by Jody Hedlund
“I said this isn’t your concern.” Reinhold threw the saddle onto the railing with more force than necessary.
Jakob glared at Reinhold. And Sophie could only watch them both, unsure what to say or do to make the situation better.
Finally, Jakob took another step toward Reinhold, his fists balled at his sides. “She’s the one good thing that’s happened to us, and you had to ruin it.”
Reinhold stiffened, and his hands stilled around the shovel he’d just picked up.
Sophie sensed a storm brewing the same way a farmer could tell bad weather was coming.
“It’s because you’re a coward.” Jakob’s accusation echoed through the barn. “You’re afraid to let anything good happen to you. Because then you might actually have to prove you’re different than he was.”
“That’s enough.” Reinhold’s voice was low and tight. His fingers on the shovel trembled. “Go to the house. Now.”
Bright pink dotted Jakob’s cheeks, and his eyes glowed with the embers of emotion he’d obviously held inside for too long.
Sophie stepped onto the top rung of the ladder. She had to intervene before something bad happened.
“You think that by cutting everyone off, you won’t hurt anyone,” Jakob said. “Sometimes I wish you’d just hit me if it meant you’d let yourself care.”
“Stop!” Reinhold roared. He spun around, his face contorted with fury. He threw the shovel against the wall with a loud clank. Then he started toward Jakob, every stride declaring his intent to pummel the boy.
Jakob lifted his chin and braced his feet, waiting for Reinhold to slam into him. Fear flashed in the boy’s eyes, but he held his ground.
“No!” Sophie called. She began scrambling down the ladder. Jakob wouldn’t be a match against Reinhold. “Reinhold, don’t!”
Reinhold hesitated.
“You don’t need to do this!” In her haste she fought against the tangled folds of her skirt that threatened to trip her. “Your fight isn’t with Jakob.”
She didn’t know who the fight was with, didn’t understand everything Jakob had said. But she knew Jakob wasn’t Reinhold’s real enemy.
Reinhold halted in front of Jakob, their faces inches apart. Reinhold’s eyes were brutally dark, his nostrils flared, and his chest rose and fell with barely restrained rage.
Sophie wanted to shout out again as she jumped the last distance into a mound of hay. When she straightened, the brothers hadn’t moved. In fact, Jakob hadn’t even flinched. He held Reinhold’s gaze with a daring glimmer.
She started toward them, intending to push herself between them to keep them from fighting. But as she slipped and slid across the hay, Reinhold took a step away—first a little one. As if that motion had broken the bonds holding him captive, he stepped back again, this time putting a large gap between himself and Jakob.
His eyes still held Jakob’s. An invisible communication seemed to pass between the two. Finally, Reinhold nodded at Jakob before spinning and striding across the barn and disappearing outside.
Only after he was gone did Jakob allow himself to sag.
Sophie rushed to him, afraid he would crumple to the ground. As she grabbed his arm, he wiped his eyes, but not before she saw the tears.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
He blew out a long breath. And then she was surprised when he gave her a wobbly smile, his eyes still glassy. “I think maybe everything will be okay now.”
Sophie didn’t answer except to squeeze his arm. Maybe Jakob would be better off for having told Reinhold the things he’d needed to say for some time. In fact, she was proud of him for his courage to stand up to Reinhold and speak the truth. Jakob would only be stronger and better in the end for doing it.
But everything wouldn’t be okay for her. No matter what Jakob might have said to Reinhold, nothing would change the fact that she was leaving.
C
hapter 23
Reinhold wrapped the reins around his gloved hand and glanced at Sophie, who sat on the wagon bench next to him. She stared straight ahead so intently, he could tell she wasn’t noticing the countryside they’d passed on their ride into town for church. She wasn’t aware of the fields already cut clean, the dark soil damp from the rain, or the livestock grazing on the dying grass.
Normally, Sophie noticed the details and talked about it all. But today she’d been preoccupied, which caused worry to burrow into his core. He worried about her running away every single second of every single day. No matter where he was or what he was doing, his thoughts stayed on her and the possibility that she might disappear again.
