Linked Through Time (7 page)

A barbed wire fence separated me from the field. Stretching the wires apart, I edged my way between the fence’s razor sharp barbs. I jogged across the field, dodging cow pies and swatting at the flies that swarmed my head.

Distracted, my thoughts flew between my individual predicaments with an alarming rate: Would Dave collect on his fee for the tickets at our next meeting? Could I run away and survive in the wilderness? Would I actually be able to stop Sarah’s death from happening? Would I change the future, including Dave’s feelings for me, if I did run away? What would my father think if I abandoned him?

Leading a double life was so confusing. I had no idea who I was any more, or who I was supposed to be. I was caught somewhere between my old identity and fitting into what was expected of me in my new identity. The weight of the responsibility to change the past was the scariest part. I hoped I was doing the right thing.

A flash of movement in my peripheral vision caused me to slow to a walk. I saw it, black and menacing, eyeing me from a short distance away. My heart stopped and I froze in stride. I had mistakenly crawled into the bull’s isolated patch of field, and there was at least another hundred yards between me and the safety of the bordering fence. The bull looked irritated, snuffling the air and shaking its head in my direction.

I sent up a quick prayer and crouched low to the ground, preparing for the sprint of my life. Halfway between me and the fence, a rusty piece of farm equipment sat motionless in the field, sentenced to spend its final days retired in the open, battling the elements.
If I can make it there…
was all I had time to think as the bull shot forward, building up speed as it crossed the field, aiming right for me.

I yelped and sprinted a manic flailing sprint across the field. I dove, just in time, beneath the wheels of the old farm equipment as the bull rammed his bony head into the rusty metal with a loud grunt. The machine rattled and creaked but held its ground against the repeated stabs of the bull’s horns. I tried screaming for help at the top of my lungs, but doubted anyone could hear me above the racket of horn against metal.

Whimpering, I curled into a ball as far away from the bull as possible. How long would I be stuck here? Tears ran down my cheeks until I was a sobbing, slobbery mess. Each minute that passed, the rusty equipment emitted strained creaking groans, as if it were slowly getting ready to surrender to the bull’s attack.

The day had to rate as the worst day ever in my short history of life. Worse than the day I wore white to school and got my period; worse than the day I lost my swimsuit top boogie boarding at the beach; and worse than the day I tripped and fell down the bleachers in front of the entire student body at my high school pep rally. None of that compared to the sheer exhaustion and fear I constantly battled, living in the life of Sarah. I wasn’t meant to live like this!

The longer I waited, the sorrier I felt for myself.

The bull, ever determined, remained close to the machinery, stalking me, daring me to come out.

A shot rang out.

Startled, I sat up quickly and banged my head against the bottom of the equipment. The bull snorted and ran for the far edge of the field, dancing and kicking his hoofs in annoyance.

Dean’s floppy brown hair came into view as he poked his head between the spokes of one of the rusty wheels. His eyes twinkled with laughter and I noticed a dimple in his left cheek, something I’d never noticed on him as an adult. Then again, I never knew him to smile like that, not even when my mother still lived with us.

I scrambled out and raced with my father the rest of the way to the safety of the bordering fence. He ran easily, carrying a large gun that probably weighed as much as he did. I was shocked that he was allowed to carry a gun much less use it, but these were different times and anyone big enough to carry a gun was expected to use it, especially to hunt.

I paused outside the fence and pulled my father into a long, heartfelt hug. He had saved me… again. How could it be that I had to rely on a skinny little boy the same as if he were a man? When I released him, my heart full of gratitude, I remembered why I had been out in the field in the first place. “Guess what?” I said, excited I could finally give him something in return. “Dave said he has enough bottles to turn in for all of us! You can go on all the rides at the fair!” I swept him up into my arms and swung him around.

Searching his face, I expected him to be full of joy, but instead his eyes held a suspicious glint. “What’s the matter, Dean? Aren’t you happy?” I prodded, curious at his change in attitude.

