Sarah My Beloved (Little Hickman Creek Series #2) (12 page)

She smiled, her straight teeth glistening against the light
of the kerosene lamp in the middle of the table. "Absolutely,"
she replied.

He walked to the far side of the room, yanked down his
hat from its nail, threw on his heavy wool barn coat, slipped
into his boots, and then made for the door, thinking to escape
as quickly as possible. When he opened the door, a blast of
winter wind smacked him square in the face.

"Oh, Mr. Callahan," her voice trailed across the room,
warring with the brisk winds, "when shall I expect you for the
noon meal?"

His hand still on the doorknob, he pivoted. "How aboutnoon-Mrs. Callahan?" He had all he could do to force back
a sarcastic tone.

Her auburn locks, pulled back into a knot and secured
with a shimmery silver comb, rebelled against the severe
style, their curly wisps falling helter-skelter about her glowing cheeks. Obviously flustered, she attempted to pull a few
strands behind her ears. "Yes, of course, noon. Perhaps it is the
evening meal I'm wondering about."

"I can't say for sure on that. We'll talk about it later."

Once again, he attempted to exit, knowing that the brittle
air had already made its way into the little cabin. "Oh, Mr. Callahan, what is it you want to eat?" she asked.

Now he gave a heavy sigh. "You decide that, but keep in
mind I'll be good and hungry." Before taking another step, he
asked, "You think you can manage without me?"

An irate expression crossed her face. "Of course. I'm not a
helpless balloonhead."

Dewy grass, iced over from the frigid temperatures of the
night before, crackled beneath his boots on his trek to the
barn, echoing through the frozen, bracing air. Solid maples
and oaks, naked of all leaves but for the few remaining brown
ones that still clung to the ends of skinny branches, lined his
narrow, well-worn path. They stood like giant unarmed soldiers against the bleak sky, idle and indifferent.

Balloonhead? Her flowery vocabulary sometimes made it
impossible to hold back the grins, but far be it from him to let
on she amused him.

Raw cold forced Rocky's head down. It seemed the only
thing missing from this frosty Kentucky morning was the
snow. So far, the white stuff had missed the entire upper
region of the state, despite raging blizzards on all sides.
Would their luck hold out, or did the dark, overcast skies and stirring winds warn of impending dire weather? Only time
would tell.

Familiar barn smells bombarded Rocky's senses as he drew
near the door and pushed it open, its hinges squeaking in protest. "Mornin', all," he muttered in routine fashion, snatching
up a clean milk pail from a nearby shelf.

The sounds of bleating, impatient cows and hungry horses
greeted him, stomping hooves against boarded walls or clomping hoofed feet into grungy straw, their way of scolding him
for not coming sooner.

"Have a little patience," he murmured. "There's only one
of me. First comes the milking, then the mucking out of stalls.
After that, you'll all get your bellies stuffed."

On cue, they settled into a peaceful contentedness, having
recognized the familiar drone of their owner's voice.

Yanking down a bridle that needed mending from a nearby
nail, Rocky hitched it over one shoulder and headed across the
barn toward the milk cows. He threw the bridle down on his
workbench, then walked to Mary Lou. "You first, girl," he muttered. Some time ago, he'd established an order for milking,
and there was no question the animals all knew it.

He led Mary Lou out of her stall and into the milking
aisle, where he tied her to the milking post. "Hey there," he
greeted absently. In answer, she gave a low moo and allowed
him to situate her. Once done, he went about making himself
comfortable on his trusty stool.

A couple of barn cats approached on schedule, one of
them mewing out a chorus in hopes of coaxing Rocky into
filling their dish with fresh, warm milk. The one he'd dubbed
Rainbow for its multicolored coat began its usual rubbing up against his ankles. The gray tom hung back in his usual shy
manner, deciding it best to let the calico do the begging for
both of them.

He loved this aspect of farming-the camaraderie with the
animals, the trust and allegiance they'd all formed with one
another. Unlike his home, the barnyard held no expectations,
no rules for uprightness or good manners. It hadn't occurred
to him that once he married he would need to change his
behavior in order to set an example for the children. Asking
to be excused from his own table when he was finished eating
seemed a bit much. He scowled in remembrance at the way his
new wife had reprimanded him.

What other rules of etiquette did she have hidden up those
purple satin sleeves?

arah spent the entire morning scrubbing floors, washing down kitchen shelves, scouring the sink, and taking down curtains to prepare for laundering. She put Rachel
to work at the table, polishing mismatched silverware and gave
Seth the job of counting and sorting canned goods in the leanto off the small kitchen. Neither child appeared opposed to
working once Sarah appointed them jobs. In fact, they seemed
thrilled at the prospect, chattering nonstop as they worked.

"You don't grump at us like Uncle Rocky," said Rachel.

"Yeah, he's grouchy most of the time, 'cept when it's bedtime for me and Rachel," Seth supplied, peeking his head
around the corner at both of them.

Sarah managed a smile. "Your uncle has much on his
mind," she answered, temporarily averting her gaze from the
floor, but not slowing her scrubbing motion. She'd long since
shed her satin gown in favor of something more practical-a
yellow cotton chemise with three-quarter length sleeves and
belted black skirt. She longed to don a pair of men's pants for
all the stooping and bending she was doing but doubted Rocky
would approve. Her hair, now knotted more securely at the top
of her head, still refused to stay completely put. Evidence of
that were the stubborn strands that continually fell across her
face, blocking her vision.

