Sarah My Beloved (Little Hickman Creek Series #2) Read online

  As I've come to expect from her, Sharlene MacLaren writes an engaging story with characters I'd like to call my friends. Through this tale of faith and the journey to triumphing over grief, she paints a beautiful picture of what home can be, when it's made by people willing to open their hearts to each other and to the Lord. I can't wait to see what's waiting for me next in Little Hickman Creek.

  -Roseanna White, Christian Review of Books

  Sharlene MacLaren makes you feel right at home in Little Hickman. With charming, down-to-earth characters and back drop, I felt like a lifelong resident. Curl up in your favorite chair and prepare to be transported to a simpler time. A delightful addition to the Little Hickman Creek Series.

  -Teresa Slack, Author of the award-winning Jenna's Creek Novels

  Sarah, My Beloved is a keeper! Sharlene MacLaren has written an engaging historical romance that will keep you turning the pages and reliving scenes from the Callahans' lives long after the back cover is closed. Watch for this author when you want just the right touch of detail and depth mixed with humor and meaningful emotion brought to a satisfying ending.

  -Mildred Colvin, Author, winner of Reader's Choice Award

  Sarah, My Beloved is a fresh take on the "marriage-ofconvenience" plot, with wonderfully fleshed out characters. Sharlene MacLaren weaves a touching story that grips the heart, and leaves the reader satisfied, yet wanting more.

  -Deborah M. Piccurelli, Author, In the Midst of Deceit

  This faith-based story reveals how a blended family can move from fractured to whole. For an absorbing read, get to know the Callahan clan and visit Little Hickman, Kentucky, through author Sharlene MacLaren's keen words.

  -Cathy Messecar, Author, The Stained Glass Pickup

  A mail-order bride and a marriage in name only are tucked flawlessly inside a historical novel you won't want to put down. Sharlene MacLaren has done it again.

  -Molly Noble Bull, Author of The Winter Pearl and Sanctuary

  Sarah, My Beloved is a charming addition to the Little Hickman series. MacLaren writes with a colorful voice that will keep the reader turning pages. Filled with dynamic dialogue and likeable characters, this books is one you won't want to put down. A satisfying read for those who love a gentle romance.

  -Lacy Williams, Reviewer for Armchair Interviews and the Christian Suspense Zone

  Sarah, My Beloved is a delightful addition to the Little Hickman Creek series. Red-haired and strong-minded, Sarah is a match for any man, even Rocky Callahan. A heartwarming story that hooked me from page one. Sharlene MacLaren has done it again.

  -Barbara Warren, Author, The Gathering Storm, Jireh Publishers Blue Mountain Editorial Service

  Little Hickman Creek Series

  ~~Z~~aih

  A>~ 1,3e-~.eW

  To my darling husband, Cecil, the inspiration behind my writing...

  And the true love of my life.

  (You had me with that first kiss.)

  Little Hickman Creek Series

  January 1896

  t was the nicest, pertiest weddin' I ever did see." The woman's high-pitched voice soared across the room.

  "You're right, Mrs. Warner. Never saw a sweeter couple," another woman chirped in reply.

  "And so in love," someone twittered.

  "Why, the bride fairly glowed."

  "Indeed."

  The ceaseless nattering of female voices forced twentyseven-year-old Sarah Woodward to find a hiding place in a far corner behind a bolt of purple gingham in Winthrop's Dry Goods. Her presence in the store had gone undiscovered since she'd entered ahead of the others and while the owner was in the back room. Too embarrassed to show her face now, she longed to disappear between the slats in the worn wood floor. After all, the aforementioned bride should have been her.

  It seemed a cruel twist of fate that the man she'd agreed to wed by means of the Marriage Made in Heaven Agency out east, and had traveled halfway across the country to meet up with, had fallen in love with the town's schoolteacher before Sarah even had the chance to lay eyes on him. She should have known better than to seek the assistance of a mail-order bridal service for the sake of adventure, never mind that she'd felt certain God had led the way.

