Sarah’s voice broke. A river of tears crowded behind her eyes. Eden itself could be no more wonderful than reaching California and Seth. Her heart swelled, and she bowed her head. “There’s a long, hard road ahead of me before I get to Madera. Please go before me and open the way.” She took a deep breath. “I want to trust You, no matter what happens.”
No peal of thunder answered Sarah’s prayer. No bolt of lightning illuminated the road. But a still, small voice whispered deep inside, “I will not only walk before you, Sarah Joy. I will walk beside you: your Savior, companion, and friend.”
Tears gushed. “Thank You, God,” she fervently said. “I needed to be reminded like Elijah in the Bible. Your presence wasn’t in the strong wind or the great earthquake but in the still, small voice.” The still, small voice that spoke to Sarah’s heart did what nothing else could accomplish. It increased her determination to throw herself totally on God’s mercy and let Him take charge. Each step took her farther from Gus and Tice. Each hour meant that much more time before they raised a hue and cry over her absence.
By morning Sarah had traveled a goodly piece. However, lack of sleep had begun to take its toll. She ate sparingly from her small supply of food and drank from a nearby spring. A little later a farmer in a mule-driven wagon stopped beside her.
“Need a ride, miss?” he called.
Sarah looked into the farmer’s kindly face. The steadiness of his faded blue eyes and the creases many years of living had etched in his trustworthy face reassured her.
“Yes, thank you.” She climbed into the back of his wagon. She felt badly about not removing her veil but decided to leave it on. She must not be recognized in case Gus or Tice ever crossed paths with the old man. Surely they were searching for her by now, determined to make her go through with the wedding! Still, how could they know where she was? She had confided in no one and left no trace of her destination. Thankful that, although the farmer looked curious, he asked no questions about why she was alone on the road at such an early hour, Sarah gratefully dozed off and didn’t rouse until he said, “Wake up, miss. This is where I turn off the main road.” He pointed. “My farm’s a mile or so down the lane.”
He paused and looked worried. “Wish I could take you farther, but lots o’ folks travel this way. You’re sure to get another ride soon.”
It seemed shabby not to give any explanation so Sarah said, “Thank you for the ride. I’m going to see my brother.” Somewhat refreshed from her nap, she jumped from the wagon and reclaimed her meager possessions.
Relief settled over the old man’s face. “That’s good. Mighty good. There’s nothin’ like kinfolk.” He took up the reins and clucked to the mules. “I better get along home. My old woman will be waitin’ for me.”
Sarah watched him until a bend in the side road hid him from sight.
Thank You, God, for sending him. I was so tired.
It wasn’t the last time Sarah thanked God for providing for her needs. Other helpful people offered assistance and food. Sarah fought the dread of being overtaken every mile of the way, heartbeat quickening each time hoofbeats sounded behind her. She continued to be vigilant, but when no one showed undue interest in her cloaked, heavily veiled figure, she began to believe her goal of reaching California in one piece was actually possible. However, arriving in Jefferson City two weary days later convinced Sarah her arduous journey had just begun. She realized her only hope of reaching California before Judgment Day was to find a faster mode of transportation. Using extreme caution, her mouth dry from fear, Sarah wrapped her long dark veil around her head, bent forward and shuffled up to the ticket window in the Jefferson City train station like an aged woman. In a cracked voice she purchased a railway ticket to Denver. It was all the money she dared spend.
Once on the train Sarah remained wary of strangers and kept strictly to herself. Heart thudding she hid behind her veil each time the train stopped. She cast furtive glances at every man who boarded—and heaved great sighs of relief when she recognized no one and the train continued its journey.
In spite of keeping up her guard, the ever-changing landscape that rushed outside the train window fascinated Sarah. From cornfields to rolling hills and, at last, distant snow-covered peaks, it was unlike anything she had ever seen.
Sarah also comforted herself by rereading Seth’s letters and reflecting on what a good man Matthew Sterling must be. She often lapsed into daydreams about meeting Seth’s idol. Her heart beat fast beneath her worn traveling gown, and she blushed, remembering her fantasy about walking down the aisle of the Madera church to become Matt’s bride.
