Linked Through Time Page 8

  I searched for the right words to say, but could think of none. The three of us stood in awkward silence.

  Bobby coughed. “Sarah heard the dog bark and came out to see what was going on. I ran into her on the backfield and brought her with me. I didn’t want you shooting her by accident.”

  Rodney laughed. “Probably thought it was Dave making one of his little midnight visits.”

  My eyebrows shot up, my mouth opened to defend my honor. “I was not…”

  “Don’t bother denying it,” Rodney interrupted. “We both know where you go some nights. Just be glad I haven’t told Dad or you wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week.”

  I hung my head and turned to the farmhouse. I couldn’t argue with Rodney; I had no idea what Sarah’s reputation had been before I came along, but it still hurt to know what they thought of her.

  Once inside, the three of us separated to our rooms. Easing myself back into bed so as not to wake Louise and Janice, I lay stiff as a board, thinking of the night’s events.

  The more I thought about Sarah, the more I understood her and her life. Again, I entertained the thought that maybe her death at the rapids wasn’t an accident. Maybe she was looking for a way to escape all along.

  The first light of day touched the sky, sending a muted glow into my bedroom and I heard Bobby and Rodney shuffling around in the room next door. How could I look at them today? A single tear slid down my cheek and dropped to my pillow, spreading in a slow, widening circle of dampness. I prayed silently, hoping for some answers or some sort of sign. Why is this happening to me? Was this all really about changing the future, or punishment for my spiteful behavior? Please help me, God, help me get through the next few months. And please… please let me go home.

  I knew I was supposed to wake up and join the boys in the barn, but my legs refused to cooperate. I couldn’t face them, not so soon after last night’s humiliation. I was weary – weary and confused. When would it all make sense?

  I closed my eyes as the sun shone brighter. Louise and Janice began to stir, twitching and mumbling in their sleep. Fifteen minutes. I would get up in fifteen minutes.

  My eyes felt like someone had stuck sandpaper beneath my lids. I figured I had slept no more than twenty minutes before Louise pulled the pillow from beneath my head and smacked me in the face.

  “Get up! Dad says it’s hay day.” Louise pulled on jeans and a long sleeved shirt.

  I waited until Louise left the room before sliding out from the covers, fully dressed. I couldn’t decide if I should be thankful for a change from weeding the fields and milking the cows. It was quite possible that “hay day” was much worse than any other chore. I tried to recall my father’s stories about haying. But the only thing that came to mind was the fact that he had never wanted to drive the tractor; you had to be perfect, not drive too close or too far from the bales and if you jerked the trailer and the bales toppled, you had to restack the entire trailer by yourself. I groaned. It was going to be hard enough for me not to get run over by the tractor, let alone haul the enormous bales.

  When I entered the kitchen, I was immediately swept into a current of activity. As fast as my grandmother pulled fresh, steaming loaves of bread from the wood stove, they were sliced and slathered with butter and pieces of ham left over from breakfast the day before. Louise filled a large cardboard box with sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, carrots from the garden, kohlrabi, radishes, pickles, and canned beans. Nestled amongst the sandwiches were three jugs of water, proof it would be a long day.

  I grabbed a handful of cooling pancakes from the cast iron griddle on the stove and stuffed them in my mouth. Apparently, I had slept longer than twenty minutes, because everyone else was ready to head out the door, and I was still rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

  Pulling on a pair of work boots, I jumped in surprise when Bobby knelt down beside me and whispered in my ear. “During break, I’m going to take a few sandwiches to those girls. If you want to come….” he trailed off, a hint of secrecy in his voice.

  I nodded, relieved he didn’t carry a grudge for long. Rodney, on the other hand, brushed past me without a second glance, making my cheeks flush red with shame. The thick, dry pancakes I had wolfed down in minutes sank heavy into my stomach, making it feel like I had eaten rocks. Dread for the day ahead filled my heart; in Rodney’s eyes, I had failed already.

  The morning passed quickly. I struggled through the field, trying not to get swept beneath the trailer. Straining to toss the hay bales to the wooden platform took every ounce of concentration and strength I possessed.

