by Jane Hoppen
“Can’t she stay, Mommy?”
Evelyn tried to stutter out a word, anything, and then Sarah spoke, her words sounding frantic.
“Helen, can you drop me in town? I assume you know where the shop is. I hope she’s expecting me.”
Helen looked at Sarah and then at Evelyn.
“Of course,” she said. “If this is how it’s going to be.”
Sarah looked at Evelyn one last time, and Evelyn stood before her, tongue-tied, caught in the whirlwind that she had somehow created. With her satchel in hand, Sarah walked out the door. Jess followed her out, and Helen lagged behind for a moment.
“What happened?” she asked Evelyn.
“I don’t know,” Evelyn said, her voice edging hysteria. “I thought…She took it the wrong way.”
“Oh, sister,” Helen said.
“Go,” Evelyn said as she sat in a chair and pulled Louise onto her lap. “Just go.”
Helen quietly departed and Evelyn sat at the table and silently cried.
Chapter Thirteen
The morning after Sarah left, Evelyn woke earlier than usual, before the sunrise. She hadn’t been able to sleep, had tossed and turned throughout the night. The children had been somber and silent during suppertime. Karl sat glumly, slumped at the table, while Louise tightly clung to her. Peter, the one to resist Sarah the most, was angry and refused eye contact with Evelyn. She realized that the main reason for his resistance had been the fear of losing someone else.
Sarah’s departure had, once again, magnified the absence of the children’s father. Evelyn felt regret. The children had gone through so many changes in so little time—George’s death, her own time away at the logging camp, and now Sarah’s departure.
Evelyn got out of bed and dressed. She looked at the empty cot, and the silence of the room suddenly grated on her. She and Sarah had always chatted in the mornings as they got ready for the day—about the weather, their list of things to do, what to cook. When Evelyn went downstairs to start making breakfast, she stood for a moment and gazed out the window. The sun was beginning to bloom above the horizon—a light, golden glow. She fingered the curtains that Sarah had sewn. Sarah was right. They added a sense of warmth.
Peter was the first to come down that morning, and he mumbled an unhappy hello.
“There’s a pot of oatmeal on the stove,” Evelyn told him.
“I’m not hungry,” he said.
“You’ll need your energy for the day,” Evelyn said.
Peter shrugged, and when Karl and Louise came down the stairs, Evelyn filled their bowls without asking. As they ate, Evelyn drank some coffee, and the children said little, to her or to each other.
“I’m going to have to work the fields alone now,” Evelyn told Peter. “I’ll need you here to tend to the animals and help Karl with the work in the garden. You’ll have to keep an eye on him and Louise.”
“If Sarah was here—” Peter started.
“I know,” Evelyn said softly. “But she’s not.”
“Why did you make her go?” he asked in an accusatory tone.
“I didn’t make her go,” Evelyn tried to explain. “I thought she might want an opportunity to try something different.”
“What’s wrong with being on the farm?” Peter asked.
“Nothing,” Evelyn said. “You know that. But farm life isn’t for everyone.”
“Sarah seemed to like it,” Peter said.
Evelyn looked at Peter. She tried to rest a reassuring hand on one of his, but he pulled it away.
“She can come back if she decides she wants to,” she said.
Peter turned away from her and looked at Karl.
“Hurry up and finish so we can get started,” he snapped.
“Be kind to your brother and sister, and make sure you all eat some lunch,” Evelyn said.
Peter looked at her and glowered.
* * *
Sarah woke to uncomfortable silence her first morning in town—no crowing roosters, no children’s voices, no clanging of pots and pans in the kitchen. Mary Boyd had been kind enough when she arrived. She’d been startled by Sarah’s sudden appearance more than anything. She let Sarah settle into her spare room and then heated up a late dinner for her. As the morning sun shined in, Sarah sat up in bed and surveyed the room that was now her new home—another new home. It was sparsely furnished—a bed, dresser, chair, and table—but it had a feminine touch, with a soft, rose-colored rug in the center of the floor and lacy white curtains on the windows. When Sarah was at the logging camp, she had yearned for such comforts, but on that morning, she missed nothing more than the rustic trappings of the farmhouse, even with its flaws. With a heavy heart, she forced herself out of bed and began to get dressed.
When she went downstairs, Mary Boyd was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. Sarah knew little about her. She was an older woman, a widow, with long gray hair that she kept coiled on the top of her head and, from what Sarah could ascertain, she had a timid but kind personality.
“Help yourself to coffee,” she told Sarah, gesturing toward the stove.
Sarah poured herself a cup and then sat.
“Evelyn told me that she met you at the logging camp,” Mary said.
“Yes,” Sarah said. “I was working there as a flunky.”
“I can’t imagine,” Mary said. “I found it most admirable, though, that Evelyn had endured the camp and the labor for the sake of her children.”
“She’s a good mother,” Sarah said, and she felt her chest heave.
“You didn’t care much for the farm life?” Mary asked.
Sarah hesitated before she spoke.
“Actually, the farm was beginning to grow on me, and the children. They’re so well behaved, and the way they pitch in on the farm should be applauded. I will truly miss them.”
