Sarah My Beloved (Little Hickman Creek Series #2) (7 page)

As usual, Rachel had appeared sullen, but she managed
a weak smile from her high seat when Sarah came into view.
Taking great pains to avoid eye contact with Mr. Callahan,
Sarah had approached the rig before any of them descended
and handed Seth the wrapped package. He'd torn into the
brown paper like a hungry pup, throwing aside the string that
bound the package and letting out a yelp of joy at the sight of
the uniformed doll. Even Rachel had looked on with interest,
smoothing out her long coat as she shifted herself in the seat
to get a better view. Peeking out from the coat's frayed hem
was one of the new dresses.

"Look, Rachel, it's a soldier. He gots a rifle in his hand.
Look, Uncle Rocky!" To that, he'd stuck the doll under his
uncle's nose, and-wonder of wonders-the man had smiled,
albeit halfheartedly.

Mr. Callahan gave a low chuckle. "What do you say to Miss
Woodward?" he asked.

"I was gittin' to that," the boy said, half annoyed. It seemed
to Sarah that each time she saw Seth, he was a bit more talkative, even confident. "Thank you, Miss Woodward. I never
had no soldier doll before."

Sarah had laughed, joy welling up from deep in her chest.
"You're very welcome."

"I'm wearing the pink dress today, Miss Woodward,"
Rachel offered, diverting Sarah's attention, her voice not much
more than a whisper. She lifted up the bottom of her coat.

Sarah had nodded and given the girl a ready smile. "So
you are. And it looks fine on you."

Up to now, Mr. Callahan had remained glued to his seat, a
mere observer, his gaze intent on watching her, she knew, but
hers intent on the children.

"I appreciate, ahem, the work you've put into the dresses,"
he'd said, clearing his throat mid-sentence. With that, he drew
out an envelope from his jacket pocket and reached across the
children to hand it to her. "Here's your payment. Since you
insisted on using fabric from one of your own gowns for the
second dress, I had to guess as to its worth."

How was it this man could stir her ire faster than a blustery breeze could move the grass in a meadow? Could he not
see she'd intended the dress as a gift? She ignored his outstretched hand and stood the straighter. "You employed my services on the first dress, sir; the second dress was a labor of
love."

He had kept his hand extended, his eyes narrowed in irritation, waiting. "Just the same, I'll not be beholden to ya."

She'd put her hands to her hips, the icy air at her ankles
forcing her to prance about. "I wouldn't expect you to be, sir.
I didn't make the dress for you." A hurried glimpse at Rachel
revealed the child's quivery, pursed mouth, a dignified attempt
to keep a giggle from erupting. Sarah might well have seen the
humor in the situation herself if it hadn't been for her utter
crossness with the big brute.

"There's someone here to see you."

Sarah whirled about at Emma's voice coming from her
open bedroom doorway.

"Didn't mean to frighten ya," Emma said with a tiny
grin, taking a slight step back. "You looked mighty lost in
thought."

"I was just yes, lost in thought." Putting a hand to her
mussed hair, she chanced a peek in her cracked mirror above
the dresser stand. After a day of cleaning and sorting through
items yet unpacked, she looked a sight. "A visitor, you say? Who
is it?"

Emma shrugged. "I've never seen the man before."

Sarah's heart lunged. "I've a gentleman caller?"

Emma's brows knit together in a frown. "A rather short,
thin fellow, but well-manicured. He's wearin' a fine suit and
bowler hat. I would imagine his arrival in town drew a few
curious stares."

Stephen Alden. She'd been wondering how long it would
take him to discover her exact whereabouts. How many folks had he questioned before narrowing down her location?
Prickly heat crawled past her neck and up her face. Would he
never give up? Oh, why had her mother placed the stipulation
of marriage on her inheritance, and why did Stephen have to
be the appointed legal representative to her estate?

"Are you all right, Sarah?" Emma asked, stepping inside
the room to touch Sarah's arm.

