Eventide

by Sarah Goodman

  Only a few feet away from the barn, I stumbled at the pain in my feet and crashed to the ground. “Fire! Fire in the barn!” Trembling, I crawled toward the house. The pain of my burns began to subside. Perhaps I was going into shock. The relief was too precious for me to care. Shaking from head to toe, I righted myself and staggered on, screaming for Big Tom and Hettie.

  When I crashed into the kitchen, Hettie met me at the door. “How bad is it?” She shoved on work boots, her hair wild around her face. Behind her, Big Tom fastened the strap of his overalls, eyes wide with alarm.

  “The whole loft is on fire,” I shouted, my voice cracking. Hettie pushed by, breaking into a run. I grabbed a metal pail and fumbled my way to the pump at the side of the house. Big Tom hurried to the kitchen garden to shovel more dirt into a half-full wheelbarrow. Our three-person fire brigade would never save the barn, but we had to try.

  I heaved the brimming pail up, sloshing water down the front of my nightgown, and spun around, ready to run to the loft.

  But the barn stood before us, whole and untouched, silhouetted against a calm, starry sky. Water washed over my bare feet as the pail slipped from my fingers.

  Big Tom’s wheelbarrow squeaked to a stop. His questioning eyes roved over the barn. A few yards ahead, Hettie turned. The confusion in her thin face shifted to anger. “What’s the meaning of this?” She stabbed a finger at the barn. “Is this your idea of a joke?”

  “I … Hettie, I would never do that. It was on fire, I swear.” I gripped my hair, panic and confusion warring within me. “I lit a candle, and it didn’t make sense, but the flame burned sideways. Then it shot straight up like someone poured gasoline on it. The whole loft was engulfed.” Hettie glanced at Big Tom, then hurried toward the barn.

  The adrenaline coursing through my veins began to subside, leaving my insides quaking. Trembling, I followed Big Tom and Hettie into the barn. Edward peered at us through the open gate of his stall, mooing a greeting as we ascended the ladder to the loft.

  We stepped onto the unburned hay and looked around. The candle sat atop the tree stump, its wick blackened. Abel’s poetry book lay beside it, unmarred. I gathered the pallet of quilts into my arms, looking for scorch marks that didn’t exist.

  “I tried to smother the fire … my feet were burned,” I said. “There was smoke everywhere.” I gestured limply around me. “I had to run through flames to get out.” My voice came out wispy and frightened. “Didn’t I?”

  Hettie watched me warily. “It must’ve been a dream. We all have those dreams that seem real from time to time.”

  Big Tom nodded. “Sounds like a bad nightmare.”

  A thin beam of light poked through the loft opening. “What’s going on?” Abel’s voice floated up from the ground floor. “I heard shouting and everyone was gone by the time I made it downstairs.”

  “Hold on, we’re coming down,” Hettie called. We all moved wordlessly back to the ladder.

  “What happened?” Abel asked, latching the stall door I’d opened for Edward. The fingers sticking out of his cast were wrapped around a flashlight.

  “I thought the loft was on fire. But I was wrong.” I ran shaking hands over my face. They came away wet with tears, proof that my fear had been real, if nothing else. “It was so vivid … the smell of smoke and the sound of the fire. I could feel myself burning.” A cold sickness settled in my stomach. “It was the worst nightmare I’ve ever had.”

  “You must’ve eaten something that disagreed with you. Why don’t you sleep on the sofa in the parlor tonight?” Hettie paused. “Abel will give you the flashlight to take to the loft whenever you come back.” She spoke with her usual briskness as she stepped out into the dew-silvered grass, Big Tom at her side.

  But I’d seen the worry in her lined face, and felt the pity in Big Tom’s sad eyes. I knew their thoughts, because they were the same as mine. What if my father’s condition was hereditary? What if the delusions that plagued him had been passed on to his daughter?

  “Let’s go,” Abel said, handing me the light. Gently, he steered us toward the door. Tremors still ran through me. Abel tightened his grip and dropped a soft kiss on my hair. “It was just a dream, Very. That’s all.”

  “Just a dream,” I agreed. But in my head, the memory of my own deranged screams echoed over and over again.