“Why are you here, then, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Sarah remained quiet for a moment.
“Well, Evelyn had made these arrangements with you without my knowledge,” she eventually said. “I think she feared that life on the farm wasn’t suitable for me, that the life I’d had before going to the logging camp was more to my liking. I had worked as a seamstress before, until the woman whom I worked for passed away.”
“I see,” said Mary. “I could definitely use some help, but if you ever decide that you want to return to the farm, I won’t hold you back. I would understand. The Bauers are wonderful folks.”
“They truly are,” Sarah said.
You have no idea how much I want to return to that farm, she thought.
“Finish your coffee and I’ll show you the room that I use as my shop,” Mary said. “We’ll be doing most of our work in there. When we aren’t working, you’re free to do whatever you please.”
“Thank you,” Sarah said.
Her days in Mary Boyd’s shop went slowly compared to her days on the farm, everything seeming so mundane and unimportant—trousers to hem, holes to patch, a dress that needed fitting. She found herself gazing out the window, trying to assess the time using the sun’s position in the sky, wondering what was happening on the farm in that moment.
In the evenings, after a quiet meal with Mary, she would often take a stroll on the town’s quiet streets or retire to her room to read. She felt without purpose. She had only been gone from the farm for a little more than a week, and she missed Evelyn and the children so much that she ached. She wished she had challenged Evelyn when she told her about the arrangements in town, instead of reacting out of emotion, thinking that Evelyn no longer wanted her on the farm. She had felt wounded at the time, though, and she acted too hastily. Now all she could feel was emptiness and the dullness of each day.
* * *
Evelyn’s first day working the fields alone was a long one, and she had stayed out later than usual, until dusk, trying to accomplish what she and Peter would have in one day’s time. When she returned to the house, she found the children impatiently waitin
g for her. They were hungry.
“What did you have for lunch?” she asked, as she rummaged through the pantry for items she could use to make a quick meal.
“Peter made sandwiches,” Karl said.
Evelyn put some leftover baked beans and sausage in a pot and set it on the woodstove, opened the door to the stove, and stirred the coals.
“I’m sorry I’m so late,” she said as the children gathered around the table. “Time got away from me. Did you finish your chores?”
She looked at Peter.
“Most of them,” he said.
“Not all of them?”
“We forgot to churn the butter,” Karl said.
Evelyn frowned, and Peter glared at Karl.
“You’re the one who forgot,” he said.
“Peter, settle down,” Evelyn said. “It’s no one’s fault. We just need to adjust.”
“Seems like we’re always adjusting these days,” Peter said.
Evelyn didn’t reply right away. She knew he was angry and frustrated. She was asking him to assume much responsibility.
“Things will get a little better every day,” she said.
She put the pot and some bowls and spoons on the table, and they all ate in silence. When they finished, Louise climbed into Evelyn’s lap and began to quietly cry.
“I miss Sarah,” she said.
Peter and Karl looked at Evelyn.
“It’s been a long day,” she said. “Go up and get ready for bed. I’ll come after I clean up the kitchen.”
Peter stood and stomped up the stairs. Karl took Louise’s hand and they followed him. Evelyn cleared the table, filled the basin with water, and began to wash the dishes, tears trailing down her cheeks.
What have I done? What was I thinking?
* * *
Every day that Sarah was gone grew more difficult instead of easier, with Evelyn trying to manage the farm and house on her own. She could barely keep up with the work, even with help from the children. The household was becoming unruly and strained, the children were arguing with each other more than usual, and Peter became more morose each day.
On the tenth day, Evelyn returned from the fields early; the sweltering heat had taken a toll on her. She was soaked with sweat, and she knew the children would need a break, some time to swim in the pond. When she reached the house, she was greeted by the sight of Peter and Karl, wrestling on the ground. Louise was sitting on the porch steps, howling.
“Damn it,” Evelyn said. “Boys!”
She broke into a run and rushed over to them, pulling Peter off Karl.
“Stop this now,” she said sternly. “What is going on?”
“Karl pushed Louise,” Peter said. “She fell and hurt her knee.”
Evelyn glanced at Louise.
“I’ll be there in a minute, honey.”
She returned her attention to Peter and Karl.
“That’s enough of that,” she said. “You both know better.”
Peter and Karl looked at her sheepishly as they brushed the dirt off their clothes. Evelyn went to Louise and bent down to examine her knee, and Louise wrapped her arms around her neck.
“I don’t like them fighting,” she cried.
“I know,” Evelyn told her. “It’s okay. Let’s go inside and I’ll clean this up for you.”
She took Louise’s hand and helped her up.
“Come on, boys,” Evelyn said. “We’re going to go swimming. We all need a break.”
As Evelyn and the children were heading out of the house in with towels draped over their arms, they could see Helen coming down the road in her wagon. When she reached the house and reined in the horse, the children ran to her. She got out of the wagon and they surrounded her—a tiny swarm. Evelyn embraced her as well.
“You’re off for a swim?” Helen asked.
“We all need some relief,” Evelyn said.