"I'm fine. It's just...I'm not quite ready to face him."

"You know him, then?"

Sarah nodded and gave a deep sigh. "He's an old family
friend-bent on marrying me, I'm afraid."

Emma gasped. "Oh my. Is that why you came to Little
Hickman? To escape him?"

Sarah laughed weakly. "In a sense, I suppose. I had hoped
he wouldn't follow me."

"Shall I send him away?" Emma asked.

It was a tempting thought. Tossing back her shoulders, she
muttered a silent prayer. "No, I'm afraid that would be my
job."

She found Stephen gazing out the window in the parlor
onto the muddy street, his wool chesterfield topcoat draped over
one arm, his hat secured in his other hand. "Hello, Stephen."

At the sound of her voice, he turned to face her. Although
they came within a few months of being exactly the same age,
Stephen appeared years older with his mousy, waxed brown
hair, cut short and parted in the middle. A slim moustache,
turned up at the ends, covered his weak upper lip. Rather short
in stature, he stood only an inch or two taller than she did,
and his build, although not effeminate by any means, lacked
absolute masculinity.

As if his expensive-looking, chocolate-brown jacket and
matching trousers, cream-color ruffled shirt, and silk bowtie
were not enough to announce his copious wealth, he wore two
fancy breast pins attached by a solid gold chain, which, judging from its length and weight, appeared sufficient to use at a
hanging.

"Sarah, darling," he said, meeting her in the middle of
the room, aiming to kiss her on the mouth but making it only
to her cheek when she tilted her face. "I'm delighted to hear
you didn't marry after all. Am I to assume you've come to your
senses, then?"

"How did you know I hadn't married?" she asked, ignoring his question.

He threw back his head and laughed. "I'm a lawyer, remember? It's very easy for me to obtain legal information. With
the wonderful invention of the telephone, I put my assistant
to work to determine what, if any, weddings had taken place
in this desolate town and discovered your intended husband
married another-the town's schoolteacher, to be exact."

"Yes, well, he tried to reach me before I'd left Massachusetts, but regrettably our wires crossed."

His mouth moved into a tight smile. "Ali, is that so? Well,
I would say you are quite fortunate not to have married a
stranger. Perhaps now you will reconsider marrying me."

"I'm sorry if you traveled all this way in the hopes of changing my mind, Stephen."

"Our parents, rest their souls, always believed we were
meant to be together. Are you willing to go against their
wishes?" he asked, his expression desperate if not bordering
on angry.

"Our parents were misguided, Stephen. I care for you as a
friend, but I cannot marry you."

"But you were willing to marry a stranger." His murky gray
eyes drilled into her as he shifted his weight from one foot to
the other.

It was difficult to explain her draw to Little Hickman, Kentucky. All she really knew was that when she'd seen the posted
sign back in Massachusetts advertising a Christian groom, she'd
felt an indescribable pull to respond to the ad. Yes, it would represent escape from the possessive clutches of Stephen Alden and
his unremitting pleas for her hand in marriage, but it would
also mean adventure, exploration, and new beginnings.

"But as you can see, I didn't marry him."

"Then I see no reason why you shouldn't come back home
to marry me. You've been here four long weeks. I should think
that long enough for realizing your error."

"Massachusetts is no longer home to me, Stephen."

He made a grunt of disgust and waved his arm. "Surely
you don't consider this-this mud hole home. Why, even the
name itself, Little Hickman, signifies a primitive, crude lot of
people." He gave her body a quick sweep of the eye. "And look
at you, Sarah. If I didn't know you better, I'd say you're fast
becoming one of them." He rubbed a thumb across the under
part of her cheek and frowned. "You've even a smudged face,"
he clucked.

She laughed. "I've been cleaning."

"Cleaning." He scoffed at the word, as if it held little meaning for him; truth be told, it didn't.

