Too Long a Stranger (Women of the West) (14 page)

For one moment Sarah felt resentment. Would Boyd
never
let Rebecca go? After all, she wasn't his child. She belonged to Sarah. Rebecca was hers. Hers and Michael's. If anyone traveled with Rebecca it should be her. Rebecca's mother. Boyd had no business butting in.

"Uncle Boyd said he didn't want you worryin' that I might not get there safe an' sound," went on Rebecca hurriedly. "He said you get precious little sleep as it is—you couldn't afford to have days and nights of worry before they sent a wire that I was there safe and sound—that's what Uncle Boyd said."

Sarah felt ashamed of her resentment. So it wasn't just Rebecca Boyd was protecting. He was still trying to shield her as well.

She swallowed hard, blinking back tears that threatened to spill.

"That's—that's nice," she managed to say to her daughter as she stooped to pick up the currycomb to stroke the broad side of Ginger. "That's nice. I—I won't worry with—with Uncle Boyd traveling with you, will I?"

Rebecca did not stop to answer. "I'm gonna go find Cat," she flung over her shoulder.

Rebecca had changed the name of her cat from Unca Boy to Cat after the pet had produced a litter of five fluffy kittens.

"Uncle Boyd says he will take care of Cat and her last babies for me when I'm gone," she called back to her mother. "He says you are too busy to worry about cats all over the house."

Sarah smiled. She had wondered what she would do with Cat and her penchant for motherhood. She was glad to turn that problem over to Boyd.

***

On the day that Rebecca was to be boarding on the outgoing stage, Sarah literally felt ill. Her stomach churned and she felt faint. She wondered if she would be able to make it through the ordeal of saying goodbye.

There was a knock at the door. Rebecca ran to answer it. Boyd stood there, hat in hand.

"Uncle Boyd!" squealed Rebecca, opening wide the door so he might enter. Then she took another look and anxiety showed in her face.

"We need to go soon. It's almost time. Where's yer bag?"

Boyd grinned an easy grin. "Oh, don't worry. I'm ready to go. I already dropped my bag off. Cice says he will pull out in twenty minutes."

Sarah felt about to faint.

"I better get my things," said Rebecca with alarm and ran toward her bedroom.

Boyd lifted his eyes to Sarah. "Are you okay?" he asked with deep concern.

"I—I'll be fine," she tried to assure him, but she knew that her face must have given away her true condition.

"I—I wondered if you might like to—to say goodbye to Rebecca here at home—instead of—of coming to the stage," he went on gently.

Sarah was torn, wanting to be with her Rebecca every possible minute. On the other hand—she knew she would dissolve into tears once the stagecoach door closed on her child. She wavered. Should she crowd in that extra minute and risk a public display of emotion or should she say goodbye at their own door and be free to weep for the child she was losing?

"Maybe—maybe you're right," she said at last. "Maybe I will just—just say goodbye here."

"I think you should sit down," Boyd advised, studying her pale face.

Sarah dropped to the chair he held for her.

"I'd best help her with her luggage before she tries to tote it all herself," he said lightly and grinned at Sarah. She tried very hard to smile in return.

And before Sarah had a chance to sort it all out, she was saying goodbye to a bubbling Rebecca who was going on a wonderful journey with her Uncle Boyd.

"I'll look after her," the man whispered to Sarah.

"I know you will," she replied through her tears.

"I won't come back until I'm sure she's settled," he went on.

Sarah could not speak again, so merely nodded.

"You take care," said Boyd and surprised Sarah by drawing her close and holding her. For a moment Sarah longed to lean on him—to be comforted by the strong arms that held her.

"Uncle Boyd—hurry," called Rebecca. "We might miss the stage."

Sarah pulled back. She managed to look up into Boyd's eyes. The two did not speak again. What could they say to each other?

He released her and turned to follow Rebecca down the boardwalk, the child's luggage in his hands.

Sarah thought of that previous time she had watched him go. The night had been black and wintry. Much as she felt today. And he had called back to her in the darkness, "Anytime." Anytime. She knew that he had meant it then. She knew that he meant it now as he shepherded her child safely off to school.

Her Rebecca. Her little baby. So far away—for such a long, long time. Sarah turned back to her quiet little home. She groped her way toward her bedroom. She was glad she had hired someone to take the daily freight run for her today. She was in for a very long cry.

Moving On in Faith

Even though Sarah felt very relieved to have Boyd accompany Rebecca to her new school, she still found herself fretting as the days slowly dragged by. She would be so glad when Boyd returned and she could hear firsthand the account of their travels and Rebecca's adjustment.

There was no time to sit around and mope. Sarah had to get back to work. She needed every penny she could scrape together to see her way through the expensive school years that lay ahead.

She tried to turn her attention to her business. Was there a way that she might increase her earnings? Could she load and unload by herself and save the money she had been paying for help? No, it didn't seem plausible. She simply was too small to have the strength the job required.

Then, could she increase the amount of freight she hauled? No. She was already hauling all that came into the town. Could she raise her prices? Perhaps—minimally. But Sarah was reluctant to ask her patrons for more money. They could not afford to pay higher delivery costs and, for the most part, they had been so kind in staying with her when she had been given competition by the man who had tried so hard to destroy her business. And she couldn't have a double rate, penalizing those who had switched to the competition and then back again.

No, it seemed that the only way to increase her income for school expenses was to cut back on her own expenses. With Rebecca gone she wouldn't need to spend quite as much on food costs. But that wouldn't save her much. Rebecca had already taken most of her meals with the Galvans.

She would just have to struggle along as best she could—and trust in God to provide for her inadequacy.