My father shook the hair out of his eye and peered up at me, shy. “Of course, it’s just that…” he trailed off. “Is Dave nice to you?” He ducked his head to the ground, embarrassed.

Shocked, I grabbed Dean’s shoulders and turned his face to mine. Why is he asking me this? It was such a strange, insightful question from a little kid. I looked him straight in the eye, hoping to ease his anxiety. “Yes… yes, he’s wonderful. Dave’s a great guy! He’s giving our whole family tickets, isn’t he?” I watched how my father remained unconvinced. For some reason, unlike Louise, he wasn’t won over with simple gifts of gum and tickets. “You worry too much, squirt,” I added, ruffling his hair.

I turned to go, when I heard his voice, shaky and quiet.

“I saw it. I know. I know what he does sometimes. When he’s angry.” Dean’s eyes implored me to understand his meaning, his disjointed sentences only confusing me even more.

“What are you talking about?” I squatted down to his eye level. Maybe he had the answers I was looking for; keys to Dave and Sarah’s past relationship.

But he only shrugged, digging his toe into the dirt, averting his gaze. “I know,” he repeated. He seemed to be struggling not to cry, so I let him go, pretending I didn’t see the deepening pools in his eyes.

We wandered toward the farmhouse, and I brought up the fair again, hoping to change Dean’s mood. It was obvious he wasn’t going to elaborate on what he knew about Dave. Finally, I was able to coax a smile from him when I mentioned riding the Tilt-A-Whirl as many times as he wanted.

Louise sat outside the gate to the farmhouse, a glare marring her pretty features. “Where were you? I looked all over for you! I had to pick buckets and buckets of raspberries by myself and had to collect vegetables from the garden.” Furious, her tone flat out accused me of my abandonment. “I was fine helping you after your accident, but now, you’re just taking advantage of me. I saw you coming back from the field by Slater’s store. I told Dad.” She crossed her arms over her chest, rigid with anger.

“Oh, my gosh, Louise. I’m so sorry,” I started, but stopped when I heard heavy boots stomp across the screened porch. My grandfather stepped outside and headed straight for me, his face even, betraying nothing.

Instinctively, I backed away.

Of course, the one day he’s home from the woods. I haven’t seen him but maybe two times the whole time I’ve been here, and now… today of all days.

Leaning against the garage stood a long rigid pole. My grandfather grabbed the pole and motioned me to follow him behind the garage. I looked to Dean for an explanation, but he stared at the ground, avoiding my eyes. Louise remained with her arms folded, looking smug.

My stomach churned, as I guessed what was coming. My pulse pounded loud in my head, the anxiety of true fear emerging, making it difficult to breathe or even concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other.

Behind the garage, my grandfather stood next to the remains of a solid tree stump. My eyes traveled between the stump and the pole clenched in his fist.

I had never been struck in my life. I was pretty sure one strike of the pole would break my weak, city girl body in half. My feet refused to move closer, my knees trembled and sweat broke out on my brow.

Surprisingly, my grandfather sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Let’s get this over with,” he murmured.

“Would it change your mind if you knew I just spent the last hour trapped out in the field almost getting killed by the bull?” I said, praying for sympathy.

“If you’d been doing what you were supposed to, you wouldn’t have been there in the first place,” he reminded me.

“Right,” I mumbled, remembering how I had left Louise alone all morning. But I’m too old for spankings. What about grounding, or extra chores? That would be punishment enough,
I thought, recalling the milking disaster from that morning.

My grandfather stood solid, not moving a muscle.

Resigned, I bent over the stump, my fingers digging into the rough edges of the bark. I focused on the endless tree rings, remembering how each ring meant a year of the tree’s life. The tree had to be over a hundred years old, easily.

The first strike on my backside buckled my knees and had me squeezing the mighty stump for support. The stinging, hot streak spread, burning a course of pain through my body and stealing my breath away. Two more swats followed and my bravado wavered. I let out a high-pitched yelp that sounded like a wounded dog and tears dripped onto the wood, staining its perfect color.

