Colsary, 1948
The day had been nothing short of dreadful for Sarah.
Regret gnawed at her as she mused over the ill-fated decision to accept the additional workload. Under the shelter of a Maple Tree in her quaint town named Maplewood, she found refuge from the relentless rain. The night sky, obscured by thick clouds, offered no solace—no stars, no moonlight. The rain poured relentlessly, and the wind howled like a banshee, a tempestuous force Sarah struggled to withstand. Her work dress clung to her, drenched, and her wavy auburn hair, once neatly tucked into a bun, now hung loosely on her shoulders.
“Why did I forget my umbrella today of all days?” she muttered to herself.
Glancing at her wristwatch, Sarah’s eyes widened at the time. The last train was due to arrive soon, but navigating through the storm seemed impossible. The rain and wind reduced visibility to zero, and branches fell perilously. Walking to the station posed a dangerous risk.
Sarah weighed her options. Waiting for a passing cab to take her home seemed the only alternative. However, the storm had driven away any chance of finding one. The town was deserted, shops closed, and her workplace was too far to consider backtracking.
She needed to go home. Waiting out the storm was not an option; she couldn’t leave her daughter at her neighbor’s overnight. Sarah felt a pang of guilt, fearing she had abandoned Daisy for her job, a sentiment she hoped would not mirror the actions of her own mother.
No. Sarah resolved not to follow in those footsteps. She wouldn’t be like her mother, who left for a supposedly better life. She needed to find a way home tonight.
Determined, Sarah grabbed her leather satchel, raising it above her head, ready to face the onslaught. Just as she braced herself to run through the storm, a bright light blinded her.
Squinting through the fog and rain, she saw a familiar pick-up truck approaching. Relief washed over her as she recognized the faces of her neighbors, the Johnsons, who often sell crops and grains to the market.
“Sarah, dear, is that you?” called Mrs. Johnson, descending from the truck with an umbrella shielding her from the downpour.
“Yes, thank goodness you passed through here, Mrs. Johnson.”
Sharing her umbrella, Mrs. Johnson guided Sarah to the passenger seat of the truck.
“Good evening, Mr. Johnson,” Sarah greeted the wrinkled man behind the wheel. “Thank you so much for the lift.”
“No worries, Sarah,” Mr. Johnson replied as he started the truck once his wife resettled in her seat. “We decided to close the shop for a while; the storm seems like it’ll last for more than a day, the radio says so.”
“Oh, I haven’t kept up with the news lately. I didn’t bring an umbrella with me today.”
“It came from Consehannon and now treading its way inside our country,” Mr. Johnson continued, adjusting the radio to get reception, creating static sounds. “Let’s listen to some updates; I hope it doesn’t get any stronger. It won’t be good for our fields.”
“I sure hope so,” Sarah shared the man’s sentiment. The storm threatened not only her journey home but also her garden, a crucial source of savings.
“What are you doing outside anyway?” Mrs. Johnson asked. “It’s almost midnight.”
Sarah’s eyes trailed down as she remembered what or who put her in this predicament.
“The girls at work gave me additional fabrics and clothing to sew and repair. They need to be done before tomorrow, so I stayed to finish everything.”
It had become apparent that her workmates were intentionally rude to her. Tonight, she tried to reason with them, explaining that she needed to go home for her daughter. However, they wouldn’t listen. Her boss, too, seemed to harbor ill feelings. Despite knowing the reasons for their hostility, she couldn’t fathom why they would go to such lengths to taunt her.
“Are they giving you a hard time because of that persistent suitor of yours?” Sarah turned her head to Mrs. Johnson, her eyes narrowing.
“Suitor? You mean Mr. St. Claire?”
“Who else could I mean, dearie?”
“But I didn’t let him court me.”
“But that’s what all the people at the marketplace are talking about. That he’s courting you.”
Sarah leaned back on the seat and closed her eyes in annoyance. Rumors spread fast in their small town, where everyone knew each other. But she wished people would mind their own business.
“No, I promise those rumors aren’t true. I told him firmly every time that my answer is no and it won’t change.”
