Chapter 7
No one understood why Matt wanted to take on the still-wet-behind the-ears kid.
“It’s roundup, Matt. Are you loco?” the captain protested when Matt showed up with his wagon to transport the young man out to his ranch. “You’ve got no time to mollycoddle a greenhorn, especially one who probably won’t be leaving his bed for the next month.”
Matt couldn’t deny that even without the beating from Red, Seth didn’t look much like a candidate for ranch work.
“More like a shopkeeper,” his foreman, Brett Owen, joked when he saw him.
Matt didn’t explain why he wanted Seth out at the Diamond S. Or that something about the lad called out for help—help he hadn’t been able to give his younger brother. So Matt brought Seth home to the Diamond S and placed him under the gentle, ministering hands of his family’s longtime housekeeper, Solita. At once the round-faced, cheerful Mexican woman clucked and fussed over Seth as if he were a long-lost chick returning to the nest. Perhaps he is, Matt mused on more than one occasion. The more he became acquainted with Seth Anderson, the more the young man reminded Matt of his younger brother, Robert.
Robbie had worshipped the ground Matt walked on. He had followed him everywhere. Five years Matt’s junior, Robbie tried to do everything his older brother did. The boy’s desire to keep up with Matt often led him into trouble. Occasionally he lit into Matt in frustration when he found himself lacking the skills necessary to do whatever his brother did. Matt prayed for patience, took it all in stride, and tried to be the big brother he should be.
Unfortunately Robbie tried to keep up once too often. Matt, at twenty, had excelled at the ranching tasks he loved. His father, William, depended on Matt to help run the growing Diamond S spread. Matt could rope, ride, and brand just about anything on four hooves. He could break a colt gently or all at once.
Fifteen-year-old Robbie wanted to prove he could do it, too. Although forbidden to work with the green colts, he took it upon himself to try to break Skye—the wildest colt on the ranch. Matt found his little brother one afternoon—broken and near death. He lived two more days before passing quietly from Matt’s arms into heaven.
Now, six years later—with his entire family either back east or in eternity—Matt saw in Seth a replica of the brother who had been snatched away from him too soon. Every day he grew closer to the plucky boy.
Fall roundup ended, and Matt devoted all his spare time to working with his newest cowhand. Seth healed rapidly and seemed anxious to please his benefactor. Although weak and shaky at times, the young man made up for his inexperience with the determination to conquer every task Matt set for him. The older and more seasoned hands watched in amusement and shouted good-natured barbs at Seth while their boss tried to teach him basic ranching skills.
“Ride ’em, cowboy!”
“Straddle that saddle, kid!”
Seth ignored the banter and raw jokes and focused every ounce of his willpower into mastering the various jobs on the Diamond S. To the astonishment of the skeptical Diamond S cowboys, Seth learned quickly. Even trail-hardened Brett Owen finally admitted—although not in Seth’s hearing—“He’s worth his salt.” High praise indeed. It summed up the growing respect for Seth’s hard work and stubborn determination.
By spring good food and steady exercise combined with the mild climate of Madera turned the stripling lad into a well-muscled and agile young cowboy. Once he proved himself adept at working with cattle and horses, haying, cutting fence posts, and the myriad of other duties a cowboy must do, Seth was welcomed into the ranks as a full-fledged cowhand, ready to pull his weight to make the Diamond S prosper. By summer he was one of the top hands.
During this time, Matt learned about his young friend’s hardships back East. Often after church on Sunday afternoons, while the rest of the cowhands took the day off to head for town to court, cockfight, gamble, or take part in some other activity Matt preferred not to know about, he and Seth rode to Matt’s favorite spot on the ranch—some distance into the Sierra foothills—and talked. The promontory that overlooked Matt’s ranch offered both privacy and beauty. The entire valley spread out before them, dotted with dark clumps of the vineyards and orchards that were quickly springing up north of the San Joaquin River. Closer to their lookout, the rolling range was sprinkled with Diamond S cattle roaming freely.
