Too Long a Stranger (Women of the West) (26 page)

Rebecca felt confused. How should she be responding to this woman?' How should she feel? It was all so strange. The used-to-be was so different than the now. She looked at the woman before her, and for a moment something foreign tugged at her heart. She crossed back to where Sarah still sat in her chair and reached out to gently kiss her on the forehead.

"Good-night, Mother," she said, her voice a mere whisper. That was the way she had said her good-night to Mrs. Foster in all the years she had lived in her home—but Sarah did not know that. She blinked at tears again.

"Good-night, Rebecca," she answered in a choking voice. "Sleep well. I'm—I'm glad you're home. So glad."

***

Rebecca's eyes fluttered open and she stared at the ceiling.
Where am I?
she thought, coming gradually to her senses. The bit of light coming in the window indicated it was barely dawn.

Then it all came back to her. Her horrid trip west on the miserable train. Her arrival in Kenville in that dusty old stagecoach where she was met by the stranger who was her mother. And then this. The house she was supposed to think of as home.

She looked around at the small, crowded room. So plain. So simple. Unthinking, she reached to her right to ring the bell for a servant—and remembered again that there were none.

With a groan she lay back against her pillow and pulled the covers tightly up to her chin. Did she really have to face this day? Couldn't she just stay right where she was? Why had she awakened at such an early hour?

A noise from outside reached her. That was it. There were unfamiliar sounds. They had awakened her from her sleep.

"Well—as long as I'm awake I may as well get up," she muttered and threw back the covers and stretched her foot out to the rag rug by her bed.

The house seemed awfully quiet. Rebecca took a robe from the hook on the wall, found her slippers among the pile of garments that had not fit in either the little chest of drawers or on the hooks at the end of her bed, and ventured forth.

There was no one around. Rebecca wondered if her mother was still sleeping. Then a note on the table caught her eye.

I have gone on the freight run,
it said simply.
I will be back around three. Make yourself at home. Mother.

"Make myself at home," repeated Rebecca dourly. Home? This didn't feel like home. Being in the West was like living in a foreign country. She truly hated it.

***

"Did Rebecca arrive?" asked Alex Murray when Sarah swung her team in behind his store and climbed nimbly down over the wagon wheel.

"She did," beamed Sarah. "And—" She shook her head. The shine left her eyes and she looked troubled.

"Oh—Alex," she said quietly, "I was totally unprepared."

He looked puzzled.

"But I thought—" he began. "I thought you surely must be ready by now. You were in quite often lately to get supplies—"

"Oh—I was ready. Just—just unprepared."

At Alex's puzzled frown Sarah hurried on. "She's not a child. I mean there is no resemblance to the little girl I sent away. She's a young woman. I mean she's— she's beautiful. Just beautiful. And so—so refined and—and dainty."

Alex's smile seemed relieved. Sarah's motherly pride again shone from her brighter than the noonday sun.

"Isn't that why you sent her away?" he reminded Sarah as he hoisted up a crate and moved toward his open back door.

"Of course it is," agreed Sarah as she followed him.

"And it was worth every penny. I can—can hardly wait for you to see her for yourself."

"I'm looking forward to it," said Alex. "She was always a sweet one."

"She is," enthused Sarah. Then she sighed and her voice dropped. "But I'm afraid we will need to get to know each other all over again. I mean—so much has changed. Rebecca has changed. I had thought that our letters would—that I would still know her. But I—I don't think I do. I mean—" Sarah dropped her voice further in embarrassment at what she was telling her friend of many years. "She was expecting servants," she finished.

"Servants?"

Sarah nodded.

"Where did she get that idea?"

Sarah shook her head. "She is just used to them. The Fosters had several. Can you imagine? Rebecca was shocked that I have to wash my own dishes. And get my own meals."

"We used to have servants," mused Alex. "When I was growing up. I'd quite forgotten. Hoffman—he was the—butler I guess you'd call him. We used to call him Hoffie when my mother wasn't around. Then there was Berdette in the kitchen and Mrs. Crane came in to clean. Funny—I'd quite forgotten all that. It was a long time ago."

Sarah was surprised. "When was that?" she asked candidly.

"In England. Before we sailed. It wasn't Mother's idea to leave the comforts of England to sail to a 'heathen' country—even if it was supposed to be a land of promise. Resettling was dreadfully hard on my mother. She only lived for three years after we landed. Papa had to take over raising five scared kids—until he remarried."

Sarah had never heard the story. She suddenly realized that she knew very little about this friend she had known for so long.

"She'll adjust," Alex assured Sarah. "She's young. She'll adjust."

But his words had unintentionally put fear in Sarah's heart. Would she adjust? Her Rebecca? Had she been wrong to send the girl out to school? Or was Sarah wrong to expect her to return? She was confused and filled with doubts and fear.

"Oh, God," she prayed, "I'm going to need your help in the days ahead. We are both going to need your help."

***

Rebecca managed to find some biscuits in the cupboard, left over from last night's supper, so she had a breakfast of biscuits and honey. Then she puttered away the morning trying to find room for all her clothes as she removed them from the cases.

She ate the last of the biscuits for her lunch and tried to decide what she should do with the rest of the day. She attempted to read and ended up napping. When she awoke from her nap she was hot and irritable.

Feeling trapped and bored, she wandered about the house, longing for something icy cold to drink to cool her. She found nothing. The pail that sat on the stand by the back door contained water, but Rebecca discovered it was as warm as the day itself.

She glanced at the clock. It was already past three and her mother had said she would be home by three.

