Sarah, and the children could keep the farm going. That gave her hope, but the same doubt constantly nagged her. Is Sarah truly happy on the farm? Would she want to stay?
* * *
Two days later, the clouds finally parted and the glaring sun pulsed through. Business on the farm went back to usual. Evelyn and Peter continued with the plowing, while Sarah, Karl, and Louise worked in the garden and tended to the chores in the barn and the house. Evelyn and Peter returned from the fields early one afternoon so Evelyn could fix a loose horseshoe on Red. Evelyn led the horse to the barn, and Peter went into the house to join Karl and Louise, who were peeling potatoes for the evening meal. Sarah had already taken the washtub outside and filled it with water and was doing the laundry, vigorously rubbing each piece of clothing over the washboard.
As she was hanging the clothes up to dry, she heard the faraway whinnying of a horse and looked to see someone heading down the road, toward the farm—a big man with short-cropped hair. He wasn’t anyone Sarah knew, and thinking it was someone coming to see Evelyn, perhaps someone to help her with the horse, she turned her attention back to the laundry. When she reached down to take the last piece of clothing out of the basket, she glanced down the road again. This time the person on the horse was close enough to identify, and Sarah’s heart nearly stopped—Sam. He had cut his long hair and looked like a different man. Her chest tightened. Before she could move or call out for
help, Sam reined in his horse, stopping about twenty feet from her. He removed his rifle from the carrier on the side of the saddle.
“So this is where you ran off to,” he said gruffly, cradling the rifle in his arms. “To lay your head next to that farmer’s.”
Sarah stiffened.
“Things aren’t as they appear, Sam,” she said.
“They seem mighty clear to me,” Sam said.
* * *
In the barn, Evelyn picked up Red’s hoof with the loose horseshoe and rested it on her thigh. She picked up a pair of nippers and began to clip the clinches where they were bent on the outside of the hoof wall. Then, realizing that she might need Peter’s help to pull off the shoe, she put down the nippers. As she was about to head out of the barn, she heard voices, Sarah speaking to someone, and she looked out the partially opened door. She saw it was Sam. I knew he’d show up. I guess today’s the day. She quickly stepped back into the barn and took down a rifle from the rack hanging on the wall. She took a deep breath and stepped out of the barn, into the sunlight.
“Where can I find that farmer of yours?” Sam asked Sarah. “I’ve got a bone to pick with him, if you recall. Bauer’s a fool if he thought I would forget what he did. Took me a week to recover from that blow to the head.”
“He’s not here,” Sarah said. “He’s never been here. You don’t understand…”
Sam got off his horse and stood before her, the rifle still in his arms. Evelyn hurried toward him and Sarah, and when she was close enough to see Sam clearly, she slowed her pace and raised her rifle.
“Oh, I think I understand,” Sam said.
He edged in toward Sarah.
“I’d stop right there if I was you,” Evelyn said, her voice slightly quivering.
Sam looked at her and stopped moving.
“I’ve got a right to be here,” he said. “I’m looking for a man named Bauer—George Bauer. When I find him, I’ll leave.”
“There’s no George here anymore,” Evelyn said. “It’s just me, her, and my kids. George passed away last fall, near the end of the harvest season.”
Sam trained his eyes on Evelyn. She took a deep breath, wondering when he would finally notice her, but he showed no sign of recognition. He obviously could not stretch his imagination far enough to envision her as the man he had known as George Bauer. She had her hair down and was wearing a blouse with her trousers.
“That right,” Sam said, his words carrying his disbelief. “We had a man named Bauer came to work at the logging camp this last winter. He said he had a farm in these parts, and I’ve got some business to settle with him. Is there another George Bauer nearby?”
Sam’s eyes darted back and forth, from Evelyn to Sarah. Evelyn could tell by the look on his face that he was becoming irritated.
“You don’t understand,” she said. “There was no George at the camp, no real George. I was George.”
“What are you talking about?” Sam asked.
He took another step toward Sarah, and Evelyn focused her rifle on him.
“George was my husband,” she said. “He died late last September. The farm hadn’t been doing well, and I needed the money. I went to the camp disguised as George. That was the only way I could get the work I needed. I was George.”
Sam stared at Evelyn, his eyebrows knitting together.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
His eyes settled on her chest.
“I cut my hair and bound my breasts so I could pass as a man,” Evelyn said. “My name is Evelyn—Evelyn Bauer. George is buried in the back, behind the house.”
Sam looked at Sarah.
“She’s telling you the truth,” Sarah said. “I didn’t discover that she was really a woman until we had been at the camp for a couple of months. I found out by accident.”
For a moment, they stood in silence, and then Sam glared at Evelyn.
“So you’re the one who…?”
He rubbed his hand over his head and shifted his feet.
“You didn’t leave me much choice,” Evelyn said.
“You could have stuck to your own business,” Sam snarled.
“That never entered my mind,” Evelyn said.
She stepped closer to Sam and raised her rifle a bit higher. She feared he wouldn’t back down. She then saw him move his gaze to something, and she quickly glanced back. Peter wasn’t far behind her, his rifle trained on Sam, also. Sam was outgunned.
