Sarah My Beloved (Little Hickman Creek Series #2) Page 10

  How long before she announced her plans to leave Little Hickman? It wasn't that he wanted her to go, or even that he regretted marrying her, but how in the world could a man like him ever satisfy a woman of her caliber? It was clear she'd been pampered. Hadn't Stephen Alden, the cad from Boston, said so himself? Even the clothes she termed her "work clothing" looked too fine to wear around the house. He ought to offer her some of Hester's old dresses, although he doubted they would fit. Hester had not had the height or full curves his new wife possessed.

  Icy winds whipped around the wagon like a tiger on the run, sending loose branches and dead leaves in every direction. A shiver ran the length of him when a clap of thunder sounded in the distance. He hadn't been warm since the day he married, his room in the barn offering little in the way of warmth or comfort. In fact, he wondered how much longer he could survive out there. What they needed was a bigger house. He yanked at his collar and stole a glance at the children and Sarah, huddled close together to ward off the worst of the elements.

  "It's not much farther," he said into the wind, wondering if Sarah had heard the thunder.

  "Fine," she answered. "It will be nice to see some different faces."

  "You saying you're growing tired of us, Mrs. Callahan?" he asked, snapping the reins to step up the team's pace. The horses snorted in response but readily obeyed.

  Sarah looked over Rachel and Seth's covered heads and caught Rocky's eye. "I certainly did not say that, Mr. Callahan," she retorted, her teasing tone mixed with tartness. If she'd heard the thunder, she didn't let on, and he wasn't about to bring it up, least of all let her see his growing concern. Experience had taught him how quickly the air currents could turn in these low-range mountains.

  He turned his face into the driving wind and concentrated on steering the wagon toward town.

  Their first stop was the post office. Although Rocky had wanted to make it a hasty one, before he'd had time to explain, all three of them piled off the wagon faster than a litter of frisky pups. He sat with gaping mouth and watched as one by one they dismounted. From the ground, Sarah stared at him. "Aren't you coming?"

  He pulled the brake and looked at her. "I'm coming. It's just that I had no idea how anxious you all were to see the inside of the post office."

  She threw back her head and giggled. "Right now, I'd be happy to see the inside of Madam Guttersnipe's Saloon just see it, mind you."

  He couldn't help but chuckle. The thought of her so much as going near the place made quite a picture in his head. Madam Guttersnipe's Saloon was a place of disgrace, one that the majority of the townsfolk would just as soon see go up in flames.

  Although he had to admit to imbibing more than once in some of his weaker moments, particularly after his son's passing, he'd since gotten a handle on that particular aspect of his life, having determined alcohol didn't mix well with his blood. Last fall he'd started home in a drunken stupor and gotten himself lost. It wasn't until nearly five in the morning that he discovered he'd traveled several miles off course. The horses had been exhausted from the bumpy, unfamiliar trail, but he'd fortunately found a portion of Little Hickman's winding creek, been forced to allow the horses to drink, and in the meantime, slept off the rest of his drunkenness on a riverbank. His behavior had appalled him, and so he determined then and there to cease with all drinking.

  ,John Holden, Hickman's postmaster, greeted the four with a hearty smile.

  "Well, if it ain't the Callahan family. Good to see ya'll in town, even though it's a might cold outside."

  "Good afternoon, Mr. Holden," Sarah said, a smile accompanying her greeting. Rocky felt his back go stiff at the free use of the word family-as if they were a cozy bunch. He sneaked a look at Rachel and found the girl frowning heavily.

  "Thanks, John. Any mail?" he asked.

  The man put a finger to his chin. "Well, let's see here. I do believe there was a parcel fer yer missus."

  "Oh?" Sarah asked, suddenly perking up at the news.

  John left the counter and returned with a large package.

  "What on earth?" she asked.

  Rocky reached over the counter to retrieve the box wrapped in brown paper and addressed to Mrs. Sarah Callahan. He looked at the return address and frowned. Written neatly in the top left-hand corner was the name Mr. Stephen Alden, Attorney at Law, along with his return address.

  The nasty little twit had sent his wife a package!

  "Well, looks like your beau is having a hard time letting go of you," Rocky muttered.

  "What does he mean, Sarah?" Rachel asked.

