by Jane Hoppen
Chapter Twelve
The days were settling into summer, mid-June, and work on the farm was in full force. Sarah woke early one morning after listening to Evelyn cough on and off all night. She got dressed and drew back the blanket that separated them. Evelyn opened her eyes and squinted in the sunlight that slanted through the window.
“Are you okay?” Sarah asked. “You were coughing all night. How do you feel?”
“My throat’s a bit scratchy,” Evelyn said. “I might have a little cold coming on. I did have the chills throughout the night.”
“You need a day of rest,” Sarah said.
“There’s too much to do,” Evelyn said as she rolled over and groaned, sitting on the edge of the bed. “The crops are just reaching their peak. Before we know it harvest and canning season will be upon us. We begin to harvest the spring wheat in mid-August, and I haven’t even arranged for farmhands yet.”
She started to stand, and Sarah crossed the room, lightly rested a hand on her forehead, and gently pushed her back onto the bed.
“You’re warm,” she said. “You have a slight fever. I know you are the cog that holds this machinery together, Evelyn, but the children and I can manage a day or two without you, whether you believe it or not. If you don’t get some rest, you’ll be too sick to help anyone. Nip the cold in the bud before it gets worse.”
“Are you bossing me?” Evelyn asked.
“If I have to,” Sarah said. “You’ve been working nonstop since the day we returned from the logging camp. At some point, you need to take a break.”
Evelyn smiled slightly. “So have you,” she said.
“I’d say the work you do requires a bit more stamina than the work I do,” Sarah said.
“A strong cup of coffee and I’ll be ready for the day,” Evelyn told her.
“I’ll send one of the children up with some hot water and honey while I fix breakfast,” Sarah said. “That’ll be more soothing than coffee.”
“If you insist,” Evelyn said as she snuggled back under her covers, her eyes fluttering shut.
“I insist,” Sarah said as she left the room.
* * *
Peter was the first to emerge from upstairs that morning, muttering an unenergetic hello. He was always a bit irritable when he first woke. Sarah stirred the coals in the woodstove, put a pot of water on top of it, and took down the frying pan. She glanced at Peter.
“Peter, you need to go gather the eggs so I can start making breakfast.”
Peter wiped a hand over his eyes.
“I don’t take orders from you,” he said. “You’re not my ma.”
Sarah looked at him sternly.
“I know I’m not your mother, but I am an adult and I deserve your respect, just as you deserve mine,” she said. Her voice shook slightly. She didn’t know how Evelyn would feel about her reprimanding one of her children. Up until that moment, she’d had no need to. “You’re mother isn’t feeling well, and the only way she’ll get some rest will be if we work together for the next few days. I’m going to need your help more than anyone else’s. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Peter said, straightening up and reddening. “Sorry, Sarah. I’ll go fetch those eggs now.”
Sarah handed him a basket.
“Thank you,” she said.
She watched as he went out the door, and then she went to the counter to cut some bread. Karl came down the stairs with Louise behind him. Louise ran over to give her a hug before joining Karl at the table.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” Sarah said.
“Morning,” Louise said.
“Good morning, Karl,” Sarah said. “Did you sleep well?”
“Sure did,” Karl said. “Where’s Ma?”
“She’s upstairs,” Sarah said. “She’s coming down with a bit of a cold, so she’s going to get some rest. We’ll all have to pitch in a little extra for the next few days.”
“Okay,” Karl said good-naturedly.
Peter entered the house with the basket of eggs and set it on the counter near the woodstove.
“Good day for the hens?” Sarah asked.
“Nine eggs,” said Peter.
“Good enough for breakfast,” said Sarah.
She put the skillet on the woodstove, added some butter, and began to crack the eggs on the side of the pan. She poured some hot water from the pot on the stove into a mug, added a dollop of honey, and handed it to Peter.
“Take this up to your mother and tell her I’ll bring her some breakfast shortly,” Sarah said.
“Okay,” Peter said.
He took the mug from her.
“Thank you, Peter,” Sarah said. “Karl, can you set the table?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Karl said.
* * *
There was a knock on Evelyn’s door and she sat up in the bed.
“Come in,” she said.
Peter pushed the door open and handed her the mug as she sat up in the bed.
“I’m sorry you don’t feel good, Ma,” he said. “This is hot water with honey. Sarah said she’ll bring breakfast up soon.”
“Thank you,” Evelyn said. “I’m sure I’ll feel better in no time.”
Peter turned to leave and Evelyn patted the space beside her on the bed.
“Sit down for a minute before you go,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” Peter said.
He sat.
“I heard you talk back to Sarah earlier, when she asked you to go get the eggs,” Evelyn said.
Peter turned red and lowered his head.
“Peter, she’s a part of this home now, if she wants to be. You know I need her help with the farm, the chores, everything. We wouldn’t be able to manage this alone. You know that.”
“I know,” Peter said.
“I want you to show her the same respect that you show me,” Evelyn said.
“Okay,” Peter said. “Sorry, Ma.”
Evelyn rested a hand on his back.
