by Jody Hedlund
With the growing dusk, sunlight touched on both of their heads, turning their hair a light brown that matched the color of the ripening wheat in the field next to the church. They were hers. They always had been and always would be, even if she could no longer hold them and take care of them the way she wanted.
As they rolled toward the road that led south of town, Sophie fought back a wave of panic at the thought of losing them, of perhaps never seeing them again. Then she reminded herself they were off on a new adventure, that they’d wanted a home like the one Mr. and Mrs. Ramsey would be giving them, that such a home with two parents was better than being raised by a single woman without any means to take care of them.
Even as the panic subsided, a feeling of emptiness was left in its wake, an emptiness so deep and wide that Sophie was liable to drown in it if she took one step forward. So she stayed in her spot by the door and stared after the wagon, watching the two little heads bouncing up and down.
Finally, Nicholas turned and looked back at the church. At the sight of her still there, he smiled broadly and waved. Olivia shifted and looked at her too.
Sophie managed to wave and smile at them, though she wanted to do nothing more than fall to her knees and weep. Instead, she continued watching the wagon with dry eyes until it was swallowed up by the tall wheat field and disappeared from sight.
Chapter 7
“Och, dinnae tell me I’m too late!” A short heavyset woman approached the church entrance. She regarded the departing families with dismay creasing her face.
Sophie could only shake her head, unable to squeeze a word past the tight ache in her throat.
“I knew I should have left those boys to feed themselves tonight,” the woman said, wiping a splotchy red hand across her perspiring brow.
A bright yellow calico kerchief covered the woman’s head and was tied under a fleshy and almost nonexistent chin. Wiry gray strands of hair escaped the kerchief and dangled across the woman’s forehead and around her neck. She wore an equally bright yellow dress over a full bosom and rounded middle, reminding Sophie of one of the sunflowers she’d seen in passing from the train window.
“Och, this is all my fault, babying my boys too much.”
Sophie was in no mood to talk to anyone, not after Olivia and Nicholas had just ridden away. Her heart was racing, urging her to run after the wagon and snatch the children from it.
“Can you tell me if there are any orphans left inside?” the woman asked, standing at eye level with Sophie. At her slight frame and petite height, Sophie was rarely eye level with anyone, and yet she found herself staring into a pair of warm brown eyes.
Before Sophie could reply, the church door opened and several children darted past and scampered into the churchyard. A boy of about five years with a mischievous grin chased after two younger boys, who appeared to be twins. From their cries of protest, neither seemed especially thrilled at the game of chase.
A couple more children zipped past Sophie, quickly followed by a harried mother with a baby on her hip. Anna trailed after, and a tall man brought up the rear of the group.
Sophie awoke from her daze of pain and emptiness. “Anna,” she said, reaching for her friend’s hand. She couldn’t lose Anna now too.
“I guess I’ll stay with the Pierces,” Anna replied, watching the children running and hollering. Her pretty face was filled with uncertainty, as if she too were wondering what they’d gotten themselves into. This wasn’t what they’d agreed upon, was it?
Even with all of Reverend and Mrs. Poole’s admonitions on what to expect, none of it had prepared them for the reality of the placing-out.
“You don’t have to go,” Sophie said.
“’Course she does.” Mr. Pierce smiled at Anna congenially as he came alongside her. He stuck out his elbow, offering to escort her to the wagon. “We might look chaotic, but you’ll find we’re not all that bad.”
Mrs. Pierce was yelling at the children to get into the back of the wagon. Her irritation was written in every taut feature of her tired face.
Seeing his wife’s frustration, Mr. Pierce’s smile diminished. He met Anna’s gaze with clear, honest eyes that seemed to plead with her. While he wasn’t a handsome man, he had an air of boyish charm that gave him an appeal difficult to resist. “She’s going through a rough time of it. If you come, you’ll be like an angel sent from heaven.”
Anna hesitated.
The woman with the yellow kerchief frowned and looked as though she might speak.
