Sarah My Beloved (Little Hickman Creek Series #2) Page 4

  "What would you say to gettin' hitched with me instead?"

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  Mary, Queen of Scots, he wasn't serious.

  He produced a tremulous smile. "Why not? You obviously wanted a husband, and I need a wife. It seems a simple exchange. For keeping house and taking care of the kids, you could have a place to call your own. It's not much, mind you, probably nothing like what you're accustomed to, but it's better than staying holed up in a boardinghouse with a bunch of undesirables. You said yourself you sold all your possessions before coming to Kentucky and that you wanted to settle eventually. You seem to like Rachel and Seth, and they-well, they'll get used to you," he said.

  "In other words, you want a maid, or perhaps a slave better describes your fancy." Rivers of disgust ran through her veins. Had she really appeared so desperate that he thought she'd accept any proposal to escape her situation? Perhaps she should have gone back to Winchester after all-even though she'd felt so strongly about coming to Kentucky.

  Dear God, have I completely misread Your will for my life?

  "Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for him: fret not thyself..." Although the psalmist's words brought comfort, they didn't bring her closer to an answer. In the meantime, a man she didn't know-didn't like, for that matter-stood before her with an offer of marriage.

  "Miss Woodward, a slave is not free to come and go. You, on the other hand, may leave if the arrangement doesn't suit you.

  "The `arrangement'? You make this sound like a business deal."

  He lifted one dark brow before issuing a bland smile. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that what you were working out with Benjamin Broughton? He paid for your arrival in Kentucky in return for your consent to marry"

  Brought to shame, she had little to say in her defenseexcept for one thing. "Benjamin Broughton is a Christian man.

  His mouth twisted into a mocking smile. "I'm not exactly a heathen."

  "You certainly don't strike me as a joyful person, Mr. Callahan. When was the last time you attended services?"

  His expression went from cynical to somber as he shifted his stance and stuffed his hands into his deep pockets, his blue gaze going flat with recollection. "I once called myself a Christian, but those days have escaped me."

  "There, you see?" She turned away from him, but he stepped in front of her, blocking her passage with his rockhard frame.

  "If you're worried that I'll interfere in your faith, you can rest assured I pose no threat." The faintest glint of humor etched across his face. "Who knows? Maybe you'll even persuade me to see things differently."

  That alone brought her near to caving in. Marriage, after all, would solve the problem of her inheritance.

  Not that she had any great plans for the money.

  Perhaps an even greater sense of pleasure would come in showering Rachel and Seth with large amounts of love and affection. Heaven knew Rocky Callahan wasn't capable.

  Dear Father, what am I thinking?

  But her heartfelt prayer went unfinished when the kitchen door swung open and Emma, Rachel, and Seth crossed the threshold, each with a tray in hand, one carrying a plate of cookies, one with five tin cups, and the third a tall pitcher of fresh milk. It wasn't iced tea, Sarah mused, but it would suffice to wet her arid throat.

  Emma's face lit with concern. "Are we interrupting anything?"

  "No." Sarah's smile didn't quite reach her eyes when she looked at the threesome. "Mr. Callahan and I were simply enjoying mindless chatter." She glanced at him. "We're quite done." She put quiet emphasis on that last part.

  Rather than view his reaction to that, Sarah walked across the room and turned her attention to the children, as one cookie after another slipped down their open gullets. They -backed on the edge of the sofa and ate cookies with sat stiff as much manners as could be expected. She herself couldn't have swallowed one morsel if her life depended on it. She did, however, sip at the cold milk while she watched.

  Out of the corner of one eye, she dared to snag a tiny peek at Mr. Callahan. Still standing where she'd left him, he'd dropped his hands to his sides and, like everyone else, was watching Rachel and Seth. Either he was deeply regretting his ridiculous proposal, or he was peeved at Sarah for brushing him off. Either way, his glum expression signified his sour mood.

  When it looked like the children's appetites had slowed, Sarah went for the dress, holding it up for Rachel's perusal. The little girl released a breathy gasp. "Oh, it's pretty," she said, something in her countenance holding leashed delight, as if she wanted to explode with it but knew the risks of letting go. She met Sarah in the middle of the room. "May I touch it?" she asked in a near whisper.

