Sarah's Surrender (19 page)

The sounds of building echoed all around him. It wouldn't be long and people would be working from their brand-new buildings. And his would be one of them—if he could find Mr. Brownlee.

He turned in a circle, wondering where to check next.

“Can I help you find somethin', mister?” A man stood outside his tent, cutting stalks of broomcorn on a wooden table.

Luke crossed the street to talk to the broom maker. “I hope so. I'm lookin' for Herbert Brownlee, owner of a shoe shop.”

The gray-haired man pointed a clump of broomcorn toward the tents in the middle of the street. “Down there. It's the tent that's closed.”

“Closed! At midmornin'?”

The man lifted one shoulder. “There's no tellin' a baby when to come, whether it be midnight or midday.”

Luke groaned. “I don't suppose you know when he'll open up again, do you?'

“Hard to say. Might depend on how his woman is doin'.”

“If you see him again, will you tell him that Luke McNeil is interested in the lot he has for sale and to not sell it to anyone else until I return?”

“It ain't him that's sellin' it but his brother. That gent rode in on the train, took one look around, then told his brother he was leaving and to sell his lot.”

Luke rubbed the back of his neck, hoping to relieve the tension of the ache building in his head. “How do you know all of this?”

The man grinned, revealing a wide gap between his two front teeth. “Kind of hard not to when they was standin' in the street, hollerin' at one other.”

Luke glanced up to see where the sun was. He needed to head back to where he and Sarah were to meet. “I'll ride into town later and see if he's back. If he isn't, I'd appreciate it if you'd let him know of my interest when you next see him.”

“I can do that. Hey, you don't need a broom, do ya? Business has been a bit slow.”

Luke started walking. “Not today but maybe when I get settled.”

He hated being so close to owning his town lot and still so far away. It was rotten luck that Mr. Brownlee had been gone. He returned to the meeting place and stood in the shade of a tall oak.

A frazzled looking man in a white shirt with black trousers and a black string tie and odd cap rushed past him and into the gun shop. He was close enough to hear the man call out, “Anyone in here named Luke McNeil?”

His heart bucked. What could the stranger want with him? Had something happened to Sarah? He pushed off from the tree, heading straight to the man. “I'm McNeil.”

The wiry man spun around, looking relieved, and hurried toward him. “Do you know someone named Gabe?”

Luke nodded, wondering how the man knew his good friend. “I do.”

The man glanced at the paper he carried—a telegram, if Luke wasn't mistaken. “What's his last name?”

Luke stiffened. “Why do you want to know?”

“Got a telegram from him, and I'm just making sure you're who you say you are.”

“Coulter. His name is Gabe Coulter.”

Nodding, the man looked at the paper again. “And where does he hail from.”

“He has a ranch near Guthrie.”

Continuing to nod, the man relaxed. “I suppose you are Mr. McNeil. Here.” He shoved the telegram Luke's way.

Luke took it and placed a coin in the clerk's hand. Telegrams generally meant bad news. What had happened at the ranch that Gabe had to wire him about it?”

He unfolded the wrinkled paper.

G
ABE BROKE LEG
. L
UKE NEEDED AT RANCH
.

T
he morning after she had lunch with Mr. Barlow, Sarah watched with a heavy heart as Luke rode away on Golden Boy. He stopped at the edge of her property, turned back, and lifted his hat, waving it at her. He'd told her that he hated to leave with so many things up in the air, especially since he hadn't been able to secure the lot he'd wanted, but he owed Gabe. She lifted her hand in the air then dropped it back to her side. Part of her wanted to go with him. What if Lara needed her help with Gabe hurt and in bed?

She sighed. Leaving now was out of the question. Still, she hated seeing Luke go when things between them were unsettled, but she didn't know what to do about it.

The breakfast dishes were done, and turkey soup was simmering for their lunch. Zelma sat in a rocker under the shade of an elm tree, humming and doing her mending. Feeling out of sorts and not wanting to talk, Sarah grabbed a bucket and headed to the cornfield to see if any more ears were ready to be picked. She searched for Cody, hoping he might tag along, but he stood beside his father, proudly hammering nails into a plank of wood.

She stared at her house. The completed frame rose high above her, and the men were adding the clapboard on one side. Though they had made good headway, in her anxiousness to get settled, she wished they could work faster. She'd read in the newspaper recently that one day soon, a person would be able to order a kit house—a house that came with all the pieces, a list of instructions, and all a person had to do would be to assemble it. She shook her head as she angled down the path toward the river. “Imagine that. A house in a box—or maybe a railcar.” She chuckled as she crossed the rocks in the shallow river to the cornfield.

Though still morning, the sun was shining in full force. She ducked her head, tugging the brim of her straw hat down to keep the blinding sunlight from her eyes. Today would be another scorcher. She longed for a nice, cooling rain, but with them often came the threat of lightning or even a tornado—something she definitely didn't want.

As she meandered through the cornfield, she prayed for Gabe—that God would heal his leg and help him through the pain and having to stay in bed. That was always a hard thing for him to do, though he'd rarely had to in the years she'd lived with the Coulter family. She missed them all so much and had been negligent at writing them. She would tend to that task this afternoon.

She reached for a plump ear with a brown tassel. A screech rang out from behind her. She pivoted so fast that she dropped the corn. She slapped her hand against her apron pocket, realizing she'd forgotten to grab her pistol. What could have made such an eerie sound?

Standing perfectly still, she listened for the noise over the stampeding of her heartbeat. It sounded like a cat of some kind. So far, no one she heard of had run across a bobcat or cougar, but she knew a wounded one could be dangerous. She wanted to yell for Jack, but it might alert the animal to where she was—if it didn't already know.