  Of course, the man had been a gentleman about it, apologizing profusely for the mix-up in communication. His message to halt the proceedings had not reached her in time, and he had offered to pay her for her trouble, namely sending her back to where she'd come from-Winchester, Massachusetts.

  Naturally, she'd refused his offer of compensation. She didn't want his money. Besides, she wouldn't go back to Winchester-not as long as Stephen Alden, attorney-at-law, lived there. The man seemed bent on marrying her, and it was truly the last thing Sarah wanted.

  It wasn't as if her heart had broken over the news of Benjamin Broughton's plans to wed another. She scarcely knew the man. No, it was more regret than heartbreak, regret that her plans had failed. After all, without the benefits of a marriage license, Stephen would still consider her open territory-might even chase her down-and she couldn't have that.

  Lord, there has to be another way, she'd prayed in earnest that first night she'd arrived in Little Hickman, Kentucky, and learned that her trip had been in vain. But if there was another way, He had yet to reveal it to her.

  "And to think that poor Woodward woman traveled all the way from Massachusetts to marry Benjamin," someone tittered.

  Sarah's throat went dry as she covered herself more fully with the bolt of cloth, praying no one would notice her. So far, her luck had held, but if the women didn't vacate the place soon, she felt certain she was in for more humiliation. As if she hadn't already taken the prize in that department.

  The ring of the cash register's drawer opening floated through the air.

  "Yes, it's a shame she made the wasted trip," said one woman. "Of course, what would one expect? Imagine! Calling on a marriage service to procure a husband. It's beyond me why any woman would resort to such measures. It makes one wonder."

  A round of concurrence rose up amid all the yammering.

  "Mighty pretty thing, she is. Looks like she comes from wealth," said Mrs. Warner, the only woman whose voice Sarah recognized.

  "Yes, doesn't she?" agreed one. "She wears such fine cloth„ ing.

  "But that hair," rattled another. "Seems to me she ought to do something about that awful mass of red curls!"

  Sarah instinctively seized a fistful of hair and silently rebuked her mother for having passed it down to her. It was true. Her thick, unruly, garnet-colored mane had been akin to a curse. For once, she would like to walk into a room and not feel the stares of countless eyesas if she'd grown two heads and three arms.

  "I agree. It looks like a ball of fire most of the time. Even hats don't seem to cover the worst of it." Sarah recognized that particular voice as belonging to the proprietor, Mrs. Winthrop, a woman seemingly determined to discover everyone's biggest fault.

  Sarah swallowed hard and adjusted her feet, still ice-cold from her walk from Emma Browning's Boardinghouse. She waited for the small gathering of gossipy women to disperse, taking care to keep her head down and her eyes on her leather tie-up boots.

  About the time she thought the last woman had made her purchase, the bell on the door tinkled softly, indicating the arrival of a new customer. At the door's gaping, a blast of cold winter air skittered past Sarah's legs, generating an unexpected shiver that ran the length of her five-foot, fiveinch slender frame.

  Voices stilled at the newest customer's arrival, making Sarah crane her neck in curiosity. Careful not to make a sound, she peered past aisles and shelves crammed with
stitching supplies-everything from embroidered tapestry to threads, scissors to needles, and luxurious velvet to sensible cotton. With interest, she surveyed the source of the women's sudden hush, thankful that the Winthrops' large inventory made hiding easy.

  Looming in the doorway, looking uncomfortable if not overtly out of place, was the man Sarah instantly recognized as the uncle of the two young children she'd come into town on the stage with three weeks ago. Alone and forlorn, the poor little urchins had lost their mother to some fatal lung disease and been shipped to an uncle who, she'd learned later, didn't want them. Her heart had gone out to them almost immediately, for she knew how feelings of rejection could play upon the psyche of a small child.

  Although she didn't know the man, and certainly didn't care to, she'd surely wanted to give him a piece of her mind. How could anyone deny small children the affection due them, particularly when the subjects were family members who had just lost a loved one?

  Her blood had boiled then, and it fairly simmered even now. Lord, forgive me for despising someone I don't even know.