  "Honey, you may do more than that," Sarah said. "You may try it on. I'll need to know where to put the hem."

  "Oh." Rachel seemed awestruck by the notion of actually putting on the garment. Her fingers traced a slow pattern up and down the skirt as if to memorize its every detail. Slowly her eyes went to the shiny, gold buttons, and Sarah heard another quick intake of air.

  "Do you like it?" she asked.

  A tiny nod told her she did. "Mama never could afford me a new dress before."

  Sadness crawled under Sarah's skin. Not for the first time she thought about the countless dresses packed within her trunk and Rocky's rebuff when she'd offered the material from one of them to fashion Rachel another dress.

  One dress should do her for now. Anger, new and righteous, sprouted wings and flew about the room. "I'll make you another if you like," she announced. She felt the man's eyes come to rest on her, but she resisted the urge to look at him. Her uplifted chin should tell him that she meant to do it with or without his approval.

  "Can you make me somethin', too?" asked Seth, his slender body molded into Emma's side in the overstuffed chair they shared.

  Oh, Lord, these children need so much.

  "Seth, mind your manners," Rocky said, his brows knit together in a frown. "It isn't polite to ask for gifts."

  Feeling especially bold and driven by the child's strong sense of need, Sarah blinked her eyes and said, "Of course I can make you something. Or perhaps I'll buy you a toy. How would that be?"

  "A toy?" asked Seth. It was the most she'd heard from the little boy since first meeting him.

  "You don't need a toy," Rocky said, seemingly making every effort to deflate his tender spirit.

  In preparation for a showdown with Mr. Callahan, Sarah prayed for strength. Then, drawing back her shoulders, she leveled the beastly man with her best glare. "Every little boy needs a toy, Mr. Callahan. And since I stitched his sister a dress, all the more reason the toy should come from me."

  Matching her glare, he stretched to his tallest, which in Sarah's estimation meant nearly reaching the ceiling. "The girl had need of a new dress, Miss Woodward. A toy is no necessity."

  Sensing the growing tension in the room, Emma rubbed her hands together and stood, plastering on a cheery smile. "Rachel, how about I take you to the back room so you can try on this lovely dress?" she suggested. Rachel jumped to her feet. "Seth, you come too," Emma added. "I have a job for you in the kitchen."

  The boy crawled off the couch and took Emma's hand. Rachel took the other, and the three left the room.

  And in an instant, Sarah and Rocky were alone again.

  Rocky stewed on the way to the barn later that night. Naturally, the children had sulked all the way home, his boorish attitude rubbing off on them, and vice versa. Even Rachel, although she loved her new dress and had hugged it close to her chest on the drive back, had remained grim and sourfaced. No doubt she would be sticking to her promise not to speak to him for the remainder of the week. Well, fine.

  Cold night air chewed through his thin coat. He must remember to bring his heavier jacket out of the shed come morning. A blanket of clouds hid any trace of a winter moon, and if his guess were right, snow or sleet would come before midnight.

  He dragged in a shivery breath before entering the barn.
Nothing had gone as planned, particularly after the ridiculous scene he'd caused with regard to Sarah's offer to buy Seth a toy. In reality, he supposed she was right; one good turn deserved another, even though the concept went against his principles. As far as he was concerned, human need always overruled one's wants and wishes.

  He thought about the spirited redhead who'd challenged him. No doubt, if she didn't before, she surely now considered him a pigheaded oaf, not to mention argumentative and selfseeking. No wonder she'd turned down his offer of marriage after he'd brought the matter up once again before leaving.

  Oh, she must be laughing into her pillow about now, just imagining sharing a house with the likes of him. For crying in a bucket! He could barely stand himself. What would ever make him think anyone else would want to live under the same roof with him?

  Sarah stood at her bedroom window, watching as townsfolk hurried from place to place, winter winds keeping most from dawdling in the streets as they might have been inclined to do on a warmer day.

