Chapter 13

 

“Get out, ye cow! I’m minding the bread!” Regan screeched as Sophia stepped into the kitchen.

“You are doing it wrong!” Sophia said. She grabbed the heavy ceramic bowl from Regan’s hands. “Sarah said I’m to do it.”

“She said nothing of the kind, ye fecking dago wap bitch!” Regan said and jerked the bowl back,

Sarah entered the kitchen in time to see the bowl tumble to the floor with a white mass of dough oozing over its lip.

“Both of you stop it this minute!” she shouted, clapping her hands at them. “Do you see what you’ve done?”

“It was her!” Regan said. “I was making the bread when she came in!”

“You told me to do it, yes, Sarah?” Sophia said. “Because I am not able to work in the fields,” she said, putting a hand on her still-flat abdomen.

“That’s bullshite!” Regan screeched. “I’ll bet you’re not even preggers!”

“What part of knock it off isn’t English?” Sarah said. “Regan, clean up that mess, and Sophia, go back to your own cottage.”

“But Sarah—” Sophia said plaintively.

“Enough! Dear God I hope I’m having another son. I can’t bear all the whining with girls. Go on, go!”

Sophia turned and flounced out of the kitchen, slamming the living room door behind her.

“It wasn’t me,” Regan said as she scraped the ruined dough back into the bowl.

“I don’t even care,” Sarah said tiredly. She caught sight of Archie through the kitchen window hurrying toward her.

Crap. Now what?

It was cold and the skies had threatened rain all day but so far nothing. Mike and Gavin hadn’t been gone two full days yet and she’d hoped to have more to show for the time spent working. Archie and John had spent most of that time trying to get the fields ready to plant. It was hard work—especially without horses—but it had to be done. They were already weeks too late for most of the things normally planted. They at least had to get the corn and potatoes going or—forget stocking up for next winter—they’d starve by summer.

Archie burst into the house without knocking.

“Sarah, lass, we’ve got a problem.”

Sarah met him in the living room. Ellen sat on the couch staring at her hands in her lap. She looked up at Archie when he came into the room but then dropped her gaze to her hands again.

“What is it?” Sarah asked him. She’d been having alternating sharp and dull pains in her stomach all morning and she longed for an hour off her feet. But there was so much to do and so few of them to do it.

“The plow’s cracked,” he said, whipping a scarf off his neck and mopping his face with it. As chilly as it was outside, if he was sweating that much Sarah knew he was probably overexerting.

“What does that mean? Can we not prepare the ground?”

Archie shrugged in helpless pantomime.

If he says one more time “I don’t know, I’m a fisherman,” I will scream. But she couldn’t blame him, not really. He was as helpless as she was. And as far as being skilled in the areas that they could really use, nobody was more inept than Sarah. Not only had she always depended on Fiona and the other women in the compound for things like canning, sewing, and butter creaming, but she was so awkward and easily tired these days that she was nearly as useless as poor Ellen. And Sophia and Regan fought so much they were worse than useless.

The thought of Fiona made Sarah’s eyes fill. She wiped the tears away quickly. She mustn’t dwell on it. Mike would find her. He had to.

“How much did you get done?” she asked.

“Not enough. Not by a long chalk.”

“But we made a start,” she said.

“Aye, if the storm will hold off,” he said ominously.

“Well, we’ve got no control over that,” Sarah said, feeling the weight of the coming storm and its consequences press onto her shoulders. She put a hand out to steady herself against the back of a chair. “Where’s John?” she asked, pushing past the grinding pain that was unfolding in her belly.

“Putting the plow in the barn.”

“Good. I need to sit down. Regan, throw that out and start on another batch of dough. But first help your mother put on a sweater. The temperature’s dropping. Archie, did you check the cabbage ditches?”

“Aye, lass, they’re ruined.”

“Crap,” Sarah said. “How?”

“You do know fine they’ve not being tended for five months or more,” he said. “I’m sorry, lass, I should’ve kept them covered.”

“It’s not your fault.” But the loss of the cabbages bothered Sarah. She’d been counting on them to sustain the group this spring. “We’ll have green beans anyway.”

“Aye,” Archie said doubtfully. “Hopefully.”

God, why does everything have to be so hard? Regan helped her mother into a sweater and then sat and picked up a nail file. Sarah felt anger building inside her.

“The bread dough, Regan?” she said, gritting her teeth against the pain.

“If the dago wop wants to do it so bad, why not let her do it?” Regan said.

“Sarah, are ye hurting, lass?” Archie took Sarah’s elbow and guided her to the couch next to Ellen.

“I just need a moment,” Sarah said.

“Feck me!” Regan squeaked, jumping up. “Are ye having the baby now?”

“No, I am not,” Sarah said crossly, “but if you don’t get in the kitchen and start pounding dough, I’m going to start pounding you.”

John appeared on the porch and peeled off his sopping jacket. She and Archie both glanced out the living room window. The rain was coming down silently but steadily.

“It’s started then,” Archie said. “Pray it’s just a shower.”

John came in and draped his jacket over the back of a chair. “Archie tell you about the plow?”

“He did,” Sarah said, panting to ease the pain. “Nothing to be done for it.”

“Crap, Mom! Are you in labor?”

“No! I am not. Everybody just calm down.” A contraction seized her in mid breath and the sight of Archie and John swam woozily in her vision. Behind them a bright shock of lightning lit up the sky, backlighting them and throwing them into silhouette on the wall. Before she could speak a loud blast of thunder rattled the plates in the little cottage.

Sarah felt the next contraction begin to build and she felt the terror of the coming pain—the pain she was powerless to protect herself from. It built slowly until it reached a peak just as another boom of thunder crashed with another flash of lightning. When the noise subsided, she panted and realized she’d screamed.

The look on John’s face was pure panic.

Dear God, this can’t be happening…