Sarah Jane

By David Newell

A farm family of four in 1872 adopts a runaway black boy into their family in Vermont. The family unit is solid and includes him into their daily lives. Unfortunately, Vermont is not known for its diversity. Things are not as harmonious as one would expect, but they prevail.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Oct 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9798889601616

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Sarah Jane

David Newell

Copyright © 2023 David Newell

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2023

ISBN 979-8-88960-150-0 (pbk)

ISBN 979-8-88960-178-4 (hc)

ISBN 979-8-88960-161-6 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

To Nadine, my best friend and my wife of fifty-three years and counting, who motivated me to complete this novel

Acknowledgments

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

About the Illustrator

About the Author

To Nadine, my best friend and my wife of fifty-three years and counting, who motivated me to complete this novel

Acknowledgments

West Wardsboro, Vermont, and the surrounding towns in this work are real. I would like to stress to anyone familiar with this remarkable area that I have taken liberties with the geography and its people. The Newell Farm actually was my family's farm, but that's as close to real as it gets.

Most of the characters are fabricated, and their names I have borrowed from the diaries. I'm sure I have given them a little more life than they actually experienced.

The readers of my manuscript—Rip Henley, Mike and Holly Gransky, Phyllis Rao, Sue Hveem, Martha Newell, Fran Mirabilio, Edward Barkett, Genevra Rao, Beverly Krake, and Andy Ward—were remarkable and extremely helpful. Kudos to my typist and friend, Judy Ryan, and thanks to Ron Fairchild, reference and technology librarian at the Woodbury Public Library.

Plaudits to Mary Jane and David Strong, my go-to historians, and to Mary Jane for her steadfast and thorough examination of my writings.

To Pat Gage, a true, longtime friend who passed before this novel saw print, to her I owe a deep gratitude for her inexhaustible support.

Prologue

Sarah Jane was my aunt on my father's side of the family. She and her husband and my family all lived in the same town. She had no children, and of all her relatives, she favored me and my sister the most, we being the youngest.

My mother and Sarah Jane were great friends. They were cut from the same cloth. Family came first; everything else was second.

Her husband, an excellent carpenter, died after a reasonably long life, and she became a widow for many years. I helped as best as I could around her house, being just a boy of sixteen. I mowed her lawn, shoveled out the winter storms, and did errands when asked.

Later in life, I became a teacher; and in the summers, I did small repairs and some additions to people's homes. When my aunt Sarah Jane died, since she knew I did carpentry work, she left the contents of her house to my sister and the contents of the cellar to me, for that was where my uncle kept all his carpentry tools.

I was honored to inherit his wonderful hand tools. However, the biggest surprise was a trunk filled with a collection of her diaries. The following stories came from that trunk. The oldest diary was dated January 1, 1868.

Chapter 1

Wales

Mom, Wales's father died last night. Do you think I should go to the funeral? Sarah asked.

Two things first, Mrs. B. said. Who is Wales? And when is the funeral?

Mrs. B., as everyone called her, was Sarah's mother.

Mom, Wales is the man I've been seeing since the square dance in East Jamaica about six months ago, said Sarah.

News to me, responded Mrs. B.

Okay, Mom, maybe I didn't keep you up to speed on all my activities lately, said Sarah. But that's who he is.

When is the funeral, Sarah? asked Mrs. B.

This Saturday at 10:00 a.m. in West Wardsboro, replied Sarah.

Do you want me to go with you? asked Mrs. B.

No, I don't think so was Sarah's reply. I most likely won't want you to meet him for the first time at his father's funeral.

Sarah and Wales had had a few non-dates over the last few months—some quiet walks along the river, holding hands, a few picnics, and even a play.

Sarah was quite taken with Wales. He was extremely handsome. He worked hard on his father's farm, doing most of the chores alone, especially during the last few months with his father's failing health.

He had created a system where he would cut a field of hay or clean brush along the outside perimeter of the field, and then he would take a break in the middle of the day and go to the farm pond for a swim. He always swam nude. He would dry himself off by lying on a small beach he had created before returning to his next chore.

Most farm boys had a farmer's tan, but Wales's tan mark went a little lower on his backside than most. He was certainly a true specimen of the male species, and God had certainly been generous with his reproductive equipment.

