Another Chance

by Janet Cooper

  He captured her hand. "Even if I had not, he would have stopped bleeding eventually." He rubbed the inside of her palm with his thumb.

  Pushing caution behind her, she pressed their hands against her heart.

  "I must leave."

  Although his voice spoke the words, Sarah detected regret in his tone. The dichotomy warmed her. She released him, reluctantly.

  Wolf leapt onto his horse. Before he rode off, he gazed at her. "Arm yourself. Those raiders will come back."

  "I will do what I must."

  He nodded, perhaps remembering the pitchfork.

  Sarah watched him ride away. A wave of longing washed over her as she acknowledged her fierce attraction for Wolf. Was it possible to desire a man who was from a different century? If the time warp opened again and she slipped through to her own time, what would happen to the emotions that she experienced regarding this man? Would they disappear? Would she remember them?

  These thoughts triggered another; her anxiety about being stuck permanently in the 18th Century. One thing she knew, her only hope of returning to her own time rested on maintaining her ties with the inn. This bond must never be severed. To do so might break the law of time. At least that was what always had happened in the science fiction books she had read, and that was her only source of information. She could not survive and be mentally normal if she stayed inside the building forever, but she would monitor her trips outside. Since her 'journey' had occurred after dark, she would make sure she always returned home by dusk. Having resolved that problem as analytically as possible, she focused on the road Wolf had taken. The clump of trees, near the bend in the road, sheltered him from her sight.

  Feeling out-of-sorts, Sarah could not face going back to the inn just yet. If Benjamin saw her, he would prescribe work as the answer. He might be right, but she was not ready to plow into any project. Slowly, she headed toward the pigs' pen. She poured the dried pumpkin chunks into the trough. As she sauntered around the rest of the yard, she watched the chickens scratching the ground for grain and saw the goats gleaning the harvested field.

  Peace enveloped her, yet the tranquility was a sham. Any time, the looters could, and surely would, come back. Having seen the hatred and determination on the corporal's face, she had little doubt. The idea of being stalked terrified her and created a feeling of helplessness within her. Earlier, she had protested that the raiders would not return to ease Benjamin’s and Wolf’s concern. Wolf had not accepted her spoken excuse, but she believed her father had. For now, Sarah needed only Benjamin's sanction to remain at the Inn.

  She leaned against the fence. So many fears bombarded her. They ranged from losing herself to Wolf's passion thereby creating a strong tie to the 18th Century, to never seeing her own time or her friends again, and finally to the intimidating corporal and his inevitable reappearance. What could she do? Lifting her gaze, she watched the clouds float across the sky in a random pattern. I have about as much control of my life as they do.

  Wolf's closing words resounded in her head. 'Arm yourself.' Sarah reached through the slit in her petticoat and put her hand into the pocket. Her fingers closed around the penknife she always carried there. Pulling out the knife, she viewed the red case in a new light. She closed her hand and enjoyed the weight of it in her palm. What had been a convenient, versatile, and useful tool became a small weapon. Despite her father's religious beliefs, she vowed, if the corporal grabbed hold of her again, she would stab him. Sarah opened the largest solid steel blade and stared at the sharp edge.

  Growing up in Chadds Ford, she had often watched the neighborhood boys play mumbley-peg. Anxious to be part of the gang, she had practiced many hours before entering the game. She had become quite good. Determined to renew her skills, she flicked the knife toward a maple leaf. Although failing to find the center, she hit an outside point. She needed practice, but she could redevelop her mastery. Hopefully, she had enough time.

  * * * *

  For November, the weather was quite warm. Sarah enjoyed the three mile walk back from the winery. Benjamin had been reluctant to let her go, but finally she had persuaded him of her need to be out. The wine maker had assured her he would deliver the order to the inn tomorrow at the latest. A sudden cool breeze tugged at her skirts and attacked her bare thighs. She found herself wishing for a pair of lined slacks. How would she keep warm this winter? A quilted petticoat was an option, but carrying around the extra weight did not appeal to her.