  After one round of the field, my arms burned with the effort, and there were probably a couple hundred bales to go.

  By the third round, I had to use my knee to get enough leverage to get the bale on the platform and the prickly hay stuck right through the denim of my jeans. It felt like an itchy rash was developing on my upper thigh, and I began to envy Louise and Dean, who rode the trailer and stacked the bales into a rising pyramid.

  I spotted Rodney coming up behind me, carrying two bales at a time, and I gritted my teeth in determination. I would show him what I could be, no matter what the cost. I was tired of feeling worthless and cheap in his eyes, and I wanted a second chance.

  The bales on the trailer were a teetering, precarious stack when the tractor rolled to a stop. Matthew jumped down from the driver’s seat, his short spindly legs pushing on a block of wood for the pedal, just so he could reach.

  “Bring it in,” Rodney ordered.

  Bobby, Patrick, and Matthew scrambled up the leaning stack, joining Dean and Louise at the top. I eyed the stack warily, but chose risking a fall from the bales over walking back to the barn. Rodney started the slow drive down the bumpy trail, and I lay back, relishing the break for my weary muscles. My fingers were raw from picking up the bales by the coarse twine and my arms ached from repeatedly lifting the bales above my head. But I did it! A city girl from Florida kept up with the rest of them and I didn’t complain once! A small smile of victory slid onto my face.

  “I’m glad that’s over,” I said, grinning at Louise, who sat picking her teeth with a sprig of hay.

  Louise rolled onto her stomach, resting her cheek on the hay. “Yep. One field down, two to go.”

  We jostled down the dirt lane, clinging to the rocking bales to keep them from spilling over the sides. Now I understood the massive preparation that morning; we wouldn’t be finished until sundown. I swore under my breath, and wiped the gritty sweat from my brow. So much for my so-called victory.

  On the last hill, we pulled into sight of the giant red barn, and I could see a familiar figure leaning against the barn door, looking like a picture out of a magazine. Dave Slater waited, his arms crossed naturally across his broad chest. I could feel my pulse jump as my mind replayed our date at the rapids and the way his hands had sent heat coursing through my body. I ducked low into the pyramid of hay, suddenly aware of what I must look like. “Louise!” I hissed, as though Dave could hear me above the rumble of the tractor.

  She turned to me, looking unimpressed. “What?”

  “How do I look? How’s my hair?” I said, frantically trying to smooth it down with my hands.

  Louise rolled her eyes, and turned her face away. I guess she hadn’t forgiven me for ditching her the other day.

  * * * *

  Dave helped Rodney and Bobby restack the bales with precision, loading the barn to the ceiling with the fresh bales. I couldn’t help but watch Dave’s muscular arms strain against his T-shirt as if they were a beast trapped within. Once the bales were finished, Dave accepted a jug of water from Bobby. He shot me a crooked grin from across the barn, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  I managed an uneasy smile in return, and fished a sandwich out of the cardboard box to take to him. Everyone piled onto the bare wooden slats of the trailer, passing around the box of food and water. Dave moved to sit by me, brushing his leg against mine as he took his spot on the
trailer. I tried not to think of the layers of sweat and dirt that had become my second skin over the past few days and instead focused on making conversation that didn’t have me stuttering over every other word.

  “Nice to see you,” I said between bites of my sandwich. “Thanks for helping. It saved me a few blisters anyway.” I grinned, showing him my raw, damaged hands.

  Dave swept my hands into his own and sprinkled kisses over the red patches. “I couldn’t wait until this weekend to see you. I figured your dad would never turn away free help.” He moved his hands over to my back and neck, rubbing the knots of pain that had developed.

  I closed my eyes, reveling in the close attention.

  Bobby approached, carrying a few sandwiches. My heart sank, realizing I would have to leave Dave to take the food to the girls. I had promised Bobby first, and I owed him. He checked first, then shot.

  Bobby stopped in front of the two of us, raising his eyebrows in question. “Are you going?”

  Dave looked at me, and I could feel my heart being torn in both directions. “I promised Bobby I’d do something with him during break,” I said, my voice reluctant. I made a move to hop from the trailer, but Dave grabbed my arm in a firm hold.