  "Afternoon, ladies," came the cavernous voice of the powerfully built man, his shoulders so broad it surprised her that he'd passed through the door without having to shift sideways.

  A woolen cap pulled low over his head shaded his eyes, making their color imperceptible, but failing to conceal his granite-like stare. Black hair, gleaming in the light, wavy and unkempt, hung beneath the cap's line, skimming the top of his collar. A muscle clenched along his beardless, square-set jaw, automatically triggering a response from Sarah to recoil. Why did he have to show up now, when she was already eager to flee the dry goods store?

  "Why, Mr. Callahan, I don't believe you've ever graced our store with your presence," said Mrs. Winthrop, her buttery tone making Sarah grimace. "What can I do for you?"

  "I'm lookin' for some fabric for my niece, Rachel," was his curt reply. "She needs a new dress or two; warm, serviceable ones, mind you. I'm also needin' someone to sew them. I was hopin' you could make a recommendation."

  "Oh my! Well, a seamstress for hire is something we dearly lack in this town. Most make do with their own meager talents."

  "Well, I don't happen to be too handy in that department," Mr. Callahan snapped, his tone indicating his lack of amusement at the situation.

  "Yes, well, I have a few ready-made dresses in stock if you'd care to look. Or you could place an order if you'd like to glance through a catalog. What size would your niece... ?"

  "I could have gone to Johansson's Mercantile if I'd wanted a ready-made dress," he cut in, fingering a piece of woolen material under Mrs. Winthrop's nose. "But I'm not of a mind to pay for such an unnecessary extravagance. That's why I came here-seeing as you have so much cloth in stock." His eyes scanned the place, and for a heart-stopping instant, Sarah feared he'd spotted her lurking in the gingham. But then his gaze traveled back to Mrs. Winthrop.

  "Oh, I see." Mrs. Winthrop's hand went to her throat, no doubt offended by the mention of her competitor, Eldred Johansson. The other women each took a step back, feigning disinterest, but Sarah knew better. They wouldn't be leaving the premises until Mr. Callahan did, for fear of missing the excitement. And neither would they be offering any help by the look of them.

  "How are your niece and nephew?" Mrs. Winthrop asked, folding her hands at her waist, her chin protruding.

  "Rachel and Seth are surviving just fine," he replied in a gruff tone.

  "It was a shame-about their mother," Mrs. Winthrop offered.

  "My sister, you mean," he said.

  "Of course," Mrs. Winthrop answered. "It must have been a shock to-well, everyone."

  "Not a shock, no. She'd been ill for some time. Now, what about that seamstress?" His curtness seemed to add an icy dimension to the already chilled room.

  "Well, as I said, I don't happen to know of anyone offhand."

  "Any of you sew?" he asked the women, turning an assessing eye on each of them.

  "I stitch for my family, but I'm afraid I'm quite pressed for time right now, what with all my youngins runnin' every which direction," one woman answered while nervously fingering her parcel.

  Mr. Callahan nodded and looked to the other two women. Both shook their head. "I'm afraid I can barely make do with my own pile of mending and darning, Mr. Callahan. You'd best order somethin' ready-made." This from the woman referred to as Mrs. Warner.

  "Well, since I don't intend to spend the extra money on such a frivolous expense, I 'spect my niece'll have to make do with what she has, holes or not."

  Sarah's blood had fairly reached its boiling point when she stepped forward, her camouflage no longer important. "I can sew," she stated calmly despite her inward seething. Perhaps it was her hasty prayer for self-control that kept her from throttling the man the second she came out of hiding. A little girl who'd just lost her mother deserved a new dress. How dare he call such a purchase an extravagance?

  "Well, saints above, M-Miss Woodward," Mrs. Winthrop stammered. "W-where-?" Her eyes went round while the other women similarly gaped. Shamefaced and clearly mortified, they began a hasty retreat toward the door, filing out one by one, failing even to proffer a respectable good-bye. Icy air snaked into the room with the open door, adding to the already cold atmosphere Mr. Callahan had ushered in by his mere presence.

