

A Gathering of Light

Patricia Iles

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2010 Patricia Iles

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mailto:agatheringoflight@hotmail.com

I dedicate this labor of love to my own true love: my husband of over 25 years. Thank you for being the rock of my world.

Thank you to my two grown sons, for being proud of their mom, and to the dear friends who supported and encouraged me through the process. My special thanks to Holly F., for reading my rough draft and telling me I had a story here.

Last, but maybe most important of all: thank you to that Southern teenager, circa 1863, whose experience inspired me to want to give her a different outcome to her personal tragedy.
May 6th, 1864--Wilderness of Spotsylvania, Virginia

The sun was about to set; it was already below the treetops in the dense woods. Twenty-three year old Lieutenant Hixson Matthew Morris lay in a tangle of brush. He was at the far left flank of the Union's position on the battlefield.

Conscious and in pain, Hixson decided a bullet in his guts was a surprising experience. He felt as if he had spilled scalding coffee on his belly. It was not what he expected.

As Hixson lay tangled in the thicket, he listened to the scattered sounds of the battle. He could not tell if the skirmish line moved away from him or if he were dying and moving away from himself.

Other casualties lay about, some moaned softly. Others were past agony or too brave to express their pain. Bravery? Maybe it was hopelessness.

A soft breeze quartered away. The battle ignited fires in the deep forest litter: a fire faster than the wounded men. From where he lay, Hixson heard wounded men perish in the flames. Though he was not threatened by the fire where he was, he knew he was as good as dead anyway.

Hixson closed his eyes and recalled recent events. The engagement started early that morning, about six o'clock. Hixson's unit fought at the extreme left flank, on ground they had struggled over before.

This was the place where the Battle of Chancellorsville, almost exactly a year before, overlapped the field of the present fight. Somewhere on this ground, General Thomas "Stonewall" Jackson lost his arm and then his life. Hixson vaguely wondered if he were near the spot.

General Grant had ordered the camps to be set up to the west of the old battlefield. But there laid Hixson: dying on the same land where so many had perished a year before.

When Fort Sumter was fired upon in April of 1861, Hixson was nineteen, working on his father's Pennsylvania farm. Like almost every boy between fourteen and forty, Hixson wanted to go right away.

His father understood Hixson's desire to go, but grieved terribly all the same. Mother was inconsolable. Hixson left his younger siblings Charlton and Eliza behind to take over his chores, kissed his parents and walked away.

He left with his best friend, Patterson Hilyard, to save the Union and have the adventure of their lives.

The day before he was wounded, Hixson and Patterson got their first good look at Ulysses S. Grant. Grant had recently been given command of the Army of the Potomac and was there to oversee General Meade.

Patterson was disappointed in Grant's appearance, but Hixson liked the look of the man. He had a good, solid kind of look. He was not the dapper, pompous sort that often seemed to be in command. Grant did not cultivate his mustache into a sculpture, nor give a nod to any other sort of fashion.

There were widespread rumors about Grant's drinking habits, but Hixson was not fond of rumors. He knew that a good story went round faster than dull truth. He believed that a man might take to drinking for many reasons and leave it alone just as quickly

Grant did not have the courtly equestrian manner of many officers. What he did have was a way of sitting his horse that made him look like he was more aware of the horse than of himself. What's more, Grant seemed to look into the face of each individual soldier as he passed.

All this, Hixson decided in the 100 yards or so Grant traveled within his view. Patterson decided only that Grant was covered in dust and not very interesting to behold.

Patterson Hilyard had been Hixson's best friend since they were little boys. Patterson was a happy boy and grew to be a cheerful man, even in the face of battle. He always had a song or a joke. If he happened to participate in a jar of moonshine being passed around, he was apt to giggle.

But it was no giggle Hixson heard earlier that 1864 day. It was a gurgling, forcefully whispered cry, "Hixson...??? damn it...".

Hixson turned to find his closest friend with a hole in his side. Hixson took off his coat to make a pillow for Patterson. Very little blood was coming out of the hole in Patterson's side and Hixson thought maybe it wasn't serious.

He soon discovered his error. Before he could stuff the coat under his friend's head, Patterson was gone. Hixson took the harmonica from his dead friend's shirt pocket. He closed Patterson's eyes, and held his hand for a moment before he turned his attention back to the battle.

An hour later, Hixson felt like someone shoved him hard. He spun where he stood, not understanding at first that the shove was from a bullet. Then the searing pain in his middle and the sudden weakness told him.

He sat down and ripped his shirt open, looking for the wound. Seeing the blood and fluid leaking from the hole in his belly, Hixson realized he was gut shot. He laid back and wondered how long it would take him to die.

Twilight was giving way to darkness as Hixson lay thinking. The thin slice of a crescent moon was descending when Hixson felt someone dragging him away.

Was he alive? He was not sure. Could a dead man feel his body being taken away for burial?

Is that how a soul knew to leave the body and go on?

May 13th, 1864--Spotsylvania County, Virginia

Hixson was covered with a blue and yellow quilt.

He was wrapped tightly around the middle with strips of muslin. He looked down and saw there was no blood seeping through the bandages and none on the quilt. The pain was gone and he was almost sure he was not dead.

He was surprised to be alive: Hixson had seen a great many battle wounds. Gut shot men never survived. He was sure there had been more than just blood on his shirt: there was yellow fluid and what looked like water. He knew the wound had pierced organs and spilled bile into his abdomen. Everyone knew that if the wound in your guts didn't kill you, the ensuing infection would.

The fact that he was still alive made him question his own interpretation of his wound. It was a puzzle. He was not ordinarily a man to panic, but he had given himself up for dead. Still, here he was, feeling quite alive. He didn't know how many hours had passed.

Sunlight streamed in the window. Its angle and color told him it was very late in the afternoon. He must have been sleeping all day, he guessed. Hixson lifted his head and looked around. He was in a large room and it seemed to be the only room. Just one door and two fairly large windows interfered with the expanse of hewn-log wall.

Hixson was lying in the only bed, near the fireplace on one side of the room. A chair stood by the foot of the bed, and two more were in front of the fireplace. On the opposite side of the room he saw a very large kitchen table. It was a table such as might be owned by a family with many children. There was an iron stove, a box of stove wood and several pieces of kitchen furniture. There was also a shelf with a great many books stacked on it, plus two wooden boxes of the kind that might hold buttons or love letters.

The cabin had a lived-in look and seemed to have been built many years before.

The logs were hewn square, some were deeply cracked and they were very dark with age. He could see places where the original chinking had fallen out or cracked. The patches were a different color than the old chinking.

He was alone in the room but it was obvious this was someone's home and he felt sure there was a woman in the house. Everything was neat and clean; there were herbs and flowers hanging upside-down to dry. The floor looked swept and he could smell chicken broth simmering.

Someone was making a quilt: it stood on a frame with a basket of fabric remnants nearby. It was design unlike anything he had ever seen. Hixson's mother was well known in their area for her beautiful work, but she never made anything like this. It had a bright red center that changed to burning yellow as it approached an irregular frame of black fabric. There was an iridescent quality to the red-to-yellow part that made it seem like sunshine.

There must also be a man of the house. There was a gun hanging on the wall, a man's coat and hat hung next to it and the place seemed to be well provisioned. Hixson had been in a few homes since the war began. He had learned if the man was off to war, or worse, the woman left behind to fend alone had a lean time of it. This place, however, looked to be doing well.

Outside the window, the trees were tall and close. He thought this must be some backwoods cabin nestled in dark timber. He could hear nothing outside the thick walls; certainly no sounds of the army he knew must be near.

Something about it all nagged at him. There was some mystery here, something that defied explanation. He still felt disoriented. He had not yet regained his presence of mind and so was at a loss to figure it out.

Hixson heard the scrape of someone wiping their feet outside the door. A big black dog with a short coat and a cold nose darted through the door first and came to him, pressing that cold nose onto Hixson's hand.

He saw a petite woman come in next. She set a basket overflowing with garden greens on a bench and quietly closed the door. Her head was wrapped in a kerchief in a way that hid her hair completely, giving no hint of its color. Her face was young and fresh and beautiful.

Her peachy skin and rose lips were lovely, but it was her eyes that were most arresting. They were round and green, with long dark lashes. With a spark of wit and wisdom showing in them, her eyes alone would make her beautiful.

As she turned to call the dog away, she saw that her guest was awake and smiled. Hixson noticed a nasty bruise above her eyebrow on one side and wondered what had happened to her. He also noticed that she had a voice as soft and smooth as butter when she spoke, "Towzer, get in your place."

The dog immediately went to a rag rug by the fireplace and lay down. The woman turned to Hixson, "You're awake at last. It was rest you needed above all else. Are you in pain? Do you think you could keep a little broth down?"

He looked, transfixed, into the greenest of green eyes and tried to think of what to say. In four sentences and only a few more seconds, she had taken his breath away. Hixson looked into her eyes; she had already memorized Hixson. She had been watching him and watching over him for days.

He was tall; she guessed him to be over six feet, and lean. All soldiers seemed to be lean. He had brown wavy hair. Now that they were open, she could see he had hazel eyes framed with very heavy lashes. His lashes lay on his cheeks as he slept, giving him a boyish look. Open, his eyes were enchanting enough to make her heart flutter.

The beard that had grown in since Hixson had been recovering was peppered with red. He had strong, even features. His hands were broad and calloused, clearly those of a man accustomed to work. But his eyes betrayed a youth and tenderness that didn't seem to fit the mold of a soldier.

Finally, Hixson found his voice, "I could eat, yes. How long have I been here?"

"It'll be eight nights and seven days, now. Are you hurting?" she nearly whispered, as if she knew somehow that his head was fuzzy and that the sounds in the room seemed brittle to his ears. She had just a hint of the slow way of drawing out words he had heard so often in Southern speech. She did not, however, have the backwoods pronunciation he expected in these surroundings. She quietly ladled steaming broth into a pottery mug and laid a bit of biscuit on a napkin to bring to him.

Setting the food down near the bed, she propped him up a little. She tended to him without speaking but looking at him in a way that made him feel that she could see everything. It was unnerving and comforting at the same time. He knew in the core of his soul that he was in good hands. And she had hardly spoken.

"Where is this place? What happened to me? Where is my regiment? Who are you? Are you alone here?" The questions began to tumble from Hixson like jacks thrown from a child's hand.

He listened to her downy voice explain patiently that he was in her home, in Spotsylvania County, Virginia. He was right: he had been gut shot but seemed to be mending fine. The armies had left the field of battle the day after he was wounded and were now engaged over at Spotsylvania Courthouse.

"My name is Sarah Westbay, and I was alone here until the evening of May 6th. That's when my young neighbor came running in here to tell me that he'd found someone bad hurt from the battle. 'Caught in a thicket of berry bushes and bleeding all around the middle', he said. So we loaded you up in his hand cart and hauled you here to tend to your wounds. His momma is my dear friend and she helped me take care of you this past week. You're sewn up like a Christmas turkey, I'm afraid, and you'll be some time yet healing. But there's no infection and you have youth and strength to carry you through." All the words came softly. "And what should I call you?"

Sarah's answers had opened the gate on a stampede of thoughts in his mind. He struggled to corral them long enough to answer the question she asked.

"Lieutenant Hixson Matthew Morris, ma'am. Second Corps, Army of the Potomac." If he was in Virginia, he was in a Confederate home! And still, she had helped him. Since he'd been in the army, Rebel women had cursed him, sneered at him and even spit on him. This one had helped him, taken him in to her home and tended his wounds.

He should be afraid, a Union officer in a Rebel home, and yet he trusted her and wanted to open his soul to her. He wanted to tell her everything. Who he was, what he thought, how he ended up with a hole in his midsection and how he missed his home. Trying to contain himself he soon tired. Sarah silently fed him the soup until he could eat no more.

Sarah heated some water and sprinkled some kind of dried flower into it. Then she asked Hixson to lie flat and relax so she could have a look at the wound. She carefully removed the bandages. Then she dipped a soft cloth in the warm flower-water, and washed his stitched up belly.

He tried to look, but what he saw scared him into turning his head away. She had said he was mending well, but all he could see were scabs: meandering trails of dark red. The scabs were crossed with almost clear, fine thread of some kind. He couldn't tell if he had been shot more than once because it looked like he had at least two sewn-up holes in the front.

When she asked him to roll onto his side facing away from her, he knew there must be more in the back. He braced himself for the pain that rolling would surely cause, but nothing. It didn't hurt to move.

"This looks very good, Lieutenant Morris. I'll be able to take the stitches out before much longer, and then it won't look nearly so frightening." She washed all the stitches with the poultice.

"It's true, ma'am, I'm not very good about wounds...especially my own." Hixson replied, chagrined that she saw his fear.

"Don't worry. I think we all feel that way. Probably by the day after tomorrow you'll be ready to sit up a while. I want to let your insides heal a little more before we try that, though." As she spoke, Sarah was efficiently straightening the bedding, and making Hixson comfortable.

She looked at him for a moment, looked to the ceiling and held her hands, palms up, with arms extended. Hixson noticed her small, delicate hands and graceful arms as she closed her eyes and stood, tense and trembling slightly. Was she praying?

Then she opened her eyes, leaned down and placed one open hand on Hixson's belly and slid the other one under him and pressed it to his back. A feeling like strong static flowed through him, from her one hand to the other. He felt warm and buzzing and thoroughly confused, but Sarah stood there with her hands upon him, trembling.

Hixson decided he must be very sick, after all. He thought he saw a light glowing faintly from under her palm as she pressed it to his belly.

Sarah let go, jerking back somewhat as if it were difficult to do. Then she sat down hard on the chair at the foot of the bed. She seemed unable to speak.

Hixson tried to watch her and see if she needed some kind of help, but he could not. He felt warm and heavy, remarkably well and very, very sleepy. He would not wake again until late morning

May 14th, 1864--Spotsylvania County, Virginia

Even through the thick cabin walls, Hixson could hear the alarm in the voices of the people who approached. Sarah heard it, too. She had the door open and the dog sent to her place before they could even knock.

A boy about eight years old was carried in and it was immediately apparent he'd had a serious accident. His leg was bent below the knee at an unnatural angle. There was blood on his cheek and more running down one arm.

They laid him on the kitchen table. The little boy's momma was tearful. The grandfather who carried him was out of breath. Another woman had come in as well. She went straight to the stove and got to work.

Her bright red, curly hair matched the color of the embers as she stoked the fire. With her was a boy who looked about fifteen. Her familiarity with everything showed she had been there many times and her speech showed she was from Ireland.

She tied an apron around her striped skirt, filled a pot with water and placed it on the stove to heat. The red-haired boy with her strolled over to Hixson and asked how he felt, introducing himself as Caleb.

This must be the young neighbor Sarah had mentioned. This was the one who found Hixson dying on the battlefield and brought him help.

Sarah cut away the injured boy's clothing to have a better look. When she had done this she gave them to the mother and handed her a sewing box. Then she selected four sticks out of the kindling box and handed them to the grandfather.

"Sand them very smooth and cut them all this long." She told him, marking the stick to show him. "You folks set out on the porch while you take care of those things. Caleb, you keep them company." Sarah said. She spoke with kindness, but firmly. This was not going to be something they would want to see.

Sarah seldom permitted loved ones in the room if someone was hurt very seriously. Some protested, but most simply did as they were told. She opened the door and smiled as they stepped outside.

"Busy hands will ease a worried mind." She added as she closed the door behind them.

The two women worked quickly, washing wounds and assessing the boy's injuries.Again, Hixson saw Sarah look intently at the boy, look to the ceiling and extend her arms, palms up. Her friend stood back, waiting respectfully and making no noise.

This time, he clearly saw a soft glowing light gather on the palms of her hands as she held them out. Sarah stood there for only a short time, and soon she was laying her hands on the boy's hair. She hardly trembled this time either, and Hixson wondered what it meant.

"You're thinking you'll need to save a little something extra for later, eh, darlin'?" Sarah's friend did not have the buttery voice, but she spoke softly all the same.

"That I am, Emma darlin'" Sarah replied, imitating the brogue her friend had used. "This is a bad break. He'll need all the help he can get."

The two friends looked at each other for a moment, took their position and each nodded when she was ready.

Emma held tight to the boy's leg just above the break and braced herself strongly. Sarah grasped the lower leg with one hand and felt deep into the break as she began to pull. Holding her breath, she pulled the lower leg just past its natural length and smoothly slid it back together.

The boy made no sound, didn't thrash and didn't open his eyes. He seemed to be completely unconscious. The cut on the boy's arm was quite deep but fairly small, requiring just a few stitches. Sarah used suture of her own hair, plucked quickly from beneath the kerchief she wore.

The blood on his cheek was nothing, just a smear from the bloody arm. He had a deep bruise on one hip, and two of his fingers looked to have been jammed. The broken leg was the worst of it and it was a clean break, with no broken skin. Emma and Sarah splinted the leg and wrapped it carefully.

Emma called the mother and grandfather back inside. She explained the injuries to them, and asked what had happened.

The little fellow had fallen out of a tree house he was building.

"I can think of no better way to be hurt in times like these. It's almost a treat to see a boy just being a boy in war time." Sarah said. "Now let's see if we can help him to get well quickly and with as little pain as possible."

Sarah stood at the boy's side, raised her hands as before and stood very long, calling the light into her hands. As the light gathered, the kerchief slipped from her head as if of its own accord, and glossy gold waves tumbled out.

Her hair crackled with static and even the kerchief made a snapping sound as it slipped to the floor. Emma held a finger to her lips to encourage silence, led the mother to a chair and had her sit. Then she took the grandfather's arm and had him stand behind Sarah and off to one side. Emma took her post behind Sarah on the other side.

When the light had gathered, Sarah laid her hands on the boy's broken leg. A soft glow seemed to shine from every strand of her hair which was floating slightly, as if in water. The boy's hair began to glow as well.

A whispering sound filled the room. It reached a crescendo, and slowly faded away just as the light was fading from their hair and her hands. Emma tapped the grandfather and gestured.

Sarah wrenched her hands away from the boy and crumpled to the floor. Emma alone caught her because the man did not understand Emma's gesture.

The boy's grandfather realized at last what Emma was trying to tell him. Hixson had not noticed Caleb quietly arranging two pallets on the floor in front of the fireplace. Emma and the grandfather carried Sarah to one of the pallets and laid her down. Then they carefully lifted the little boy to the other pallet. Emma supported the broken leg as they moved him. She offered them coffee, and Caleb joined them at the table as they talked.

"Is he....is he....cured?" asked the mother, hope shining brightly in her eyes.

"No, not cured." answered Emma, "Miss Sarah's gift is not like that. She can make him sleep better than any doctor's drug, and she can take away his pain. Most important, that light of hers keeps him from getting an infection and there won't be any swelling. But he is not cured.

"His leg is still broken and he will still need time to heal. "Your boy may sleep for days, now, so much effort did she put into the gathering of light. Let me warn you, though, you may want her to take his pain away again when he wakes. I don't think you should do that. Without the pain, and him just a lad, he won't know when to quit and might break it again. Let the pain be a guide to him so he can heal.

"Sarah will know that, of course, but if you ask her to free him from pain again, she can no' always refuse." Emma had given this lecture before. She continued. "Do not ask her how much you owe. She'll not have an answer.

"She does not know how to charge for something that she doesn't think of as hers to sell. Pay her something or some way if you feel you must. If not, then put it out of your minds; the folks around here visit her often enough that she makes a living."

The room was completely silent. Mother and Grandfather sat at the table, holding their coffee cups, dumbfounded and a little frightened.

At last, the man spoke: "When we brought him to town, looking for the doctor, the lady in the general store told us he was off to war. She sent us to Miss Sarah, saying she was better than any doctor. I just thought this Miss Sarah was a country healer, like in the old days. But this....." And his thoughts trailed away with his words.

Emma rose, began to prepare supper and discussed places for everyone to sleep that night. The mother and grandfather opted to sleep out in the wagon, under the stars.

Hixson lay on the bed, Sarah's bed he assumed, watching silently but with questions building in his mind. After everyone had eaten and the mother and grandfather retired to their wagon, Emma turned to Hixson.

"How do you do, lad. I'm Emma McKendall. Yonder is my son Caleb. I'm pleased to see you with your eyes open." Emma's smile was very kind.

"Lieutenant Hixson Morris, Ma'am. Caleb. I'm much obliged to you both. I believe young Mr. McKendall over there saved my life." Hixson smiled at them.

"I doubt he sees it that way, Lieutenant. But I will agree that he opened the door to let the miracle in." Emma glanced at Caleb as she spoke, but he was too embarrassed to look up. "I can see your mind working, Lieutenant. What's going through your head just now?" Emma sat down to listen, to give Hixson a chance to voice those many questions she could see in his eyes. His first one surprised her.

"Is that how she got the bruise on her face? Did she....help me that way before you got here to catch her?"

This was the first time Emma had ever heard someone seem to be more interested in Sarah than in the gift she held.

"When Caleb found you I was away at me mother's. He came to get me after they brought you here. It's a far piece and by the time I made it here, Sarah had already taken care of you. She had sewn you up, insides and out, and wrapped your wounds. I found her lying on the floor with a knot on her head where she'd hit the table as she fell."

"Why didn't she wait until you could be here?" Hixson asked.

"If she had, you wouldn't be here to ask that question." Came the smiling reply.

"What if she had really hurt herself when she fell?"

"She never thinks of that."

Hixson had many more questions. He didn't know where to begin to ask all the questions he had. He wanted to bring them to order in his mind before he talked more. Besides, he could see that Emma was tired. Caleb was already settling down to sleep, though the sun was hardly down. It had been a full day for all of them.

He patted Emma's hand, nodded and smiled and asked no more.

May 15th, 1864--Spotsylvania County, Virginia

It was nearly noon before Sarah was on her feet again. She was pale but smiling. The first thing she did upon arising was to look carefully at her young patient. Pleased with what she saw, she retied the kerchief around her head.

She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat by Hixson to look him over as well. Sarah quickly decided that Hixson was doing well, too.

"I like the bright clarity in your eyes, Lieutenant Morris. You're going to be on your feet very soon."

"Could you just call me Hixson?" He asked, with a twinkle in those bright, clear eyes. "And if you'll do that, can I also talk you into letting me have some of that coffee?"

"If you'll take it watered down some, Hixson, a little coffee might be just the thing." There was an undertone of mischief in that buttery voice.

"Where are you from, Miss Sarah?" Hixson asked when she brought him the weak coffee.

"I was born right here in this cabin. Not a very interesting life of travel, such as yours." Her tone was friendly, and yet did not invite further questions. She turned the subject: "So, is there someone I can write to for you, to let them know you're here and alive?"

Hixson said there was and Sarah fetched paper and pen, taking down what he said. He was not yet quite ready to sit up to write.

Dear Mother and Father, Eliza and Charlton,

I am in Virginia, recovering from a wound I received in battle a week ago. I am getting the best of care and will be well soon. It was a bad fight and many died, but I was most grieved to lose Patterson Hilyard. We signed up together and had stayed together through every fight. Then on the second day of this latest battle, I heard him call out in a strange voice. He had taken a mini ball in the side. There wasn't very much blood so at first I didn't think it fatal, but by the time I took off my coat and rolled it to make a pillow for him, he was gone. Tell Mr. and Mrs. Hilyard that he was a brave man who fought well and was much loved by everyone in the regiment. He had his harmonica with him and played it many nights. All the men loved that and made many requests for special songs. I took it when he died, determined to carry it home to his folks when the war is over. I intend to do it, first chance I get. Pray for me and all our men. I am sore tired of fighting and so are all the rest. I know that Mr. Lincoln will bring us through this affair some way, and I look forward to that day. I expect Charlton is a man by now, and may be thinking of joining the fight. Do not. There are dozens of regiments that haven't yet seen battle. They mostly end up digging ditches, and I don't recall Charlton as being no hand with a shovel. Eliza, you are surely a young lady. Watch out for those soldier boys that have come home. I have heard the way they talk in the camp and they'd not be the sort you want. I miss you all and think of home, and home cooking, every day. I miss your shoofly pie most of all, Momma. And if any of these soldiers could work like Poppa, the fighting would be done by now. I am looking to the day that I can see you all again.

Your devoted son,

Hixson Matthew Morris

Sarah sealed the letter and addressed it according to Hixson's instructions, saying nothing. She had been given a glimpse into the Lieutenant's soul, in a way, and saw a very tender and thoughtful man. He may be a fighter, but there was a gentle heart there. This was a revelation to her.

Hixson rubbed his hand over his face, feeling emotional and drained. Thinking of home and the simplicity of the world he left behind always filled him with aching.

He had started off to war feeling adventurous and heroic, defending the nation, arm-in-arm with his good friend. Every day since, it seemed, he came across a farm that was just like his home. Only it had been burned, shot up, destroyed.

He once thought war was an exciting, manly thing. Now he thought of it only as a savage, bloody way to ruin beautiful country, happy homes and contented families. Hixson's youthful notions of valor were gone. War was pure hell, and he'd had enough of hell.

It was difficult for him to address the loss of his best friend. He was torn between sorrowful guilt and an inexplicable relief. Patterson, at least, would have to face no more terror on the battlefield. He would never have to eat a wormy biscuit or rancid meat, or cope with dysentery again.

As much as he missed his friend, the horrors of the war had inured him to grief in a way he did not yet understand. More than anything else, he dreaded having to look Patterson's parents in the eye. It had been Hixson's idea to go off a-fighting.

Reading all these conflicts in his eyes, Sarah looked at Hixson and found her own eyes filling. This was a kind of pain she could not help with a gathering of light. A boy's broken leg was a simple matter; the anguish of a soldier in war time was something else.

As much as she wished that a gathering of light could heal an injured heart and soul, Sarah well knew that time and peace and getting back to an ordinary life was the healing Hixson needed. He would need a compassionate ear when he was ready to talk. She wondered where he would be when that day came. Would someone be there to listen?

Hixson was reading Sarah's eyes as well. He saw her empathy and he saw the penetrating vision that she had. It seemed to Hixson that she could look right into his soul. What he didn't see was her own wish that somehow, she could be more than she was.

May 17th, 1864--Spotsylvania County, Virginia

It had been eleven days since Lieutenant Hixson Morris fell on the battlefield. He woke to find a cotton work shirt and pants neatly folded at the foot of the bed. The smell of chicory "coffee" was in the air. The real coffee must be gone. Many houses hadn't had a drop of the real thing in years.

He sat up with an effort but unaided, and looked around. Sarah was breaking eggs into a bowl with one hand, while she beat them with a fork with the other. Hixson had watched his mother do that same trick yet had never mastered it himself. When he tried to break an egg with one hand, all he got was a lot of shell in his egg and a lot of egg on his hand.

"If you'll give me a minute, Lieutenant, I'll help you get dressed." She said.

"I thought you were going to call me Hixson." He replied, smiling. "And where are my own clothes? I'd rather have those, if you don't mind."

Sarah looked him directly in the eyes, saying, "Well now, that could be a problem, Hixson. Blue pants with a stripe on them are not a popular fashion around here right now. If you want to get a little sun on your face today, I'm thinking you might want to just wear what's there. You never know who might be passing by."

The idea of going outside and getting a little sun was so appealing that Hixson would have worn a skirt, if that's all that would allow him outdoors. Sarah helped him dress, since he was still weak, with the no-nonsense experience of a practiced nurse.

For the first time in a very long while, Hixson sat at a kitchen table to have breakfast. Between the days injured, and many months in camp, it had been a long time since last he'd been inside a home for a meal. Mostly, he sat on the ground around the fire to eat, like almost everyone else.

Scrambled eggs and a slice of fresh bread had never tasted so good. The coffee was gone, but they made do with chicory coffee. Hixson wished for a bite of bacon or salt pork, but knew his wounded innards would not appreciate anything that heavy.

The few steps to the door were a struggle to navigate, but a comfortable bench stood on the porch outside. That was Hixson's goal. He sat contentedly in the morning sun, watching Sarah go about her chores and feeling a little guilty to be sitting.

She collected eggs and threw some scratch to the half-dozen hens clucking about. A forkful of hay and a few tender words to a roan mare, pump a bucket of water: ordinary tasks country women everywhere were doing.

Sarah went inside the cabin, picked up a half-full bucket of kitchen scraps and the man's coat and hat. "I'll be right back" Sarah told Hixson as she pulled on the coat and plopped the hat on her head. She grabbed the bucket of scraps and disappeared around the side of the cabin.

Hixson deduced that she must have a pig hidden in the woods somewhere. Soldiers marching through would take livestock if they wanted it, and kill it if they didn't want it. A dead horse would be an inconvenience. A dead pig could mean starvation, so people hid them.

Why the coat and hat? He wondered. Probably just the caution of a woman alone, he reasoned. Yes, that explained a lot. In the days he had been here, he never saw any other person that seemed to live here. He didn't know where the coat and hat came from, but he could understand why she used them.

The gun? That was easy. With livestock came predators and with being alone came predators of a different sort. Of course she would keep a gun handy. Hixson wondered why she always wore a kerchief covering her hair. He thought her hair was amazingly beautiful when he saw it. Why cover it?

Sarah returned quickly, rinsed out the now-empty bucket and put it back inside. She hung up the coat and hat, grabbed the coffee pot and their cups, and came outside to sit with Hixson. They sat without speaking for a while.

At last Hixson gave voice to a question that had bothered him since he first found himself in Sarah's care. "When I was lying on the battlefield with a hole in my belly, I heard other men around me who were still living. Of all of those, why did you choose me to heal?"

"I'm not the one who did the healing, Hixson. That healing comes from someone bigger than me. And it was really Caleb who picked you. I think it was because he thought the others were either too far gone, or had an injury the surgeons could deal with.

"He saw the hole in your belly, too, and knew infection would kill you without special help." Sarah answered very quietly and uncomfortably. She'd meant what she said; she did not regard this as her doing. She was merely an agent of a higher power.

They sat companionably as the sun arced high into the sky. The shadow of the porch roof inched further toward their feet as the day warmed. They talked of small things: the name of the roan mare, how far to town, Hixson's siblings. Sarah suggested Hixson rest a while inside and he was glad to do so.

He was accustomed to being strong and healthy; to tire so easily was disturbing. Still, he could not fight it. He was tired.

Lying on the bed, he found he could not nap. Hixson had always been an observant person, apt to notice details and make rapid judgments about people and situations. It was a talent that marked him for leadership, and one reason he had risen in the ranks rather faster than his fellow soldiers.

He could take in important details very quickly and make sound decisions instantly. Still, he could not seem to make a judgment about Sarah. She was a bundle of mysteries to him. He rested, eyes open, pondering Sarah.

May 18th, 1864--Spotsylvania County, Virginia

Removing the stitches was easy and nearly painless. Hixson asked Sarah why she used her own hair to stitch wounds. He instantly understood when she said the stitches never become infected that way.

The scars were still dark red, but they had closed well and caused very little discomfort. Sarah assured him the scars would fade over time. A few scars were of no concern to Hixson. He was still awed that he was alive.

The passing days had brought more strength and better mobility for Hixson. He could move almost as easily as if he had never been hurt. With the return of his health came the return of his sense of responsibility.

He did not know where his regiment was, but he did know he was in rebel territory. He should go find his unit. In spite of his sense of duty, Hixson thought seriously of trying to make his way back to the north and go home.

Hixson helped with those chores he was able to; he was still recovering and tired more easily than he would have liked. His progress was genuinely remarkable, but he had never been seriously injured before. He did not realize how amazing his recovery was.

Sarah thanked him for every chore he performed, which made him uncomfortable. How was a little choring repayment for all she had done for him?

That morning, Sarah picked up her garden basket and a knife and asked Hixson if he would care to take a walk with her. "I want to take some fresh flowers to the cemetery. It's a pleasant walk and not too far."

They strolled along the path side-by-side with a few feet between them and chatted.

"I've always loved this little walk. In the autumn, when the leaves have changed it is so lovely. It used to be old Towzer loved it, too, but she's an old dog now and content to lay in the shade most of the time."

They came to the little cemetery, and Hixson wandered around, reading the headstones. Sarah emptied the crocks that stood at the head of two adjacent graves and walked over to the pump to fill them with water. Then she cut lilacs of different shades from the many bushes around the cemetery. She filled the crocks with sprays of fragrant blossoms ranging from almost white to deep purple. She cut more lilacs to bring home, filling her basket with them.

The peaceful little place was surrounded by a high wrought-iron fence. Some of the headstones tilted to one side. They had been standing so long that the ground beneath them had given way. Abundant deer tracks showed the fence was not high enough to keep out everything.

Many headstones had a bit of the story of the person that rested beneath. Others had a poem, or an epitaph that was probably composed by the deceased as a last comment on life --or death.

Near the center stood seven tiny graves, dated only a year or so apart, each one read "Baby Boy Ridenour". Birth date and death date the same. How sad: seven sons lost on the day of their birth. The seven little graves were over 60 years old at that time, and someone was still putting flowers on all seven. Was the grieving mother still alive? Did one baby live, to remember always the seven who didn't?

Hixson came upon the graves of a husband and wife. Years before someone had planted a small tree above the two headstones. Now it was a huge tree with two stones imbedded in its trunk. The husband's last name was grown over, and the wife's first name. This was a very old cemetery.

Hixson ambled over to where Sarah was standing. He was startled to read the headstones on the graves she was tending:

" _Sarah Westbay._

Born 1825. Died 1842.

Beloved Daughter.

She Gave Her Daughter to the Light, and Darkness Overtook Her."

And standing next to it,

Sarah Cotterman Westbay

Born 1800. Died 1859.

A Grandmother to Mother the Orphan.

Her Light Was in the Life She Saved.

Sarah stood, looking at the headstones, with her sorrow plain to see. "It's hard to believe Grandma has been gone five years. In some ways, it seems like forever, other ways like yesterday." She sighed, and turned to Hixson. "Ready to head back?"

They had walked a few hundred yards in silence, when Hixson asked, "Was the other grave your Mother's?"

Sarah nodded.

"She died in 1842? You must not have had a chance to know her...you can't be much older than 20?"

"She died giving birth to me. Grandma raised me." Sarah replied.

"What about your father? No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't ask; I'm prying." Hixson said.

"It's alright, Hixson, it's no secret. It's no great love story either, though." She said. "Two men came through here some years ago, one of them with a broken ankle. They came to my momma for help. My momma set the man's ankle and gathered the light to keep the pain and infection away. It was a terrible break, I guess, and Momma put a lot of herself into the healing.

"When she woke up, the men were gone, and so was her horse, what little money she had and everything else of value. And they left her pregnant... with me." Sarah said, ending softly.

"They attacked her? After she healed that man?" Even the horrors of the battlefield didn't compare to this.

Sarah's eyes began to fill and her voice broke as she explained. "Grandpa was working on the railroad that was being built along the Rappahannock River. He'd been gone from home for a few weeks. My grandma was away in the town, to be midwife to the blacksmith's wife. When she got home, she found my momma. They had cut off her hair, I guess to sell, and taken it and even her clothes with them. She was only 17."