When he arrived home after work two days ago to a dark house, he’d panicked, had assumed she’d left, and was nearly delirious with the need to go after her. At the sight of her in the barn loft with Olivia, he’d been weak with relief.
But what about the next time he came home to a dark house? Where would she be then? Even though three days had passed since he’d wired the telegram, and even though Sophie hadn’t yet left, he could almost see her mind churning as she planned her next move.
Reinhold looked over his shoulder to the wagon bed, where Jakob and Olivia sat. The little girl had slowly shed her fear and was more talkative than Reinhold had expected. She seemed to have made friends with Jakob, who patiently answered all her questions and allowed her to tag along with him as he did his chores.
“Sometimes I wish you’d just hit me if it meant you’d let yourself care.” Jakob’s heartbroken declaration still haunted Reinhold’s thoughts. He’d almost hit Jakob. He’d come within inches and seconds of it. But Sophie’s cry of distress, along with the plea in Jakob’s eyes, had shackled his arms and stopped him.
He’d realized in that moment that he hadn’t let himself care about Jakob because he had been a coward, because he’d been afraid he’d hurt his brother.
“You’re afraid to let anything good happen to you. Because then you might actually have to prove that you’re different than he was.”
Reinhold had mulled over Jakob’s other words too. He could agree he hadn’t let himself care and that he was afraid to let anything good happen. But he wasn’t sure he needed to prove he was different from his father. He’d already become like the man. Was there any way to change that now?
He dragged in a breath of the crisp air laden with the promise of winter, of shorter, darker days, and of a slower rhythm. It was a time of slumber for the weary soil, a time when frost and freezing temperatures blanketed the land.
To the average city person, the bleakness and barrenness might appear lonely, even ugly. But to the farmer, winter was a necessity. Without it, without the rest, the land wouldn’t be ready for the rebirth and the toil required of it in the spring.
Was that his life? Maybe he was thawing after winter. Maybe it was time for his own rebirth and the hard toil of sowing new seeds into his life.
The fact was, he hadn’t hit Jakob. As much as he’d wanted to, he’d made the choice not to. Could he do that the next time? And the time after that? Was it possible that God could change him into a better man? He’d once thought so. Yet after nearly killing Higgins last year, he’d lost faith in himself, thinking God had given up on him too.
However, if Jakob hadn’t lost faith in him, maybe God hadn’t either.
His gaze slid to Sophie again. Her shoulders were stiff, her hands clutched tightly in her lap, and her pretty lips pressed in a straight line.
The familiar storefronts and businesses that lined Main Street loomed ahead. They were almost to church. His time was running out.
“Sophie,” he said, forcing out his question before fear caged him again, “I can tell you’re planning something. What is it?”
Her attention snapped to him, her blue eyes wide and revealing, telling him what he needed to know even before she spoke. “Anna and I are leaving tomorrow.”
His chest suddenly felt as if it were on fire. His throat burned. He shouldn’t have sent the telegram to Eli
se and Marianne. He wasn’t sure what drove him to do it, except that he’d been afraid—perhaps afraid to allow himself to love Sophie, just as he’d been afraid to love Jakob.
“Where are you going?” he asked, his throat scratchy as though he’d breathed in smoke.
“Mugs and Danny didn’t go to prison. Anna’s sister said they’ve asked after us. Want us to return.”
“You’re going back to Danny?” The question came out as a hoarse whisper and contained an embarrassing amount of anguish.
Thankfully, Sophie seemed preoccupied, her hands now twisting hard in her skirt. “Anna is wiring Mugs for train fare. Once it comes in, we’ll leave.”
The prospect of any other man having Sophie—of even touching her—left a hot trail of bitterness in his stomach. But Sophie returning to Danny? A Bowery Boy gang member? Such a thought was pure torture.
“Sophie,” he said, not caring that his voice was loaded with desperation. “You can’t go back to him.”
“We might stay in Chicago. We haven’t completely decided what we’ll do.”
Reinhold wanted to protest, to remind her that Nicholas was stuck here in Mayfield with the Ramseys and that if she waited for Marianne and Drew to arrive, they might be able to help her gain custody. But before he could find the words to persuade her, she sat forward, her eyes trained on the church ahead.