A faint lowing sound drifted up to Matt’s ears, and he sighed, perfectly content. “Must’ve been a hard thing to do, leaving your ma and sister back in St. Louis like that,” he remarked, resting his long, lean body against the trunk of an old oak tree.
Seth lay down, settled his wide-brimmed hat over his eyes, and clasped his hands behind his neck. “Worse than you can imagine. But my mother knew I had no choice. She was hoping I could save enough money to bring Sarah out West someday.” He peeked out from under his hat. “I showed you her picture, didn’t I?”
Matt leaned forward and flopped his hands over his raised knees. He smiled patiently. “Often enough.”
“Do you think she’s pretty?”
“Oh yeah. Sure, kid,” came Matt’s distracted reply. This was dangerous territory. He didn’t want to hurt Seth’s feelings, but he really wasn’t interested in thinking about whether the girl in Seth’s wrinkled photo was pretty or not. He glanced at his friend, who had sat up and was rummaging through his vest pockets.
“I know I’ve got another picture of her around here somewhere,” Seth muttered. “It’s more recent. I sent my folks a letter back in July.”
“Hmm,” Matt answered, not really paying attention. Watching Chase graze, he thought how dry and unappetizing the late October grass must taste—even to a horse.
“I sent a picture of the two of us,” Seth prattled on, “you know, when that fancy Eastern photographer, who set up shop next to Judge Barry’s office, was offering a special during the Fourth of July celebration. It turned out real fine, and I sent it to my mother and Sarah—so they’d see I’m doing okay.”
Matt didn’t answer, but Seth persisted. “I got a letter yesterday from Sarah—and she sent another photograph. You want to see it?”
Matt yawned. “The picture or the letter?”
Seth gave Matt a disgusted look and passed him the photograph.
Matt sat up and glanced at the picture. Against his will his eyes widened. His pulse quickened. This young woman couldn’t be the same girl he’d seen in the photograph he’d dug out of Seth’s saddlebags the year before! She was more than pretty—she was striking. Her clear gaze—no doubt the same color blue as Seth’s—riveted Matt. She seemed to be smiling just for him.
Stop it! he berated himself. It’s not like you to get moonstruck over a picture! He swallowed and quickly handed it back to Seth. “Real nice, kid,” he managed. “I sure hope you can get her out here, like your ma wants. From what you’ve told me, your sister’s life sounds pretty rotten.” If Matt ever saw that low-down sidewinder of a stepfather, he’d have a thing or two to say to him about the way a man should treat his wife and children!
Seth sighed. “I don’t know if Sarah will ever come out now.” He held up a well-handled piece of paper. “This letter says that my mother is in the family way. Guess I’ll be getting a new little brother or sister sometime next spring.” He shrugged. “No matter. I’ll probably never see the baby—or Sarah, for that matter.” He stuffed the picture and letter into his vest pocket and stared out across the valley, quiet all of a sudden.
Matt straightened up, suddenly ashamed for treating the photograph of Seth’s sister lightly. He’d “adopted” Seth so completely that he occasionally forgot the young man had a mother and a sister whom he must love dearly—just as Matt loved Dori. “Hey Seth,” he apologized gruffly, “I’m sorry. Real sorry about the hard times with your family. As soon as your mother is settled with the new little one, no doubt Sarah will be able to come out to the Golden State.” He smiled and punched his young friend lightly on the shoulder.
Seth didn’t
smile. “Sarah wrote that Mama will need her more than ever once the baby comes. She’s fixed her mind on staying.” He looked at Matt. Misery showed on his tanned face. “My stepfather will work her to death, most likely, or marry her off to one of his disreputable acquaintances.” Seth clenched his fists and drove them into the ground. “And I’m helpless. Helpless to do anything but watch it happen. I almost dread another letter.”
Seth received no more letters. The following spring a telegram came to Seth, in care of the Diamond S Ranch, Madera, California. His sister had been born. But his mother and the baby had died.
Matt’s heart ached with pity and the pain of remembering his own losses. Now the boy who had carved out a special place in Matt’s heart would need his friendship more than ever.
