Sarah My Beloved (Little Hickman Creek Series #2) (19 page)

"Well, that's done," mumbled Rocky some time later, jarring Sarah out of another momentary slumber. "How are you
feeling, Sarah?" he asked, laying a towel down and moving
across the room to drop into a nearby chair, Rachel and Seth
tucking their feet under them on the floor beside her. Everyone looked particularly drained, and Sarah felt responsible.

"Tired," she replied, "and helpless."

Rocky managed half a smile. "Well, there's no help for
that. Doc says you're to stay in bed for at least three days."

"But that's ridiculous," she answered, grabbing her head
when the sound of her own voice ripped at her nerve endings.

"I can help, Sarah," Rachel said, her diminutive voice
holding undue authority, her small palm coming up to pat
Sarah on the arm. "You have to obey Doc's orders if you want
to get well."

Sarah blinked, awed by the girl's maturity. "I appreciate
that, Rachel, but I won't have you doing all the work."

"I'll help, too, and Uncle Rocky says we can all pitch in
with the housework."

Warmed, Sarah focused tired eyes on Rocky. "Did you say
that?"

He broke into a leisurely smile. "I did, but just so you know,
we'll be anxious to see you back on your feet. It was a bit of a
letdown to have to abide my cooking again."

She managed a tremulous smile. "I thought the biscuits
were-were.. .

"They was kinda hard," Seth put in. "And burnt."

"Seth!" Sarah scolded.

When she looked at Rocky, he was laughing. "He speaks
the truth," he said.

Sarah bit her lip and covered her mouth with the corner of
her blanket. "Well, the salt pork was-tasty-and the cheese..."
What could she say about the cheese?

The room went still until Rachel giggled. "Uncle Rocky
found a block of cheese in the back shed. He had to cut off a
big hunk of mold. It sure stank up the place!"

Rocky threw the girl a frenzied look. "You didn't have to
mention that."

Under normal circumstances, Sarah wouldn't have laughed
and the throbbing pain in her head warned her against undue
movement, but there was no help for it. Something about his
pathetic expression humored her, flat-out enchanted her.
What started out as stern restraint transformed into a flicker
of mirth, then outright laugher, bubbling up from down deep,
uncontrolled and urgent.

Rocky stared, as did the children, and the more they
studied her outburst, the more she giggled. Finally, a flash of
humor sneaked across Rocky's face, setting off a rippling effect
of laughter from Seth and Rachel, which must have amused
Rocky the more.

At first, his laugh was low and throaty, as if he meant to
hold it back. But as the merriment continued, his laughter
deepened, reverberating off the walls of the little Kentucky
cabin and blending with the others' mirth to create some kind
of exquisite harmony.

Sarah didn't know what to make of it. She was thrilled to
hear her husband laugh with such freedom, not to mention the
children, and it struck her that she wished the moment could
go on forever despite the pounding ache of her head.

Yet, just as all good things must end, this too finishedRocky cleared his throat and stood, an instant of wistfulness
stealing into his expression but quickly being replaced by inexplicable withdrawal. "I best go check on the animals," he said.
The abrupt manner in which he strode across the room and
threw on his jacket told her he had emptied himself of his
good-natured humor.

Hours later, Rocky lay sprawled on the lumpy couch, staring at the plaster ceiling, tossing and turning to avoid the loose
spring that insisted on poking his backside.

He knew without checking it was well past midnight.
Unable to sleep, he yanked a corner of the blanket up and
over his exposed shoulder. Sarah's scent wafted past his nostrils with the simple movement. She'd used the same blanket
today, he reminded himself, rubbing its downy edge under his
nose once more for good measure.

"Don't be stupid," he muttered aloud, disgusted with the
direction his mind had taken him. She was his wife, yes, but in
name only. He'd do well to remember that.

He told himself again she wouldn't outlast spring planting,
particularly after today. He could see she wasn't accustomed to
inconvenience by the way she'd grumped at him off and on.
She was probably used to having house cleaners, nursemaids,
and butlers at her disposal. Well, lying on a lump-ridden
couch all day with no one to tend to her but a five- and sevenyear-old had undoubtedly soured her to the hassles of rural
living. Of course, he'd checked on her as often as possible,
but the usual farm chores had kept him from seeing to her
every need.

He went over the events of the day-waking her every few
hours; reheating a kettle of chicken soup for lunch, of which
she'd only taken a few spoonfuls; helping her to her bedroom
twice so she could see to her personal needs; then seeing her
back to the couch, where she'd insisted on remaining. He
knew it mortified her that he'd stood outside her bedroom
door-waiting, listening-while she went about her business,
but he'd be hogtied before he'd let her walk any distance on her own until her dizzy spells passed. Doc Randolph said she
would be feeling poorly for several days if he were to judge
the length of her recovery by the size of the knot on the back
of her head. Yes, after today she'd be more than ready to
head back East, where all the luxuries of private nursing lay
at her fingertips.

He must have finally dozed, for it wasn't until close to two
in the morning that he heard a shuffle in Sarah's room, something like a heavy book or lamp hitting the floor, and then a
whimper or a moan.

In less than a second, his feet hit the floor. He passed a
hand over his scruffy face to get his bearings, making sure he
hadn't been dreaming, and made a beeline for Sarah's room,
forgetting his trousers altogether. After giving a gentle knock
and getting no answer, he flung wide the door. There she was,
sprawled on the floor, reaching for the side of the bed, her
ruby tresses falling across her face, her nightgown creeping up
to reveal two shapely legs.