He followed her gaze to a wagon carrying a family that had just halted in the grassy area next to the church. The man driving it hopped down and rounded his team. A small boy hunched into one of the corners. The boy’s cap hid his face, but Reinhold didn’t have to guess who it was.
The moment Reinhold brought his wagon to a halt, Sophie jumped down and started across the churchyard. Mr. Ramsey was busy hitching his team to a post, and Mrs. Ramsey was helping Nicholas out of the wagon. Neither noticed Sophie’s approach.
Something in the determination of Sophie’s steps made Reinhold’s muscles tense. Without breaking his attention from her, he hopped down and followed her. “Secure the horse,” he called to Jakob, who was assisting Olivia over the side of the wagon.
Within seconds, Olivia darted past him, flying toward Nicholas now walking hand in hand with Mrs. Ramsey and a young girl.
“Nicholas!” Olivia shouted.
At the sound of Olivia’s voice, Nicholas jolted forward, breaking free of the Ramseys. “Olivia! Sophie!” he cried, his little feet racing toward his sister and Sophie. A wide, joyful smile filled his countenance and lit his eyes.
Both Sophie and Olivia were now running too. Sophie reached the boy before Olivia. She bent down, swooped him up, and then began to stride back toward Reinhold. With the boy securely locked into her arms, her sights turned to Jakob where he was tying Daisy.
Reinhold halted. Sophie’s intentions were clear. Maybe this was what she’d been plotting during the ride into town—how to grab Nicholas and run.
“Stop!” Mr. Ramsey called.
Above Nicholas’s head, Sophie’s eyes locked on Reinhold and pleaded for help.
Reinhold surveyed the yard and the white clapboard one-room church. The door was open, and others were already entering. What did Sophie expect him to do? What could he possibly do? Especially with so many people here to witness their actions?
He returned his attention to Jakob, who was securing the mare. Should he order his brother to untie Daisy and attempt to ride away with Nicholas? As soon as the idea came, he tossed it aside. He could no more kidnap Nicholas from the churchyard than Sophie could. Already Mr. Ramsey was closing in on her and would catch her.
Her eyes continued to beg him to do something—anything—to help her regain the little boy who was more precious to her than her own safety and comfort. He loved that about Sophie—her devotion to the children, her willingness to do anything for them—so much that she’d run away and face cold, danger, and hunger just so they could be together again. He loved her fierce determination and her perseverance. He even loved that she was slightly crazy enough to grab Nicholas from the churchyard.
Was it possible that he was falling in love with her?
The idea sliced into his mind. But before he could ponder it further, Mr. Ramsey caught up to Sophie, grabbed her arm, and dragged her to a stop. Sophie screamed—a scream that contained a mixture of anger and pain.
The echo of her pain rose above the rest. When Mr. Ramsey jerked her around and slapped her cheek, Reinhold’s anger exploded so that all he heard now was a roaring, his own, as he plunged toward Mr. Ramsey like an angry bull.
The slap caught Sophie across her delicate cheekbone with enough force that she screamed again, dropped Nicholas, and fell to the ground. In that instant, Mr. Ramsey shoved Nicholas behind him, away from Sophie.
Olivia drew to an abrupt halt, put her arms over her head in a gesture of self-protection, and cowered. The move was so reflexive, Reinhold was sure she’d had to do it before around Mr. Ramsey.
Reinhold barreled forward, his shoulder down. His roar was loud enough to draw Mr. Ramsey’s attention. At the sight of Reinhold, the man’s eyes flickered with concern for just an instant before he steeled himself, almost as if he hoped Reinhold would attack him with both fists flying.
Out of the corner of his eye, Reinhold glimpsed the other churchgoers pausing in the doorway to watch the fight.
“Prove that you’re different than he was . . .”
Jakob’s words, although just a whisper in his conscience, brought him to a halt. Standing only a foot away from Mr. Ramsey, Reinhold’s pulse hammered in his chest, his hands twitching with the desire to pummel Mr. Ramsey—to lash out at him for hitting Sophie.
