Sarah's Promise (4 page)

It didn’t take me long to grab and load that rifle. Katie hadn’t made it to the barn yet. She didn’t dare move fast because the dog was keeping pace with her, and a sudden move might’ve set him off to jumping at her. I could hear him growling, low and fearsome. She was pale. Scared. What in the world was the matter with this dog that he’d act like this? He ought to be friendly finding a person outside like this. Or nervous enough to run off if he wasn’t used to people.

I stepped out to the porch and fired a shot into the air. The big dog turned his head and looked at me with its fierce eyes. It did look like a bear standing there. A big, black, shaggy bear. But even a bear ought to run off. This dog didn’t. It just turned its head back to Katie and growled again.

I went closer and fired another shot. Something was wrong with this dog. This time when it turned and looked at me, it looked a little longer. Katie took the chance to run for the barn door. It lunged at her, but she got the door shut between them just in time. So the dog turned on me.

Lord, help.
Its shining eyes showed a fury I didn’t think I’d ever seen in anything and I hoped to never see again. That dog was mad. It came running at me, and I fumbled with Robert’s rifle. I’d never been really good with it. I could hear Mom behind me now on the porch, but I knew there was nothing she could do in time. I fired. But the fool beast didn’t fall. Shaking, scared, trying to back up, I fired again, aiming right between those devil eyes, and finally it stopped in its tracks, teetered a little, and fell. I was so shook that I fell too.

Mom came running up. Kate peeked out of the barn and then came out toward us. That big black furry shape lay in a heap less than two yards from me. I heaved a giant breath, trying to slow my racing heart.
Oh, Lord, thank you. I could have been bit. Me or Katie, either one could have been mauled by that mad thing. Thank you, thank you for your help.

My hands were still shaking. Mom tried to help me up, concern and relief mingled together in her expression. A single white snowflake flittered down between us as she took my hand. And then more snowflakes. Bushels. Like my firing at the sky had opened up holes for them to pour through.

With my nerves still a-jitter, I assured Mom I was fine. I gave Katie a big hug, and we all went back toward the house as the snowflakes dusted that big black body with white. It was freezing cold out, even worse than it had been when Frank left, and I realized for the first time that I hadn’t taken time to grab my coat.

“I’d best separate the wounded hen and do away with it,” Mom said somberly. “I don’t know if sickness can spread to chickens, but we don’t want to take the chance. We’ll have to dispose of that big carcass too, but I suppose that can wait till your father gets home.”

Frank should be here
, I couldn’t help thinking. If he were, he’d have been the one to shoot that dog. He could kill the chicken for Mom, fix the chicken house window, and dispose of the carcass too. He could look at me with his casual grin and serious eyes and tell me that this was no big deal, and then maybe quote a Scripture or two.

Suddenly I burst into tears. It was absolute foolishness, I knew that plain enough, but I couldn’t seem to stop.

“Sarah, are you all right?” Mom asked, taking the rifle to hold for me.

“Yes,” I tried my best to answer her. “Just . . . just shaken a little, I guess.”

I couldn’t tell her any more. The snow pouring down made me think of Frank, miles and miles away on the open road. Was it snowing where he was too? It wasn’t supposed to snow today. It was supposed to be clear, that was what the radio forecast had said. But the weatherman was just plain wrong. Dad was in town, and Frank was way off who knows where by now. All alone.

“How about some tea?” Mom asked me. “Let’s get you inside where it’s warm.”

I nodded my head, but I couldn’t turn my mind from Frank. Maybe I was making mountains out of molehills right then because I was still a bundle of nerves over that dog, but I felt scared for him. He should be here with us where he belonged, working in the woodshop, or doing any of so many other things he was always applying his hands to around the farm. He could sure help us right now, and then come inside and sit in front of the fireplace with his leg propped up, sipping a cup of coffee to get warm again.