“Sounds delightful,” Helen said. “This heat is oppressive. Why don’t we rustle up a few things and make it a picnic?”
“Can we, Ma?” Karl asked.
“I don’t see why not,” Evelyn said. “You can wait out here and your aunt and I will put a basket together.”
For the first time since Sarah left, the children showed some signs of joy. Evelyn and Helen went into the house, and Evelyn went to the pantry. Helen looked about her.
“Goodness, sister, the place is in a bit of a shambles,” she said.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed,” Evelyn said, slightly irritated. “I can’t keep up.”
“How long has Sarah been gone now?” Helen asked.
“A little over a week,” Evelyn said. “Ten days. And they’ve been long ones.”
“Well, maybe after a little more time passes…”
“I don’t think time will make a difference,” Evelyn said. “The children are miserable. I didn’t realize how attached they had become. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
She shook her head as she and Helen put some fruit, bread, and cheese in the picnic basket.
“And you?” Helen asked. “How are you doing?”
The silence that followed the question seemed to linger forever.
“I miss her more than I thought was possible,” Evelyn said. “I feel so downhearted. I can’t…”
Helen put an arm around her.
“That’s one of the reasons I came out today,” she said. “I stopped by the shop the other day. Mary Boyd left town for a few days to go visit her sister. If you’d like, I could stay with the children tomorrow so you can go to town. Maybe you can talk to Sarah.”
Evelyn looked at Helen and sighed.
“I think that would be good,” she said. “Helen, I…I think I…love her. I need her here.”
“I know,” Helen said. “I know. Let’s go take that swim.”
They went outside and the children circled around them and then ran ahead, leading the way to the pond. The children wasted no time splashing into the cool water. Evelyn took a quick dip and then joined Helen on a blanket they had laid out.
“This is the most relaxed I’ve been since Sarah left.”
Her words hung in the air.
“At least you know now how you feel,” Helen said.
“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything will change between Sarah and me,” Evelyn said. “After what I did, she might not…”
“Just give it a chance, Evelyn,” Helen said. “See what happens. Even though you were wrong, you were acting in her best interest.”
The children eventually got out of the pond and joined them on the blanket, and Evelyn and Helen set out the food.
“Did that feel good?” Evelyn asked.
“Yes,” the children said in unison.
Evelyn was relieved—a moment of happiness.
“How have you children been these days?” Helen asked. “I’ve not seen you since the holiday.”
“We miss Sarah,” Peter responded quickly.
“Sure do,” said Karl.
Louise nodded fervently.
“I think Ma does, too,” Peter said. “She doesn’t sing or hum anymore. She was happier before.”
Evelyn looked at him.
“You’re right, son,” she said.
He leaned over and, for the first time in more than a week, he hugged her.
* * *
Mary Boyd had departed for a five-day trip and had left Sarah a few pieces of clothing to work on in her absence. Sarah was happy to be alone, to have some time to gather her thoughts, but the empty house seemed to echo around her. She went to the window. A half moon was propped up in the sky, surrounded by sparkling stars. They looked almost effervescent. She envisioned Evelyn, sitting on the porch, taking in some fresh air before heading inside to go upstairs. They would be seeing the same moon. She wondered if Evelyn had any idea how much she missed her. Does she miss me? Do the children care that I am gone? She turned from the window and looked at her room. This cannot be the rest of my life. I need to take control.
She needed to carve out some kind of plan for her future. A part of her thought about asking Evelyn to let her return to the farm, but she didn’t want to go back if she wasn’t wanted, and she truly had no idea how Evelyn felt, if she felt anything.
* * *
Evelyn hesitated outside Mary Boyd’s house. She had been haunted by the words that Sarah had spoken on the day she left the farm. She had said that she had been drawn to Evelyn even at the logging camp, that she believed they might have been able to forge some kind of relationship. Evelyn hoped that Sarah still felt the same way, that what she had done hadn’t squashed those feelings, and she knew there was only one way to find out. She knocked on the door and fidgeted in place as she waited for Sarah to answer. After a few minutes, she knocked again, and the curtain that hung over the door window was pushed aside. Sarah peeked out.
“Evelyn, what brings you here?” she asked.
Evelyn looked at Sarah. She displayed no sign of happiness at seeing her, but Evelyn couldn’t move her eyes from her. She had her hair down, cascading over her shoulders, and the dress she was wearing was a striking shade of green, almost emerald.
“I came in town for some provisions,” Evelyn said. “I wanted to see you.”
Sarah hesitated for a moment.
“Do you need something?”
Evelyn was taken aback by Sarah’s cold curtness.
“I thought we should talk,” Evelyn said.
Sarah hesitated and then she gestured for Evelyn to enter. She led her into the kitchen and they sat.
“How are you faring here?” Evelyn asked.
“What do you want, Evelyn?” Sarah asked.
Her voice was flat, rigid. Evelyn took a deep breath.
“I wanted to talk about us,” she said.
“About us?” Sarah said. “There is no us, Evelyn. There will be no us. You made that quite clear, and I cannot handle any more changes. This life is too disruptive.”