“I promise to look out for you,” Mr. Pierce continued hurriedly, “and make sure no one takes advantage of your help.” His tone was so genuine and sincere that Sophie decided if Anna didn’t accept his offer, she would.
As if sensing the opportunity slipping from her grasp, Anna nodded.
Mr. Pierce’s smile returned, and he held out the crook of his arm again. This time Anna took the offer.
Sophie wrapped her friend in a one-armed hug before letting her walk away.
“How will I find Anna if I need to get in touch with her?” Sophie called after them.
“We’re seven miles north of town on Huntington County Road,” Mr. Pierce replied. “Come out and see us anytime.”
Sophie nodded, the ache in her throat fading just a little. Maybe everything would work out after all. Olivia and Nicholas were together and had a nice new mother. And now Anna had a friendly place to go, even if the Pierce children were rambunctious and their mother harried. Perhaps Anna’s presence would bring some peace to the home, and hopefully she would enjoy having a stable and pleasant place to live for the first time in years.
“Well now, looks like that’s all settled,” the heavyset woman said, staring alongside Sophie as Mr. Pierce lifted Anna onto the wagon bench instead of in the back with the children. He helped his wife up next. Sophie expected the woman to ask Anna to climb into the back, but she settled the baby on her lap and didn’t seem to mind Anna’s presence in the least. Mr. Pierce jumped up and took his place next to Anna.
“She’s your friend?” The woman beside Sophie shifted.
“Yes.” Sophie waved at Anna as the wagon rolled out of the churchyard.
“Then you’re an orphan.” It was more of a statement than a question. Her voice contained an interesting lilt that wasn’t Irish but sounded close to it.
Sophie couldn’t tear her gaze away from Anna riding down the road. She felt the woman’s scrutiny and wasn’t sure how to reply. She’d never really considered herself an orphan, even when she’d lived in the asylums. Though both her parents were dead, she was old enough to take care of herself. She didn’t need help or supervision the same way the younger children did.
Even so, she needed a place to live, preferably somewhere near Olivia and Nicholas so she could see them as frequently as she wanted.
Sophie spun and opened the church door. Was she too late to find a family here in Mayfield? Had everyone who wanted an orphan already picked one out?
She stepped back inside only to note that the sanctuary was now empty of families except for a few who were talking to the Pooles and the committee with their new children close by their sides. Sophie was surprised to see so many of the orphans still left at the front. Most of them had returned to the pews and were sitting or lying down. Several of the more energetic boys were wrestling each other near the pulpit.
“And who are you going home with, if you dinnae mind me asking?” The woman had come inside behind Sophie and was studying the children who remained as if looking for someone in particular.
The Pooles had been right—the oldest and the youngest had been taken first. The teenage boys were gone, likely for their ability to help on the farms, as were the smallest, like Nicholas, who were still little enough that they weren’t jaded or rough or rebellious, as was the case with some of the street urchins who’d lived on their own for so long.
“I don’t have a home yet,” Sophie answered. “Who are you looking for?”
“Well now.” She turned her full attention to Sophie. “I think I might be looking for you.”
“For me?”
“Aye. I came to find a young woman, and here you are. A wee one, that’s for certain. But a bonnier lass I’ve never seen. You’re standing at the door like you are waiting for me, though you should have been scooped up and whisked away already. It would be just like the good Lord to bless me with His favor even though I dinnae deserve it.”
The woman’s words didn’t make much sense to Sophie, so she shrugged. “Why do you need a young woman?”
Although Sophie didn’t have any other choices at the moment, something inside urged her to be cautious. She’d had to be careful and alert over the past two years. She wasn’t naïve and knew that there were many people who took advantage of young women like her. Not that this plump, matronly woman looked like the type to sell her into a brothel. Nevertheless, her first instinct was always mistrust.
“I’ll be honest with ye, lass,” the woman said, looking her straight in the eyes. “I’m getting too old to handle all the work by myself. With a hardworking husband and five growing sons, I can’t keep up with feeding and clothing them. I need an extra hand to help me with all the chores, especially with putting up the garden.”