Hixson was shaken. It was such an agonizing thing for her to have to tell and he was sorry he had asked. With all that he had seen in the war, he never heard of anything so cruel. As it always seemed to be with Sarah, every answer made more questions for Hixson. He felt guilty about it, but could not stop himself from asking more. "Why did you say 'it's no secret' that way? What do you mean?"

"Folks around here only come to me when they need help. Before the war, people brought their slaves to me and the whites all went to the doctor in town. I guess they didn't want to pay someone to help their slaves. Being a bastard, they thought I was unfit to tend to them and would gladly pay for a doctor's care for themselves. Now that the doctor is gone, they have to reconsider that."

Now Hixson was shocked, "It's not like they gave her a choice! How could people hold that against her? Or you?"

"They say she was asking for it, letting them in when she was all alone. Grandpa had always warned her to not open the door if she was home alone. But no one understands that she couldn't see the danger. When someone was hurt or sick and came to her, the light began to gather around her and all she could see was their suffering. "It's very odd when it happens, Hixson. The whole world disappears and suddenly all that is in it is that one person who needs your help. Everyone and everything else is in darkness and light shines only on them."

Hixson was quick to see the implication. "Do you mean that if someone comes to you for healing, you can't really see anything else? What if they're a bad person, or with bad people? You can't tell where you are, or if there is danger around?"

Hixson seemed to understand exactly what she was saying. Sarah was thunderstruck. Emma, who had stood by her and been a true friend all of her life, didn't understand. Emma had been her momma's good friend, and still did not comprehend how all the world narrowed down to one person in need. Unable to say more, Sarah only nodded.

Hixson said nothing as they strolled back to the cabin. He was suddenly very frightened for her. What had happened to her mother was just waiting to happen to Sarah, too, especially in these days of wandering renegades and marching armies. Had something like that already happened to her? His mind reeled with terrifying possibilities, and he wanted to hide her away from the world. He wanted to protect her from the harm he felt sure was lurking just out of sight.

When they returned to the cabin, Emma and Caleb were approaching. Towzer saw Caleb, grabbed a stick and ran to him, begging a game of fetch which Caleb happily obliged. Emma carried a basket containing two jars and something wrapped in a cloth. In the sunlight, her hair was bright as polished copper.

Emma smiled warmly at Hixson and hugged Sarah. "Paying a wee visit to your Granny, were you?" The lilacs in Sarah's basket betrayed where she had been.

"I was. I was. And what delicacies are you bringing today?" Sarah turned to Hixson and said, "Emma thinks I'm too skinny. She's always trying to fatten me up. I don't know why it isn't working; she's the best baker in the township."

"Today is currant scones, with lemon curd and a bit of clotted cream." Emma beamed from the praise, but didn't deny it. She was the best baker in the township. Even the baker in the village was pestering her for her potato bread recipe.

Caleb was playing tug-of-war with Towzer over a bit of rope. Towzer snarled very unconvincingly as they tugged. They were having so much fun that Caleb begged off of the scones, preferring to play with the old black dog. Anyway, he got to enjoy his momma's baked goods every day.

When Hixson, Sarah and Emma sat down to scones and tea, Emma realized something was bothering Hixson. He had not completely regained his appetite, but it was the worried way he looked at Sarah that struck her. She suspected the trip to the cemetery had brought up questions. Emma hoped Hixson was not misjudging Sarah. Most people regarded her with a fearful kind of tolerance. They didn't like her origins and they feared her gift even though they relied upon it. No one seemed to see that she had a tender heart, a wicked sense of humor and a cheerful disposition. Certainly no one knew that she was stubborn and impatient. Her other neighbors never enjoyed the rewards of Sarah's excellent cooking or her prolific garden. They never gave her the opportunity to be their friend.

Emma and Caleb stayed through the afternoon. Caleb played with the old dog until she laid down in the shade and refused to move. He lay down with his head on her side and they napped in the soft breeze of late spring.

While they visited, Emma watched Hixson and Sarah closely. More than anything, she hoped that love would find her young friend. She wanted Sarah to have the life that her mother should have had. Thinking back to the year before Sarah's mother died, Emma still felt the stab of grief and anger. That Sarah had been an angel in every way. Always kind, she laughed easily and sang beautifully. Some brute had come into her home one day taken laughter and the music from her. She was afraid to go outside after that and cried often.

Two months after the attack, when she realized she was pregnant, her spirits lifted somewhat. Until the townspeople found out and accused her of being a harlot. She loved her unborn daughter completely, even so. Emma knew that, had she lived, that Sarah would have been the best mother in the world to this Sarah.

When they decided to head home, the sun had dropped below the tree tops. Sarah told Towzer to go with them. Towzer loved Caleb almost as much as she loved Sarah and would protect him and Emma against anything. Emma's place was only a little way down the path, but Sarah sent the dog anyway.

They said their farewells, and walked away. In half an hour Towzer was home again. She went inside, lay down in her place and started snoring.

May 20th, 1864--Spotsylvania County, Virginia

The last of the cornmeal was gone. Sarah was also out of flour, salt and tea. She doubted there would be any such provisions to be had in town, but she hoped she could at least obtain flour or cornmeal. Either one.

Hixson offered to go to town for her; he was anxious to get out and look around. She reluctantly agreed, asking him to please stop by Emma's and have Caleb go with him. "Don't do much talking, Hixson. They might figure out who you are."

Hixson agreed to collect Caleb so she gave him directions to Emma's house. Sarah watched him walk away, feeling the anxiety set in. It would not go well for him if people found out he was a Yankee soldier. But he was a grown man and entitled to take his own chances.

As Hixson and Caleb walked to the little town of Oak Hollow, they talked pleasantly. Caleb was full of boyish questions about war and being a soldier. Hixson painted the darkest picture possible, hating the idea of the red-headed boy ever facing such a thing. As soon as he gracefully could, Hixson turned the subject to lighter topics.

Oak Hollow was very quiet. There was only one street in town with shops, and few shops at that. There was a blacksmith who also ran a livery, a general store, a tiny bakery, an undertaker and a tailor. There were fewer than a dozen people to be seen.

Caleb ran into the general store for the few groceries on Sarah's list. Now that he was here, Hixson realized he'd done a foolish thing. He couldn't talk to anyone; his Northern accent would give him away. He couldn't buy anything. Union currency was accepted in the south, but coming from a stranger in town it was apt to raise questions. As soon as Caleb had the groceries, they left town.

Hixson took the packages from Caleb, who had insisted on carrying them, when they came to Caleb's house. Emma yoo-hooed from the front door, holding up a fresh loaf of bread. "Sarah is right fond of my potato bread, Hixson. Could you be bringing a loaf along to her?"

"Your famous potato bread, Emma? What makes you think it will make it as far as Sarah's? I might eat the whole loaf myself on the way!" Hixson couldn't help but smile at Emma's singsong Irish speech using Southern phrases.

Emma couldn't help but smile at praise for her baking. Hixson gladly accepted the warm bread and strolled off toward Sarah's cabin. As Hixson broke out of the trees and into the clearing where the cabin stood, he was immediately alarmed.

The cabin stood quiet, as always, but it was surrounded in a fog of darkness. It was baffling—and frightening. The sun was shining as usual, the grassy clearing bright green. Yet the cabin seemed to be covered in a strange black cloud that clung closely to the cabin itself.

He ran for the cabin! Throwing open the door, he looked around in fear, imagining the worst.

Sarah was kneeling on the floor, her hands on Towzer's head. Hixson saw her golden hair, lit and floating, as she laid her hands of light on her dog. She didn't seem to have put as much of herself into the healing this time, for soon she was sitting on the floor, silent.

"Are you alright? Sarah? Sarah??" Hixson had rushed to her side.

Sarah slowly turned her face to him, realizing finally that she was being addressed. "I'm alright. I think Towzer will be better now." She still seemed dazed.

"You took a chance like this on a dog?" Hixson was beside himself. The dog looked fine to him, sleeping now, and he was afraid of what could happen to Sarah after one of her healings.

Sarah could barely understand what he was saying. She certainly could not understand why Hixson was speaking so sharply. "The mare kicked her. It wasn't a bad kick, more of a warning, but Towzer was panting and the kick snapped her mouth shut. She darn near bit her tongue in half. Poor dog."

Hixson didn't know what to do. He had no right to scold her for anything and was embarrassed for presuming to do so. But he couldn't stand the thought of her being hurt—especially not with the story of her mother's assault so fresh in his mind. He sat there, torn between apologizing and lecturing, and so remained quiet.

Sarah started to stand, a bit wobbly, so Hixson helped her to her feet. Once she was safely seated at the table, Hixson went back outside to retrieve the groceries he'd dropped in his rush to the cabin.

He brought them in, set everything on the table, sat down and struggled to explain himself. "I didn't mean to scold; I apologize. I know I have no right. But when I came to the cabin and saw the darkness around it, I was very...well, scared." Admitting fear was no easy thing.

"What do you mean, 'the darkness around it'?" Sarah asked.

"That black fog, or whatever it is. I didn't know what that was at first."

"Hixson, I don't understand. What black fog?"

"Around the cabin? Haven't you ever seen it? No, of course you haven't. No one ever told you?" Hixson couldn't quite believe she didn't know about it.

"No one ever told me. What does it look like?" There was something important about what Hixson was saying. The key point, whatever it was, floated just out of her reach.

"Well, it looked like a cloud of black smoke, but thicker, I guess. I don't know, it's hard to explain." Hixson struggled to put into words what he had seen.

"That is what I see all around when someone is hurt. Everything else but them-- looks like that." Sarah said. She looked at Hixson with new eyes. For the first time, he was as mysterious to her as she was to him.

May 21st, 1864-- Spotsylvania County, Virginia

In the two weeks Hixson had been recovering, he had improved so much that he knew he couldn't stay on much longer. A jumble of conflicting emotions turned his decisive mind into a quagmire of doubt and confusion. He didn't know where his regiment was, but the army's whereabouts was always something people talked about.

He wasn't sure how far it was to home, but he did know he was near the center of Virginia. He would have to make his way across half the state plus a distance into the next without getting caught. If he could do that, he would be safely north of the Mason-Dixon Line.

Should he just go home? Should he find his regiment? His longing for his own home told him one thing, his duty to his country another.

Thrown in for an added layer of confusion was his heart, aching to stay with Sarah. He had never met anyone that mystified him the way she did. She was beautiful and strong, and vulnerable too. Indecision made him restless. He felt well enough to work or fight, but this was not his farm to work and the fight was somewhere else.

Even the very idea of fighting was starting to take on new meaning for him. Every destroyed home he had passed by in his tour of duty, and certainly every one he had helped to destroy, Hixson now saw in a new light.

The livestock he had killed had belonged to someone like Sarah: someone who, in other circumstances, might have been kind to him. Or needed him. It had once been a simple matter of "us" and "them". Now "them" was a lovely, intriguing woman who had saved his life.

Hixson reflected on stories he had heard around bivouac fires of things done to Rebel women, caught alone. He had always condemned such behavior; now the image in his mind of what those women suffered was even more disturbing.

Caleb strolled into the clearing with a couple of good-sized fish on a stringer. "I caught you some supper, if you like fish." He announced.

"Fish would be just the thing! I'm much obliged, Caleb." Sarah smiled her thanks and took the fish inside.

Caleb sat down on the porch step and looked over at Hixson. Hixson was patching a hole in the roof of the hen house. "Those are pretty big fish for a boy your size. What'd you use for bait?"

A big grin cracked Caleb's freckled face. "If I tol' you that, you might steal my secret."

"In that case, I bet you used dough balls from your momma's potato bread. But how did you get her to let you use that for bait?"

Caleb laughed, "Don't you tell her, now. You do and my hind end'll be as red as my hair. Ma's too proud of her bread to let me throw it to the fish."

Hixson was climbing down from the hen house roof when Caleb spilled the bigger story. "I heard the armies are heading for the North Anna River, south a-ways. Hear there's going to be a fight. That General Grant is a-chasin' ole' Marse Robert like no other Blue Coat general has had the guts for."

With that, Hixson's confusion cleared. The debate within him ended. "Then I have to go. Can you tell me how to get to this North Anna River?"

Sarah stepped out onto the porch in time to hear Hixson's announcement. A cold hand of fear for him gripped her. "Are you sure you should? You're not all the way healed yet, you know."

Hixson turned to Sarah. He looked at her, really looked at her, as she stood there. She wasn't very tall, but she was all woman. Full bosom, tiny waist, a long graceful neck and a beautiful face...and that amazing golden hair she hid. Her troubled green eyes nailed him to the spot where he stood.

The full meaning of what he was about to do hit him. He meant to go away from her, this mysteriously fascinating, strong and fragile beauty, to return to his regiment. Could he do it?

With a wild twisting in his heart, he decided he had to. Hixson walked to the porch, reached up and took her two hands in his. "I have to go. I have to. How can I ever repay you for all you've done for me? I owe you my life."

"You owe me nothing, Hixson. I only did what I was born to do. But you can still repay me–by staying safe. Look out for yourself, you hear?" Sarah checked her tears, unwilling to show Hixson that she was crushed.

"Could I come back and see you, when this is all over? I would like to get to know you better, Miss Sarah. And I would like to find a way to repay you." Hixson was getting choked up, too.

Sarah nodded, and turned back into the cabin. She packed what provisions she could for him. Caleb had not been to the North Anna River, but he had an idea how to get there. He gave Hixson the best directions he could.

Hixson accepted Sarah's advice to wear the civilian clothes until he was closer to his own troops. He may encounter Rebel forces before he reached the Union encampment.

In only a few minutes, Hixson was on his way. Back to his unit. Back to the fight. And out of Sarah's life.

Sarah watched him go, feeling more alone than she had in a long while. Hixson had been a sweet companion to her lately. He was funny and cheerful. He liked to talk, and liked to listen. She especially enjoyed the way he talked to Towzer. Most people wouldn't spare a thought for a dog, but Hixson responded well to the old girl. Sarah concluded that his kindness to the dog was an indication of what kind of man he was.

Hixson got along well with Caleb and Emma, too. She hadn't defined her feelings to herself yet. Besides a wish for Hixson to stay, she gave it little thought. She did not think of it as falling in love. Whether she admitted it or not, it was certainly moving in that direction.

Sarah didn't hold out much hope for his return. She assumed he would get back to war and forget all about her.

May 24th, 1864--North Anna River, Virginia

The Battle of the North Anna was already underway by the time Lieutenant Hixson Morris rejoined his regiment. He had crossed many miles of Rebel territory, traveling away from the main roads.

His comrades were amazed to see him, alive and well. They could not tell that his he had left his heart behind, in an old cabin in Spotsylvania County. He buried himself in his regimental duties.

General Grant's Overland Campaign proceeded, battle by battle, until the days became one. As time passed, Hixson began to wonder if he had imagined her...a delirium goddess. He laid in his bedroll at night and felt the scars that crossed his belly, and knew she was real.

Hixson never told his fellow soldiers about Sarah. The story didn't sound plausible even when he told it to himself. Most of them would think him crazy. Some of them would only hear the part about a beautiful woman, living alone. Neither possibility appealed to him. All those miles away, he wanted to keep her safely hidden.

The shine of adventure had long since gone when Hixson was wounded. It was far worse for him now; he was looking at war from both sides in a new way. Sarah had shown him the humanity of the people he was fighting. Hixson saw his fellow soldiers in a different light now. He considered them to be a sorry lot, for the most part. He still held some in high regard, but not many. The snickering retelling of bloody events sickened Hixson now.

He fulfilled his duties and fought bravely as ever. He ate the dismal fare without complaint, and obeyed orders on all occasions. Mostly, Hixson prayed like he had never prayed before that the end of the war would soon be at hand.

April 9th, 1865--Spotsylvania County, Virginia

On the day Robert E. Lee surrendered to U.S. Grant at Appomattox Courthouse, an older man rode into the clearing where Sarah's cabin stood. He was leading a matched pair of dappled grey mares.

Towzer ran to Sarah and stood before her, hackles raised. The man dismounted, looked around and finally looked at Sarah. He had a pronounced limp as he walked toward her.

"I'm looking for a lady who used to live her. She was...I guess...a healer? Real pretty yellow-haired lady?" His voice was very smooth, a poor match to his dusty clothes. Still, he had an air of success about him.

"She hasn't lived here for some years now. Why were you looking for her?" Sarah did not offer information about her own gift.

"It's hard to explain, ma'am. She took care of me once, a long time ago, and I came to try to make it up to her. Do you know where I could find her?" The man was reluctant to share his motives further.

Sarah looked at him, feeling like she almost recognized him. She was sure she had not met him before, but there was still something familiar about him. She knew he was hiding something, but even so, her instincts told her he was harmless.

"I'm sorry, mister. She passed away many years ago. Did you know her well?"

The man's face drained. "Did she die because....did she die about 23 years ago?"

Alarm bells rang in Sarah's head. "Close. 22 years ago. How did you know?"

"Could I sit down a spell?" He did look like he was about to fall over. The man took a seat on the porch and looked at Sarah thoughtfully.

She brought him cool water and waited for him to explain himself.

"My name is Andrew Kayser. My brother David and me, we were bringing a load of hogs to market one day, a long time ago. We had this one mean old red Duroc hog named Chester. Well, Chester got a hold of me by one foot, and almost twisted my foot clear off..."

Sarah jumped to her feet. She thought about getting her gun, or setting Towzer on him.

"You're the man...who..."

Andrew Kayser also jumped up, "No, it wasn't me! Oh, please, you have to believe me! I would never!"

Distrust radiated from Sarah's face, and then she noticed Andrew Kayser's very green eyes. Then the truth began to dawn on her. "It was your brother? What did you say his name was? David?" Towzer stood between them, growling softly, upset by the tension.

It had finally come: the day that Andrew Kayser had waited for, and dreaded, for 23 years. "We were almost back home when I woke up. David was riding a horse I didn't know, but I thought I had seen. That worried me, right away. David was a troublemaker. No, he was downright mean. So I started pestering him to tell me where he got the horse.

"After the hog got me, we went to get help. I remember seeing this lady with real pretty yellow hair. She looked at me like she could see right inside me. At the time, I thought she was an angel, and that I had died. The next thing I knew, I woke up in the back of that wagon, with David on a new horse. I think it must have been her horse."

Andrew sighed heavily. "I was in a lot of pain. My ankle had been set, but it had been bouncing around in the back of that wagon so it broke again. David went to get some whiskey for me. We were going to go get help again, but he ended up drinking too much. My ankle has never been right since. He never would say what happened or where that horse came from."

Sarah realized how foolish she had been to blame both men for what had happened all those years ago. Of course, the man her mother had healed would have been sleeping. She just never thought about it. She was ashamed of her own lapse in judgment.

"Well, Andrew Kayser, I guess that would make you my uncle." She held out her hand, eyes full and heart cringing. "Sarah Westbay. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

Andrew Kayser looked at her with huge eyes, started to shake her hand and fell apart instead. He dropped his head into his hands and sobbed like a man unstrung.

They talked long into the night. Andrew learned at last the full extent of what his brother had done that day in 1841. Sarah learned that her father was hung two years later for a similar crime.

"I don't know why it took me so long to come here. I've wanted to ever since I figured out where that horse came from. I reckon I was ashamed." Andrew confessed to his newfound niece. "I had no idea that he'd done what he done, though. Well, no, that's not exactly the truth. When we found out what he done to that gal in Maryland, two years later, I started wondering what might have happened to this lady here."

"It wasn't your fault. I'm ashamed, myself, for blaming you both in my heart all this time." Sarah said. "If I would have thought about it for a minute I would have known it could only be the one man."

I was so ashamed at being related to a man hung for raping a girl that I moved out of Maryland. She was just a little thing, only about 15 years old and pretty as a rose. I was just mortified. So I packed up my gear and lit out for Virginia.

"I guess I thought if I moved a little closer, maybe I could find...your momma...and try to make it right. I live over in Hanover County. Got me a new start, and now I breed horses. Yonder are two I brought for your momma. Guess they're yours, now."

Sarah started to protest, but Andrew cut her short. "Don't tell me no. It took me 23 years to get up the nerve to come here. I'm a long ways too late, but I'd sure be obliged if you would take them, for your sainted momma. And for my conscience."

All those secret questions Sarah had since childhood were finding answers. Her estimation of the kind of man her father had been was not far off.

Andrew told her more about him, even though he hated to speak of him. "He was a banty rooster, you know the type: a short man with a tall attitude. Always picking fights, going around all puffed up like a cockerel. Even as a little boy he was mean. He used to twist the tail on a piglet just to make it squeal. "It's funny, ain't it, that old Chester got me? He was probably after David and missed! Anyway, he was always picking on smaller boys, or even girls. Just before we went to sell those hogs, our little sister moved to Grandpa's farm, saying David was mean to her. I've wondered ever since, exactly what kind of mean he was to her." He said the last sentence almost to himself, then continued..\

"It's a puzzle to me, how an apple can fall that far from the tree. Our Pa was an honest, God-fearing man. Ma was a fine woman. Not a one of our family ever crossed the law even once. Then here comes David to do every wrong in the book." Andrew shrugged his bewilderment.

Sarah shared part of the story with Andrew, but she held back more than she told. She told him how she was raised by her Grandmother, who just happened to have been in town on that fateful day. She told him how her mother had died giving birth to her, but she did not explain why.

She didn't talk about what it had meant for her to be a product of such conception. Sarah didn't tell Andrew that, because of how it happened, David had killed her mother.

Andrew felt guilty enough, she thought, he didn't need to know that her mother died directly because of David.

Sarah very carefully avoided talking about her mother's gift of light. If the conversation seemed to be headed in that direction, she steered it elsewhere. She certainly did not reveal that the gift was now hers.

Andrew stayed in town for two days, spending the days at the cabin. Sarah learned she had an aunt and four cousins in Hanover County, plus more relatives in Maryland. He invited Sarah to visit him in his home, to meet his family. Andrew wanted very much to show her that, even though it was the bad apple that left his seed, she came from very good people. All in all, Andrew felt good. He had done something very difficult for him, and it turned out well.

A burden he had labored under for over two decades was lifted. He rode home with a lighter heart.

April 15th, 1865--Spotsylvania County, Virginia

Caleb ran, red-faced into the cabin with a newspaper in his hand. "Lincoln's been shot! Sarah! Lincoln is dead!" Like any young boy, Caleb was much influenced by the opinions of others. He believed that Lincoln was personally responsible for the war. He was taken aback by Sarah's reaction.

"Dear God. What will happen to us now?" She sat down, pale with anguish. Sarah could see the puzzlement in Caleb's eyes. "Lincoln was the one leading the way for a peaceful reunification. Other leaders want to hang all the Southern soldiers, and punish the South in general. Lincoln was the voice of reason. It may go bad for us, now."

She saw dark times ahead for the South. "He said he would pardon the Southern boys who were ordinary soldiers. Since General Lee surrendered, Northern people want to be vengeful. That must not be, or it'll be war again. Lincoln was one of the few who saw that, and tried to prevent it. Who will speak for peace, now?"

Everywhere he went in the days that followed, Caleb heard the two opposing viewpoints. Many people believed that Lincoln deserved what he got. Others saw him as the leader in peace time who might force the North to treat the South with generosity.

Sarah, like Southerners everywhere, was concerned about what might happen to their beloved generals. Robert E. Lee was very nearly worshiped by everyone. He also had a great many admirers in the North.

Grumblings had already started about Jefferson Davis. People were looking for someone to pin the blame on; Jeff Davis was being groomed for a scapegoat. Davis was seen by the common folk as a little stiff, too serious and too cold to earn him much love.

Other political leaders were being blamed, too, but mostly it was Davis who bore the brunt. Some people laid all the responsibility on the doorstep of South Carolina, the first state to secede. Almost no one accepted any blame of their own–especially those who had cried the loudest for secession four years earlier.

The soldiers who had come home spoke loyally of their commanders. Many of them got teary-eyed, speaking of Robert E. Lee. Their affectionate names for the general, Marse Robert for one, showed their devotion and how close they felt to him. Sarah prayed Lee would be treated like the Christian gentleman he was.

People started trickling in to the South almost as soon as the surrender at Appomattox was signed. Missionaries made up a big portion of those; the rest were scoundrels of various sorts, and carpetbaggers. It was a painful time for Southerners.

Sarah believed that with Lincoln gone, it would only get worse. There was always the hope that people in the North would honor the dead president's intentions, but she doubted it.

April 15th, 1865--Washington DC

Hixson was in Washington DC the when Lincoln was assassinated. He was waiting in the outer office of his commander's quarters; he was to be reassigned. While he was waiting, word came in that Lincoln had been pronounced dead that morning.

The city was in shock. Authorities chased the assassin Booth and his co-conspirators. The citizens of Washington DC mourned. Hixson listened to the talk around town and wondered at the change. The same people who reviled Lincoln the year before, now spoke of his kindness and sagacity. Death affected people in strange ways.

Most of the soldiers felt a strong bond to the president. Lincoln had visited several battlefields, meeting with commanders. Many men had heard him speak on different occasions. They felt he had a personal interest in them.

Hixson had been present in Richmond when Lincoln visited there. No one in the regiment cheered louder than Hixson to hear that Lincoln was seated at Jefferson Davis' desk.

There was something in Lincoln that drew the soldiers to him. He seemed like an ordinary man, beset with troubles, just like they were. His difficulties with his wife were well-known. He was gangly and homely and had a high voice. He was relatable.

Lincoln was exceptionally intelligent and persuasive, qualities the men admired. He was also folksy frontier stock, allowing the men to feel a special kinship to their commander-in-chief. People like Hixson, who paid attention and read the newspapers, realized that Lincoln was a shrewd politician. Hixson thought it remarkable that Lincoln had managed so well, in a time of such great trial.

The fact that he had been re-elected in the midst of civil war revealed what a pillar he really was. He hadn't retreated. The voters were willing to see the thing through to the end, thanks in part to Lincoln's leadership.

Hixson mourned with the rest. A remarkable President had been taken from them. Lincoln was a man, maybe even the man, whom the country needed to survive the trials ahead. Hixson hoped that Lincoln's own words, spoken so very long before, might prevail. He hoped that people might listen to the better angels of their nature.

July 1st, 1865 --Dover, Pennsylvania

Eliza Morris was behind the kitchen bringing in the wash, when a silhouette appeared on the horizon. She knew without further study that it was her beloved brother, home at last. Soldiers had been straggling home since the middle of April; every day she watched for the soldier she missed the most.

"Momma! Poppa! Charlton! Come quick! He's home!!" She hollered out with her biggest little voice.

Momma came running out of the kitchen, Poppa from the barn, and Charlton ran in from the lower field. No one needed to tell them who was home.

Hixson was mobbed by his family, the dogs and soon the neighbors. Momma wetted everyone with joyful tears. Poppa pumped Hixson's hand for what felt like hours, before he gave in and threw his arms around him and wept into his son's hair.

Their son had come home, walking under his own power and looking strong. They had seen so many come home on crutches or in pine boxes. To see, with their own eyes, their Hixson all in one piece was a gift from God.

Eliza hugged Hixson, and skipped around him like a little girl. Charlton shook his hand, then gripped him in a bear hug and swung him around in a circle. It was a hysterically happy scene being played out across the nation, in those lucky homes with returning soldiers.

Hixson had arrived after supper; everyone was finishing the last of the day's chores when he got home. Momma apologized for not having a real supper for him. "This isn't hardly fit to feed you, but it's what we have right now. Tomorrow I'll fix up all your favorites."

Then she proceeded to stuff him with chicken and dumplings, maple carrots, pickled pears, stewed fruit, butterbeans, two kinds of pickles, warm apple crisp, corn bread, fresh greens with hot bacon dressing and real coffee with real cream.

Hixson had forgotten how the Northern farm families ate. Not a bit of salt horse around, no weevils in anything. And real cream in the coffee. It was heaven.

When everyone had settled down enough to have a sensible conversation, Hixson was peppered with questions. They wanted to know every detail of how he was, where he'd been and what he'd been doing. As Hixson recounted his tales of glory and triumph, defeat and sorrow, he didn't tell the story that was most on his mind. He didn't tell them about Sarah.

For one thing, he wouldn't be able to explain her. A healer with magical powers? It passed belief anyway. Neither could he discuss his feelings. The way he felt about her was a delicate thing, a very private thing to be held protectively guarded. Hixson dreamt of her almost every night. He would barely close his eyes and he would see her, standing with her arms outstretched. But instead of stretching out to gather the light, in his dreams, she was reaching out to him. He would wake from the recurring dream with a pounding heart and an aching fullness in his groin every time.

July 2nd, 1865--Dover, Pennsylvania

Hixson gathered up his gumption and went to call on Patterson Hilyard's parents. He brought the sentimental harmonica and a photograph of the two of them, taken on the day they got their uniforms.

It went better than he expected, for the Hilyard's had come to uneasy terms with the loss of their son. The Hilyards felt that Patterson would not have liked to come home with missing limbs, as so many had. He had been a proud boy. Other men had learned to live with their war wounds. Maybe Patterson would have learned, too. But then, maybe he would have preferred to just go on and leave this world.

They would have wanted him home, however many bits were missing, but told themselves he wouldn't have wanted it that way. In the end, it was out of their hands anyway. It was small comfort, to think in such terms, but it was all they had. Their son was lost to them, before he had the chance to grow up all the way. He left no child to carry on for him. All they could do was take whatever consolation they could think of.

When Hixson presented the harmonica and the picture, he felt ashamed. It was a poor trade, to be sure. They had parted from a vibrant, vigorous young man. Hixson had returned with only a bit of metal and a scrap of paper. He was a thief.

Like a jackdaw, who steals something good and leaves some shiny worthless thing it its place, Hixson felt like a criminal. He had stolen away their son and brought back only a paper ghost of him.

In truth, Mrs. Hilyard was happy to have a reminder of her son's music. Other mothers had only the bullet that had killed their sons. A harmonica was much better. At least she could look at it and touch it, something she could not have done with the mini-ball that had taken his life.

Hixson returned to a noonday meal that bowed the table legs. Poppa's family were Scots, but Momma's people were German. In true Pennsylvania Dutch style, she had seven sweets and seven sours, greens and yellows, cakes and pies, meat, fish and fowl.

When Hixson thought about the lean days in camp, the men suffering from scurvy and living on hard tack and salt horse, he felt like a glutton.

Salt horse was a kind of salted beef. Most of the men got gripping cramps from eating it, until they became accustomed to it. Many of the men were farm boys, like Hixson. They had grown up on fresh wholesome foods. Army fare was canned, dried, salted and pickled. It wreaked havoc with their digestion.

Then he considered what the Southern families faced, and his appetite vanished. Northern farm families like his had not faced the same hardships as the Southerners. War was still hell for them, and most families had lost loved ones. One lady nearby had lost all five of her sons. That was true hardship.

But life on the farm meant hard work–and food. Confederate soldiers came through the area; they were not that far from Gettysburg. Even when invading forces foraged through the countryside, there was enough for the Morris family to eat.

There were plenty of farms around and the soldiers didn't take all their provender from any one home. They waged as harsh a war as the Union soldiers did, but with fewer men and more important missions, they paid little attention to the farms of Pennsylvania.

It was a different story on the southern farms. Union soldiers were ordered to destroy anything that might be of use to enemy forces. That included food. Wells were collapsed, livestock was either taken or killed. Smokehouses were a particular favorite: Union soldiers prized a good ham or bacon.

Hixson's company had been sitting around a bivouac fire one night in Georgia when they heard a strange small voice calling softly. Going to investigate they found a whisper of a man, little more than a mobile skeleton, struggling to cross a fallen log. He had escaped from Andersonville Prison.

The emaciation of the man infuriated the soldiers and shook them deeply. Hixson never lost the picture, and expected he never would. Suffering in war was no academic notion for Hixson. He had seen it. Hixson had helped to carry the starved man to the surgeon's tent. He had buried many comrades, and held the hand of his best friend's corpse. Hixson had spent many nights within earshot of the medical tents, and he had lain awake listening to screams.

He had seen grand generals and the President with his own eyes, and had outlived some of those. Hixson had seen more dead horses in the war than he had live ones before. He had lost count of how many homes he had seen destroyed.

Hixson had to find a way to put all that he had lived through and all that he learned into a workable present. He had to find compartments to hold everything, or the tangle of it all would choke him. Finding a way to accept the disparities of war would be a fine first step.

After another gargantuan meal for supper, Hixson sat on the front porch with his father. Charlton had gone to call on a young lady down the road and Eliza and Momma were cleaning up the supper dishes.

"Poppa, how did you know that Momma was the one for you?" Hixson decided he might as well jump into the deep part of the creek, right off.

Poppa laughed deeply. "I didn't know no such of a thing! Momma knew and told me how it was gonna be. "Oh, you shoulda seen her, boy. I reckon you're old enough now in years and in experience.

"Your Momma was pretty as a speckled pup. She had that curly hair and a pouty mouth that looked like it was begging for a kiss. She was mighty ample in the bosom, too, more than any of the other girls.

"In my day, the girls all wore dresses that pushed their bosoms up high and round. Your Momma was really something in a dress like that. Looked like she was about to come outta the dress. I couldn't take my eyes off her!

"If I wanted to get my hands on her, and good gracious did I want to get my hands on her, I was gonna have to marry her proper. She put that German foot of hers right down, so I married her. Glad I am, too. She turned out to be a prize. You got your eyes on a prize somewhere, son?"

Hixson was still laughing at his father's candor when he answered. "Yeah, I met a prize when I was wounded. I can't hardly force my mind onto any other subject. She's... remarkable."

"Remarkable? Is that another word for pretty as a speckled pup?" Poppa was laughing, too. "If she's so remarkable, why don't you go fetch her? What does she look like?"

"Well, she's pretty. No, beautiful. Yeah, I'd say she's beautiful. She's a little bird of a thing, but all grown up, if you get my meaning. She's got the greenest eyes ever, and hair the color of that hard winter wheat when it's ripe. I'd sure like to see her again, see if she's been thinking of me at all." Hixson said.

"You have some reason to think that she's been thinking of you? Did you get to know her real well?" Poppa wasn't concealing his true question very well.

"No, nothing like that. But there did seem to be a connection between us. I'm pretty sure no one around there holds her interest. But I think she liked me alright." Hixson did not feel ready to explain the whole situation just yet.

"What about her folks? Did they like you?" Poppa was ever practical.

"She's all alone, Pop. Her Ma died when she was born and her Grandma brought her up. Grandma died some five years ago, so she's all alone. I don't know what happened to her father." It was the truth, just not all of it.

"Then I guess I'm confused, boy. You got you a beautiful woman, all alone, interested in you...and you're sitting on the porch with an old farmer? Virginia ain't so far away you can't go, you know." Poppa said.

He well knew that Hixson was not the sort to even mention her, if he wasn't serious.

"You gonna bring her home?" It was Eliza, standing at the kitchen door.

