Free September Wind by Kathleen Janz-Anderson

the ticking of the clock. She stood and listened for a few moments, and then rushed about preparing dinner.
    Claude didn’t show his face that night, but the others walked in tired and ready to eat, and then fell into bed.
    The next morning she awoke to a damp pillowcase against her cheek and an unfamiliar ache at the pit of her stomach. She yanked the covers back, and saw that blood had seeped onto the sheet. Scooting off the bed, she ripped her clothes off, then pulled on a bathrobe, and carried everything down to the washroom.
    Mist filled the bathroom as she sat in the tub with her arms around her knees, shivering, remembering the pain and humiliation. He would find her again, he said as much, his warning not to tell anyone made sure of that.
    It wasn’t new for her to try to avoid Claude, although to steer clear of him altogether was impossible. When their eyes met for the first time since that horrible day, she was chilled by the realization that his attitude toward her had changed. He was still mean and nasty, but a weaker side of him showed through, not in a pleasant way, but in a way that turned her stomach.
    As difficult as it was going about her chores and acting as if nothing had happened, it was the thought of Daniel that kept her from falling apart. She longed to confide in him, but that could never happen. Still, she imagined if she did tell him, he would hold her close with his gangly arms, and promise her no one would ever hurt her again. Daniel, with his gentle heart, would make things better.
    At last, the day arrived for her to see him again. She got up early, did her chores, and then fixed most of the dinner she would bring out to the men when she returned home.
    When she reached Daniel’s turnoff, she sat in the grassy area next to the ditch until she saw him come up the road.
    She stood, wanting to run to him, to fall into his arms and tell him everything. Although she waited quietly, watching his every movement, knowing that things had changed, she had changed. Daniel seemed to know something was different about her too, the way he walked up to her without reservation and stood looking into her eyes.
    “I missed you,” he said, then raised a hand and brushed a piece of hair off her cheek.
    She swallowed, fighting back tears. “Me, too.”
    He took her hand, and they walked up the road just like before, although he looked at her differently now. She could tell he wanted to say something; but instead he squeezed her hand, and gazed off into the distance, most likely thinking about her and that she had changed. Whatever it was; if it was written on her face, or evident by the way she stood, or the tone of her voice, she felt it all around her; she was part of it. She didn’t want pity from him, not one bit. All she wanted was for him to know how much she needed him.
    Their basketball game that day wasn’t quite as rambunctious as the times before. There was less teasing, not exactly mellow, but quieter, and in a way more mature. Then when they took the swings up, they didn’t laugh as much, although several times they stole glances at one another as if they had a silent bond that didn’t need words. That’s how she took it, anyway. She wished she could tell him about her change, and considered doing so, but then she was afraid he would look down on her if he knew the details. That would be part of the shame she’d have to carry alone.
    It was almost time to go. He took her hand and led her to a grassy area where they sat and talked, not about school, or basketball, but about life. He told her someday he wanted to be a lawyer and have a big house in town, and that he planned to have at least three children. That last comment surprised her, but it thrilled her too. She told him one day she wanted to take a train to San Francisco, and that she couldn’t decide if she wanted to be a teacher, a writer, or something else.
    When it was time to leave him at the corner, he bent to kiss her cheek. He