She went back to the kitchen and felt a weight press down on her shoulders.
Where are you, David? Your family needs you here.
She slid the biscuits in the stove and sat down at the kitchen table with her own mug of tea.
Today, she and John had to go collect the sheep and bring them in closer. The woman she’d traded with for the six sheep had come the first day after David left and collected her sheep and the wine. She wasn’t friendly and Sarah worried that she saw the woman looking around, taking inventory of the cottage and barn.
Will I ever be able to trust people again? she wondered.
Sarah decided they needed to be able to see their sheep. Besides, they had lost two to the cold in just the last week. As her son reminded her: “We don’t have an endless supply of sheep, you know.” They would move them to the patch of grass on the other side of the paddock. When David got back, they would move them back to the pasture and take turns watching over them as they grazed. (“Just like real shepherds,” John had said.)
The rabbit traps had been empty for several days now and Sarah doubted they’d catch any more until spring. There was still some canned food in the root cellar, three chickens and one rooster and plenty of flour for bread. It might be a relatively meatless winter, but at least they’d survive.
Sarah stood up and went to the front door again.
“You said probably this afternoon,” John said from the bed.
“That’s right,” she said. “I was just looking.”
John climbed out of bed. “You were watching,” he said.
She turned to look at him. “You’re right,” she said with a smile. “I guess I was.”
It was when David had been gone a total of two weeks that John began to push to go after him.
“I know the way to Balinagh,” he said. “It’s just straight down that road. Even you did it in the pouring rain and it was no big deal.”
“He’s not in Balinagh,” she said for the hundredth time. “I told you—”
“It doesn’t matter, Mom,” John said with exasperation. “Someone will know where she lives. Everybody knows everyone in Ireland.”
They’d had scrambled eggs for supper with toast and what was left of the jam Dierdre had given them the month before.
“He might need me,” John said, pushing his plate away. “He might be hurt somewhere and needing me to come.”
Sarah could feel the tears coming.
“This, we have to give to God.” Sarah sat down next to him and put her arms around him. “God has given us a full plate and it’s all that we can do to handle this.” She waved her hand around the room to indicate the cottage and the barn. “He may just want us to let Him handle when Dad comes back to us.”
“You mean, like accept we can’t do anything?”
“Well, we can pray, you know?”
“I DO pray, Mom,” John said earnestly. “I am praying all the time that Dad comes back.”
“I know you are, sweetie. We both are. But if you really accept that God will deal with it, you don’t keep worrying at it and agonizing over it. You accept it.”
John stood up. “No,” he said.
“Now, John…” Sarah said.
“God helps them that helps themselves,” he said stubbornly. “I think God’s wondering how long it’ll take before we get up and go look for him. I do, Mom.”
Sarah felt a catch in her throat as she watched her boy, so resolute, so sure of himself. She covered her eyes when she began to cry.
“Mom?” John sat back down next to her. “You okay?”
She forced the tears back and smiled at him. “I’m fine,” she said, patting his hand. “You’re right. We’ll go first thing in the morning.”
“Are you serious?” John jumped again and clapped his hands in his excitement. “Can we go now? Why do we have to wait ‘til morning? It’s nowhere near dark yet. It’ll take me two secs to saddle everybody up.”
Sarah put a hand out to calm him and felt a strong rush of love and certainty, as if God were, in fact, blessing the enterprise.
“First thing in the morning,” she said.
The next morning Sarah and John stood in the doorway of the barn with their reins in their hands and watched the rain pour down.
I hate Ireland, Sarah thought.
“We’re still going, right?” John asked, looking from the rain to his mother’s face as if trying to decipher her thoughts.
Sarah sighed but forced a smile on her face for his sake.
“We are still going,” she said. I must be crazy. “Put the dogs in the stall with their water bowl and mount up,” she said, looping the reins over Dan’s head. “Wear your hardhat, John,” she called after him. “I don’t know when you stopped wearing it but…” She didn’t bother finishing. He was back in one of the stalls not listening anyway.
He rejoined her, his hardhat on and buckled, and climbed onto his pony.
“Put your shirt collar up,” she said. “Else the rain’ll go straight down your back.”
“Mom, I’m good,” he said, moving Star out into the rain. “Let’s go.”
They walked at a steady, slow plod for nearly an hour. The rain hammered them the whole way. The road had turned to slick mud and Sarah forbade John to even break into a trot. She kept the gun in her unsnapped holster and let Dan find the best spots on the road to walk while she scanned the bushes and the horizon for any sign of gypsies or anybody else who might want to do them harm.
Although what lunatic would be out in this weather?
She and John spoke very little. She could tell by the determined look on his face that he was thinking of his father, possibly envisioning scenarios of rescue or, at least, reunion.
Hope is a wonderful thing, she thought. Did she think they would find David? Could it really be that simple? If he were in town or nearby, he wouldn’t have stayed away so long. She hoped to find a clue in town, or a piece of information that would lead them further down the trail. But it was beyond even her usually hopeful imagination to believe that the day would end with their arms around their beloved one.
It wouldn’t have mattered if she hadn’t been lost in her thoughts when the sound of the thunder crashed down on them. She still would have lost control of Dan. She had been riding just long enough to be, if not cocky, at least confident that she wouldn’t come off him at a walk.
She was wrong.
The horse shied at the loud noise and wheeled sharply to gallop back the way they had come. Sarah didn’t survive the turn. She tumbled from the saddle onto the hard, muddy road, cracking her helmet as she hit. Somewhere in the distance she could hear John yelling and then everything went peacefully black.
Julie slipped out of the bed, peeling the dirty sheets back and trying to ignore if anything moved or crawled as she moved. She looked over her shoulder at Mack still asleep. Unusual for him. He normally didn’t sleep. He had come to bed late and drunk. There had been no conversation.
How different from Arden he was, she thought, before she could stop herself.
There was no point in going down that road, my girl.
She crept out the door of the trailer. The camp was quiet. Most of the men and the few women were still asleep under blankets and molding quilts scattered about on the ground near the now-spent fire. Julie tiptoed to her spot in the woods and relieved herself. The air was icy cold but she didn’t bother putting her shoes on. She looked up to inspect the sky between the trees in the copse surrounding the camp—dark clouds were moving in—and have a brief moment for herself. He would be awake when she got back. It had been a rare gift to have awakened first. She would need to hurry if she didn’t want to spend half the morning calming his anger.