"Well, are you?" Momma called out. You couldn't get away with any private conversations in that house.

Now that Hixson had been found out, he told the rest of the story. "There's something special about her. I'm not sure if she'd leave her home."

"What kind of special?" Poppa asked. All the kinds of special he could think of would not keep her from leaving a place.

"Well, for one thing, her home has been in her family a long time, and now she's the only one." They all understood that. Roots and one's relationship to the land were very important.

"Another thing is she's kind of a healer. A special one." Hixson showed them the scars, still fairly red over a year later. He told them the whole story of her gift of light. He told them about the boy with the broken leg and what he saw when she healed him. He told them about the cloud of darkness around the cabin when she laid her hands on the dog.

Momma and Poppa saw the scars and realized that Hixson's recovery from such a wound was miraculous. Their son was not an excitable kind of man. He had always been rational, intelligent and wise beyond his years. The wonder in his voice as he told them about Sarah was more revealing than what he said.

He did not tell them about the rape of her mother. That, he felt, was best left unsaid. If they ever needed to know, they would find out then.

Momma raised a question he had never thought of. "If her mother died in childbirth, do you think she's going to be able to live through it? You said she was a little bird of a thing. Is she too small for childbearing? Why did her mother die, do you know?"

Hixson considered her question for a while. At last he said, "No, I don't think it was that. Something else must have been wrong. Besides, you're not very big, either, Momma, and you managed." Hixson knew what side his bread was buttered on.

"Hmmph. You just think I managed because you haven't tried it. It's no easy thing, you know." Momma snapped, but she was still pleased. No woman wanted to hear she was any bigger than she'd ever been.

Hixson yawned conspicuously and made a great show of stretching. He wanted to retire to think about what had been said, and when he should leave. In his family, to just sit and think was a sure way to get a dose of medicine. The only place to ponder anything was in bed after dark. He had to make plans. That he would go to her, there had never been a doubt.

July 3rd, 1865--Dover, Pennsylvania

The decision was made. Hixson had been wakeful most of the night, half planning and half dreaming. He planned out when he would leave. In two days, he would go. He would spend the holiday tomorrow with his family. It would be the first Fourth of July since the war began that he had the chance.

Hixson planned out what he would say. Then he would change his mind, scrap everything and plan something different. He dreamed about how she would look. He dreamed that she would run to him, that he could put his arms around her.

He announced his decision at breakfast, another huge meal, expecting an argument. To his surprise, no one did. Mostly everyone was just excited for him and hoped they'd get to meet this girl soon.

Hixson and Charlton worked in the eastern field together that day, and talked of their respective love interests. Charlton was something of a businessman at heart. The girl he was courting had eighty acres of her own that conveniently abutted the Morris' south parcel. Hixson remembered the family that owned that farm. But he did not recall a daughter.

"No, you're thinking of her uncle–her father's brother. He has the farm next to that and always just worked both places. Her Dad worked the farm her Momma inherited, over in Ohio." Charlton explained. "Both her parents died during the war. Her brother got the farm in Ohio, she got this one. So she came to live with her uncle and to take over her farm."

That made sense. Charlton declared she had other redeeming qualities as well. Hixson suspected the eighty acres might be the most redeeming of all. He was convinced when she passed by on the road, with her aunt.

She was one of those unfortunate girls with squinty little eyes, thin hair and turned up nose too big. She was shaped like a birdhouse gourd: big on the bottom and too small on the top. Hixson looked at his brother and laughed.

"Well, but she's really very nice." Charlton defended himself. Then he started to laugh, too. He picked up a clod of dirt and threw it at Hixson, hitting him squarely in the chest. Hixson tackled him, and they wrestled until they were both as brown as the fields of rich farmland.

"I'm only kidding, Charlton. If she's nice that's all that really matters. How does the rest of the family like her?" Hixson asked.

"Momma likes her because she is such a good cook. Her grandparents were German, only recently from the old country. She knows all the dishes. She even speaks German, so Momma can talk to her in the old tongue a little bit. What she remembers of it.

"Poppa likes her because she works hard and sings while she works. He says that means she works cheerful, so I'll never have to scold her. And Eliza loves her because she is funny and tells wonderful stories.

"Oh, I know she isn't the prettiest one, but she is a dear, she really is. She's never cross or complaining. She has a knack for seeing the humor in ordinary situations. She's a lot of fun to be around. You'll like her." Charlton was earnest.

"If you like her, I will too. Be good to her, huh? Treat her like she is the prettiest one." Hixson said, and wondered at his own tenderness.

The brothers went for a swim in the duck pond to wash off the wrestling dust. Eliza watched her big strong brothers and thought how handsome they were. Someday, she said to herself, she'd find someone as wonderful as they were.

July 4th, 1865--Dover, Pennsylvania

Momma had packed a picnic lunch and they were all going to town. It was the first Fourth of July since the war was over, since the war began, for that matter, and they intended to celebrate.

The day was bright and hot. Nearly every lady had a parasol; the church grounds looked like so many brilliant mushrooms had sprouted.

They had a big day planned, with all of the events they could think of: a parade, a band playing and contests of every sort.

Eliza walked on her oldest brother's arm like the young woman she was fast becoming. Hixson noticed many hopeful young eyes looking in her direction. Good big brother that he was, he made sure to scowl at every hopeful young face, trying to scare them off.

Hixson met his brother's intended at lunch time. She brought over a basket of black bread and wonderfully smelly soft cheese to share. Hixson stood and took her hand and smiled warmly. "You must be Annie? I'm delighted to meet you, Miss Annie."

"And you must be Hixson, our beloved Lieutenant! I feel like I know you already, what with your letters home and Charlton's stories about you." Annie replied.

"You can't believe the things Charlton says about me, you know. I wasn't half as mean to him as he says I was."

"Oh, he never said you were mean. He always told me you were very smart and very brave. But I won't believe him, if you tell me not to." Annie was smiling, and somehow, the smile improved her looks immensely.

Hixson laughed, "That, you will have to decide for yourself. I can't be very smart, or I wouldn't have walked into that one so easy!"

They all sat on the ground to eat, and Annie entertained them with a story.

"We learned an important lesson at home, this past week." She began.

"My Auntie found one of her favorite hens dead in the hen house just over a month ago. No idea what killed the old girl, but she had started brooding a clutch of eggs only a couple days before. So there we are with a clutch of eggs started, and none of the other hens were setting.

"Auntie liked that hen a lot, and really wanted to have some of her chicks around. Auntie was getting ready to make an incubator in the house to try to hatch out those eggs. That's when my little cousin comes in and says that one of the geese is sitting on a nest, and why don't we just slip the eggs under her?

"Well a goose should be able to hatch a hen's egg just fine, so we tried it. Sure enough, one day we see the mother goose with six little goslings and six little chicks, parading around like the queen. Oh, it was so cute! You should have seen it.

"What we didn't think of, though, was that mother goose taking a notion to teach all those little ones how to swim! Of course, the little goslings just go right in the pond, but the chicks don't want any part of that. So mother goose starts getting frustrated. She encourages them over and over by taking to the water, pretty as you please, and showing them how easy it is.

"The chicks just stood at the water's edge, peeping like their momma was going to drown. She keeps trying to show them, and then lead them in, but they won't go. I expect she's thinking she's got some of the dumbest goslings ever hatched. Pretty soon, she's picking up the chicks in her bill and throwing them in the pond!

"Auntie runs out there to rescue the chicks from being drowned by their new momma, and the goose figures that she knows how to raise her chicks. She doesn't like being interfered with, so she starts going after Auntie.

"That big old goose was just honking and flapping. Then Auntie tries flapping her apron back at the mad goose. The peeping little chicks are flopping around in the water and the goose is flipping them into the water one second and chasing down Auntie the next.

"It was a shouting match like you never saw. That goose was honking at Auntie and carrying on. Auntie is trying to shout down the goose and holler for Uncle to come and help her at the same time. Uncle was laughing so hard he couldn't stand up straight. Finally, he walks over there, wiping his eyes with his shirt sleeve.

"And what does he do? Get the goose away from Auntie so she can catch her breath? No! He picks the chicks out of the water and just walks away. That mother goose was so busy trying to give Auntie what-for she didn't notice Uncle.

"Auntie wound up having to make a run for it. That mad goose chased her all the way to the front porch, honking and flapping and trying to get hold of her. Auntie was all out of breath from the hollering and red in the face. She was so worn out, she had to go lay down a while!

"If Auntie hadn't been there, that mother goose would have drowned every last one of those chicks trying to teach them to swim!" Annie's stories always made everyone laugh. Her appreciation for the silly predicaments people got into was wonderfully entertaining.

Later, while Charlton was competing in a chopping contest, Annie stood at the sidelines chatting with Hixson. "Charlton says you're going to Virginia to visit a lady you met there?"

"I am that. I intend to leave tomorrow. I think you'd like her, Annie. I hope you get to meet her." Hixson said.

"Why wouldn't I?" Annie asked.

"She might not want me. Or maybe she met someone else."

"I doubt she'd not want you, Hixson. She'd have to be crazy to not want you. You and Charlton are easily the two best men here." Annie was serious.

"Thank you! You're very kind. I hope she feels that way. There are other things, too. She might not want to come away from her home. Even for a visit."

"If she doesn't want to go away, will you stay with her?"

"I believe I would." Hixson grew thoughtful. Would he stay in Virginia to be with Sarah? He knew the answer: of course he would. "Yes, I definitely would. I'd go anywhere, for her."

"Then you must go. If you make each other one tiny little bit as happy as Charlton makes me, then you will have the whole world." Annie squeezed Hixson's hand. "We will all miss you while you're gone. The wedding is in September. If you can be there, I would be grateful. It would mean so much to both of us."

July 4th, 1865--Spotsylvania County, Virginia

They weren't celebrating the Fourth of July in Oak Hollow, Virginia. Sarah wasn't sure there was a celebration that day anywhere in the South. Privately, she thought the South was foolish for trying to secede. She didn't believe they'd ever had a chance to win the fight; the North was too rich and powerful and populated.

Sarah received letters from her uncle Andrew regularly. She was learning more about her heritage and glad of it. It was a pleasure to have family to correspond with. That was something she had been missing, without even realizing it.

She spent the day at Emma's house, working on a new quilt and chatting happily. Many soldiers had been to see her in recent weeks, hoping to find relief from old and new wounds. Even more newly-freed slaves had come to her. The violence between them and their former massahs, overseers and the poor whites was everywhere...and brutal.

Doctors were back in their home towns now. One doctor in another town had helped a freed slave and been beaten for it. It was a time of turmoil and continued bloodshed and fear.

When someone would approach the cabin, especially if Sarah felt their need for help affecting her, she sent Towzer to fetch Emma. Emma always knew when she saw the dog to hurry over. Both women had been busy nearly every day with the needs of others. Not only was Emma glad to stay home all day. Sarah was stretched to the end of her strength and needed to be away from the suffering of others. It was a perfect day to rest.

Caleb played fetch with Towzer. He had an old sock which he had stuffed with sawdust and packed tight, making a homemade ball. Towzer loved to try to catch it before it hit the ground. When she achieved it, she'd bring it back to Caleb, tail high, feeling proud.

Caleb cocked his arm back, ready to throw. Towzer lowered her front legs, rump up and ears high and alert: she was ready to catch. Caleb threw the ball hard, and hit Towzer squarely between the eyes. She stumbled around, dizzy and wobbling. She was still staggering around like a drunk when Sarah and Emma came out onto the porch with cold tea.

Sarah saw Towzer staggering and thought at first the dog had suffered a stroke. She ran out to the dog, thinking something was seriously wrong.

"What happened to her? How long has she been like this?"

Caleb started to claim ignorance, but then realized he had better confess. "I hit her in the head with the ball. I'm sorry." He could not have been more shamefaced.

Emma started to giggle. Sarah looked at Emma and started to laugh, too. Pretty soon, the three of them were guffawing and Towzer was sitting on her haunches, dazed.

When the dog had regained her wits, Caleb called her into the shade of a peach tree. Caleb sat with his back against the tree; Towzer lay down and rested her head on his lap. In minutes, they were both dozing.

Sipping cool tea and fanning themselves, Sarah and Emma sat on the porch. It was so quiet and peaceful they spoke little. It was enough to relax in silent companionship and they thought their own thoughts without sharing. The sound of a buggy coming through the wood stirred both women from the workings of their minds.

Caleb was too asleep to notice, but Towzer lifter her head to see who was coming. Hans Loefler, the undertaker, was approaching fast. His wife Gert was slumped in the seat beside him. Emma glanced at Sarah, checking her reaction. Gert Loefler was no friend to Sarah.

Gert Loefler was a bitter, carping shrew who never said a kind word about anyone. Most of all, she never spoke kindly of Sarah. Given the slightest opening she would harangue whoever was there to listen, saying Sarah should be driven from the town. She called Sarah a witch, a bastard, and even a few things worse.

Hans Loefler halted the team suddenly when he realized Sarah was on the porch. He had obviously been heading to her cabin. He called from the buggy, demanding help to bring Gert out.

Hans was a slight man, short and spare. His hands were tiny for a man, and lily white. The little hair he had was an ashy gray that just looked dirty; this he combed around his head in a swirl in an attempt to hide his baldness.

Emma had always wondered how such a man could think himself to be such a handsome fellow. He assumed all women lusted after him. Even when a woman told him bluntly that she did not, he convinced himself she was just covering up. Any woman who was remotely civil or polite to him, he interpreted as a flirtation. He strutted about, and winked at women of all ages with a knowing leer.

Knowing, indeed. The man knew nothing. He was repulsive to every woman in town, even to Gert Loefler though she had not divulged that. His profession alone was distasteful to think about. The smell of the chemicals he used in embalming seemed to permeate his very person. His voice was high and effeminate. Certainly, his ogling ways were repugnant. The man was a disastrous specimen.

This was the man who squeaked out in a sissified voice an imperious command to help him carry Mrs. Loefler out of the buggy. Emma and Sarah went to help, as they would have done anyway. Gert Loefler was moaning softly as she leaned on her husband. Her belly was distended, her color was very poor, and she had an acrid sour smell. As hot as it was out, she shivered.

They carried her indoors and laid her on the floor; Emma's table was much smaller than Sarah's. The moment Sarah had looked full into Gert Loefler's face, the light began to focus on the sick woman. It made it difficult for Sarah to navigate. This woman was terribly ill.

Emma, too, could see how serious the situation was. "How long has she been ailing?" She asked Hans Loefler. "Oh she's been down a fortnight, I suppose. She's been complaining since Christmas of gripping pains in her middle. But then, she complains about everything." There was no apparent worry in his voice.

"I brought her here because she insisted. I don't know what a witch is going to do for her, but she begged me."

Emma spun on him, "You get your sorry ass out of me house. You go wait out with the hogs. That's where you belong, if they'll tolerate you. I got no use for your mean wife, but she needs help. You, you just need to get out of me house before I hit you upside the head with a rolling pin!" When Emma was mad, her accent grew stronger.

Hans scurried out like the rat he was, and Emma turned her attention back to Sarah. Her color was still high when she asked Sarah what was wrong with Gert Loefler.

"She's got a tumor or something in her stomach, Emma. See how there's no light there? No, I guess not. Something is badly wrong. I can take away her pain, but I don't believe she'll wake from it." Sarah was trembling as she spoke. Sarah turned her head away to gag and she was breathing hard.

Emma could see this was a very bad case. Emma called Caleb in and had him go fetch Mr. Loefler. She would not go herself; she was still in too much of a temper.

The obnoxious little man came back to the doorway without stepping inside. Emma glared at him, but it was Sarah who spoke. "Mr. Loefler, I won't be of much help here. I doubt a doctor could do much for her, either. She has a tumor in her belly, and it's too late to help now. I can try to take away her pain, but I'm not sure she will even live through that."

Hans Loefler stood with his mouth open, listening to Sarah's dark words. No particular expression crossed his sharp and sallow face. He did not appear to be especially grieved over the dismal report. In fact he had the look of a man inconvenienced. It was the same countenance he wore when waiting in line at the mercantile.

Emma stood, hands on hips, watching the little man. Sarah was waiting but rather absently. She could not focus her attention away from Gert's suffering, but held herself away by the force of her will.

Letting out a little puff of impatience, Hans Loefler pointed at Caleb. "You! Help me carry her to the buggy. I knew a witch would be no help. Stupid Gert. Fine lot of time I have for this kind of nonsense. Women! They're all just a trial, an almighty trial."

He continued to mutter the whole time they struggled to bring his dying wife to the buggy. Once she was loaded, he whipped up the team and rode away without another word.

Emma watched him go, and spat on the ground in bitter disgust. Caleb was speechless. Even at his age, he could see what a heartless creature Hans Loefler was. Sarah, drained, sat without speaking and seized by fits of gagging.

"It'll be a wonder if the woman lives to see her own bed, I think." Emma said, mostly to herself. "And listen to Sarah, sickened by that woman's meanness. You've got to be a mighty small person to still be so mean when you're a-dyin', to sicken her this way." She helped Sarah to the porch and got some fresh water for her.

Sarah was disturbed by the whole event. Now that Gert Loefler was away from her, her focus started to return. Sarah felt appalled at the crass attitude shown by Hans Loefler. She was also angry. Gert Loefler had been the bane of Sarah's life since the beginning. That she had dared to ask her husband bring her to Sarah for help was beyond belief.

Sarah was a firm believer in 'you reap what you sow', and Gert Loefler had sown only bitter seeds all her days. Although she detested Gert Loefler and the infamous role she had played in her life, Sarah was appalled at Hans Loefler's behavior. She knew now that he was a very, very small man, in every way.

Tired and troubled, Sarah headed home. The day felt ruined anyway. The laughter was gone, and peace she had enjoyed was tarnished. The sun was down, but the twilight was still bright enough to navigate by. She strolled home, thinking about the day, and the day ahead.

The cabin looked welcoming as she walked into the clearing. Sarah stopped to talk to the horses, her old roan mare and the two dappled grays from her uncle. She gave each horse a scoop of oats and patted their necks.

With her arms resting on the top rail of the corral, Sarah looked into the gathering night. She felt uneasy, ambivalent and a little disoriented. A feeling like something was about to happen came over her. A premonition? She shook it off and went inside.

July 5th, 1865--Dover, Pennsylvania

Hixson was packed and ready to go long before sunrise. Momma was already up, getting breakfast started. He sat in her warm kitchen and sipped coffee while she worked.

"You've always been a bright boy, Hixson, and good judge of character." Momma began, "If you think this girl is special enough to go all the way to Virginia to see, she must be a good one."

"She is, Ma. I don't know if she'll have me, but I mean to go and see."

"Hixson, honey, are you sure you're in love with this girl? Or do you maybe feel obligated to her?"

Hixson sat in contemplative silence a long while. "You know, Ma, I'm not sure. I think I'm in love with her. I know I owe her my life, but I believe it's more than that now. I'm hoping I'll know for sure if I see her again."

Momma took a deep breath. "People marry for a lot of different kinds of reasons. They might marry for money, convenience, obligation, who knows. My own grandmother had an arranged marriage; marrying him got her poppa more farm land. So I understand about marrying for something other than love.

"Marrying someone out of a sense of debt can work. Love can sometimes take root from such beginnings. But if you can marry for love in the first place, so much the better. Repay her if you can, if that's even possible. But make sure you're clear in your mind. If you're marrying for love, than be sure it's love. If you are willing to marry in gratitude, then go into it knowing full well that's what it is. Does that make sense?"

"How do I know? How can I tell if I feel this way because she saved my life? I just don't know."

"I think you'll know when you see her again. Trust your instincts, son. The Lord blessed you with good sense. You'll know when it's time for you to know." Momma sat down across from Hixson and took his hands. "There's a lot of trouble on the roads these days. You'll be careful, now, won't you?"

Momma continued as if Hixson had agreed. "How many flapjacks this morning?"

Hixson ate a big breakfast while the rest of the family postponed their chores to sit with him. There was milking to do before sunup, and livestock to be fed. No one slept late in the Morris house. Hixson said his goodbyes, shouldered his pack, and walked away, toward a destiny unknown.

July 17th, 1865--Virginia

The going had been easy. What with good roads, and even a couple of overnight hitched rides on teamster's wagons, Hixson was only a half a day's walk from his target. He saw other travelers on the way. Some looked rough enough to be trouble, but Hixson was a big man and a strong one. No sensible robber would tangle with him. There were far easier marks around.

As he drew closer to Oak Hollow, so near to Sarah's cabin, he started to question his decision. "She probably doesn't even remember you. What does she want with a farmer's life, anyway? You must be losing your mind, boy. Walking all this way for a dream, you fool."

His steps pounded out the rhythm of his thoughts, but still he walked. He wasn't sure what he would find. Love or duty, he wasn't sure he even knew the difference anymore.

He might doubt himself, but he was irresistibly drawn to the mysterious woman. He had to find out if this was all only a dream. Hixson lay in his bedroll, gazing at the starry sky. By his reckoning, he would make Oak Hollow the next day. The time of no going back was at hand. If he made it to Oak Hollow, he could well bump into Emma or Caleb, or Sarah herself. Then there would be no chance to rethink anything.

Was he silly, to go all this way for a woman who might not remember him at all? Even through the doubts buzzing in his mind, his heart felt sure that she knew he was coming back to her. He had a notion, for no reason he knew, that she was waiting for him and calling out to him.

Hixson had the dream again. When his restless mind finally drifted off, he saw Sarah. It was dark in and around her cabin, as if all the light in the world had been sucked out. Through the darkness, he could see her golden hair stretched out. She reached out to him and called for him. Sarah was crying.

He woke with a pounding heart and the familiar tightness in his groin. Hixson felt in a sudden hurry to get there. He skipped breakfast and packed up his cold camp. As he walked, daylight let in the doubt which darkness had eased. The resolve of night faded away and once again he thought he just might be a fool, on a fool's errand.

Oak Hollow was busier than he remembered it. He marched straight through town to the path that led past Emma's house. At the last minute, he decided to cut around Emma's. He walked through the woods a distance away to avoid being seen. The clearing was ahead.

Hixson stood back in the trees, looking. He was trying to gather up his courage. He saw the new horses at the far end of the pasture, standing in an oak thicket, and wondered where they came from. Towzer was lying on her side in the dirt, several yards in front of the porch steps. She was getting fat, he thought.

Hixson watched from the screen of trees for a few minutes. It began to dawn on him that something was wrong. He could see a dark stain in the dirt under Towzer. It occurred to him that a black dog didn't usually nap in the summer sun. He understood, then, what he was seeing. She wasn't getting fat: she was bloating in the sun. Screaming "Oh, God, no!" he ran to the dog.

Towzer was dead, stabbed. The dog still had a scrap of blue serge fabric in her teeth, hinting at who had been here. Hixson pulled the scrap from her mouth, not yet realizing what it meant. He sprinted into the cabin.

Hixson did not see Sarah, and thought she was gone. There was a smell in the room he could not identify at first. The air was hot and stale, as if the cabin had been closed up awhile. The room was in disarray with furniture turned over, some of it broken.

There were blood stains in many places on the floor. The table was lying on its edge, strands of blonde hair caught in the edge of the planked top. Hixson was nearing panic as he looked around the room. He noticed a lock of hair on the floor, stretched out from behind the other side of the fallen table. Darting over, he found Sarah, lying unconscious on the floor.

Her hair was spread out around her, as if she had fallen suddenly. Her hands were tied and there were pools of blood beneath her head and around her hips. Hixson went into battle mode. Clear-headedness and calm composure took over. He considered what needed attention first, while he cut the rope from her wrists.

The first injury he noticed was a head wound. There was a large lump over Sarah's ear; the hair on the side of her head was matted in blood over it. The blood had run across her face as she lay, dripping down across her eyes and forehead. Her scalp was torn along the crown, where she had apparently been dragged by her hair. The only clothing left to her was her chemise, and it was torn to shreds. She had deep, bloody wounds on her neck, her belly, her arms and even her breasts. They were bite wounds: human bite wounds. The front of her shift was soaked in red.

The insides of her thighs were deeply bruised and she was bleeding there, too. Hixson could see bruised finger prints on her legs, where they were forced apart. He tried not to think about it just yet.

Sarah was bruised on her arms and legs, her lips were cut and one eye was swollen shut. Even her bare feet were bruised. Her wrists were ringed with abrasions from the rope they tied her with.

There were several places along her rib cage that looked especially bad. The bruises there were profoundly black. Hixson felt sure she had broken ribs, and quite a few of them. He thought it looked as if she had been kicked. He worried about moving her, afraid a broken rib might puncture a lung. He tried to see what other wounds she had, without taking that chance.

Her nails had been torn from their beds, and the knuckles on her small hands were bloody with broken skin. She had put up a good fight. Hixson took Sarah's gun from the pegs on the wall and went outside, firing into the air three times. He hoped Emma would get the message and come running.

He decided to clean her wounds where she lay. His hands shook as he cut away the rags of her garment so that he could tend to her injuries. He washed the blood and semen from her, realizing at last that's what he had smelled when he first came in. The heat in the room made it worse. Even though it was nurse work, Hixson was embarrassed. He covered her with his shirt and was washing the blood from her face when Emma opened the door.

Emma saw at once what had happened. She had seen the dead dog outside, and approached carefully. She was not sure what the gunfire meant, except trouble. Peeking through the window, she had seen Hixson and figured it out. She knew before she came in what she would find. She did not dare to give in to her tears yet: once started, they might not stop. Instead, she got the sewing basket out and selected a needle.

Sarah thrashed some when Emma began to sew up her torn scalp. Her eyes opened, but Sarah was not in them. Hixson straddled her chest and held her face firmly while Emma stitched. Sarah struggled and mumbled but it was only reflex. Hixson supported Sarah's head over a basin as Emma washed the blood from her hair. It took many pitchers full before the water finally ran clear.

Hixson felt he was about to lose his composure. As the blood was washed away, he could see more clearly. She was covered with bruises, scrapes, cuts and bites. Dozens of bites. He couldn't quite get his mind around it. What kind of person would bite like that?

They carefully turned her over, and found a raw wound on her shoulder blade, prickling with splinters of painted wood. Some of the broken furniture, no doubt. Sarah's shoulder was dislocated and swollen. Her back was bruised and scraped from nape to tailbone. Hixson cleaned and salved the smaller wounds on her back while Emma pulled the splinters from the biggest one.

Emma reset the joint of Sarah's shoulder, and carefully bound her arm to her chest in a sling. It was tricky to find a way to tie the sling without aggravating any other wound.

Hixson's mind was racing as his hands worked to help Sarah. He tried to piece together what had happened. The mental picture that was forming nauseated him. There had been more than one man, he was sure. The destruction in the room, the amount of the blood and the number of wounds added up to a very violent attack, he thought. It must have been horrific for her. He forced his mind away from the picture with an effort.

Hixson held on to his calm, fighting to keep himself together until Sarah was tended to.

"I think she has broken ribs, Emma. Should we wrap them?" Hixson was not sure what to do for broken ribs.

"Sarah doesn't believe in wrapping broken ribs. She says they heal better without. The doctor always did, but a lot of those people got pneumonia. Sarah's people never do. Let's not. I have more faith in her opinion than I do in mine or the doctor's, either one." Emma said.

Emma made a compress for the lump on Sarah's head, and tied it on. She would have liked to brush out the girl's hair, since it was so tangled from the washing. But with the stitches, Emma decided to wait. Brushing her hair could separate the wound again.

Hixson lifted her from the floor and carried her. He was surprised at how light she was, she really was a little bird, he thought. At last Sarah was laid in her bed and covered with a sheet. That was for modesty's sake; it was still dreadfully hot in the room.

Emma turned and started to scrub the many blood stains from the floor. Hixson began to right the furniture. There was blood on the tabletop. It had run down into a small puddle on the floor. Her blood. He wondered briefly if any of the blood belonged to them. Finally, he kneeled on the floor at the edge of Sarah's bed and laid his hand on her arm, watching her. His heart was pounding and the tears pooled, unshed, in his eyes.

Emma scrubbed the plank floor. She cleaned up the mess they'd made in treating Sarah. She tried to clean the bloodstains from the planks, but without much success. She sat back on her heels and looked at the stains. She was trying to think how to remove them. The moment her hands stopped moving, the ugliness of what happened there overtook her and the tears began to flow.

Hearing Emma's sobs, Hixson collected himself and went to comfort her. He convinced her to sit outside a while, away from the smell of the blood and the men's violation of Sarah.

It was only mid-afternoon, and the day was very warm. But it was nice in the shade of the porch. They opened the door and windows wide to air out the room.

Emma had cried herself out, both for Sarah and for bitter memories. After some time, she regained her voice, and turned to Hixson. "How did you happen to be here, Hixson? I thought you must have gone home."

"I did go home. But I had unfinished business here. Oh, if only I would have gotten here sooner." He was on the verge of breaking down. He was holding himself together with sheer will, knowing he couldn't manage much longer.

"No point in thinking that way, Hixson. What happens, happens. If you had been here, maybe they would have killed you like they killed old Towzer, poor girl. Then where would Sarah have been?

"I was getting ready to go to me Mother's for a while and said my goodbyes here a few days ago. I don't know how long they were here, but it looks like a while. She probably would have died in there." Emma's voice cracked.

"Will she live?" Hixson asked, terrified that he already knew the answer.

"We'll need to watch her. That knock on her head is a bad one. She's lost a lot of blood, and those broken ribs are a worry. If she lives through the next few days, she'll be a long time healing, I think. I just hope she was already knocked out before they all...." Emma started to cry again.

Hixson cleared his throat. "You think there was more than one? I thought so, too."

"Yes, there had to be, I think. There was too much... well, on the outside, too. My word. I can't even bring myself to say it. How is she going to live through it? And I never seen anybody bit like that before. What kind of a fiend would do that?"

Thinking about the bites, on top of everything else, pushed Hixson beyond his limit. It was the most heinous kind of violence. He bolted for the edge of the porch and vomited. His resolve was gone and he began to cry like he had never cried in his life.

He was shocked at how unhinged he felt. He had seen some terrible things in the war, but this was not an act of war. Crouched on all fours, shaking and sweating, Hixson veered between sobbing, reeling and vomiting.

Young Caleb stood across the yard, in the doorway of the barn, with a canvas tarp in his arms, watching. His mother had told him to stay out, tend to the animals and don't dare come inside. She had used her don't-dare-argue voice and he had done as he was told. Nobody in his right mind would cross purposes with Emma when she used that voice.

He dug a grave for Towzer out beyond the barn in the shade of the trees. He had gone to the barn to find something to wrap her in. Standing there, watching, Caleb thought that Sarah must surely be dead, too.

Emma brought a cool cloth to Hixson and wiped his brow and his mouth. "Hixson. Hixson? Get up now, darlin'. Get up and help to bury old Towzer, won't you now?" Emma figured that busy hands would help Hixson, and it was too warm to leave the dog in the sun. She motioned to Caleb.

Caleb walked over, and the look on his face told Emma what he was thinking. "She's alive, son. But she's hurt. You help by taking care of the chores, you hear?"

"I will, Ma. But there's one other thing." Caleb took a deep breath. "There's a dead man over by the woodpile."

Emma and Hixson spun on Caleb and stared. A dead man? What could it mean?

"It's true. He's been dead a little while, I think. But I ain't sure. It's a stranger. Never seen him before. You coming to look?" Caleb asked.

Emma stayed near Sarah, and Hixson went with Caleb to see.

A ragged man, wearing butternut Confederate pants and a Union shirt lay dead. This was one of those wartime renegades, stealing and looting from either side. They plundered the bodies of men killed in battle. They ransacked homes of civilians, always claiming to be soldiers. Those, it seemed, were the least of their crimes.

Looking around, Hixson could see that this was where they caught Sarah. She had a large block of wood she split firewood on, and a good-sized pile of kindling lay next to it. At some point, she hit this man with the maul and killed him. Towzer must have bitten the man: his shirt was torn in one spot and the arm beneath showed a severe bite.

The others must have grabbed her then: the marks of struggle were still in the soft dirt of the wood yard. Part of her torn clothing lay about, and the tracks of her being dragged to the cabin, struggling, showed. Towzer had attacked one of the other men, one wearing Union blue and been killed for it. Now he knew where the fabric in her teeth had come from. Hixson could see that the dog had tried to drag herself to the cabin, not making it.

They laid Towzer in the grave Caleb had dug, and covered it. Caleb wept for the old dog. She had been a true friend for as long as he could remember.

Hixson and Caleb dug another grave, thinking the man hardly deserved one. They chose a spot well off into the woods where Sarah was unlikely to stumble across it. Hixson didn't like being so far from her at that moment, so they worked in double time.

Anger built into fury as he shoveled. He wanted desperately to go after the evil ones who had done this. Not that he had any idea which direction they had gone. Even if he had known, there was no possibility he would leave Sarah's side when she was still in so much danger.

July 18th, 1865--Spotsylvania County, Virginia

Emma and Hixson took turns watching over Sarah as she lay unconscious. Caleb slept on the porch in the warm summer night. Around midnight, Hixson relieved Emma. He had not slept. Emma was wakeful too, but it felt good to lie down and rest.

He pulled the chair up close to where he could hold her hand and watch her. Hixson was afraid she would slip away and never wake up. Then he'd be afraid she would wake to her pain and have to suffer.

Hixson held her delicate hand in his rough one, gently stroking her arm or her hair. He hardly dared to look away. The swelling and bruises on her face did not matter. He still thought she was beautiful and could not get his fill of looking at her.

Deep into the night, Hixson was wide awake and holding her hand when she began to toss about, mumbling. Her cheeks began to show the flush of fever, flaming red on her pallid face. He could feel the heat of her rising temperature just by sitting near her. He bathed her face and arms with a damp cloth, trying to cool her.

By sunrise, she was in the feverish throes of a delirious nightmare, weeping and begging for help. Hixson tried to soothe her but she did not waken. Sarah would thrash around, move her dislocated shoulder or touch her wounded head, and cry out in pain.

The nightmares waxed and waned like storm waves on the sea, never going away completely. She screamed often, calling for Hixson to help her. Hixson was in turmoil. He was anguished to think she had called out to him and he was not there. He had let this horrible thing happen to her, when she was calling him. But she had called out for him. Called out for him. He had dreamed this. It was better in the dream.

There was no longer any doubt in his mind if it was love or gratitude he felt for her. He knew, when she cried out to him, that he would gladly die to save her this pain. Hixson kissed her perspiring face and spoke softly to her, hoping gentle words would break through somehow.

"Towzer! NO!" she screamed and reached out to the air. Later, a fading cry of "Oh, Hixson, please help me..." She could not be comforted.

Emma had an idea. "Hixson, why don't you lay down next to her and hold her a while? Be very careful, but maybe if you put your arms around her, that'll get through to her." He had been longing to put his arms around her for months. It was entirely improper, but he could not have cared less. He carefully stretched out beside her, Emma helping to lift her slightly so he could slide his arm beneath her.

