Wings of a Dream (11 page)

“Please call me Rebekah.” I smiled at him.

“Rebekah.” He nodded and took a long drink of sweet tea. “The young people around here have kept me busy of late.”

“Young people?”

“Those old enough to know better but still young enough to act out anyway. Just mischief, mostly.”

I pulled Janie onto my lap, letting her clap my hands together. “Like what?”

He chuckled. Janie copied him. He laughed harder, shook his head as he found his voice. “Can’t laugh about it with most, but they went on a spree moving outhouses to barn roofs, for one.”

My eyebrows shot up and my mouth dropped open. “Can that really be done?”

“They found a way.”

I giggled as I pictured it. “What else?”

He sobered a bit. “Painted Mr. Duggan’s cow with black and white stripes. Sounds harmless, but the cow got real sick. The boys’ parents made them work for the money to pay Doc Risinger for the medicine to make her well again.”

“Oh, my! I never imagined.”

Silence fell between us, though the shrieks and laughter of the children echoed all around.

“So, do you plan to live out your days with a star on your chest, keeping Prater’s Junction safe from vandals?”

He shifted around, rustling the dead leaves beneath our blanket. He didn’t look at me. Instead, he stared off down the road that ran in front of the house.

“I guess.” His shoulders rose and fell with his resigned sigh.

Did the sheriff have dreams beyond this tiny town? Would he and I have that in common? I cleared my throat as Janie leaned over my legs and pulled fistfuls of brown grass from the yard. “What would you rather do?”

His eyes met mine for only a moment. “Be a Texas Ranger.”

I sensed he’d never said that to anyone else. Maybe he wished he hadn’t said it to me. He turned his attention to my charges with a wistful smile. “Clara loved watching them play like this. So did Adabelle. She and Clara were so different, but they both loved these kids.”

Now came my turn to squirm a bit. I’d said I’d care for them. But could I love them? “Tell me, Sheriff, how far away is Dallas?”

His cheeks puffed out as he blew out a long breath. “More than an hour by car. A bit less by train, even with all the stops. Why? You figuring on taking a trip?” His eyes narrowed.

James, Dan, and Ollie flopped breathless onto the blanket. James and Dan grabbed the last of the cornbread and shoved it into their mouths.

“I have a friend in Dallas, so I was wondering is all.”

“What friend, Bekah?” Cornbread spewed from James’s mouth as he spoke.

“Finish chewing before you talk, James.” My lips pursed, and I cringed. I sounded like Mama.

With an obvious swallow, James cleared his mouth. He wiped the crumbs from his lips with his sleeve. “Do I know her?”

When I laughed, Dan nestled beside me. I tickled him, letting his cackle give me time to think. I studied the top of his head while I spoke. “No. My friend’s an aviator. Or at least training to be one.”

From beneath my lowered lashes, I watched the sheriff’s eyebrows shoot upward but quickly resume their normal place. “Camp Dick?” he asked.

“That’s right.” I looked him full in the face now. “I’m expecting a letter any day. We’re—making plans.”

“I see.” He pushed to his feet, stretched his lanky legs, and set his hat atop his head once again. “Thank you for dinner. It was quite a treat.”

I nudged Dan aside, set Janie on the blanket, and stood, brushing a stray leaf from my skirt. “Thank you for all your help today, Sheriff.”

James jumped from the ground, his little legs churning toward the gate. Ollie and I shook our heads at each other. You never could tell what got into James’s head.

He raised himself on tiptoe, gazed over the low fence, and bounced up and down. “He’s here. He’s here.”

My heart lurched. “Who’s here?” Could Arthur have found me?

I picked up a startled, crying Janie and held her over my pounding heart, my mouth dry with anticipation. “Who, James? Who’s here?”

I reached the gate out of breath. A strand of hair fell from its pinned place into my line of vision as I handed the baby to James and tamed the unruly curl. I didn’t figure I needed to pinch any color into my cheeks. I felt sure they’d pinked enough in my excitement. Covering my middle with my hands, I breathed deep, determined to be the ladylike young woman Arthur had fallen in love with.