“Why are you allowing a man you have never met to win a place in your heart?” Sarah chided herself. “Matthew Sterling is so far beyond your reach that it is foolish to allow him in your thoughts.” Sarah sighed. Why couldn’t Tice Edwards have been as honest and kind as Seth said Matt was? What a contrast! Despite reprimanding herself, every time Sarah looked at the faded photograph, she couldn’t help wondering if God might be leading her toward happiness in the far West.
Yet scrunched up in her seat in the dark hours of the night, common sense mocked her. Why would anyone as important as Matthew Sterling be attracted to a runaway girl whose education is limited to what her mother taught her and a love of books? A girl whose skills are better suited to drudging in Gus Stoddard’s household than being mistress of a great ranch? The cruel taunt plunged Sarah’s spirits to the toes of her shabby shoes, but the coming of morning and whispering, “Get thee behind me, Satan,” brought a measure of comfort.
The evening before the train reached Denver, Sarah sustained a terrible shock. When she took out her letters from Seth, she discovered one was missing! She felt the blood drain from her face. Impossible! Surely she would have noticed before now. She frantically searched her carpetbag to no avail. Her reticule. Her seat and the floor around her. Between the pages of her mother’s Bible.
It was no use. The letter was gone.
Sarah tried to think what might have happened to it or where she may have lost it. A heartbeat later the truth hit her like two locomotives colliding head on. It painted a chilling picture in her mind. Once in the attic while musing and comparing Matt Sterling with Tice Edwards, she had been interrupted by the children swarming up the stairs, screaming for her attention. All Seth’s letters and the photograph scattered to the floor. Sarah had hastily gathered them up and shoved them into her reticule.
Sarah swallowed the terror that threatened to overpower her and buried her face in her hands. Lord, when I dropped the letters, one must have gotten pushed under my bed. Otherwise I would have noticed it my last night at home while I was frantically gathering my things. What little sense of security she had been able to muster between spells of panic fled. Gus and Tice must know her destination, a truly alarming twist.
Sarah harbored no hope that they would give up and leave her alone. Gus still had his debt. Tice had his pride. The owner of the River Queen would never stand for being made a laughingstock. By now all of St. Louis must be buzzing about Tice’s being practically deserted at the altar. Any feelings he ever had for Sarah would have changed to hatred and the desire for revenge. Tice would never let her go. He and Gus would dog every step of her way until they found her.
Sarah groaned. When they did, Gus would swear on a stack of Bibles as tall as the snowcapped peaks of the Sierra Nevada that he was her legal guardian and had the right to return her to Missouri. The false documents he and Tice had illegally procured would convince the authorities. Her only hope was to reach the Diamond S before they caught up with her. Seth would fight to the death before allowing Gus and Tice to take his sister. And if Matthew Sterling was half the man her brother thought he was, he would protect her for Seth’s sake.
During the remainder of the trip to Denver, every time the train stopped, Sarah shrank lower into her seat and fervently prayed. She asked just one thing: that she not look up and see Gus’s ugly face leering at her. Or Tice Edwards
’s eyes filled with anticipation of the punishment he would surely inflict on the girl who hated him but would soon be in his power.
Chapter 12
Denver, Colorado, at last.
Long before the train that carried Sarah Anderson away from a fate worse than death and into an unknown future reached the Mile High City, she had gazed out the window in awe. Colorado was a far cry from St. Louis. Or the Great Plains. The rolling land ended abruptly at the foot of the mighty Rocky Mountains. Snowcapped peaks reached toward heaven and provided a spectacular backdrop for the city. Sarah rubbed her eyes to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. An abundance of wildflowers added to the charm. Thank You, God, for all this beauty. And for bringing me safe this far, even if I only have mere pennies left, Sarah silently prayed.
Thoughts of her financial straits dampened the spirits that had soared at the grandeur of the Rocky Mountains. Sarah sighed and continued her prayer. I’m less than halfway to Madera, Lord. Once I get off the train, I don’t know where to go or what to do. Please help me.
