Sarah huddled in a dark cloak below the sill of her bedroom window. How long had it been since she’d heard the board creak? Noises echoed dully in the night; every breath, every shift in bed scratched at her ears as she willed them away.
It had to be time. If she waited any longer, her determination to leave would land in a thick bundle on the wood floor, and she’d be stuck there. Forever.
A wave of dizziness pulled at her resolve, but she eased open the window instead of giving in to her anxiety. For a moment, her heart thudded to a stop when the wood of the window frame scraped against the sill. Don’t wake up. Don’t wake up. Her forehead leaned against the wall in preemptive defeat.
But all was silent. No sound.
Her fingers trembled as she pushed the window open a bit farther—just enough to pull herself through. All the while, she paid special care not to make noise as she dropped to the ground a few feet below. There she crouched, frozen with worry and fear till her body did start to freeze from the cold.
Tom would have called her right foolish for carrying on like that. Just do something. Do anything, he’d tell her. She’d do something—was doing something. Curse the brat for abandoning her to care for their siblings while he went off to school. Didn’t matter that Sarah was older by two years. Families sent off sons to get educated. Daughters were kept at home to clean house, later to be married off to the highest bidder.
At the last thought, she straightened her spine and stood. She could do this. She would leave and never come back. In a flurry of skirts, she was running, down through the orchard surrounding the old farmhouse.
Her feet pounded dully against the packed dirt of the drive, and she could feel each step written in the weak muscles of her legs. It had been far too long since she’d run. There wasn’t time to anymore, and chasing after dirty toddlers didn’t count.
Out of breath and with an ache in her side, she stopped at the end of the lane, hunched over and trying to breathe through the clouds puffing out of her nose. Sarah fought the urge to creep back to her bed and wait for the monster to retreat into the shadows once light pierced the dawn. This monster—no amount of light would keep him away. So she must be the one to do the leaving.
She straightened, reaching her fingers to the sky to work out kinks in her arms, back, legs. Everything would hurt soon enough. As she stretched, her hand bumped against an apple, one of the last of the season. Up on tiptoes, she grabbed it from where it drooped on a tired branch above her head. Crisp leaves brushed against her cheeks. In them she felt the fingers of a friend in mourning. After a brief tug on the ripe apple, the bough sprang back lighter, the tree’s long arm waving in farewell. The fruit tasted bittersweet, just like her decision to run away.