She remembered telling Mr. St. Claire from the start that she wasn’t interested in a relationship. Her workmates were hostile because they admired the handsome, wealthy man.
Sarah knew better; she’d seen his true nature. She wouldn’t allow her daughter to be associated with someone who valued material goods and appearances over anything else.
With rumors circulating, Sarah wondered how to stop them from escalating. She didn’t want her daughter or herself at the center of attention, and she refused to be pressured into marrying for social status. The gossipy ones would love to spread tales if she gave in to Mr. St. Claire’s advances.
“Why not, if I may know?” Mrs. Johnson asked out of curiosity.
She didn’t want to be impolite, but Mrs. Johnson was known for gossiping. Sarah hoped the radio’s antenna would work to avoid the conversation, but it only produced static.
In defeat, she decided to offer the same answer she gave Mr. St. Claire to deter him. Perhaps this lie would also quell the rumors.
“I am already married to someone.”
The husband and wife turned to her with surprise.
“You’re what?”
“Married, happily to someone overseas, Daisy’s father,” Sarah continued with conviction, “But I’m not using his surname to preserve my father’s family name. It was an error on Daisy’s birth certificate since I gave birth when my husband was transferred back to his home country.”
“Overseas? Where is he from?” Mrs. Johnson continued to pry, and Mr. Johnson listened silently.
Sarah fabricated more details about her non-existent husband.
“From Viscardia, a traveling tradesman. He was unable to go home since we’re still recovering from the aftermath of the war six years ago. International transportation is limited, but he promised to try to come home this week.”
“Have you relayed this to Mr. St. Claire?”
“I did. I made it clear from the beginning that I would not entertain his advances.” Sarah hoped her firm rejection would dissuade him, but his parting words at her workplace yesterday hinted at an unwavering determination. Yet, he’s away for an extended period, isn’t he? Perhaps he’s straying from you, and he may never return. Why not find satisfaction with someone tangible and present, someone here to bring you joy? Sarah found these words neither convincing nor comforting. The sooner she could drive him away, the better.
“It worked!” Mr. Johnson exclaimed as the radio finally produced audible sounds.
The three of them leaned towards the radio, straining to hear over the loud rain outside the truck.
However, the news about the storm wasn’t the first they heard.
“Breaking news; an unknown defector from Consehannon entered the Colsary borders just this night. Authorities have been looking for the defector that seems to be a part of the military troop of Consehannon.”
“A military defector? Why would an enemy soldier cross the border?” Mrs. Johnson asked, her expression filled with worry. “Could it be that they’re planning another war against us? But the countries already signed a truce six years ago.”
“Well, defectors from Consehannon aren’t really news this time. They’ve been defecting since the war ended,” Mr. Johnson chimed in, “There have been a lot who were caught, and most of the reason, they say, is that Consehannon is oppressive for them. Only the rich and privileged are treated with respect.”
“Is that true?” Sarah asked curiously, and Mr. Johnson shrugged.
“There’s no way we can know unless we experience living there or encounter someone from there.”
“What happened to those defectors that were caught?” Mrs. Johnson inquired.
“They all got sent back to Consehannon, and the authorities there handle what they would do with the defectors.”
“They were to be punished if ever caught, right?” Sarah asked, seeking clarification, and Mr. Johnson nodded in response.
“Most probably.”
Sarah couldn’t help but feel sorry for those caught defecting, regardless of the reasons. She couldn’t imagine the sort of punishment they might receive from Consehannon if Mr. Johnson’s words about the country were true. They surely wouldn’t go easy on them, would they?
“The borders are too close to our village. You should be careful, Sarah, you and Daisy,” Mrs. Johnson’s words snapped Sarah out of her thoughts. Right, she has to worry about her and her daughter first rather than the defectors. “Speaking of Daisy, where is she right now?”
“At my neighbor’s house. She’s on a playdate, and they asked her to stay until night. I hope she’s doing alright. I’m going to pick her up on my way home.”
“Don’t worry, dearie, we’re close to going home.”