"The people of Hickman are not so primitive," she said in
their defense. "Perhaps a few are crude, but I'm learning that most are very nice. There are daily newspapers, a handy wire
service, and even a telephone. Why, they even have a Sears and
Roebuck catalog service. It's located in the-"

"Sarah, Sarah." Stephen's frown grew tenfold. "You've
grown up in high society. You cannot convince me a town of
this caliber would make you happy for any length of time.
You've lived a very cultured life. Where are the theatres, the
ballrooms, the elegant hotels?" She stopped herself just short
of telling him Madam Guttersnipe's place was just up the street,
doubting he'd see the humor in that.

"God sent me here for a reason, Stephen." That buttoned
his lip for the time being. "It's difficult to explain, but I feel
as if He's put me right here in the middle of this town for a
specific purpose. I've felt it from the beginning. Yes, the original agreement I made with Mr. Broughton didn't pan out, but
it hasn't discouraged me from staying on. Truthfully, I don't
miss the conveniences of city life. Besides, I enjoy Miss Emma's
friendship, and there are others..." She wouldn't mention little
Rachel and Seth, how her heart had melted upon first meeting
them. Their uncle, well, he was another story altogether.

"But that's ridiculous. What would you have people think,
that you've become a missionary? `Sarah Woodward Leaves
Lap of Luxury to Minister to the Villains of Kentucky."' He
harrumphed. "There's a headline for the Boston Globe."

She didn't appreciate his mockery, but then he'd always
been good at it. Even as a child, he'd ridiculed her for her
uncommon faith. Oh, she believed Stephen was a Christian,
but he had always been more passionate about working for the
almighty dollar than for almighty God. Where Sarah's heart
beat for people, Stephen's beat for money and success.

"Perhaps God's reasons for sending me here are mission
oriented," she replied with conviction. "No matter, I'm here to
stay, and I don't care what people might think."

His colorless eyes flashed with impatience. "What about
your inheritance? Even missionaries need money for accomplishing their goals."

She cringed. "So it comes to that, does it?" He'd always
placed great importance on wealth. No doubt, that was the
driving force behind his desires for marriage.

"Let us be realistic, Sarah. You cannot obtain possession
of your properties until you marry. Your mother clearly stated
in her will-"

"That I marry, yes, but she did not state that I must marry
you, Stephen."

"No?" He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and
withdrew a folded piece of paper.

"What is that?" she asked, suddenly filled with unexplained jitters.

"Read it and see for yourself."

She took the feather-light paper from his hand and
unfolded it. Her mother's shaky handwriting covered the
page.

My Dear Stephen,

My days on earth are numbered, and I fear that leaving
my only daughter behind will be devastating for her. Please
see that she is well cared for, Stephen. I know that I can trust
you to wed her when the time is right. You will be doing me an
eternal favor if you see to her needs in this manner.

Yours very truly,

Carmen Woodward

Unstoppable tears rolled down Sarah's cheeks as she
refolded the missive and handed it back.

When he should have been remorseful, Stephen wore a
look of satisfaction. "So you see, Sarah? It is not only necessary that we wed, it is our duty." He leaned in close so that she
felt his hot breath on her cheek. "You do want to fulfill your
mother's final wish, don't you?"

Sarah's shoulders dropped as anguished emotions tugged
at her senses. How should she respond to something like this?
Worse, how could she say no to him now?

Rocky stomped purposefully through the mud-spattered
streets toward Emma's boardinghouse. He'd fully intended to
ignore the finely dressed chap he'd overheard inquiring at the
post office as to Sarah Woodward's place of residence. After
all, what business was it of his who visited the feisty woman
with the burnished red curls who'd turned down his generous
offer of marriage? However, curiosity, if not outright suspicion,
prohibited him from disregarding the incident.

Something about the stuffy-looking character had disturbed him-his outlandish show of affluence, perhaps. Usually a good judge of character, Rocky had him figured for a
finagler, cunning and shrewd as the day was long.