A Lady Like Sarah (29 page)

"Welcome to Rocky Creek.
Rocky Creek.
I'm Mrs. Hitchcock." Quickly, she introduced him to each woman in the room, repeating everyone's name twice.

Justin smiled politely at each woman in turn. Altogether there were eight of them. Some gave him full
attention,
othÂers merely lifted their eyes momentarily before returning to their stitchery.

The last woman she introduced was Mrs.
Maddie
Thomson. "This is our soon-to-be mother."

Maddie
snipped a piece of thread with her scissors.
"Really, Marcy.
You've embarrassed Reverend Wells."

Justin smiled at her. "I look forward to baptizing your little one," he said, then added, "I was hoping to see you ladies at church on Sunday."

The women exchanged guilty looks.

"Oh dear, oh dear," Mrs. Hitchcock exclaimed. "We're just so out of practice. God knows how long it's been since we've had a pastor."

The woman who had been introduced as Mrs. Cranston stabbed her needle into one of the fabric squares. "We recently moved here and didn't know what the rules were for attending church."

"Rules?"
Justin asked.

"The church back in Austin required that you be Republican to attend," she explained.

Justin knew about racial discrimination in churches, but this was the first he'd heard of political bigotry. "Everyone is welcome to attend our church," he assured her.

"Really?"
Mrs. Cranston sounded dubious.
"How democratic."

"I planned to go," the woman who had been introduced as Mrs. Emma Fields announced with a conciliatory air. She was a birdlike woman who wore her brown hair in a nest-like bun on top of her head. "But this old hip of mine was aching something fierce. I figure there would be plenty of time to hear your sermon."

"Just so you know, I preach a different sermon every week," he said.

Several women's eyebrows shot up.

"A different one.
Really?"
Maddie
said.

"What a quaint idea," Mrs. Fields exclaimed.

Mrs. Hitchcock walked over to him, her ample hips swayÂing like a boat on high seas. She stuck her face in Elizabeth's and made an odd little cooing sound. Elizabeth stared at her with big round eyes.

"I had no idea you were a family man. A family man," Mrs. Hitchcock said.

"Actually, I'm not," he explained. "The baby's father was killed during an Indian attack."

"How awful," Mrs. Fields exclaimed and all the women nodded in solemn agreement.

"I'm taking care of baby Elizabeth here for her mother," he said. "Perhaps you've heard of her?"

He cast a casual glance around the room, meeting the curious gaze of each woman in turn. "Her name is Sarah Prescott."

A stunned silence followed his announcement. Mouths dropped open, eyes rounded, needles froze in midair.

Mrs. Hitchcock was the first to break the strained silence.
"Oh, that poor, poor baby.
Poor baby," she gasped, hands on her ample bosom.

The expectant mother rubbed her belly and exclaimed. "That sweet child's mother doesn't deserve to die." She glanced at each woman in turn. "I don't care what any of you say."

"I couldn't agree more," Justin said.
"Especially since she tried to save the marshal's life."
He then explained how Sarah had removed Marshal Owen's bullet with her skillful surgery.

Miss Monica Freeman waved her quilting needle. "If you ask me, this whole debacle is a miscarriage of justice. The woman was condemned even before that farce of a trial."

Mrs. Hitchcock leaned over and whispered in his ear. "Miss Freeman is the schoolteacher, schoolteacher." As if the woman needed further endorsement, she added, "And she reads books, books." Her eyes rounded.
"Thick, thick books."

Everyone started to talk at once. Two of the ladies mainÂtained that Sarah deserved her fate but changed their minds when Elizabeth broke into a broad smile.

"She's as sweet as a gumdrop," Mrs. Hitchcock purred.

Mrs. Fields nodded. "One look at that face, and you just know she's from good stock."

The schoolteacher frowned. "That's ridiculous. You can't tell that by looking at a baby's face."

"I can!" Mrs. Fields said heatedly.

"So can I,"
Maddie
Thomson added, hand on her swollen belly.

After much discussion, the members of the Rocky Creek Quilting Bee decided two things: Elizabeth's mother didn't deserve to die, and Sarah Prescott's dear, sweet baby would be the recipient of the next quilt.

Satisfied, Justin thanked the ladies and took his leave. He walked down the flower-lined path and parked himself next to the gate. It was near Elizabeth's feeding time and she began to fuss. He jostled her, hoping he wouldn't have to wait long.

He didn't. Almost at once, the front door flew open and the exodus began.

The ladies of the Rocky Creek Quilting Bee apparently hadn't even bothered to wait for their president to declare the meeting over before making a mad dash for the door. He could hear Mrs. Hitchcock's objections from inside the house. "Ladies, ladies . . . Come back, come back!"

It was only by pure luck that Justin wasn't knocked off his feet in the mad rush that followed. The women apologized profusely for nearly barreling over him, made clucking sounds at Elizabeth, then scattered in different directions like hens trying to outrun a hatchet-wielding farmer.

They spread the news so fast following Justin's startling announcement that he barely had time to return to the boardinghouse to feed Elizabeth before he noted a number of carÂriages and buggies barreling past the house.

Arriving in town on horseback with Elizabeth slung against his chest, he smiled in satisfaction at the group of outÂraged citizens gathered outside the marshal's office to protest the hanging of baby Elizabeth's mother.

Tethering his horse on a hitching post, he leaned against a post in front of Fairbanks General Merchandise and watched, one hand cradling the baby's weight. Women of all shapes and sizes packed the street, carrying hastily made signs protesting Sarah's fate.