  An idea struck her. Daniel, although only partially recovered, had left yesterday to join the Continental army, pledging to destroy the British. He had forgotten to take the new liners purchased for his breeches. Sarah would requisition the drawers for herself. Benjamin would be shocked if he discovered, but she refused to worry about that. She needed a pair of trousers or at least some kind of knickers. Happy with her thought, she whistled. Oops, she stopped. Ladies do not whistle, or so her grandmother said, for it brought bad luck. She laughed at the old wives' tale, but began humming ‘Strawberry Fair.’

  As she approached the tavern, silence greeted her. No chickens pecked in the dirt. No cows grazed in the pasture. No goats fed in the field. Fear clawed across her skin, raking her like sharp nails. Although she did not see any soldiers, she sought the deep shadows of the trees and edged closer. After a quick look, she dashed to the side of the tavern. With difficulty, she chinned herself on the window sill, peeking inside. She saw overturned tables and chairs, mugs strewn on the floor, and flour dust everywhere. Before her arms gave out, she noticed a stocking-clad leg extending from beneath the trestle table. Father!

  Sarah raced to the front of the inn, charged up the three steps, and flew into the house. Shoving the heavy oak table aside, she knelt beside Benjamin, sought the pulse in his throat, and discovered a strong beat. Satisfied, she checked his body. She did not feel or sense any broken bones, but would she really know? Lifting his head with her hand, her fingers grazed a large lump on the back of his skull. He groaned but remained unconscious.

  "Hush," she said. "I am here." With her apron, she tenderly wiped the thin layer of flour from his face. As she did, she discovered a dried scab of blood near his lower lip. The skin around the area looked red, even in the subdued lighting. She had never nursed anyone, except Daniel, and then only briefly before Wolf had taken charge. What should she do? Did he have a concussion? How did one treat a concussion? She remembered something about a flashlight and dilated pupils, but little else. There was no help near, and, of course, no phone or car or any other modern technology. "Damn!"

  "One might say that."

  Sarah twisted her head around at the familiar and welcome voice. "Wolf."

  "Is he alive?" He walked to her side.

  "Yes."

  "Have you checked for injuries?" he asked as he bent down.

  "As best I could. Not being a doctor …" or having any X-ray or MRI available and someone to interpret the pictures, she added to herself. "Except a bump on the back of his head, everything appears all right."

  "Where is Daniel?" Wolf asked.

  "He left this morning to join the army. He wants revenge."

  "You and your father are alone?" His black eyes bore into her.

  "A neighbor, whose husband and son are fighting with the Continentals, will start working tomorrow. Mistress Westcoat will spend her days here and sleep at her own home." Although his expression showed little, Sarah sensed his disapproval. She waited for him to speak.

  Instead, she heard him say, "I will carry your father upstairs. Get water and cloths."

  Gathering the necessary items, Sarah quickly followed behind.

  Once in Benjamin's room, she yanked back the quilt. Gently, Wolf laid him on the bed linens.

  "What now?" she asked.

  "Let us make him comfortable and wash his wounds."

  "Good!" While normally, Sarah preferred to make her own plans, she readily abided by his decisions for this situation was beyond her knowledge.

  W
hile Sarah sat on the side of her father's bed and washed his face, Wolf undressed him from the opposite edge. "You do not appear to have many skills with the injured," he stated, as he placed Benjamin's second shoe on the floor.

  As Sarah wrung out the hand cloth, she sought a suitable and believable response. After gently dabbing the bump on the back of Benjamin's head, she said, "We are not sick very often." She avoided looking at Wolf, yet his eyes burned holes in her.

  "You know who is responsible for the destruction," Wolf said.

  “I can guess.”

  "What will you do?"

  "They have taken all our livestock and, probably, most of our food and drink." She continued washing Benjamin's already clean face and neck. "We will see no more of them."