  "You say you can stitch a dress?" Mr. Callahan asked, his eyes-a piercing shade of blue Sarah noticed now that she had the chance to see them up close-coming to rest on Sarah's face, then carefully sweeping the length of her.

  Determined not to allow the man's intimidation to ruffle her, Sarah replied, "I said I can sew, didn't I?"

  "But can you stitch a dress for a girl?" he asked with a good measure of impatience.

  Under his scrutiny, she felt her neck muscles go stiff. "I've never made a child's dress," she admitted begrudgingly, "but I've made plenty of other things. I expect with proper measuring and planning I can make her a fine dress."

  He gave her another hasty once-over. "You make what you're wearin'?"

  She looked down at the blue satin gown peeking out from under her long cashmere coat. Her mother had purchased it for her as a gift before taking ill a year ago. It had been her final gift from her. An unanticipated wave of sadness threatened to divert her attention but she hastily regained control of her wobbly emotions.

  "No, but I've fashioned some of my own clothing."

  "Really." He tipped back on his heels and gave her a disbelieving look. "You don't appear to be the sort who would stoop to such menial tasks."

  Taken aback, she prayed for the right choice of words. "I'll have you know there is nothing menial about sewing. It's a fine hobby and one that does a great deal to alleviate stress, Mr.-" The man was nothing if he wasn't a dolt.

  "Callahan. Rocky Callahan." He tipped his head a little by way of a greeting, and she noticed that one corner of his mouth curved slightly upward. "But then you already knew that, didn't you, Miss-?"

  "Sarah Woodward," she put in, deciding to ignore his impudence. "I met your niece and nephew on the stagecoach a few weeks back, and I saw you take them away."

  No point in trying to hide the fact that she'd noticed him. She wouldn't admit to having watched him, however.

  "I assumed you were the uncle in question," she added. But not because you overflowed with love and compassion.

  He glanced at Mrs. Winthrop, who hadn't moved from her place behind the counter. Receiving a red-hot glare from him, she took up a bundle of papers and moved to the back room, expelling a loud gasp of air on her way. "I'll let you know about the fabric," he called after.

  Once again turning his dark gaze on Sarah, he said, "You're the woman Ben Broughton sent for."

  Sarah's stomach tightened. The last thing she intended to do was discuss her personal reasons for coming to Little Hickman.

  "I suppose you would need to alleviate some stress about now," he said with a mocking grin, making Sarah's back go straight as a pin, her
chin jut with resolve. "Must have been a bit of a shock to travel all that way and then find the man you came to marry had set his cap for the schoolteacher."

  "I'll need to measure your niece-is it Rachel?" she asked, trying her best to ignore his callousness.

  He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "She's out on the buckboard if you've a mind to measure her right now."

  "You left her sitting in the cold?" Sarah exclaimed. "And the boy as well?" Picking up her skirts, she scooted around his broad frame to see out the window. Sure enough, two unfortunate little souls sat huddled together high on their perch, plainly cold by the way they both hugged themselves. "They're freezing."

  "I asked them if they wanted to come inside," he said, moving up behind her at the window to fix his eyes on the children. "They both refused."

  "What is wrong with you?" she asked, whirling around to face him, no longer thrown off balance by his tough exterior.

  "The wind is brisk today, cold enough to bite off the tips of their little noses."

  "I told you I invited them in," he said, as if that should fix the matter.

  "Well, you should have insisted." Without waiting for his retort, she went to the door and flung it open. "Come in out of the cold," she called over the wailing winds.

  Like lifeless statues, the pair sat rigid. Finally, the boy gave his sister a hopeful look, but she rewarded him with a slow shake of the head.

  "Please come in where it's warm," Sarah called again, lowering her voice so that it sounded less demanding. Again, the boy looked to his sister, his bare little fingers finding a place to warm themselves between his skinny legs.

  "They're not wearing mittens," Sarah hissed in disbelief.

  "I couldn't find them when it was time to leave. The girl is absentminded. I've no idea where she put them and neither does she. I figured it would teach them both a lesson to go without."

  "What? How old is she, six, seven? What do you expect?"

  "She's seven, and I expect some level of responsibility," he answered.