“So you live on a farm?” Sophie wasn’t surprised. It seemed most of the people in Illinois did.
“Not just any farm, mind ye,” the woman said with some spunk. “A dairy farm.”
“What’s a dairy farm?”
“We milk cows. Lots of cows.”
Curiosity perked inside Sophie at the same time that anxiety prodded her. She’d never seen a real cow, much less milked one. Should she admit the truth? And what if she was honest and the woman decided she wasn’t a blessing waiting at the church door after all and took another of the children instead?
“Oh, sure,” Sophie said with feigned confidence. “I can milk a cow.”
The woman’s brows rose into the tight curls on her forehead. “You can now?”
Sophie kept her expression as wide-eyed as possible. She’d been told often enough that she had pretty eyes, that she could win over a person with one bat of her lashes.
“I wasn’t expecting a young woman to help with the milking. My husband and boys take care of that. But I’m sure they won’t mind a bonnie lass like yerself helping them in a pinch.”
Sophie nodded. “How far away do you live from the Ramseys?”
“The carpenter?”
“They took my little brother and sister.”
“Och, my dear.” The woman lifted one of her splotchy hands and pressed Sophie’s cheek. The touch was gentle, and her eyes filled with a compassion so warm and tender that the ache in Sophie’s throat returned. “I dinnae know how you’re standing there without falling apart. I know I’d be a blathering mess.”
Sophie smiled even as the tears stung her eyes. She was going to like this woman.
“The Ramseys live a fair distance from our farm—five miles, maybe,” the woman said, smiling in return, “but not far enough that one of my boys can’t take you there whenever ye need to see your brother and sister.”
Five miles. That was a long way to walk, but she could do it if she needed to.
“I’m Euphemia Duff. What do you say? Think you’d like to give me a try?”
Give her a try? Wasn’t it the other way around? Wasn’t Sophie the one who needed trying out? Euphemia probably wouldn’t be quite so eager to have her if she knew all Sophie’s many sins and faults. And she certainly wouldn’t want her if Sophie admitted how little she knew about farm chores and putting up a garden, whatever that meant. But how hard could it be to learn?
“I’d be grateful for the opportunity, Mrs. Duff.” Sophie searched her mind for proper manners. Along with the other things her parents had taught her, the manners were still there somewhere—perhaps a little dusty with disuse but not completely forgotten.
Euphemia took Sophie’s hand and squeezed it. “Och, you must call me Euphemia. Or if you want to call me Mum, I won’t mind that at all.”
Mum. The word tumbled around Sophie’s mind. She’d called her own mother Mutti, the German endearment. But it had been over two years now since Mutti had died, since life had unraveled one stitch at a time.
Maybe now she’d finally have the opportunity to knit her life back together again.
The wagon ride to the Duff dairy farm took the better part of an hour. Euphemia talked practically nonstop the entire way, which was fine with Sophie since her insides were tying themselves into a tangle of knotted questions the farther they rode from the church. Had she done the right thing for Olivia and Nicholas? Would they be happier and safer now? What would her own new life be like on a dairy farm?
Euphemia informed her that she had five boys ranging in age from twenty-five to twelve and that they all still lived on the farm. When she mentioned that she and her husband, Barclay, had been married for twenty years, Sophie guessed that Euphemia’s first child was from a previous marriage, that perhaps she’d been a widow when she’d married Barclay. But Euphemia didn’t offer an explanation, and Sophie didn’t pry.
Euphemia told about how she’d come over from Scotland when she was about Sophie’s age, how she’d been a milkmaid for a dairy farm in western New York and had learned everything there was to know about running a dairy farm.
Thankfully, Euphemia didn’t ask Sophie any questions. She wasn’t ready to share about her past or even much about her current situation, and she supposed Euphemia sensed that.