"Why does he have to be so mean to us?" Rachel asked.

Sarah looked up from her stooped position on the
hardwood floor. "In what way is your uncle mean to you?" If he were truly mean to the children, she would find the underlying
cause and see what she could do to alleviate the problem. On
the other hand, if they objected to his sternness, there was
little she could do unless the man softened.

"He don't never laugh or smile," Seth offered, giving
Rachel little chance to answer the question Sarah had directed
at her.

Sarah eyed Seth with sympathy, deciding to ignore his
poor grammar for now. "Well, perhaps he hasn't had much
occasion to do either. Maybe we'll have to see about changing
that."

The boy wrinkled his nose. "How would we do that?"

"He don't even like us," Rachel interjected.

"I'm sure he loves you both. It's just that-well, he's had
some difficult things happen to him along the way."

"Like what?" Seth's eyebrows shot up in question. It
appeared to Sarah that he'd ceased his job of counting and
sorting cans.

"Well, his wife died a few years back of a bad disease, and
then his little boy died less than a year ago."

"Nobody ever told us he had a little boy," Rachel said.
"How come nobody ever tells us anything?"

"I imagine most folks figured you two had enough sadness
to deal with."

"No wonder he don't like us. We probably remind him of
his other family," Rachel said. The child's insightfulness came
as a surprise.

"Well, I wouldn't worry about that. It's been a big adjustment for all of you. It will continue to take time. And now,
besides your uncle, you have me to get used to."

Neither commented on that, so Sarah continued scrubbing, noting with satisfaction how the floor had lost its dullness. Underneath the layers of dirt and grime, there emerged
a lovely pine floor. Of course, it could stand a good polishing,
but at least it would appear much brighter than before without
all that dirt.

"How come you married Uncle Rocky?" Rachel asked
after several minutes of comfortable silence. The question set
her back.

"I suppose I felt compelled to help him raise the two
of you," she offered. "Mostly, though, God led me to marry
him."

"Do you like him?" Seth asked, peeking around the corner,
a can of peaches in hand.

Sarah felt her mouth turn down in the corner. "Well, I
suppose I do, although I don't know him very well."

Rachel giggled, and the sound reminded Sarah of a babbling brook, warm and free. She doubted the child had had
much occasion for laughter since arriving at her uncle's farm.

"What's so funny?" she asked, blowing several strands of
hair off her face in order to see the girl.

Between spurts of continued laughter, the child replied,
"You look silly."

Sarah could only imagine. Crawling across the floor like
a giant bug, hair falling every which direction, soiled clothing
damp and grimy. Was it any wonder she laughed? As if on cue,
Seth joined in, his mirth a contagious mixture of giggles and
glee. She had no choice but to enter into the merriment.

At the height of their hilarity, the door blew open and in
its wake stood Mr. Callahan, his wool cap pulled down over his furrowed brow, his mouth a straight line that revealed not the
slightest hint of amusement. Large, booted feet spread wide in
the open doorway; he resembled an ornery bear awaiting his
dinner.

"Mercy me, Mr. Callahan, you frightened us," Sarah managed, arranging herself on the floor so that her legs folded
beneath her, certain she looked anything but womanly. Glancing at both children, she detected fear in their eyes. Hastily,
Seth scooted back to his can-sorting job in the lean-to and
Rachel made quick work of polishing a spoon. Did he always
greet them with a sour look?

"Nice to see you're having a grand time," he muttered,
closing the door behind him and strolling across Sarah's clean
floor, taking care to step around her, but nonetheless leaving
a trail of clay from the door to the kitchen sink. It took all of
Sarah's reserve to hold her temper under lock and key.

"You're early for lunch, Mr. Callahan," she said, placing
her damp hands in the lap of her grungy black skirt.

"Just stopped in for a drink of water." He forced the pump
handle up and down a few times until clear water ran from the
spigot. Then he thrust a tin cup under the stream, brought it
to his mouth, and drank his fill. Afterward, he plunked the
cup onto the spotless sink she'd spent an hour scouring.

"You can call me by my first name, you know," he said,
turning to face her, arms folded across his massive chest.

She thought about that. "Your formal name seems more
suitable-at least until we get to know each other better."

"We're married, Sarah. Rocky will do just fine."

It made her shiver the way her own name rolled off his
tongue so nonchalantly.

"Fine," she answered. "I'll do my best to remember that."

He permitted his eyes to roam around the room. "Appears
you've been busy," he said, his tone guarded. Far be it from
him to extend a compliment, Sarah mused.

"The children have been a very big help."

"As well they should," he said.

Ignoring his mood, she continued, "Seth has been working in the pantry, and as you can see, Rachel is polishing the
silver. So far we've scrubbed floors, scoured the sink and cabinets, and washed a few drawers."

Rocky nodded, this time showing a measure of approval.
"It hasn't looked this good since Hester..." Sarah knew he
regretted having mentioned his former wife yet again in her
presence, and because of it, she didn't prod him to continue.
Would he never cease to think of her? Three years seemed
ample enough time for him to get on with his life. "What have
you done with all the curtains?" he asked.

She glanced at the bare windows. "We took them down to
launder. They were full of dust, Mr.-uh, Rocky." His name
did not roll off her tongue nearly as easily as hers did his.