Sarah My Beloved (Little Hickman Creek Series #2) (16 page)

"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.

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 noted. 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.

"We are planning a two-month honeymoon trip to Europe
in May and June, after which she will settle in with me at our
family home in Boston.

As I was cleaning out Mother and Father's house, I discovered these china dishes along with a note that I was to
give them to you. Of course, Mother always thought that you
and I would share them, but since that will not be the case,
I am sure she would still want you to have them. Mother
said you always commented on the lovely blue pattern, and so I thought the set would serve as a fine wedding gift. I am
including the silver dinnerware as my gift to you. I hope you
will accept them with my best wishes.

I know we did not part on the best of terms, Sarah. Perhaps
when the day comes that you wish to retrieve your inherita-"

Sarah stopped there and folded the letter. "I think perhaps
I will finish the rest later. It's getting rather tiresome anyway.
Shall we look at the dishes?" she asked.

"Is that all there is then, dishes and spoons and forks?"
Seth asked, disappointment clearly present in his voice.

"I'm afraid so, Seth," Sarah answered, tousling the top of
his head.

"I want to see them," Rachel urged. "They sound pretty."

Sarah purposely avoided Rocky's vigilant eyes, noting his
stance hadn't changed. If anything, he'd grown stiffer, more
stern-faced.

Indeed, the china dishes were as she remembered them:
eighteenth-century blue and white Delft dishes imported
straight from the Netherlands. Rachel released a sigh when
Sarah carefully retrieved one of the plates wrapped in newsprint and handed it over for her perusal.

"I never saw dishes so pretty," Rachel whispered, laying
the dish on the table to finger its delicate pattern. "My mama
was too poor for dishes this beautiful." A wistful notion passed
through Sarah's head that one day she might will these very
dishes to Rachel.

"Yes, they are lovely. I did comment on them frequently,
but goodness, I didn't expect Mrs. Alden would one day give
them to me. We used to eat on them when our families shared
meals together."

"Which was often?" asked Rocky, stepping closer to eye
the dishes for himself.

Sarah looked at him. "Not as often as you might think.
Holidays and special occasions, mostly. Both our mothers
were involved in charitable organizations and societal events,
which took up a good share of their time. They were the best
of friends, Stephen's mother and Mama.

"Neither of our fathers was home much, what with all their
business travel. Papa died some eight years ago, leaving only
Mama and myself. The two of us joined the Aldens more frequently after that. Stephen's parents both perished in a train
crash two years ago. It was most tragic." Sarah felt herself give
way to a huge sigh. "Then, once Mama took ill, well, things
changed even more drastically."

Since the topic had turned introspective, Sarah took to
unwrapping the rest of the dishes, finally digging her way to
the bottom of the box where she found the lovely silver dinner
service.

"Oh my," she gasped, pulling out a beautiful knife and
stroking the smooth floral design. "Aren't these nice?"

Rachel reached inside the box and took out a long, polished fork. Even Seth dug out a silver piece for purposes of
studying it more closely.

"Too nice to use," Rocky muttered, looking around the
kitchen and then the rest of the house.

"We'll use them every single day," Sarah declared, standing taller. "Silver tarnishes with lack of use. No point in allowing that to happen."

"This is not a big city where folks much care what your
eating utensils look like, Sarah; it's Little Hickman, Kentucky. And what we already have will work just fine. In case you
haven't noticed, this rustic house wasn't made for china and
silver." Now his voice took on a harsher tone, gaining everyone's attention. "If it is high society you want, perhaps you
should go back to Boston."

"What?" Hurt, Sarah looked at Rocky and prayed a hasty
prayer for patience and wisdom. "Of course, Winchester is
nothing like Little Hickman, but that doesn't mean I don't like
it here. And your house-it's comfortable and cozy."