Darkness had fallen by the time Euphemia pulled the team in front of a barn with a peak roof projecting over a hayloft. It was one of the biggest barns Sophie had seen so far during the ride west. A lantern hanging from a rafter inside revealed horse stalls as well as pigpens.
“The cows are over in the other barn.” Euphemia pointed in the direction of a long, low building that sat behind the barn and was connected with a fenced-in area.
“Does it always smell like this?” Sophie asked.
“Like what?” Euphemia asked as she clambered down from the wagon.
“Like . . .” Sophie tried to think of a delicate way to describe the waft of animal flesh and manure that was heavy in the air. Before she could say anything, the back door of the house opened, spilling light across the farmyard that spanned the barn and house, revealing a root cellar, a well, and clotheslines with linens still flapping in the breeze.
“Mum” came a boy’s voice. “Did you get a girl?”
The boy was outlined in the doorway, stocky and broad-shouldered with a thatch of thick hair sticking on end.
“Fergus Duff, mind your manners!” Euphemia bellowed in a stern tone. Then she said to Sophie under her breath, “You’ll have to forgive them, lass. They aren’t used to having a girl around.”
The boy hung his head and stepped outside, leaving the door wide open. Another boy appeared in the doorway, this one slightly taller.
Before Sophie could examine the boys more carefully, two other young men emerged from the shadows of the barn, framed by the lantern light.
“Mum,” said the stockier of the two, coming forward and taking the reins. From his build and confident stance, Sophie could see he was older and more mature than his brothers. In the faint light of the barn, she couldn’t distinguish his features but could see he was hefty, not as much as Euphemia, but still a large-sized man.
“Och, thank you, Lyle.” Euphemia stood on her tiptoes and placed a kiss on the man’s bearded face. “Why don’t you help Sophie down from the wagon? I’m sure the lass is bone-weary after all her traveling.”
Not wanting to be a bother, Sophie started to climb down on her own, but before she could find footing, wide hands were upon her waist and lifting her the rest of the way.
“There you are,” the man said, setting her on the ground. The pressure of his hands was strong and yet gentle. Sophie expected him to linger, to take advantage of the close proximity. Any man she�
�d ever known would have. But he released her right away and took a step back.
“Welcome to the farm,” he said with a warm smile, one that showed more of his familial resemblance to his mother.
“Thank you.”
With the barn lantern casting a glow over her, he openly studied her, his eyes lighting with the appreciation she was accustomed to seeing in men.
“This wee bairn is my Lyle,” Euphemia said, patting Lyle’s arm. “Then there’s my Gavin. And these two are my Fergus and my Alastair.”
Sophie nodded first at Lyle, then Gavin, still by the barn door, and finally at the boys who’d walked over from the house and now stood nearby, staring at her with wide eyes.
The next hour was a blur as Euphemia gave her a tour of the farm buildings and house. She met everyone but Stuart, called Stu by his brothers. Euphemia had peeked into his room and came back out to say that he was already asleep.
Once the tour was complete, Euphemia propelled Sophie into a chair at the enormous dining room table and put a plate in front of her that was piled high with fried chicken, buttery homemade noodles, biscuits, and the sweetest jam Sophie had ever tasted.
Euphemia shooed the boys away with a broom and laughter, telling them they could ogle Sophie more in the morning. Sophie had assured the woman that she didn’t mind, but Euphemia still swatted at the boys playfully each time they poked their heads into the room.
Once Sophie finished with dinner, Euphemia led her up the narrow stairs to the second floor, which consisted of two bedrooms—a large one for Euphemia and Barclay, and a smaller one next door with two twin beds.
“This room is for you, lass,” Euphemia said. She lit a lantern on the pedestal table positioned between the beds that were neatly made with colorful quilts. A braided rug covered the floor and was bright with yellows, reds, and greens. A window had been opened, and a pair of cherry red calico curtains fluttered in a breeze that brought in the scent of the barnyard, a scent that seemed to be as much a part of the house as the bright colors.
