Sarah My Beloved (Little Hickman Creek Series #2) (27 page)

"I didn't want to wake the household." He shook off his
coat, wet from a light morning rain, and hung it on a hook.

"I see." She quickly turned toward the sink and began
scrubbing the potatoes she'd hauled up from the little cellar
in the lean-to. Glancing out the window, she said, "I hope the
rain quits. It would be a shame if it kept up throughout the
festivities."

"There're a few stars peeking out in the west. I think the
storm will pass soon enough."

"I'd hate for the children's games to be cancelled due to
the weather."

"It would be a trifle difficult holding races in the barn, but
we'll manage."

At that, she heard him wipe his feet, and the next thing
she knew he was reaching around her for a tin mug. She hastened to give him room, shivering when she felt his breath on
the back of her neck.

Something had passed between them since the kiss, something sweet but incredibly delicate. She'd determined even mentioning it might make it seem less real, less sacred. Apparently,
he felt the same, for neither had uttered a single word about
the intimate moment, particularly since they'd both decided
against its ever happening again. One might have thought it
hadn't happened at all-except for the nervous tension that
grew between them. At least, there'd been no move to repeat
the act. Good thing, for she wasn't sure how she might react the
next time. She knew they'd agreed to a marriage in name only,
but she couldn't deny that part of her that longed for intimacy.

"Smells mighty fine in this house," Rocky said, moving to
the stove for a cup of coffee. Steam from the hot liquid rose
from the cup, performing an almost eerie, circular dance in
the dimly lit kitchen. Because Sarah hadn't wanted to wake
the children, she'd taken care to light only a few of the lamps
around the house. Now she had the uncanny urge to set every
available lamp ablaze.

Sarah continued scrubbing with a vengeance, but stole a
quick glance at her husband, who had turned around to lean
his bulky frame against the sink and watch her work, mug
encased snugly in his oversized hands. She couldn't imagine what he found so interesting about watching her scrub potatoes, but at the risk of allowing him to see her jangled nerves,
she scoured harder.

"By the time you're done with those you won't need to peel
'em," he remarked.

"What?"

"The potatoes."

She glanced down at the nearly skinned vegetable, hastily
peeled it the rest of the way, then dropped it into the nearby
steaming kettle.

"Need some help?" he asked after she retrieved her next
potato, this one full of grit and grime, a result of having been
wrenched from its earthen bed at the end of last season. The
question made her pause midway through her scrubbing to
stare down the drain hole.

"I bet together we could make fast work of those spuds,"
he repeated. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed him
taking a long swig of coffee and wondered how he did it. Try
as she might, she could not acquire a taste for it.

"I can manage, thank you," she answered, resuming her
task and wishing he would leave her to her kitchen. Or better,
leave her to her house. "Is the barn ready?" she asked.

He chuckled. "The barn was ready last night when you
asked. Bales of hay are stacked against the sides for folks to
sit on, and Ben and I moved the worktables from the center
to make room for your square dancing. You can use those
for laying out the food later. A few minutes ago, I turned the
horses and cows loose on the north pasture. Anything else you
need?" He rewarded her with a slanted grin. Her response was
a nervous cough.

"Do you have the jitters?" he asked, tipping his head closer.

"No!" she answered too quickly, sidestepping to avoid his
hot breath.

"Yes, you do," he countered, setting his coffee mug on the
counter. When he sidled up next to her, brushing against her
to reach for a potato, she felt the quake of her body. Lord, how
could my own husband make me so edgy?

"Be still, my child."

The simple reminder calmed her, but, unfortunately, it
was short-lived.

"No need to be nervous, you know. The folks around Hickman have already accepted you." He handled the potato for
a moment before dousing it in the bucket of water and then
commencing to scrub it clean.

"I appreciate that," she said. And she was grateful for
his offer of assistance. However, the citizens of Hickman
were the least of her worries. Plainly put, ever since they had
kissed, her husband rattled her to the point of rendering her
useless.

"How's this?" He held up the dirt-free potato for her
inspection.

"Looks good."

"Is that all you can say?"

A guarded smile played around her lips. "You want me to
compliment you for washing a potato?"

He gave her a playful nudge in the side. "I like a bit of
encouragement now and then."

Was he toying with her? And did his statement hold a
double meaning?

Deciding to play things safe, she threw up her guard. "Don't you have something else to do?"

He laughed. "Are you trying to get rid of me, Mrs. Callahan?" He tossed the clean potato down and set out to rinse
another one.

"And what if I were?" she asked, adding vigor to her scrubbing motion, then taking up a paring knife to make fast work
of her peeling job.

"Then I would just have to assume that I'm the one who
makes you nervous."

"That's foolishness," she said, swallowing a dry lump, suddenly wishing for a sip of his black coffee, never mind that its
taste rivaled stump water.

"Is it? You've done nothing but avoid me these past several
days."

She could say the same for him. "Would you put these in
the kettle, please?" she asked, handing him three large, peeled
potatoes.

He took the vegetables from her hand, brushing his fingers against her palm in the process. Whether or not the act
was intentional, it was enough to create an involuntary jolt.
Rocky raised a knowing brow.

"What?" she asked, annoyed with herself for revealing a
piece of her emotions.

"I do make you nervous," he said, dropping the potatoes
into the kettle with a low chuckle.

"Oh, stop being so high-hatted, Mr. Callahan. You do not
make me nervous," she fibbed, stepping around him to put a
lid on the steaming pot.

He followed her with his eyes. She could almost hear his
irrepressible grin, feel it when he returned to the sink to wash another potato. And when he took up whistling the tune to "Oh
My Darling, Clementine," she almost gave in to a giggle, and
she might have, had it not been for Rachel's sudden appearance in the doorway.