"What happened?" he asked, bending over her to help her
to her feet.

"I'm sorry to be such a nuisance," she replied, taking
the hand he offered and allowing him to lead her back to
the bed. "I thought I could manage to walk out to the privy,
but...I'm suddenly so dizzy." She sat down and mopped her
moist forehead with a trembling hand. "I guess I lost my balance.

"Are you all right?" he asked, fearful that she'd hurt herself.

"I'm fine."

"What exactly did you think you were doing, young lady?" His voice came off sounding harsh, but she'd scared him
plenty.

Her shoulders sagged in quiet resignation as she gave way
to a shaky sigh. "I just wanted to go to the...you know."

"Outhouse," he finished, biting back a grin, relieved to see
she was okay, just shaken.

She gave a resolute nod. "I'm such a bother," she blurted.

"Sarah..." He dropped down beside her and felt the poke
and jab of the old straw mattress, smelled the musky dampness
of the plaster walls. He'd never minded the mattress when he
slept on it, but somehow it didn't seem right that Sarah should
have to lie on it. Raw, primitive emotion tugged at his soul, its
edges sharp and jagged, as a stab of guilt hit him square in
the chest.

Without thinking, he put an arm around her shoulder.
It was the first time he'd actually touched her in any way but
casual. Even the hasty wedding kiss he'd planted on her lips had
lacked true sentiment. "You're not a bother," he said, hearing
the quake in his own voice. "I'm sorry if I've given you the
impression that you are."

A choked, desperate sigh escaped her throat. "But look
at the trouble I've caused you. You haven't even gotten a good
night's sleep since I arrived. And now you've had to go back to
making the meals."

"You're not complaining about my cooking, are you?" he
teased.

She glanced sideways in surprise, her warm breath touching his cheeks. "No."

"Well, then, you should just try to relax and do as the doctor
says, take it easy for the next few days. Everything will work out fine." For the life of him, he couldn't figure out what had just
come over him. He hadn't been this reasonable since-well, he
couldn't remember when.

The tension in her shoulders loosened as he coaxed her
closer, and when she rested her head in the hollow of his neck,
he found himself drinking in the comfort of her nearness,
enjoying her softness far more than was right.

And if he didn't watch himself, he might be tempted to
kiss her.

"Are you ready for me to help you out to the privy?" he suddenly asked, recalling her motive for getting out of bed. "The
ice has melted, but I insist on walking you there just the same."

She took a quick, sharp breath and pulled herself away
from him. To his dismay, the place where she'd rested herself
felt vacant and unreasonably cold. "I don't care what the doctor
says," she declared, "I'm not going to waste my time lying on
that couch-not when there's work to be done."

Just like that, she stood up, took a moment to steady herself, and began walking to the door. He jumped up beside her
and took her arm.

Stubborn woman, he told himself.

The next morning Sarah felt considerably better despite
the continued dizziness that forced her back to the couch.
The headache had dwindled to a dull ache, which Rocky had
insisted would worsen if she overexerted herself. Apparently,
he'd felt it his duty to lecture her all through breakfast on the
rash statement she'd made the night before about not following the doctor's exact orders.

Sarah had smiled to herself, toying with the notion that
maybe Rocky was beginning to care for her. But when he disappeared to the barn after the breakfast cleanup, and then
galloped away on his horse sometime later with no word as to
where he was heading, she tossed the foolish thought out the
window.

"Want me to read to you, Sarah?" Rachel asked at midmorning.

"I would like nothing more," Sarah said. Her head had
started throbbing again, but she thought the diversion might
do her good.

"Can I listen, too?" Seth asked from his place on the floor.

"Of course!" Sarah answered. He'd been lining up a collection of "soldiers"-the toy Sarah had given him, along with
various sticks and rocks-on the floor and forcing them into
numerous battles and shootouts. She decided a diversion would
be good for him as well.

"What should I read?" asked Rachel. "I've already finished
Little Lord Fauntleroy."

"Would you read from my Bible?"

Knowing what a good reader Rachel was, Sarah felt certain she could easily read any passage.

"Sure." Rachel reached for the Bible Sarah handed her
and snuggled her back to the couch, stocking-covered feet
stretched toward the fire. Seth crawled over beside her, taking
a corner of Sarah's blanket to cover up with, and the three of
them nestled in together.

After Rachel had read the first three chapters of Matthew
with nary a blunder, she paused and looked at Sarah. "Seth's
asleep," she whispered.

Sarah smiled. "You're a splendid reader, sweetie. You must
have lulled him with your soft, clear voice."

Rachel blushed, evidently unaccustomed to compliments.
"My mama gave me her Bible." Her voice was soft and timid.
So seldom did Rachel ever mention her mother that Sarah
decided to seize the moment.

"How wonderful. May I see it?"

Rachel walked to her bedroom and reappeared moments
later with a medium-sized, brown, leather Bible, its cover tattered and torn, revealing hours of use. She placed it in Sarah's
hands, and for a moment, Sarah simply massaged its rough
and ragged edges.

She would give anything to have a treasure such as this
from her own mother, but most of her legacy consisted of
earthly properties and monetary assets-things that mattered
little for eternity's sake, things that mattered little to Sarah.