  After wringing out her damp cloth, she began to bathe her father's arm and hand.

  Wolf's fingers closed over hers. Sarah tried to carry on, but his hold tightened. Reluctantly, she glanced at him; his face as hard as a stone statue.

  "They will be back." He leaned over Benjamin's still body.

  "Why should they?" she said, defiantly. "We have nothing of value left." Her stomach churned fearing Wolf's answer.

  "You are still here." He eyed her intently.

  "Why would soldiers come back for me?" She tried to speak lightly, but the words nearly choked her.

  "Such men want everything." He loosened his grip, but she did not move.

  "My father needs me." She occupied her hands by washing every segment of Benjamin's exposed skin and kept her eyes centered on her father. She waited for his scold, his rebuttal. Instead, she heard the squeaking of the rope bed.

  Unable to do any more for Benjamin and curious to have an answer, she asked, "Why did thee return? Did thee track the soldiers back to the inn?"

  "No," he said, shaking his head. "After two days of constant tracking, I had lost the trail. The men moved into a more densely populated area. Their tracks faded or were obscured by those of other men and their animals."

  "Was our inn on thy way home?" She mentally crossed her fingers, hoping if he had travel out of his way, she was the reason. She pulled the covers over Benjamin.

  Wolf brushed his short hair with his hand and stared at her. "Instinct urged me to ride here."

  "Instinct?" His answer surprised her and disappointed her.

  "Being white you will not understand."

  Her hackles rose at his comment. He always made her angry when he compared her to other people. "Try me," she challenged.

  Shrugging his shoulder, he said, "At times, voices tell me what direction to go or warn me about danger. When they speak, I listen."

  "Oh…" She almost said, like a psychic, but caught herself in time.

  The scorn on his face deepened. "Whites have no faith in our spirit guides," he said with disgust.

  "Quakers believe God speaks to them, and although I have never attended formal meeting, my father taught me to believe," she stated, feeling the words to be true. In a firm, reasonable tone, she continued, "Why cannot the voice be from him?"

  He looked deeply into her eyes. "I had heard that your father had been 'Read Out' of meeting."

  "He makes no secret of that. He fell in love with my mother and married outside the Society. They would not forgive him for his transgression, and he would never force my mother to believe what she could not." She paused. “Was thy grandmother accepted by white society or the Lenape after she wed?”

  He flushed, slightly. “Both made her life difficult, but my people eventually accepted her. Her own never did.

  Sarah suspected as much and seeing no need to pursue this conversation asked, "What shall we do next?"

  "Let him sleep, while we clean downstairs."

  She led the way. Reaching the bottom step, she stared at the mess and wanton destruction. "I know how Hercules must have felt when he saw the Aegean Stables.”

  "At least, it does not smell," Wolf quipped.

  She spun around and stared over her shoulder at him. "How doeth thou know a Greek myth?"

  "My grandfather and my father insisted I learn the history and tales of the white men," he said evenly.

  "Oh." She found it impossible to keep the surprise out of her voice.

  He eyed her with acceptance, yet she sensed his disappointment. Her shocked reaction had probably reinforced his assumptions about whites. Scolding herself for behaving just like the colonists, she vowed to undo her faux pas.

  "While you decide our plan of attack, let me fetch the water." Wolf grabbed the bucket and headed outside.

  Sarah righted the chairs and began putting the room in order. When Wolf returned, she explained her ideas. He nodded in agreement.

  "Did thee go to school around here to learn the white man's history?" she asked as they moved the furniture against the walls.

  "An Indian mixing with King George's subjects?" He laughed harshly. "I might infect or contaminate them."

  "Then …" She began wiping the tables with a cloth.

  He took the straw broom from the corner and started sweeping.

  She stopped in mid-stroke. "I did not realize Lenape men cleaned floors."

  "When we travel and break camp, braves disperse the ashes and brush away all signs of man."

  "Yes, but a kitchen floor?"