She had prayed for God's leading. Now she simply had to take the provisions for the future, for both herself and her daughter, by faith. Somehow, God would provide.

***

It seemed forever as Sarah waited for Boyd's return. Day by day as she made her Kenville deliveries, her eyes sought out the incoming stagecoach, hoping to see a broad-shouldered man in a dusty black Stetson step from the conveyance. Day by day she was disappointed.

"Would you care for a cup of hot tea?" Alex Murray surprised her by asking as he came down the steps from his building to help the young lad unload his freight.

It was the first time he had asked the
question for many months. Sarah could not remember the last time. She had
started turning down the cups of tea in her effort to stop the town gossips. She
hadn't wanted Rebecca hearing whispers that might cause confusion. After a number of refusals, Alex had stopped extending the invitation. Now he was again offering the bit of refreshment.

"I've just brewed a fresh pot," he went on. "It's in there on the table."

Sarah sighed and wiped her hand across her brow. With no Rebecca to go home to, she was in no hurry.

"I'd—I'd like that," she replied and managed a bit of a smile.

Alex just nodded toward a door at the back of his shop.

Sarah entered the neat, simple kitchen. She noted that the table was set with much more than just tea. Buttered bread was placed on a plate, the jam jar open beside it. Two thick slices of fresh banana bread rested on another small plate.

Sarah had not realized how hungry she was.

She lowered herself to a chair, then took a look at her hands. She was appalled at what she saw and wearily lifted herself up again. She crossed to the corner basin and washed her hands thoroughly with the fragrant soap. Then she splashed water over her hot, dusty face, rinsed, and wiped it on the towel.

While she stood before the basin, she took the time to glance in the mirror and tidy her hair, clasping it more firmly with the pins that had worked loose with the rumbling of the wagon.

Already she felt better. Now she would be able to thoroughly enjoy her tea.

Alex Murray's was the last stop of the day. She had no laundry that needed her care when she arrived home. In fact, there was no heavy task waiting for her. She would simply care for the team, fix herself a light supper, and then—then what? She wasn't sure what she would do with her evening. It was so lonely in the house with no Rebecca. She would need something to fill her mind and her hours.

She poured some of the pungent, hot liquid for herself, still puzzling over how she might fill the empty void that Rebecca had occupied. She didn't even have an excuse to visit Mrs. Galvan anymore.

Sarah reached for a slice of the buttered bread and spread over it a generous supply of the berry jam. She hadn't eaten anything that had really tasted this delicious since—since Rebecca had left.

She ate the second piece, serving herself more tea to go with it.

She was enjoying another cup of tea and the last bit of banana bread when Alex Murray joined her. He was rubbing his hands on his pants as he entered, then reached up and brushed back the lock of brown hair that had fallen over his forehead.

He looked pleased. Sarah smiled, pointed to the empty plates before her, and flushed a bit.

"I do hope you weren't counting on joining me for tea," she managed with an embarrassed laugh. "I fear I've eaten the whole thing."

The man did not even reply. Just grinned at Sarah.

He stroked back his hair again and reached to loosen his tie from where he had tucked it in his shirt to keep it out of the way of the freight boxes.

He didn't ask her how things were going or if she was missing her daughter. Instead, he pulled out the chair across from her and sat down backward, straddling the seat and resting his arms on the chair back.

"Thought you might have some time on your hands with Rebecca and Boyd—" He stopped. He brushed at his hair again, then lowered his chin to rest it on his hands.

Sarah was suddenly impressed with how young Alex really was. He didn't have much in years on her Michael. For some reason she had always considered him to be older than that.

She finished her last sip of tea and lowered the cup slowly to the saucer.

"There is a play over at the school tonight. Mrs. Brady was telling me about it. Her Bud has one of the main parts. She says it's worth seeing. Would you care to go?" His words surprised her.

It would be her answer to a long, lonely evening. Before Sarah even stopped to think, she had replied, "I'd like that."

Alex was smiling. "I'll pick you up at seven-thirty," he said and unstraddled the chair.

Sarah stood up and shook her skirts. For some reason she felt a little more like a lady.

She smiled softly. It would be good to get out. She couldn't remember the last time she had done something for sheer enjoyment.

"I'll be ready," she promised as she paused in the kitchen door.

"Seven-thirty," Alex repeated.

***

"What in the world have I gone and done?" Sarah asked herself later as she brushed down the team. "It—it might look to others like—like I am
keeping company
with Mr. Murray."

The thought brought horror to her thinking and a flush to her cheeks.

"Well—I can't back out now. I—really must go through with this—I guess. But I certainly—certainly will guard my tongue in the future. I've no wish to start rumors circulating again."

Sarah brushed so energetically that Gyp turned his head and studied her, then shifted uncomfortably from one big foot to the other.

"Well—I needn't take my stupidity out on you," Sarah rebuked herself and slowed down her efforts.

Once the team had been settled in the barn, Sarah set out making her plans for the evening. In spite of herself, her pulse quickened. She didn't know if it was excitement, nerves, or remorse.

"This is so—so frivolous," she scolded herself. "I should have stopped and thought before answering."

Sarah's hand trembled as she looked at the gowns in her closet. Many of them she had not worn since Michael had died. She no longer wore the black of mourning, but she had been wearing simpler things for Sunday morning worship, and besides her freight route, that was the only place Sarah had been going over the past five years.

"This was Michael's favorite," she whispered, her hand resting on a pale blue organdie with a flounced skirt and puffed sleeves. "Well, I'll not wear it—that's certain. This is just an evening out—with a long-time friend—to fill the hours."