  27

  Breakfast was a subdued affair. Hettie passed around a platter of fried ham with a side of worried looks. Big Tom’s slow gaze shifted between my tired face and Abel’s injured arm, a troubled line forming between his bushy brows. Abel looked as weary and worn as I felt.

  After the incident in the barn, I’d spent the remnants of the night searching for the seam where reality and horrible fantasy met, trying to convince myself I’d fallen asleep in the loft and didn’t remember it. The vision of the inferno had been only a nightmare. Hadn’t it? I’d finally nodded off on the stiff parlor sofa just before dawn.

  Big Tom cleared his throat. “Believe we’ll all stay home from church today. Me and Hettie got up early and cut the cane down by the creek this morning.” He glanced at Abel. “We’ll make sorghum after breakfast. You and Verity can rest up for a while.”

  My heavy lids closed. Again, I saw the torrent of fire spreading over the floor, felt my skin burning. “No!” With a gasp, I jolted awake, jostling the cup of coffee at my elbow. Three pairs of concerned eyes turned my way. “No, that won’t be necessary. I’ll help with the sorghum.” I gathered the cup with unsteady fingers. “Don’t forget to take your pain tonic after you eat,” I said to Abel, eager to divert attention from myself.

  He bumped his knee against mine. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Dr. Pruitt,” he said.

  Abel insisted on joining us at the far edge of the yard, where the sorghum press stood under the spreading bows of a live oak. “I’m not going to sit inside and go stir-crazy,” he announced, settling himself carefully on the ground with his back to the tree trunk. His face was drawn with pain. Or perhaps it was something else? After my confessions and the fire delusion of last night, Abel had seemed unconcerned by all he’d heard and seen. Still, a nagging worry played at the edge of my thoughts. He could easily decide that stepping out with me would be too complicated, too precarious.

  Big Tom, Hettie, and I began unloading the sticky cargo of cut cane stalks from the wagon. A brick oven, topped with a long stainless-steel pan, stood near an iron sorghum press. It looked like two huge, rusted gears stacked on each other. A wooden beam lay horizontally atop the press, with the long-suffering Lady May hitched to it.

  At Big Tom’s direction, I began feeding the stalks between the rollers, catching the bright green cane juice in a pail. We’d only worked for a few minutes when the sound of a bell vibrated the humid air. Wiping sweat from my brow, I looked up to see two bicycles approaching. Katherine and Jasper pedaled our way, with Della perched on the handlebars of Jasper’s bike.

  Jasper wobbled to a stop and Della hopped down, her sturdy boots flicking the hem of her calico work dress as she strode over. Katherine rolled to a halt nearby. She wore a split skirt made for cycling, and a frown made for me. It seemed my very existence needled the girl.

  “The cavalry has arrived,” Abel said. “I knew I was valuable around here, but I didn’t realize it took three people to fill in for me.”

  “Pshaw!” Della scoffed. “Mama made a deal with Big Tom a while back to go halves on the molasses if I help cook it.” She shot me a grin. “I’ve got permission to be here, but with strict orders from Daddy not to go off anywhere alone with you. Because you’re a bad sort and all.”

  “And we wanted to come check on you,” Jasper said to Abel. “Della told us about what happened. She’s been worried to death.” He pulled Abel to his feet and clasped him in a brotherly hug. “There’re easier ways to get the ladies’ attention. You don’t have to go snapping your arm in half.”

  Abel’s eyes were shadowed. “Trust me, no one’s attention is worth this amount of pain.”r />
  I swallowed hard, keeping my face expressionless.

  Bright green cane juice seeped out from between the rollers as Lady May pulled the press wheel. Della patted the horse as she went by. “When we were eight, Abel convinced me the green stuff was a witch’s brew,” she said with a laugh. A smile sprang to Abel’s lips at the memory. I quickly looked away.

  While Big Tom and Hettie unloaded the last of the cane, Jasper squatted by the brick oven, shirtsleeves rolled up as he fed logs into the fire. Katherine watched, arms crossed. “You’ll need it hotter than that or the syrup won’t ever set up right,” she said.

  “Sis, you’re a wonder,” Jasper said, straightening his lanky frame. “There are old-timers who’ve done this for decades and still don’t have it quite right, and here you are, an expert on your first time.” The remark earned him a glower from Katherine.