  “You don’t have to go. Bobby’s a big boy, right, Bobby?” Dave spoke in a firm, no arguing tone.

  Bobby shrugged. “It was something we both wanted to do,” he said, waiting for my answer.

  I pulled my arm free from Dave’s grasp and hopped down from the trailer.

  “I really should go. It’s…complicated,” I said, relying on the same word I kept using to describe my life lately.

  Dave jumped down from the trailer and stood in my way. “I took time out of my day to come see you, and you would just walk away? Leave me?” Angry lines appeared along his mouth as he frowned. “I said you’re not going.”

  Surprise must have been evident on my face, because Bobby spoke up, relieving the tension. “I’ll go, Sarah. Don’t worry about it. You can go next time.” He jogged away before I could respond, my mind still grappling with Dave’s controlling tantrum.

  “I can speak for myself, thanks,” I said, trying to keep my voice light and teasing, when inside I felt insulted and a little angry. “I really wanted to go. See, there’s these girls out in the woods…”

  Dave cut me off, placing his fingers on my lips in a rough manner. “I didn’t come here to be blown off like some second rate option. Obviously, you don’t think I’m worth wasting your precious break over.” His face twisted into a sneer and he turned away.

  I made a move to grab for his arm, wanting to finish my explanation. Dave whirled, lashing out as quickly as a snake. He pushed me hard, and I rammed into the back of the trailer, knocking the wind from my lungs.

  I dropped to my knees, gasping for breath, looking around to see if anyone had noticed. The rest of the family had conveniently disappeared, leaving Dave and me alone for our little argument. Caught off-guard, I watched him walk away, my heart aching at his moody, childlike behavior. What did I do? Anxious to appease him and make him understand, I called out his name, pleading with him to stop.

  Dave turned, eyeing me with what could only be described as disgust, his icy blue eyes hard as stone. I couldn’t understand why I felt the need to apologize. I hadn’t done anything, and yet, I didn’t want him to be angry with me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, biting my lip. Rising from the ground, I rubbed the small of my back where it had struck the trailer. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I… I just wanted to help someone.” I waited for him to say something, to take me in his arms and tell me all was forgiven.

  Dave’s face relaxed. He seemed to be mulling over my apology, almost savoring it. Then, as if he were the Pope himself, he came to me and placed his hands on my shoulders, absolving me of my sin. “I just don’t want you to forget who comes first, right?” he said, nudging me.

  I nodded, obediently. I felt like I was the child, and Dave, the disciplining father. I wanted to be angry with him; after all, it was humiliating to be told what to do, to be spoken for. But as I looked into his eyes, now soft and hypnotic, I found myself more taken with the nearness of his body, the rakish finger-combed set to his hair that made him even more adorable. His famous lopsided grin appeared, and I felt relief sweep through me.

  “That’s my girl,” he whispered, pulling me close. Our hearts beat in time, pounding against each other’s chests, as though trying to touch.

  I breathed in the scent of him, and buried my face in his shoulder. I felt his face turn and plant soft kisses against my neck, his lips moving slowly toward my ear. He pressed me up against the trailer and clawed his fingers into my hair, his mood taking on another sudden change, one of desperation and hunger.

  Overwhelmed with longing, I let Dave mold his body into mine; let his kisses travel my face until his lips connected with mine. A surge of desire rushed to my head, intoxicating my brain, making me dizzy with need. I forgot where we were, caught up in the moment of immediate passion. The swing of emotions frightened and thrilled me. One minute, Dave was controlling and dominating, the next passionate and giving. The complexity of the relationship was beyond my limited experience, and I could never tell what would happen next.

  Someone cleared their throat loudly, and Dave and I broke away, peeling our bodies from each other and smoothing our clothes in a self-conscious manner.

  Mortified, I saw it was my dad – Dean – who appeared from behind the trailer, his cheeks stained red with embarrassment.

  “Rodney says it’s time to head out to the next field,” Dean muttered, keeping his eyes to the ground.

