Chapter 8

As the door closed, Sookie stood with silent tears streaming down her cheeks, until she turned and headed toward the bedroom. Before she could reach the bed an overwhelming feeling of sadness came upon her. It felt as though an enormous hand pushed her down from above, as another, smaller one pulled her heart from her chest toward her stomach. She fell to her knees, wrapping her arms around herself and sobbed audibly for what seemed like hours. When not a single tear remained in her, she rose and methodically removed her dress, the dress into which she had placed so much effort and so much hope. She held it before her for a last inspection, then hugged it tightly to her body willing the promise it had held for tonight to supplant the desperation she now felt. "Why, oh, why did this go so wrong?" she cried into the dimly lit room. She opened the quilt box and placed the dress inside, smoothing the folds before resolutely closing the lid. She vowed she'd ever wear this frock again. Slowly her despair was replaced by anger. Anger at Arlene and the ladies of the town, who obviously begrudged her wanting to feel alive so soon after Sam's death, then eventually, anger at Eric for not holding his temper, for risking-- his secret, their lives together—everything just to shut up some drunken cowboy. What could possibly warrant such actions?

Pulling on her cotton nightgown, she climbed into bed, doubting she'd sleep at all. Exhaustion finally took over, however, and she slept soundly until she felt his touch. As always the slightest contact with Eric ignited in her passions beyond her control. As he stroked her face, her breasts, her stomach, she arched her back to encourage his further attentions. As his fingers deftly stroked the wet folds between her thighs, she moaned and whispered his name. As her pleasure heightened so she teetered on the brink of ecstasy, Eric's face was suddenly before hers, fangs extended, eyes blazing, not with lust, but with menacing rage. Screaming, she bolted upright in the bed. She was alone. It was a dream. Her heart pounded in a patchwork of emotions-- arousal, fear, and anger. She fell back on the bed and pulled the covers over her head.

When she awoke again, sunlight flooded the room. Her head pounded, her eyes were swollen, and her heart ached. The temptation to just pull the covers over her again was great, but she fought it and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Making her way to the kitchen, she stoked the fire and put on the pot for coffee. She sank into a chair at the table and stared, stared at nothing. Her mind was numb, she couldn't seem to form a coherent thought. Putting her head down on her crossed arms, she gave in to the numbness and slept again. Awakening to the smell and sound of the coffee boiling away over the fire, she jumped up. Grabbing an apron, she wrapped it around the handle of the pot and pulled it away from the heat. She'd have to wait for it to cool before she could drink any, but, for now, she was wide awake.

Chastising herself, she went back to the bedroom to dress in her work clothes. With Eric gone there were chores to be done. They were now long overdue. From the look of the shadows on the ground outside, it was past noon. As she pulled on the pants and shirt, she pushed away memories of the last time she and Eric had worked side by side under the stars. Stop thinking about him. He's gone. He threw it all away. He couldn't control his true nature. He's a monster. He warned you about that!

Passing through the kitchen on her way out, Sookie poured the scalded coffee into her tin cup and took a couple of sips. She pushed through the back door and headed for the barn. The cow protested loudly at her tardiness, which she thoroughly understood. Eric usually milked just before dawn, so that Sookie would have fresh milk waiting for her when she awoke. "Tomorrow, Bossy, I promise I'll be here early," she soothingly spoke to the animal before placing the stool at her side. The milking done, she climbed to the hayloft and threw down two pitchforks worth of hay for the dairy cow.

After placing the bucket of milk in the cooling room, she headed for the hen house. The nests were full of light brown eggs. After gathering them, she went back to the barn and filled a bucket with corn from the crib. She tossed it into the yard for the hens, who eagerly clucked and followed after her.

Returning to the house, she cooked herself some of the freshly gathered eggs, and drank more of the bitter brew in the blackened pot. What else did she need to do? Checking her stores of vegetables, she knew she needed to make a trip to the root cellar for more. Oh, the cellar, where he spent his days. I haven't been down there for months now. He took care of taking things down and bringing things up because I had told him how I feared to see him during his death-like sleeping periods. But if I don't go soon, I'll be out of food. The coldest part of winter is coming soon.

Deciding she had enough jars of preserved food to wait a few days before making the dreaded visit, she walked aimlessly around the house, desperately looking for some activity which might occupy her mind. Shortly she heard the sound of horses, several of them, approaching. Stepping onto the porch, she was not surprised to see Sheriff Dearborn and a posse from town.

"Afternoon, ma'am," the sheriff said, removing his hat, "I'm sorry to disturb you, but we need to talk to your hand, Northman. Would he about?"

Remembering Eric's words, she answered, injecting as much anger as she could into her voice, "I haven't seen the man since he drove me home last night. His horse isn't in the stall, the morning chores weren't done, so, no he's not here. I don't know where he is. What has he done, anyway?"

"Well, ma'am, to tell you the truth we don't rightly know. There was some trouble at the saloon last night. Sometime later, a young fella was found in the alley, hurt pretty bad. Talk was that he and Northman had words. We just wanted to find out what your man knows. Royce, well, he can't seem to remember much," Bud Dearborn seemed to be apologizing that he didn't have all the facts.