“He will have it,” Matt vowed one afternoon while returning from town. “For as long as he wants to stay, the Diamond S will be Seth Anderson’s home.” Comfortably slumped in the saddle, Matt gave Chase free rein and let his thoughts drift like a tumbleweed skipping along with the slight breeze. Feelings that had been growing ever since the telegram came surfaced then burst into full-fledged determination. They spilled into a prayer that hovered in the quiet air.
“God, if there’s any possible way to get Sarah Joy Anderson out of her stepfather’s clutches, please show me what it is. For Seth’s sake,” he hastily added.
Only for Seth’s sake? a little voice whispered inside him. Matt tried to ignore it, but the face in Seth’s photograph shimmered in the quiet air until Matt whacked Chase with the reins. The unaccustomed blow, light as it was, sent the startled buckskin into a gallop guaranteed to banish the mirage and bring any once-bitten, twice-shy rancher back to his senses.
Chapter 8
Nineteen hundred miles east of the Diamond S Ranch, Sarah wearily rose from her corn-husk mattress at the crack of dawn. She shivered in the early morning chill and hastily wrapped herself in her mother’s old dressing gown. The tattered garment not only offered warmth but also the feeling of being enfolded in her mother’s arms, comfort that Sarah sorely needed. Ever since Gus had sold her to Tice Edwards—being sold was exactly what it amounted to—Sarah’s days had been filled with continued drudgery and her nights with fear. Nights in which she racked her brain to think of a way to escape.
So far none had appeared, in spite of her desperate prayers for God to make a way. Now she sighed and reached for her mother’s Bible. During the final weeks of Mama’s illness, Sarah had let her scripture reading fall by the wayside from lack of time and energy. “Lord, I’m stuck in St. Louis until I can figure out how to earn enough money to leave here,” she whispered into her harsh pillow, careful not to disturb her sleeping half sister. If Ellie awakened, all chances of quiet time for Sarah would flee before the petulant child’s demands.
Sarah knelt on the rough floor beside the window and stared out into a day as gray as her life. “I need the wisdom of Solomon to know how to endure Tice’s unwelcome advances, God. He’s made his intentions clear—he will court me briefly and then wed me.”
Fierce determination surged through Sarah’s body. She would not marry Tice. She would kick and scream and tear the wedding gown he had ordered made for her until everyone in St. Louis heard. Surely someone would come to her rescue!
Who? a little voice mocked. Tice Edwards has this town, including the police chief and who knows how many others, in the palm of his hand. Despair threatened to overwhelm her, but words her father had spoken long ago swept into her heart. Sarah could picture his face, haggard from illness, when he said: “Seth, Sarah, you will be faced with many hard decisions throughout your life. There is only one way to choose rightly. First, consider all the possibilities and the likely consequences. Next, take them to the Lord in prayer. Finally, wait for His answer.”
He had raised his head with a look so loving and kind Sarah knew she would never forget it. “Most importantly, once you make your decision, go straight forward, not looking to the right or the left, and carry it out. If it later needs to be altered, our heavenly Father will guide you.”
He hesitated a long moment, closing his eyes as if he needed to gather strength. When he opened them again, a smile lifted his lips, and the blue eyes so like Seth’s and Sarah’s twinkled. “Most folks disagree, but I believe it’s better to make a decision that may later have to be amended than refuse to make any decision at all.”
That is what Seth did, Sarah thought. A spurt of courage raised her spirits, but again, that dreaded word how sent them plummeting. She shifted her position and opened the Bible, which had been her parents’ answer book to all their problems. A letter fell out. A letter with the words Sarah Joy inscribed on the envelope in her mother’s handwriting. With a quick glance to make sure the rustling paper hadn’t awakened Ellie, Sarah opened the letter.
Dearest Daughter Sarah, it began. A rush of tears blinded her, but she impatiently brushed them away and read on:
You may never see this letter. If everything goes well with my birthing, I will burn it. However, I can’t help feeling that God may take me home—both me and your new little brother or sister. There are things I must say to you in case this happens.