  "What I am doing is similar and you need help." He attacked the corners of the room. "You asked where I learned white man's history," Wolf said. "I took the 'Grand Tour'."

  "Thee? Of Europe?" She failed to keep the surprise out of her voice.

  He stopped steeping. The expression in his eyes hardened. Again, she had insulted him.

  "Can an Indian not travel?" He spoke the words with loathing. "May he not benefit from European culture also?"

  "Of course, but …"

  "Do you believe I am too stupid or too foolish to see and adapt the positive inventions of other people?" He renewed his sweeping and pushed the flour toward the door with quick, brisk strokes, careful not to throw up a large, white cloud of flour.

  "No …"

  "Then why did you question my trip?" The dust flew out the front door. He applied a few more strokes to the wooden floor, gave an additional push then returned the broom to the hook. "You are just like all whites."

  She threw the cloth on the bench, jammed her fists on her hips and spat, "I am not like anyone else! My beliefs are my own! They have nothing to do with anyone else."

  "Why did you show surprise that I had traveled?" He grabbed a rag and started polishing the chairs.

  Instead of answering, she flashed back, "Why doeth thou always become defensive?"

  "I have many years of experience to teach me," he said in a flat tone.

  His comment drained the anger from her like a pulled plug empties a tub. She answered his earlier question in a calm tone, "I would not think thou would be interested in European stories."

  "To defeat or even live with one's enemies, a man must understand the tenets and culture of that society." He looked at her, all indignation gone, picked up one side of a round table, and waited. She grabbed the other. "If your people took the time to learn about mine, our wars or disagreements would be fewer."

  She nodded, as they moved the pedestal table toward the center of the room. "If all people studied others and tried to understand, the arguments would be far shorter and less bloody," she added.

  "Have you forgotten greed? Power? Control?" He eyed her, grabbing one end of the next table.

  No answers or solutions to his question came to mind. She changed the subject and asked, "Where did thee travel in Europe?" She slid a Windsor armchair under the round table.

  They worked and discussed the countries they had seen. Strangely, many areas she had stayed during her six‑month study tour of Central Europe, Wolf had visited also.

  "It is strange for an unmarried Quaker woman to do as much traveling as you have done," he said, as they placed the last chairs around the tables. "With whom did you go? Surely not your father." />
  Her mouth opened and shut. Thank heavens he mentioned Benjamin. Involved as she had been, she almost said a group of graduate students. Fearing discovery, she said, "Some friends." She hoped that did not sound too strange.

  "Oh?" He eyed her curiously.

  Afraid of his next question, she said, "I had best check my father."

  He nodded. "While you do that, I will see to my horse."

  Sarah arranged a small tray for Benjamin in case he was awake. Wolf's curiosity remained unsatisfied, but she hoped he would not pursue his questions.

  When Sarah walked into Benjamin's room, her father smiled wanly. "How did I get here?" His voice sounded groggy.

  "Wolf, Mr. Keenan, carried thee."

  "What time did thee get home?" Benjamin struggled to sit up.

  "Around three." Sarah would have helped him, but by the time she placed the tray on the end table, her father had settled himself.

  "Had the soldiers left?" Concern colored his tone.

  "Yes." When her answer did not seem to assuage the alarm in his eyes, she asked, "Did they do or say something to make thee believe otherwise?"

  Instead of replying, he asked, "What did thee bring?"

  She showed him the tray but refused to be put off. "Did they?"

  "I will tell thee in a moment. Right now, I would like a drink from that mug."

  For a recently unconscious man, he appeared quite lucid. She prayed that meant he had not suffered a concussion. While he sipped from the tankard, Sarah straightened his pillows, smoothed the quilt, put order in an already orderly room. She waited impatiently. A sense of disquiet raced through her.

  When Benjamin had lifted the cup to his lips for the sixth or seventh time, Sarah felt sure it had long since been emptied. "What did they say?" she demanded. "Thee must tell me."