Chapter 19

Peter wasn't there when Sadie stepped outside. She kept her back to the house, not wanting Otis to see her pouring over his

words like a greedy child going for penny candy.

Dear MissSadie West,

I have little experience with letters. I scratched a few words out once to a Jane Squatter. You may have heard of her. She

took up residence in the factory you and I have skated in. She tried to convince my dog she was a more pleasant companion

than me, and she had an uncanny ability to make me laugh. Now that I think about it, you and Jane seem to have a great deal

in common.

Writing to you as Sadie feels more meaningful. And scarier.

You are leaving, and I don't want to live my life harboring words I never said. I must tell you that in the weeks you've lived here, you have changed this dark house from a prison to an oasis. You've changed more than this house—you've changed everything. I am not the same man who returned to Monti with nothing but anger and coldness in his heart. In your presence I feel hopeful. You remind me that I am not alone and that I never truly was. Thank you for looking me in the eyes and believing that I, Otis Taylor, am merely a different kind of normal.

Such lovely words. The kindest she'd ever read. At the bottom were several slashed-out words and then his name. She laughed,

imagining the flustered look on his face while he wrote and the murmuring he must have done when he made a mistake and didn't

have time to rewrite it.

Under his name were a few more words.

Remember, dear friend, Marvin has had years to proclaim his feelings. A wise teacher once told me to be wary. I offer you

the same advice.

Wary of Marvin? Soft-spoken, steady Marvin? She folded the paper back up and tucked it into her bag, unsure how Otis Taylor,

Monticello's most anticipated bachelor, had written such flattering words to her. With her head spinning and her mind grappling

with this unusual turn of events, she pulled her second letter from her bag.

Dear MissWest,

I am recently returned and have received your letter. When time permits, I will arrange to call on you in Monticello.

Cordially,

Marvin

Sadie frowned, turning the page over only to find it blank. She'd written a detailed letter to him, telling him about her job at the duster factory and her father's current health. She'd shared small but important pieces of her life and heart with him. Was he so busy that he could not write a line or two more?

Two vastly different letters—two vastly different men.

One the dream she'd cherished, the other unexpected.

Peter's return startled her back to reality. His complexion was paler than it had been before, and there was something alarming

about the way he carried himself.

"Are you concerned for my pa?" she asked once the wagon pulled away from the mansion.

"I've a few worries." He grimaced. "Your pa is one of them. No one likes seeing their friend down."

Sadie wanted to ask more—she'd been friends with Peter for years—but their sharing the same circles and her bond with his

wife did not warrant her prying after his woes. She'd been taught better, and so she simply said, "I hope whatever is troubling

you can be fixed."

He nodded, head still facing the horses, brow furrowed. Peter's normally calm and easy disposition was now taut and tense.

Her fear for her father grew tenfold just sitting beside him. Could things really be so dire?

She did her best to distract herself by studying Monticello as they rode away. She saw the diner. The skating rink. The church. And then the Hoag factory on Maple Street came into view, capturing her attention in ways the other brick buildings had not. She'd come to town willing to work anywhere she could, and it was there, sorting feathers for dusters, that she had found employment. The struggle to send money home had been harder and more winding than she had anticipated, resulting in cold nights in the factory, the pungent smell of turkey—and now the Taylor mansion. This entire endeavor had been for her father, and now a chill raced through her. She wasn't supposed to be returning until he was well. Her father was supposed to recover. He had to.

For two hours they rode in relative silence, until at last her beloved home came into view. The two-story farmhouse was surrounded

by outbuildings, and unlike the Taylor mansion, it was no architectural masterpiece—but it was home, and she'd missed it.

Go faster , she wanted to shout at Peter, but already he'd gone out of his way and pushed his horses to come and get her.

The last stretch of road felt the longest, each turn of the wheel taking twice as long as the revolution before. When at last

he reined the horses to a stop, she jumped from the side of the wagon without waiting for help.

The weeds near the house were taller, the spring chicks bigger, and the barn leaned farther to the right. The changes were

minor, but they were a reminder that she had been gone and that life had continued without her.

A blur of color raced toward her with a high, shrill cry. Skirts flew, and then arms were around her, embracing her.

"You're back!" her sister Molly shouted near her ear while still holding her tightly. Violette and Flora, mere steps behind

her, joined the embrace. They lingered in one another's arms.

"Come in and see Pa," Flora said in her gentle way. "I know he'll feel better just having you home. We all will."

The small house felt welcoming and bright, with sunshine coming through the windows, covering everything in a gentle yellow hue. Her mother stepped from the back room, looking older than Sadie remembered. But those tired eyes came alive when she saw Sadie. Next Nina, Peter's wife, came and said hello, with little Bessy in her arms. They'd come to be with the family while Peter fetched Sadie. For a moment every worry, every bit of confusion she harbored vanished. She was home, and these were her people!

"We've missed you," her mother said and then kissed her cheek. "Come and see your pa."

Sadie nodded and stepped away from her mother and sisters and friends as she went to her father's side. Where was the sun-darkened

man whose hardworking muscles filled his shirt? This couldn't be him, so frail and void of color.