The frightening noise rang out again, raising the hairs on the back of her neck. She'd heard the cry of a bobcat and cougar before and the creepy howling of a pair of barn cats squaring off with their bone-chilling growls, but this sounded different. Afraid to move, she peered through the stalks, searching for the source of the noise. She longed for a big stick, but at least she had a heavy wooden bucket to lob at a creature. Maybe she should make some racket in hopes of scaring it away. That would be preferable to it coming after her.

She heard some strange breathing that sounded more like a person than an animal, but she couldn't let down her guard. Fortifying herself, she sucked in a loud breath. “Jack!” she hollered, at the same time bashing the bucket back and forth through the cornstalks. After a moment, she quieted, listening. The pounding of her heart echoed in her ears.

She hadn't heard anything run away, but all was quiet. And then a squeal rang out that sounded like a baby.

“Sarah!” Pounding footsteps came from the direction of the river, but she didn't turn or shout out. She kept her eyes aimed toward the creature hidden nearby. She heard splashing and then—bless him—Jack appeared in the corner of her eye, rifle in hand. Behind him, the twins drew to a halt. “What's wrong?”

“There's some kind of critter on the far side of the cornfield. Listen.”

As they quieted, the cries continued.

“You stay here.” Jack gave her a look that told her not to argue. “We'll check it out.”

Sarah's frantic heartbeat slowed, but she stayed on guard. If the men spooked the cat—or whatever it was—it might charge her. If it did, it would have an encounter with a wild woman with a bucket.

She heard the men creeping through the brush, and then all was quiet.

“What in the—?” one of the twins said.

The caterwauling increased. Emboldened by the men's presence, she hurried between rows of corn and stepped out to where she could see them hunched over near the banks of the river.

Jack looked over his shoulder with a concerned expression and waved her to come to him. She jogged forward, stopping behind the twins. Whatever it was must be dying or not very dangerous, because they didn't seem afraid. The twins parted, allowing her to step up beside Jack, and she glanced down.

Her heart jolted once again, beating as fast as the wheels of a runaway wagon spun. She blinked, unable to believe what she was seeing.

Sarah squatted a few feet away from the filthy child—a little girl no older than two. The whimpering girl's dark blue eyes were wide with fear. Sarah longed to hold her—to comfort her—but she had to take things slowly. “Shh … you're all right.”

Behind her, she motioned for the men to back away. She glanced at Jack. “See if you can find her mother. Maybe she's nearby but injured.”

He nodded, and he and the Peterson twins moved away, mumbled for a moment, and then split up, each going a different direction. The girl watched them leave then turned her gaze back to Sarah.

“My name is Sarah, and that tall man was Jack. The other men are Zeke and Zach Peterson. They're helping to build my house.” She felt a bit dim-witted yammering about such stuff to a young child, but the calmness of her voice seemed to soothe the girl. The poor thing was covered in dirt, and her garment, which looked more like a nightgown than a day dress, was ripped and grass-stained. She had scratches and mosquito bites on her arms and legs, and her face was splotchy from crying. Though she had blue eyes, one thing was obvious by her straight black hair and skin tone—she was part Indian.

The girl rubbed her eyes and yawned.

Sarah dared to take a step closer. “Are you sleepy, sweetheart? I bet you're hungry. Would you like something to eat?”

The girl stared at her, but Sarah couldn't tell if she understood anything she was saying. They had to get her help. Sarah was going to have to pick her up sooner or later.

Remembering how Lara comforted her children when they had been injured or were frightened, Sarah started humming the song “Rock of Ages.” The girl watched her but no longer cried out. Would she let her hold her?

Still humming, she moved a few inches closer. She could easily touch the child, but she didn't. If only she'd brought some food with her, but she'd recently eaten and hadn't planned to be here long.

Moving slowly, she tugged her handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her own face. Then, ever so slowly, she reached out and wiped the tears from the girl's filthy cheek. She blinked several times but didn't pull away. Sarah swiped the fabric down the other cheek and smiled. “That's a little better. What we really need is a tub of water.”

But even if the girl had a bath, they had no clothing to put on her. Her eyes had a glassy look, but Sarah didn't know if that was from crying, being scared, or being overly hungry as she most likely was. She'd felt warm, but then who knew how long she'd been out in the sun?

When the wind blew in her face, Sarah got a whiff of an odor so rancid, she nearly gagged. A dirty diaper, no doubt. She'd changed quite a few while helping Lara with her babies, but she sure didn't look forward to tending to this one.

This was getting them nowhere.
Lord, please help this child understand that I'm only trying to help her.

She softly clapped her hands together and then held out her hands. “C'mon, sweetie, let's go get you cleaned up and find something for you to eat.”

The girl studied her for a long moment then suddenly lurched to her feet and toddled to her. Sarah grabbed her before she could fall and lifted her as she stood, holding her away from her dress. The sagging diaper rested around the girl's knee. “First thing, let's get this nasty thing off of you. I think Zelma has an old tea towel that would better serve the purpose.” She carried her toward the creek then stooped down and slid the diaper the rest of the way off.

She crossed to the other side to get away from the smell, and then she squatted beside the bank and smiled. “How about a bath?”

The girl glanced down at the water and kicked her feet as if she understood. Sarah dipped the child's legs in all the way up to her bottom. The girl mumbled something unintelligible then kicked one leg. Sarah made quick work of cleaning her backside; then she moved upstream and washed her hands and face. Her hair was matted and dirty, but she wasn't quite brave enough to tackle that for fear she'd upset the child.