  Exactly one week had passed since Rocky Callahan's proposal of marriage and her rejection of the offer. Since then, he'd failed to mention it again, despite the fact she'd seen him twice more. The first time was when she'd presented Rachel with another dress, this one, to Rocky's utter chagrin, fashioned from one of her own gowns. The second time, she'd delivered an eight-inch toy soldier to Seth. She'd wondered how she was going to manage giving the gift to him, and was thankful when she'd spotted them coming into town just yesterday. Hurriedly, she'd gathered up the toy along with her skirts and met them on the street.

  As usual, Rachel had appeared sullen, but she managed a weak smile from her high seat when Sarah came into view. Taking great pains to avoid eye contact with Mr. Callahan, Sarah had approached the rig before any of them descended and handed Seth the wrapped package. He'd torn into the brown paper like a hungry pup, throwing aside the string that bound the package and letting out a yelp of joy at the sight of the uniformed doll. Even Rachel had looked on with interest, smoothing out her long coat as she shifted herself in the seat to get a better view. Peeking out from the coat's frayed hem was one of the new dresses.

  "Look, Rachel, it's a soldier. He gots a rifle in his hand. Look, Uncle Rocky!" To that, he'd stuck the doll under his uncle's nose, and-wonder of wonders-the man had smiled, albeit halfheartedly.

  Mr. Callahan gave a low chuckle. "What do you say to Miss Woodward?" he asked.

  "I was gittin' to that," the boy said, half annoyed. It seemed to Sarah that each time she saw Seth, he was a bit more talkative, even confident. "Thank you, Miss Woodward. I never had no soldier doll before."

  Sarah had laughed, joy welling up from deep in her chest. "You're very welcome."

  "I'm wearing the pink dress today, Miss Woodward," Rachel offered, diverting Sarah's attention, her voice not much more than a whisper. She lifted up the bottom of her coat.

  Sarah had nodded and given the girl a ready smile. "So you are. And it looks fine on you."

  Up to now, Mr. Callahan had remained glued to his seat, a mere observer, his gaze intent on watching her, she knew, but hers intent on the children.

  "I appreciate, ahem, the work you've put into the dresses," he'd said, clearing his throat mid-sentence. With that, he drew out an envelope from his jacket pocket and reached across the children to hand it to her. "Here's your payment. Since you insisted on using fabric from one of your own gowns for the second dress, I had to guess as to its worth."

  How was it this man could stir her ire faster than a blustery breeze could move the grass in a meadow? Could he not see she'd intended the dress as a gift? She ignored his outstretched hand and stood the straighter. "You employed my services on the first dress, sir; the second dress was a labor of love."

  He had kept his hand extended, his eyes narrowed in irritation, waiting. "Just the same, I'll not be beholden to ya."

  She'd put her hands to her hips, the icy air at her ankles forcing her to prance about. "I wouldn't expect you to be, sir. I didn't make the dress for you." A hurried glimpse at Rachel revealed the child's quivery, pursed mouth, a dignified attempt to keep a giggle from erupting. Sarah might well have seen the humor in the situation herself if it hadn't been for her utter crossness with the big brute.

  "There's someone here to see you."

  Sarah whirled about at Emma's voice coming from her open bedroom doorway.

  "Didn't mean to frighten ya," Emma said with a tiny grin, taking a slight step back. "You looked mighty lost in thought."

  "I was just yes, lost in thought." Putting a hand to her mussed hair, she chanced a peek in her cracked mirror above the dresser stand. After a day of cleaning and sorting through items yet unpacked, she looked a sight. "A visitor, you say? Who is it?"

  Emma shrugged. "I've never seen the man before."

  Sarah's heart lunged. "I've a gentleman caller?"

  Emma's brows knit together in a frown. "A rather short, thin fellow, but well-manicured. He's wearin' a fine suit and bowler hat. I would imagine his arrival in town drew a few curious stares."

  Stephen Alden. She'd been wondering how long it would take him to discover her exact whereabouts. How many folks had he questioned before narrowing down her location? Prickly heat crawled past her neck and up her face. Would he never give up? Oh, why had her mother placed the stipulation of marriage on her inheritance, and why did Stephen have to be the appointed legal representative to her estate?

  "Are you all right, Sarah?" Emma asked, stepping inside the room to touch Sarah's arm.

  "I'm fine. It's just...I'm not quite ready to face him."

  "You know him, then?"

