Sarah's Surrender (16 page)

The man finally escaped his stupor, walked over to them, and then knelt beside the boy, pain etched on his handsome face. “Phillip, you know this woman isn't your mother.”

He grasped her tighter. “She is. She is!”

The man gently laid his hand on the boy's shoulder then attempted to pull him away.

“No!” The child jerked free and buried his face deeper in Sarah's skirt.

The man stood, removed his hat, and ran his fingers through his dark, neatly cropped hair. He opened his mouth then shut it and turned his head, staring into the distance as if he could find the words there to explain his son's odd behavior.

“I'm Sarah Worley.” She smiled when he looked at her again.

He cleared his throat. “My deepest apologies, Miss Worley. I'm Stephen Barlow, and this is my son, Phillip.”

Sarah glanced at a bench in front of the store. “Maybe we could sit for a minute and clear things up?”

He nodded. “Of course. Come on, Phillip. Let's have a seat on this bench.”

“Is she coming too?”

Sarah smiled at the boy. “Yes, I am.”

He wiped his dark eyes then took hold of her hand, stealing a piece of Sarah's heart. Again, Mr. Barlow flashed an apology.

“It's fine. Honestly, I don't mind.”

“You're very kind, Miss—or is it Mrs.—Worley?”

Sarah sat, and Phillip scrambled up next to her, leaving his father standing. Not wanting to stare up at the tall man, she scooted over, pulling Phillip with her. Judging by his small size, she guessed he was a little younger than Cody, around five years old. “It's Miss Worley.”

Mr. Barlow sat on the very edge of the bench. His right knee bounced. He flicked a quick glance at his son, who leaned against her arm, his left thumb in his mouth. The man's lips pursed in obvious concern, probably for his son as well as her. “I …” He cleared his throat. “My wife, Rosalia …” He looked away again then sighed loudly. “She died almost two months ago.”

Phillip started humming and swinging one foot.

“She had gone back east to visit her parents and suddenly took sick. I've taken Phillip back there, but he's having a difficult time believing she will not be returning.”

The poor child.
She ran her hand down Phillip's cheek as he gazed up at her adoringly. This wasn't good. Surely he could tell she wasn't truly his mother. She glanced up at Mr. Barlow and mouthed, “What do we do?”

He shook his head and shrugged. “This never happened before.”

Holding her hand gently against Phillip's ear, she whispered, “Do I truly look like your wife?”

Mr. Barlow's dark brown eyes warmed. “Actually, you do. Her eyes weren't black like yours, but they were brown, although I'd say her hair was a shade or two darker—and curlier. Rosalia was almost full-blooded Italian. Very beautiful … as you are.”

Uncomfortable for the first time, she glanced down the street, hoping to see Luke returning. How was she going to untangle herself from Phillip without wounding the poor boy emotionally? He'd been through so much already.

Mr. Barlow held his hat in front of him. “May I ask what you're doing here in Anadarko? Do you have family that won a claim or bought land in the auction?”

She smiled again. “Actually,
I
won a claim. It's not far from town.”

His mouth dropped open, but he quickly recovered from his surprise. “Congratulations. You sure don't look like a farmer or rancher. What do you plan to do with all that land?”

“I haven't decided yet. My first order of business is to get my house built.”

He lifted one eyebrow. “Surely you're not constructing it yourself?”

Sarah shook her head. “I know my limitations, sir. I hired a crew to work on it.” She glanced down at Phillip. His leg had stilled, and he felt heavy against her arm. “I do believe your son has fallen asleep.”

Mr. Barlow heaved another sigh. “He's had trouble sleeping since Rosalia's death. He wakes up screaming quite frequently. He hasn't adjusted to living in a tent here, but I don't want to send him home with my aunt, who cares for him while I'm working. I can't leave, either. I'm the engineer tasked with overseeing the construction of the depot.”

Her heart ached for the father and son. “I will pray for you both.”

“Thank you. That's very kind of you.” He stood and bent down. “Let's hope he doesn't awaken until you make your getaway.”

“What will you tell him?”

He lifted his gaze to her, and her heart pounded at the intensity in them. It had to be because he was only inches away. She could feel his warm breath on her face. “The truth,” he said softly. “But if you would consider joining us for a meal in the tent for railroad workers, I'd be truly grateful.”

A meal?
Was he asking for Phillip's well-being or his own? “To what end, sir?”

“To help my son, Miss Worley. I believe seeing you again will help him adjust to his mother being gone, and knowing that he will see you again will make my discussion with him go much easier. It was our good fortune to cross paths with you today.”

She searched his gaze, looking for an ulterior motive. Surely a man who'd so recently lost his wife wouldn't be looking for another one. He seemed like a nice gentleman, but she learned from her own father that men could easily wear masks when they wanted to impress someone. Knowing they would meet in a public place and that Phillip would be there eased her concern. Maybe she should bring Cody along so the boys could play with one another. “All right. For Phillip's sake, I'll meet you for lunch this Friday at one, providing your aunt will be there.”

Stephen Barlow's eyes twinkled, and a smile lifted one side of his mouth. Her heartbeat kicked up its pace. He certainly was a fine-looking man. He finally nodded and picked up his son. “For Phillip's sake.”

“You're in for a surprise, Zelma.” Sarah helped the older woman down the incline to the river. “Cody, you stay there until I can help you.”

“I can cross by myself,” the boy shouted.

“No, you wait.”

“I wouldn't mind a soak in the water,” Zelma said as she stepped to another flat rock, “if I didn't know I'd just get sweaty all over again later.”

“Be careful crossing on these rocks. It's not deep here, but the surface of the rocks is a bit slippery because of the moss on them.”