"I heard you fell," she whispered as she took his hand. "I'm here now. I want to help take care of you."

"Ah, my little bird has returned." Though he sounded tired, he propped himself up a little higher in bed with a wince. "It's

hard for an old man like me to be waited on. The doctor gave me something for the pain—makes me look braver than I am."

"You're the bravest man I know." She pressed her fingers tighter around his leathery hand, the rough texture a beautiful testament

to the many sacrifices he'd made for their family. "What does the doctor say?"

"I'm to stay in bed and continue praying that time will heal me. But my hip and leg don't feel right. I tried staying in bed,

but they're not getting better. I never meant for you to have to do so much."

"Don't be sorry. Please don't."

"It's good for my old heart to have my little brood back together." The quiver in his voice pricked her heart, and then his

eyes brimmed with tears. She looked away, unable to bear it. "Tell me about Monticello."

In hushed tones they conversed, her hand never leaving his as she shared the highlights of her time in the city. By the time

she was through, she had herself believing that she'd just returned from a grand adventure. And, in truth, it had been.

"I think we'd better let your father rest." Her mother stepped into the room and put a hand on Sadie's back.

"Come back and tell me more," her father said, patting her arm. "I want to hear about the hard times when you come back. Don't

keep them from me."

She agreed and then reluctantly followed the others from the sickroom to where they all sat together and whispered about the

farm and the new bills they expected the doctor to send. Any amount of money, they agreed, was worth spending if it helped

their pa. Nina and Peter took their restless daughter outside, leaving the family alone to worry over the future.

"The doctor believes with time his leg and hip might recover. The wounds themselves look better on the outside, but your pa

is not convinced. He's afraid he'll never be able to walk again. And lying in bed has left him weak," their mother said. "We

need to talk about selling. I've thought about it, and I could move to town and take in washing and sewing... but I don't

know if it'll be enough. Your father has always been a farmer, but there must be some work he could do. A factory job..."

"We won't give up," Molly said with a vigorous nod of her head, but even she looked doubtful. "We can't lose our home."

"All we can do is our best, and we're doing that." Their mother stood, brushing her hands over her skirts. "Look at you. My

girls don't sit around and mope. It won't fix anything. It's been a long time since we've all been together. Let's set our

troubles aside. Go and do what you always do when you're together."

"Mama's right." Violette stood first. "Let's go for a walk."

"I'll show you the fields." Molly stood, looked back once at the door to the sickroom, and said, "Pa would want to know we

were enjoying this reunion."

Fear tempered the joy of being together but did not extinguish it. They walked through the fields, where green shoots in nearly straight lines reached for the sky, proud and true, declaring to the world that the Wests were fighters. The new plants bent and straightened with the ebb and flow of the gentle wind.

"I'm glad you're back," Flora said as a strand of hair whipped across her face. "I've loved your letters, but seeing you is

so much better."

"It's good to be home, though I wish it were under different circumstances."

"Were you always homesick?" Violette asked. "It sounded like you were having some fun."

"There were good times mixed in with the hard." Finding a friend in Otis had been the best part of her adventure, but she

did not have his permission to tell her sisters his name. "As of late, I have not been nearly as lonely. But still, it's good

being home."

Molly picked up a clod of dirt and threw it at a fence post. Of all the sisters, she'd been the most inclined to act out her

emotions rather than bottle them up. The dirt crumbled and fell to the ground, her frustrations there for all to see. "What

if he's never his old self? You might like the city well enough, but I don't want to move there. I don't want to work at a

factory or mend other people's clothes all day."

"Do you think a doctor from somewhere else might have other ideas?" Sadie asked. How quickly she fell back into her role as

the leader of the brood.

"We don't have money for that and won't until after the harvest, assuming we make anything." Violette groaned. "It's all so

wretched. We've tried so hard. My fingers are calloused from stitching so many handkerchiefs, and it'll never be enough."

"We should be proud. We've done a lot." Molly straightened her shoulders and stared out at the land she'd plowed. "But I don't feel proud, just sorry I can't do more."

Sadie put a hand on her forehead, blocking the sun. "What other options are there? There must be something."

"Marrying," Violette said with a shrug. "But there are no men with money here, so I don't think that will help. A poor husband

might only make our situation worse."

"Besides," Flora said, "we all promised we would marry for love."

"Love of family isn't a horrible reason," Violette said.

"For now, we will pray we get a miracle. And if we don't, then Violette can put an advertisement in the paper for a wealthy

husband." Molly laughed and linked her arm through Sadie's, leading the group on the familiar path to the barn. "Tell us about

Monti."

"Yes, tell us about your mansion and about your mysterious employer." Violette put a hand to her chest and sighed. "I always

feel as though you are leaving something out when you write. You tell us the tiniest bits and leave us guessing about the

rest. But you're here now, so we must learn everything."

"Is he a kind man? You are safe, aren't you?" Flora asked before Sadie could answer Violette.