Hixson cradled her, gently stroking her hair and talking softly to her. She quieted, at last, and lay still. He looked down at her, feeling his love for her growing by the moment. She was resting easier. Hixson had never felt more needed.

He hadn't slept all night, but with Sarah resting in his arms, Hixson was able to doze. Even sleeping, he held her gently and protectively. Later, when Hixson arose, he hated to leave her side.

Sarah woke near sundown. She had a raging fever, her shoulder and her other wounds were badly swollen and tender. There was no way for her to rest comfortably. All she could do was shift her position to alternate which of her wounds she irritated.

Sarah felt short of breath, it was so painful to take in a lungful of air. She also had a terrible headache. Any movement or light she saw was agony. She hated to complain, didn't want to ask for help. She couldn't stand to feel like she was being a bother to anyone. Sarah was going to have to give in, though. Her head felt like it was going to split open. Unable to bear it anymore, she asked for a cool cloth to put over her eyes.

Emma could see she was in terrible pain. Sarah's breathing was rapid and shallow and her face was gray. Her heart raced, she trembled constantly and could not raise her voice above a whisper.

"Is there something I can give you for your pain? Tell me how to make it." Emma didn't know the remedies like Sarah did, but she could follow instructions.

"Bring that box on the shelf here." Sarah whispered. She had the habit of keeping strong medicines on hand. If more than one person was hurt at a time, she may not be able to help all of them right away. She used ordinary pharmaceuticals as an emergency measure.

Emma brought the wooden box, opened it, and held it up for Sarah to see inside. Lifting her hand to point brought a moan to her lips, so Emma tried holding up the items one at a time. She held a small brown bottle, Sarah whispered an affirmative.

"Just a few drops." The thick, sticky liquid in the bottle eased Sarah's pain.

Emma had made a thin chicken broth, and Sarah was able to take a few spoonfuls before she slipped off into a drugged sleep.

July 19th, 1865--Spotsylvania County, Virginia

Emma could not persuade Hixson to go outside for more than a moment. He checked on Sarah constantly. Very conscious of her need for rest, he paced in his socks, making no noise. He was in fear for her life. He worried he might lose her, having never told her what was in his heart. Berating himself for not having come sooner, for not having written to her, he wrestled with his anguish.

Hixson and Emma spoke very little. Small talk was difficult, under the circumstances, and talking about what had happened made them each feel as if they would choke. A troubling thought preyed on Hixson. He felt he needed an answer.

"Did you know her mother? Was it this way for her?" Hixson's hazel eyes were sad.

Emma's expression matched Hixson's. "We had been friends for years, when that happened. I think this is even worse: the bites, broken bones, more than one man... Yes, this is worse."

"Can she gather light to use for herself? Could her mother?" Hixson asked.

"No, I don't think so. I think it would hurt or burn or something. I'm not sure. They always seem to keep their hands away from themselves when they're full of light like that. I'm not sure what would happen." She took a deep breath, and changed the subject, but only a little.

"You know, Sarah learned something about that day. The man that had the broken ankle showed up here." She told Hixson the story of Andrew Kayser, his brother David, the horses--everything.

Hixson in the chair by Sarah, thinking about all that he had heard. The turbulence that had taken place in Sarah's life was upsetting. His heart went out to her, and he wished he had been there to comfort her. One of the principal questions of his life, something that had always bothered him, perplexed him again. "Why do such bad things happen to good people?"

Emma was in a quandary of her own. Her mother was very ill and presumed to be on her death bed. Emma was needed with her family; Sarah was also in need.

Sarah was her dearest friend, almost a daughter. But Sarah had Hixson, and her mother did not. She finally decided to talk to Hixson about the dilemma.

"Hixson, lad. I'm in an awful pickle. I was going to me Mother's because she's about to die. I do not want to leave Sarah, but I can no' let me Mother die alone. Do you think you can take care of Sarah by yourself?"

"Oh, Emma, I'm so sorry! I had no idea. Of course I can manage this. You need to be there with your mother. Don't worry; I'll take good care of Sarah." Hixson said.

"Keep her resting, as much as you can. She's still in terrible danger. If something goes wrong, ask Mr. Croshour on the next farm over to get me. He knows the way." Emma hated to go, but could see no other choice.

July 21st, 1865--Spotsylvania County, Virginia

Emma was leaving the day Sarah thought she was ready to get out of bed. With Hixson's help, she got to her unsteady feet.

She tried sitting in a chair, but she was still swollen, torn and bruised from the violations she had suffered. It was too painful. She was too embarrassed to say what was wrong, but Emma could see what the problem was. Emma rolled several dishtowels into a ring. She placed the ring of cloth in a chair, and had Sarah sit on that, taking the pressure off of her wounds. That was a big improvement.

She had some tea and toast. Just being up and about helped her feel better. She pulled her courage together and asked, "Is Towzer dead?" Hixson and Emma nodded in mute unison.

"That was a good dog. I'll miss her very much. She was a fine and devoted friend to me." Tears filled her eyes, but Sarah fought them. She was done asking questions. It would be several days before she could bring herself to speak again.

Sarah had no words for the torment she felt. There was nothing to say: no words of comfort could be found. She had lost her life, as she knew it. He beloved friend Towzer was gone. In her heart, she was sure she had lost Hixson, too. He would never want her now.

Emma and Caleb said goodbye, and Emma left Hixson with a long list of things to remember to do. Her duty was so severely divided, and she left with a terrible ache. She knew that Hixson would do everything possible for her friend. That made the going a little easier.

Sarah was troubled by excruciating headaches and double vision for several weeks. It would be more weeks yet before her trembling would cease. She left her hair free now, the scars on her head too tender to be bound in a kerchief.

She felt broken. Her eyes filled at the smallest thing, and she felt silly to be so emotional. She was easily startled, readily frightened now. Her nights were uneasy; finding sleep was difficult when she was still in so much pain. If she did finally sleep, there were the nightmares. She suspected those might never stop.

Hixson wrote a letter home, to let his family know he had arrived safely. He did not go into details, but he did tell them Sarah had been hurt. He would stay on here a spell to help.

July 28th, 1865 Spotsylvania County, Virginia

When Sarah improved, Hixson moved his bed out on the porch. It would have been more proper for him to sleep in the barn. He chose to sleep on the porch where he could hear Sarah if she needed him in the night. He didn't exactly sleep much; he mostly lay with his eyes open, thinking. Sarah's nightmares were frequent, and fearsome. Between his active mind and her troubled dreams, it was not a restful time.

Hixson took over the chores. It was hard to manage for Sarah, her one arm still in a sling, but she insisted on trying. She made breakfast, but he brought in the wood and water she needed to cook with. After breakfast, Sarah took the first real bath she'd been able to have since the attack. Hixson heated the water and filled the tub, then left so she could have her privacy.

The warm water felt wonderful, and the soap helped her feel like she was washing away the smell the men had left on her. There wasn't enough soap in the country to wash away the memory. Looking at herself, anywhere, made her want to cry. She looked so damaged.

Dressing was difficult, but she managed it. Then she went outside with her brush, to sit in the sun and try to get the tangles out of her hair. Her hair was a snarled mess. With one arm disabled, it was a challenge to avoid the wounds on her head. Any touch of the brush to the lump on her head or the tear in her scalp was sharply painful.

Hixson saw her struggle and went to help. He stood behind her, gently brushing the knots from her hair. Her hair was silky and wonderful to touch. He had never brushed a woman's hair before. It seemed like quite an intimate thing to do, and Hixson soon found himself tightening. But then he noticed tears on her face.

"I'm sorry! Am I hurting you?" He stopped brushing at once.

"No, you're not hurting me. It's just... I can't remember the last time I felt so cared for. I'm silly to cry. I'm sorry. Please don't stop."

He continued brushing her hair, deeply moved by her reaction to this small kindness. This was not a woman who expected to be the center of attention. She seemed genuinely surprised by any small thing done for her. She gave so freely to others, and yet she expected absolutely nothing from anyone. She regarded any kind act as a true and generous gift.

Hixson finished the job, and sat down on the porch step. Sarah tried to check her tumultuous emotions. She was glad to have Hixson with her. He was a very kind and thoughtful man. But Sarah was deeply ashamed. It was not fitting, all that he must have seen. She could not figure out his motives.

"Why did you come back?"

"Don't you have any idea?" Hixson asked.

Sarah shook her head.

"I came back because I needed to see you." Hixson continued. "I came back because I love you." he finally said, face to his lap.

Before she would give in to the fluttering in her heart, she had to ask. "And now? After all that has happened? How do you feel now?"

So quietly that she had to strain to hear him, Hixson said "I think I love you more than ever, if that's possible."

The sweetness of his words shattered the barrier she tried to keep around her emotions. By letting in the love in his words, she let everything else out. The torment and trauma finally overwhelmed her, and Sarah sobbed. It started as ordinary crying, and soon became a crushing, agonizing breakdown. Sarah fell utterly apart. She sank, too broken to hold herself in a chair.

Hixson went to her at once, and held her as she cried out her distress. Sitting on the floor of the porch, he rocked her gently and let her cry. He cried, too, his heart aching for her. Hixson felt her tears wet his neck, running down to soak the collar of his shirt. His hand was damp from stroking her cheek.

The tears subsided, and Sarah came back to herself. "I'm broken, Hixson. I don't know if I'll ever feel put back together. Where do I start? What do you do with the ruins of a person?"

"You feel broken now, Sarah, but you'll heal. You have a strength in you that beats anything I ever saw."

"What did I do to deserve this? Why would anyone want to do this to me? I can't understand."

"There's no reason to it. Just wicked, hateful men, being even more evil to show off to each other, I guess."

Sarah paled and sobbed softly, choking out the question, "You knew it was more than one? How could you tell?"

"I just could, I guess. That one you hit with maul, well, we buried him. I could tell Towzer had bit another one." Hixson was hesitant to ask what was on his mind.

"I killed that man?" Sarah asked. "Wish I would have hit a few more of them."

"How many were there?" He was embarrassed to ask, but he couldn't help himself.

Sarah told him the story, without getting too detailed. It was humiliating to talk about, but she felt she must. He must be wondering, she knew, but she also thought he needed to know. There was no other way for him to know if he could still love her.

Contrary to Hixson's hopes, the knock on the head was the last thing that happened. She was very much awake through the whole ordeal.

She felt like she was dying inside with each word, but she told him. In Hixson's opinion, what had happened was torture, plain and simple. Six men came to her farm with the intention of doing great harm. She killed one right away, and the remaining five terrorized her for over 24 hours.

Hixson was sure those brutal men were pleased to find such a beautiful woman alone and undefended. As Sarah told him the awful story, tears rolled unchecked down his cheeks, too. Hixson was not normally a man for weeping. He didn't hide his feelings, but he seldom wept. It seemed to him that the only thing he had done in the last weeks was cry. He was not ashamed to cry. What had happened there was a tragedy the likes of which he had never encountered. He had thought Sarah strong before. After hearing the whole story, he realized he had underestimated her. If an ordinary person had suffered what Sarah had, it would have broken their mind he was sure. He was convinced that anybody else would have either died or gone mad.

The gruesome story was told, Sarah waited. What would he say now? Now that he knew the whole of it, would he feel differently?

"I doubt I'd have a lived through it." He pulled her closer to him and said, "I'm so sorry that happened to you. You are a strong woman to have survived. "The love in his eyes as he looked into hers filled her heart.

Hixson wiped the tears from her face, and said, "I knew I was in love with you from the first moment you looked at me. It felt like you were the first person in the world who ever really saw me."

She answered, "I fell in love with you when I wrote your letter home. There you were with your insides shot up, and you were worried about your sister's beaux. I am so pleased you came back to me. I wish I would have been whole when you did."

"I wish I had been here sooner, to keep you from that." His voice was in tatters, he was so moved.

"There must be a lesson in it somewhere. Everything that happens, happens for a reason...if I can endure the teaching. I'd not live through that lesson again."

Hixson clutched her to him and held tight. "I will never let such a thing happen to you again. I should have been here sooner, so you wouldn't have had to go through that. If you'll have me, I want to be the one to protect you. Always." He bent down and kissed her, unmindful of the cuts on her mouth. She paid them no mind either, and kissed him back.

August 10th, 1865-- Spotsylvania County, Virginia

Hixson had been trying to talk Sarah into traveling with him to his home. He wanted her to meet his family, and they her, and to be there for his brother's wedding. She was still trying to get over the trauma of her attack, however and would not commit. Although Hixson understood her reserve, he worried she might become a shut-in. Sarah hated to be seen, refused to go to town, and hid if anyone approached.

Her shyness was natural, Hixson thought, but he did not want her to become a prisoner of fear. Fear was something he understood all too well.

"Hixson, I can't stand the thought of your family looking at me and knowing what happened. I'm so ashamed."

He took her hands and looked into her beautiful eyes. "First: you have nothing to be ashamed of. This was not your fault. Second: I didn't say anything to my family. It isn't my place to tell them. If you ever feel close enough that you want to tell them, it's up to you. If you don't, that's alright too. Either way, I love you. I loved you before and I love you now."

Close to tears once again, and embarrassed by it, Sarah replied, "I love you too. I'll go with you."

"When we get there, Sarah Westbay, will you marry me?" Hixson asked.

Speechless, Sarah nodded.

Emma and Caleb returned that day. Emma's mother passed away a week after Emma got there. She had spent the time watching over her mother and sewing. "Mother was in poor health for many years, and yet she lived to be 75. She died peaceful, with a prayer on her lips."

Overjoyed to learn of their engagement, Emma felt like the life she had been wishing for Sarah might finally happen. Her own man had died 13 years before. He just didn't wake up one morning; Emma never knew why. They had a good marriage. She knew what it felt like to have a man care, and wanted that for Sarah. But Emma knew, with Sarah's gift, it would take a special man.

August 12th, 1865--Spotsylvania County, Virginia

Hixson left the roan mare in the care of Caleb. The boy promised to feed and exercise the horse, feed the chickens and gather the eggs. Caleb wished he could have taken care of Towzer, too. He missed her terribly.

Hixson took the other two horses to town and bought a light buggy from the livery. He hitched up the dappled grays and admired what a stylish team they made. With a beauty like Sarah on the seat and a handsome team like this, they'd turn heads all the way home.

Sarah was full of apprehension as she packed what little clothes she had. The bruises were still quite visible. Her ribs were still very sore and she had not regained her strength. Worse, she felt like there was a sign on her forehead, proclaiming her stain.

She tied her hair back with a ribbon, still too sore to wear it up or cover it. This was something new for her; she had covered her hair all her life at her Grandmother's insistence.

Grandma had blamed the assault of Sarah's mother on the assailant's obvious fascination with her hair. Sarah had inherited those lovely strands, and out of fear Grandma made her conceal it. Sarah was more practical-minded and just thought he had taken her mother's hair to sell to a wig maker.

Sarah packed several meals: just bread, cheese, preserves and other foods that traveled well. She also brought along bacon, coffee, a skillet and some other things they might want if they camped a few nights.

Emma showed up, arms laden. She brought treats of all sorts, and something special for her dear friend. Shutting the cabin door behind her, Emma said, "Sarah, darlin', while I was at me Mother's, I made something for you. I knew that your young man out there would want to take you home to meet his people.

"And you know I love you dear, but you aren't the best seamstress around. She shook out a gorgeous green brocade dress, just the shade of Sarah's eyes. It was the very height of fashion, and absolutely perfect for Sarah's trim figure. "It'll make a lovely wedding dress, lass, but you could wear it after, too." Emma hugged her young friend. "I only wish your sainted mother could have seen you, all grown up and about to be wed."

"Oh, Emma! It's beautiful! Thank you so much!" she carefully wrapped it up so it would stay clean on their journey. "Oh, I wish you could come with us."

"Why can't she?" Hixson walked in with Caleb. "We can all three fit comfortably in the buggy, and Caleb could stay here to watch out for both places. He's big enough."

"Can I, Ma? Please?" Caleb was thrilled with the idea.

With much cajoling, Emma finally agreed. So arrangements were made for Caleb to stay nights at their next-closest neighbor, the Croshours. He would take care of Sarah's and his own home during the day and take his supper and breakfast with the neighbor.

Emma was back at the cabin, packed and ready, an hour later. She hugged her son, extracting many repeated promises to be careful, watch out, behave, be polite, don't forget the eggs and so on. And they were off.

August 15th, 1865--Bedford County, Pennsylvania

The traveling was harder on Sarah than she expected. She thought she was more recovered than she really was. The roads were fairly good, but the jolt of the buggy was taking its toll. Her head began to hurt again and her double vision returned. She was having trouble getting a full breath for the aching in her sides.

Not one to draw attention to herself, Sarah said nothing. But when her headache became severe enough to make her vomit, Hixson and Emma couldn't help but notice. She dismissed their concerns, and insisted they press on.

They had made excellent time and were already well into Pennsylvania when Sarah had trouble rising from her bed one morning. Emma and Hixson decided a day of rest would do them all good, horses too.

Hixson felt guilty for pushing her to go in the first place, but now they were too far to turn around. He made her as comfortable as possible. She rested that day in the shade, her eyes covered to ease her aching head. Sarah felt like such a baby, making everyone stop the trip for her. She didn't know what else to do, though. She tried to put her chagrin away and just rest.

Emma was glad to have the break. Her bottom was beginning to smart, too. She was accustomed to going everywhere on her feet, spending very little time in any day sitting down. She might sit long enough to darn a sock and that was about it. She would never complain, but sitting all day on the hard buggy seat was making her very uncomfortable.

Hixson went fishing in the nearby creek, hoping to catch dinner. He kept an eye on the camp, cautious as always. Emma strolled over, smiling.

"Me Dad used to brag that he'd never worn out a chair in his life. Right now, that doesn't seem like much of an accomplishment!" She rubbed her bottom in a most unladylike way and laughed.

Hixson never knew what to expect from this irreverent redhead. He laughed hard enough to lose his fish, which got Emma laughing. He looked over and saw Sarah, looking over at them, watching and smiling.

It meant so much to her that Hixson and Emma were friends. She loved these two people, and Caleb, like no others alive.

A day's rest and a fish dinner had improved Sarah's uncertain health somewhat. She insisted they go on in the morning. "We'll never get there if we don't keep going."

August 16th, 1865--Dover, Pennsylvania

The trio arrived at the Morris family farm in the early afternoon. Sarah had weakened with the traveling. Climbing down from the buggy was more than she could manage, and then she discovered she could barely stand. Her color was gone. It was easy to see she was in bad shape. She was humiliated to be in such a state at this first meeting.

Mrs. Morris took over, knowing at once that little courtesies could wait. She had been heating water for washing anyway and instructed, "Eliza you go draw a bath. I'll get a bed ready. Hixson, you help her upstairs."

Emma fit into the scenario without effort. Awkward introductions were forgotten, and Emma's natural work ethic made her belong instantly.

Hixson carried Sarah upstairs, and was promptly chased away by his mother. "Let the women take care of your young lady here. She'll be fine with us."

Eliza heated fresh rinse water on the stove, and prepared a light meal for her future sister. When the bath was drawn, Mrs. Morris helped Sarah into the tub. She gasped when she saw the bruises and those horrible bites on the girl. What had happened was obvious. The enigmatic letter from her son suddenly made sense.

Sarah looked into Mrs. Morris' stunned face. "Please don't say anything. I'm fine now, really. Don't make a fuss over me, please? I'm already so embarrassed."

"Does Hixson know? I mean, exactly, what happened to you?"

"Yes." Sarah cringed to say it. "He and Emma took care of me."

"Then it's alright, dear. You just take your time and get well again. I won't tell anyone else."

Mrs. Morris understood why she would want to keep such a thing private. She changed the subject. "Will it be alright for Emma to share this room with you? Or would you rather be alone?"

"I'd be happy to stay with Emma. I don't need to be alone, I'm fine. Really."

Mrs. Morris looked closely at Sarah and decided she had at least four broken ribs. The trip could have killed her, and she suspected Sarah knew it. She was so feverish and shaky that just getting out of the tub left her out of breath.

Sarah was in serious condition, though she would not admit it. Mrs. Morris laid a cool hand on Sarah's face, trying to gauge the severity of her state. The coolness of her firm hand felt tender and caring to Sarah. She was moved by the gesture.

Mrs. Morris helped her into a clean chemise, one of Eliza's, put her into bed and left quietly. Emma carried in Sarah's case, patted the girl and went downstairs. The exhausted young woman had only meant to lie down for a little while. Tired as she was, she overslept.

Supper was over when she woke. A plate had been kept warm for her. Hixson jumped to his feet when he saw her coming slowly down the stairs. He put his arm around her and whispered in her ear, "Are you alright?" She squeezed his hand and smiled at him.

His family looked at each other meaningfully. Hixson's love and concern for Sarah was apparent, and endearing.

Now that she was more herself, introductions were made. The conversation resumed its place: they were talking wedding plans.

"The wedding is a month from today." Charlton began. "Annie is coming over directly; you'll get to meet her tonight."

Hixson was proud of his family. They didn't overwhelm Sarah with questions although he was sure they had plenty of them. His poppa just smiled, and winked at Hixson every time their eyes met.

Even Eliza, who was apt to bubble over, was patient and quiet. It didn't seem to be a strained quiet, either. It was more of a considerate, keep-your-voice-down sort of thing. These were special people, Hixson thought.

Emma watched the silent communication between the family and felt her hope rising. She was so pleased to see Sarah join a family as good as this one. They were kind people, understanding and tender with each other. As gentle as they were, these were not soft people. They worked hard, accepted the good with the bad in life, loved deeply and knew how to laugh at themselves. Those were all qualities Emma admired.

Annie arrived, met Sarah and Emma, and tried to contain her excitement. "I know you just got here and maybe it isn't the time to ask. But maybe it is! Charlton, Sarah, Hixson? What do you think about making it a double wedding?"

She reached out to take Emma's hands and continued, "That way Emma is here to share the day with her friend and it would all be even more special. You wouldn't have to arrange anything, the plans are all set. And we'd all be together! What do you think?" Her face was glowing.

Hixson looked at Sarah, she smiled and shrugged. Charlton looked at Hixson and grinned. "I think it's a great idea. We could remind each other of our anniversaries."

When everyone had agreed to Annie's plan, she took Sarah aside. "I have always wanted a sister. Now I'll have two! I am so pleased we'll share this day. Thank you, sister." And she kissed Sarah's cheek.

The two young couples stayed up talking long after everyone else retired. Annie explained the plans that had been made, like who would perform the ceremony and where the wedding was to be held. They talked about the house that Charlton was building on Annie's farm. He hoped to have it done by the wedding.

Sarah was beginning to wonder how Hixson felt about leaving this place. He had expressed his intention to stay in Virginia with her. Now she wasn't sure if that was a good idea. She tried looking at the situation through Hixson's eyes. It was plain to see he was deeply attached to his family. The countryside was beautiful here: the farms were rich, the cattle fat. It was a good land.

What would I be leaving behind? She wondered. Not as much as he would. The cabin hasn't felt like mine since that day. It doesn't feel like home anymore. Emma and Caleb are all I have there. Momma and Grandma's graves? Would they want me to stay there, just to put flowers in a crock for them every few weeks? She went to bed that night conflicted and restless.

August 23rd, 1865--Dover, Pennsylvania

The Morris family did not treat Sarah and Emma as if they were guests. They treated them like cherished members of the family. It was Sarah's first experience with being loved and accepted by strangers. Mrs. Morris fretted over Sarah some, worried she would overdo. She was still alarmed over the girl's health, knowing it was much worse than Sarah let on.

Mrs. Morris and Emma were of similar age, and became fast friends very quickly. Emma was a willing hand, and awed the family with her baking. None had ever tasted pastries as flaky, breads as light, or scones as rich as Emma's.

Eliza loved Sarah immediately. She had yearned for a sister all her life, now she felt like she was getting her wish. Annie and Sarah were exactly the kind she would have picked, had she a choice. They were both witty, laughing easily and often. They were cheerful and sweet. Eliza couldn't be happier.

Regardless of the instant affection they felt for Sarah, there was a great unspoken question lurking about. Everyone remembered Hixson's mention of Sarah's healing gift. No one wanted to bring it up, but they were all curious about it. They were about to have their curiosity satisfied.

Charlton was hollering from the barn, "Hixson! Hixson, come quick! Help me!!!"

Hixson was coming in the corral door and ran to his brother's call. Poppa was pinned by one arm under a large toolbox. The wooden box of tools had been sitting on a crate of leather scraps. Poppa moved the tool chest, setting it precariously on a barrel, while he picked out a piece of leather to make some tack repairs. He tossed the leather scrap on his work bench. Just as he returned to put everything back, the plow mule backed up and pushed over the leaning tower. Poppa foolishly tried to catch the falling toolbox and got pinned beneath it.

Charlton found his father, red-faced and swearing, pinned by an ornery mule standing on his hand. "Get that son of a bitch off my hand! Gawd amighty! Hurry up, boy!!" Poppa was trying to kick the mule, but the barrel was in his way.

It was while Charlton dragged the recalcitrant mule off Poppa's hand, which was no easy task, that he hollered for his brother. It took both of them to lift the toolbox without grinding it into Poppa's arm any worse than it already was.

The brothers helped Poppa to the house. As soon as they cleared the barn door, Hixson started calling for Sarah.

Sarah saw from the kitchen door what would need to happen. She hurried inside, cleared everything off of the kitchen table and got a pan of water, all before the men made it to the house.

Poppa was gritting his teeth in pain. His arm was broken and badly cut from the sharp corner of the tool box. His hand was crushed where the mule had stood on it.

"Poppa, lay down on the table. We'll help you." Hixson instructed.

"Are you sure about this, Hixson?" Momma's worried expression belied the calm tone of her voice.

"I promise, Momma. You'll see."

Sarah was already standing, arms outstretched. Everyone except Hixson and Emma began to back away nervously. Hixson stood behind her and watched, waiting. Emma, as always, was busy getting everything ready.

Sarah placed her hands of light on Poppa's head. He smiled dreamily for a moment and closed his eyes. Then she and Emma set Poppa's arm. She washed the cut and stitched it with her own hair, as usual. Then she splinted the arm with splints Charlton provided.

Sarah washed the blood from his crushed hand and bandaged it. Emma came around to stand behind Sarah, and she and Hixson got ready. The ribbon slipped from her hair as she called the light.

The mule had ground a lot of dirt and manure into Poppa's hand, and there had been splinters in the cut. The danger of infection was great, so Sarah put all of herself into gathering the light.

Poppa's brown curly hair began to shine as Sarah laid her hands on his arm. Her hair glowed and lifted from her shoulders. To those watching, she seemed to stand there for the longest time. At length she wrenched her hands away and collapsed.

Hixson was ready and caught her. He brought her upstairs and laid her in her bed. He sat with her a few minutes, watching her. Had anyone asked him, he would have told them he was keeping an eye on her. The truth was he just liked looking at her.

It took Charlton, Momma, Eliza and Emma to put Poppa to bed. Hixson heard them struggling up the stairs with him, and left Sarah to help. When Poppa was safely abed, Momma declared a little tea would be a fine thing, and went to make it. Everyone trickled downstairs.

Emma had expected the usual stunned reaction, since the Morris family had never seen Sarah do this before. Instead, they appeared to be relieved. Charlton was the first to speak. "Well, we didn't expect Hixson to fall in love with just anybody, did we?"

"You did say she was special, didn't you?" Momma said to Hixson. "At first I thought maybe you just meant special pretty, but I should have known better. I didn't raise no fools."

Eliza had a more sober question. "Is she going to be alright? She's been sick. I hope that wasn't too much for her. Was it, Emma?"

Emma smiled at thoughtful young Eliza. "She'll be fine, honey. It doesn't hurt her at all. Your Poppa is a good man, so she'll be fine. She'll just sleep a while now."

Hixson didn't miss the comment about a good person. He didn't want to talk in front of everyone, so he bided his time, but he sure intended to find out what she meant.

Everyone returned to their chores, and to their own thoughts about what they had witnessed. Momma sat with Poppa while he rested, her hands busy with the mending and her mind working.

Before he went to watch over Sarah, Hixson cornered Emma to find out what she was talking about. He pulled her aside when she went out to throw potato peelings to the chickens. "What did you mean about laying her hands on a good person? Does it hurt her if it's a bad person?" Hixson was already so worried about Sarah, he hated to think that she was vulnerable to anything more.

Emma took a deep breath to collect her thoughts. "You know, I'm not exactly sure. It seems like it takes something extra out of her if a person is hurt intentional, you know? Like all them soldiers coming back from the war? But if the person is mean or evil, then it's hard on her. She helped a fellow one time and it made her real sick. She threw up for three days after. We didn't know why until the sheriff caught him weeks later and hung him. He'd been shot trying to steal a horse. She can't never tell ahead of time if it's a bad one, I don't know why." Emma said.

I know why, Hixson thought, it's because the whole world is darkness and light shines only on them. That's what she said. It was just what he needed: another side to the enigmatic Sarah.

August 24th, 1865--Dover, Pennsylvania

Emma was astonished and encouraged by the way the Morris family treated Sarah after they saw her gather the light for Poppa. People were always so timid around her afterwards; sometimes they were truly fearful. This lovely family was gentle with her and accepted her. They treated her with love and respect, and the same earthy barnyard humor they used on each other.

Momma and Emma were in cahoots to try to fatten the girl up. She had lost weight since the assault, it was true. Sarah wasn't very big to begin with and couldn't afford to lose any. Plus Emma didn't think her color was all that good, so she tried her best to pamper the stubborn Sarah a little bit. For all the good it did to try.

Since the first day Sarah had been there, Momma had noticed something about Hixson's relationship with her. In bed that night, she shared her thoughts with Poppa.

"I think there's something extra-special about them two, Poppa. It's like heaven meant for them to be together." Momma began.

"Aw, they're just two youngsters in love, that's all." Poppa wasn't very keen on destiny.

"No, it's more than that. Look at your son. It's easy to see he loves her. But he isn't silly with it. You know how some boys get crazy over a girl. He isn't doing that. He treats her more like they've been married forever. He knows how and when to help her, without treating her like she's helpless. It's more than just the calf-eyed young love, or him wanting what all young men want a woman for."

Poppa leaned up and looked at her. The half-grin he wore showed his thoughts and Momma chuckled.

"Well, alright, I'm sure he wants that! But that doesn't seem to be all he wants. I think he needs her. And I think she needs him."

With 26 years of marriage behind them, Poppa had learned to consider Momma's insights seriously. He thought about what she said, and compared it to what he had observed. Hixson was being very sensible about his love, Poppa decided. He seemed to be able to attend to her needs without doting. Sarah loved Hixson with everything she had, which was considerable. But she wasn't coy or simpering about it.

Another thought, which Poppa kept to himself, was how Hixson came home from the war. Many of the young man came home with bad wounds. Many more came home with social diseases. Poppa thought it remarkable that Hixson was spared that. Maybe even that meant something.

"I think you're right, Momma. I like the way they are with each other. Their love seems deep, but private. It isn't the honey-sweet, show the world kind of love like you see with youngsters nowadays. It's for them—and them alone. They're a good match." Poppa said.

"There's another thing." Momma continued. "I can see that Sarah needs a man like our Hixson: someone who is strong and fearless and makes good decisions."

"You don't think she makes good decisions on her own?"

"I don't mean that. I wish you could have been watching what happened when you broke your arm. When you were hurt, she changed. All she saw was you and what you needed right at the moment. I don't think she even knew the rest of us were in the room."

Momma had his full attention now. "She was hurt when she came here, you know. I don't think she can tell what's going on around her, if there's someone in pain. I think if someone with dangerous friends was hurt, it could go bad for her. Might be she needs someone like our Hixson, who sees people with clear eyes."

Poppa was very interested. "What do you think Hixson needs that she gives him, then? Well, besides the main thing?" Interested or not, Poppa was still Poppa.

"I've been thinking about that. She's a lot stronger than you think. She's been having a hard time lately, but don't let that fool you. I think she's a little ball of iron. Hixson should have someone who is strong like that, but can still need him. I think he requires someone he can really truly help. She has an important calling of some sort, and he can help her with that. But he also needs someone who isn't all need. She has to be a real companion, too, not someone who is just a bottomless well of needs to throw his efforts into. You know?"

She's absolutely right, thought Poppa. "What did you mean about her being hurt when she came here? I saw some bruises on her face: figured it was buggy accident or something. It wasn't?"

"I promised I wouldn't tell." And Momma refused to say more.

A piercing scream came from across the hall. In seconds, everyone in the house was out of their beds and looking for the danger.

Hixson had recognized the scream and headed straight for Sarah's room. Emma was already trying to wake her.

Sarah's hair was plastered to her face and neck in sweat and tears. She was shaking so hard the entire bed quaked. She cried out for Hixson and wept. Hixson held her tightly, being careful to not make her feel restrained. Feeling restrained always made the nightmare worse.

"I'm right here, you're safe darling. Wake up now. Wake up. It's Hixson, I'm here." He repeated many times.

Momma lit the lamp, hoping it would help to wake her from her terror. Poppa was the first to comprehend what he saw in the warm lamplight. The meaning of what they all saw took his breath away.

The bedding was flung onto the floor, and Sarah's night gown was twisted and bunched up high on her legs. She had torn the front of it in struggling with her nightmare, showing quite a lot of cleavage.

Momma didn't have to keep the secret anymore. They could all see huge dark bruises on the insides of her slim thighs. They could see the deep bite marks, still red and blue.

Sarah's nightgown was damp from her perspiration. The fine white cloth allowed the blackened bruises on her ribs to show. Her shoulder showed black through the cloth, too. Charlton and Eliza were stunned. Poppa was appalled, knowing that for all the wounds he could see on Sarah, there would be more he could not.

When Sarah woke from her nightmare, she saw the entire family gathered around. "Oh, no, what I have done? I am so sorry. Oh, please go back to bed.... I am so ashamed."

Even young Eliza grasped the meaning of Sarah's wounds. Charlton imagined his Annie in a similar situation and felt sick.

With blinding clarity, Poppa understood the full import of what Momma had been saying. What happened to her had been a brutal, ugly outrage. He had come to love this girl like his own daughter. Poppa fought the tears that filled his eyes.

He picked up the sheet from the floor, and gently tucked it around Sarah's shaking frame. Poppa's voice was hoarse with choked back emotion.

"Don't you be ashamed, honey. You just had a bad dream. Looks like you've got good reason for nightmares. It's all over now. You're safe here. Your Hixson will stay 'til you feel better."

Eliza whispered to Momma, "How will it look for Hixson to stay? They ain't married yet."

Poppa turned to Eliza, but addressed everyone. His voice was restrained, but firm.

"I don't give a tinker's damn how nothing looks in my own house. Someone is suffering, you care for them and that's that. What happens in this family is nobody else's business. We keep our own counsel." The unspoken warning was: shut up. This is a private matter. If she had wanted to tell everyone, she would have.