  We worked on in companionable quiet, pressing the cane, hauling pails of juice to the cooking pan, and boiling it until it thickened to a rich, brown syrup. Everyone took turns stirring, making sure to keep the sorghum in constant motion so it wouldn’t stick.

  “I need to start dinner,” Hettie announced after a while, handing over an armload of cane for the press. “Stay here and help with the sorghum.” I nodded, turning my back as she departed.

  Hettie was a few yards away, headed toward the house, when I heard the screen door slam, followed by an exclamation. “Goodness, you startled me!” Hettie said.

  The stalks tumbled from my arms with a clatter as she added, “What can I do for you, Miss Maeve?”

  28

  Miss Maeve stood on the back porch, hand in hand with Lilah. “I’m sorry for barging in,” Miss Maeve said, her cheeks flushing rosebud pink to match her high-collared dress. “Our car is out front, and I suppose y’all didn’t hear us drive up. I thought we’d find Abel inside. Lilah and I have been so worried.”

  Hettie looked both pleased and flustered, as if the Queen of England had stopped by for a chat. “That’s mighty kind of you. Abel’s at the sorghum press,” she said, gesturing to where we all stood across the backyard. “Y’all will stay to eat, won’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t miss a meal cooked by Hettie Weatherington for the world,” Miss Maeve said, stepping down to the dusty ground. Big Tom, on his way to the woodshed to get more firewood, caught the full force of Miss Maeve’s glittering smile as he went by.

  Abel’s good hand strayed to his cast. The teacher’s crystalline eyes rested on his crushed arm. “Abel, I am so deeply sorry. I can’t help but feel this is my doing.” My breath caught. She pressed a hand to her heart. “It was my idea to take the car, after all.”

  Abel proved himself a fine actor. He assured Miss Maeve that of course it was nothing more than an accident. I tried to catch my sister’s eye, to gather some clue to her state of mind. Did she have any idea what kind of woman she’d been handed over to? Lilah only peered curiously at Abel’s cast.

  “And Verity,” Miss Maeve said, “I’ve never seen such a cool head under pressure. You’re an outstanding young woman.” Her words were like a kiss from a cobra, her mask of concern grotesque. Anger closed my throat, and I found myself unable to reply.

  “I’m sure it was awful for everyone,” Della said, a little breathlessly, filling the tense silence I’d created. “I would’ve fainted dead and been no help at all.”

  Lilah, still firmly held in Miss Maeve’s grasp, reached forward to run her finger over Abel’s cast. “Does it hurt a lot?”

  He looked earnestly into her round face. “Yep. But I’ll be right as rain soon enough.”

  Miss Maeve’s blush-colored skirt swept the dusty ground. “Come along, Lilah. Let’s go see if we can help Mrs. Hettie with dinner.”

  “May I stay with Verity for a while?” Lilah asked.

  “I suppose,” Miss Maeve said, glancing my way. “Listen to the older ones, and do as you’re told.”

  I frowned at Miss Maeve’s retreating figure, while Jasper shoved a stick into the coals, showering sparks onto the grass. I flinched.

  “I should probably head for the house to help Maeve,” Katherine remarked.

  “Are you two close friends?” I asked, surprised at the familiarity. Everyone, even those far older than her, addressed the teacher as “Miss.”

  “When Mother died last year, Maeve was so kind. She lost her own family as a young woman, too.” Katherine stirred the syrup pan, looking moodily into the thickening liquid. “All this work, for little of nothing,” she said, almost to herself, as she absently handed the paddle to Abel. “Sweating and slaving, just to get up and do it all again the next day.”

  I gave her a quizzical look. The mayor’s daughter, with her smooth white hands, didn’t strike me as overworked.

  “One day, I’ll shake the dust of this place from my shoes and be gone for good,” she said. There was a familiar sourness in Katherine’s complaining. She sounded like me during my first days off the train, consumed by resentment born of loss. It was illuminating and disconcerting, realizing how much of myself I saw in a girl I didn’t like.

  “Where would you go?” I asked.

  “Anywhere but here,” Katherine said, her mournful air evaporating into peevish annoyance. “We weren’t all as lucky as you, to be born somewhere with real opportunities.”

  “Kat,” Jasper said sternly. “It’s hardly fair to say Verity’s been ‘lucky.’ You know how we’ve grieved for Mother. Verity’s been through that and more.”

