Too Long a Stranger (Women of the West) (24 page)

She nodded solemnly. "I needed it," she admitted. "God used it for good."

"Romans 8:28," Seth said quietly.

Sarah did not have to wait to get home to look up the verse. She knew Seth was reminding her that all things do work together for good for the children of God if they just allow Him to work as He sees best.

She smiled and nodded. "I need to get going," she said.

"I'll take over your freight as soon as you get back. You just enjoy getting reacquainted with your daughter."

***

If there ever was a day that Sarah wished to have things go well, it was this one when the stage pulled into town bearing Rebecca.

But things did not go well. All day long little things—irritating little things—seemed to happen. The minutes ticked by and became hours and Sarah found herself getting further and further behind in her deliveries.

"The stage is going to be there before I get back," she fussed as she tried to hurry her plodding team. She wished she had agreed to Seth's request to cover for her. Or asked Mrs. Galvan to meet Rebecca. Sarah had been rather selfish in expressing her desires.

"I want the first day all to myself," she had explained to the Galvans. "I will share her with you later."

And they had understood.

And now she feared she wouldn't be there, and Rebecca would arrive home with no one to meet her. She would feel totally—forsaken. Like no one really cared if she came home or not.

Sarah chaffed and tried again to hurry the plodding team. It seemed that they had two speeds—slow—and barely moving.

"Gyp. Hi!" she called impatiently. "Ginger. Step it up."

But other than a flick of the ears, the horses paid no attention.

Sarah brought the rein down on the broad rump of Gyp, then Ginger. She had never before laid the rein to her horses in all of her years of driving, but her great agitation stirred her now.

Startled, the horses both responded, jerking forward on the harness only to be hampered by the weight of the wagon. At once Sarah felt remorse and allowed the two patient animals to settle back down to their usual plodding gait.

"I won't be there," Sarah wailed and was tempted to tie the team and run on ahead. But she knew that would be foolish.

"Maybe the stage will be late," she hoped. "It often is." But Sarah feared that this might be one of the days it would be on time.

She entered the main street of the town just as the stage was nearing the small depot. Hastily Sarah clambered down from the wagon, dropping her reins to ground-tie the horses. On foot she ran through the dust of the street, anxious to be there when Rebecca stepped down from the stagecoach.

***

Rebecca stretched a fashionable shoe toward the ground, her billows of skirts and crinolines lifted protectively in one white-gloved hand. Her thoughts were scattered and mixed. So this was Kenville. This was home. This was where her mother— Where was her mother? Rebecca let her eyes drift over the small crowd, trying to locate the face of the woman that hazily reflected in her memory. She could spot no one that looked at all familiar.

Just as Rebecca lowered her other foot, shook her skirts gently, and picked up her parasol, there was a shuffling through the small crowd. Rebecca raised her eyes.

Someone was rushing toward her. A man? No, the person was small. A boy?

Someone was calling her name, "Rebecca. Rebecca."

There was a catch in the voice—but it was unmistakenly a woman's voice.

Rebecca stood rooted to the spot while the figure rushed toward her. She was totally confused as this— this strange person with a woman's voice and man's clothing came rushing at her.

"Rebecca," the voice said again.

The person ground to a halt, suddenly as hesitant, as uncertain, as the bewildered girl.

"Are you—?" she began, her voice quivering.

"I'm—Rebecca," the girl managed to answer.

"But you've—you're—"

The girl let her eyes travel over the dusty,
disheveled figure before her. It was a woman. A woman with sun-darkened, weary-looking skin. A woman in dusty trousers and wrinkled shirt. A woman in hardened leather gloves that looked too big for her hands. But a woman with warm, blue eyes that somehow triggered a memory.

"Mother—?" queried Rebecca uncertainly.

"Oh, Rebecca," the woman sobbed, moving forward now without hesitation. "You're home. You're finally home," and she enfolded the young woman in her arms and let her tears flow.

Rebecca tried to respond. Tried hard to feel something. Something. Anything—other than horror and alarm.

Beginning Again

Gradually Sarah's arms relaxed their embrace and she stepped back and looked at the young girl whose slender form she held.

"Rebecca," she said again, emotion making her voice tremble. "You've changed. I scarcely knew you."

Rebecca looked evenly at the woman before her.
Is this really my mother? But she is so
—
so
— Rebecca could not finish the thought. She did not wish to acknowledge what she was feeling.

But the woman kept looking at .her. Studying her face. Perhaps searching for the little girl she had known.

"You've grown—you're a—a young woman." She laughed at herself. "Here I was still looking for my little girl," she said lamely. "I should have known—well, I did know—in my head, but—"

Rebecca stirred restlessly. The hands that still rested on her shoulders were creasing her gown—perhaps grinding dirt into the whiteness of the lacy collar.

Sarah released her hold and stepped back, her eyes still full of tears of love and rejoicing. She blinked them away.

"You must be—dreadfully weary," she managed in a voice that was almost natural. "Come. Let's get you home. Seth will see to your luggage."

And Sarah took Rebecca's arm and led her across the dusty street.

Rebecca could hear the buzz of voices behind her. She was conscious of many pairs of staring eyes. She was also conscious of the drabness of the buildings, the dirt that seemed to lie everywhere that she wanted to place her foot, the dry, starkly bare hillsides that framed in the little town.

The West,
she thought to herself.
This is romantic? Peony should see me now.

