Page 27 - Homestead By Ann Newhouse

wounds which were still bound, but not as painful to walk on. I was wearing a pair of leather moccasins I had borrowed from Josh, which were two sizes too big for me. Tonight, Sofie intended to remove my bandages for good, but I was also looking forward, nervously, to entertaining a lady, for the first time. Of course, I have shared meals with my mother, but I suppose that didn’t count. Sofie arrived carrying a couple of beers.
“I can allow you to have a drink tonight, as I’ll be reducing your medication now that your feet are free of infection.” She said, holding up the bottles.
“That’s good, now maybe I can soon speak with your father and ask if I can stay and work, and start to repay you for your kindness,” I knew I was trembling a little as my voice wobbled.
“That would be a good idea, as I’m going to move you over to a private room in the medical hall. I want to move back in here, as I don’t like living in the big house. My father is too controlling, and I spend all my time being referee for him and my brother.” Sofie showed relief at the prospect of returning to her cabin.
“I’m sorry if I have made your life difficult, I’ll make it up to you I promise.”
“No need, it was my wish for you to stay, but I’m now happy you have recovered and can start to take your life back.” I was humbled at her concern.
The meal seemed to be a success. We chatted and laughed into the night. My feet were the main topic. Sofie said she has never seen feet with what looked like the map of the Wild West tattooed on them. I had many deep wounds and lumps from the infection, giving this impression. Before leaving she promised to set up a meeting with her father, in the medical hall, where I would reside until further notice.
I had a restless sleep, waking up every hour or so. My dreams were about my family or lack off. I dreamt they found the bodies of my parents and had come looking for me. They accused Sofie of helping me, and her father blamed Josh for the deaths. They took Sofie and Josh off to jail leaving me to face her father who was about to hang me when I woke up in a sweat, calling out, “No . . . No . . . it was me.”
I wanted to apologise to Sofie next morning, about the dream, but of course I couldn’t without telling her every detail of my life. Instead I greeted her by having breakfast on the stove when she came over. Inquiring about her father’s answer to our meeting.