  For a second, Jasper’s intervention rankled. I was more than capable of speaking for myself. Then, like a lamp coming to life with a slow, spreading glow, I realized this was exactly what he’d do for Abel or Della. He was treating me like a friend. I’d somehow, almost accidentally, made friends in Wheeler.

  “I’d say the worst of New York City is better than the best of Wheeler, Arkansas,” Katherine retorted, but from the mottling of her cheeks, I knew Jasper’s reprimand had hit a nerve.

  “Parts of the city are grand,” I said, looking to Lilah, who glowered at Katherine. “But much of what we saw in the last few years was certainly not anything you’d want to experience.”

  “You said yourself you’ll go back there,” Katherine said. “Maeve told me—” Her lips snapped closed, chopping off the rest of her sentence.

  “Miss Maeve told you what?”

  Katherine shook her head, her face stony. “Nothing.” She stalked away toward the house.

  “She’s a sore-tailed cat lately. Don’t know what’s gotten into her,” Della said, frowning. Before I could press her, Big Tom returned, his arms laden with firewood.

  While Jasper and Della helped stack wood in a neat pyramid beside the oven, Abel leaned over the evaporating pan, steam rising around his face, curling the blond hair at his nape.

  “Can I help?” Lilah asked.

  “Sure,” Abel said. “You can use the skimmer to catch any pieces of dirt or leaves that float up.”

  Lilah took the handle, her eyes narrowed in concentration as she watched the syrup begin to bubble.

  “And I’ll take a turn stirring.” My fingers grazed across Abel’s forearm, lingering against his warm skin. Scenes of us together last night in his room flashed through my mind. The flush that warmed my face had nothing to do with the nearby oven. Abel cleared his throat and shot a quick glance toward where the others worked. A worrisome little suspicion nipped at me, that perhaps he didn’t want Della to know about us.

  The screen door slammed. “Dinner,” Hettie shouted in the same loud, lilting voice she used for calling the hogs to the trough. “Y’all come on.”

  I couldn’t stomach the thought of sitting across the table from Miss Maeve, passing the butter dish as if nothing were amiss. “Lilah and I will keep working. Someone can bring us a plate later,” I said as the others left.

  “You know, I’m only missing dinner because you need my help,” Lilah said when we were alone.

  I laughed. “You and Katherine are instant
experts.”

  Lilah rolled her eyes. “She comes to visit all the time. She’s so snooty and she never, ever laughs. I can’t imagine why Mama likes her. Probably because Mama likes everyone.”

  I swallowed the reply that rose to my lips. After loading a few more stalks into the press, I took Lady May by the reins and led her in a slow circle. The stalks crunched and snapped, like a crackling fire. Or a breaking bone. “Is Miss Maeve always so nice? Even when it’s just the two of you?”

  Lilah looked up, surprised. “Why do you ask?”

  I stepped back, leaving Lady May to pull the press without me. “I worry about you, that’s all. I want you to be happy. And safe.”

  Lilah’s reddish brows creased. “Stop being such a worrywart. Mama’s wonderful. And she’s waited a long time for me.”

  Despite everything, I felt a twinge of pain for Miss Maeve. She’d mourned her stillborn baby for longer than I had even been alive.

  “I was meant to be her little girl,” Lilah continued. “She said everyone has a family they’re born to, but sometimes that’s not who they really should be with.” She paused, still gripping the paddle. “I should’ve been hers all along.”

  “Lilah, do you believe that?” I asked, stung. “Some children have parents who don’t take care of them, but you meant the world to Mama. And Papa. I know you can’t remember those days but—”

  “What good is a dead mother and a father I never see?” She spoke without rancor, but the words still struck me like a punch to the gut. “It’s for the best I came here.”

  “Did Miss Maeve tell you that, too?” I asked, voice rising. “That you’re better off with her instead of with your family?”

  With me.

  “No,” Lilah said, too quickly. She stuck the end of one braid in her mouth, an old nervous habit, then laid the skimmer carefully against the side of the pan. She wrapped me in a hug. She was still small for her age, and her head only came to my chest. “Please stop fretting, Very. I’m glad we came to Arkansas. I wish you could be, too.”