He shouldn’t have gone. Surely there were plenty of strong young men in Camp Point that Sam and Thelma could have gotten to help them move. This happening today, with that mad dog, that was plenty of evidence, more than I’d ever need, that he ought to be home. With Dad working so much and Robert overseas, we needed him. We’d always needed him. Right here.

I tried to put all that from my mind without much success. And we were done with tea and back to our work before Katie remembered the mail. She’d had it tucked in her coat pocket. Just one letter. For me. I slid my batch of cinnamon muffins into the oven, wiped my hands, and sat on a kitchen chair, ready to give the letter my attention. The envelope was handwritten, with no return address. Postmarked right in Dearing, the nearest town. I wasn’t sure what to expect. Certainly not what I found. A neatly printed flyer, advertising a winter carnival and dance sponsored by the Lion’s Auxiliary Club. And at the bottom, the only personal message on the page:

“Won’t you join me for a fun evening? I can pick you up or meet you in town. Thinking of you, Donald Mueller.”

Incensed, I crumpled the page and threw it into the kindling box. Donald Mueller, who knew I was engaged! How dare he invite me to a dance? Had someone told him Frank was going away?

I threw the envelope into the kindling box along with the flyer and then started setting the table.

“Advertisement?” Katie asked.

I nodded, unwilling to disclose the reality of the matter. Donald was stupid. Why would he try inviting me to a dance? The idea was crazy. He’d probably omitted his return address because I’d have thrown the letter away unopened if I’d seen his name. How could he possibly think that getting me to open the envelope would make any difference?

Mom came back to the kitchen and stirred the pot of beans she’d left on to simmer. We’d have bean soup tonight, which always hit the spot for me when it was cold. I didn’t tell her about the letter, and I was glad Katie didn’t say anything more. I guess it was just too embarrassing to mention that I’d been asked out on a date. We were planning a wedding, for goodness sake. I prayed Donald would have the good sense to never try such a stunt again.

“Everything all right, Sarah?” Mom asked cheerfully as she started peeling an onion to go in the beans.

“Yes,” I answered quietly, trying to think of another chore to keep me distracted.

“Don’t worry about Franky, honey,” Mom said suddenly. “He’ll manage fine.”

I knew the words were meant as comfort, but they seemed like nothing but a jabbing reminder. How would
I
manage for two weeks without Frank here? What if he decided to stay even longer?

Mom was chopping onion, quickly and rhythmically. She didn’t seem bothered by the snow, or the big dog I’d shot, or Frank’s absence. Sometimes I wished I could be more like her. Peaceful about everything. At least, that’s the way she appeared.

The snow hadn’t gotten worse, but it still bothered me. For Dad’s sake, with his drive home from town, but mostly for Frank.
I know he’s going to be all right, Lord. I know it. He’s in your hands.

I tried to sew, but it was hard to concentrate, so I prayed in my head for Frank and for our future together. Just as I thought I’d put other things out of my mind, thoughts of Donald’s invitation broke in again.

How dare he! Hopefully if I gave him no reply he’d get the message that he was barking up the wrong tree. I wouldn’t even consider going to that winter carnival, but I didn’t want to have to answer his letter to say so. I didn’t want to deal with him in any way at all.

Mom was almost done cutting the onion when we heard a dog barking in the south field. It didn’t sound like the Hammonds’ dog, and we didn’t usually hear any others out here. Feeling peculiar, I moved to the window and looked out, but that horrible black beast was still right where we’d left it. Dead and almost invisible now under a blanket of snow.

I was very glad when Dad pulled in. He hadn’t wanted to get stuck in town if the roads drifted shut, so he’d called Buck Norton to fill in for him at the service station and came home early.

“It might not be snowing north of here,” he tried to assure me.

But I didn’t feel any better about things. If it kept up, Dad wouldn’t be able to get to work tomorrow, and we’d miss our prearranged telephone call from Frank.