“It’s all right,” she said. “I know it takes getting used to, for all of us, but things will get easier as time goes on.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Peter said.
“Do you know what you need to do in the fields today?” Evelyn asked.
“Sure do,” Peter said. “I need to check the crops for any signs of bugs and get to the weeding.”
“That’s right,” Evelyn said. “Can you handle that by yourself?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Peter said proudly.
“All right,” Evelyn said. “I’ll want a report from you at the end of the day.”
“Okay,” Peter said.
He leaned over to give Evelyn a hug.
“Thank you, Peter,” Evelyn said.
He turned, smiled, and then left the room.
* * *
“I want to make a pot of soup today,” Sarah said as they were sitting down to breakfast. “It’ll help your mother to feel better.”
“What kind?” Peter asked.
“Chicken vegetable,” said Sarah.
“You’ll need a chicken for that,” Peter said.
“That’s my one problem,” Sarah told him. “I have no idea how to…”
“I do,” Peter said with authority. “I’ll help you before I go to the fields.”
“That would be great,” Sarah said. “Thank you.”
They all finished eating, and Sarah left Karl and Louise to clean up the kitchen as she went outside with Peter. He led the way to the chicken coop and pointed out a plump bird.
“That one there looks good,” he said.
“Perfect,” said Sarah.
Peter picked up the squawking bird and put it into a feed bag with a hole cut in one corner so the chicken’s head could poke out. He led the way outside to the tree stump that was used for butchering. He set the bird on the stump and looked at Sarah.
“You hold it still and I’ll chop off its head,” he said.
“All right,” Sarah said hesitantly, as she studied the bird in
the bag, unsure of where to place her hands.
“Grab it in the middle,” Peter told her. “Hold down the wings.”
“Okay,” Sarah said.
She took a deep breath and tightly grabbed hold of the bird.
“You ready?” Peter asked.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she said.
“Hold it as still as you can,” Peter said.
Sarah held on to the struggling bird, and Peter picked up the ax and raised it over his head.
“On the count of three,” he said. “One, two, three.”
He swung the ax in one swift movement, severing the chicken’s neck. Its screeching came to an abrupt stop and blood spurted out in a red stream. Sarah removed her hands from the bag and, as much as she tried not to, she felt herself getting sick. She leaned over with her hands on her knees and vomited.
* * *
Evelyn finished the breakfast that Sarah sent up and sat by the window to sip her hot water. She saw Peter and Sarah with a chicken in a burlap bag near the butchering stump and had a moment of panic.
“Oh no,” she said as she watched Peter place the bird on the stump.
She watched with dread as Sarah held it down. As much as she wanted to turn away from the scene, she continued to watch, long enough to see Sarah double over and throw up after the chicken’s beheading. She left the window and returned to her bed, shaking her head the whole time. She felt a strange queasiness.
I never meant for her to have to do that, she thought, though I guess it had to happen at some point. She must think this place is as dreadful as the camp at times. I owe it to her to offer her another option. The next time I’m in town I’ll ask Mary Boyd if she needs some extra help in her shop. That would be more suitable for Sarah. Even as she thought that, though, sadness set in. She seemed to be in a constant battle between knowing how much she had grown to depend on Sarah and feeling the need to help her escape the drudgery and daily toiling of farm life. She returned to her bed and lay down. Grogginess overtook her, and she drifted off to sleep.
* * *
Sarah eventually regrouped from the chicken’s crude beheading and stood up. She looked at Peter.
“Sorry,” she said.
He shrugged.
“It was your first time.”
“Now what?”
“We need to wash it off in that barrel of water. Then we need to put it in a pot of boiling water so that it’s easier to pluck.”
“Okay,” Sarah said.
She followed him to the barrel. Peter doused the dead bird in the water, washed it off, and then pulled it out.
“Now we need the boiling water,” he told Sarah.
“That I can do,” Sarah said.
They went to the house and Sarah put a large pot of water on the stove.
“That’s a mighty big bird,” Karl said.
“Sure is,” Sarah said. “We’ll get an extra-big pot of soup out of this one.”
When the water finally reached a boil, Peter handed the chicken to Karl.
“You take the bird,” he said. “I’ll carry the pot outside.”
Before he went to the stove, he stopped at the bottom of the stairs and hollered up.
“We just killed a chicken, Ma. Me and Sarah.”
“You did?” Evelyn called down.
“Sure did,” Peter said. “Sarah threw up.”
He took the pot off the stove and headed outside, with Karl and Louise in tow. Sarah stood in the quiet kitchen alone, embarrassed. She wished she hadn’t vomited in front of Peter again.
“Sarah?” Evelyn called down from upstairs. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Evelyn,” Sarah replied. “I’m going to make a pot of soup.”
“Soup will be good,” Evelyn said, and the house fell quiet once again.
* * *
Sarah went outside to join the children just as Peter was lifting the chicken out of the pot of water. He set it on a tarp, and he and Karl started to pluck the feathers.
“What happens after the plucking?” Sarah asked.