  Sarah nodded and gave a deep sigh. "He's an old family friend-bent on marrying me, I'm afraid."

  Emma gasped. "Oh my. Is that why you came to Little Hickman? To escape him?"

  Sarah laughed weakly. "In a sense, I suppose. I had hoped he wouldn't follow me."

  "Shall I send him away?" Emma asked.

  It was a tempting thought. Tossing back her shoulders, she muttered a silent prayer. "No, I'm afraid that would be my job."

  She found Stephen gazing out the window in the parlor onto the muddy street, his wool chesterfield topcoat draped over one arm, his hat secured in his other hand. "Hello, Stephen."

  At the sound of her voice, he turned to face her. Although they came within a few months of being exactly the same age, Stephen appeared years older with his mousy, waxed brown hair, cut short and parted in the middle. A slim moustache, turned up at the ends, covered his weak upper lip. Rather short in stature, he stood only an inch or two taller than she did, and his build, although not effeminate by any means, lacked absolute masculinity.

  As if his expensive-looking, chocolate-brown jacket and matching trousers, cream-color ruffled shirt, and silk bowtie were not enough to announce his copious wealth, he wore two fancy breast pins attached by a solid gold chain, which, judging from its length and weight, appeared sufficient to use at a hanging.

  "Sarah, darling," he said, meeting her in the middle of the room, aiming to kiss her on the mouth but making it only to her cheek when she tilted her face. "I'm delighted to hear you didn't marry after all. Am I to assume you've come to your senses, then?"

  "How did you know I hadn't married?" she asked, ignoring his question.

  He threw back his head and laughed. "I'm a lawyer, remember? It's very easy for me to obtain legal information. With the wonderful invention of the telephone, I put my assistant to work to determine what, if any, weddings had taken place in this desolate town and discovered your intended husband married another-the town's schoolteacher, to be exact."

  "Yes, well, he tried to reach me before I'd left Massachusetts, but regrettably our wires crossed."

  His mouth moved into a tight smile. "Ali, is that so? Well, I would say you are quite fortunate not to have married a stranger. Perhaps now you will reconsider marrying me."

  "I'm sorry if you traveled all this way in the hopes of changing my mind,
Stephen."

  "Our parents, rest their souls, always believed we were meant to be together. Are you willing to go against their wishes?" he asked, his expression desperate if not bordering on angry.

  "Our parents were misguided, Stephen. I care for you as a friend, but I cannot marry you."

  "But you were willing to marry a stranger." His murky gray eyes drilled into her as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

  It was difficult to explain her draw to Little Hickman, Kentucky. All she really knew was that when she'd seen the posted sign back in Massachusetts advertising a Christian groom, she'd felt an indescribable pull to respond to the ad. Yes, it would represent escape from the possessive clutches of Stephen Alden and his unremitting pleas for her hand in marriage, but it would also mean adventure, exploration, and new beginnings.

  "But as you can see, I didn't marry him."

  "Then I see no reason why you shouldn't come back home to marry me. You've been here four long weeks. I should think that long enough for realizing your error."

  "Massachusetts is no longer home to me, Stephen."

  He made a grunt of disgust and waved his arm. "Surely you don't consider this-this mud hole home. Why, even the name itself, Little Hickman, signifies a primitive, crude lot of people." He gave her body a quick sweep of the eye. "And look at you, Sarah. If I didn't know you better, I'd say you're fast becoming one of them." He rubbed a thumb across the under part of her cheek and frowned. "You've even a smudged face," he clucked.

  She laughed. "I've been cleaning."

  "Cleaning." He scoffed at the word, as if it held little meaning for him; truth be told, it didn't.

  "The people of Hickman are not so primitive," she said in their defense. "Perhaps a few are crude, but I'm learning that most are very nice. There are daily newspapers, a handy wire service, and even a telephone. Why, they even have a Sears and Roebuck catalog service. It's located in the-"

  "Sarah, Sarah." Stephen's frown grew tenfold. "You've grown up in high society. You cannot convince me a town of this caliber would make you happy for any length of time. You've lived a very cultured life. Where are the theatres, the ballrooms, the elegant hotels?" She stopped herself just short of telling him Madam Guttersnipe's place was just up the street, doubting he'd see the humor in that.