A cloud of dust moved our way, accompanied by the dull thud of hooves against the hard earth before a horse pulled up in front of the gate.

“Howdy-do, miss.” A barrel-chested man peered down, nodding to each of us in turn. When his attentions reached the sheriff, he belted out a roaring laugh that shook the bag slung across his shoulders. “So that’s why you didn’t mind delivering the mail out this way all week.”

Sheriff Jeffries turned red as a ripe tomato. My eyebrows rose this time.

The sheriff swooped his hat from his head. It twirled fast in his hands as he gulped air. “I happened to be out this way earlier in the week, checkin’ on the Lathams. I knew I’d pass by here and save you some time.”

The big man shifted on his saddleless horse, unable to hide the mirth on his round, flushed face. “Sam Culpepper, miss. Brought your mail.” He handed me a folded newspaper. I took it, my mind still trying to comprehend that though Arthur hadn’t come to me, Sheriff Jeffries had. Sometimes without my knowing it.

Mr. Culpepper tipped his hat. “Sure am glad for the sheriff’s help this week. Doesn’t do for the mail to get held up, but so many’re sick or nursing the sick. I’m mighty late today. I do beg your pardon.”

“Of course,” I stammered. “I understand.”

The mail carrier tugged the leather straps attached to the bit in the horse’s mouth. I contemplated the newspaper in my hand, my most consistent contact with the world outside this farm.

“Is it still bad—in town, I mean?” I gave the sheriff a sideways glance. He hadn’t volunteered such information. But neither had I asked.

“It ain’t good, that’s for sure as shootin’. Buried three more yesterday.” He glanced at the children and lowered his voice. “Took a boy and his father within hours of each other.”

I let out a deep breath and felt a sudden urge to wash my hands again.

His large head shook. “Some say it’s the judgment of God. Some claim it’s the Germans attempting to kill us all in our beds. Either way, not much to do but pray.”

I nodded, thinking of Mama and Mrs. Crenshaw.

“I need to get on now. Still more deliveries to make before dark.”

Suddenly my eyes went wet, and my fingers itched to fling the newspaper, let the pages fly to every corner of the yard. I wanted this scourge to end, wanted Mama to get well and Arthur to send for me. I wanted Frank to come home to his children so I could get on with my life.

“Are you well, miss?”

I pulled my distracted thoughts back to the moment. “Yes, I’m well.” But I didn’t believe my own words. “Thank you, Mr. Culpepper.”

I stepped inside the fence. “And thank you again, Sheriff, for your help.”

“My pleasure.” But the sheriff didn’t sound as if he’d found any pleasure in the day after all. He waited until Mr. Culpepper’s horse trotted away before cranking his car’s engine to life. I hated hurting Sheriff Jeffries’s feelings, but I didn’t want to him to misunderstand. My destiny lay far beyond this or any other pokey town. With Arthur.

He eased his car into gear and sputtered away. I turned back toward the house. Dan clutched my skirt, begging to be held. Janie laughed in James’s arms as her sister played peek-a-boo. And my world righted. I couldn’t fall apart. I didn’t have a choice. These children needed me. They had no one else.

I unfolded the newspaper. An envelope tucked inside bore the familiar slant that quickened my heart. Arthur hadn’t come in person, but he’d arrived all the same.

I
woke up chilled. Winter had come to our part of Texas, though I knew the warm weather was by no means over for the year. I put off dressing and instead crept downstairs with clothes in hand, the bare floor cold beneath my feet. And I couldn’t endure cold feet.

I rummaged through the chest of drawers in the downstairs bedroom. Who did the clothes belong to—my aunt or Frank’s wife? A shiver ran down my back, and I decided it didn’t matter. I pulled out a pair of knitted socks and slipped them over my icy feet. Then I tiptoed into the kitchen, stirred the embers in the stove, and added a few sticks of fresh wood before setting the oatmeal to cook.

