Nevada Barr - Bittersweet

Groggy and feverish, Sarah shambled out of the bedroom, guided by Imogene’s steady hand. The tub of water waited before the fire, cold and uninviting. Sarah looked from it to Imogene.

“I’ll pull the curtains so you can undress, then in you go.” Imogene smiled reassuringly.

“It’s only April.”

“April’s a good month for bathing.”

“It’s still winter outside.” As if to corroborate Sarah’s sentiments, wind rattled the window glass.

“It’s much warmer today. Almost spring. Best bathe now while the afternoon sun is at its warmest.”

“Washing too much is unhealthful. Mam says.” The unanswerable authority called down, Sarah turned for the bedroom.

“Nonsense. In you go.” Imogene closed the drapes and poured boiling water into the tub, great clouds of steam engulfing her.

Sarah allowed herself to be led to the tub and sat limp and unprotesting in the water, her legs crossed tailor-fashion. Warm water cascaded over her neck and shoulders. She winced as it found the lash cuts.

“I’ll be as easy as I can,” Imogene promised. “I have some ointment that will help, but I’ve got to clean the wounds first.” Blood-dried, broken open, and dried again-scabbed over most of the slender back. Pus gathered at the torn edges, and the narrow strips of flesh between the slashes were beginning to show an angry red. “You’ve not tended to yourself and I’ve been remiss. Running about, you’ve opened these a dozen times.”

“I had to look for Matthew.” Her son’s name dulled Sarah’s eyes, and tears ran down her cheeks. Imogene said nothing.

Deftly she swabbed the cuts clean, dabbing at the torn skin with a soft paste of soap. That done, she began the task of shampooing the fine blond hair. It fell, lank and wet, below Sarah’s waist. Gathering it up and rolling it into a knot, Imogene squeezed the excess water out and secured it with pins from her own hair. “There. That will hold it for the time being.” She handed Sarah the bar of soap. “You get soaped up; I’ll get the rinse water.” Sarah held the soap but made no effort to clean herself.

“Sarah!” An edge of fear sharpened Imogene’s voice, and slowly Sarah looked up. “Don’t think about it, Sarah. There’s nothing to be gained. Try not to think. Oh, Sarah, I am so terribly sorry,” Imogene whispered, her eyes full of the fragile, uncomplaining girl. Sarah started to rub the soap against her skin. “That’s right. I’ll get the rinsewater before you get a chill.”

Wrapped in a blanket, Sarah sat near the fire while Imogene brushed her hair dry.

“Where are we going to go?” she said, breaking a long silence.

Imogene leaned over the back of the rocker to catch the barely audible sound. “Hmmm? Where? Reno. It’s in the Nevada Territory. The state. It’s a state now. Nevada.” She kept her voice cheerful and light.

“ Nevada,” Sarah repeated hollowly, and Imogene laughed.

“You make it sound as though it were Hong Kong or Calais. It’s not so far. The railroad runs right to it.” She hesitated for a moment. “An old friend of mine lives there with her husband. She said they had need of schoolteachers.” She reached into her pocket and took out the letter she had taken from her piles of correspondence-the letter William Utterback had given her to read on the trail two and a half years before. She glanced quickly at the first page: 17 September 1873. Dear Mr. Utterback , the letter began. Imogene put that sheet back into her pocket and handed Sarah the page beginning, There’s a dearth of teachers here, and new people arrive to stay every day …

Sarah started to read but lost interest after a line or two, and let the paper fall to the floor.

“Reto,” she said.

“ Reno. With an n . Read the rest. She goes on to say how beautiful it is there and how nice the people are.” Sarah gave no sign that she heard. “Here. Let me read it to you.” Imogene picked up the page and snapped it straight: “ ‘There’s a dearth of teachers here, and new people arrive every day to stay. A lot of good family people. One of the railroad men told Jim’-that’s her husband-’ Reno had stayed the same size because every time a woman got pregnant a man left town. Now you sometimes see a father pushing a pram.

“ ‘Mountains ring the meadow that Reno is built on, some so high there’s snow almost all year round, and when the wind blows you can smell the pine trees. I love it here; it’s such a world of odd bits and surprises. Almost all the stores lining the main streets have false fronts a story taller than the real buildings. The men are rough and often dirty, chewing tobacco and spitting indoors, yet when I go out they’ll step off the boardwalk into calf-deep mud and hold their hats to their chests until I’ve passed. Good women are a treasure here.’ ”

Sarah was rocking herself back and forth, humming. It was a lullaby. Imogene stopped reading and watched her for a moment, lines of worry, like hatchet marks, between her brows. “There’s not much more, just some about the weather. And her signature, Isabelle Ann Englewood. I knew her as Close.”

As good as his word, Clay Beard was outside the schoolmistress’s house at five o’clock. Their scant belongings were quickly loaded into the wagon. Alone in the house, Imogene ran her hand lovingly over the dark wood of the rocking chair that had been her mother’s, before leaving it to the mercy of the person who was to come after her.

“Clay,” she said as she climbed up beside Sarah on the wagon seat, “Dandy hasn’t come home. Would you take care of her when she does? She’s a good mouser.”

“She’ll turn up, Miss Grelznik. I’ll watch for her. One more won’t be noticed at home.”

It looked as if everyone in town had come outdoors to stare after them as the wagon rolled through on its way to the depot. As they passed the church, a stone struck the side of the bed, spooking the horse. Imogene turned in time to see a boy of ten disappear around the corner of the building. He was one of her students. She fixed her eyes on the road and never looked back again. Sarah stared sightlessly down at her black-gloved hands.

The trail was five hours late. Both women sat outside on the station platform, perched amid their boxes and luggage, Sarah beyond caring and Imogene unwilling to face the people who lingered inside. Jackson had come out several times to ask them in, and once he’d brought them some fruit he said his “missus” had “packed extry.”

It was after midnight when they boarded. Imogene led Sarah to a seat by a window and slid in beside her. The young woman hadn’t spoken all evening and now slumped against the seat as though there was no feeling in her damaged back. Pulling off her glove, Imogene laid a palm on Sarah’s brow. She twitched away to lean her forehead against the glass.

“You’re warm. How do you feel?”

She didn’t answer and Imogene dropped her hand to look past Sarah at the warm lights of the distant town. “The unmitigated gall of these people to call themselves Christians.” The word Christians hissed. “They are so afraid of love. They strike out against their own children and snigger behind the back of anyone who dares reach out to another. Warding off the evil eye!” Imogene struck her fist against the hard wooden armrest. The knuckle of her little finger dimpled and reappeared as a tight knot half an inch from where it should have been. The hooting of the trail whistle drowned her cry.

THE TRAIN RATTLED THROUGH THE COUNTRYSIDE, THE NIGHT TERRAIN invisible behind blackened windows. Blankets and pillows were heaped in a rumpled mound over Imogene’s and Sara’s knees. In a basket between their feet, the food that Imogene had packed remained untouched. Sarah hunched forward, resting her head against the seat in front of her. Her eyes, wide and dry, looked at nothing. Imogene dozed fitfully, clutching the edge of the blanket up out of the muck of dirt and tobacco juice even in her sleep.