  "Don't be silly," returned Sarah. "It's probably just some books I forgot to pack when I left Winchester." Then to Rachel, she added, "He doesn't mean anything, honey."

  "Books?" Rachel asked as they headed toward the door. "What kind of books? Could I look at them?"

  "Books?" Rocky echoed, opening the door with one hand while balancing the large box on the other. "This is more than books. Why would he be sending you books, anyway? As a matter of fact, why would he be sending you anything?"

  "I don't know," said Sarah.

  "Maybe there's a toy inside," Seth offered, his tone optimistic.

  "That's stupid," Rachel told her brother, following him to the wagon. "Why would anyone send Sarah a toy?"

  "Maybe they know she has a new little boy living with her," he answered in a manner that indicated it made all the sense in the world.

  "Well, we'll find out soon enough, but for now we have errands to run with your uncle Rocky," said Sarah, her voice calm as could be. Then to Rocky, she said, "Shall we walk or get back on board?"

  "We'll ride," he answered, shoving the box on the wagon's flatbed and coming around to where they stood. "I have several supplies to pick up at Johansson's Mercantile, and I intend to make a trip to the sawmill to check on some lumber prices if the weather holds out."

  "Prices?" asked Sarah, curiosity apparent by the look in her glistening eyes, more blue than green today, probably due to the blue wool bonnet drawn over her burnished curls.

  Rocky braced himself for what would come. "I plan to add a room to the back of the house so Rachel can have her privacy. She can't share a room with her brother forever."

  Everyone stood stock-still except for Seth, who had hopped aboard the wagon in record time. Rocky offered a hand to Rachel so she could climb aboard the wagon, but all she did was stare at him with her bigger-than-life blue eyes.

  Finally, Sarah broke the silence. "That's wonderful news, isn't it, Rachel?"

  "Yes," the child managed. "I never had no room to myself before." With that, she placed her small mitten-covered hand in Rocky's and took the big step up to the wagon seat.

  Rocky gave his wife a hurried look before offering her a hand up. The last thing he wanted or needed was oceans of praise. The house was small. He'd been intending to add onto it for some time anyway.

  "Yippee, I get a room to myself, too!" Seth squealed with delight.

  Rocky looked up at the lad. "Not so fast, fellow," he said, jogging around to his side of the wagon and pulling himself up. "I'm moving in with you just as soon as I finish the add-on. It's too cold in that barn at night."

  Seth's face dropped. "Why can't you move in with Sarah instead?"

  It was an innocent enough question, Rocky supposed. After all, Sarah was his wife. Still, the awkward silence that followed signified the boy had succeeded in embarrassing them both, and Rocky was certain if the weather had been warmer, Sarah would have gone red on the spot. As it was, she sat ramrod straight and kept her face pointed straight ahead.

  Surprisingly, it was Rachel who spoke. "That was a silly question, Seth. Uncle Rocky don't even like Sarah that much. Why would he move in with her?"

  "I like her fine," Rocky corrected in haste, figuring he was only making matters worse by stepping in, but knowing it'd be worse to disregard the comment altogether. Finally, he shrugged. "Could we just drop the whole thing for now?"

  "Yes, please," sai
d Sarah, throwing him a silent plea over the children's heads.

  He returned the helpless look. It was in that moment, as he began to lead the horses down Main Street toward johansson's Mercantile, that another clap of thunder crashed through the clouds, closer now, and the freezing rain commenced.

  The mercantile was scant with customers, most folks undoubtedly deciding it smart to stay put in their cozy cabins and frame homes. Rocky, in hindsight, wished he'd had the brains of the rest of the population of Little Hickman. Ice storms in Kentucky were nothing to wink at, and if this particular storm played itself out like most he'd seen, it would be a treacherous trip back to his farm.

  "We need a few supplies," he told Eldred Johansson while brushing cold wetness from his wool coat. The elder fellow hobbled to the counter.

  "Surprised to see ya in this weather. What ken I get fer ya? "

  "I'm needing a fresh box of nails and a new blade for my hacksaw." Out of the corner of one eye, he caught Sarah wandering the store, Rachel on her heels, and Seth in another aisle admiring a small jackknife. Had he not been so distracted by the darkening weather, he might have had it in his heart to buy each of them something. He pulled a list from his pocket and handed it to Eldred. "These are the remaining items. Can you work fast?"