Not ordinarily a demonstrative man, Poppa bent down and gently kissed the top of Sarah's head, much to his family's surprise. Then he walked out into the starlit summer night and tried to collect himself.

"I didn't mean it that way. I'm sorry." Eliza really hadn't meant it as a condemnation. "Can I bring you anything?"

Hixson suggested a little cool water might be helpful.

Momma came over and cupped Sarah's tear-streaked face in one hand. "It's going to be alright now, honey. You're in good hands. Six pairs of them, I think." She, too, kissed Sarah's head and went to console her husband.

Charlton was speechless. With brimming eyes, he kissed his future sister. On impulse, he kissed his brother on the top of the head, patted him, and left quietly. Hixson watched him leave and was astonished at the tenderness in his brother.

Eliza returned with the cool water, added her kiss to the others, and hugged Hixson's neck for a moment.

"Emma, would you like to sleep in my room? It's a big bed."

Emma brushed Sarah's cheek and said goodnight. Hixson held Sarah through the short summer night. She had stopped sobbing, but tears still rolled down her face as she trembled.

After what she had seen this night, it was Emma's intention to try to talk Sarah into staying right there. She would never be protected, loved and valued anywhere else like she was there with Hixson and his family.
Momma, outside with Poppa, realized the depth of feeling Sarah had caused in everyone. Poppa was as devastated by Sarah's pain as he would be if the same thing had happened to Eliza. She knew he was a good man, of course, and tenderhearted, but she was surprised at Poppa's reaction. She would not have expected him to feel this strongly about a daughter-in-law so quickly. She thought maybe it had something to do with the healing of his broken arm. Momma filed the idea away in her insightful mind, to consider further.

Charlton was lying awake, in turmoil. His heart went out to Sarah, for what she must have gone through. He was proud of and awed by the depth of Hixson's love for her. But he was also not sure how he would feel if Annie was the victim of such an attack. He was afraid he might never be able to enjoy making love to her, knowing others had been there in such a way. He was ashamed to think that way, but he couldn't help it.

Eliza had grown up on the farm, so she wasn't completely ignorant of the ways of males and females together. This was her first experience with violence against a woman, though. She had been totally sheltered from such brutality. It called into question all the romantic young daydreams she'd been having.

Eliza thought Sarah was so beautiful and wonderful; she just couldn't understand how anyone could ever hurt her. She was not old enough yet to understand that what she had seen on Sarah's body were the least of her hurts.

Poppa was a remarkably wise man. For all of his coarse jokes and country ways, he saw most things very clearly. He knew how badly Sarah must have been hurt to still have bruises so apparent. That she had come this far with Hixson so soon after she was hurt said a lot, in Poppa's mind, about how much she was willing to endure for him.

He considered how the black bruises on her ribs showed through the nightgown. They had to be mighty bad to show through, he thought, and that meant broken bones. He had a broken rib once and remembered it to be miserable. Sarah probably had several, along with everything else.

Poppa mulled it over: Hixson knew exactly what to do when she started to scream. That made Poppa think this must have happened before–more than once, surely. Momma seemed to think she had been attacked after a healing, but Poppa disagreed. Poppa decided that Sarah had been awake and aware of everything that happened when she was attacked. He was told that she was unconscious after she had healed him, just like he was. If whoever did this to her, did it after a healing, she wouldn't have such a vivid nightmare. The wild look in her eyes that night had shown him that she was seeing it all, all over again.

Where did she find the strength and courage to go on, keep living, keep loving? Many would have given up, died, gone crazy, or maybe even killed themselves. The trauma she had survived only came out in nightmares, and who could control those? Momma was right about that part. Sarah was a little ball of iron.

Emma lay awake, plotting how to convince Sarah to stay. Everyone else in the house was awake, too, their minds working over this new information. No one slept that night, but sleep was not what they needed, anyway.

From that night forward, the Morris family referred to him as "Sarah's Hixson", or "your Hixson" when speaking to Sarah. When speaking of her, she would forever be "our Sarah". The connection was ironclad. In the family's eyes, they were now one and Sarah was family.

August 25th, 1865--Dover, Pennsylvania

Sarah was the last one to come down to breakfast. She was too embarrassed to face them, and stalled as long as she could. Momma knew what the problem was, and in her matter-of-fact way, faced it.

"Little Miss Sarah, I hope you like your eggs cold. That's how they're going to be if you dawdle any longer."

"Momma! Don't scold her!" Eliza was indignant that Momma would talk so after such a night.

Momma shushed her at once. "No, we can't act like something's wrong. Our Sarah needs normal, and she needs a lot of it."

Hixson agreed. "Momma's right, you all. She hates like sin to be fussed over. Let her think everyone just went back to sleep and forgot the whole thing. If she thinks you look at her and only see her hurt, she'll leave. She's too proud to be pitied."

They heard the bedroom door close quietly. Poppa talked about what chores they needed to work on that day, but he was a little over-loud and Sarah was not fooled.

"I'm sorry to be late. And for disturbing you all last night with my silly nightmares." Sarah wished she could just disappear into the floorboards.

"Don't you worry about it, sugar." Momma led her into the room. "What with foxes getting after the chickens, the bawling of the milk calf and what-not, we get woke up all the time around here. Put it out of your mind. We all have. How many eggs for you?"

Sarah was about ready to be overcome. Instead, she kissed Momma on the cheek.

"Two eggs would suit me fine. Could you cook 'em hard for me? I can't stand to have something slimy on my plate."

Wanting to stay busy, she took the toast from the oven and buttered it.

"This is quite a family, you know that?" Sarah said while she put a plate for the eggs next to Momma, poured coffee, and tried to act like nothing was different.

Show Eliza the way to go, and she never wavered. She saw that Momma and Hixson were right about Sarah needing normal activity. "Sarah, could you help me with a quilt I'm making? Hixson and Emma both said your quilts designs are something special."

"I'd love to! Have you started it yet?" Sarah was relieved to have the subject changed. If Eliza had said she wanted help cleaning the outhouse-pit, Sarah would have jumped at the chance.

"All I've done is save up enough fabric. I have red, yellow and brown. Can you think of a design for those colors?" Eliza felt like she'd won a great victory.

Only Charlton remained distressed. He needed to talk with his brother. He desperately wanted to understand the love between them. In his own mind, he couldn't help but compare his love for Annie, which he didn't think measured up.

Emma waited for her chance to talk privately with Mrs. Morris. Around the time the sun was rising, she thought she figured out a way to get Sarah to stay. To do it, she needed first to hear straight from them that they wanted Sarah to stay. Assuming they did, the next thing she needed was Mrs. Morris' help with a small subterfuge.

In a house that full and that boisterous, it was not easy to catch anyone alone for private talk. Unable to find another way, Emma watched for Momma to go to the outhouse, and caught her as she was coming out.

"Can I have a few words with you? Just between us?"

Momma nodded, looked around, and pulled Emma to the other side of the outhouse, out of view of the rest of the buildings.

"Mrs. Morris, I know it isn't my place to ask, but I'm just going to barge right in and be rude. Would you want Sarah to stay here, with Hixson, to live?" Emma was always bold.

"Emma, I would. We all would. Do you think she'd be willing?" Hope lit up in Momma's eyes. "But please, won't you call me by my given name?"

Emma laughed out loud. "I would, but I've never heard it. I've only heard you called 'Momma' and 'Ma'! You sure you remember it?"

"I'll have to look it up, probably." She laughed. "I'm Rosalia Morris. Pleased to meet you, Miss Emma! Now, what's your plan and how can we help?"

The two friends, closer than anyone could have guessed they would become so quickly, orchestrated a plan to get young Sarah Westbay to stay. Momma knew something that was an improvement on Emma's plan, and they discussed that information for a time. Emma agreed that Momma had a fine idea, feeling excited to be underway.

They talked quietly and energetically for over an hour, ignoring the smell of the hot outhouse. Emma asked the questions and got the answers she had prayed for. Walking back, Emma said, "Rosalia, if we're going to have secrets, we ought to find a better-smelling place to whisper!" The laughing ladies returned to the choring.

Supper that night included two loaves of the potato bread Emma was most proud of. Part one of the plan began.

Momma started. "Emma, your bread is the finest. What a baker you are! We haven't seen bread this good since the baker joined the fight and never came back."

Poppa helped the plan along without yet knowing there was one. "Since before that, Momma. His bread wasn't this good. Though yours is mighty fine."

"My bread is good, but not like this." It was a measure of Momma's desire to have Sarah stay, that she would accept placement as second-best.

"Emma, you ought to pack up your young lad and move up here. Open a bakery. The one in town is for sale, with no baker to run it."

This was going to be easy. The whole family chimed in with support and approval for a plan they didn't know about. Poppa, always practical, added, "Teach your boy to be a baker and he'll never go hungry."

Without knowing what happened, Sarah's biggest tie to her cabin in Virginia would be here in Pennsylvania. The little money Emma had been able to make growing vegetables would pale compared to what she could earn with a bakery. And young Caleb would have a trade, and a family business to go with it. Plans were made to return to Virginia after the wedding to collect Caleb and their household, sell their place and return to Dover to open a bakery.

Sarah was back to wondering if she should try to talk Hixson into living in Virginia after they were married. Now she would have one less reason to stay in there, and he would have one more reason to want to live in Pennsylvania.

Meanwhile, Hixson was trying to figure out if Sarah might be willing to stay, and how to ask her. He didn't want to uproot her, when she was still recovering from all the upset in her life. He didn't know which was the right road.

September 15th, 1865--Dover, Pennsylvania

The weeks went by in comfort and harmony. Sarah only suffered from two more nightmares in the weeks before the wedding. All but the deepest bruises had faded to smears of yellow-green; she had put on a little much-needed weight. The bloom of color in her face had returned.

Annie came by often, and she and Sarah became very close. Annie loved Sarah for not being judgmental about her looks. She knew she was not the beauty Sarah was. The pretty girls in her home town often picked on the plain girls. Sarah would never dream of it. She thought Annie was adorable. Charlton had made an excellent catch, in her estimation. Annie was a good cook who was kind and funny and energetic. She was a treasure, thought Sarah.

Neither woman fully appreciated the struggle Charlton was having. He hadn't told Annie, no one had, about what had happened to Sarah. Sarah could sense that Charlton was deeply upset by what he knew. What could she do about it? He did his best to cover it, and she thought maybe she should leave it that way. She did not realize the intensity of the anguish he felt.

Hixson saw the conflict in Charlton, too. He didn't know exactly what his brother was thinking, but he had the idea it had something to do with Sarah. When Charlton said he was going into town the day before the wedding, Hixson asked to come along.

Riding on the wagon seat together, Hixson just went ahead and asked. "What's eating you, Charlton? You've been bothered since you found out, haven't you?"

"Yeah. I sure feel bad for her." It was a very incomplete answer and they both knew it. After a while, he continued. "I just don't know what I would do if it were Annie. I'm not sure I could ever look at her the same way again." It was out. "I mean, I know it's not her fault and everything. But to know someone else..." Charlton shrugged and shook his head.

"I know. I would have thought the same thing before it happened. But it isn't like that. I thought I was going to lose her, before I ever got to tell her how I felt. I was never so scared. "And let me tell you, brother. What you saw of the bruises that night, wasn't nothing. It's a wonder she lived. You wouldn't believe how much blood she lost. I've never seen such a thing, and I hope I never do again. Honestly, I don't know how she survived it.

"I saw some pretty awful stuff in the war, but nothing like what was done to her, and she wasn't at war with anybody. She was out splitting kindling when they caught her. Don't tell nobody, but she killed one of the men with a splitting maul. Cracked his head open like pumpkin. She might be little, but she is one strong woman. She's everything I want in a woman, and those savages tried to take her away from me, in the worst kind of way.

"So yeah. I don't look at her the same way anymore. Now I know she's more than just a beautiful girl with a mysterious gift. She survived something that would have killed you or me, either one. I'd do anything for her, and I'll do everything I can to keep her from ever being hurt again." It was the longest lecture Hixson had ever given his brother.

"Hixson, what did you mean by 'they' and 'them'? There was more than one that...outraged her?" Charlton asked quietly.

"There was more than one." Hixson said grimly. "There were five, plus the one she killed. They even killed her dog. She was a good dog, too. They probably would have stolen her horses, but those were way back in an oak thicket. I don't think the assholes saw them."

They rode on a little further, and Hixson stopped the wagon. "Here," he handed Charlton the reins. "You go on alone. You need to think. I'll walk back." He clapped his brother on the shoulder in a friendly way, and jumped down.

Charlton did think. He thought a lot. He thought about Annie and Sarah and Hixson, and the speech that Hixson had made.

Sarah was gathering eggs before supper when Charlton rode in. He stopped the wagon in front of the barn and walked over to her.

"Did you ever read The Leatherstocking Tales by James Fenimore Cooper?"

Sarah nodded, "I did." But she was puzzled by the question.

"I always thought Hawkeye in that book was the biggest hero in the world." Charlton hugged her. "Well, I changed my mind. Now I think it might be you." And he walked away with his burden of doubt lifted.

Momma sat on the porch that evening with Charlton, Hixson and Sarah. Poppa had gone to bed early, tired from his day's exertions. Eliza was in her room writing poetry, her mind filled with weddings, and the notion of love.

"I'm not going to give you a long speech about marriage, youngsters. Most of what marriage is you'll have to learn for yourselves and make your own path. But I will tell you a few things that might make that path a little easier.

"Right from the start, you will need to learn how to see the intention behind your spouse's actions. Men don't always say how they feel, and women don't always say what they mean. Boys, try to see the things your wife does for love. I can't tell you what those things will be. You'll have to figure it out.

"Might be she fixes your favorite meals, even though she doesn't especially like that meal. Or maybe she puts out the lamp to let you sleep, even though she was just getting to the good part in the book she's reading.

"You have to look for the love in what your spouse does, and not expect the flowery words all the time. Sometimes, you have to look real close to see it. One time Poppa noticed I had a patch on my skirt. I had snagged and torn it on a bad spot on the porch railing. When I came in from the vegetable garden a few days later, he was fixing that spot on the railing. It didn't bother him any, his pants don't sweep around like a skirt does, but he was fixing it for me. I hadn't even asked him to. It wasn't a huge, romantic thing to do. But always remember this: a marriage is made up of minutes in the same way a mile is made up of inches. Every bit matters."

They all sat a while longer, thinking over what Momma said. Momma and Sarah stayed out after the men had retired.

Momma was waiting. She had one more piece of advice that was just for Sarah. "This advice is only for you and for Annie, and Eliza, when her turn comes. If you don't want to do something for the whole of your married life, don't do it the first time. It will become your job forever.

"Not too long after we were married, Poppa raised a fine hog for our winter meat. When it came time to butcher, I thought I'd be helpful and take a turn at scraping the hog." Momma was smiling as she recounted, and Sarah nodded in understanding. Scraping a pig was a horrible job.

"I guess Poppa liked my work, because when he raised another the next year, he found something else to do when it came time to scrape. Every year since, he kills the hog. I scrape it. Even when I was expecting! I should never have done it the first time, and I wouldn't be doing it still."

Sarah laughed at Momma's account of how she got stuck with a bad chore. It reminded her of a saying that her Grandmother had: "A man likes to feel needed. Let him dig the wells." She used the phrase anytime she did an unpleasant task, like raking out the stalls.

September 16th, 1865--Dover, Pennsylvania

The women were in the parsonage getting ready; the men waited in the church. Annie was wearing a dress of sapphire blue taffeta. She had pinned six full rows of ruffles on her bodice to try to give herself the illusion of a bosom.

Eliza had fixed Annie's hair, curling it with rag curlers and pinning it up in a way to show off the curls. Her happiness shone and made her pretty.

Sarah wore the green brocade that Emma made for her. She didn't need the help of ruffles, but she was having trouble with her hair. "I want it to be pretty and curly like Annie's," she told Eliza, "but I don't know how. I've never curled my hair before."

Eliza helped her pin up her hair. She noticed the scars, saying nothing, and worked carefully to cover them without hurting her. There wasn't time to curl Sarah's hair, but her hair was wavy enough. It fell from a crown of braided hair in pretty swirls of gold.

Annie admired Sarah's dress, and Sarah admired Annie's. Everyone else admired both of them. Momma was enormously proud of the young women who would be her daughters in a little while. She was also proud of her fine sons. This would be a happy day.

It wasn't customary, but since Sarah had no one to give her away, Poppa got the privilege. Annie was escorted down the aisle by her uncle. Both grooms were beaming at their brides. Hixson's happiness on this day was colored with anxiety, though.

As the day had grown nearer, his worry over the wedding night grew larger. He imagined she was terrified of it. He was so afraid he would hurt her or that making love with him would make her relive what she had suffered.

It would have been difficult to judge who was more worried. Sarah was mildly concerned that she would be hurt, or that it would feel the same as the assault had felt. She was much more worried that Hixson would not be able to look at her, when the time came. More than anything else, she wanted to be able to be the wife he wanted, and have the husband she wanted.

When the simple ceremony was over, everyone gathered at Annie's uncles' house for a light reception. They had a little music, a lot of laughing and congratulations. Small gifts were given to each couple.

As was usual, the men congregated in the kitchen, a place they avoided except for parties. They told ribald jokes and slapped the two grooms on the back a lot. The women gathered in the parlor. They reminisced about their honeymoons. They laughed and told veiled stories about how little they knew when they got married.

The members of the Morris family were uncomfortable with the conversations in both rooms. Hixson and Sarah had been cheated out of that bit of innocence.

Charlton, Annie, Momma, Emma and Eliza had a little surprise for Hixson and Sarah. Charlton told the couple, "A crowded house is no place for newlyweds, you know. Annie and I will be going to the new house on her farm. We've done our best to come up with a bridal suite for you two. So you can have a little nuptial privacy. Eliza will show you where this afternoon."

Charlton and Annie had gone to their new home. Eliza brought Hixson and Sarah to a ten acre field on the Morris farm that was lying fallow that year. It was covered in sunflowers while it rested from farming. This late in the year, the sunflowers were eight to ten feet tall and brilliant.

They had taken Hixson's army tent and two canvas wagon sheets, and made a large tent. Furniture was brought down from the house. It was a little hideaway in the middle of a working farm. A table and two chairs stood inside, with a meal waiting for them. The bed was made. They had even laid a rug on the ground. Charlton had dug a fire pit outside the tent, and got a fire ready to be lit. September was warm, but the nights were cool.

Hixson and Sarah were deeply touched. It was such a thoughtful gesture. Eliza was a little embarrassed. She knew in a vague way why they would want privacy. She kissed each of them and went home.

There was an elephant of unspoken anxiety in the tent when the newlyweds sat down to eat. Neither had much of an appetite; they were too nervous. Hixson had never been one to shy away from something just because it wasn't easy. So when the sun went down, he lit the fire, and laid a blanket by it.

"Come out and sit with me?" he asked, patting the blanket next to him.

Sarah went out and sat with him, trying not to look nervous. Hixson wrapped his arms around her and held her for a little while. He buried his face in her hair, and softly asked, "Are you scared?"

She paused so long that Hixson thought she couldn't tell him. "I'm not scared, no. I am a little nervous, I guess, but I know that with you, it will be alright." Another long pause. "I think I'm more worried that when the moment is there, you won't be able to forget. I might not be able to make you, um, satisfied. Maybe you won't want me." It may have been the most difficult thing Sarah ever had to say out loud.

Hixson held her tightly for a moment, then looked fully into her face. "I've been worried that maybe you wouldn't be able to forget. Or that I might hurt you." He held her close again and said, "Oh, how could you think I wouldn't want you? You're all I've wanted since the first time I saw you!" He kissed her ardently, and she responded with equal passion.

Sarah was overwhelmed by the tenderness in Hixson as he loosened her hair, and unbuttoned her dress. The feel of his strong, capable and yet gentle hands on her was so sweet. There was nothing in his loving touch that could remind her of anything unpleasant.

Hixson was astonished at how warm and responsive Sarah was. She looked different to him, too. He had seen her undressed before, but at the time he was so focused on her injuries he didn't really see her.

He had been to the brothel a time or two after he first enlisted, but he had never seen such a stunning woman. She was perfect, he thought: full, round breasts, tiny waist and slim legs. Her wheaten hair waved around her lovely shoulders and long neck. Her face was calm and beautiful.

It was ironic that Sarah had also seen Hixson undressed because he had been injured. She got a different view as well. He was lean, but very muscular from hard work and long hours. She ran her hands down his upper arms and across his chest and gasped at the pulling she felt inside. The puckered scars on his back and belly were a sign to Sarah that Hixson was always meant to be hers.

"If anything is even a little uncomfortable, just tell me and we'll stop." Hixson was kissing her neck.

Stopping was the last thing on Sarah's mind. "With you, everything will be fine."

Hixson ran his hands down her back and swept around to her rib cage. He kissed her neck, her shoulders and breasts, smoothing his strong hands over her soft skin and feeling how slight she was.

They lay together in the firelight, under the stars. The anxieties were gone. They stretched out, pressed together, first side by side, then her on top, then him. Hixson was so much taller than Sarah, his chin rested on top of her head, but her toes, stretched out, barely reached his feet.

Hixson brushed his hands from the nape of her neck, all the way down her back and across the curve of her bottom. He couldn't get enough of touching her, her skin was so soft. Even the smoothness of her legs touching his legs was bliss.

The slightly scratchy feeling of Hixson's rough hands felt good to her and she loved to have him touching her. She felt his gentle strength wrap around her like a warm blanket. Sarah ran her hands through Hixson's wavy brown hair, shining in the firelight, and stroked down across his chest and belly.

She was hesitant to reach further for a moment, but only for a moment. A flash of apprehension crossed her mind, and was quickly gone. She felt a silky wetness on Hixson, which made the pulling feeling inside her grow stronger. His passion rose as she touched him, and she soon felt a warm wetness of her own.

Sarah had the sure, confident hands of a healer. It was a talent that let her touch Hixson in all the right ways. At last, she took him in her hands and touched his wetness to hers. His voice was ragged as he whispered in her ear, "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." She whispered back.

Hixson caressed the inside of her thighs, and higher, until her breath came in short gasps. Yes, she was sure. This was what love was.

"I'll be careful." Hixson breathed, and he was. But Sarah was as ready as he was.

September 17th, 1865--Dover, Pennsylvania

Hixson and Sarah strolled up to the house slowly. They were in no hurry to have the magic spell broken. The worry they had each felt was gone. It was all going to be fine. She still had healing to do, but Sarah was going to be fine.

Momma was peeling potatoes when she saw them from the kitchen window. She stood watching them, hands frozen mid-peel. She had been very concerned that their wedding night might not go well. That would be understandable.

Her son had the look of a contented man, though. Sarah didn't look traumatized, embarrassed or upset. Maybe everything went alright?

Unaware of their audience, Hixson stopped and held Sarah for a moment. He kissed her passionately, and ran his hand across her bosom. She kissed him back and even though Momma couldn't see where Sarah had her hand, she could guess.

Hixson was expecting a lot of grinning and winking from his Poppa, and some wicked jokes, too. He considered warning Sarah, but decided against it. Cross that bridge when you come to it, he told himself.

Emma went out to get the eggs and saw them coming. She had been worried, too. All she needed was a quick glance to make her concerns vanish. She couldn't have been happier. Sarah, who had been like a daughter to her, had found the right man.

Breakfast was huge, and delicious. Poppa was on his best behavior, and only made one comment that might have a double meaning. "Got a good appetite this morning, son?"

Momma punched Poppa on his good arm. "Behave yourself, you old billygoat!" She turned to her new daughter. "Don't pay no attention to him. Everything is funny to Poppa."

Eliza was not entirely sure she understood the joke, but she had some idea. She, too, hoped it had gone well, whatever exactly 'it' was.

Over breakfast, Hixson, Sarah and Emma started making plans about when to leave for Virginia. Emma was naturally anxious to get Caleb. They decided to leave the next day, and take advantage of the autumn weather for traveling. They would take the wagon, not the buggy, so that Emma's household goods could be brought back with her.

Charlton and Annie came by soon after breakfast, and were surprised to find the family still sitting at table. No one wanted to go to the choring, thinking Sarah would stay in Virginia and wait for Hixson to come back to her. They sat down to coffee and chatted.

Poppa and Momma stood together at the head of the table. When everyone noticed them there, the room grew quiet. "Youngsters, we have an announcement." Poppa began. "Now that my boys are grown and wed, and little Eliza there growing up so fast...well, your Momma and I went to the lawyer yesterday. We had the farm split into three equal parcels. Charlton, you'll be getting the south 120 acres next to Annie's farm. Hixson, you'll have the west 120. Eliza, you'll get the east 120 and the house." Poppa grinned at the shocked looks on his children's faces.

Momma took over. "Eliza, your Poppa and I were hoping that when you wed, you might consider living here in the house. And letting us stay on. You have time to think about that later, I reckon."

Each of the Morris children stood and kissed their parents. Then Annie and Sarah joined them. The parents weren't quite finished, yet.

"Hixson, there's one more thing." Poppa said. "I've been talking to old Mr. Haught, with the farm next to yours. You know he don't have any children to leave his place to. He says if you'll share-crop his place until he dies, he'll leave the whole thing to you in his will, nice and legal." Arranging this had been no easy feat. It had taken all of Poppa's persuasive powers to make it happen.

Hixson was amazed, and appreciative. Mr. Haught was not known for his kindness. Of course, Mr. Haught would profit. He would have an income while he lived, which he was unable to make on his own. He was too old to farm. He could stay in his home and still live off his farm.

Momma had discussed Emma's plan with Poppa, and he came up with the next step. Dividing the farm, and making the arrangement with Mr. Haught would increase the pressure on Sarah to stay. How could she go back to Virginia and all the bad memories, when a happy farm was waiting for her, here with them? It had the effect they had hoped.

Sarah knew then, that they had to stay with Hixson's family. She hated to leave her familiar home, but she would learn feel at home again. Hixson had everything to stay for; it wouldn't be right to let him leave.

September 18th, 1865--Dover, Pennsylvania

They were packed. Sarah was almost completely recovered, and felt well enough to travel. Emma needed to get her son and start a new life.

"I expect it'll be a month, by the time we get there, get Emma's place sold, pack and come home." Hixson said as they were ready to set out.

"You make sure you take it easy with your bride, son." Poppa warned. "You watch out good, and come home safe."

It was a tearful parting, but a happy one. Hixson had announced the night before that he and Sarah would come back to Dover to live. Emma and Momma had won that battle.

October 4, 1865-- Spotsylvania County, Virginia

Caleb was raking out the horse stalls when he heard a wagon coming. So much had happened in the last weeks, he had stopped trying to guess who it would be. He stood in front of his mother's barn, shielding his eyes from the sun and watching.

Emma had jumped down from the wagon even before Hixson had halted. She ran to her son and hugged him until he thought he heard his ribs cracking. Sarah hugged him, and Hixson shook his hand.

"A mighty big lot has been happening around here, these last few weeks." Caleb reported. "Let go inside and I'll tell you what's been going on."

Emma expected to find a disaster inside, but it wasn't that bad. Caleb had mainly eaten at the neighbor's house. Everything was dusty, and nothing was as neat as she would have liked, but it could have been worse. Emma made a pot of coffee, secretly happy to learn she was still needed.

"The first thing that happened is bad news. A man rode into town three weeks ago. He stopped in at the mercantile and told Mrs. Cunningham in there that he was looking for someone." Caleb started. "He said he was looking to repay a debt for his brother. Says his brother came through a couple months back and met a real pretty lady that lived all by herself in an old cabin, outside of town a ways.

"Well, you know Mrs. Cunningham. She's a catfish, always opening her mouth without thinking. She says, 'You must mean Sarah Westbay!' and gave him directions."

Hixson and Sarah looked at each other then turned to Caleb to continue.

"The man went out and set fire to your cabin, Sarah. I'm sorry. I was just getting ready to leave the Croshours when I saw the smoke, so Mr. Croshour and me came a-running. Your cabin burned to the ground, and the barn, too. We caught the man, he was still there. He was killing your chickens. He told Mr. Croshour that you killed his brother, Sarah, and that he was getting even. I reckon them others must have told that story a little different than it really was. The man said that his cousins had come back home, and told him that his brother was dead.

"They said they were just getting a drink from the well, and not hurting anyone, and this lady come out and shot his brother. They said they ran away and a big mean dog went after them. One of the cousins died on the way back. He got the blood poisoning where that dog bit him.

"Anyway, the man thought he saw a chance to get away, I guess. He made a run for it, and when Mr. Croshour caught him, he fought. Mr. Croshour punched him real hard in the face. That big fist of his smashed the man from his chin to the bridge of his nose, about. There was real big crunch sound, and the man kind of just fell over and died. Mr. Croshour, he ain't one to fool with." Caleb concluded.

Everyone was watching Sarah, but none of them guessed her thoughts. Her reply was unexpected. "Well, I guess it's fitting. The place hasn't felt like home to me lately. And now, my home is with Hixson. It's a shame I lost all my books and the quilts I'd made, though. What about the roan mare? Did he kill her, too?" He eyes showed her grief, thinking she'd lost her mare.

"No, she was stabled over here. But wait! There's more." Caleb went on. "A week ago, a man comes to town." Everyone groaned.

"No, this is better! This man comes to town. He's got on a fancy suit and carries a big leather case. Turns out he's a real estate speculator and he's buying up farms around the old battlefields from the War Between the States. He came by here, wanting to talk to you, Ma. And then he asked who owned the place that burned. I hear he's bought three or four places already, and he's paying good money."

Emma wondered how Caleb could know that she might consider selling, or that Sarah would. Somehow, though, he did know. He was a shrewd boy, and could see that the joy was gone for all of them. Selling out might be a simple answer.

Hixson and Sarah went to see what was left of her home. Caleb was sent to town to find the speculator and invite him over for the next day. Emma started cleaning up.

As Sarah picked around among the burned out cabin, Hixson thought about what had happened. He was thankful that Sarah had been away from home, or surely that man would have killed her. It was a good thing she was getting away from here. It was almost like the cabin was cursed.

Sarah's mind ran in the same direction. This had been a happy home once, she thought. My grandparents and great-grandparents, back to who-knows-when. And then Andrew Kayser broke his ankle, and his brother David changed everything. If my momma had married and had children in the normal way of things, this would be a happy home, still. Maybe, with Hixson, I can rebuild the happiness that used to be.

October 5th, 1865-Spotsylvania County, Virginia

The real estate speculator was, indeed, buying farms in the area. He was especially interested in this area. The Battle of the Wilderness, fought here, was the first battle of Ulysses S. Grant's Overland Campaign against Robert E. Lee. History would be interested, and the speculator assumed that someday, someone would want the land for that reason.

Of Sarah's land, 20 acres had been part of the battlefield. For Emma, it was 17 acres. Neither woman was interested in selling only the battleground acres. If the speculator wanted those acres, he'd have to buy the rest of the farm, too. They agreed on a price of $10 an acre, plus an extra $150 for Emma's house and outbuildings.

Sarah's 120 acres, in her family for generations, brought her $1200. Emma's husband had left her 200 acres, so her $2150 would guarantee her a good start at the bakery. The deal was made, papers signed, and cash delivered.

Emma and Sarah spent an afternoon in town, settling debts and saying goodbye to those few they might miss. In light of what happened with the arsonist, they declined to tell anyone just where they were going.

Sarah felt a sense of lightness to be leaving. Emma, too, looked forward to fresh start. Sarah's life there had never been one of contentment or acceptance. All of those things that made her farm seem like home to Emma, died when her husband did. Since his passing, she had just been holding on and doing the best she could.

Starting a business in a town like Dover might mean prosperity for her and Caleb. She was ready to take on that challenge.

November 2nd, 1865--Dover, Pennsylvania

It had taken them longer than anticipated, but they were home. Emma had to sell many of her possessions, such as her farming implements, and that took time. The roads were more chancy in the late fall, as well. They were all glad to see the Morris house up ahead.

Poppa's arm was out of the splints and out of the sling. He said he had not yet regained full strength in it, but reported daily improvement.

Momma, Poppa and Eliza were smiling strangely and winking at each other at first. Then Eliza was introduced to Caleb. He was 17 now and tall. He had been doing a man's work for years, and it showed. His bright red hair had darkened to a handsome auburn, and his eyes were as blue as a robin's egg.

Eliza was thrilled to see Hixson, Sarah and Emma. When she saw Caleb, she forgot the other three were anywhere around. She was 16. The rest of the family looked at each other with amused smiles.

"Eliza. Eliza!" Momma had to call her twice to break the spell. "You run over and tell Charlton and Annie that they're home." No one was surprised when Caleb offered to walk with her.

Nine people sat at the Morris family table, sipping coffee and catching up. They shared their own news. Charlton and Annie were well-settled into their new home. The bakery was still up for sale, and by the way, it had living quarters upstairs.

They listened intently while Hixson relayed the tale of what had happened with them in the last weeks. As Hixson talked about the loss of Sarah's cabin, Poppa's heart sank. Would the poor girl never have peace and security? Hixson moved on to talk about the sale of the two farms. For a while, everyone discussed real estate speculators in the days of reconstruction.

The grinning and winking hadn't stopped, so finally Hixson asked what was going on.

"We have a little surprise for you." Poppa said. "Come on and we'll show you."

They hitched up the wagon and everyone loaded up. A short drive to the west and the surprise was out. A spanking new house, small but sturdy, stood close to the road on the land Poppa had given them.

"We all worked together along with Annie's family and Patterson Hilyard's parents. It ain't painted yet, and you'll have some things to finish up inside, but it's dried in and ready for you."

Hixson and Sarah were speechless. They stood, staked to the ground and staring. Everyone else saw a house; they saw a start on a new life of peace and love. For Sarah, it was a home free of memories, whispers and loneliness. For Hixson, it was putting the war firmly behind him and working as man with a future.

Sarah let out a long whoop and jumped on Hixson. "We're home!" She threw her arms around every one in turn, thanking them profusely.

They all went in and Sarah whooped again to see they had even provided a cook stove, a table and a bed. The generosity of the gift was amazing.

The money from the sale of her land would buy the rest of the household goods they needed, as well as farming tools. There would be plenty left to bank. She was already making plans to talk to Hixson about trading the dappled gray mares for a team of plow horses, when Annie interrupted her thoughts.

"I have another, much smaller surprise for you, too." From a basket in the back of the wagon, she pulled a fuzzy black puppy and handed her to Sarah. "My uncle's dog had a litter of puppies just before you left. When he saw them, Charlton told me your dog died recently. No farm can go without a good watchdog."

"Oh, Annie!" Sarah could not finish, she was so overcome with emotion. The puppy licked Sarah's face and whined.

"What'll we name her?" Hixson asked, smiling widely. "How about, 'Towzer D' after your old girl?"

Towzer D had a new family. They all went back to the Morris farm. Momma made dinner and afterwards, Poppa took Emma and Caleb into town to talk to the banker about the bakery. The deal was so simple, with no heirs to consider, that Emma paid the back taxes and owned the bakery that very day.