“I’ll finish dressing it,” Peter said. “Karl will bring it to you when we’re done. I’ll have to go to the fields as soon as we finish.”
“Sounds good,” Sarah said, pleased. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome,” Peter said. “I can’t wait for the soup.”
“Me, too,” Louise piped in.
“Since you have everything under control here, Louise and I will go tend to the garden,” Sarah said, taking her hand. “Karl, after you take the chicken in, we’ll do the chores in the barn.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Karl said as he and his brother continued to pluck.
Sarah checked in on Evelyn throughout the day, between chores. Evelyn’s fever persisted and her skin had a pallor hue. Sarah gently roused her a few times, urging her to sip on some tea or to drink some water.
“You need fluids for the fever,” she told Evelyn.
The last time she checked in on her, before she started to prepare the soup, Evelyn was asleep, and Sarah left her undisturbed. Back in the kitchen, she put Karl to work chopping potatoes, carrots, and onions. She filled a large pot with water, placed it on the stove, and added the pieces of chicken and a bundle of herbs tied together with twine. After the chicken had boiled for some time, she added the vegetables and stirred everything together, leaving the soup to simmer.
“This will take a few hours,” she said. “We’ll have a little lunch and then go finish our chores.”
“Okay,” Karl said.
Sarah got out some fixings for sandwiches and started to prepare lunch. Only noon and it seems as if we’ve done a week’s worth of work, she thought. She was pleased to find herself slowly settling in to the ways of the farm, the land, a household of children. More and more, she felt as if she had found her place—home. For the first time since Abigail had passed away, she had a sense of place, of belonging. She felt as if she had something to offer.
* * *
After Peter returned from the fields, Sarah and the children gathered around the table to eat the soup that had cooked throughout the afternoon.
“How did it go in the fields today, Peter?” Sarah asked.
“Good,” Peter said. “I did a lot of weeding. I think we’ve got some bugs infesting the potato plants, though. Ma needs to check it out. She’ll know what to do.”
“What makes you think there are bugs?” Sarah asked.
“Something is nibbling on the leaves, and some of the plants have brown spots,” Peter said. “Probably potato bugs or aphids.”
“When will Ma be better?” Karl asked.
“Hopefully, soon,” Sarah said. “The good thing is that we managed on our own so she could get some rest. Everything’s still standing.”
“Did you think it would all fall down?” Peter asked with a grin on his face.
“Well, not exactly,” Sarah said.
“Can we read stories tonight?” Louise asked.
“There’s been so much happening since I arrived here that I nearly forgot that I had brought my checkerboard with me. I thought I’d teach you and your brothers how to play after we finish cleaning up,” Sarah said.
The boys looked at Sarah and eagerly nodded in approval, and Louise clapped. The children fell silent then, concentrating on their bowls of soup and sopping up the rich broth with chunks of bread.
Sarah took a bowl of soup up to Evelyn while the children cleaned up in the kitchen, and she opened the door to find Evelyn sitting up in bed, reading.
“You’ve got some color back in your cheeks,” Sarah said.
“I feel better,” Evelyn said.
Sarah set the bowl of soup and a spoon on the small table beside Evelyn’s bed. She perched on the bed and pressed a hand against Evelyn’s forehead.
“Your fever finally broke.”
“The soup smells wonderful,” Evelyn said. “I am sorry that you had to deal with the chicken, though.”
“I
t was a rather gruesome sight,” Sarah said. “But I seem to have survived.”
She smiled. A wisp of hair fell over her face, and Evelyn instinctively reached over to push it back in place. Her fingers rested for a moment on Sarah’s cheek. She felt a wave of tenderness wake through her, and in that moment, she… Evelyn at times became so confused about how she felt toward Sarah. She cared about her, was attracted to her in some strange way, but she didn’t know what that even meant. She took a sip of the soup and sighed.
“The soup is delicious,” she said.
“Thanks,” Sarah said. “I’ll come up later to get the bowl and see if you need anything else.”
She went to her trunk and took out the checkerboard and a bag of disks that she had packed.
“I’m going to teach the children how to play checkers tonight,” she said.
“I wish I could join you,” Evelyn said. “Tell the children to come see me before they go to bed.”
“Of course,” Sarah said as she left the room.
* * *
Downstairs, Sarah took the checkerboard and bag of disks to the sitting room, and she and the children sat on the floor. She laid the wooden board, with its red and black squares, on the floor. She then opened the bag and dumped out the red and black disks. The children looked at her excitedly.
“How do you play?” Peter asked.
“Only two people can play at a time,” Sarah said. “I’ll teach you and Karl how to play the first game.”
“Okay,” Peter said.
He earnestly rubbed his hands together.
“You boys sit across from each other,” Sarah told Peter and Karl.
She moved the board so that each boy had a red square on the right side closest to him. She divided the disks between the boys, giving Peter the black ones and Karl the red ones.
“Put your disks on the black squares closest to you.”
The boys listened closely to her instructions as Sarah told them how to move their disks and capture each other’s pieces. Before long, they were immersed in the game, with Louise closely following each move.