  Eldred looked down his spectacles at the wrinkled piece of paper and the scrawled list of words. "Well now, I'll do my best to gather 'em up," he muttered, turning around.

  Just then, another piercing streak of lightning split the sky while a rumble of thunder cracked through the air, jolting the very floorboards. Eldred, arm up to procure a box of nails, turned on his heel. "What in tarnation? Don't know the last time we got thunder 'n' lightnin' in January."

  Sarah gathered the kids close to her side and threw a worried glance at Rocky. He tried to reassure her with a hint of a smile.

  "Can you hurry it up, Eldred?"

  "I'm hurryin', I'm hurryin'," the elder man snapped. In truth, fast for him was similar to the speed of a tortoise.

  Thanks to the large section of tarp that Eldred had loaned Rocky, the four of them remained relatively dry and safe on the trip back despite pelting bullets of freezing rain. They must have looked a sight with the canvas pulled over the lot of them, Rocky the only one with his face poking out to urge the unhappy team of horses on its way.

  Rocky steered the horses over icy puddles. One slipped hoof could create terror with the animals, and he debated whether to pull the team to a stop and wait the storm out altogether. However, one glimpse of the nearly black sky overhead warned him of the dangers of stopping.

  "Uncle Rocky, I'm scared," came Seth's muddled, weak voice.

  Something in Rocky's heart flipped over, crumbled, then melted like butter at the simple admission, but he hadn't the time to ponder it. "You'll be okay," he said. "We'll all be fine in no time, you'll see."

  "When will we get home?" This came from Rachel, who didn't sound much braver than her brother.

  Rocky scouted the familiar road ahead. They still had a good mile to go. With the rain driving down in blinding torrents, it wouldn't be a fast trip, that was for sure.

  "Shouldn't be long now," he answered, trying to maintain a positive tone.

  All of a sudden, Sarah poked her head out from her end of the tarp and gave him a look he wished he could have captured with one of those new Kodak snapshot cameras he had yet to lay his hands on. Somewhere along the line, she'd removed that expensive blue hat of hers, and the sight of her wet, flaming-red hair framing large hazel eyes took him by surprise.

  "What are you doing, woman? Get back under there," he ordered.

  Her forehead furrowed in disbelief as she looked from him to the pelting sky.

  "I wanted to see where we are," she shouted over the blustering winds that accompanied the driving rain.

  "Well, as you can see, the rain is blinding and the sky is quite dark. Take cover before you turn into an icicle." Even as the rain fell, it froze where it hit, leaving a thick layering of ice on the wagon, the tarp, and the road ahead. Even his gloved hands had collected ice, making maneuvering the horses anything but a walk in the park.

  "Where are we?" she demanded.

  "Not far!" he returned.

  "That doesn't tell me anything!" she retorted.

  He took his eyes off the road ahead, trusting the horses to find their own way, and studied her, shocked to discover that for the first time in a long while, he wanted to laugh.

  It wasn't that the situation was humorous. Far from it. If anything, it was perilous. Anything could happen. One misstep and a horse could slip, maybe even fall, creating panic in his teammate. Then what horrible fate would befall them? It was anyone s guess.

  So why did he suddenly feel like laughing? It'd been a long while since he'd had the urge for a genuine laugh, and certainly now was not the appropriate time. Still, something in his wife's exasperated expression gave him pause. Maybe it was the fact that for all her wealth and finery, right now, at this particular moment, she was just an ordinary person, caught in a wretched storm, exposed to the elements, and showing her true colors. It reminded him of that first night when she'd had need of the outhouse and had balked when he'd insisted on walking her there. He'd filled her head with some ridiculous story about dangerous creatures hovering about, and she'd unwittingly drawn closer to him on the narrow, rutted path.

  The simple recollection conjured up a smile, then fetched a chuckle that started down deep and moved straight up until it made its escape.

  "Are you laughing?" Sarah asked, clearly indignant.

  Her question, coming out on a high-pitched squeal, only made the situation worse for him. Once chuckling, he'd now worked himself up into a full-fledged laugh.