“You’ll always be outnumbered here,” Evelyn said. “If it’s not me and one of my boys, it’ll be me and my brother-in-law. My sister’s a damn good shot, too.”
There was silence again, and then Sam focused on Sarah as he lowered his rifle a bit.
“Abigail always did say that liquor got the best of me,” he said. “She said it could turn any man into a devil. It was never my intention to…”
Sarah didn’t look away from Sam. She stared at him without fear, unwavering.
“You tried to rape me,” she said.
Sam dropped his head, loosened his grip on his rifle, and finally lowered it to his side.
“I don’t even remember that night,” he said. “I didn’t…I reckon I was a bit out of my mind.”
He stopped talking. His face looked blank, and he shifted his feet again.
“I haven’t done anything to the house,” he said to Sarah. “I wasn’t really sure where you had gone. If you want to return there, you’ll have no problems from me.”
Evelyn looked at Sarah. Does she want to go? Maybe it would be best.
“I would be a fool to trust you,” Sarah said, her voice strong with resolve. “This is home to me now. That house would only taunt me with Abigail’s absence, and Evelyn needs my help here.”
“I see,” Sam said.
He glanced around the farm.
“If you ever change your mind,” he said.
“I don’t foresee that happening, Sam,” Sarah said.
“Well, I should probably head back, then,” Sam said. “That boy doesn’t seem to be taking too kindly to my being here.”
“He’s just protecting his home,” she told Sam. “Like I said, you’ll always be outnumbered here.”
He nodded and slowly moved to his horse. When he reached it, he mounted it and put his rifle back in its carrier.
“Guess that’s it, then,” he said.
He grabbed the reins and prodded his horse into motion. Evelyn and Sarah watched silently until the horse and Sam disappeared around the curve in the road. They both took deep breaths, and Evelyn finally lowered her rifle. They walked back to the house, though Evelyn couldn’t keep from glancing over her shoulder. When they reached Peter, Evelyn rested a hand on the stock of the rifle he was holding and lowered it.
“Who is that, Ma?” he asked.
“His name is Sam,” Evelyn said. “He was the cook at the logging camp.”
“Did he come looking for Sarah?”
“He mainly came looking for your father, or the person who he thought was your father,” Evelyn said.
“You?”
“Yes,” Evelyn said. “That would be me. He’s the reason I had to bring Sarah to the farm. He’s the man who attacked her.”
“He looked mighty mean,” Peter said.
“He does have a mean streak, but you do know I would never want you to actually shoot someone, don’t you?”
“I know, Ma,” Peter said. “Pa said the important thing is to let them know you’re willing.”
“I see,” she said. “That’s good to know. Where are your brother and sister?”
“I told Karl to take Louise down to the cellar.”
“You can go fetch them now,” Evelyn said.
She watched as he walked toward the cellar. He’s growing up more every day, she thought, but his father did teach him well. She knew he would do anything to defend the family. She turned her attention to Sarah, who was nervously pacing, occasionally pausing to look out a window.
; “Do you think Sam will come back again?” Sarah asked.
“I don’t think so,” Evelyn said. “I really don’t think he means you any harm. Not anymore.”
“I would hate to put you and the children in danger,” Sarah said.
“I think that chapter is closed now,” Evelyn said.
“I hope so,” Sarah said. “Those were some of my darkest days. Those days changed my life. I had always thought that Sam was harmless, that as Abigail’s brother he posed no threat.”
“You never know with people,” Evelyn said. “That camp could bring out the worst in anybody. Add alcohol to the situation and…I’m just grateful that we both escaped safely and we never have to return.”
“After that, being here is like being in heaven,” Sarah said.
Evelyn wondered if Sarah truly felt that way or if she had simply settled into the circumstance. It’s not as if she had any choice but to come here. If Sam hadn’t attacked her, she inevitably would have returned to Pine Creek. If. If. If… Sarah did turn down Sam’s offer to return to the house she lived in with Abigail, but Evelyn believed that decision was due more to her continuing distrust of Sam than her desire to stay on the farm.
* * *
That night, Sarah lay awake, thinking about Sam, Abigail…Even though she was surrounded daily by Evelyn and the children, she felt loneliness growing within her, gnawing at her. Some nights, after Evelyn dimmed and turned off the kerosene lamp, Sarah would listen to Evelyn’s breathing and wonder what she was thinking about. The farm? The children? Does she ever think about me? Some nights she ached so badly for warmth, touch, tenderness, that she wanted to get up, pass through the blanket that served as a wall, and crawl into bed beside Evelyn, but she couldn’t make herself move.
Any time that Evelyn touched her, whether she was taking her hand or placing an arm around her, Sarah became confused. She wondered if Evelyn was ever touching her as a woman or if she was always just caring for her as she did her children. She was never sure, and she was so frustrated sometimes that she wanted to scream, confront Evelyn, say something, anything, but uncertainty left her tongue-tied. She couldn’t help but wonder if Evelyn sometimes, maybe, harbored the same feelings toward her, but she had no idea how she would ever broach the subject.