But at once Rebecca changed her mind. She was so thankful that none of her friends could see her in her present circumstance. She would have died of embarrassment had they seen her mother come rushing toward her looking—looking—totally unwomanly. Totally—

Rebecca checked her thoughts. She did not want to even think in such a fashion. After all, this woman was her mother. She deserved her respect.

And Rebecca straightened her shoulders and marched on beside Sarah, trying to ignore the curious glances and the wagging tongues. She concentrated on lifting her skirts to avoid the swirling of the dust as she walked.

"I'm so glad we have nice weather for your arrival," Sarah was saying as she ushered her along, "It is so miserable when it has rained and the streets are full of mud. Somedays I just give up on even trying to keep myself clean."

Rebecca cast a sideways glance at the woman in the dirty trousers. Was she serious?

"I would have been here earlier," continued the woman in an excited voice, "but I had lots of trouble on the freight run today. Some days are like that. Oh, my! I left my team. Right in the middle of the road. I've never done that before. I hope— Well, I'll have to go check on them. Can you find your way on home? I'll just be a few minutes. Will you be able—"

"I ... I don't remember," said Rebecca with a faltering voice.

"Well—you can just stop at the Galvans if you like. Mrs. Galvan—Aunt Min—is so anxious to see you. If you like you can just pop in there and wait for me."

Rebecca was even further confused.

"Right down the street. The white house with the green shutters," went on Sarah.

"I—I think I'd—just rather go on—home. If you don't mind," said Rebecca shakily.
I don't know the Galvans,
she was thinking.
I don't remember. Are they
—
are they like
—
?
But she didn't allow herself to finish that thought either.

"You must be tired," Sarah continued. "I'll just look after the team and then I'll be right home. We'll fix you a nice hot bath and then we'll have our supper. We'll have the whole evening to talk. The whole evening to catch up.

"You—you go on home," she said again. "It's the last house on the left of the street. You'll find it easily. The house with the barn and corrals."

Rebecca nodded mutely and turned to hasten down the street. She was glad that she was alone. Perhaps it would give her opportunity to recover her poise. She had been totally unprepared for what she had found. She just wished to get home—in the comforts of her own room, away from the staring eyes of strangers.

***

Sarah watched as her daughter walked on down the street. Then her eyes filled with tears again. It was touching. It really was. Rebecca had seemed to prefer the Galvans' home to her own before she had left for school. Now—now she was anxious to go home.

But she hadn't expected her to be quite so grownup. Quite so attractive. Or so—so sophisticated. She hardly knew how to communicate with her. What to say.

She looked down at her mannish attire. "Look at me. Just look at me," she whispered. "Rebecca must have been shocked. I'd planned to clean up. To get home in time to put on my navy skirt and my striped shirtwaist—"

But even as Sarah described her plan, she knew instinctively that Rebecca still would have been shocked. The skirt and shirtwaist that she had chosen as appropriate were really quite out-of-date and unattractive. She still would have been woefully lacking in her fashion-conscious daughter's eyes.

***

It must be the right place. It was the last house on the street. And it did have a barn and corrals. But it was so small. It was so—so plain. Rebecca had seen servants' quarters that were more elaborate. But it had to be the right place. Rebecca moved forward and up the front walk.

But the door would not open to her knock. Apparently there were no servants about to bid her enter.  She tried the knob but it would not turn. With annoyance she left the front and preceded around to the back. There was another door there and Rebecca found that it opened willingly as she turned the handle and pushed.

"Well—at least I won't be left standing out on the porch," she said and entered a small kitchen—tidy but plain. Rebecca reasoned that perhaps servants in the West did not need as much working space. She passed on through to the rooms beyond.

But the next room was really of little consolation. The floors and walls were bare except for small scatter rugs and a few faded pictures with discolored frames. The furniture was plain and simple. Even the curtains at the windows were coarse and faded. Rebecca turned from the barrenness, seeking refuge elsewhere.

She found two bedrooms. Both were very small. By the look of the first she judged it to be her mother's room. She went on to the second. The room was small and crowded, but Rebecca concluded that it must be meant for her.

There was a small bed, made up with a handmade quilt. Lace curtains, that looked stiff with newness, fluttered at the window where a breeze teased them. The walls were a faded blue paint. The table by the bed was flounced with a blue and white check.

She had just removed her gloves and tossed them on the bed when she heard a knock at the door. Surely one of the servants would get it. She carefully removed her bonnet, patting disarranged curls back into place with a practiced hand when the knock came again.

Again, Rebecca ignored it, though she was beginning to feel uneasy.

Then she heard steps in the kitchen. Apparently the person who was to have been on duty had finally returned and answered the door.

Reluctantly she went to take charge. She was used to dealing with hired help. It seemed they never knew quite how to go about things on their own.

Rebecca stepped through the kitchen door just as a tall, huskily built young man was setting two pieces of her luggage beside the table.

For one moment Rebecca was caught off guard. He wasn't quite what she had expected. But she quickly regained her composure and said with authority, "Just put them in my. . ." She hesitated, flustered. Did she really wish to claim it? "In the—the little bedroom— to the right," she finished.

He straightened. He was taller than she had thought. And he was younger as well. For one moment their eyes met. Rebecca wasn't sure which one of them might have showed the most surprise.

He lifted a hand to remove his dusty hat. "Ma'am," he said, and then smiled.

The smile unnerved Rebecca. She wasn't used to servants taking such liberties. She drew back and straightened to her full height. For the moment she envied Annabelle, who could demand so much more respect from her five-foot seven-inch frame. The servants all paid close attention to Miss Annabelle.

"In the bedroom," repeated Rebecca evenly.