“A family that works together, stays together. Until you’re married and on your own, you follow the rules of this house. No more running off with Dave Slater or anyone else. Don’t test me again, or you won’t set foot off this land until you graduate.” My grandfather’s tone left no room for arguing or reasoning.

Either way, I was too busy curled around the stump, crying like a baby, the crippling pain of the pole leaving me weak. The punishment hurt, but it hurt worse inside. I was humiliated - reduced to a helpless, confused, blubbering mess. I would take a million awkward days of being compared to my Aunt Sarah, as long as I didn’t have to
be
her. I couldn’t last two months in this life, waiting to prevent a death I couldn’t explain or understand. I couldn’t last another
two days
. I finally understood how Sarah’s death could have been a suicide. Anyone remotely sane would want to escape the struggles of this life for another.

I had no choice but to leave. Besides, it wasn’t as though I helped anyone by being here. I had done nothing but cause trouble from day one. I needed to get out of this place - and find a way to get back home.

* * * *

That night, I lay awake in bed while Louise and Janice alternated loud jagged snores with soft even breaths. Counting to one thousand in my head seemed like enough time to insure a safe escape, but I hesitated to leave the warm, cozy bed. If I get caught sneaking out, will I be whipped again? I knew the answer even as I thought the question.

Determined not to let the past dictate my choices, I slipped from beneath the quilt. I crossed to the open window, feeling the cool summer breeze sneak through the dark screens. Waiting on the roof sat the old wooden ladder, still missing the same rungs, even in its prime, decades before I had contemplated using it for this exact purpose.

I was down the ladder and across the yard before the farm dog, Rex, began to bark. Hurdling the fence, I hid behind the chicken coop, ducking low to the ground. Two minutes later, I heard the door to the screened porch screech open and two figures thudded down the steps, the ominous outlines of shotguns evident in the moonlight.

I held my breath as the shadows raced across the farmyard, heading for the fields. Rex trailed after them, stopping once to look back at me, ears raised in question.

I waited until they were gone, disappearing down the paths to the acres of fields behind the farmhouse.

Then, tripping down the gravel trail, I followed the pair. I figured it was Bobby and Rodney, out hunting raccoon or bear in the cornfields, trying to protect the family food supply. Little did they know, it was my fault they were up; Rex’s barking having sent them on a hunt for a false intruder.

It was a shame, I had wanted to keep to the back roads and away from the highway for the first few miles I trekked toward town, but the only way to get to the back roads was through the cornfields. Hoping the boys would give up soon, I hunkered down at the edge of the field, straining my eyes for their creeping shadows.

Waiting for what felt like hours, I finally stood and stretched my cramped legs. My feet had fallen asleep and a strange tingling sensation prickled my skin as the blood circulated normally through my body again. My feet sunk into the dark, moist earth as I picked my way through the field to the knee-high plants.

Thankful for the bright starry night, I recognized the uneven tree poles of the boundary fence in the distance and made a beeline for it. I tried not to think about the animals that prowled the fields at night, the perimeter of the wilderness not too far from where I stood. Suddenly, I wished I had brought some sort of weapon; my vulnerability becoming more apparent the further I got from the house. I hadn’t put much planning into my escape, but for the main goal of getting myself out of the immediate area, and now that I was thinking, I realized I had forgotten to bring any extra clothing or food. I am such an idiot. I deserved to die out there in the woods. I can’t even remember to bring something as simple as shoes!

A faint rustling snapped me to attention. My feet paused and my senses went on high alert. My ears strained to hear the noise, the rustling, I had heard. Was it an animal? I scanned the field, turning slowly, looking for any shape or shadow that didn’t fit. A human cannot outrun a bear. Wolves travel in packs. Raccoons can have rabies. Erratic pieces of trivia flashed through my mind; random facts about the animals that roamed the woods surrounding the farm.