The monotonous clackety-clack of the train’s wheels slowed. The grinding screech of brakes signified the “iron horse” would soon stop. Sarah gathered her meager belongings, leaving Seth’s wooden pistol and her few valuables in her reticule. Should someone attempt to rob her, she could hang on to the reticule better than her heavy carpetbag. She stood and grimly muttered, “‘I will fear no evil: for thou art with me.’”
“Did you speak, miss?” the conductor asked.
Sarah felt herself redden. Although reticent about who she was and where she was going, she had found the white-haired conductor to be kind to her on the journey. Perhaps he would help her now. “I’m not familiar with Denver,” she confessed. “Could you direct me to a boarding place for young ladies?”
The conductor’s bushy white eyebrows rose almost to his cap. “A nice young lady like you shouldn’t be running around alone,” he advised. “Denver can sometimes be a rip-roarin’ town.” The eyebrows drew together. “Isn’t anyone meeting you?” Disapproval oozed in every word.
“Not right away.” Sarah fought back tears. It was true. Seth wouldn’t be meeting her right away. More than a thousand miles lay between them. In the meantime she had to find a place to stay and some kind of employment.
The conductor’s keen blue eyes reflected surprise before he gruffly said, “I take it you don’t want any place fancy?”
Sarah nodded and swallowed the lump in her throat. Once she left the train and the kindly conductor, she would be on her own. No, not really alone. One person with God was a majority.
The conductor patted her on the shoulder and pulled a pencil and pad from his pocket. He wrote something, tore the page off, folded it, and wrote more on the outside. “I figured as much. Don’t worry, miss. Take this to Miz Hawthorne’s. This is her address. It’s just a few blocks from here.” He pointed. “She’s a good Christian woman and will take care of you. If I had a daughter, my mind would be at rest if she lived at Miz Hawthorne’s.”
He paused then added, “It’s best for you to put your veil over your face. Lots of first-rate folks here but some that ain’t.” He sent a significant glance at the crowded station platform. Sarah obediently pulled down her veil but choked up. “Thank you.” It was like losing a friend when the conductor helped her down the train steps. He swung back up the steps, paused to wave at her, then disappeared into the railroad car that had come to feel like home. Clutching her reticule in one hand and her carpetbag in the other, she turned to face the station platform.
Sarah had run the gauntlet of admiring male eyes the few times she had been forced to visit the docks in St. Louis. Now, securely masked from curious stares by her heavy cloak and veil, Sarah thrilled at the sight of the men who lounged against the station walls: cowboys like she would find on the Diamond S. Some looked to be still in their teens. Garbed in checked or plaid shirts and high-heeled boots similar to those Seth and Matt Sterling wore in the picture Seth had sent, their hats looked wide enough to shade a city block. A few wore buckskins or woolly chaps. Sprinkled in the crowd gathered to meet the train were Indians in blankets and Mexicans in brightly colored clothing. A few women, who at first glance appeared not of her kind, stood nearby. Fewer children but several dogs.
Sarah took a deep breath. In spite of the warm day she pulled her cloak close around her, raised her chin, and briskly set out in the direction the conductor had pointed. Conscious of stares boring into her back, she felt grateful for the cloak that disguised her slender, girlish form.
When Sarah reached the hastily scrawled address, dismay filled her. Nothing at the white picket gate or on the door of the modest two-story white house indicated its owner took in boarders. Had the conductor been mistaken? Had “Miz Hawthorne” moved? If she still lived here, had she stopped welcoming strangers into her home? Sarah peered at the written address, wondering if she had misread it. No. The numbers matched those on the house.
Tired from travel and wanting to cry, Sarah considered leaving. She shook her head. Where could she go if she did? The house was obviously well cared for. Even if Miz Hawthorne no longer lived there, surely whoever did could recommend a place where Sarah might find rest.
The weary girl resolutely opened the gate and walked up the flowerbordered path to the front steps and onto a hospitable, vine-clad covered porch. If only she could sink into one of the chairs that invited weary bodies to tarry! She couldn’t. She must find safe shelter before nightfall.