  "Well, of all the..." But then her rejoinder ended with a half smile, one he could see she was struggling to obliterate. She curled her lips under until they formed a straight line, but then what to do with her smiling, glistening eyes? It only made him laugh the more.

  "What's so funny?" came Seth's loud question from under the heavy tarp.

  "Did you tell a funny joke?" Rachel asked. "Tell us."

  At this, Sarah opened her mouth in wonder and got a mouthful of glacial rain. The shocked look on her face when she clamped it shut again created more hilarity. There simply was no help for it.

  It was the formidable clap of thunder and the bright band of lightning following that ended the jovial moment.

  "Oh!" shrieked Sarah, and she immediately disappeared under the covering.

  The laughter vanished as quickly as it came, and instant alertness replaced the moment of lighthearted optimism, as Rocky's eyes once more took to the road ahead.

  11%a12-44 6~"

  urry, Sarah," Seth cried, rubbing his hands together, _ his excitement difficult to hide.

  They'd made it safely home well over an hour before, and now, stomachs full from beef stew and biscuits, and dry clothing warming their chilled bodies, everyone, including Rocky, seemed eager to discover the contents of the mysterious wrapped parcel.

  Sarah's fingers worked to loosen the strings that held the box together. When she came upon a difficult knot, Rocky stepped forward and, with his pocketknife in hand, sliced through the twine, freeing the entire carton. Sarah pulled the flaps apart at the top of the box and discovered an envelope lying atop a mass of newspaper. It was damp, but the heavy cardboard seemed to have protected the interior from the worst of the drenching rains.

  "What is it?" Rachel asked.

  "It's a letter-addressed to me," she answered, recognizing Stephen's fastidious script. She glanced across the room at Rocky.

  "You want to read it in private?" Rocky asked.

  "What's in the box, Sarah?" Seth asked, his tone revealing childish impatience.

  "It's possible the letter explains the contents. Maybe you ought to read it before you see what's in there," Rocky said.

  Something had happened to smooth down a portion of her husband's coarseness, Sarah note
d. She wondered how long it would take before that rough-edged exterior came back to rear its ugly head. He'd actually laughed on the ride home. Despite the fact she'd seen nothing entertaining about their miserable jaunt, it'd been nice to hear his carefree laughter, even if it was short-lived.

  "You're right," Sarah said, clutching the letter between her fingers. "I'll read it first, but not privately. Stephen is a good friend. Whatever he's written will be perfectly fine to read aloud."

  "Are you sure?" Rocky asked. "I met the man."

  Sarah smiled and nodded. "He's really not such a bad person. He just comes off as very pigheaded at times."

  "I'll say."

  "We were very close growing up."

  "But not close enough to marry?" Rocky asked, putting the question to her so that it sounded more like a challenge.

  She ceased with fingering the envelope and looked across the room at him. "He was not the man I wanted to marry."

  He could say little in recourse, so he merely watched her with keen eyes as she unfolded the missive and began to read aloud.

  "My Dear Sarah,

  As you can probably envision, I put my trusty assistant to work and learned of your marriage to that Callahan fellow. I can't bring myself to say I am happy for you, but I will say I am confident you will make the most of a difficult situation. I still cannot quite imagine you as a farmers wife.

  (Are you plowing fields, Sarah?)"

  She put the letter back and laughed aloud. "I'm not plowing fields yet. Will that be one of my jobs in the spring?" she asked her husband.

  There was a spark of humor in his blue eyes. "Not unless I'm on my deathbed and the crops are withering," he answered. "Read on."

  She picked the letter back up and continued where she'd left off.

  "I should tell you I have proposed to Nancy Belmont, and she has accepted."

  Sarah paused briefly to let that bit of information digest. He certainly hadn't wasted a minute of time. The way she figured it, he'd hightailed it to her place just after Sarah's refusal. Nancy, a sweet Christian and dear friend of Sarah's, had always been in love with Stephen despite the fact he'd never paid her much mind. Nancy came from old money, however, and since money always spoke to Stephen, Sarah suspected his reasons for proposing to her came because of Nancy's financial security. She could only pray the marriage would thrive and that God would awaken Stephen to his spiritual needs.