Loefler, I won’t be of much help here. I doubt a doctor could do much for her, either. She has a tumor in her belly, and it’s too late to help now. I can try to take away her pain, but I’m not sure she will even live through that.”
Hans Loefler stood with his mouth open, listening to Sarah’s dark words. No particular expression crossed his sharp and sallow face. He did not appear to be especially grieved over the dismal report. In fact he had the look of a man inconvenienced. It was the same countenance he wore when waiting in line at the mercantile.
Emma stood, hands on hips, watching the little man. Sarah was waiting but rather absently. She could not focus her attention away from Gert’s suffering, but held herself away by the force of her will.
Letting out a little puff of impatience, Hans Loefler pointed at Caleb. “You! Help me carry her to the buggy. I knew a witch would be no help. Stupid Gert. Fine lot of time I have for this kind of nonsense. Women! They’re all just a trial, an almighty trial.”
He continued to mutter the whole time they struggled to bring his dying wife to the buggy. Once she was loaded, he whipped up the team and rode away without another word.
Emma watched him go, and spat on the ground in bitter disgust. Caleb was speechless. Even at his age, he could see what a heartless creature Hans Loefler was. Sarah, drained, sat without speaking and seized by fits of gagging.
“It’ll be a wonder if the woman lives to see her own bed, I think.” Emma said, mostly to herself. “And listen to Sarah, sickened by that woman’s meanness. You’ve got to be a mighty small person to still be so mean when you’re a-dyin’, to sicken her this way.” She helped Sarah to the porch and got some fresh water for her.
Sarah was disturbed by the whole event. Now that Gert Loefler was away from her, her focus started to return. Sarah felt appalled at the crass attitude shown by Hans Loefler. She was also angry. Gert Loefler had been the bane of Sarah’s life since the beginning. That she had dared to ask her husband bring her to Sarah for help was beyond belief.
Sarah was a firm believer in ‘you reap what you sow’, and Gert Loefler had sown only bitter seeds all her days. Although she detested Gert Loefler and the infamous role she had played in her life, Sarah was appalled at Hans Loefler’s behavior. She knew now that he was a very, very small man, in every way.
Tired and troubled, Sarah headed home. The day felt ruined anyway. The laughter was gone, and peace she had enjoyed was tarnished. The sun was down, but the twilight was still bright enough to navigate by. She strolled home, thinking about the day, and the day ahead.
The cabin looked welcoming as she walked into the clearing. Sarah stopped to talk to the horses, her old roan mare and the two dappled grays from her uncle. She gave each horse a scoop of oats and patted their necks.
With her arms resting on the top rail of the corral, Sarah looked into the gathering night. She felt uneasy, ambivalent and a little disoriented. A feeling like something was about to happen came over her. A premonition? She shook it off and went inside.
July 5th, 1865--Dover, Pennsylvania
Hixson was packed and ready to go long before sunrise. Momma was already up, getting breakfast started. He sat in her warm kitchen and sipped coffee while she worked.
“You’ve always been a bright boy, Hixson, and good judge of character.” Momma began, “If you think this girl is special enough to go all the way to Virginia to see, she must be a good one.”
“She is, Ma. I don’t know if she’ll have me, but I mean to go and see.”
“Hixson, honey, are you sure you’re in love with this girl? Or do you maybe feel obligated to her?”
Hixson sat in contemplative silence a long while. “You know, Ma, I’m not sure. I think I’m in love with her. I know I owe her my life, but I believe it’s more than that now. I’m hoping I’ll know for sure if I see her again.”
Momma took a deep breath. “People marry for a lot of different kinds of reasons. They might marry for money, convenience, obligation, who knows. My own grandmother had an arranged marriage; marrying him got her poppa more farm land. So I understand about marrying for something other than love.
“Marrying someone out of a sense of debt can work. Love can sometimes take root from such beginnings. But if you can marry for love in the first place, so much the better. Repay her if you can, if that’s even possible. But make sure you’re clear in your mind. If you’re marrying for love, than be sure it’s love. If you are willing to marry in gratitude, then go into it knowing full well that’s what it is. Does that make sense?”
“How do I know? How can I tell if I feel this way because she saved my life? I just don’t know.”