The funeral was very well attended, because Wales's father was well-known; he was a former selectman, a justice of the peace, a member of the Cemetery Association, and a successful farmer. His wife had passed away some years ago, and he never really got over her passing.

Sarah's teachers had recommended her for a job in Montpelier, at a law office, in their accounting department. She was a wiz at figures and extremely organized. She had taken a small two-room apartment in a boarding house right in town. She could walk to work.

She dated here and there, made some good friends, and was very fetching. She had a couple of long-term relationships, but her heart had not been on fire over any of them. She had a good head on her shoulders, which probably set her apart from the rest of the dating crowd.

Sarah had lived with her mother and her brother, Chris, before she took the job in Montpelier. She came home recently just for a short visit but realized how much her mother had failed physically in the past year. She was nineteen, and her brother, Chris, was seventeen. Their father had died several years ago.

Farming in Vermont was not an easy occupation. Their social life usually revolved around the church and farm activities, but it was basically farmers helping farmers. When a neighbor's house or barn burned, you helped him out, whether he had been balancing his checkbook. When there was a death in the family, the women in the neighborhood cooked and baked and saw to it that everyone was fed and that the children were looked after. When the farmer next door broke an axle on his wagon, everyone in the valley came around to get in his hay. That was just the way it was.

Sarah decided to go to the funeral, if only to support Wales. She thought she probably wouldn't know many there, and her intentions were to stay in the back of the gathering anyway. It was a graveside service only.

Wales's father was a veteran, so the undertaker had arranged for a three-gun salute as part of the ceremony. It was during that volley that Wales noticed Sarah in the back of the crowd. He slightly nodded to her to acknowledge her presence. She felt good about that.

The graveside ceremony concluded, and the people gathered, in an unconventional way, and made their way up to pay their respects to Wales and his sister, Jane. Sarah didn't join those good-hearted people; instead, she made her way back to her buggy. She was delayed by a few people she did know and chatted with them for a few minutes.

It was obvious Wales wanted to speak to her, but under the circumstances, he couldn't. Wales, at this point, asked his brother-in-law, Bill, to ask Sarah if he could stop by the farm the next afternoon. Sarah told Bill that would be fine. Bill relayed that message to Wales.

The next day, Wales went to see Sarah. He arrived a little after 2:00 p.m. at her farm. He wanted to make sure he didn't arrive during lunch. Sarah greeted him out in front of the house and brought him in to meet Mrs. B. and Chris, who both extended their hand and gave him their condolences.

Sarah gave Wales a short tour of the farm, accompanied by Chris.

Sarah said to Chris, Wales might be our answer to all those chickens being delivered Wednesday.

Maybe, said Chris.

Wales, could you help Chris and me unload ten crates of chickens in a couple of days? asked Sarah.

Sure, responded Wales, especially if Chris could help me load three young heifers onto a wagon the day after.

It's a deal! said Chris.

This started a barter system between the two farms. Wales would help them, and Chris and sometimes Sarah would help Wales. Wales wanted to reduce his heifer population, because it had become a burden on his farm time and wasn't what he wanted to do in his life at this time.

*****

The chickens arrived, and their unloading proved to be a hilarious undertaking. Sarah had her father's big boots on and couldn't feel her toes, so when she stepped on a chicken, she didn't know it.

Wales, this chicken isn't moving, said Sarah.

Well, I can see why, Sarah. You're stepping on her foot! said Wales.

Oh! said Sarah.

Then Wales got into a funny mood. With a high-pitched voice, he impersonated Sarah.

The chicken isn't moving, Wales.

They all broke up laughing, especially Chris, who thought he was going to wet his pants. There were feathers everywhere, but the job got done, and all the chickens lived. Sarah let out a big laugh—at her own expense, of course.

The next day, Chris saddled up a horse and went to Wales's farm to help him load up the cattle. Wales had already put the three heifers in a separate paddock so they would be easier to load. He was in the milk house when Chris arrived.

When Chris walked into the milk house, it was obvious to him that Wales was distraught over something. Wales was reflecting back on the days when he and his father would load the cattle together. He turned to face Chris with tears running down his face.

Chris did not know what to do, so he did what came naturally. He approached Wales and hugged him.

Wales did not move until Chris said, I'm going to keep hugging you until you hug me back.

Wales responded with a hug. This started a great relationship between the two men.