Heart thumping, Sarah threw back her veil and knocked on the frame of the screen door. She noticed the inner door stood partly open. Good. At least someone was home. A moment later footsteps sounded. The inner door opened then the screen door, so quickly Sarah had to step back to avoid being struck. A round face framed with white hair and a cap that was askew appeared.
“May I help you?”
“I hope so,” Sarah faltered. “Can you tell me where I might find Miz Hawthorne?”
Laughter bubbled up from deep inside the jolly woman. “I’m Miz Hawthorne, child. What can I do for you?”
“Do you still take in boarders?” Sarah clutched her reticule and carpetbag until her knuckles whitened. “There’s no sign.” She held her breath, hoping against hope she had found a refuge.
Blue eyes opened wide. “I’ve no need of a sign, dearie. Folks ’round here all know me. Besides, I don’t take in just anyone. Only those my friends recommend.” She cocked her head to one side. “Who sent you to me?”
Sarah sighed with relief. She dropped her carpetbag and searched in her reticule. “The conductor on the train. He said to give you this.”
Miz Hawthorne barely glanced at the passport to her boardinghouse and tossed it onto a small table in the cool entryway. “Come in, come in, child. Welcome. Joseph wouldn’t send me anyone who isn’t all right. Lay off your wraps. I’ll bring some cold lemonade.”
Thank You, God, Sarah silently breathed. She removed her voluminous cloak, hat, and veil but wondered what the conductor had said to open the door of Miz Hawthorne’s home so quickly. Sarah had scrupulously refrained from reading the note, but curiosity now overcame her. Feeling guilty she tiptoed to the table. With a furtive glance toward the door through which Miz Hawthorne had disappeared, she snatched up the missive. The message was short and to the point:
Here’s a little lost lamb, Miz Hawthorne. Something’s troubling her. Open your home and your heart. She can’t pay much but needs help.
Joseph
Gratitude flooded through Sarah. A verse from Isaiah came to mind. “And it shall come to pass, that before they call, I will answer; and while they are yet speaking, I will hear.” Even before she asked God to guide her as the train approached Denver, He had already prepared Joseph’s heart to give aid when Sarah needed it most.
Over lemonade and cookies she threw caution to the winds and told Miz Hawthorne who she was and why she had fled St. Louis. “I’m down to almost nothing,” she confessed. “I must find work
. Do you know of anyone who can use me? I am strong and willing to do anything that’s decent.”
Miz Hawthorne shook her head. “I don’t know of anything. If you’re willing to help me out here, I can give you room and board, but that won’t get you to California.”
“I can sell my mother’s wedding ring if I have to,” Sarah told her. “But it’s my last resort.”
“Indeed it should be!” The old lady snorted. “Before you do anything like that, let me see what I can find out.”
A few days later, after Sarah had pounded the streets looking for work and found nothing, her landlady bustled into the kitchen where Sarah was finishing a mountain of dishes. She triumphantly waved a piece of paper. “A friend gave me the address of an employment office not far from here.” She beamed. “There’s a GIRLS WANTED sign in the window. Hurry yourself on over there before the positions are filled.”
Sarah quickly changed from work clothes into her mother’s Sunday-goto-meeting dress. She plaited her red-gold hair, wound the braids around her head, and topped them with her mother’s old black hat. Heart beating with anticipation, she ran to within a block of the employment agency then slowed and regained her composure. It would never do to burst into an office red-faced and out of breath. “Please let the sign still be there,” she murmured when she reached her destination.
It was. The door stood open. Should she knock or just walk in? Sarah had never faced this situation before so she tapped lightly and hesitated on the threshold. A masculine voice called, “Don’t just stand there. Come on in.”
A twinge of annoyance straightened Sarah’s spine. A rather discourteous way to greet one. She lifted her chin and walked inside. Once she had a job, there would be no call for her to put up with such rudeness.
A well-dressed man about Tice Edwards’s age sat with his feet propped on an untidy desk. He stared at her then stood. His belly bulged over a fancy, too-tight belt. “Well, and what have we here?” His teeth gleamed in the travesty of a smile. “Sit down. Sit down.”
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