  Breathless, I smoothed my hair and sidestepped Dave, putting some distance between us.

  Dave took the hint and stuck his hands in his pockets. He squinted out past the barn and gave a low whistle. “Looks like you’ll be working the rest of the day,” he said. “Guess I’ll catch up with you at the fair.” He fished a piece of gum from his pocket, tossed it to Dean with a flip of his hand, and walked away in a casual saunter. “’Til next time,” he said over his shoulder, hinting that, in his mind, our frenzied make out session was just the beginning.

  I shivered. It was way too easy to let my emotions switch to autopilot and throw caution to the wind. Dave made reason seem unreasonable. I couldn’t wait for the fair.

  The rest of the day passed in painful slow motion. I literally rolled from the trailer as the last bale was thrown into the barn.

  Outside, dusk had settled over the fields, dusting the sky with streaks of pink and purple. The beauty of it all was lost on me as I struggled to walk upright. My hands sported fresh blisters and my thighs were raw and itchy from the hay. I stumbled my way to the farmhouse, trailing everyone but Rodney who had stayed behind to close up the barn.

  His deep voice boomed behind me, startling me from my heavy trance. “Sarah!” he barked out.

  I couldn’t help the resentment filling my voice as I turned with a sneer. “What?” I snapped. “Didn’t I haul my share of bales? Did I drink your share of the water? What? Just yell at me already and get it over with.” My eyes narrowed into slits. If Rodney even dared to ride me about my performance today, I was ready to give him hell.

  Rodney looked taken aback. Rubbing the back of his neck, he shrugged. “I wanted to say thank you, is all. For sticking around. You’re not one to help with haying. You usually try and get out of it, don’t deny that. I can see how hard it was for you. I’m just saying thanks,” he mumbled. He paused by the chicken coop, removing a dusty John Deere hat from his head and wiping his brow. “Tell Mom I’ll be in for supper after I pen the animals.” He stalked away, his usual powerful frame hunched with weariness.

  Supper was a special affair. Three chickens had been butchered to reward the family for a hard day’s work. I could barely hold the fork and bring it to my mouth, but the food tasted so good, I would have licked it from my plate like a dog if I’d had to. I shoveled forkful after forkful of ma
shed potatoes, corn, gravy and chicken into my mouth until I could scarcely breathe.

  When the plates were cleared and put away, Gran hauled an enormous metal tub from the basement and set it on the floor in front of the wood stove. My eyes widened. I had been looking forward to relaxing in a nice, hot bath, but from the size of the washtub, it was apparent to be standing room only. The littlest children lined up first. The twins and Joyce took turns splashing in the water as my grandmother washed them down with a cloth. As each sibling took their turn, I watched in dismay as with each new bather, the old water remained in the tub, and only a few precious cups of warm water were added to the bath. I tried to hide my disgust at the fact I would have to bathe in tepid, dirty bath water, the leftovers from the other children. Would I ever be clean?

  My turn came, and everyone left the kitchen to give me some privacy. The heat from the wood stove barely warmed my tingly skin as I undressed hurriedly. There was nothing leisurely or pleasant about this kind of bathing.

  A knock at the kitchen door startled me as I stepped into the shallow tub. In my hurry to cover up with a towel, I tripped over the rim of the washtub and fell clumsily to the floor. I yelped as my raw, blistered hands hit the floor. Aching and weary, I could do nothing but lay in a half naked sprawl across the floor. “Just a minute!” I called out weakly.

  “It’s me, Rodney. I brought you some fresh water,” he said through the door. I could hear the embarrassment in his voice. “I know how you like to soak in the tub, so… just warm it up on the stove a few minutes and it’ll be fine. I’ll leave it on the porch,” he growled, almost as an order.

  “Thanks,” I managed to call out. Laughter spilled from me then as free and genuine as a mountain spring. Who would ever have thought someone like Rodney could care about a bath, something so ridiculously feminine and troublesome. I was sure he would much rather have jumped in the river to wash than try and squeeze his long, broad body into the tiny tub. Still, he had thought of me, and I knew it was because of my efforts during the day.