"Well—I need to get out of this stuffy house," she murmured in annoyance and left by the back door. The front door, to Rebecca's displeasure, was held firmly in place by a large inside bolt. No wonder she had been unable to open it from the outside. Back doors were for servants and delivery men. The front door was for the family and for guests. So, since there were no servants here, shouldn't it be the back door that was bolted and the front door that was used? To Rebecca, that would have made some sense.

She wandered out into the yard and took a deep breath. Though hot, it was better than the stuffy house, and the faint breeze felt so good on her hot cheeks. She lifted her hand to brush the tendrils of drifting curls back from her face when her eye caught sight of the corrals. Rebecca liked horses. At least here was something of interest. She moved toward the animals standing in the simmering heat of the afternoon.

There were three horses in the corral. A bay and two blacks, one with a stripe down his face. Rebecca hoisted her skirt and climbed the first rail of the fence, leaning over to reach a hand toward the horses.

"Here, boys," she coaxed. "Here. Come let me get a good look at you."

The black with the stripe tossed his head and snorted. The bay ignored her completely. But the other black came toward her, nose outstretched, head high.

Rebecca was pleased to have his company. She stroked his neck and rubbed his nose and plucked handfuls of grass for him from outside the corral.

"You should really have a bonnet." The voice behind her made Rebecca jump with the suddenness of it.

Rebecca whirled. It was that fellow Seth. Rebecca had not heard his team pull into the yard. They stood behind her, still hitched to the wagon.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Rebecca stepped down from the fence rail, her face flushed with embarrassment.

"It's pretty hot to be out without a bonnet," he said again and began to unhitch his team.

"I haven't been out for long," Rebecca argued. "I just came to see the horses."

His face brightened. "Fine horses," he said with a nod. "Boyd picked them out for your ma. I see you were favoring Ebony. He's my favorite too."

Rebecca looked back at the horse that still stood at the rails stretching his head toward her.

"He's nice," she acknowledged. "Is he broken?"

"For harness. Don't know if anyone has ever tried to ride him or not."

Rebecca had never had her own horse. It had been one of her secret dreams since she had mastered the art of riding. At the Fosters, she had always had to ride one of the horses that nobody else wanted. She looked longingly at Ebony. She'd love to go for a ride.

"You want him broken to saddle?" asked Seth.

"I'd—I'd really like that," replied Rebecca.

"I'll talk to your ma. If she doesn't mind, I'll break him for you."

Rebecca swung back to face him, her eyes glowing. If she had a horse, then she wouldn't be stuck in the house—day after day.

"Oh—would you?"

"Sure."

He moved away with the team. Rebecca watched as he pulled off the harnesses one by one and carried them into the barn to hang on the pegs. Then he began to brush and curry one of the horses.

He seemed so absorbed in his work that it irked Rebecca. She had never been around a young man who paid so little attention to her before. Well, she sure wouldn't beg for it.

She moved back toward the house. There really didn't seem to be anything else to do.

Making Do

When they went out for supper that night, Rebecca was surprised that she actually remembered Aunt Min and "Uncle Boy" better than she had remembered her own mother. Was it because they had changed less over the years or was it because she had spent so much time with them before she had been sent away to school? She wasn't sure. She only knew that the house had a familiar presence—as though she connected with it somehow. In spite of its sparseness, she felt a drawing because of the memories stirring inside her.

"Rebecca—look at you," said the woman who greeted her with open arms. Rebecca allowed herself to be warmly embraced while Sarah stood to the side beaming her pleasure.

Then Rebecca was passed on to another pair of arms.

"Uncle Boyd," she said with a smile.

"I—I hardly know how to greet you," he admitted. "With a hug—or a deep bow."

They both laughed and he did give her a welcoming hug.

Rebecca even remembered Mr. Galvan. He greeted her somewhat stiffly—but then he had always been a bit stiff. Rebecca was not put off by it. In fact, she found his proper manner more in keeping with what she was used to.

"Your ma said you'd gone and growed up," went on Mrs. Galvan, letting her hand rest on Rebecca's shoulder. "But I was scarce ready for such a young lady. My—you've changed. But I still see the little girl shinin' out of those brown eyes."

"No hair bows to pull now though," teased Boyd.

"Well—we're all set to sit down," Mrs. Galvan said briskly. "You two just set yerselves there at the back an' I'll dish up."

Sarah moved to sit down as bidden and Rebecca followed. She was not used to taking her seat before the hostess was seated. She let her eyes take in her surroundings, finding herself searching for more memories. The house was larger than the small one she and her mother shared. The kitchen was actually a fair-sized room with ample cupboards and a good-sized pantry whose door stood wide open, allowing her a view inside. It seemed to Rebecca that one could actually prepare a real meal in these surroundings, and the meal that was set before them bore that out.

Rebecca was hungry after the scant meals on her own, and the fried chicken and fresh garden vegetables lived up to her expectations.

"You always liked fried chicken. You used to say, 'Let's fry chicken, Aunt Min,' jest as though you had something to do with it."

Three adults at the table laughed. Even Mr. Galvan smiled.

"Well—I used to let you do some dippin'. That kept you happy."

Yes. I remember,
thought Rebecca. "And we used to cut gingerbread men," she added. "You'd let me make the raisin eyes."

Mrs. Galvan beamed. "I think more raisins got et than ever made it to the oven," she teased.

"Just like the doughnuts," cut in Boyd. "You'd gather all the newly fried holes after you'd sugared them and make a nest of them. You said you were gonna hatch baby chicks. But the eggs kept disappearing, and I never did see those chicks."

It was a jolly meal. Everyone at the table seemed so pleased to have her back that Rebecca began to feel some kinship with those around the table. The light chatter brought back many childhood memories. Little things that she had long since forgotten. She had been happy in this house. She remembered it now.