"You guys are noisy," she grumbled. Blonde hair tousled
and matted, the girl fixed them with a droopy-eyed glare, her
bare feet sticking out from beneath her long, flannel nightgown. "It's still dark out. Is it time to get up already?"

Sarah shot Rocky a look of admonition, chagrined to find
a boyish smile plastered across his face as he busied himself at
the sink. Turning to Rachel, she said, "No, honey, go back to
bed."

"But you're too noisy," she fussed.

It would be nice when Rocky finished Rachel's room, which
he'd recently roughed in. At least that room would stand farther from the kitchen noises.

Hastening to wipe her hands on her apron front, Sarah
walked across the room. "Come on, I'll tuck you back in."

She laid a hand to the girl's shoulder to guide her back to
bed, but Rachel stopped in her tracks. "But Uncle Rocky was
whistlin' some song. I never heard him whistle before."

"And you won't again-at least not until daylight. Besides,
your uncle is going out to the barn," she said, flinging her head
around to send him a pointed look before ushering Rachel
back to bed, "-any minute now."

Rocky tossed back his head and laughed. And no matter
how hard she tried, she could not erase her own smile.

The house bustled with the sounds of bantering women scuttling from one table and countertop to another, and buzzing about like bees in a hive. Pies of every flavor covered the
kitchen table, while trays of cakes and cookies crammed the
stone hearth, saturating the house with every mouthwatering aroma imaginable. In the massive warming oven beside
the fireplace were cheesy casseroles, scalloped potatoes, meat
loaves, creamed and fried chicken, and a huge tray of succulent roast beef. Clearly, no one would go hungry on this day if
the hearty display of food was any indication.

While the womenfolk scurried about the kitchen making
final preparations to carry the food to the barn, the men and
children gathered outside-the men took up a game of horseshoes, and the children raced about the yard in their usual
disorganized fashion. Enthusiastic bursts of laughter pealed
out from the men, accompanied by animated squeals from the
younger generation.

"Goodness gracious, it sounds like everyone is havin' themselves a grand time," Mary Callahan chimed. Sarah smiled
across the room at the plump woman she'd come to think of
as simply "Mother C." How good it was to have her under her
roof again. If only she could keep her here. Of course, she was
certain Pa Callahan would have something to say about that.

"Yes, doesn't it?" said Bess Barrington, a woman Sarah
had met just two weeks earlier in Sunday service. "What a wonderful idea you and Liza had, Sarah. This was just the outlet
these children needed. Not to mention their poor parents."

Several of the women released a hearty laugh. "Ain't that
the truth? My twins, Sam and Freddie, been drivin' me nigh to
distraction," said a woman Sarah knew only as Mrs. Hogsworth.
"Never thought I'd see the day they admitted to missin' school. Matter of fact, I hear most of the youngins 'round Hickman
are growing restless as young Injuns."

"My Thomas has been ailin' some, so today ought to cheer
him considerably," said frail-looking Iris Bergen. She brushed
a stray tendril of graying hair behind an ear and hovered over
an apple pie as if inspecting it for doneness.

Mary looked up from her place at the sink. "Oh? So sorry
to hear that, Iris. What's been his problem?"

"Nothing more than a plain cold so far as I can see. He's
been coughin' some and complainin' of a sore throat."

Mary nodded. "It does sound like a simple cold, don't it?"
Several of the women gave knowing nods.

"His pa wanted him to stay home, but Thom wouldn't hear
of it," Iris added, brushing another strand of hair away from
her eyes, which Sarah took as a nervous gesture.

"Erlene complained of the same this morning, now that
you mention it," Bess Barrington said, her brow knit in a show
of mild concern. "She sneezed and coughed a few times."

"Wouldn't worry too much," said Eleanor Humphrey. She
was the mother of Gus, the lad Sarah had met at the mercantile. "These things come and go in a matter of days."

Glancing about the room, Sarah made a mental note of
all the women whose names she'd learned. Besides Bess Barrington, Mrs. Hogsworth, Liza Broughton, and her own dear
mother-in-law, there was Fancy Jenkins, a name Sarah thought
unbefitting considering the woman looked about as unkempt
as an abandoned pup.

Fluttering about and removing one dish from the oven
while inserting another were Esther Thompson and Francis
Baxter. From what Sarah had heard, Francis was the mother of Rufus, the young man who'd come to Liza's rescue in the
burning schoolhouse. Then there was Millie ,Jacobs, a new
mother who even now doted over her baby on the other side of
the room. The infant lay tucked securely beneath a mountain
of downy quilts in a makeshift bed Sarah had fashioned for
her from a large cupboard drawer.

Sarah turned her eyes away from the other women to fix
her attention on Liza, who'd gone to the window to peer outside. How quiet her new friend had been since her arrival.
Surprising, considering how everyone else could barely wait
her turn to speak.

Just as Sarah was about to inquire about her silence, Liza
spun about and declared above the female racket, "Oh, I can't
hold it in a minute longer!"

A blanket of calm fell across the room like the sort of eerie
silence that follows a riotous storm, as several pairs of eyes
made Liza the focus of their attention.

Liza's cheeks grew pink and her eyes bulged.

"You look ready to split your insides, child. What is it?"
asked Bess Barrington.

Liza laughed. "Oh, I am, I am!" she crowed. "Ready to
split my insides, that is. I'm about to grow as big as a pumpkin.
Oh, I-I'm going to have a baby!"

In one fell swoop, women descended on Liza from every
direction, hovering, hugging, patting, and poking. Congratulations rang out on all sides. Since Sarah couldn't manage to
squeeze in, she watched from the sidelines, quietly awed by the
splendid news and delighted that Liza had made the happy
announcement right in her very own house.