Dad closed the big dog’s carcass in a barn stall because the wind was too strong to do any burning and the ground was too frozen solid to dig. He said he’d take care of it in tomorrow’s light. When we told him the story, he hugged us all, relieved that everything had come out all right. And he said he was proud of me, taking care of things like that.

I don’t know why, but his words almost made me want to cry again. I was getting frustrated with myself. Things didn’t bother me so much most of the time. It was the situation with Frank that had started it all. Life would change immensely if he took a job somewhere else. Did he want things to be so different? What was wrong with the life we had here?

There was no sense thinking about it. I buttered one of my fresh-baked muffins as a quick snack for Dad. He ate it and headed back outside to start the milking early. I went to help him, hoping the work would keep my mind off things, but the wind was picking up terribly, and walking through the blowing snow just made me feel worse. This wasn’t going to be a fit night for anybody to be out.

Dad had told me that Frank’s trip to Camp Point should take about ten hours, but I wasn’t sure how much that would change considering the snow. The whole thing just made me mad. At Sam. Why convince Frank to drive 230 miles when surely, after all the time they’d lived there, they could have found an acquaintance close by to help them?

But I knew it wasn’t really Sam’s fault even though the idea had been his. Frank had wanted to go, and he’d been glad to do it alone. I wished I understood, but I didn’t.

Snow was blowing in through cracks in the barn wall, and I prayed Frank was already in Camp Point or soon would be. Better for him to be with Sam than to be alone along the road someplace if this weather kept on. Just the thought made me shiver.

“I saw Donald Mueller in town today,” Dad remarked suddenly.

I looked up from my milking. The mention of that name made me feel strange inside, and I didn’t answer.

“He was asking about Frank, how long he’d be gone.”

“How did he even know he was leaving?” I had to ask, my heart suddenly hammering viciously.

“Apparently he saw Harry and Sam the other day and they mentioned the trip. He seemed very interested, I’m not sure why.”

“He’s a pig,” I said halfway under my breath.

But Dad heard me and gave me an odd look. “Everything all right, pumpkin?”

I sighed. “He was one of the boys that used to pick on Frank something terrible.”

I almost went on to say that Donald used to pester me too, but I didn’t tell that part. I didn’t want to think about it, because he was obviously up to his old tricks. Why couldn’t he leave well enough alone?

“Sam and Thelma’ll be happy closer to the deaf school,” Dad affirmed then. “I think it’s a good move for them.”

I just nodded. Of course that was right, and nobody could really argue. Sam had a good-paying new job. But even though it was still in Illinois, Jacksonville seemed like a world away. And Camp Point was farther still.

My milk cow raised her back leg up and down, impatient because I milked slower than Dad did. “What’s your hurry?” I asked her irritably. “You’re not gonna go run the pasture in this weather anyhow.”

Dad looked over at me again. “Need help, pumpkin? I’m almost done here.”

Dad had been calling me “pumpkin” since I was tiny. But lately, it seemed like he’d done it less and less. Until today. Twice in just a few minutes. Maybe he was thinking of me as his little girl again for some reason. Maybe he was wondering about Donald Mueller too, since he’d brought it up. Maybe I should tell him about the invitation. But surely it wasn’t necessary. Nothing would come of it. Donald was just a presumptuous dunce who mistakenly thought Frank was a weakling. He wouldn’t have dared ask me to the dance if I were engaged to any other young man in town.

I rose from the milking, trying to turn my thinking to other things. I didn’t want to have Donald on my mind for another minute. Dad carried both our milk pails to the house. Neither was full. Milk was down for both cows.

The wind was brisk, tossing snow in our faces on the way to the porch. The end of our lane was drifting shut. If the sky didn’t clear by morning, we’d be snowed in. There’d be no going to town and no way to know whether Frank had gotten to Sam’s house safely. But there wasn’t any reason to doubt. I could easily picture him comfortable in a chair with one or two of the kids cuddled on his lap. Maybe he was already there, in out of the blowing cold.