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

  His impertinence angered her so that she made a huffing sound before traipsing out into the frigid air and coming face-to-face with the poor little imps. Eyeing them with equal amounts of compassion and firmness, she looked from one to the other. "Hello, Rachel and Seth. My name is Sarah, and I would like you both to come inside now. I'm to make a dress for you, Rachel. Isn't that nice? If you'll please come inside I can measure you."

  The child turned cold eyes on Sarah and folded her arms in front of her. "I don't need no dress," she stated.

  "Just the same, you should come inside. It's bitter cold today"

  "Is it going to snow?" asked the boy, his teeth clattering as he spoke. His sister knocked him with her elbow, indicating he wasn't to ask questions.

  "It certainly feels cold enough," Sarah replied with a smile. "Do you like snow?"

  He nodded readily but, at his sister's silent admonition, chose not to elaborate.

  "Do you remember me? We rode into town together on the stage."

  A simple nod was all she got from Seth. Rachel remained bravely staunch. "Ar mother died," she said simply.

  "I know, and I'm sorry. Did you know my mother died about the same time as yours? If you come inside we can talk about it."

  Rachel's cold stare intensified. "I don't want to talk about it.

  "Fine then, we won't. I do need to measure you, however, so it's best you hop on down. You might help me pick out the cloth as well. How would that be?"

  Only slightly intrigued by that notion, the girl looked at the doorway from where her uncle waited, his dour expression matching hers. "Ar uncle hates us," she declared.

  Sarah digested the girl's words and planned her response with care. "I don't think he hates you." Her hasty glance backward confirmed that he couldn't hear them over the whistling wind.

  "Well, it don't make no difference anyway," Rachel clucked. "'Cause we don't like him neither."

  Sarah shivered and offered a hand to the angry child. Begrudgingly, she took it, jumping to the hard earth below and taking care to keep her frown in place. Next, Sarah held her arms out to the boy, who went to her with no prodding, his icy fingers clinging to her neck until they stepped inside and Mr. Callahan closed the door behind them.

  At the pinging of the door's little bell, Mrs. Winthrop appeared around the curtained doorway. Sarah set Seth's booted feet on the floor. "Have we made a decision on the fabric yet?" she asked.

  "Not yet, Mrs. Winthrop, but I would appreciate a tape measure if you have one," Sarah said. "I need to take Rachel's measurements."

  "Yes, of course." She headed for a drawer near the cash register, pulled out a long cloth tape, and then hurried to deliver it. She seemed anxious to be rid of them.

  After removing Rachel's coat and tossing it to the side, Sarah saw why the girl needed dresses. This one was tattered beyond repair, the hem hanging crooked with holes in the sleeves and a three-cornered tear on the back of the skirt, revealing a portion of her petticoats. Stains from lack of washing had fixed themselves down the front. To make matters worse, the material was nothing more than thin cotton, wearing and fraying at the edges. Sarah cast an eye at Mr. Callahan and hoped he read her disapproving look. If he did, he didn't let on. Instead, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other while she measured, as if to communicate his agitation. The act only made Sarah want to dawdle.

  Once finished measuring, they moved to the various bolts of cloth, Mrs. Winthrop following on their heels. Mr. Callahan and the boy remained standing near the cash register. Sarah steered Rachel in the direction of the warmer weaves, the girl's eyes seeming close to bursting at the variety of colors and patterns. Finally, her gaze landed on heavy, rose-colored, brushed cotton. Grubby fingers came out to judge its texture. Sarah watched in silent pleasure as the girl's expression went from hesitance to sureness.

  "You like this one?" Sarah asked.

  A simple nod of the head was Rachel's response. Had she never had the opportunity to choose before? Moreover, had she never owned a new dress? By the looks of the one she wore, it was a hand-me-down, perhaps previously worn by more than one girl. Sarah's heart squeezed at the notion, for she couldn't begin to count the number of brand-new dresses she'd owned in her lifetime.

  Mrs. Winthrop removed the bolt and hurried to a long table where she laid the material out to prepare for cutting. "Do you need thread?"

