Dorothy Garlock - [Tucker Family] (23 page)

When they had finally arrived at the cabin, John honked the horn. Sarah had come to the door, but there had been no sign of
Alan. Just as Charlotte was about to ask where he might be, Sarah’s father had stumbled out from the rear of the cabin, a
disheveled mess. He wore the same clothes she’d last seen him in with the addition of a
dark stain that ran down the full front of his shirt. One of his boots was missing, though he didn’t seem to mind. A green
bottle hung limply from his fingers, and when he saw them he brought it to his lips. The sight of him made Charlotte’s stomach
turn.

“He’s as drunk as a skunk,” she observed in disgust.

“I wonder where he gets it,” John said. “I tell you there ain’t no bottle of booze in the supplies I brought out here.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t be here today.”

“I told you that I’d make sure you weren’t bothered by him. Take me at my word and trust in it.”

John got out of the car and ambled over to the Becks, grabbed Alan firmly by the elbow, steered him away from the cabin and
down the slope of a nearby hill. Alan didn’t seem to like John’s grip one bit, but wasn’t capable of breaking loose, so he
had no choice but to go along.

“Back to the lessons, ladies,” John called over his shoulder. “He won’t bother you.”

Sitting with Sarah at the table, Charlotte knew that John would keep Alan away for as long as was needed, allowing for her
to teach the man’s daughter whether he wanted her to learn or not.

Charlotte was lost in thought, pondering the ranch troubles, when Sarah suddenly collapsed against the tabletop. Her scream
split the silence that had descended upon them. She tipped out of her chair and landed hard on the wooden floor, as sobs began
to rack her small body, and
her shoulders shook. It happened so quickly, so surprisingly, that for an instant Charlotte could do nothing more than watch
openmouthed.

“Sarah!” she finally shouted. “Sarah, what’s the matter?”

But the girl was inconsolable, unreachable, fat tears rushing down her cheeks in a flood of emotion that showed no sign of
letting up. Her body slid slowly from the table to the floor, to lie on her side. Her hands reached under her heavy belly,
cradling its weight, as if the baby were in her arms, as her knees drew up and spittle ran from her mouth.

“Is it the baby?” Charlotte pleaded in panic. “Sarah, is it your baby? Is it coming? I can’t do anything for you if you don’t
tell me what’s the matter!”

Sarah’s crying went on and on, rising in strength and timbre, echoing around the tiny room in an unending wail. The pencil
the girl had been using on her numbers was still clutched tightly in her hand; Charlotte had to pry her fingers apart to work
it free, fearful that Sarah might hurt herself with it.

“Sarah! Sarah!”

Unable to get any response, Charlotte rose to her feet and looked around for something, anything that might be able to help
her. For all that she knew, Sarah’s baby was coming early, about to be born on the floor of a filthy cabin far from any doctor.

If it were to happen, Charlotte had
some
knowledge of what to do; her grandmother and Rachel had been midwives back in Minnesota, and though she had never
actually assisted in a birth, she’d listened to them talk about births enough that she knew the basics. She’d need blankets
and boiling water and…

I need help and I need it now…

Charlotte quickly ran from the cabin and out into the Oklahoma evening. She felt helpless and alone, as if the cabin were
an island surrounded by countless miles of sea. She shouted for John, again and again, her voice sounding small and weak.
There was no response; she had no idea where he and Alan had gone or if there was any chance they could hear her.

She ran for the truck, but found that John had taken the keys with him; even had they been in the ignition, Charlotte knew
she couldn’t leave Sarah in order to get help, and she doubted she would have been able to raise the pregnant girl into the
cab.

Rushing back into the cabin, Charlotte again knelt down beside the weeping girl, pushing stray strands of hair from her face
and wiping the spittle from the corners of her mouth. Sarah continued to sob, her tears and gasps for breath audible in the
quiet room.

“Sarah, listen to me,” Charlotte said softly, doing all that she could to take the fear out of her voice. “Look at me, Sarah.
I know that you’re upset, but you need to put it out of your head and look at me.” Though Sarah’s crying never lessened, Charlotte
kept trying. “You can do it; I know you can. Think about your baby, Sarah. Think about the child you’ve carried all this time.”