“I think you’ll know when you see her again. Trust your instincts, son. The Lord blessed you with good sense. You’ll know when it’s time for you to know.” Momma sat down across from Hixson and took his hands. “There’s a lot of trouble on the roads these days. You’ll be careful, now, won’t you?”
Momma continued as if Hixson had agreed. “How many flapjacks this morning?”
Hixson ate a big breakfast while the rest of the family postponed their chores to sit with him. There was milking to do before sunup, and livestock to be fed. No one slept late in the Morris house. Hixson said his goodbyes, shouldered his pack, and walked away, toward a destiny unknown.
July 17th, 1865--Virginia
The going had been easy. What with good roads, and even a couple of overnight hitched rides on teamster’s wagons, Hixson was only a half a day’s walk from his target. He saw other travelers on the way. Some looked rough enough to be trouble, but Hixson was a big man and a strong one. No sensible robber would tangle with him. There were far easier marks around.
As he drew closer to Oak Hollow, so near to Sarah’s cabin, he started to question his decision. “She probably doesn’t even remember you. What does she want with a farmer’s life, anyway? You must be losing your mind, boy. Walking all this way for a dream, you fool.”
His steps pounded out the rhythm of his thoughts, but still he walked. He wasn’t sure what he would find. Love or duty, he wasn’t sure he even knew the difference anymore.
He might doubt himself, but he was irresistibly drawn to the mysterious woman. He had to find out if this was all only a dream. Hixson lay in his bedroll, gazing at the starry sky. By his reckoning, he would make Oak Hollow the next day. The time of no going back was at hand. If he made it to Oak Hollow, he could well bump into Emma or Caleb, or Sarah herself. Then there would be no chance to rethink anything.
Was he silly, to go all this way for a woman who might not remember him at all? Even through the doubts buzzing in his mind, his heart felt sure that she knew he was coming back to her. He had a notion, for no reason he knew, that she was waiting for him and calling out to him.
Hixson had the dream again. When his restless mind finally drifted off, he saw Sarah. It was dark in and around her cabin, as if all the light in the world had been sucked out. Through the darkness, he could see her golden hair stretched out. She reached out to him and called for him. Sarah was crying.
He woke with a pounding heart and the familiar tightness in his groin. Hixson felt in a sudden hurry to get there. He skipped breakfast and packed up his cold camp. As he walked, daylight let in the doubt which darkness had eased. The resolve of night faded away and once again he thought he just might be a fool, on a fool’s errand.
Oak Hollow was busier than he remembered it. He marched straight through town to the path that led past Emma’s house. At the last minute, he decided to cut around Emma’s. He walked through the woods a distance away to avoid being seen. The clearing was ahead.
Hixson stood back in the trees, looking. He was trying to gather up his courage. He saw the new horses at the far end of the pasture, standing in an oak thicket, and wondered where they came from. Towzer was lying on her side in the dirt, several yards in front of the porch steps. She was getting fat, he thought.
Hixson watched from the screen of trees for a few minutes.
It began to dawn on him that something was wrong. He could see a dark stain in the dirt under Towzer. It occurred to him that a black dog didn’t usually nap in the summer sun. He understood, then, what he was seeing. She wasn’t getting fat: she was bloating in the sun. Screaming “Oh, God, no!” he ran to the dog.
Towzer was dead, stabbed. The dog still had a scrap of blue serge fabric in her teeth, hinting at who had been here. Hixson pulled the scrap from her mouth, not yet realizing what it meant. He sprinted into the cabin.
Hixson did not see Sarah, and thought she was gone. There was a smell in the room he could not identify at first. The air was hot and stale, as if the cabin had been closed up awhile. The room was in disarray with furniture turned over, some of it broken.
There were blood stains in many places on the floor. The table was lying on its edge, strands of blonde hair caught in the edge of the planked top. Hixson was nearing panic as he looked around the room. He noticed a lock of hair on the floor, stretched out from behind the other side of the fallen table. Darting over, he found Sarah, lying unconscious on the floor.
Her hair was spread out around her, as if she had fallen suddenly. Her hands were tied and there were pools of blood beneath her head and around her hips. Hixson went into battle mode. Clear-headedness and calm composure took over. He