They agreed to stay the night at the Morris', and move above the bakery the next day. Caleb in particular was in no hurry to leave the Morris house. Hixson and Sarah also stayed the first night. They could unpack in their new home the next day.

November 3rd, 1865--Dover, Pennsylvania

The women in the Morris family were all up very early. They met Annie at the bakery and helped Emma scrub the whole place: bakery, store front and living quarters. Momma had packed a lunch, and Poppa brought it and Emma's belongings when all the men showed up.

With the three strong Morris men and young Caleb working together, everything was moved in before supper.

Charlton had a special surprise for Emma and Caleb. "Call it a shop-warming gift." He said. He brought a large, flat object, wrapped in a blanket.

Emma unwrapped it and saw a beautiful hand-carved sign, McKendall Bakery. The oval wooden sign had intricate scroll work around the edge, which Annie painted in green and white. The lettering, done in a fine hand, was a darker shade of green. It was a handsome sign and a lovely gift.

Emma and Caleb settled in for the night, Emma making mental notes of what she would need to order to get the bakery started. Caleb was making mental notes, too, but they didn't have anything to do with running a bakery.

Hixson and Sarah also spent their first night in their new home. The house still had the smell of freshly sawn wood. It even smelled like a new start, for both of them.

December 1st, 1865--Dover, Pennsylvania

Annie stopped by to see Sarah. Hixson was cutting firewood, so she was alone in the house. Annie had brought gingerbread and Sarah made fresh coffee to have with it.

The two sisters sat at Sarah's table, still bright with new wood. Annie obviously had something on her mind, and Sarah had a notion what it might be.

"I think around June, there's going to be another little Morris." Annie was radiantly happy.

"Oh, Annie! That's wonderful! You'll be the best mother any baby could ask for!" Sarah hugged her new sister in genuine joy.

"We told Momma and Poppa last night. Momma was so happy, she started crying. Poppa only said, 'didn't waste no time, did you son?'!" Annie laughed. "Eliza is so excited to be an aunt. It's adorable."

"First grandchild! Of course they're happy! You're going to have your hands full, there. Momma is going to want to stuff that baby with goodies, and Poppa will teach him to say embarrassing things."

Sarah laughed, and Annie smiled because she knew it was true. They chatted the morning away, and were not ready to stop, when a wagon came clattering fast down the road. Sarah looked out to see Hixson running toward the house.

Momma was driving the wagon, Eliza and a strange man sat on the seat with her. She raced into the yard, and stopped in front of the house. Momma called for Hixson and Sarah as she ran to the back of the wagon.

Hixson and the stranger carried another man in. He was soaking wet and bluish. Momma explained, "Eliza and I were coming back from town, and this man here waved us down on the roadside. They were crossing the bridge when one of the wheels broke, pitching him into the river. We got him out of the river, but he's about frozen." Momma was always cool in time of emergencies.

All of them were wet from helping the man, and they crowded around the stove to warm up while Momma talked.

Sarah wasn't listening. She already had her hands out, gathering light into her hands. Hixson removed the man's wet clothing while Momma stoked the fire to start them drying. Eliza stood next to Annie and held her hand.

Sarah stood a long time, calling the light. The man was not injured, he was hypothermic. Sarah would not need to put him to sleep first. What he needed most was her warm light, to bring his body temperature up and get the blood circulating again.

Hixson stood behind Sarah when she started to lay her hands on the man's chest. He watched for a moment, waiting. It seemed to be getting darker in the room. In the pit of his stomach, Hixson felt a tension like panic start to grow. He looked around, and realized that a strange darkness was collecting around Sarah.

It looked like the dark cloud that was around the cabin that day she healed Towzer, except it clung to Sarah herself. Hixson yelled, "No!" He grabbed Sarah's wrists and pulled her hands from the half-frozen man.

It took great effort at first, but he wrenched her hands away. Desperately, he looked around, searching for a place to put her hands to use the light. "She can't heal this one Momma, something's wrong!" He was almost shrieking. "She's got to put her hands on someone or...or...I don't know!"

Momma knew her son didn't behave like this without good reason. "Here! She can put them on me!"

"Momma, no! You ain't sick, you might get hurt!" Eliza interrupted.

"No, I won't. It'll just make me sleep." She patted Eliza's arm. "I could use a nap."

Hixson was trying to get Sarah to walk away, but she didn't budge. He couldn't carry her, and restrain her hands at the same time. Momma saw the situation, and acted.

"You!" She said to the stranger, "Get him off the table!"

The stranger was befuddled, but even a stranger wouldn't dare argue with Momma when she used that tone of voice. Momma helped drag the half frozen man from the table. She climbed up on the table herself, and lay down. Hixson pushed Sarah's hands down onto Momma's head, and Momma murmured, "Oh, that's warm and nice...." and closed her eyes, smiling.

Sarah fell over, gagging. She didn't vomit, though, and Hixson thought maybe he had acted in time. She was dazed and on the verge of unconsciousness, so Hixson carried her to the bed. Then he gathered up sleeping Momma, and laid her next to his wife. Eliza covered them both with a warm quilt.

Annie stood, rooted to her spot and speechless. She hadn't been there when Poppa broke his arm. Even though Charlton told her about it, what he described was nothing like this. How did this help anyone?

Hixson turned to the stranger, eyes blazing. "I'm sorry. We can't help you. I can give you some blankets to try and keep him warm but you'll have to take him to the doctor in town. Get on out of here." He scooped up the wet clothing and shoved them at the man.

Annie couldn't believe that Hixson would turn away a person who was sick like this. "Hixson! What are you saying?"

"I'm sorry, Annie. Something is awful wrong here. They have to leave." Hixson said, just as they all heard the sound of horsemen outside.

It was the sheriff. Someone had robbed the bank, shot the teller and fled. They had found the wagon down the road, with a busted wheel, and they were looking for two men. They had found them. The sheriff borrowed the Morris wagon to take the men away in.

Hixson explained to Annie that it didn't usually go this way. He saw the darkness around Sarah and knew something was wrong, and that he had to stop her before she got hurt or sick from healing the man.

Annie didn't understand. "What darkness? I didn't see any darkness. All I saw was light, in her hands." She was shaking her head.

"You didn't see it? Eliza did you see it?" Hixson asked.

Eliza shook her head, too, looking doubtful

Was he imagining things? Why couldn't they see it? Hixson's mind was racing. He turned away, perplexed. Is that why no one had ever told Sarah about the darkness around her cabin when she was healing someone? They couldn't see it? Hixson sat on the edge of the bed, looking at his wife. He held her hand as she rested, trying to make sense of it all.

Maybe if she gathers light for a good person, he thought, the light just comes out of the air or something. But if it's a bad person? Then they seem to take the light from....her! Her light? Her life? Would it kill her, if the person were bad enough? Would it take all the light that is ... her?? This was a revelation of stupendous proportions. It all fit. He understood in a lightning flash why she needed him and no other. He could see the darkness. He looked at Sarah as she slept, and realized he was looking at his destiny.

Sarah didn't rest as she did after a normal healing. She coughed and gagged, mumbling. Annie took Eliza home with her to spend the night there. They stopped to tell Poppa what had happened. Poppa was there a few minutes later. He had run the whole way.

Momma slept until late the next morning. She woke up smiling, saying, "I don't believe I've slept that sound since before you were born, Hixson." Poppa hugged her in relief.

"What are you worried about? I was just sleeping. You had a nap like that yourself, as I recall." Momma scolded.

"But you weren't hurt. Something could have happened." Poppa replied.

"Oh, bosh. Sarah could never hurt someone she loves. You know that. All she did is give me the best rest I've had in ages. How is she doing? Is she up?"

Sarah was not. She continued to heave for a couple of hours, but nothing came up. She woke up confused. "What happened? Have I been sick?" Hixson told her what had taken place, and Sarah was touched by Momma's willingness to take a chance like that for her.

Sarah knew Momma would not be hurt, but Momma hadn't known that for sure. She had trusted her.

Sarah didn't think she could keep anything solid down, just yet, but she did take some tea. She was grateful Hixson understood and acted. If he hadn't she would be very sick, not just queasy. But how did he know?

"What about Annie? Was she still here when this happened?" Sarah asked. "Was she frightened? She shouldn't take a fright in her condition."

"No, she's fine. She didn't understand why I acted the way I did, and was mad at first. But I explained it and she understands now. It's fine. It makes me think, though, that I never do want to make her mad. Her eyes were two points of fire for a little bit there! Charlton better be careful to never get on the wrong side of her!"

It was all too wonderful, Sarah thought. No sidelong glances, no whispering about her, no backing away like she was a witch or some other frightful person. They saw her for who she was. They trusted her and accepted her. She loved these people so deeply she did not have words to describe it.

December 10th, 1865--Dover, Pennsylvania

The neighbors in the area began to call on Hixson and Sarah regularly. At first, they came to introduce themselves and meet the new Mrs. Morris. Most brought small gifts for the house. A few of the neighbors brought poultry to help start Sarah's flock. Others promised cuttings from their gardens.

The Morrises had not expected that Sarah's gift would go unnoticed. No one was surprised when word spread and neighbors began to call on her for the help that only she could give.

In Virginia, the neighbors were so suspicious of her they would only come to her in times of dire need. Her new neighbors came for help, but they also came by just to visit. They invited Hixson and Sarah to visit them. They brought homemade goodies to the new young couple, and accepted gifts from Sarah's kitchen. They asked for her recipes. They invited Sarah to a Christmas quilting bee.

For the first time in her life, Sarah was a real part of her community. She chatted with other ladies when she went to town. Ladies from all the local charities called, looking for a new recruit. People smiled and waved.

Emma's bakery was a wonderful success. The townspeople were so pleased with her products she was busier than she ever guessed she could be. The previous owner had left all of his equipment behind. Among the items left behind was a book of recipes and methods for making pastries. Caleb looked it over and decided to give it a try.

To Emma's surprise, her son had the cool hands and tender touch needed to make excellent pastries. He also had an artistic eye. Soon, the bakery cases were filled with elegant tarts, layered confections and exquisite cakes.

The more affluent citizens of the area became regular customers. Dinner parties in fancy homes soon featured a centerpiece dessert made by Caleb. His sacher torte was a special favorite.

Emma continued to take charge of the breads and rolls. Her pumpernickel bread was one of her best sellers. The previous baker's pumpernickel could be used for a doorstop, so the customers loved her high, chewy, flavorful black bread.

Annie bought a milk cow and started making farm cheeses, and Emma sold them out of her shop. When a farm wife came in to buy a loaf of good black bread, handsome young Caleb would invariably sell her a jar of cup cheese to go with it.

Caleb had grown into the kind of charming young man who made women of all ages weak. He turned out to be the biggest asset to the business. Women who had never bought a loaf of bread in their lives were visiting the bakery twice a week. He knew how to flatter without sounding insincere. He could joke around with the ladies and never embarrass them. Caleb had a way of looking directly into their eyes that got their hearts pounding. He was going to be a very successful man.

December 24th, 1865--Dover Pennsylvania

It was the first Christmas of peace in four years. Emma and Caleb joined all of the Morrises at the big farm house. The newlyweds, both sets, were there. The family had attended services together earlier. Christmas Eve in the Morris house was a night for feasting and exchanging small, personal gifts.

Eliza had written a poem for each member of the family and Emma and Caleb as well. She refused to give Caleb his poem until later, afraid he would be cajoled into reading it aloud.

Sarah had made a heavy winter shawl for each woman and a warm scarf for each man. She chose colors to complement each one. Everyone had special things for each person, made with that individual specifically in mind.

They shared a huge meal and many funny stories. Momma and Poppa talked about their courting days, and how hard Momma's parents tried to dissuade her from marrying Poppa. Caleb relayed the story about hitting old Towzer right between the eyes and knocking her silly.

As always, though, Annie's stories were the funniest of all. She had a natural talent for telling a story well, and leading her audience right up to the edge before she dropped the punch line on them.

Emma especially enjoyed the evening. She had been so busy the last week, it was pure pleasure to sit down and be a guest. She had made so many loaves of stollen in the last week that she couldn't stand the smell of it anymore. When Momma sliced the loaf Caleb brought, Emma declined.

Momma read aloud from the bible for the better part of an hour. Everyone had gathered around the fireplace, Momma sitting in her rocking chair and almost everyone else sitting on the floor. Poppa sat on the hearth, next to Momma's chair.

Caleb sat next to Eliza. He was not bold enough to put his arm around her while Momma was reading from the bible. Later, when everyone was sipping tea and talking quietly, he got up his nerve. He wasn't quite as smooth as he thought, because everyone in the room noticed it. Meaningful looks passed around. Eliza, blushing, held his hand.

Sarah and Hixson lay in their bed that night, talking quietly. Hixson was speculating on Caleb's interest in Eliza. "You think he's serious about her?"

"If he isn't, he should be. She's lovely, and so sweet. She'd make an angel of a wife. And Caleb would be good to her. He's grown to be a fine young man." It wasn't really what was on Sarah's mind.

Feeling as if she needed to put it to words, she told Hixson, "I think this has been the most blessed Christmas of my life. Your family is wonderful. I've never had a holiday like this. I never felt like a part of a family before."

Hixson was deeply moved that she felt that way. He had always considered his family something of a mixed blessing. Poppa had a way of saying things calculated to make you blush at just the wrong time. Momma could be a little bossy.

For the first time, he could see that Poppa's ribald humor hid a warm heart. Poppa's profound reaction to Sarah's pain was very telling. Momma's bossing came from her concern. She wanted to protect and care for her children, no matter how old they were, and everyone she cared about.

It was only since the war was over that he could see Charlton not as a rival, but as his closest friend. Eliza, an irritating tagalong when he left, had developed into a lovely young woman. Beyond all of that, now Hixson could see his own family through Sarah's eyes. He had an outsider's view of them, and it was refreshing. Being with her, and knowing her history, had shown him how very lucky was.

Yes, his family was loud and nosy; they told barnyard jokes in mixed company and didn't spend much time in cultural pursuits. But these were kind, thoughtful people. Hixson was immensely proud of them. They both fell asleep thinking they would always remember this, their first Christmas together.

February 1st, 1866--Dover Pennsylvania

There were three feet of snow on the ground when Hixson and Sarah woke up. It started snowing the day before, so they had laid in supplies, brought plenty of wood close to the house and brought in extra feed for the stock.

Hixson shoveled a path to the barn while Sarah made breakfast. There wouldn't be very much to do that day. Sarah was working on a new quilt and thought she'd spend most of the day on that. Hixson sat down with pencil and paper to plan out the spring planting, and estimate how much seed he would have to buy.

He looked at her, sitting in her chair with a quilt square in her hands. Her hair was loose and draped across her shoulders and the front of her dress. It made him think about how her hair made a curtain of gold around them when she leaned down to kiss him. The sure, confident way she used her hands brought to mind the way those hands felt on him. When she arched her back to stretch, he couldn't help but admire her silhouette.

They hadn't spent an entire day alone together, except when one of them was hurt. It didn't take them very long to find ways to fill their day other than sewing and figuring. Making love in the middle of the day felt like misbehaving, making it especially delicious. As they lay in bed afterwards, enjoying the moment, they also enjoyed the silence.

Hixson had always wondered about his own parents in one regard. They seemed to have a lot of conversations without speaking. He realized for the first time that he and Sarah were on their way to such a relationship. He loved to just be near her. Speaking was often unnecessary.

She seemed to know, somehow, to bring him food when he was hungry and drink when he was thirsty, but she seldom asked. She just did it. Just that morning, he had gone out to shovel the path without putting on his gloves. He had only noticed himself that his hands were getting cold, when Sarah came out to bring him his gloves. She seemed to think of his needs and comforts even before he did.

Momma's marital advice came to Hixson's mind. A marriage was indeed made up of minutes. Sarah was a considerate, loving, cheerful wife. Hixson's mind turned to himself. What kind of a husband was he? Was he as thoughtful and tender as he should be? He tried to think of the last sweet thing he had done for his wife and came up blank. He promised himself he would do better.

At the same time, Sarah was thinking how lucky she was to have Hixson. She thought he was brilliant, handsome, strong and tender. In her experience, those things seldom appeared all in the same man. Even the absentminded way he patted Towzer D was a demonstration to her of his tender nature. She never had to ask for help with heavy work.

He split the kindling for her, a chore she could certainly manage for herself. He carried the water and the firewood to the house before she noticed it was needed. Sarah lay next to her husband, feeling naughty, lazy and profoundly loved.

February 10th, 1866--Dover Pennsylvania

The roads were a mess under the slush and mud from the recent snows. Even so, Sarah had more neighbors coming to her for help than ever before. From strained backs to frozen toes, it seemed that every day brought at least two.

Most of the ones who needed help were not in serious condition. Sarah would gather the light, but not invest too much of herself into it. Hixson was starting to wonder if he would ever get time to do his own chores. He would not consider leaving Sarah alone during a healing.

Sarah was noticing a different reaction from her new neighbors than anything she had experienced before. The new neighbors paid her what they could, if they could. They also stayed to chat, maybe bringing a cake or pie from their kitchens.

Mrs. Dewulf brought her husband one day. He had pulled a muscle in his back and was miserable. She also brought three bottles of the cherry wine for which she was noted and a silver dollar for Sarah's services.

When she compared and contrasted the attitude of these neighbors with her old ones, Sarah had to wonder how she ever got along before.

After Mr. Dewulf was on his way home, Annie stopped in for a visit. It was clear now that she was pregnant, and not just putting on a little weight. She was such a cheerful lark and Sarah loved to spend time with her.

Her cheeks were red from the cold, and it made her fine hair frizzy, but she was a welcome site. Annie brought news of the happenings in town, gossip really, since she had just come from there.

"Did you know the Pastor of the Presbyterian Church is buzzing around Emma?" Annie loved the idea of the irreverent Emma as a minister's wife.

Sarah picked up on that aspect of it immediately, as well. "Good heavens! If those two ever got together, she would shake up the Ladies' Society for sure!" Laughing at the picture of Emma and her robust sense of humor at a meeting of the Ladies' Society, Sarah continued.

"Is Emma responding well to the buzzing? I don't recall having met the man. What is he like?" She hadn't had the chance to exchange more than a few minutes talk with Emma in three weeks.

"I think she likes him. Well, you know, he has that red Irish hair, and his name is Baker, of all things. Might be a match made in heaven!" Annie chuckled.

"And what about Caleb and our Eliza? How is that romance developing?" Sarah had some catching up to do.

"It hasn't gone much beyond making sheep's eyes at each other, yet. I saw Eliza in the bakery the other day. The way he was leaned over the counter, I think Caleb was fixing to kiss her mouth, but I'm not sure. Wouldn't they be the sweetest couple?"

Another cup of coffee and Annie was off toward home. Every call from every neighbor and friend made Sarah feel so included in Dover life. The frequent site of Momma, Annie or Eliza stopping by was a little present every time: a gift of welcome.

This was the way life had always been for Hixson. He did not take it for such a novelty and a blessing, himself. But he did understand how good it must be for Sarah, after the ostracism she had always known.

May 1st, 1866--Dover Pennsylvania

Spring was beautiful in Pennsylvania. Sarah was enjoying putting in her garden, even with Towzer D's help. Towzer D had grown into a gangly adolescent: puppy attitude: clumsy, but with the size of a grown dog.

One of the Barred Rock hens was brooding a clutch of eggs. Sarah was looking forward to seeing the chicks. This particular hen would be a fine mother, she thought, and fuzzy peeping chicks were so cute to see.

Hixson was in the fields from dawn to dark, unless someone came by for Sarah's help. Usually, she brought him a midday meal in the field.

The first thing Hixson and Sarah taught Towzer D was to "get Hixson" or "get Poppa". Towzer D's definition of Poppa was anyone at the old farm. The dog learned the trick somewhat faster than the people. At first, Poppa might say, "Hey, Towzer girl, what are you doing here?" But in time he learned, too.

Towzer D had learned "get in your place" but she had a little trouble with "stay". She thought "stay" meant to go anywhere she wanted, as long as her belly touched the ground while she got there.

People didn't stop by as often in the quickening days of spring. Everyone was busy at their own farms. Pastor Baker called on Emma frequently. To everyone's surprise, her bold humor was one of the things he liked best. As he told Emma, "Clergymen always seem to attract the grim women." He knew she was a good woman, and regarded a sense of humor as a gift from God.

Caleb and Eliza, young as they were, stayed in what Annie called "the sheep eyes stage". They courted slowly, as young lovers should, under the watchful eyes of seven interested parties.

Momma had always loved the springtime best. This was a special spring to her, with two new daughters, a grandbaby on the way and Eliza's young love. Her soldier son had come home with all of his parts, the war was over and she had a new best friend in Emma. She could not recall a more joyful spring.

Spring was the time of year when Poppa felt most alive, too. He had work to do. It was the time of year when Poppa felt like he made things happen. He loved his two new daughters. He loved Annie and liked her very much too, but Sarah had his heart.

Momma was right; Poppa truly was a bit of an old billy-goat. The fact that Sarah was an exceptionally beautiful woman, well-endowed and still trim and tiny, was not lost on him. He was glad that his son had married a beauty. It was more than that, though.

Poppa loved Sarah's heart. He loved how tenacious she was, and how quick-witted. He never threw a joke in her direction that she didn't catch. Often, she could zing him right back, although she always did it with love. Most of all, he loved how sweet and gentle she was. She was caring, loving, industrious and an excellent cook, too. He thought Hixson was amazingly lucky to find all of that in one lovely woman. She was someone very special.

Annie seemed to be carrying her new baby all out in front. From behind, it was hard to tell she was pregnant. Her profile, however, would lead anyone to think she was expecting triplets. She felt wonderful, if ponderous, and as long as she wasn't required to touch her toes all was well.

Since Annie was so well, Charlton was as happy as a man could be. His home was happy, his expectant wife a joy and his farm was doing well. The Farmer's Almanac promised a good year for crops.

June 6th, 1866--Dover Pennsylvania

Sarah's garden was the talk of the family, and quite a few friends as well. Everything she planted was half again as big as anything anyone else was growing. She was questioned about fertilizers and soil conditions. How did she do it?

It had always been this way for her. Her garden was always the most bounteous around. The fruit trees she planted with her own hands would bear fruit a full two years before others planted at the same time. Flowers grew larger, more vibrant blossoms.

Root crops did remarkably well for her, too. The carrots she harvested reached from the tips of her fingers to her elbows, and stayed tender and sweet, too. Sarah never had to fight plant diseases and garden pests. Her roses were never plagued with aphids; her garden never had weevils or hornworms or any other infestations. Something in her hands of light gave added energy to everything she touched. Her garden was a testament to the force of her own life.

She was cutting heads of cabbage, intending to brine a batch of sauerkraut. Towzer D yipped from her post on the other side of the garden gate. The fat tail thumping the ground told Sarah that family was approaching.

It was Eliza, out of breath. Eliza had been running, to fetch Sarah; Annie was in labor.

Annie would not consider calling a doctor or a midwife. She believed that between Momma and Sarah, they could take care of everything. Much to Eliza's frustration, Sarah put the cabbage inside and went to find Hixson.

Eliza felt that everyone should be running: there was a baby on the way! Sarah told her to calm down, there was plenty of time.

"Why don't you just send Towzer D to get him?" Eliza asked.

"I only send her when I need him to come a-running. I can deliver messages myself. He shouldn't have to run to me every time I want to just tell him something. It'd be like crying 'wolf' all the time." To make Eliza feel better, Sarah did walk faster, to make it look like she was in a hurry.

After telling Hixson where she was going, Sarah told Towzer D to stay. Hixson called the dog to him. Sarah walked with Eliza back to Annie's house.

Momma was already there when they arrived; she was helping Annie into a nightgown. This was not the time for binding clothes. Eliza was surprised that no one was bustling about. Annie was calm but excited. Momma and Sarah behaved as if this were any other day, Eliza thought.

Sarah assured Eliza that there was a long wait ahead. For the present, all they could do was keep Annie company. "It might be tomorrow before anything much happens."

There wasn't very much that Eliza could do for Annie. With the two grown women there, she wasn't even needed to keep Annie company. She went to town to tell Emma the news, and returned at once.

Still, Eliza needed to keep busy. To fill the waiting time, she attended to the chores and to Charlton. He was trying to act like he wasn't paying attention and that Annie's labor was far from his mind. He didn't fool anyone.

Until the time was closer, there wasn't much Momma or Sarah could do for Annie either. They chatted, or rubbed her back, and encouraged her to keep walking. And they waited. Annie paced the room in a patient labor for hours.

Emma came over after the bakery closed. Caleb stayed behind to finish the day's tasks. Emma brought with her a mineral oil she had infused with rose petals. She rubbed Annie's feet with the scented oil. It was very relaxing: just what Annie needed. The slow hours were tedious.

Annie's labor felt like it was all in her back and she was getting quite uncomfortable. Emma had a firm hand and offered to massage Annie's back. She used the scented oil at first, and then paused. "I know what is needed here. I'll be right back." She left the room, leaving the others to wonder.

Emma heated a cast iron skillet, and filled it with dried field corn. She stirred the corn, warming it well in the hot pan. Then she poured the corn into a small sack, and wrapped it again in a dishtowel.

After a good, firm back rub, Emma pressed the warm pack against Annie's aching back. The massage, the oil and the heat made her far more comfortable.

Just after sundown, voices rose in excitement. Annie's time was close, now. The men were all in the kitchen, waiting. Eliza was told to heat four plates in the oven. These would be used to warm the baby's bed. A new baby didn't generate enough heat themselves yet to warm their own bed.

Eliza stoked the fire, put six plates in the oven and then two more. If it's worth doing, it's worth overdoing, she told herself. She sat with her father and brothers until the plates were warmed.

Eliza put the first four into the cradle, to start warming it. Momma teased her about the size of the baby she thought Annie was working on.

By nine that evening Annie was straining very hard, pushing with all her might. The contractions were close together and very strong. Sarah helped to support her, and comfort her between contractions. Emma and Momma got ready to catch.

Half an hour later, Annie was holding a wet, howling, perfect baby boy in her arms. Momma cleaned up the baby, Sarah attended to Annie, and Emma settled the room so Charlton could come in.

In the kitchen, they listened to the hollering and the moans, and finally the cries of a brand new set of lungs. The silence of the men revealed their anxiety.

When Charlton heard the baby cry and Annie's joyful voice he beamed the joy of fatherhood. He could hear that both were well. He sprang to his feet and nearly ran when Momma called him in to the bedroom.

Charlton sat with Annie and their new son. Momma, Emma and Sarah left them alone to enjoy their first moments as a new family. They came out to find that Hixson, Poppa and especially Eliza had very mixed feelings.

Poppa asked first, "Are they both alright?"

"You have a handsome grandson, Poppa!" Momma was almost too happy to speak.

Eliza asked in an accusatory voice, "Annie was hollering. Couldn't you have taken her pain away?" The expression on Hixson's and Poppa's faces reflected the same question.

A look passed between the women, a look of amusement. Sarah stood behind Eliza and put her arms around the girl. "That wasn't really pain, honey. It was mostly just very hard work. Oh it hurts, yes, but it's not a bad kind of pain. If I had taken it away, she would have been sleeping. Then she wouldn't have been able to do the work it takes to bring a baby into the world.

"If something had gone wrong, I would have had to do something. But everything was exactly as it should be. That was the kind of pain a woman has to pay, to have the joy. She isn't hurting now or thinking about how it hurt. She's holding your nephew and feeling like the happiest woman alive."

This was an idea Hixson had never considered. He hadn't thought much more about childbirth than any other young man. He had never noticed that there were some kinds of pain that were good.

Thinking back, he recalled what Emma had told the parents of that little boy with the broken leg. He needed the pain to be a guide to him so he didn't break it again. It occurred to Hixson that many times Sarah had not tried very hard to take away pain. When someone came to her with a strain or sprain, she didn't put much of herself into the healing. Now he understood that she was making them more comfortable, but not eliminating the pain.

He was used to thinking of pain with a view to what he had seen in the war and more recently, what Sarah had endured. In normal circumstances, he realized, people sometimes needed a little pain to tell them what their limits were.

Charlton came out of the bedroom, beaming. "I would like to introduce you to Martin Overby Morris." Poppa was so pleased. They had named the baby after the two grandfathers. Overby was Poppa's baptismal name because Overby had been his momma's maiden name. Martin was Annie's maiden name.

Poppa felt sorry, knowing that Annie would be missing her parents especially right now. It was a proud thing to show a healthy new baby to the grandparents. What a shame that Annie would never get to do that.

Eliza had never seen a newborn so closely before. She couldn't believe how tiny he was. She gazed at his pinched little face, still red and blotchy, and stroked his tiny hand.

Overby was a fine baby, and a big one, too. Momma guessed him at about 8 pounds. He had a downy fuzz of light brown hair. Annie was feeling very well but exhausted. Momma stayed that night, to help.

Hixson and Sarah went home in silence. They each had a lot on their minds, and both were very tired. It had been a busy, exciting day.

Sarah lay in her bed, eyes open. Hixson had fallen asleep right away, but Sarah was restless. Part of her was still reveling in the joy of the day. Part of her was a little jealous. She wondered when it was going to happen for them. There was a sharp edge of worry to the wondering. What if I can't, now? What if I'm damaged? What if I can't have children?

Hixson rolled over and woke to see her still awake, eyes wide and looking at the ceiling. "Can't sleep?" He murmured.

"I was just thinking." She said.

"About?"

"Well, new babies I guess."

"Are you trying to tell me something?" He leaned up on one elbow to look at her.

"No. I wish I was. Don't you wonder why it hasn't happened for us yet? What if I can't? What if I'm damaged now?"

"Then we'll just spoil our nephew. What's meant to be will be. It's nothing to worry about. If we have children, good. If we don't, that's fine too. I married you for love, not for breeding stock.

"Anyway, it hasn't been that long. It isn't time to worry, yet. Give yourself at least two years before you start thinking something is wrong." Hixson said. He leaned over, kissed her and lay awake, too, thinking.

He's right, Sarah thought. I'm just borrowing trouble. It isn't time to worry yet. She thought over the babies she had known. Emma had been married a couple, maybe three, years before Caleb came along. All things to their season, she told herself. When the time is right, it will happen. She didn't exactly convince herself, but it dulled the edge of the worry enough that she could sleep.

Hixson, for his part, felt all the worry dredged up again. All he knew for certain was that Sarah's mother had died in childbirth, and that she had also suffered an attack as Sarah had. Emma had hinted that Sarah was much like her mother.

Putting all the pieces together in his mind, Hixson came to the conclusion that Sarah might very well die in childbirth. This was not a risk he was anxious to take. Sure, a man needed sons to help with the farm, and daughters to coddle. But at what price?

With Sarah, he realized, he had his dream. She had a great power, a great calling. And she needed him to help her use them. He was now her guardian, husband, provider, friend and lover. She needed the anchor of his love and strength to do what she did without harm to herself.

Hixson wasn't sure he ever wanted a child, if it meant he could lose Sarah. He lay in the warm dark night, listening to her even breathing, and felt deeply torn.

She wanted children, and he wanted her to have all she ever dreamed of. But if that meant her life, how could he bear it? It was a thought so shameful his mind could barely approach it; he almost hoped that she was damaged, and unable to have children. Then he never had to take the chance.

June 12th, 1866--Dover Pennsylvania

Farm life meant many different kinds of things. One aspect of life in a farming community that Sarah especially enjoyed was the way neighbors worked together. Sometimes, they cooperated for the good of the community at large. Other times, it was to benefit a family or an individual.

Two barn raisings were held that spring. One was for Hixson and Sarah's own. She would have been overcome at this generosity, but she had only recently been to another family's barn raising.

Always a willing hand at any such event, she fit right in. It gave her a new perspective on what these community efforts meant. Sarah had learned that this business of working together was more than neighbors helping neighbors. It was socializing, one. It was a chance to pay debts, for another. You might be paying ahead, or repaying a past debt, but it was of no consequence which came first. To show up, work with the rest, and enjoy the company was all that was needed.

Sarah's cheerful disposition made her well-liked by the neighbor ladies. She worked with alacrity, and volunteered for anything. She was an excellent cook, and soon became known for that, as well as her other attributes.

The men in the area liked having her around, but for an additional reason. None of them would have been so rude as to ogle another man's wife, but they sure enjoyed looking at her.

Old Mr. Haught, the man for whom Hixson and Sarah were share cropping, attended the barn-raising, too. Hixson had been to see him, and of course the old man knew all the rest of the Morrises, but he had not yet met Sarah.

He looked to be over a hundred years old. He walked with two canes, and not very well at that. There wasn't anything for him to do at a barn-raising, but he wasn't here to work. Mr. Haught wanted to see in whose hands his lifetime of work was going to end up. He had known Hixson all the boy's life. He had known Hixson's father all of his life, too.

Dover was too small a town for Mr. Haught to not have heard about Sarah and her gift. He was deeply suspicious of such goings on and decided to have a look for himself. His uncle had been a sailor and told stories about wild witch doctors. If that was the case here, he was going to put a stop to it, and right now!

He had nearly made up his mind to cast the devil out, and then she came out the door. Mr. Haught was too wizened and wary to be taken in by her beauty, at first. But then Sarah extended her hand and made him welcome. She walked with him up to sit on the porch and put a pillow on the chair before he sat down.

She looked at him in the strangest way. He felt like she could look right down deep inside. Her round green eyes seemed to grow rounder, and they softened.

"Mr. Haught, I hope you won't think me bold to talk this way. I think I can help you with your pain. It would make you sleep a while, if I do. I don't imagine you'd care to take a nap with all these folks around, of course.

"If you stay around after everyone else has gone home, I think Hixson and Mr. Morris would make sure you got home alright, after." Sarah could see the arthritic grind of pain on the man.

He was so uncomfortable, in fact, that Sarah was having a difficult time. The light was starting to shine just on him, and she fought to not lose her field of view. Hixson walked over to shake the man's hand and thank him for being there. One look at his wife told him almost everything. He looked at Mr. Haught, and back to Sarah, and called for Momma to come out.

"Momma! Come on out here a minute." He shouted into the house. "Can you set with Mr. Haught a while? I need to talk to Sarah, private."

When Momma came outside, he whispered to her, "the old man is hurting and she's getting sucked in. This ain't the time, so I'm getting her away from it for a bit. Keep him company?"

He turned to Mr. Haught and said, "You'll excuse us, Mr. Haught? I just need to steal her away for a moment." He ushered Sarah away.

Momma looked over at Mr. Haught, expecting a sharp comment of some sort. She had known him all her life and he had seldom been anything but sharp. Even in church he was apt to be snappish. He gave as generously as anyone else when duty called, but not with a joyful heart. He was a talented complainer, and she expected him to indulge his talent.

Instead, he was sitting there with a hint of a grin on his face. There was a look in his eye that would have passed for love in another man. Momma nearly fell over when the old man patted her hand and complimented Sarah.