Things got so loud that Briggs was finally forced to step outside his office to control the crowd. Holding his palms outward, he pleaded with the women. "Now calm down. All of you."

Mrs. Hitchcock stepped forward. "We'll calm down, calm down, when you let that baby's mother go," she said, repeating herself twice more for good measure.

Marshal Briggs' face grew a worrisome shade of red, but he nonetheless appeared to waver until a starched woman dressed in black walked up to him. An uneasy silence settled over the crowd. Even so, Justin had to strain his ears to hear the woman's soft voice.

"Do I need to remind you all that my husband is dead because of
that.
. .
that woman?" she asked. "My children are without a father. What kind of brother are you to deny me justice?"

Justin was surprised to see her there. He didn't know Owen's widow had returned from her trip. He felt remiss for failing to pay his respects and fulfill his promise to Owen. Listening to her continue to rant, his heart sank. He hadn't counted on Owen's sister making a plea on her husband's behalf.
Poor woman.
She was so distraught. Who could blame her?

Briggs glanced at his widowed sister, then at the crowd. If Justin guessed right, the marshal's thoughts were on the upcoming election and his chances of becoming sheriff. He was caught between a rock and a hard place, and he knew it. Justin knew it. His brother's widow wanted one thing; the town, another.

Justin pressed his lips against Elizabeth's head. "So what do you
think,
little one? Will he choose the election or famÂily?" Women, of course, didn't have a vote, but they did influÂence the men in their lives. A man seeking office would be foolish to discount popular female opinion.

Justin didn't have to wait long for his answer.

Briggs raised his voice to address the crowd. "Bring me Miss Prescott's outlaw brothers, and she's free to go."

Justin was caught by surprise. Since the sheriff was out of the picture, the most he expected was to force Briggs to talk to the judge. What kind of place was this that
a mere town marshal
had the power to decide a prisoner's fate?

The crowd cheered, but Owen's widow stomped away angrily.

The marshal's gaze followed her all the way to her horse and buggy before he turned his attention back to the town's womenfolk. "You've got three days." Briggs turned away from the crowd.

Justin followed the marshal into his office, slamming the door shut behind him.

The marshal spun around to face Justin, his eyes flashing with impatience. "What do you want?"

"I can't find her brothers in three days," Justin said, anger creeping into his voice.

"What do you want me to do about it?"

"Talk to the judge. Demand another trial." Justin's gaze held the marshal's.

The marshal made a face. "It'll take longer than three days to sober him up."

"Then give me ten days," Justin said, though he had no idea if he could find her brothers in even that length of time.

Briggs practically sputtered. "Do you have any idea how much trouble that woman has caused? It ain't proper to jail men and women together. I had to release thirteen prisoners to make room for her. I've got killers and thieves
walkin
' around town just so I could put one woman in jail."

"Eight days," Justin persisted, and to sweeten the deal, he added, "Three Prescotts for one."

He could see the wheels turning in the marshal's head.

Hanging a woman would give him notoriety, but capturing her three brothers would win the election.

"
Five,
and that's my last offer. Now get so I can work."

Justin's mind worked furiously. "Not until I see the prisoner."

The marshal narrowed his eyes.
"Again?"

"You wouldn't deny a mother a chance to see her baby, now would you?"

Briggs glanced down at Elizabeth but said nothing. Instead, he stood and plucked a ring of keys from a rusty nail. Turning, he led the way to the cells in back, the keys jingling in his hand.

Fearing the commotion outside signaled a lynch party in her honor, Sarah's heart pounded and her knees trembled. The sound of a key in the lock of the outer door struck terror in her, and she backed into a corner.

When Justin walked up to her cell, she almost fainted with relief. He pulled Elizabeth out of her sling and held her up.

She rushed forward.
"Oh, Justin . . . If you ain't a sight for sore eyes."
Hands on her chest, she gazed at Elizabeth and tears stung her eyes. "I reckon there ain't
anythin
' more beautiful."

"Just like her mother," he said. She opened her mouth to protest, but before she could say a word, he added, "Her godmother."

She reached through the bars and stroked the baby's soft pink cheek. Elizabeth's little bow mouth curved upward.

Justin beamed with pride. He settled the baby in the curve of his arm. "See? What did I tell you?" All too soon the smile left his face.

She studied him, searching for the least sign of good news. Much to her dismay, he looked dead serious, her fate plainly written in the fine lines creasing the corners of his eyes and mouth. She felt her heart sink like a rock in a river.

"Oh,
Justin . . .
If. . .
Promise me, you'll take care of her."

"Sarah—"

"Make sure she learns her contraptions."

"What?"

"I mean . . . Conception."

He stared at her. "I don't think we should rush things."

She brightened. "No, no, I mean contractions. That's it. Make sure she learns her contractions so she can talk like a lady."

"Sarah—" His voice was hoarse with emotion.

"Don't you go stretching the blanket, none, you hear? I want the truth. They're fixing to lynch me, right?"

"The marshal has granted you a five-day reprieve."

She frowned. "Is that good?"

"The good news is that he has agreed to spare your life altogether providing . . .
uh
. . . certain conditions are met."

Something in his voice made her mouth go dry. "
What.
. . what conditions?"

Justin hesitated.

"Justin Wells, you tell me
ev'rythin
', you hear? What conditions?"

He shifted Elizabeth from one arm to the other. "He says he will spare your neck if your brothers turn themselves in."

She took a deep breath. "I reckon my goose is cooked, then."