"You're welcome to look around if you want, but like I said, I don't know where he might be. I wouldn't have thought this of him, but I guess you just can't tell about cowboys, huh?" she said flatly.

"No, ma'am, that's true enough. I think I'll have the boys just look around the outbuildings if you don't mind," he said as he gestured for them to do so.

"Sheriff Dearborn, I'm so sorry, would you like some coffee, or cool water?" Sookie asked, trying to appear unconcerned about the visit.

"Don't mind if I do have some coffee, ma'am. There's a bit of a chill in the air today. Clear as it is, I wouldn't be a bit surprised to see a norther the next couple o' days. Snow, maybe," his eyes scanned the sky and horizon thoughtfully.

"Just let me warm the pot," she said turning to return to the house. Royce doesn't remember! That's what Bud had said. Was that true? If it were, then maybe Eric could come back soon. No! He made this choice, remember? His actions prove he doesn't care whether he stays here or not, with you or not. Stop thinking about him!

Several minutes later, the members of the posse rode back up to the porch to report that Eric Northman had apparently cleared his gear from the bunkhouse and skipped the country. Bud apologized to Sookie for any problem that would cause her, thanked her for the coffee, and mounted up to head back to town. Sookie breathed a sigh of relief, hoped no more would come of the incident, and resolved to get by on her own.

When she awoke the next morning before dawn, she kept her promise to Bossy, dressed quickly, and headed for the barn. The chores would be her responsibility again now, and she welcomed the activity. Keeping her mind occupied during the day, going to bed exhausted at night—that was the plan. When she stepped outside, she was struck by the accuracy of Bud's predictions of the day before. The gray sky hung low over the ranch and the north wind was biting cold. There would be more to do today than she had thought.

After milking and gathering the eggs, she screwed up the courage to enter the cellar and bring up a supply of goods to get her through what she was sure would be a few days of cold and snow. She descended the ladder slowly, then stood at the bottom with her eyes tightly shut for a full minute before she could turn and survey the storage area that had so recently been her lover's daytime abode. Holding the lantern high, she noticed the straw-stuffed mattress she had placed there for him. Looking more carefully, she saw something light lying near the head of the mattress. Walking gingerly to it, she bent to pick up the creamy muslin shirt she had sewn for Eric to wear to the dance. Holding it to her, she felt that crippling sadness that she'd felt when he left. Throwing the shirt forcefully away she screamed into the dark cellar, "No, Eric Northman, I will NOT pine away for you. You caused this by your damn uncontrollable temper! Leave me alone!" Fighting tears, she gathered jars of fruits and vegetables, potatoes, onions, and carrots into the burlap sack she carried and turned to climb the steps of the ladder back to daylight. Stopping at the bottom rung, she uttered to herself, "Damn him!" and turned back, retrieved the discarded shirt, and then quickly left the dark, dank space behind.

After stowing the foodstuffs away in the kitchen and tossing the shirt on her bed, Sookie decided she needed to gather food for the cattle in the pastures as well. Since the wind was getting even chillier, she added another layer of clothing, hitched the horse to the wagon, and rode to the pasture where Eric had cut and bundled hay for winter feeding. Grunting and groaning against the heavy load, she managed at length to pile the wagon with enough bundles for two days. She had to think about what to do if the snowfall was heavier than usual, or lasted for a longer period. Remembering what Sam had done, she took the hay she had loaded and drove the wagon to the pasture adjacent to the one the cattle currently grazed. She piled the hay there, then returned to the hay field and refilled the wagon. Now she should be able to feed the cattle for four days if needed.

Tired, cold, and hungry, Sookie returned to the house. Thankfully, Eric had stacked plenty of firewood outside the back porch a week ago. She brought in an armful and built a warming fire. She opened jars of beans and pears, made a pan of cornbread, and poured a glass of buttermilk. She ate eagerly, cleaned her dishes, and headed for bed. Shortly after her head hit the pillow, she was asleep, covers pulled close against the cold.

Sometime near dawn, he came to her, wearing the shirt she'd made. Lifting her gently from the bed, he placed kisses lightly along her neck before capturing her mouth with his. Her body responded instinctively to his touch, her back arching, a moan escaping her mouth as it moved against his. Remembering her anger, she pushed him away. Intending to tell him how hurt, how peeved she was at the way he had jeopardized their relationship, she opened her mouth to speak, but instead took a long look at him. His eyes were clouded, while again his fangs gleamed at her. The shirt that was creamy white just minutes before was now stained with blood and torn. He grabbed her arm roughly, dragging her from the bed and threw her against the wall of the room. "No, Eric, no!" she screamed as she sat up, throwing covers to the floor. Another dream. When was this going to stop? She put her hands over her face, sinking back into the bed. The next time she woke, she knew immediately that snow had fallen. The light from the window was slight, but distinct. Rising, and wrapping the quilt around her, he looked out to see that, indeed, snow covered the ground completely, and, in fact, still fell in soft, silent flakes as large as cotton bolls. She quickly dressed in the warm, rugged clothes she'd need to perform the chores, threw a new log on the fire, and headed for the barn. The cow and chickens tended, she came back to have some hot coffee and a slice of cornbread before riding out to let the pastured cattle into the hay she'd piled yesterday.