“All righty. Don't worry about me. A dunkin' won't hurt a thing.”

It wasn't the dunking Sarah was concerned with but rather that the heavyset woman might twist her ankle or hurt some other part of her body if she fell. There was no way she could get Zelma out by herself.

She blew out a pent breath as they drew near to the farside. With a not-so-graceful leap, they made it onto the other bank of the river. “Be right back.” She crossed the river again, thankful for the low water level, snagged Cody's hand, and then returned to the other side. What she needed was a bridge, especially if she decided to plant corn in this plot of land next spring. Tonight she'd tally up her money and see if she could afford to hire the Petersons to build one while they were here.

They walked about ten feet when Zelma stopped suddenly. “Land sakes! Is that a corn patch?”

Sarah smiled. “Surprise! Didn't you wonder where the corn came from that we ate the other night?”

“I just assumed you traded for it in town.” Zelma turned toward her, eyes still wide. “How did it get here?”

“Someone planted it.”

Hands on hips, Zelma narrowed her gaze, giving her the look she gave her sons when they didn't do something she'd told them to do. “I know that, but
who
planted it?”

“Pa said it was In'juns.” Cody looked up to Sarah, his eyes wide, as if he thought he'd upset her. “Uh … not like you, Sarah, but wild In'juns.”

Sarah smiled and ruffled his hair. “I knew what you meant. Jack thinks it was probably Kiowa or Apache who thought this land was part of their allotment. I guess there was some confusion about where the land was that belonged to the Indians and the land for the lottery. Thus a few lucky settlers arrived to find planted fields on their homesteads.” Shall we see if there are any ears left? Much of it has been picked, but I hope we'll find a few stragglers that ripened late.”

“That's wonderful for you, but I feel bad for those who did the work and don't get to reap the harvest.” Zelma lifted the edge of her apron and wiped the sweat from her face.

“I do, too, but I believe they reaped the largest part of the harvest. Since I have no idea who the people are who planted it, I guess we'll enjoy the corn and pray that God will bless the hands that made it possible.”

“Amen. Sounds like a right good idea to me. Let's get pickin'. My mouth is waterin' for some more of that sweet juiciness.”

“Mine, too!” Cody shouted.

Sarah took his hand. “Let me show you how to tell when the corn is ready to be picked. “You see this fringy tassel? When it's all brown, it's ready. If it still has yellow or green in it, then don't pick it.” She showed him how to pull down then lift up to break off the ear. Then she handed it to him. “You'll be our stacker. Go lay this on the ground over there, and we'll start a pile.”

He jogged to the grass at the edge of the cornfield, set down the ear, and then hurried back to her, eager to help. He was such a good boy. Sarah muttered a prayer for God to bring Jack a good woman to mother the boy. Her thoughts swiveled to Phillip, and she prayed for comfort and peace for the sad child.

Half an hour later, they'd made their way through the field. “It looks like we'll probably only get one more picking before the corn gives out.”

Zelma nodded, pressing her fist into the middle of her back as they walked back to their pile of corn. “I think you're right. The field needs waterin'.”

“I should have thought to bring a bucket.”

“I'll go get one.” Cody bounced on his toes.

“That's a wonderful idea. We can work on getting the corn across the river until you get back. I should have thought to bring something to haul the corn in, but I didn't really expect to find this much.”

She helped Cody back across the water. “When you return, don't try to cross by yourself.”

“I won't.” The boy waved as he ran up the hill. Once on the other side, he'd be in view of the others, so she didn't follow him.

“He's a pleasant little boy.” Zelma swished her hand in the river then scooped up a drink of the brown water.

Sarah was thirsty, too, but she preferred to drink from the barrel of rainwater she'd collected. “Cody is a good boy.”

“Could I ask what happened to his ma?”

Sarah dropped down beside Zelma at the water's edge, relishing the canopy of shade overhead. She removed her bonnet, allowing the gentle breeze to cool her sweaty head. “Cora died last January in childbirth, along with her baby.”

Zelma nodded. “It happens, far too often for my likin'.”

Sarah closed her eyes, remembering the awful day. “It was terribly sad.”

“It's the way of things out west. I lost two daughters and my youngest son when they was all small. The girls died of a fever, and my boy got a cut that didn't never heal. It was such a small cut, I didn't worry about it.” She sighed and looked away. “It was my fault Petey died.”

Sarah laid her hand around Zelma's shoulders. “Don't think that. It wasn't your fault. There's no way you could have known the cut was such a bad one.”

“When you lose a child, a piece of your heart dies.”

Sarah thought about how glum Jack had been those first months after losing Cora and the baby. It
was
as if part of him had died. Thankfully, he believed in God, and the heavenly Father had brought him comfort and healing. Having Cody had helped, too. She couldn't imagine the hurt of losing a child. What had her mother felt when Sarah's father took her away? Had she experienced a deep sense of loss? Or was she relieved that Sarah wouldn't be alone after her death? Did her mother know what kind of place her father was taking her to? Part of her was glad she hadn't witnessed her mother's death, but another part wished she'd been there so her mother hadn't had to die alone. But at only twelve, she'd had no say in the matter. Her father had ignored her cries to stay.

“My boys are all sweet on you. Well, all ‘cept Amos, ‘cause he's married. Sure would be nice if you was to marry one of ‘em.”

Sarah's gaze zipped to Zelma's. “Uh … I don't know what to say. I have to tell you that I honestly don't know if I'll ever marry.”

Zelma blinked her eyes several times as if trying to make sense of Sarah's comment. “Why ever not? A pretty gal like you deserves to find a good man and be happy. I didn't think my boys had much chance with you because of the way that good-lookin' Luke stares at you. I figured he already owned your heart.”