Charlotte had no way of knowing how to reach Sarah, but she finally managed to get to her by talking about the baby. Sarah’s
sobs subsided. Her eyes, open and wet, searched Charlotte’s face.

“There you go! That’s the way!” Charlotte rejoiced. “Is it the baby? Can you tell me if it’s because of your baby that you’re
so upset?”

“I’m… I’m so tired… I’m so tired all the time…” Sarah sobbed.

“It’s not your baby?” Charlotte pressed.

“I… I don’t think so…” She shook her head, her chin wrinkled, holding back another flood of tears.

“Oh, Sarah,” Charlotte gasped, tears rising unbidden to her own eyes, tears of relief at the realization that the girl’s baby
wasn’t about to be born after all.

They sat that way for a while, the two of them on the floor, Sarah’s head in Charlotte’s lap as she slowly stroked the girl’s
hair, trying to calm her. Eventually, Sarah’s outburst subsided and they were blanketed in silence, the only sound an occasional
crow’s caw from outside. The sun’s rays slid down the wall beside them, as if it were going into hiding, a child playing a
game of hide-and-seek. While the sun set, Charlotte’s anger rose.

That worthless, drunken old fool!

It was clear to Charlotte that Sarah was, as pregnant as she was, still shouldering the entire burden of her and her father’s
household. No matter how much John provided for
them, he was limited in the things that he could do. Cooking, washing, and chopping firewood for the stove were all chores
left to the Becks. Charlotte wondered just how many of these fell upon Sarah while Alan crawled into a bottle. It was as if
the girl were his wife; no, it was worse, as if she were his slave. If Sarah was not careful, there was a good chance she
would lose her child, if not her life.

Eventually, Charlotte managed to get Sarah into bed. The girl was asleep in an instant. Then Charlotte pulled up a chair and
waited for John and Alan to return, furious indignation rising in her chest.

The sun was nearly set, only a sliver of burnt red and orange still peeking over the distant hills, when John and Alan finally
made their way back to the cabin. Charlotte heard their boots crunching on the rocks and scrabble before they came into sight.
She chose to meet them outside, fearful that what she was about to say and do might wake Sarah from her needed sleep.

Charlotte went right at Alan without hesitation, her finger in his face, pressing close despite the stench of liquor that
covered him.

“How dare you, you worthless old fool!” she yelled, her seething anger finally breaking loose.

Alan recoiled from her, snorting in surprise. While he was clearly not as drunk as he had been when she’d arrived, his vision
was still blurry.

“What in the hell?” He stumbled, nearly falling back on his rump as he stepped away from her.

“Charlotte?” John asked, equally taken aback. “What’s gotten into you? Did somethin’ happen?”

As far as Charlotte was concerned, it was as if John Grant weren’t even there, so intent was she on Alan Beck. “Now you listen
to me and you listen well, you lazy sot,” she snapped, her voice as sharp as a knife. “That daughter of yours wasn’t put on
this earth to wait on you hand and foot, you good-for-nothing, no matter what you might believe otherwise!”

“Wait just a minute here—”

“I don’t know if you’ve taken your head out of a bottle long enough to notice,” she kept on, not wanting to allow him a word
in edgewise until she had finished her piece, “but that young girl is well into her pregnancy and she deserves much better
treatment than what you’re giving her!”

Charlotte couldn’t really believe the way that she was speaking to Alan; it was almost as if she were watching someone else
administer a tongue-lashing. She had spent a long time in the cabin fuming about Sarah, and there was nothing to do but let
it all out.

“Who in the hell do you think you are talkin’ to me that way?” Alan bellowed, somehow managing to find his footing under the
weight of Charlotte’s onslaught. Crimson red color rose up his neck and spittle flew from his yellow teeth. He had the same
look in his eyes as the night
he had accosted her in the rain. Before he had frightened her, but now seeing him this way only served to make her angrier.

“I’m the woman who’s not going to let you treat her the way you have been for even one more day! Right now she’s in that cabin,
sleeping from exhaustion, all because you force her to do the cooking, cleaning, and waiting on you day in and day out!”

“She’s lyin’,” Alan replied defensively, looking at John.