Instead he rammed his hands into his pockets. For several seconds he stared at Mr. Ramsey, not knowing what to do next. If he didn’t beat the man up, then what? He certainly couldn’t let him hit Sophie and get away with it.
With anger nearly blinding him, Reinhold almost missed the challenge in Mr. Ramsey’s eyes, the kind of look that dared Reinhold to punch him. Mingled with the challenge was the glow of white-hot rage.
Reinhold realized then that anger could manifest itself in more ways than just brute force. Mr. Ramsey’s anger was contained deep inside him but was no less powerful and damaging. Neither letting out unchecked anger nor keeping it locked inside would lead to the kind of freedom Reinhold longed for.
“You hit my wife,” he finally said through a clenched jaw, deciding that he’d at least say his piece and give voice to his anger.
“She took my child,” Mr. Ramsey replied too calmly.
“By hitting her, you’ve proven to everyone standing here just why she should have the child and why you don’t deserve him.” Reinhold’s words rose in the cool morning air. Except for Nicholas’s soft sobs a short distance away where he’d found comfort with Mrs. Ramsey, the churchyard was silent, the onlookers observing with wide eyes.
As though recognizing how damaging Reinhold’s words were, Mr. Ramsey’s hard, unyielding gaze finally flinched. The man shot a glance toward the church door to a well-dressed man in a stovepipe hat and spectacles. There Reverend Poole stood with an arm around his wife, his large eyes seeming not to miss a detail of the scene playing out before him.
Had Mr. Ramsey hoped Reinhold would beat him up so that Reverend Poole would witness his out-of-control anger? If Reinhold had carried through with hitting Mr. Ramsey, he would have lost all of Reverend Poole’s respect and any chance of regaining Nicholas.
The realization at what he’d almost done turned his stomach. At the same time he whispered a silent prayer of gratefulness that God had given him the strength to stop in time.
“She tried to take my son,” Mr. Ramsey said, this time louder. Even though his voice was hard and forceful, Reinhold sensed a small crack, a wavering.
“You’ve been the boy’s father for a few weeks. But Sophie’s been his mother for years. He’s Sophie’s son, not yours. Now that she’s in a position to care for the boy, she wants him back.” Reinhold spun away from
the man and knelt next to Sophie, who cradled her cheek. Her beautiful eyes were stricken, even apologetic as they met his.
He gathered her into his arms, drawing her close, needing her and everyone else to know that he was her protector and defender. She shuddered against him, which only stirred his anger toward Mr. Ramsey. Although his muscles twitched with the need to rise up and strike the man, instead he spoke as calmly as he could. “You shouldn’t have hit her, Mr. Ramsey. You went too far.”
With that, he picked Sophie up and carried her to the wagon, thanking God again that he’d controlled his anger and praying he’d have the strength to do so the next time. It would be a lifelong struggle, but he was ready to plow and sow and weed . . . and maybe someday he’d reap a harvest.
Sophie scrubbed at a plate in a basin of water, now tepid and greasy and spotted with the floating remains of their supper.
Next to her, Anna was drying and putting away the dishes, already seeming at home in Euphemia’s large kitchen.
Sophie cast a sidelong glance at her friend. The bruises on Anna’s face and neck had begun to heal, adding a yellowish-green to the fringes of the purple and black. The young woman had been unusually quiet during the meal Euphemia had prepared and now hardly spoke.
Spending Sunday evenings sharing a meal with the Duffs was a tradition Sophie would miss after she and Anna left. She would miss the boisterous sharing around the table, the teasing and the laughter, and the delicious scents and tastes of Euphemia’s food.
She’d even miss the time after the meal. Usually the men moved to the front porch, where Barclay smoked his pipe and challenged the boys to checkers. Now that the evenings had grown colder and darker, the men congregated in the front room.
Even now their laughter resounded down the hallway and into the kitchen.
Through the kitchen door at the dining room table, Sophie smiled at the sight of Euphemia sitting next to Olivia, patiently teaching her how to knit. Euphemia would make a wonderful grandmother someday.