  "I believe I have plenty of color choices back in my trunk. I'll check my supply before purchasing," she said. The woman looked across the table at Sarah, clearly intrigued.

  "Fine," she managed, taking up with the huge piece of cloth.

  Just then, Mr. Callahan approached, the young boy on his heels. "How soon before you finish the dress?" he asked.

  "I've nothing better to do with my time. I should think I'll finish it in the next day or so."

  He lifted a dark eyebrow and then removed his woolen cap before running long muscled fingers through his thick mass of black, wavy hair. "Nothing better to do, huh? You staying over at the boardinghouse?" he asked, his bottomless voice resonating off the walls.

  "Yes." It was best to keep her answers short, she determined.

  "And how long will that last?"

  Bemused, she angled him a curious stare. "What sort of question is that, Mr. Callahan?" Mrs. Winthrop's hand movements slowed, as if she wanted to make certain not to miss a beat in the conversation.

  "A simple one. You came here to marry Benjamin Broughton, right? Since that didn't pan out for you, I was curious as to how long before you go back to wherever it is you came from." A shadow crossed his face, indiscernible in nature.

  She hid her anger beneath a forced smile. "Not that it is any of your business, sir, but I shall remain in Little Hickman indefinitely. I sold most of my possessions while still in Winchester. To return now would be most futile."

  "Winchester?"

  "Massachusetts. Just outside of Boston."

  He cocked his dark head. Sarah found she had to crane her neck to see his face, making her believe his height exceeded six feet. "No family or friends up there?"

  "Friends, yes, but none worth staying for," she confessed, immediately put out with herself for divulging such personal information. As if that weren't enough, she added, "My parents are both deceased and I have no siblings."

  To that, he gave a perfunctory nod. "How long you staying at Emma's place?"

  She couldn't help the little huffing sound that slipped past her lips. What did he care where she resided and for how long? "For the time being," she offered. "In time I hope to..." It wouldn't do to mention that her financial resources sat in a trust fund back in Boston, awaiting her marriage as per her mother's final will and testament, so she buttoned her lip and left the sentence unfinished.

  Creased brow raised, mouth slightly agape, he waited for her dangling sentence to reach its conclusion. "What? In time you hope to what?"

  The children had wandered away out of boredom and were looking at various items around the store. Finished cutting the fabric, Mrs. Winthrop carried it to the cash register and feigned busyness, then took up a writing utensil to jot some figures.

  "Find some suitable place in which to live," she finished, miffed at herself for being so forthright.

  "In Hickman?" He grunted in disgust, trailing it with a cold chuckle. At that, Mrs. Winthrop gave a mighty sniff, causing both adults to turn their gazes on her. Hastily, she resumed her figuring. Mr. Callahan looked down his nose at Sarah. "In that case, you might be lookin' a while. You'll not find much finery in these parts, lady, and from the look of you, you've been conditioned to enjoy life's finer offerings."

  His mocking manner unnerved her, the way he perused her from top to bottom, as if she were some piece of furniture he'd been pondering buying and couldn't quite determine whether it would mesh with his older pieces.

  "I'll have you know I'm quite adaptable, sir!"

  As if he had good reason to disbelieve her, he gave a halfnod. "No need to be s
nappish," he chided. Then, with a twist of his head, he glanced at the children, who'd wandered to the back of the store. "Don't touch anything," he ordered. At the harsh tone, his niece and nephew jolted to attention.

  "Now who's the snappish one?" she asked, sticking out her chin.

  Clearly irritated, he ignored the remark and moved to the cash register where he pulled out a sheaf of bills from his pocket. Sarah examined the roll of greenbacks from where she stood.

  A palpable tightwad, that's what he was.

  Mrs. Winthrop stated her price, and Mr. Callahan frowned. "You sure about that? Seems high to me."

  "It's extremely reasonable, Mr. Callahan," Sarah inserted. Mrs. Winthrop's shoulders relaxed with gratitude.

  "Oh, fine," was his annoyed response. He passed the proprietor a single bill, then waited while she made change. Once she slipped it to him, she gathered up the paper parcel containing the rose-colored material and handed it over to Sarah.