Wet and shivering, Sookie finally returned to the welcoming fire. The remainder of the day was spent sitting before it. Try as she might, she could not shake thoughts of Eric and of her disturbing dream. She had gone to her bedroom to look at the shirt. No, there were no streaks of blood, no rips as she had been so sure there would be. How could a dream be so real? And what of her feelings toward Eric? One minute she felt debilitating sadness at his absence, wishing only for his return, only for his arms to be around her. The next, her anger at his foolish loss of temper consumed her, and she vowed if he walked in the room she would pummel his chest with her fists, slap his face, and kick his shins, knowing all that would not harm him in the least. Exhaustion finally led her to burrow under the blankets of her bed in search of numbing sleep.

The snow ended sometime during the night, and the next day dawned with clear skies and bright sunshine. Wearing her high boots again, Sookie quickly took care of the milking and gathered the eggs, but decided the cattle would be okay. If it warmed today, the snow would begin to melt and they would be fine. She went back to the house to spend another day in the fruitless pursuit of settling her thoughts about Eric Northman.

By the next morning, fog had rolled in over the muddy ground and lingering patches of snow. The warm sun of the previous afternoon had turned most of it into puddles that were now covered with a thin layer of ice. Donning her layers again, Sookie cursed Eric for leaving her with these unwelcome chores before turning her curses to herself, for again bringing him to mind. Was it going to be another of those days?

As she slogged through mud to the barn and henhouse, she wondered where Eric might be. Had he stayed in the caves near the border of her property where he stayed before? Had he left the area completely to avoid contact with the lawman looking for him? Did he even know Bud was looking for him?

Noticing how badly Bossy's stall needed mucking, Sookie resigned herself to spending the morning attending to the messy chore. She lured Bossy out of the barn to the pen with a fresh bundle of hay from the wagon. Going to the corner of the barn, she picked up the broad bladed shovel and walked back to the stall. As she worked, she heard the approach of a single horse. Maybe Sheriff Dearborn was checking back with her. Shovel in hand, she stepped to the open door of the barn. The rider was not Bud. It was a cowboy with wavy hair showing beneath the brim of his hat and cuts and bruises on his broad face. Royce!

"Can I help you?" she demanded, removing any fear or weakness from her voice.

"Ahhh, you're Sookie Merlotte. Not exactly the vision I'd expected, I must say," his voice was sarcastic, his smile just vile.

"And you would be?" she snapped.

"Well, ma'am, I'm an acquaintance of your hand," he cleared his throat suggestively, "Eric Northman. He here?"

"He is not, and I'll thank you to leave my property immediately. And don't come back. I hardly expect Eric will be returning."

"Well, now, isn't that too bad. For you, I mean?" he said, as he dismounted. "All this work, I mean. In this cold, and this mud. Hardly a job for a woman. You are a woman, aren't you? Not dressed like much of one today, though." As he spoke he advanced on Sookie menacingly. She began to see why Eric might have wanted to shut this bastard up.

"Stop right there, mister. I told you to leave. I don't need your help or your foul mouth around here, thanks," she said while holding her ground.

"That so?" he said as he lunged toward her, grabbing her arm. Sookie jerked away forcibly, and would have slipped in the mud if not for the shovel still in her hand.

Taking a step back, she raised the shovel threateningly, "Leave!"

"Not without a taste, little lady. Northman seemed to think you were something special. Never seen a cowboy defend his boss lady so fiercely. I swear the boy grew fangs. I reckon I better get me piece of that." As he stepped toward her, he placed his hand at the waist of his pants, as if to remove them. Without a word, Sookie drew back the blade of the shovel and swung with all her might. The flattened metal of the blade landed square on the side of Royce's face, knocking him into the muck and mud. His cheek, already bruised, was red with blood. He didn't move, or make a sound.

Sookie didn't know whether he was dead or alive. And she didn't know what to do with him now. Throwing the shovel down and wrapping her arms around herself, she paced around the barn, wondering what to do next, wishing Eric were here. Finally she bent and placed her fingers against his neck. No pulse. He was dead. She'd killed him. Eric thought he might have, but he hadn't. She had. Damn.

Seeing no other recourse at the moment, Sookie drug his body into the barn. She unsaddled his horse and put it in an empty stall. She went to the house to think.

Eric had told her he felt her distress the night of the dance. That was why he dropped the fight with Royce and came to her. He'd also said he would be close by. That if she needed him, he'd know. Well, she damn well needed him right now. It was not long before sunset. She'd try her best to project her feelings of panic, hoping he'd feel, hear, whatever he did, and return to help her with this mess. This mess he'd brought on her.

As the sun set, Sookie stood, wrapped in a blanket on the front porch, watching the horizon. She remembered that first evening, when she caught sight of a speck that became a rider, Eric. She closed her eyes, said a silent prayer, and opened them to behold, again, a speck on the horizon.