"He is a good man... but he's not typical." She bit her cheek, trying to find words to describe Otis Taylor. "He's not

anything like the men we used to dream of. He isn't dashing, at least not in a conventional way, and he doesn't always have

the right words to say. But he is—"

"Romantic," Violette interjected. "You do care for him, don't you? When I read your letters, I always imagine you do. Your

journey sounds like something from one of your old stories."

Sadie grimaced. She should have known her sisters would be perceptive enough to sense her tumult of feelings. "Real life is not the same as those silly stories I used to write."

"They weren't silly," Violette said. "I've been rereading some of them. I've even made some of them more romantic. Someday

I want to read the new versions together like we used to." Violette put her hand to her heart. "You're going to swoon when

you read it."

"Oh my," Sadie said, knowing the last thing she needed to read was a work of fiction that left her swooning.

Violette went on, oblivious to Sadie's ambivalence. "I still can't believe you are living under the same roof as a man. Do

you run into each other in the halls? Does your hand ever brush against—"

"You think everything is romantic." Molly laughed, earning her a glare from Violette. "Sadie hasn't said anything about a

blooming romance. But you are friends, aren't you?"

"Yes. We are friends." She crossed and then uncrossed her arms. She should have known her sisters would force her to face

what she'd been trying to ignore. "When Marvin left, I always imagined him coming home and..." Her words trailed off. "It

sounds silly. But I thought he cared for me and that we'd have a future together. He's back and says he'll call when he has

time, and I want him to—at least I think I want him to."

"Have his letters gotten more exciting?" Violette asked.

Six eyes turned on her. These were her sisters, her dearest friends in the whole world, and she was a grown woman, free to

care for any man she wished without having to feel sheepish about it.

"His letters have never been anything more than cordial and direct. He takes life very seriously. There's nothing wrong with

that."

"They're never romantic?" Flora frowned.

"He could be waiting for us to be together again. Maybe he feels more comfortable expressing himself in person." Sadie's heart

lurched, calling her own bluff. Marvin had had many opportunities to tell her his feelings, and he'd never taken them. He'd

held her hand, he'd taken her for long walks, and they had sat for hours on the front porch, but that was all. "Or maybe he

doesn't really care for me. My trivial letters with ‘Mr.Rochester' were more heartfelt than Marvin's letters. But I've been

waiting for him for so long. Don't you think it's wrong for me to give up on him when he has just returned home?"

"Look at you, all red and confused. I didn't think the General ever got flustered," Violette teased. And then, proving a far

more perceptive romantic than anyone expected, she added, "I think you're falling in love with your employer, and that's what

has you finally seeing the truth about Marvin."

"I never said—"

"You didn't have to. We can see it, and you don't have to feel bad about it. You never promised Marvin anything," Molly affirmed

with a nod. "You only felt like you did because you have a very loyal nature."

"Don't you like Marvin? I thought you all did."

"We did... we do like him well enough," Molly said. "But you have to like him—or, rather, love him—and I'm not sure you ever did. You followed him around and sat sedately on the porch

beside him, but you were never really yourself when he was here."

"You never told me you felt that way when he was coming around." Sadie balked at their betrayal. If they'd spoken up before,

perhaps she would not have pined after him for so long. "Even if I wouldn't have listened, you should have told me."

Molly shrugged. "It did seem exciting at the time. At least you had someone coming around. But your letters now seem different. I don't think you're sitting silently beside your employer, pretending to be prim and proper when really, you're just a West girl, a little headstrong and unruly from being raised on a farm like the rest of us."

"I'm prim and proper," Violette said, smiling slyly. "But the rest of you never are. Tell us more. We need to know all the

details so we can decide if it's really love or not."

"Well, I have sat beside him, and sometimes we've been quiet. But other times we talk so fast the time races by. He's peculiar.

I can't explain it. He's been thoughtful at times, and other times he seems ready to leave and never look back." Ready to

turn the conversation from her, she said, "Tell me, what is troubling Nina and Peter? When they came back from outside, they

seemed upset. I had hoped they'd stay longer."

"We don't know," Violette said. Though she had been standing the farthest away, she now took a step closer, quick as always

to join in on gossip. "Nina did seem troubled after that, and they left earlier than I expected. They'd planned to stay and

eat."

"They were holding hands, so at least it's not a tiff." Flora picked up a long piece of grass and ran it between her fingers.

"They are always good to each other."

"Could be money," Molly said. "He's been working hard, but he's not the only person making deliveries, and I heard the McCall

boy charges less than Peter. He doesn't have a family, so he can afford to. I heard Peter talk about trying to find another

job." Molly frowned. "Seems like everything is always changing."

Sadie dug the toe of her shoe into the soft ground, making a hole in the brown earth. "We used to work and play and never think about money or changing times. Now it's always on our minds. It makes me want to throw a fit and kick and scream. I hate money."

"I think you should throw a fit," Violette said. "Go on, we could all use a good laugh."

Sadie stomped her foot and was about to indulge them in more theatrics, but she laughed instead, and soon her sisters were

laughing too.