A really interesting American movie.
It rained nearly the whole way back to the cottage. The dark night and the rain had reduced Sarah’s visibility to just a few feet in front of her but she took solace in the fact that Dan knew the way home. It was a strange feeling, she noted, with rain and darkness all around—and wickedness, too—to just let Dan carry her home without worrying about how. As a long cold finger of rain finally found its way down her collar, she thought it just might be the first time she had ever voluntarily let someone or something else handle things. She just knew she couldn’t do it herself. It was enough to stay upright on the horse—she was so tired—without trying to figure which road to take. Her earlier plans to trot all the way back were abandoned because of the wet roads and slick trails. She let Dan pick his pace and his path.
About a quarter mile from where she estimated the cottage should be, she felt something was different about the ride. As bumpy and uneven as it had been up to now, it felt now that Dan was limping. Groaning at her bad luck, Sarah stopped him and slid to the ground. Her legs instantly gave way beneath her and she landed in a cold puddle of dirty water in the road. Snow was piled up along the sides of the road. With shaking hands, she ran her fingers down his hock and lifted his front left hoof. A sharp rock the size of her thumbnail was pushing against his frog. Without a pick, and the rain sluicing down her face, she used her fingers to pry it out and tossed it away. Even so, she decided not to remount, whether because she doubted she would be able to haul herself back up or because Dan’s hoof needed the break, she wasn’t sure. She led him a hundred yards up the first rise where she saw something that made her gasp and stop. Tears sprang to her eyes.
Their cottage appeared in a ghostly shadow less than an eighth of a mile away, a thin curl of smoke came from the chimney, a welcome and a promise of warmth and love that filled her with strength and joy, and a feeling of God’s presence as strong as she had ever felt before in her life.
With the rain dripping off her jacket, the mud covering the tops of her boots, she led her limping horse toward the cottage and home.
Dear Mom and Dad,
I cannot even tell you how cold it is here! Somehow, when I thought of Ireland, I thought of the rain but I didn’t think of the bone-piercing cold. I asked John if we were at the same parallel as Canada but he just gave me one of those looks he gives when he thinks I should at least try to act like the parent and know more than he does!
We’ve been getting along pretty good since I last wrote you. It’s hard work but we’re healthy, we’re (relatively) warm, and we have enough to eat. I went into town yesterday to swap some nonessential things we had (wine, mostly) for some things we could really use (tools, mostly). Seems the Irish considered the wine in the “essential things” category and I did very well in my trading! I’ll be hard pressed to just pay the marked prices for things when I get back to civilization. I’m really getting the hang of haggling. (Smile.)
Anyway, I met a young woman at the market who has a major problem and it turns out we were in a position to help her. Her husband was killed earlier in the month and she has two small children who depend on her. She seems to have enough provisions and she says her little farm is easily run by just herself (although I cannot imagine how…these people are a different breed from us, y’all. They are tough and resourceful.) But part of her well caved in and she can’t repair it on her own. She suggested a week’s worth of work from David (seems there are a few other things she needs doing while she’s got an able-bodied man) and she’d give us one of her dairy cows. I know it sounds absurd, probably, from your end, but having a cow would make a BIG difference in our lives here. It’s hard to describe to you but the milk would open up new worlds of food for us. John needs the milk; the young woman—Julie—needs the help. So, this is a long way of saying that David left this morning for a week away from us. I can’t say he was thrilled with the idea but he did reflect in an amused tone: “Who would’ve guessed I’d end up being more prized for my brawn than my brain?” Thought you’d get a chuckle out of that, Dad. Anyway, he just left this morning and already I’m counting the days until he’s back. As hard as it is here, it’s a lot harder when 50% of your workforce is gone! (Ha ha!)
So I must leave you until next time. It’s late (the only time I really have time to write) and my candle is down to a nub. Take care of each other, I pray you are both well, and that, whatever happens, you won’t worry about us over here. We are surviving very well.
Sarah folded her letter and carefully tucked it away with the rest of the unmailed letters home. The rain was tattooing out a gentle beat against the kitchen windows. She wondered where David was sleeping tonight, she hoped he did better than the barn or shed at Julie’s place. She looked over at her son, asleep in the big bed and smiled.
Before David left, they had decided to mark out the garden for the spring planting upon his return. Dierdre had promised them cuttings and seeds and David had found more seeds in the root cellar. Since Julie had said she had several rifles and all her husband’s tools, David only took a knife with him for protection on his ride to Balinagh. She smiled again thinking back at the moment that John determined (incorrectly, she told herself) that that meant one of the two guns left behind was his.
Tomorrow, she and John would step off the garden boundaries in anticipation of preparing the ground. Sarah was not a big gardener back home and she found herself wishing she had Dierdre’s opinion on where to position the plot.
Sarah pulled her sweater tighter around her and went to check the stove. She decided they would not use the fireplace while David was gone. Too much heat got lost with the fireplace. The little potbellied stove was more efficient for warming up the room. She opened the little stove door with an oven mitt and wedged in another couple of sticks of wood. She closed and latched it carefully. The stove would be ice-cold when they awoke in the morning, but the mountains of blankets—and each other—would keep them snug and warm until then.
Ten days later, David still hadn’t come back.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
As she had every freezing cold morning since he left, Sarah left her warm bed, started the cook fire in the kitchen and went to the front door window to see if she might glimpse him coming down the main drive. As if her watching for him might make him come. She knew it was possible that David just hadn’t finished the work he’d agreed to do for the girl, but she couldn’t imagine he wouldn’t come home to tell her that. It wasn’t like David to just…not come.
She turned back to the kitchen and pulled out a covered bowl of dough and began forming it into biscuits. She would make enough for all three of their meals today. The pan she had set on the stove was boiling so she poured the tea. A little-boy groan from the bed brought a smile to her lips.
“Morning, sweetie,” she said as she mixed precious sugar and goat milk into a mug for him. “Sleep okay?”
John made a muffled response.
She brought his tea to him and set it down on the table next to the bed.
“Dad here?” he asked sleepily.
“Not yet,” she said. “I’ll bet he’ll get in later this afternoon.”
“That’s what you said yesterday.”
John sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He reached for his tea.
“Blow on it,” she said. He looked like such a little boy. Who would he be when they finally made it back home?