“Don’t look at him,” Charlotte demanded. “He’s not going to help you.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see John take a step back, the slightest hint of a smile curling at the edges of his
mouth.

“Starting today you’re going to become the father that girl has needed you to be for far too long. You will be there for her
when she needs you; you’re going to stop drinking, and you’re going to do far more than your share of the household work.
She needs regular meals, rest, affection, and plenty of peace and quiet. Do you understand me?”

Alan hesitated, clearly upset that he was being chastised by this slip of a girl. The age lines cut into his face seemed to
grow deeper as he said, “This weren’t the way it was supposed to be. She weren’t supposed to be carryin’ a kid… she’s too
young.”

Charlotte reached out and grabbed a handful of the man’s shirt. He had recoiled a bit when she moved toward him, but it hadn’t
stopped her.

“It’s too late for excuses or to want for something else. Your daughter is going to be a mother and you are going to be a
grandfather. This is the way it is going to be from now on. Starting today! She needs her family. Without a mother, her father
should be the one to stand by her and see her through this.”

Someway, somehow, Charlotte’s words slowly cut through the years of neglect and alcohol that clouded Alan Beck’s life: his
eyes were downcast as they turned away from her, no longer able to hold her gaze; his shoulders slumped a bit, the confrontation
bleeding out of him. When he spoke, his voice cracked with emotion. The fight seemed utterly drained from him.

“I guess I done failed that girl…”

“Then don’t fail her anymore,” Charlotte encouraged. She hadn’t expected to be able to reach him; the best she hoped for was
to be able to vent her frustration and anger and that maybe John would do something to change the Becks’ situation. But now
a flicker of hope flared in her chest. Maybe Alan could actually change. Maybe Sarah and her child wouldn’t be all alone in
the world after all.

Alan still held the liquor bottle he’d clutched when they had first arrived at the cabin; when he let it go, it fell to the
ground, breaking against the rocks, the brown fluid that was left spilling out and soaking into the dry earth.

That’s a good start…

“I don’t want her to hate me…”

“Then walk in that door and give her a reason not to.”

Alan nodded slowly and left them to walk toward the cabin, not looking back once until he had reached the door.

“I aims to do better,” he said simply.

Those were the first words he had spoken that Charlotte believed.

S
ATURDAY BROUGHT RAIN
, a gentle tapping pitter-patter that woke Charlotte early, pulling her from a pleasant remembrance of her childhood, a dream
of running beside Lake Washington, her loyal dog Jasper at her heels. Outside, the squall seemed destined for a short life;
when she went to the window, blue skies were already breaking apart the overcast, dirty grey clouds in the east, the sun occasionally
flashing into her eyes.

Charlotte brushed the sleep from her eyes, washing herself from her basin and dressing in the near-darkness. By the time she
headed down the stairs, breakfast was already well under way. Plates full of pancakes, fried eggs, and sweet-smelling ham
were set out beside cups of steaming coffee and pans of golden biscuits. Chairs creaked, silverware clinked against the heavy
plates, and good humor abounded.

“—best get that done ’fore it gets out of hand…”

“That stubborn thing ain’t gonna get the best of me today!”

“Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as usual!”

Charlotte went into the kitchen and offered to help with whatever work still remained, but Amelia shooed her out, smiling
brightly even though she must have been working for hours.

Hale held forth throughout the entire meal. Laughter filled the room, none louder than Hale’s, but Charlotte noticed that
his attention kept wandering to where Owen sat at the other end of the table, as if he expected to see a container of kerosene
in the man’s lap. Charlotte couldn’t fault him; her attention kept being drawn in the same direction; she was rewarded with
a wink when Owen seemed certain that no one else at the table would notice. But like Hale, her attention was also moving around
the table. John Grant sat at the head of the table, his expression giving no indication of any unpleasantness.

“I can’t imagine that sleeping out in the rain could be any worse than listening to your bellowing,” Hannah teased Hale, her
barb enough to still his tongue.

Once the meal had finished, the workingmen trudged out to start their day, while the women set about washing and drying the
dishes. Charlotte kept an eye on Hannah, and when she started to head back to the cabin she shared with her brother Charlotte
hurried along behind her.