"That there is a fine girl, Rosalia. Your Hixson did right well to marry her." This was compliment of considerable magnitude, coming from Mr. Haught. Those few souls in earshot were stunned to hear it. He was not a man known for flowery compliments.

Hixson kept Sarah busy, and separated from Mr. Haught until almost everyone had gone home for the day. The old man waited around, hoping to spend a little more time with her. He didn't know that she had been waiting to see him, too.

"I don't think Mr. Haught is going to do well getting up on the table." Momma could see where things were headed.

"That's alright." Sarah replied. "Mr. Haught, you just set comfortable in that chair and relax." She sat on her heels, facing perpendicular to Mr. Haught. The last thing she wanted was to fall face-first into his lap.

Sarah held her open hands before her, looked skyward, and waited for the light to gather. It took longer than usual, and more concentration on her part. She never knew why, but the only way the light gathered effortlessly was if she were standing.

Mr. Haught's eyes grew larger and larger as he saw the glow collect on her palms. Hixson squatted down right behind Sarah, so close he almost touched, with one knee on each side of her.

After a few moments, Sarah put her hands on Mr. Haught's knee. A look of wonder flashed across his face, and then he started to nod off. Momma thought he looked the same as he did in church on Sunday...nodding off.

Sarah reeled as she sat, but did not fall. Hixson helped her up and then took her inside. She was very unsteady and dazed, but awake. He settled her in a chair, and went outside.

Poppa, Hixson and Charlton collected Mr. Haught and brought him to his house in the wagon Poppa decided to stay and watch over him a while. Momma and Eliza cleaned up while Annie fed baby Overby. Poppa came along after a while, marveling at the change in Mr. Haught.

"He woke up cheerful as songbird. Jumped right up out of bed like a youngster." Poppa reported with a smile. "He's getting around better right now than I have ever seen him do. Even more astounding is that he's talking sweet about our Sarah. I do believe the old buzzard's in love."

"Poppa!" Momma scolded. "He just appreciates feeling better!"

"No, it's love. I'm sure of it." Poppa laughed.

Momma twisted a dishtowel and looked a warning at Poppa.

"It's love; it's love." Poppa sang as he trotted around the table.

Momma was hot on his heels, snapping the towel and telling him to behave.

When Momma and Poppa were winded from laughing and chasing, Annie, also laughing, said, "He's right Momma. Mr. Haught looks different when he looks at Sarah, even before she helped him with his pain. He spent the whole day looking for her. Maybe it is love."

Sarah loved the teasing and laughing. But she also felt she needed to point something out. "That was a temporary solution to his problem. That poor old man is so riddled with arthritis; nothing will take away his pain for long."

That opened a door Poppa couldn't pass by. "Oh, he'll be so disappointed when you have to touch his knees again. He'll probably hit himself with a hammer, just so he has to come and see you again!"

Whap! Momma snapped him right in the rump with the towel.

"Ouch! You took a chunk out!" Poppa grabbed the towel from Eliza's hands, she was laughing too hard to protest, and started to twist it.

"Oooo...I'm going to get you...!" He tried to sound menacing, but the room was shaking with laughter.

Hixson and Charlton sat out on the porch smiling like two indulgent grandfathers, listening to the young ones play. Charlton nudged Hixson with his elbow and whispered, "Here's where it starts, I guess. First Old Man Haught, next thing you know, every man in town will be in love with your pretty wife."

"She is lovable, it's true. As long as she don't fall in love back, it's alright with me." Hixson grinned.

"We both know that ain't never going to happen. You're the only one she sees." Charlton replied, the laughter in his voice replaced by mild envy.

"It surprises me some that she didn't get sick or anything. You know how it makes her sick to lay her hands on the bad ones. I always thought he was the meanest man alive. To tell you the truth, I was watching close, sure that his withered old heart would make Sarah sick. Guess there must be some good in him, after all." Hixson said.

A crashing sound and a peal of laughter came from the house, followed by the chorus of everyone laughing.

"I reckon we better go put a stop to that, before Momma and Poppa break the furniture." Hixson said, and stood up.

Charlton patted his shoulder and they went in. Annie had handed the baby to Sarah. She held him high on her shoulder to pat up a bubble and rocked him a little. Everyone was still smiling from the banter.

Eliza was smiling, but she was a little embarrassed that her parents still acted like that in front of people. Sarah was mightily amused by Momma and Poppa, and she loved holding her nephew, but she was still troubled.

Would she never have a baby of her own? It seemed to her like the thought never left her. It buzzed around in her head like a trapped mosquito. Whatever she was doing, anytime of day, the question came to her mind. She felt like she was driving herself insane for worrying about it. And yet, she knew that worrying about it made it even less likely to happen.

With all of her strength, Sarah tried to put the notion away. It will happen when it's supposed to, she told herself. Meanwhile, Hixson prayed that it wouldn't happen, and felt like he was betraying her for wishing such a thing.

June 15th, 1866 --Dover Pennsylvania

Sarah picked the last of the string beans. It was too hot for beans already and the plants were dying. She sat in the shade and snapped them, while she talked to Towzer D.

"Hot day to be wearing a black fur coat, ain't it girl?" Sarah asked. Towzer D talked back, in her dog way. It was more than a whine and less than a bark. She would lift her muzzle repeatedly, as if she were nodding. Anyone watching would swear the dog was answering.

"What do you think I should do with these beans?" Sarah had the habit of talking to the dog. Hixson thought it a little odd, at first. Then he noticed that Towzer D genuinely did seem to understand more than he had expected she would be capable of. Sarah had told Hixson that if you talk to a dog, they get smarter. Since he had never seen a dog smarter than the first Towzer he conceded. This dog was shaping up to be just as smart, and it couldn't be something she inherited. She was no relation to old Towzer. It must be the training.

"Go get the bucket." Sarah told Towzer D. The dog went in the house and came out with the scrap bucket in her teeth. She dropped it on the porch in front of Sarah.

Hixson was walking in with the plow horse. She had thrown a shoe. He rounded the house just in time to hear Sarah's command and see Towzer D fetch the bucket.

"When did you teach her that?" Hixson asked. He was impressed.

"I didn't really. But she knows what 'go get' means, and I guess she figured out what 'bucket' is. I don't know. She's a smart one. She understands a lot. More even than old Towzer did, I think."

They looked at the dog, and she looked back, seeming to understand they were talking about her. Using her nose, she pushed the bucket closer to Sarah and looked up at her. Her expression clearly said, 'Here. Isn't this what you wanted?' Hixson and Sarah cracked up.

"You're right. That's one smart dog." Hixson kissed her head and went about his business. He needed to get the shoe back on that horse.

Sarah picked fresh baby dill from her kitchen garden. The beans were all snapped and washed. She put up eight pints of dilled string beans: two for Momma, two for Annie, two for Emma, one for Mr. Haught and one to keep. While the jars of beans cooled on the table, Sarah went out and worked in the garden. She pulled up the bean plants to throw into the compost pile. She chopped any extra plants that started, giving the one she wanted more room to grow. Then she planted a row of warm-season peppers.

Towzer D was not permitted in the garden. She wasn't destructive, but neither was she respectful of the plants. Not being allowed inside, she lay near the gate and watched Sarah. On any given day, Towzer D spent her time fairly evenly divided between four things. If she wasn't sleeping, getting into puppyish mischief or looking for something to eat, she was watching Sarah. The dog's eyes seldom left Sarah for long. Even when she was into puppy trouble, chewing up clothes pins or digging a hole for example, she had an eye on Sarah.

Towzer D worshiped Hixson, as well. She was a wonderful dog, completely devoted to her people and anxious to please. Coupled with her excellent intelligence and superior training, she was growing into a remarkable dog. The farm was hers, to watch and protect. She had never directly threatened any stranger, but she did make it clear she was watching.

Hixson and Sarah had no doubt that Towzer D would be very aggressive if she thought they were in danger. It eased Hixson's mind some, to know Towzer D was watching. He had not forgotten, however, that the original Towzer had been killed in trying to protect Sarah, and was still unsuccessful.

Even with the months that had passed the image of that fateful day never completely left his mind. Hixson did not expect to ever fully put it behind him. The fragility of the security they enjoyed was always on his mind. It did not take any great leap of imagination to bring to his mind the picture of what he found that day.

Sarah still had occasional nightmares. Usually, something unsettling would have happened that day to cause them. Any sort of fright, and that night could be disturbed. Hixson was always patient and tender with her at such times. He felt she had shown amazing strength to have not let such a thing break her. A nightmare now and then just served to remind him.

Another lasting legacy of her trauma was that Sarah's shoulder was never fully right again. She could not carry a heavy bucket with that arm anymore, for one thing. She did not enjoy full motion with the arm, either, but refused to let it hinder her. That, too, reminded Hixson frequently of how much he could have lost. The thought never got very far away.

August 4th, 1866--Dover, Pennsylvania

Sarah had been feeling poorly all week. Nothing felt right in her stomach and she felt very tired. Hixson thought she was coming down with the ague and advised her to stay in bed. Staying in bed was not something she could do. She declared she felt better if she moved around. It did help to stay moving, but she wasn't sure if it was just because she had convinced herself of it.

Her hens were laying far more eggs than she could use. She usually gave the surplus to Emma for the bakery and received something from the bakery in return. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement. That day, however, she decided to make bread pudding.

She had almost a whole loaf of bread that would go to waste if she didn't use it soon. Momma baked often, and shared with her. So did Annie. Of course, she shared with them, too. In any case, she had too much bread on hand to use.

She tore the bread into bite-sized chunks and let it sit out a while to dry. Then she mixed the custard, using a dozen eggs, sugar and cinnamon and fresh milk from the cow. She also added a little apricot brandy she had brought from Virginia.

Sarah never would admit to spiking the bread pudding. Still, there were suspicions around. Momma was strongly opposed to liquor, but she turned a blind eye to the apricot brandy. Sarah's bread pudding was worth a little sinning.

Baked with a streusel topping of flour, butter and sugar, and served with a little more brandy in a hard sauce, her bread pudding was a decadent treat. Hixson loved it. After lunch, Hixson scooped out a good-sized bowl of bread pudding. Sarah objected, saying it was still too hot to eat, but that didn't stop him. He wolfed down his dessert and left to finish the day's chores.

Poppa and Hixson were chatting out in the field. Poppa was looking over his far western field at the same time Hixson was examining his eastern field.

Hixson told Poppa about those small bits of news he had and those he'd heard. They spent several minutes discussing Hixson's battle plan against a gopher that had moved into the vegetable garden. In just under an hour, they had said all they had to say for the day, and straggled off to get back to their tasks.

"Our little Sarah is ailing." Poppa informed Momma over supper that night. "Hixson says she's feeling pretty poorly."

Momma went to see Sarah the next morning. Sarah was sitting at the table, sipping warm sweet tea, when Momma walked in. Momma never knocked, but she never needed to. Towzer D always informed Sarah a visitor was coming, and it was easy to tell if it would be family, friend or stranger from the dog's reaction.

"You're looking a little green, daughter. Are you keeping your breakfast down?" Momma pressed her cool hand to Sarah's head and chin. No fever.

"I am, but it's a struggle. I'll be alright. You didn't come all the way over here for me, did you?" Sarah still despised being fussed over.

"No, I came over because Poppa said he was talking to Hixson yesterday and smelled pudding on his breath." Momma grinned.

"He did that. There's more resting in the pie safe. I'll dish you up some if you want." Sarah knew that Momma knew about her secret ingredient. It was a little confidence between them that cemented their happy bond.

Momma had pudding and coffee and watched Sarah with a wise eye. "The first thing you need to do, honey, is loosen your apron string."

Sarah looked at her blankly. "Why? I don't tie it all that tight."

"You need to tie it real loose for oh, say, the next nine months or so."

At last, Sarah understood what Momma was saying. "You think it's that?" Her eyes lit up. "Let me think. I haven't... since...you could be right!" Sarah was ecstatic. "Oh! Please don't tell anyone yet? I want to be sure, first. And then, Hixson should be the first to know. Keep my secret?"

"I always have." Momma said, and put a bite of pudding in her mouth. The gleam in her eyes said it all. Momma had never told about what she had seen on Sarah's first night there. She never confessed that she knew anything about any secret recipes.

Momma was one of those rare people who could be trusted with a secret. Sarah especially admired what she considered Momma's good sense. The brandy in the pudding was a fine example.

Under ordinary circumstances, Momma would tolerate no alcohol around her. She viewed it to be one of the chief evils afflicting humanity. Any yet she understood that in moderation and used in the right way, it wasn't such a problem.

Sarah, on the other hand, strongly believed that all things required moderation. In her eyes, excessive anything was dangerous. She could easily name a dozen people whom she thought to be excessively churchy. These she thought of as equally troublesome as the ones who drank too much corn liquor.

She liked it that Momma held herself to strict standards, and still understood about other people's foibles. Momma, as opposed to liquor as she was, saw that the evil was not in the bottle, it was in what you did with it. The more Sarah came to know her mother-in-law, the more she found to like in her. Momma was an estimable woman.

August 15th, 1866--Dover, Pennsylvania

It was ten more days of queasiness before Sarah felt sure enough to tell Hixson. She made a special dinner of his favorites, including a shoofly pie for dessert. She planned out her announcement in a multitude of ways, deciding on nothing. In the end, she decided to let it be said however it would.

Hixson was not one to go around unawares, though. He knew Sarah hadn't been feeling well, and that Momma had come over to check on her. Momma hadn't stopped by since. That was strange behavior. If Sarah had been sick with an ordinary ailment, Momma would be over every day, bringing food and medicine. Whatever was wrong was no illness. More, Momma's absence was deliberate. She wasn't coming by because she didn't want Hixson to ask her about it.

Hixson had also noticed that it had been a while since Sarah had what she called "her woman time". He knew what that meant, so he suspected already. The fine dinner on the table and the quietly joyful way Sarah acted convinced him. He took a deep breath, and tried to think of how to act happy. Looking at Sarah as she beamed her joy, what could he do? He swallowed his misgivings and tried to think that everything would be alright.

Sarah filled his coffee cup to go with the pie. Then she sat down and watched him while he finished. When his plate was empty at last, she smiled into his eyes. "I have a little news. I'm hoping it will make you happy."

"Oh?" Even the one syllable didn't ring true.

"You know? How could you? I'm only sure myself today!" She should have been disappointed that he already knew, but she was too elated for that.

"I don't know how I know. But I'm right, ain't I?" Hixson tried to smile, but it was unconvincing.

"You're not happy about this?" Sarah was hurt.

"I am! Of course I am." Hixson put his arms around her. "I suppose I'm just worried about you. Having babies can take a lot out of a woman." It was lame, and he knew it, but he couldn't tell her. He just couldn't. He didn't know how to begin.

Sarah went outside without speaking. She stood out under the stars and listened to her heart break. When she finally went to bed, she cried herself to sleep, certain that Hixson didn't want the baby. It made her wonder if he even wanted her.

Hixson sat at the kitchen table until very late. He just couldn't seem to find the words. He would dearly love to have a baby with Sarah. But no baby could ever be worth the risk of losing her. He had convinced himself that she would not survive childbirth.

It was well past midnight when Hixson slipped into bed. Sarah faced away from him curled in a tight ball. He laid a hand gently on her arm, and she flinched away from him. Not knowing what to do, he turned away and tried to sleep.

August 16th, 1866--Dover, Pennsylvania

Sarah made breakfast just as she always did, but without the alacrity that usually colored her day. Every task felt like a burden. She was so heartsick that her whole life looked gray to her. She felt deeply rejected. She was emotional anyway since she was so newly pregnant, and could not make sense of the problem. Sarah knew she was not being rational, but reason eluded her. Hixson did not want a baby, she was convinced. In her mind, that meant Hixson didn't want her, either.

Hixson came in for breakfast and was stung by the chill in his wife. She wasn't screaming or being hateful, but the woman who put his breakfast on the table was a stranger to him. There was no warmth or joy in her that morning.

He wanted to put his arms around her and make her understand. Her distant demeanor put him off, though. Hixson didn't know how to confront her without turning the conflict into something larger. He didn't realize that Sarah was interpreting his lack of comment as indifference. The distance widened.

Sarah had erected a fortress wall around herself. She had needed a defense from her unkind neighbors in Virginia. Berating herself for opening up and trusting anyone, she went through her days with a broken heart. She felt foolish for investing herself so deeply in the relationship. Marrying Hixson was looking like the most colossal mistake of her life. Sarah convinced herself that he had married her out of a combination of gratitude and pity.

Working it over in her mind, her problem with Hixson grew to disproportionate dimensions. Sarah had started attributing to Hixson all the same wrongs done to her by her former neighbors.

Hixson, on the other side of the misunderstanding, was equally confused. He had no inkling that Sarah's iciness was a defense; he thought she had fallen out of love with him.

Sarah was acting like someone he didn't know; Hixson was angry at himself for having misjudged her so. He had never suspected there was such a brittle side to her.

She was never mean, but she was very short with him. Sarah did her chores as always, but without any cheer. She used to do her work with joy, and had many little sayings about work as a blessing. Now she just worked. Hixson didn't know what to make of it.

The afternoon was very warm. Sarah was in the kitchen breading chicken for frying. Her hands were doing the work, but she was gazing out the kitchen window with an expression of bereft sadness.

Hixson came to the house, and sat on the edge of the porch to take off his boots. The milk cow had gotten bogged down in the pond, and he was very muddy from getting her out. He set the muddy boots in the sun to dry and went to the door in his stocking feet.

Sarah did not hear him approach and was still looking sadly out the window. Hixson watched her for a moment, and saw the expression on her face. Sarah's eyes were brimming; with one hand she absentmindedly patted her belly. It was plain to see where her thoughts were. He realized then, that he had been terribly wrong. She wasn't angry or icy, and she hadn't fallen out of love. She was brokenhearted and depressed.

It was only Hixson's sense of guilt that kept him from going to her and putting his arms round her. He felt responsible, on every level. He was the reason she was pregnant. He was the reason she thought he didn't love her or want the baby. Hixson quietly turned around and went back out onto the porch.

Hixson tried to think of a way to approach her with his concerns. He was afraid she wouldn't believe him, or that she would hate him for being so selfish. It was a dilemma he didn't know how to solve.

He thought about talking to his parents, but decided against it. What he needed, he thought, was to find out more about Sarah's family history. He needed to know more about her mother and grandmother. There was only one person besides Sarah who could help him with that.

August 30th, 1866--Dover, Pennsylvania

Hixson rose even earlier than usual. He hurried through the morning chores. As soon as the clock told him that the bakery might be open, he sneaked away to talk to Emma. If one person on earth could tell him, it would be Emma.

"Hixson, lad! I've not seen you in the longest time!" Emma's hug was genuine and warm.

"Can we talk a while? I have a little trouble." Hixson couldn't make small talk. He had too much worry.

"Caleb, I'm going to have a cup of coffee with Hixson. Mind the front, please?" Emma called back to Caleb, and led the way to her own kitchen.

The story poured out, told of course from Hixson's point of view. Emma thought him quite insightful, since most of what he attributed to Sarah sounded accurate. He knew she had been feeling worried, damaged, rejected and less than whole. With troubled hazel eyes, he came to the crux of the matter.

"Why did her Momma die in childbirth? Can Sarah survive it? I don't want to lose her, Emma." He didn't cry, but his voice was ragged.

Emma patted Hixson's arm. "I don't exactly know why her Momma died. But I can tell you this. She never had the chance to really recover after she was hurt. She went straight from that to growing a baby. The poor thing could hardly eat for the longest time, her heart was so sick. That may have had something to do with it. "Sarah's grandma hinted a few times that dying in childbed was tied up somehow with the way Sarah was conceived. She never would say exactly what. Not to me, anyway. I'm thinking your little wife knows though.

"I believe there's something about the gift those women have. There's a thorn on the rose, if you know what I mean. I do know this: if they couldn't survive childbirth, they would all wind up being orphans, and that didn't happen.

"Grandma could gather the light, you know, in her younger years. I never saw her do it while I knew her. But she had a child and lived. Your Sarah knows what the story is. You need to talk to her.

"Tell her what's on your mind Hixson. Don't let her go on thinking you don't want a baby. That's the same as saying you don't want her, in her eyes." It was quite a lecture for Emma to give. She was usually more inclined to laugh and joke. This was no time for jokes, though. Hixson was in danger of losing his wife, Emma thought, and needed to know a thing or two.

Hixson walked home slowly, pondering what Emma had said. Could that be it? Sarah's mother wasn't well in the first place? Why did Grandma not gather the light when she was older? Puzzles!

Sarah was making mint tea when Hixson walked in. Her stomach must be upset again, he thought. She looked at him with a blank face. "Did you want something?" She finally asked. Hixson had never heard her voice so flat and cool.

"I went to talk to Emma." No point lying. Sarah watched him and waited. She had no idea what he would want to talk to Emma about, and did not hazard a guess.

Hixson sat down next to her, and tried to explain. "I've been afraid that if you had a baby, you might die like your Momma did. I've been hoping you wouldn't get pregnant, for fear of losing you." Sarah's eyes widened, but she said nothing. She could see Hixson had more to say.

"I went to talk to Emma to see if she knew why your Momma died. She's always said you were a lot like her. I thought maybe she knew something. She doesn't, at least not that she's telling. She said I should talk to you.

"She also told me that if you thought I didn't want a baby, you might also think I don't want you." When he said this, Sarah's eyes started to fill.

"You have to know, Sarah, that I love you more than anything. I would give my life for you, and gladly. You are my heart and soul.

"The idea that having a child might take you from me is the only thing that would make me not want a baby with you. I would rather never have a child than lose you getting one." Hixson kissed her and wrapped her in his arms.

It was some minutes before Sarah had controlled her emotions enough to speak. "No woman can be sure she won't die in childbirth. But it wasn't ordinary childbirth that killed my Momma, Hixson."

Sarah had never spoken of this before and was unsure how to explain. She hesitated as she searched for the words. "The women in my family, excepting Momma, have always been married to strong, caring men like you. They have to have a marriage of deep love and commitment. They have to. It's best if the man has great inner strength and is strong in his wisdom, too." She took a deep breath and continued.

"When my Momma gave birth to me, all the light that was her...came to me. Does that make sense? In giving me life, and the gift of light, she used up all of herself. There wasn't enough left to go on with.

"If Momma had married a strong man who loved her and whom she loved, it would have been alright. The man's life and light would have mixed with hers when I was born, and she would have lived.

"The light that I gather is all around, everywhere. Everybody has light of their own; I think it must be what life is? A strong man could have shared his light with her. But she didn't have anyone.

"Even though she was alone, she could have planned it so that she did not give me the gift. Then she would have lived. But if she had done that, she might never have another child and the gift would die with her.

"She chose, instead to give her gift to me, and gave up her life in doing it." Now tears were streaming down Sarah's face. "The people around there were terrible to her. They called her all sorts of bad names, and accused her of being a whore. I doubt she would have ever married, in those circumstances. She sacrificed everything, convinced that she would not get another chance to pass on her gift.

"So here I am. An orphan. My Momma gave up everything so that she could give me life and her precious gift."

Hixson gazed into her face, his mind reeling. He had turned this over in his mind a million ways, but had never thought of this. As always, he thought of many questions, trying to gain a deeper understanding.

"Why do you say it's best if it's a strong man who loves her? How do you know if a man is strong enough, or loves her enough?" Hixson hated the thought of not being enough.

"It's complicated...let me think how to explain." Sarah gathered her thoughts, trying to explain in a sensible way. "Alright. My grandfather. He loved Grandma enough, that was clear. She had two sons and then my mother, and lived.

"But even though Grandpa was a good man, and loved Grandma, something was missing. When Grandma passed on the gift of light gathering to Momma, she lost it for herself. There was some quality of strength or will or intelligence...something that made the light that was Grandpa's life not enough. So by giving Momma the gift, Grandma lost it completely."

Hixson was starting to feel the crush of responsibility. How could any man measure up? Could he ever be enough?

Sarah could see the self-doubt as it played across his face. "Hixson. I don't think Grandpa could see the darkness. I think that is why I didn't know about it. But I think the other grandfathers...going back to those grandmothers who passed on their gift and still held it too? I think they must have been able to see what you see.

"There is something very special about you, I am sure. You are the only person, maybe in the whole world, who can do what you do. Maybe it's why I felt so drawn to you right from the start. In any case, I know, way down deep in my soul, that with you, I will always be safe." Sarah watched Hixson's face as he digested what he heard. She wanted very much to believe that his only reservation about having a baby was his worry for her safety. Would this make him feel better? Or would it give him a new set of concerns? She wondered too, if he would ask the question she expected. He did not, but he had other questions for the moment.

"Do sons ever inherit the gift? What happens with the boys?" Hixson wanted to understand all of it, and as quickly as possible.

"As far as I know, it has always been only the daughters than inherit the gift. My Mother's brothers grew up and moved away, Grandma said. She said they were jealous of their sister and all the special care and attention she got.

"I don't know if Grandma and Grandpa spoiled Momma that much. But they did treat her special. How could they help it? She was the one...the one child with a link to a gift that had been handed down since I don't know when.

"Since Grandma didn't have it anymore, Momma was the only one. You understand? Momma had a treasure that had to be looked after. Her brothers never really understood. They went away and we never heard from them. I guess all gifts come with a price, don't they?"

"So if you have ten sons before you have a daughter, is your life in danger every time?" Hixson was still unsure about his own role.

"Not in any more danger than any other woman. The danger comes when the gift is passed on. It takes a special quality of effort and love and light to send the gift forward into the next generation. I wish I knew how to explain it better." Sarah was frustrated with herself.

"When do you know? When you find out if it's a girl? Does it always take? Can all the girls get the gift, or do they have to be special somehow?"

Sarah was impressed with the insight of Hixson's questions. "No, not all the girls can receive it. I truly don't know why. Grandma said a girl had to have a large soul, but I don't know what that means.

"I asked Grandma one time how she knew that Momma had the gift, and then me. She just smiled and said, 'you'll see for yourself when the time comes'. So I still don't know. I suppose we'll find out together if we ever have a daughter."

Hixson sat, silent and watching. He thought about all that he had heard and what it meant. The question that had worried Sarah finally occurred to him. "What did you mean when you said your momma could have planned it so you would not get the gift?"

Sarah did not want to answer. She was afraid there might be an argument coming. Sarah faced it, come what may. "She could have hidden. She could have shielded herself from the suffering of others. If she had gone all the way through her pregnancy and not gathered the light for anyone, then I would not have been able to receive the gift when I was born.

"If she had stayed away, and not helped anyone for those nine months, she would have lived. Some of my ancestors are said to have done that. A great-grandmother, way back, had four daughters, all with the gift. Her husband died while she was expecting the fifth child.

"She couldn't take the chance of having a daughter who would receive the gift. She would die, and then all of her children would be orphans. So she hid herself away and saw no one until her baby was born.

"It was another daughter, so she had made the right decision. If she had gathered the light during that time, she would have died in childbirth. She had no husband anymore to share his light with her."

Sarah was worried that Hixson would want her to hide away, and so not take the chance herself. She was misjudging him.

"She was very wise, wasn't she? With four daughters that had the gift, she had made sure that the gift wouldn't die out. But all those daughters still needed a mother. Yes, she was very wise." Hixson said. He felt as strongly as she did that this was a gift that must be passed on. Even in his worry for Sarah, he knew he could not interfere with the inheritance she had to share. He just needed to come to terms with it. And he needed reassurance that she would survive the sharing.

He was still plagued with questions, though. "What if I am not enough? Strong enough or loving enough or whatever it is? How would you feel if you lost your gift when you passed it on?"

"I'm not worried about that. I firmly believe that you are enough, more than enough, in fact. But even if you weren't, it would be alright. Grandma said that after mother was born, she finally got to find out what it was like to be a normal woman. That wouldn't be so bad, you know.

"Don't you understand, Hixson, that all things come at a price? I pay a price for having the gift, and you pay a price for marrying me. Each child we ever have will exact a price of some kind from each of us. I may lose a part of myself in having children, but then, I will gain something, too.

"All those things that make you so special? They all came at a price didn't they? But every price we pay has a reward in it somewhere, too. Sometimes it's a big reward and easy to see. Sometimes it's a quiet little whisper of a reward, one we really have to hunt for. It all counts, though."

Dinner time had come and gone without notice, they were so deep in their discussion. Hixson's mind was spinning, with so much new information to consider. Sarah's relief was tempered with anxiety. She was relieved to learn that she had misjudged the meaning of Hixson's reaction. Still, she was unsure about what he would do with what she had told him. She thought he might decide that being married to her came at a price too high.

Hixson gave no thought to the price of their marriage. He loved Sarah so deeply it felt like no price at all. A far greater worry preyed on him: was he enough? He had a fear that all the love he had to give might not be sufficient.

August 31st, 1866--Dover, Pennsylvania

Hixson and Sarah remained quiet for several days, with their thoughts turned inward. It was not the strained quiet of discord anymore, but a contemplative hush. Each in their own way, they considered the love they bore for each other. Like two artists painting the same landscape from different vantage points, Hixson and Sarah asked themselves identical questions, but differently.

Sarah fretted that Hixson might decide he did not want the burden that life with her could mean. Like women everywhere, whatever their gifts, she counted up the problems and overlooked all that she had to offer. She knew that there was a great duty inherent in her special gift. Anyone who married her wedded her duty as well. When Hixson proposed, she believed he understood the obligations. Having a baby cast a different light on the whole thing, and she doubted herself all over again.

Hixson considered all that he had heard, and tried to find a yardstick with which to measure his love. Sarah was a special case, and no ordinary measure seemed to work. Did he love her enough to be what she needed? Was he strong enough? And what about this special quality that was needed–without which she would forever lose her unique talent?

Hixson's experiences in the war and as a leader had given him confidence in his own judgment. He had a particular faculty for figuring people out. He was uncommonly clearheaded and decisive. So why was everything about Sarah so abstruse? Such an enigma might have frustrated another man. In Hixson, it created intrigue and interest on yet another level. Sure, Sarah was intriguing in her beauty and her sweetness. Her complexity was fascinating and the paradox of her kept her on his mind almost constantly.

Now Hixson had a new facet to consider. What kind of a child would the two of them have? A daughter with her mother's gift and her father's ... what? What did he have to contribute to a child's makings that would be desirable? It was obvious to Hixson that Sarah had a clear sense about people under ordinary circumstances. What if they had a child who inherited from him an ability to keep that vision, even when the light began to gather?

This was a spellbinding notion, occupying Hixson's thoughts for many days. He knew too well what harm could come to a woman if her vision was blurred, as Sarah's was at times. Could he give a daughter such a gift? Was it a gift at all?

Also skittering around in his mind was the question of sons. It was a game of chance, Hixson tallying up his and Sarah's respective traits and randomly mixed them up. A strong son with a talent for growing things–crops, gardens and animals. He'd be a good farmer. Or a short son, tender like his mother, and insightful like his father. That son would make a fine doctor or maybe a preacher. It was a captivating game, filling hours of Hixson's time.

September 5th, 1866--Dover, Pennsylvania

The Morris family was beside itself with joy for Hixson and Sarah. Eliza adored her little nephew Overby; now she hoped for a niece. Momma loved Sarah like her own daughter and was thrilled that things seemed to be going so well. She worried in private, though. Sarah had been through a bad time: who knew what kind of damage may have been done, unbeknownst to anyone?

If there was one thing Momma was dead set against, even more than liquor, it was borrowing trouble. A talented worrier by nature, Momma forced her mind away from imagined troubles with a great will. Left to its own, her imagination was apt to run away and Momma worked hard to contain it.

Poppa was concerned, too. He tended to think of Sarah as more fragile and delicate than she really was. He felt especially protective of her, and worried for her safety at all times. No passerby could head in the direction of Hixson and Sarah's farm but that Poppa paused and sized them up. If he got the slightest inkling of possible trouble, he made ready to go.

Momma was aware of his watchfulness and wondered about it without comment. What was it about Sarah, Momma mused, that drew people to her so? As she considered the people who were especially fond of Sarah, Momma realized that her first instinct had been correct.

The night that Sarah had her first nightmare in their home, Momma was taken aback by Poppa's deep reaction. At the time, she thought it might have some connection to the healing of his arm. In thinking over the way people felt about Sarah, Momma noted that the ones who had been healed by her felt strongly about her afterward.

Momma puzzled over why the people in Virginia had not responded the same way. With a flash of insight, Momma deduced that the Virginians had responded the same way. The feeling they had about Sarah when they came to her was intensified by being healed.

That explained it perfectly. People who felt kindly toward her, felt more so after she laid her hands of light on them. People who feared her a little before a healing, feared her a lot after. And that explained why strangers, unknowing or unconscious, remained neutral.

What about Hixson? He was unconscious when she healed him, and he certainly loved her. To Momma, that meant that her son's love was the real thing. It wasn't fabricated or some mysterious bond he couldn't help. He had fallen in love with Sarah with his eyes open. The last bit of worry left her mind with that understanding. Momma had wondered from the start if Hixson felt love or gratitude. Then she met Sarah, and saw her injuries, and wondered if it might be pity that he felt, more than love. After Momma got over the shock of Sarah's injuries, she realized the girl was uncommonly beautiful. Momma began to think Hixson might be more in lust than in love.

When Poppa and Mr. Haught and all the others Sarah had helped seem to fall in love with her, Momma worried. Maybe Hixson's love for Sarah was from the healing. At last, she could put all those concerns aside, and trust in the veracity of her son's love. It wasn't gratitude, protectiveness, some kind of spell or mere lust. All of those were certainly a part of it, but more than anything it was love of the deepest kind.

Momma turned her mind to Charlton and Annie. Theirs was a love of an entirely different sort. Momma considered what they had together a fine thing, but quite ordinary. What they shared was the kind of marital love that most people know. It was strong, and lasting, but fairly regular.

She liked it that Charlton saw past Annie's dubious looks and into her beautiful heart. No other man had done that, and they had missed out on a treasure of a girl in their shallow view. What Hixson and Sarah had was something more. Indefinable, mystical...they had the ordinary marrying kind of love, enhanced with something extra. Hixson didn't have to look past anything with Sarah; she was beautiful on the outside as well as the inside.

No, he didn't need to have to look at her with special eyes. But he did have to find a special strength for her. Sarah's calling exacted a unique price, and Momma believed that Hixson was just the man to measure up. Sarah's beauty was the easy part. Momma believed that providence had put those two young people together for a purpose. Some powerful thing was afoot and she was content to believe in it and to let it unfold with time.

November 1st, 1866--Dover, Pennsylvania

Pastor Leonidus Baker sat in Emma's cozy kitchen, upstairs of the bakery, and asked to talk to Emma and Caleb both.

"Caleb, I expect I ought to be talking to you, too. I would like to marry this lady here. Could you approve of your Momma marrying the likes of me?" Leonidus Baker was a humble man.