  "Bring Rachel by Emma's tomorrow afternoon," she ordered. "I should be ready for her first fitting by then."

  "Tomorrow?" His brow gathered into a frown. "Don't know as I'll have the time tomorrow."

  Rather than react, Sarah merely gave her head a little toss. "Well, I can't put the finishing touches to the dress without first fitting her."

  His broad shoulders shrugged impatiently. "Oh, all righttomorrow."

  "Good." Then to Rachel, she bent just slightly and placed a hand on her tattered wool bonnet. "See what you can do about finding those mittens, okay?"

  The girl nodded, her expression bleak. Sarah smiled at both unfortunate waifs. Clearly, they needed some love and attention.

  As to the man, he deserved nary a glimpse backward as she tugged open the heavy door and marched out into January's harsh gale.

  Ti~ha%~. eh ~~tvv

  at your eggs," Rocky told his five-year-old nephew the next morning.

  "He don't like eggs," his sister said in his defense.

  "I didn't ask you," Rocky said, matching Rachel's obstinate stare from across the table. "I'd appreciate it if in the future you would let me discipline your brother in the manner in which I see fit-without your help."

  "He don't need discipline," she stated, her tone cold and firm.

  "Every kid needs discipline," he argued, swallowing a forkful of eggs before going for a bite of bread and then a swig of hot coffee. His nerves had worn to the point of shredding. Arguing was the last thing he desired right now, but it seemed to be Rachel's favorite pastime on any given morning.

  "Is Grandma coming over today?" Seth asked, his nose just inches from his plateful of eggs.

  "Not this morning."

  Worry filled up Seth's face. "Who's gonna watch us?"

  "You two will have to make do on your own while I tend to the chores in the barn. I should be done in a few hours."

  "Why can't Grandma come?" Seth asked in his usual, highpitched whine.

  "Your grandpap's not doing well today, so she's stayin' home." Rocky pushed back from the table and winced at the sound of dirt grinding beneath the chair legs. It'd been a while since his house had had a good cleaning. "Eat your eggs," he repeated, standing. But the gloomy-faced boy refused even to lift his fork.

  "Ar mama never made him eat what he don't like," Rachel mumbled into her plate.

  "Then she spoiled him."

  "No she din't," she cried, blue eyes brimming with wetness.

  Rocky looked from the blond waif to her brown-haired, brown-eyed brother. If he started giving in to them, there'd be no end to what they'd get away with. His own parents had made him clean his plate after every meal. Why should it be any different with these two? True, he wasn't their actual parent, but he was their uncle, and now their legal guardian. He was doing the best he could.

  Sighing heavily, he looked at the boy. "You're not to leave the table until your plate is cleaned. Is that clear?" The boy gave a silent nod.

  Somewhat satisfied, Rocky turned on his heel and reached for his coat hanging next to the door.

  "You're mean," Rachel said, her pert little chin sticking straight out, her narrow shoulders poking upward.

  "I've been called worse," he said, sticking his arms through the sleeves, buttoning up, then going for his hat and work gloves.

  He gave Rachel an assessing look. "If I should discover that you have eaten his food for him, I will tan your hide, young lady."

  Jumping to her feet, she bellowed at the top of her lungs, "You're not my papa!" Clear resentment shone in her eyes.

  "No, I'm not," he replied. Your papa is dead, but if he were alive, Id gladly give you back to him right about now. Several more words sat on the tip of his tongue, words he chose not to use. At the door, he inhaled sharply. "After you clean up the kitchen, see that you find both sets of mittens. I want them on your hands before we ride into town today."

  Even Nell's spirits had deteriorated. As soon as Rocky pulled the stool up beside the milk cow and stuck a pail beneath her teats, the cranky beast planted her front hoof into his kneecap. "Typical woman," he snorted, rubbing his knee and readjusting himself on the stool. "Polite one minute, crabby the next."

  Nell shifted her footing and mooed, her tail swishing to match her mood. Rocky gave her time to settle her nerves, glad when she finally allowed him to take up the routine morning task of emptying her milk bags. While he milked, he thought about his pathetic situation.