Wales rode his horse back with Chris to their farm and stayed for supper. Wales asked Mrs. B. and Sarah if they could spare some time within the next few days to help him go through his mother's closets and sort through the accumulation. The closets had not been touched for a number of years.

Mrs. B. said, I would be happy to help.

Her church was gearing up for a big spring rummage sale.

Sarah said, Of course, Wales.

Wales spent the next few months trying to liquidate his animal stock. He didn't really fancy running a farm anymore, especially alone. What he was really doing quietly was getting it ready for sale. He had been thinking about it for some time now and had decided to break off a section to retain for himself and maybe build a small cabin to call home.

Chris was to graduate from high school in May. Every other weekend, he would set up a booth at the farmers' market in Newfane, where he sold eggs and vegetables from his expansive garden. It was at one of these gatherings that he met Ann, who ran a similar booth with produce from her father's farm in East Dover. Chris said they were just friends who liked to hang out and talk, that they weren't serious or anything. Well, that was what Chris said anyway.

Wales had a good summer and early fall. He did some minor repairs for Mrs. B. and ate there a lot. He and Sarah spent a lot of time together. Wales even took them all to town one summer evening for supper. He thought Mrs. B. needed a night out from cooking.

The courtship was on its way. It was obvious to all that Wales and Sarah had become a couple.

Chapter 2

The Proposal

Sarah, Wales is here.

Mrs. B. greeted Wales and explained that Sarah had been looking out that window for ages, hoping to catch a glimpse of his wagon before he made the corner.

And don't let her tell you otherwise.

Thanks, Mrs. Brown, for the tip, replied Wales.

Sarah, Wales is waiting.

I'll be right there, Mother. Get Wales some ice tea, would you please?

Mrs. B. asked, Would you like some homemade ice tea, Wales?

I think I would, he answered. I think it might take the edge off these dusty roads.

Let's have it out on the porch while we wait for her. How long have you two been dating? It might be time for you two to settle down.

Now, Mrs. B., don't be so impatient. Time will come for that, Wales said, thinking she might be right.

Here's my Sarah, Wales said as he gave her a quick hug and kiss. Been having a nice chat with your mother over some delicious, homemade Vermont ice tea. You want some?

Sarah shook her head and said they should be moving along, or they would miss the little daylight left.

Thanks for the ice tea, Mrs. B. It is always a pleasure to set a spell with you on this marvelous porch.

She asked, Where are you off to this evening anyway?

We're going up to the apple orchard on the old road leading to Dover. We thought it might make a great spot for an evening picnic.

Mrs. B. smiled and said, Well, you sure picked a warm one.

Wales loaded the basket and blanket into the back of the wagon and then helped Sarah up into the wagon. With a wave to Mrs. B., they were off, getting closer to each other as they put some distance between them and the house.

The apple orchard was almost five miles as the crow flew toward Dover, but they had each other, so it didn't seem very long. The love they felt for each other was strong, and you could see it when they were together. Their reflections bounced off each other as they glowed in the evening sunset.

Wales was a lean, muscular machine and tanned, well-groomed, and quite a dresser for a twenty-nine-year-old farm apprentice. Because of her father's passing, Sarah ended up with all the farm chores at the farm, especially those her little brother couldn't handle. The three of them—Sarah, Mrs. B., and Chris—kept the farm going just as if Dad was still there.

In Vermont, that was the way it was. The neighbors helped at peak times when asked, which wasn't often. Wales, of course, helped out a lot. This gave Wales and Sarah lots of time to plan, dream, and wonder what it would be like on their own farm.

Wales guided the horse around a sharp turn, and the apple orchard came into view.

There it is, exclaimed Sarah, right up the road on the right!

They found a place to tether the horse and set the wagon off the road. They got the basket and blanket and started to climb up the steep hill to a beautiful, open meadow filled with wildflowers and plush green grass. They found a secluded spot near the wood's edge but still in the meadow and set about placing the blanket in a smooth spot where they could stretch out and enjoy the air, sky, and each other.

They lay together for a long time, it seemed, before Sarah announced it was time to eat. She unpacked the basket and spread their lunch out on the blanket: fried chicken, cheese, and grapes with a bottle of homemade wine. They ate, feeding each other, laughing, touching, and kissing.

After a while, they lay back on the blanket and just listened to the sounds of the field and stream.

"Sarah? Is