First of all, I know you will grieve for me, but you must also rejoice. My love for you and Seth has been my only joy for a long time. You have been ev- erything a son and daughter should be. Your father and I chose our children’s names long before either of you were born. Sarah—princess; Seth—anointed.
I did a terrible thing when I married Gus. I knew he could never replace my beloved John, but he seemed sincere and a good Christian. I truly believed his promise to become a substitute father.
Sarah stopped reading. Pity for her mother who had paid so dearly for her error in judgment warred with anger at Gus. Substitute father? Never! From the moment he said, “I do,” Virginia Anderson Stoddard and her two children meant nothing to him but persons he could exploit. Sarah shook off the past. What was done was done. The important thing was what lay ahead. She returned to her mother’s precious letter:
Sarah Joy, should it be that I cross over, I urge you to leave St. Louis as quickly as you can and never look back. Find Seth. Put yourself under his protection.
“How?” Sarah murmured. “Long before I could earn any money, Gus and Tice will have me married and trapped forever.”
Ellie stirred in her sleep, sending a warning chill through Sarah. She hastily read the final sentences of her mother’s letter:
Tucked away in the bottom of the flour barrel is a small tin canister. In it you will find enough money to get away from St. Louis. I scraped and pinched to set aside a few gold coins for you. The gold wedding ring your father gave me is also in the canister. If the need arises, sell it. You must get away from Gus.
There is no telling what he might take a notion to do.
Your Loving Mother,
Virginia Anderson
Sarah wanted to shout. Her mother had been a faithful wife, but Gus Stoddard wasn’t worthy of having his name on Mama’s last message. Sarah kissed it then swiftly and silently donned her old blue calico work dress and hid the letter inside next to her heart. The words of the “Old Hundredth” came to mind, written centuries before:
Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow;
Praise Him, all creatures here below;
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
She silently whispered “Amen” and crept downstairs, avoiding the timeworn, creaking boards. Step by cautious step, she stole to the kitchen. Once there she raised the lid of the flour barrel with trembling fingers—then froze when a familiar, hated voice demanded.
“What’re you doin’, sneakin’ around?” Disheveled and glaring, Gus Stoddard stood in the doorway watching her like a hawk watches baby chicks before pouncing.
Please, God, help me! If Gus finds the money and Mama’s ring, I’m doomed.
Summoning the courage generated by her mother’s let
ter, Sarah turned and said in a colorless voice, “Making biscuits. I woke up early.” She reached into the barrel and filled the battered sifter with flour.
Some of the suspicion in Gus’s face dwindled. An evil grin replaced it. “Sooooo,” he drawled, “can’t wait to see Tice, huh?”
Sarah shrugged, as if indifferent to the riverboat gambler and his intentions.
“I see you’re gettin’ used to the idea. Good. You make a fuss, and it will be the worse for you, missy,” Gus warned.
Strength flowed into Sarah. She looked directly into Gus’s face and managed to smile. “I won’t make a fuss. I promise.” Truth underlined every word, even though she mentally added, I won’t be here to make a fuss. For the first time since Mama had fallen ill, happiness filled Sarah. No matter how long and hard the path ahead was, thanks to Virginia Anderson, her daughter would be free.
It was late afternoon before Sarah could retrieve the canister. Once emptied, it took its place on a kitchen shelf with nothing to indicate it had once contained treasure. Finished with her many chores for a few moments, Sarah opened her mother’s Bible again. She riffled the pages and stopped at Matthew 10:16: “Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves: be ye therefore wise as serpents, and harmless as doves.” It was underlined. Sarah resolved to take her mother’s advice and secretly prepare to leave—all the while pretending to accept the inevitable future Gus and Tice had planned for her. Perhaps in that way she would throw them off guard.
Yet in spite of her determination, it was all Sarah could do to keep her fear and dislike of Tice Edwards from spilling out when he came courting. She had to admit that he never showed her anything but gentle, considerate attention. He took her for buggy rides and painted a glowing, wonderful picture of their future.
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