Another empty Sabbath stretched before me. No possibility of mail. And likely no visitors. Arthur had written of the quarantine at Camp Dick, though, to my great relief, he declared himself well. But he wouldn’t be able to come to me for a while.

The children would need something to fill the hours. Something fun but in keeping with the focus of the day. I remembered the Bible I’d found on the shelf in the parlor. We could read about Jonah and the whale and Daniel in the lions’ den and act them out together. A grin spread across my face, then vanished.

Mama would be mortified at the thought of play-acting on Sunday. But it would be Bible stories, after all. Surely God would understand and approve, even if Mama didn’t.

I took a sip of coffee and thought of Mama. Was she better or worse? I hated not knowing. As much as I chafed against her tight rein, I didn’t want her to die. If only she’d let Daddy put a telephone in the house. Then I could get word. But then again, that would require this house to have one, as well. No use pining over what couldn’t be. So I again begged God not to take Mama as He’d taken her sister.

A sizzle from the stove interrupted my prayer. I looked up as oatmeal poured over the edges of the pot. Jumping to my feet, I lifted the pot from the burner, groaned, and set it on the worktable. A harness jangled outside the window. I flung the door open and ran out onto the porch.

Then I remembered my nightdress.

“Morning.” The preacher nodded once and averted his eyes.

With a shriek, I ran back inside and slammed the door, barring it with my body as breath pushed hard and fast against my chest. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to laugh or cry as I listened for the buggy to roll from the yard. Instead, footsteps faded around to the front porch.

I charged up the stairs, two at a time, threw off my nightclothes, wriggled into my work-a-day dress, and pulled on my boots, lacing only the top to keep them from flapping like agitated chickens.

Ollie appeared, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Get dressed, dear,” I said. “It seems we have company.”

“Who?”

“The preacher.” I swept past her and fairly flew down the stairs again. With my hand on the front doorknob, I stopped.

My hair. I ran my fingers down my braid, separating it into one long mass. Knotting it at the back of my neck, I tucked the ends through and hoped it would stay in place without the usual pins—at least for a little while. Maybe now that I was on my own I’d get it bobbed. . . .

I pulled in a deep breath. The odor of strong coffee and burnt oatmeal wrinkled my nose. Be dignified, I told myself. You are a woman, not a child. I opened the front door and peeked around. But no preacher waited.

A horse whinnied nearby, so I gathered he hadn’t left. With a huff, I returned to the kitchen to clean up my mess. By the time a new batch of oatmeal simmered on the stove and a full pot of coffee sat on the warming shelf, the jowly preacher knocked at the kitchen door and handed me a brimming pail of milk.

I passed it to Ollie. “Coffee?” I offered.

He shook his head, eyes shifting back and forth. “Could we visit out front?”

I followed him out the door. His stout legs made quick work of the porch that wrapped around the east side of the house. His black coat flapped in the breeze as he removed his matching hat and acknowledged my more respectable presence with a slow nod. Then fear shot through me like a bolt of lightning in a night sky. Had he come bearing tragic news? I reached for the back of the rocking chair.

“Is there a problem?” I tried to erase the tremble in my voice.

“I’m Brother Latham.” He stuck out a work-worn hand to accompany his shy smile. “I’m sorry I startled you this morning. I wanted to make some visits since we aren’t having services today. Yours is the closest house to mine.”

I exhaled as I shook his hand. At least he didn’t seem to consider me less of a Christian after the nightgown incident. I motioned to the other rocker. He sat.

“I’m Rebekah Hendricks—” I looked down at my hands, embarrassed at my awkwardness—“although I expect you know that.”

He nodded.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t more sociable in town the other day.” I winced, thinking of the scathing look Mama would have given my inattentiveness, even in such a trying situation.

He waved my words away. “Think nothing of it, child.”

I remembered seeing the doctor’s buggy at the preacher’s house on our walk around the farm. Should I ask after his family? What if it wasn’t good news?

Brother Latham leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The calloused hands and weathered face said he wasn’t solely a preacher. He also farmed. Two jobs rolled into one, with sickness adding to the workload on both ends.