Looking first at the Pastor, then at his mother, Caleb considered. He barely remembered his father. The years must have been lonely for her. Pastor Baker had red hair, thanks to his Irish ancestry, and a good heart.

Emma waited, saying nothing. She could read the thoughts behind Caleb's eyes as clearly as if he spoke them aloud. Her son was a man now. He would soon marry and start a life of his own. If ever she were going to find love again, she better get on with it.

"Mother, do you want to marry this man?" Caleb asked.

"I do, but only if you can be happy about it. I don't have so many loved ones left in the world that I can spare any."

"Your happiness is mine, Mother. If this is the man you choose, of course you have my blessing." Caleb stood and kissed his mother. He shook Pastor Baker's hand, and went out.

Emma told Leonidus there was one more person he would have to meet before they could settle their plans. Up until then, circumstance had kept him from meeting Sarah. Emma needed to see what her friend thought of Leonidus.

Hixson and Sarah were invited to dinner at Emma's, to meet her intended. Leonidus surprised himself with how nervous he was to meet them. Of course Leonidus had heard about them both, Sarah in particular. He was skeptical of the whole healing story. Even a stout believer in miracles could be doubtful about individuals such as Sarah.

He half expected her to have some magical air about her. Instead, he met a perfectly ordinary woman and her ordinary husband. Sure, she was unusually pretty, and her husband was a fine looking man, but she didn't seem to be mysterious.

Sarah's pregnancy was just starting to show, and Emma made much over it. All the happy things Emma had prayed for on Sarah's behalf were happening. For her part, Sarah felt wonderful. She was over the queasiness of early pregnancy. Her health was good, her worry mostly gone. Hixson beamed with happiness, having overcome his initial concerns.

After a fine dinner, the men retired to chat while Emma and Sarah cleared away the dishes. This was the moment Emma was waiting for. "Do you like him?" Emma asked. "What do you think of him?"

Sarah could see that Emma was in love with the man. "I like him very much. The question is: do you like him?" Sarah teased.

"I do! Can you picture me as the wife of a Pastor?" Emma chuckled.

"Dear friend, I can picture you being anything you set your mind to. Are you happy with him? Is he good to you?"

"He is so sweet to me, Sarah. I thought when Mr. McKendall died that I would never find love again. But Leonidus...he's a joy. He's a fine man, and I'd be proud to be his wife."

The two friends chatted on through the evening chores. Hixson and Leonidus covered the same conversation in the other room.

Leonidus spoke first. "I don't believe Emma will marry me without Sarah approves."

"Is there some reason Sarah would not approve?"

"I don't know. I was hoping you could tell me." Leonidus Baker smiled nervously at Hixson. "I hear she doesn't attend any of the churches hereabouts. I thought she might object to a clergyman."

"You have no worry there, Pastor. She's as god-fearing a woman as you'll ever meet, even without the church-going. If she objected to you for Emma, it would be for a sound reason."

"Such as?"

"If Emma wasn't in love with you, that'd be one. Or if she suspected you'd ever mistreat her. They've been good friends for many years, and been through much together. Sarah would object to anything that wasn't for Emma's happiness." Hixson watched Leonidus carefully as he spoke.

Leonidus seemed to relax. "I believe Emma is in love with me, and I know I am with her. I hear your wife is a wise and insightful woman. All she has to do is look, and she will see that I intend to do everything I can to make Emma happy."

November 11th, 1866--Dover, Pennsylvania

Leonidus Baker and Emma McKendall stood before the Reverend Frederick Dubois and took their vows. Pastor Dubois was a friend and classmate of Leonidus' at divinity school. He was most pleased to perform the ceremony.

Pastor Dubois had known Leonidus' late wife well. She had been gone for fifteen years. She was a good woman, but not a cheerful one. When Leonidus wrote him that he was to marry again, he described Emma as a funny, cheerful woman. Anxious to meet Emma, and to see Leonidus again, he offered to perform the ceremony. Above all, he wanted to see his friend in a happy marriage. He had traveled all the way from Philadelphia for the honor.

Caleb thought his mother looked quite beautiful for a woman of her age. She was, after all, 44 years old. Her hair was still a brilliant red, and the years had been kind to her. The notion of a wedding put a lot of other notions in Caleb's head. All through the ceremony, he glanced at Eliza.

She was quite beautiful in his eyes, too. Eliza's hair was a rich brown. Her eyes were brown, too, giving her the look of a young fawn. Every time she caught him looking, her cheeks got pink. That made Caleb's heart race.

Caleb liked Eliza's shy ways. As much as he loved his mother, and liked her too, he wished she were a little shyer. It was a quality he admired in Eliza. She would share her opinions with him when they talked privately, but only with him. She was never outspoken. She gave things careful consideration before she made a judgment. Caleb appreciated her reticence. He did not care for the giggling girls that came in to the bakery. Eliza was different, and very special.

Emma and Leonidus turned to face the congregation as husband and wife. As they walked up the aisle, Caleb and Eliza's eyes met. The tender look that passed between them looked like wedding bells. All the Morrises noticed the look. Momma squeezed Poppa's arm. Hixson glanced at Sarah, grinning.

Charlton nudged Annie and whispered, "One of these days, our boy will have a passel of cousins to run with."

November 29th, 1866--Dover, Pennsylvania

Thanksgiving Day was celebrated at the Old Farm, as Momma and Poppa's farm came to be called. Poppa had raised a fine tom turkey, more than big enough to feed everyone. Momma was in the kitchen well before dawn.

It was a crowded table at the Old Farm. The Morris family was growing. Emma was considered a member of the family; she and Leonidus joined the Morrises. Leonidus' mother, Rachel Baker had traveled from Boston to see her son. Old Mr. Haught had also been invited, and was so late to arrive they thought he wouldn't show. But show he did, bearing six bottles of cherry wine he'd purchased from Mrs. Dewulf.

The Morris family stood in open-mouthed wonder as Mr. Haught laughed and joked with Rachel Baker. She was somewhat younger than he, but a handsome woman. Mr. Haught was jovial and chipper and an ideal dinner guest. He amazed them all.

It was only natural that Reverend Leonidus Baker would offer their Thanksgiving prayer:

"Heavenly Father, we gather together today in joyful thanksgiving. We thank Thee for the company of our loved ones and dear friends. We thank Thee for the good health bestowed upon us. We thank Thee for the bounteous feast upon the table, and the gracious hands that labored this day to put it there. Most of all, Heavenly Father, we thank Thee for the special gifts given to each of us.

We beseech Thee to always provide the divine guidance we need to use those gifts wisely. We ask a special blessing this year for all those suffering from the tragedies of war. Bestow Thy grace upon the widows and orphans, the ones who lost a child, the homeless and all the brave men who came home. Keep at Thy side all the brave men who did not come home. Amen."

A somewhat muted "Amen" echoed Pastor Baker's. Closing the prayer the way he did brought to each mind familiar examples of the kind of tragedies he mentioned. Every person at table that day, save little Overby, could think of many by name.

There was too much to be thankful for in the Morris family that year; the melancholy did not last. Poppa carved the turkey and Momma circled the table heaping food on everyone's plates.

The clinking of forks and the sounds of laughter filled the house. Annie had funny stories to share, and surprisingly, so did Mr. Haught. He told one about his mother leaving the front door open to get a stick of wood, and accidentally letting a skunk in the house. Mr. Haught told stories on himself, and what a rascal he was as a boy. His animated accounts of what he did, and how his daddy whupped him for it, had everyone laughing until they cried.

Quiet conversations between different pairs faded away and gradually, Mr. Haught had everyone's attention. Momma and Poppa exchanged looks of muffled astonishment. Here was a Mr. Haught who was new to them. And they had known him all of their lives. Sarah listened to his stories and thought of the Grandparents whom she missed so acutely. She was very small when her Grandpa died, but she remembered well the love of a grandfather. Her own Grandpa told wonderful stories, too, although she was still in the fairytale years when he lived.

Sarah thought about the dear ones gathered near her that day, and the grandparents her child would enjoy. Emma would treat the coming child as if it were her own grandchild, too. Her hands resting upon her belly, she thought of the childhood this child would have. It would be vastly different from her own. Even if something happened to her or Hixson, this child would never be an orphan. This child would know an extended family, filled with love and security. Where Sarah had nowhere to go and no one to visit, this child would one day be able to walk over and visit Grandma and Grandpa or go to an Auntie and Uncle's house.

There would be cousins to play with and tussle with. This child would have a bigger world. Going to town would be an adventure, not a trial. More than anything else, this child would get to grow up without a cloud of fear.

As Sarah wandered in her mind, thinking of the child within her and the people around her, she was almost in tears for her happiness. All of her life, she had been wishing for what she had right then. Her longings had finally become reality.

Poppa listened to Mr. Haught's stories, but he was watching Sarah. He could almost see her thoughts. Her gaze traveled from one dear face to the next, and her eyes shone. He had lived his life in the comfort of a caring family. She had not. The degree to which it touched her was easy to see.

The conclusion Momma had reached about Poppa's feeling for Sarah was very nearly right. It wasn't only her beauty or sweetness, or her healing him that tugged at him. She had been very hurt, he knew, and did not deserve it. He imagined Sarah as a little girl, orphaned and isolated. It broke his heart to think of the sadness her life must have been. He loved her for overcoming it and staying cheerful and sweet. There was no bitterness in her that he could see.

Poppa could name a dozen people who were bitter about the hardships in their lives, and yet not one of those people had suffered the way Sarah had. That she had come through such a storm, sweet and smiling, was damn near a miracle. He had no choice: Poppa simply had to love her.

December 22, 1866--Dover, Pennsylvania

Sarah was sitting at the kitchen table, letting out the waist of her second-best skirt. Hixson walked in, Towzer D on his heels, to get a cup of coffee. "What are you doing this morning?" He asked in a conversational tone. He stopped behind her, hands on her shoulders, and looked at her project.

"I'm letting out the waist on this skirt. There isn't room for Baby Morris here and me, both, anymore." Sarah smiled at his tender ways.

Hixson kissed her cheek and went to get the coffee he was after. "Let out a lot, then. You know twins run in my family."

"Don't even say it!" She laughed. "Two babies at once, for a first-time mother? What are you trying to wish on me?"

"You think I'm kidding? Poppa was a twin, you know. His twin brother died as a baby, but it still counts. I think maybe Grandpa was a twin, too." Hixson had an evil grin on his face, but his eyes said he was telling the truth.

"Well, thanks for giving me something else to worry about. What'd you come in here for, just to torment me?" Sarah tried to sound mad, but it wasn't working.

"I come in for some of this good coffee. And to kiss your face." Hixson kissed her again and went out, laughing.

A moment later, a dreadful smell filled the room. Sarah looked down at Towzer D. "What did you do??" She accused. She stood up, opened the door and shooed the dog out.

"What have you been feeding this dog, Hixson Morris?" She shouted across the yard. "Have you been giving her eggs and cheese or something? Or did you just put her inside as a weapon? You learn how to do that in the army?"

Hixson stood at the barn door, laughing. Towzer D sat on the ground by the steps and looked offended. It was cold outside, but Sarah left the front door open a spell to let the stink out. She walked over to kiss Hixson and punched him on the arm.

"Don't you know that smells are especially strong to a woman who is expecting?" Sarah scolded.

"So that's why you haven't been making cup cheese or cabbage or any of the other good smelly stuff. I'll have to keep that in mind. Of course, you better be extra nice to me...now that I know how to get you."

"Ahh, I can't believe I gave you so much ammunition. What was I thinking?" She laughed, kissed Hixson again, and returned to her chores in the house. Towzer D stayed in the barn with Hixson, still offended at having been kicked out of the house.

Sarah was in the habit of humming or singing while she went about her chores. She often sang "Shenandoah" while she worked, but she seldom sang if she thought anyone might hear. She was not proud of her singing voice, although she could carry a tune well.

Farm women everywhere had similar workloads, and few ever complained. It was simply what needed to be done. They were up well before daybreak, preparing a hot and huge breakfast for their families. There were gardens, fields, poultry and children to tend. Sick livestock would need attention, as well as ailing friends and family. There was mending, sewing, and usually plenty of garden truck to deal with.

Laundry was always a big job, and there would be floors to scrub, meals to be cooked and dishes to be washed. Many families lived so far from town that the children went to school at home, adding one more task to the day's list.

Sarah didn't have children, yet, so her load was somewhat lighter in that regard. Instead, she had ailing neighbors stopping by to seek her special help.

As word got around that Sarah was expecting a child, fewer people stopped by for healing. They wondered if the gathering of light might be harmful to her, or if maybe it would just take too much out of her. Sarah's neighbors were protective of her, as well as fond of her.

Neighbor women were planning a surprise. They were making a layette for the coming baby, including a quilt, a bunting, several receiving blankets and a bib for every day of the week. One lady made two sweater sets, complete with bonnet and booties, one for every day and one for Sundays. Sarah was preparing, too. She had flannel undershirts ready, and several nightgowns made. She was working on diapers, and wanted to make sure she had plenty of those ready.

Momma and Poppa had a special surprise planned, with Hixson's help. Poppa was making a cradle, and Momma was tatting a lace coverlet for it. Hixson was making a crib for when the baby got bigger, and Sarah knew about it. She had no idea that anyone was making a cradle for when the baby was new.

Eliza was writing a book of poems for the baby. Each poem was about something the baby would see every day, or about someone the baby would know. Eliza couldn't draw very well, so she contented herself with painting pictures with her words.

Charlton had the idea to build the new baby a piece of furniture, and decided a cedar chest would be just the thing: useful now to keep the baby's clothes and bedding, and useful later, too. If the baby was a girl, it could be her hope chest. If a boy, he might even use it for special tools someday.

Annie's gift was to be a little different. She was working on sewing two new nightgowns for Sarah. Annie had a clever idea for making a gown that would allow Sarah to feed the baby more conveniently that the usual nightgown would allow, and yet remain modest and warm. As a new mother herself, Annie noticed such things.

Hixson was mildly concerned about all the attention about to be lavished on shy Sarah. Any little kindness moved her greatly. He expected her to be overwhelmed by what was coming. Hixson searched a way to prepare her without spoiling the surprises. At last, unable to think of anything to say, he recruited Momma's help.

"You know, Ma, I don't believe I ever met anyone who is more grateful for any little thing than my wife is. If I so much as open a sticky jar for her, you'd think it was a grand favor."

"Yes, she is very sweet that way. She's no taker." Momma answered, waiting for Hixson to tell what was really on his mind.

"I've been thinking about all the generous things that everyone has planned for the new baby. Sarah's never been fussed over that way. I kinda hate to surprise her completely, you know?"

"Well you can't expect us not to give gifts. She just might have to get used to getting fussed over once in a while. Certainly when it's a new baby."

"I know everyone is almost as excited as we are, and want to share in the joy of the occasion. What I had in mind is that maybe you could find a way to sort of prepare her for the fuss. Maybe you could tell her about some other new babies or something?

"She has it in her head that all the gifts for Carlton and Annie's baby were just because Overby is a first grandchild. And that everyone has known them for so long. She doesn't expect that here. Do you think you could figure out a way to make her expect it a little bit?"

"I can try, son. She'll probably dismiss the idea, but I'll try. That girl hides her light under a bushel basket like no one I've ever known. But I suppose that's part of what makes her so endearing."

Momma refilled their coffee cups and sat with Hixson at the big table."What are you hoping for, son: a son to carry on the family name, or a pretty little girl to mirror her momma?"

Hixson's eyes misted with his search into the future and he answered, "I'm hoping for a healthy baby, whatever God gives us, and a healthy wife to spend my life with."

There was clearly a lot of meaning behind the words and Momma searched his face. After a long pause, Hixson recounted what Sarah had told him about the passing of the gift. Momma saw immediately that Hixson was worried both about Sarah and also about her gift. Was he adequate to the task? Only time would tell.

December 31, 1866--Dover, Pennsylvania

Sarah and Momma were cleaning up the last of the holiday messes at the Old Farm house. They were happily talking over the events of the past week when Momma decided to try to give Sarah an idea of what was about to happen.

"I'll never forget what it was like when your Hixson was born. He was my first baby, you know. It seemed like every woman in town had some gift, small or large, for him. New babies are so treasured that everyone wants to get in on the joy of it." Momma said.

"Well, but, you grew up here. Everyone knew you and loved you and must have been so excited for you." Sarah didn't expect any special treatment for herself.

"Hixson grew up here, and everyone loves you both dearly. I expect people all over the township are making baby presents right now. Just because you're new here doesn't make it less exciting for everyone."

"I'd be surprised if they fussed like that over me. They barely know me."

"Sarah, dear. You're not hearing me. It's not just you, though it's mainly you. People are getting ready to make a big fuss over that new baby, your sweet Hixson and YOU. You'd better start getting used to the idea."

Sarah looked blankly at Momma for a moment, and finally realized that Momma wasn't making idle speculations. She knew what was afoot. "I don't want people to fuss over me, though!"

"Too bad. That's what is going to happen and you might as well get over it. The fun part is you get to fuss over the next expectant momma who comes along. A new baby is something to celebrate. And becoming a momma for the first or fifteenth time is something to celebrate, too.

"Women draw together over motherhood. The ones who are mothers already know that it's the biggest change a woman ever faces. They know that it is a time of joy unmatched and sometimes, sorrows untold, and we relive that moment together. No matter who we are as women, or what kind of man we married or what kind of life we live, we all have this one thing in common. It's a bond between us that makes us, in a way, all sisters. And frankly, my little Sarah dear, it isn't your place to change this fine tradition of motherhood. It is your place to embrace it, and pass it on to the next new momma you come across.

"For the rest of your life, when you see a young woman who is expecting, or you see a new baby or a small child, you will recall these days of happy anticipation and you will rejoice for what was. Your children, like mine did, will grow away from you. But you will never forget this joyful time and you will never forget the time when they were babies, or when they were toddlers.

"Someday, even when you are long past your years of babies, you will help a daughter bring her baby into the light. And you will again feel the hopeful worry that we all feel when that time is at hand. As she strains to bring her baby, your middle will strain in sisterhood and you will be a part of the cycle of bringing babies into the world." Sarah looked into her mother-in-law's clear brown eyes and heard her words. Momma was telling her more than just the tradition of mothers.

She was saying that she understood. She knew what it was to be waiting for a change of unknown dimensions and joyful anticipation, trusting that all things would work out for the best. She knew.

January 10, 1867--Dover, Pennsylvania

Sarah couldn't reach the jar of pickles on the top shelf of the pantry. No matter which way she sidled up, stretched out or swung away, her huge belly was an obstacle between her and the pickles. Hixson walked in just as Sarah was twisting sideways, such as sideways was for her, and stretching to the end of her reach and was still a long way from the jar. She sighed in frustration and looked at him with a grin.

Hixson fetched down the jar and touched her face tenderly. "It's only a little while now and you'll fit again. The three of you will have to sort things out later."

"Would you quit with the twins jokes already? I'm not big enough to have two babies in here. Give me the pickles and quit picking on me." And then she kissed his cheek and put the jar in the cooling cupboard.

"I keep telling you that twins run in my family. Why would you think I'm joking?" "You're not funny, Hixson Matthew Morris."

"Ooooo. If you're going to use my FULL name on me, Sarah Elizabeth Westbay Morris, then we'll just have settle this when both of those babies are born." Hixson grinned his boyish grin at her and went back out to the barn.

Sarah couldn't eat any of the dinner she had prepared. Her appetite was off.

"Off her feed", Hixson told Poppa the next morning when they were chatting. Later, when Poppa told Momma that Sarah was off her feed, Momma went right over to have a look.

January 11, 1867--Dover, Pennsylvania

Sarah was sitting at her kitchen table with her back arched and her feet planted squarely on the floor in front of her. Momma walked in and looked into her face, questioning.

"I may have overdone a bit, yesterday." Sarah reported.

Momma looked again, and put her hand on Sarah's stomach, trying to tell if something was going on. Sarah's stomach was tense but not hard.

"Lay down on the bed for a moment, won't you, daughter? I'd like to have a good look at that bump that is my grandbaby."

Sarah lay down and lifted her blouse up so Momma could feel the baby and see what she thought. Momma pushed gently and felt carefully and smoothed her knowing hands all around Sarah's distended belly.

"Daughter, have you been having pains?"

"Some, but not regular."

"But more often than you've let Hixson know, haven't you?"

"Well, yes. It's too early, though, so I don't think it's time yet. Do you?"

"It's a little early, that's true. But not so early that it's impossible. Best you take it easy now for a while. You lay down and rest and I'll finish your morning chores. It would be better if you didn't have that grandbaby just yet. A week more could make all the difference."

Hixson came in to see his Momma kneading the day's bread, and his wife in the bed with her eyes closed and a flush to her face, one hand on either side of her belly. He hadn't realized before that how very big her belly had become. He sat down at the edge of the bed and laid a calloused hand on her small hand.

"Are you alright, Sarah? It isn't time, yet, is it?"

"I'm fine, dear. I think maybe I just overdid a bit. Momma is helping this morning so that I can catch my breath, is all."

Hixson caught his Momma's look and understood that even if it was a little early, he might soon be a father. Sarah got up to move around and try to ease her discomfort. She paced patiently and sat down from time to time. She did not want face the idea yet that she were really in labor.

January 12, 1867--Dover, Pennsylvania

Whether or not she wanted to face it, there could be no doubt in Sarah's mind when morning came. She was in labor. It was still early labor, and the contractions had not yet organized into something that could be timed, but her time was at hand.

Sarah hadn't slept all night, the irregular contractions preventing any kind of slumber. She was pacing silently in her nightgown and slippers when the sun rose. By the next sunrise, she thought, she would be a new momma.

Hixson woke to see Sarah walking patiently back and forth across the kitchen floor. Her long blonde hair was loose and flowing around her shoulders and her small hands rested on either side of her straining belly.

"Did you get any sleep at all, Sarah?" He asked.

"No, not really. But I'm fine, dear."

"Why don't you sit down a while, and I'll make you some coffee?"

"No coffee, thanks. Maybe a little weak tea?"

Hixson heated water in the kettle while the coffee brewed, and kept one eye on Sarah. "Are your pains close together?"

"Not yet. I think I'll get dressed and try for a regular day. By tonight, I expect I'll have other work to do. I have a long while yet, though." Now that she was sure it was time, Sarah found that her anxiety had passed and she felt calmly excited.

"I'll fix your breakfast, Hixson." She said, when he got eggs out of the cooler. "Tomorrow you might be fixing mine."

Hixson sat at the table with his coffee cup and watched his beloved wife as she slowly made breakfast. From time to time, she would stop and stand still with the color draining from her face. Then it would pass, her color would return and she would continue with what she was doing.

It was his first experience with the early stages of labor. When Momma had Eliza, he was just a boy and had been shooed outdoors to play. Where was Poppa then? He couldn't recall what Poppa was doing while Momma labored. He did know that his Granny would not permit Poppa in the bedroom while Momma gave birth. What was going to happen with that when Sarah's time came? Would he be needed in with her? Would she be alright?

Would her gift be passed on? Was it a boy or a girl?

Would she be alright?

Would she be alright?

Hixson loaded the back porch with firewood. He tended to his morning chores in record time, poking his head in to check on Sarah between every task. Around noon, Sarah asked him to fetch Momma.

"Don't get her in a panic, now. I have a lot of time yet. But you can't do anything for me right now, and you can't do anything for yourself for checking on me all the time. Maybe your Momma can keep me company and you'll feel better?"

When Momma saw Hixson galloping up to the house, she told Poppa, "I had a feeling that something was brewing over there. It's her first baby, so I imagine I'll be gone all the day. There's soup leftover from last night for your supper. You'll have to heat it up yourself."

"You don't really think I'm going to sit over here eating soup while our Sarah is having us a grandbaby, do you? Rosalia, where is your head?" Poppa laughed. "I'll hitch up the team. You better let Eliza know. She'll want to go, too."

Hixson bolted in the door calling for Momma. "It's time, Momma! Sarah wants you to hurry!"

"Did Sarah say to hurry, or are you saying it?" Momma asked.

"Well. Sarah said she had plenty of time. But she's been up all night." Hixson replied.

"If she says she has plenty of time then she does. But I understand how you feel, too, son so I'll hurry for you."

In fewer than ten minutes, Poppa had the buggy hitched up, Eliza was ready and Momma had packed up a few things to take, including the leftover soup.

When Sarah saw everyone with Hixson and there so quickly, she was upset. "Hixson, did you tell everyone to hurry? There's lots of time! You all didn't need to stop what you were doing!"

Poppa kissed the top of her head and smiled. "I'm here to keep your Hixson calmed down. I remember how I felt when Momma was having him. Our first baby... I was a nervous wreck. If my poppa hadn't been there to keep me corralled, I might have fainted with nerves."

"It's true!" Momma said. "His momma kept me company and his poppa kept him distracted. It's the only way to take on such business as having babies."

Poppa grabbed Hixson's arm and steered him out the door, saying, "Let's go see what a rotten job you did on your morning chores, son." And off they went.

Momma and Eliza sat with Sarah, chatting cheerfully but paying attention when Sarah had a contraction. Momma thought that the labor was progressing well and said so. "I think by midnight we'll find out what's what around here, daughter."

At 3 o'clock, Eliza went to tell Emma and Annie that Sarah's time was at hand. Poppa managed to keep Hixson outdoors until 4 o'clock, and that was the end of that. Hixson strode to the house, Poppa trailing with a grin on his face, and found Sarah pacing the floor, holding on to Momma's arm for support.

By half past six, the entire family had gathered in Hixson's house. Emma, Annie and Momma stayed in the bedroom with Sarah, having helped her changed into a nightgown. Eliza was the runner: running for cool water for Sarah or coffee for Momma.

At 2 o'clock in the morning, the men played cards at the kitchen table, and tried to talk of other things. Hixson looked at the cards in his hand, and thought the lamp must be out of oil. It was growing dark in the room. "I'll get some more lamp oil." He said.

Poppa laughed, "That's a terrible excuse, son. Just fold, if you got a bad hand or don't feel like playing."

"It's getting dark in here."

"Whatever you say, son."

"Don't it seem dark to you?"

Poppa looked up at Hixson and became concerned by his son's expression. "No, son. It ain't getting dark. Quit worrying and play." He said gently.

"Sarah!" Hixson ran into the bedroom. It was very dark in the room, only Sarah was in light.

"She's been asking for you. I keep telling her that this is no place for a man, but I was just about to get you anyway. She seems scared." Emma whispered as Hixson came to the bedside.

Hixson took Sarah's hand. In the faintest of whispers, Sarah said, "I'm so glad you're here. It's almost time."

Emma started to protest when Hixson got behind Sarah and wrapped his strong arms around her, but Momma laid her cool hand on Emma's arm. With an instinct for the power of what was about to happen, she said, "It needs to be this way, Emma."

Emma kneeled on the foot of the bed, ready for the baby to show. Sarah strained forward, her eyes squeezed tightly closed, and Hixson supported her from behind with his arms wrapped around her. Sarah's reached back and held Hixson's arms.

The room grew dark. Eliza took Momma's hand and Annie stood closer. They saw a glow coming from Sarah and Hixson together, as if lit from inside. Momma looked to Eliza, but couldn't see her in the profound blackness.

Hixson felt himself getting warmer. He felt his whole being hum and there was power moving through him, to Sarah, and from her to him. Like being caught in an eddy of light and energy, he was helplessly blind to all else.

Only Sarah.

He felt faint and yet somehow stronger than he had ever felt before. As Sarah pushed, a rustling, crackling noise filled the air and the room darkened to a complete absence of light. Golden-yellow light, blurring the vision of the women watching, rose from within Sarah until it enveloped both her and Hixson. It was if all the light in the world fixed on them, leaving all else dark. With a great effort and one last push, Sarah's baby was in Emma's hands.

Momma, Annie and Eliza held onto each other, awestruck and anxious.

"It's a girl!" Emma cried. She looked up at Sarah and felt a great fear. "What's wrong?!"

The light that was shining around Sarah only a moment before seemed to have evaporated. Even the lamps, which were burning on a high flame, couldn't penetrate the darkness in the room. Then suddenly, the light rose and the strange noise stirred and the watching women backed away in fear.

Sarah's eyes were huge and her face was very pale. With force, she told Hixson, "Don't let go!"

It was Momma who figured it out. "There's another one coming!" and sure enough, two minutes later there were two wet, squalling babies announcing their healthy arrival into the world.

The strange golden light spread out again, the room looked normal and the watchers wondered.

Poppa and Charlton heard raised voices and felt the mounting tension. Leonidus was praying harder than he'd ever prayed before. They exchanged worried looks all around until Emma came out of the bedroom with a tiny bundle and placed the precious little one in Poppa's arms.

"A granddaughter." She whispered.

A moment later, Momma came out and laid the second baby into Poppa's other arm, saying, "Your second granddaughter, dear." Tears of happiness were streaming down her face, and seeing them made Poppa's eyes fill, too.

Those were all the words that any of the women could manage. They were all overwhelmed with the wonder and the miracle of light they had seen.

"Twins! Twin girls! How wonderful!" Leonidus hooted and hugged his dear Emma in relief and joy. Charlton sat silent and smiling, overcome. He hugged Annie when she came out, and held her tight until she finally squirmed to be free. Eliza smiled through her tears while young Caleb held her hand.

Hixson stayed on with Sarah until she was well asleep, exhausted. He lay next to her in their bed, holding her and feeling her sleeping breath against his neck. He couldn't let go and he couldn't get the wonder out of his mind. Two daughters. What did the light mean? Who had the gift, now? All of his girls? None of them? What did it all mean?

Now at last he fully understood what gathering the light must be like for Sarah. All the world was dark and the light had shone only on her for those crucial moments. Hixson wondered how she managed it over and over again. He was tired. More than tired, he was used up, and he had felt her strength supporting him when the light took him. Sarah did this alone when she gathered the light. He held her a little closer, gave in to his weariness and closed his eyes.

Momma collected the twins from Poppa and Emma who were holding them, and brought them into the new momma. The older of the two, a girl with dark curling hair, was awake, but her blonde sister was sleeping. Momma laid the sleeping babe next to Sarah. Sarah stirred lightly, opened her eyes to her daughter, smiled and dozed a little longer. Momma sat in the rocking chair and held her granddaughter while the rest of the new family slept.

Tiny fingers, tipped with perfect little fingernails, held Momma's finger. Momma rocked the baby and considered the miracle she had witnessed. It was all too much to get her mind around. This baby, only hours old, seemed like any ordinary baby. Momma wondered if they could be possibly ordinary babies after such an amazing entrance into the world.

January 13th, 1867--Dover, Pennsylvania

Hixson woke early after their first sleepless night as new parents. One twin or the other seemed to have been awake every hour. Momma had stayed the night to help but there was still little sleep. Sarah was feeding one baby and Momma was changing the other.

Hixson sat down next to Sarah and ask, "I've been warning you to pick out two names. Guess next time you'll listen to me." And he took the baby from Sarah's hands, lifted her to his shoulder and patted gently. Sarah smiled at how comfortably and confidently Hixson handled the tiny girl, just as if he had burped a hundred babies.

After Momma left the room, Hixson asked the question that had been lurking all night. "So was that...was that... the passing on of your gift? When will we know who has it now?"

"I don't know. I've never seen it before, either. Grandma just told me that when the time came, I would know." Sarah replied.

"I hate it when people answer questions that way." Hixson laughed. "Do you think you still have it? Your gift?"

"I don't know. I don't feel any different that way."

"When did you first know you had this gift?" Hixson asked.

"It seems I always knew I could do this. I had to learn how to control it, because sometimes the light would start to gather for no good reason. But I was pretty big before I understood that this was something that other people didn't do. I thought it was just the way it was for everyone." Sarah replied.

"Huh." Hixson paused. "Then I guess all we can do now is wait and see."

"Hixson, how did you know to hold me so close right then, and to wrap your arms around me?" Sarah asked.

"I don't know. It just seemed like the right thing to do."

"It must have been.... I think everything came out alright."

January 20, 1867--Dover, Pennsylvania

All the Morris family and friends gathered in Hixson and Sarah's house. Pastor Baker was there to baptize the twins. Emma held the oldest twin, and Annie held the younger twin, with Charlton standing next to her. As both clergy and godfather, Leonidus Baker had a unique role.

Emma stepped forth and held her goddaughter as Leonidus sprinkled water on the baby's head. "In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I baptize thee Helena Rose Morris."

Annie and Charlton stepped forward, with the blonde baby girl, and Pastor Baker sprinkled water on her head. "In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, I baptize thee Clara Marie Morris."

Sarah and Hixson had long discussed the baby names, and the ooo-ing and aaahhhh-ing of their loved ones told them they'd made good choices. The babies were passed around so much they both started to fuss. Finally, Momma and Poppa took their tiny granddaughters away to rock them to sleep.

Eliza wrote down who gave what baby presents, and Annie helped Sarah place everything in the chest that Charlton built.

Neighbors had been dropping gifts by since two days after the birth; many of them had brought meals, too. Caleb had made an enormous white cake for the baptism, so everyone was munching cake or eating leftovers, sipping coffee and admiring the babies.

Hixson beamed and shook hands and accepted cigars even though he didn't smoke them. Poppa was similarly proud, and Charlton was enjoying his brother's joy.

Old Mr. Haught was there, more wizened than ever, and was so pleased with the two girls that everyone was stunned. "God don't make nothing any sweeter than a little girl. All the world is joy to them, and they're a joy to all the world." He said, and no one could argue.

When Sarah finally tired and went to sit down, the party broke up and people drifted away. Leonidus, Emma and Caleb went back to the bakery, dropping off Mr. Haught on their way. Annie and Eliza cleaned up while Sarah fed Clara. Helena was asleep in the cradle at the foot of the bed, and Momma was just sitting there, looking at her and smiling.

Poppa and Charlton helped Hixson with the afternoon chores, and then collected their respective women and left.

"Did you see all these baby gifts?" Sarah asked.

Hixson grinned at her and said, "I saw most of them before our girls were born."

"I've never seen so many presents. Everything is just beautiful. We are so blessed to have family and friends like that."

Sarah was touching the feather-stitching on one of the quilts and shaking her head. "Do you have any idea how much work is in something like this? To give away? That is so very generous!"

"Haven't you figured this out, yet, Sarah? They love you. They all love you. They are all so happy about YOUR happiness that they want to celebrate it. You're going to have to get used to being loved, because that's how it's going to be. You're not in Oak Hollow anymore. It's a new life."

March 13, 1867--Dover, Pennsylvania

Sarah was making coffee when Hixson yelled from the bedroom, "Sarah!! Come quick!!!"

She ran to him, the coffee pot clattering back to the stove as she dropped it. "What's wrong?"

"Look!" Hixson's eyes were huge as he stared into the cradle.

Clara and Helena lay on their sides facing each other. The twins usually snuggled very close together in their cradle. Now they were looking at each other and kicking their little feet and cooing.

And their little hands were full of light.
