In just about half an hour, Sarah finally arrived at their small village safely. It was impossible for a car to navigate the narrow streets leading to Sarah’s house, almost hidden in the woods. Despite having neighbors, Sarah’s home was isolated in the village, a characteristic she cherished for its peace and quiet.
Mr. and Mrs. Johnson bid their goodbyes, dropping Sarah at the village entrance. She expressed her gratitude once again for their help and reminded them to be careful since the storm hadn’t subsided completely, though thankfully it wasn’t as windy as before.
Carrying a hand-cranked flashlight borrowed from Mr. Johnson and an umbrella from Mrs. Johnson, Sarah trudged her way to the neighbor’s house first.
Through the dissipating fog, Sarah could now make out the exteriors of the houses, finding the right door to knock.
In this tiny village of Maplewood, traces of the war fought six years ago still lingered in the landmarks and establishments. Being the town closest to the border, Maplewood had suffered considerable damage from bombings. However, after the peace treaty was signed between Consehannon and their country, Colsary, peace was finally achieved. Sarah and her daughter could now live a peaceful life without fearing what might happen tomorrow.
Yet, there were still disruptions to their peace despite the absence of war, notably Sarah’s persistent suitor. She needed to find a way to make him stop. Ideally, she could ask someone to play pretend as her husband to deter Mr. St. Claire. Presenting tangible proof of her marriage might make him aware of his limitations.
However, in her narrative, she had already informed Mr. St. Claire, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, that her fabricated husband hailed from a foreign land. The notion of finding an actual foreigner to pose as her spouse, if only temporarily, seemed like an implausible challenge. It was as if she were wishing for a miraculous event, imagining that the storm and forceful winds might somehow deliver a foreign gentleman to her doorstep, ready to play the role of her husband for a brief duration, just until Mr. St. Claire ceased his persistent pursuit.
Sarah chuckled at the absurdity of such a fanciful notion.
Finally, she arrived at the house where her daughter was staying for the day. Fortunately, her neighbor was still awake even though it was past midnight. Daisy was sound asleep inside her neighbor’s home, unaware that her mama was carrying her. A smile broke out on Sarah’s exhausted face. Everything she had gone through just to come home tonight felt somewhat worth it.
After expressing gratitude for her neighbor’s hospitality, she continued her way home, now with her daughter in her arms. After a few more walks, she finally arrived at their humble abode in the woods.
Sarah sighed in relief as she unlatched the gates of their abode. She longed for the solace of her bed, eager to ease the strain in her weary muscles. She had been stitching ceaselessly until night, and her hands now tingled with numbness.
However, her relief turned to a near scream of surprise when an unfamiliar figure welcomed them at her doorstep.
An unconscious sandy-blond man in a military uniform, covered in dirt and bruises, lay before her. Blood flowed from his head, and his hands was also bloody.
Is he dead??
Sarah calmed herself despite the panic and horror that surged through her at the sight. What should she do? Then, she remembered Daisy was still in her arms, and she didn’t want her to witness this gory view. She had to get her inside first.
Thankfully, the soldier wasn’t blocking her door, so Sarah decided to take Daisy inside before checking on her unexpected guest.
She hurriedly got her daughter to her bed, kissed her on the forehead, and covered her with a blanket, whispering, “Sweet dreams, my little flower.”
Sarah then immediately went outside to her doorstep to check the soldier’s vital signs. She took his wrist and checked for his pulse, sighing in relief when she felt it. Good, she didn’t know what she would do with a corpse.
Kneeling beside him, she could see how severe his scars and bruises were. A graze on his right arm was seeping blood, likely from a sharp branch. His head still bled, as if it had been struck on something hard, like a rock. Drenched in the rain, he looked sorry and painful to behold.
What could have happened to him?
It wouldn’t be good for him to stay outside. It was cold and stormy, and he could get sick. His wounds needed attention to prevent infection. If his bleeding won’t stop he might die.
Sarah shifted to his side, lifting him by putting one of his arms around her. Then, she noticed a familiar flag stitched on his sleeve.
The Consehannon Flag.
H. Isenberg
Then, the realization finally dawned upon her. This gentleman was the military defector from Consehannon.
Sarah carefully maneuvered the unconscious soldier through the doorway and into the warmth of her humble abode. The dim light revealed more details of his battered appearance. His uniform, bearing the Consehannon flag and the name H. Isenberg, clung to him, soaked and stained from the rain and mud.
Gently laying him on a couch, Sarah retrieved a clean cloth and a basin of warm water. With a sense of urgency, she began tending to his wounds. The soldier’s face contorted in pain as Sarah cleaned and dressed the injuries.
As she worked, Sarah’s mind raced with questions. What had driven this man to defect from Consehannon? What harrowing journey had brought him to her doorstep in such a dire condition?
The soldier stirred slightly, his eyes fluttering open. For a moment, panic flickered in his gaze, but as he took in his surroundings and met Sarah’s eyes, a cautious gratitude replaced the fear.
“Easy now,” Sarah whispered, offering a reassuring smile. “You’re safe here..”
He managed a weak nod, a silent acknowledgment of the sanctuary she provided, and then went into a peaceful and deep slumber once again.
Sarah continued her ministrations, silently marveling at the twist of fate that had led her to this unexpected encounter.