  He wasn't fit to foster two kids he barely knew, let alone understood. Sometimes he wondered if he even liked the pair, particularly after mornings like this when all they'd done was have a shouting match. Of course, Seth didn't shout. No, he counted on his sister to do that for him. So far, the kid hadn't even picked out his own clothes in the morning without his sister's approval. Rocky wondered about handing off this whole business of parenting to Rachel. She seemed to want the job.

  He thought about the uneaten eggs. Was he wrong to insist that Seth empty his plate? Or was he asking too much of a five-year-old? The pair had landed in his home under dire circumstances-orphaned, no less-but that didn't lessen their need for discipline and certainly didn't give them license to run all over him. He was their guardian now, and as such, he expected them to follow the rules, even though they didn't seem accustomed to obeying.

  A mild curse slipped past his tongue. Shoot, he knew nothing about raising girls, particularly this one, and to make matters worse, his mother's earlier promise to help him seemed too much for her to fulfill.

  "Your father hasn't been well since Elizabeth's passing," she'd said just yesterday, her shoulders wilting in worry. "The children make him nervous."

  Rocky had fought down his own concerns. "Ma, you promised if I agreed to take these kids, you'd lend a hand as needed. Well, I need help."

  Gray, watery eyes held him in their grip, their underlying circles darker than usual revealing untold weariness. "I'm doing the best I can, son. These times are not easy for any of us."

  Ashamed, he'd put an arm around her slender shoulders and tugged her to him. "Okay, don't worry about it. I'll work somethin' out."

  To that, she'd given a fragile smile. "God will work it out, Rocky. It's time you took your hands off and let Him work."

  But how could he take his hands off when the only person he truly trusted to handle his problems was himself?

  As if to scold him for his thoughts, Nell slapped Rocky in the face with her tail, dampening his disposition even further.

  "Walk in love, as Christ also hath loved us."

  The words from some ancient passage in Scripture hit him like a wagonload of bricks. It'd been a long while since he'd thought about the Bible. Hester had been adamant about reading from it every night at the supper table.

  Of course, the habit had died with her.

  Without warning, the image of that feisty redhead he'd met just yesterday materialized from nowhere. Tall and slender, she'd resembled a porcelain doll: thick curls the color of burnished copper, eyes like sapphire marbles, her
fine attire making her a shining example of wealth and fastidious fashion.

  What had driven her to require the help of a bridal service? The question tickled his brain. Moreover, why would she choose to stay in a town where she obviously didn't blend inparticularly after discovering the man she'd traveled several hundred miles to meet was betrothed to another?

  He thought about his good friend, Ben Broughton. The man must have been desperate-two children needing a mother; Ben, an overworked farmer with little time on his hands to meet their physical and emotional needs. Understandably, he'd felt driven to send for a mail-order bride. But what would drive a woman to agree to marry a man sight unseen?

  The cynic in him might have found the situation almost laughable if he had not recognized himself in the scenario, equally in need of an immediate solution to his growing problem. What did he have to offer Rachel and Seth? With each passing day, it became more apparent just how lacking he was

  when it came to his parenting skills. A woman would contribute a whole new dimension.

  Shoot. If he got up his nerve, he might propose to Sarah Woodward himself.

  Sarah checked the clock on the wall in the parlor of Emma's boardinghouse, where she'd set up her sewing project with Emma's permission. Mr. Callahan and the children could be arriving anytime, she determined, taking up the dress and inspecting it once more. It had turned out better than expected with its lacy collar and fancy buttons, which she'd torn off one of her own dresses. What did Sarah need with shiny gold buttons? A little girl who'd recently lost her mother would appreciate them far more. It may have been impractical on her part, but no matter; she felt compelled to make the dress as pretty as possible.

  In the event the dress didn't fit perfectly, she'd kept plenty of excess material in the seams and hem; but if she'd measured correctly, any adjustments should be minimal.

  "Let's have a look," said an apron-clad Emma as she entered the room, pretty as a picture despite her tousled look. If Sarah had learned anything about the young proprietor, it was that she never wasted a second of her day. If she wasn't busy scrubbing or dusting, she was in the kitchen preparing a meal or baking some delectable dessert.