Sarah's Surrender

by McDonough, Vickie;

  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.

  With the worst of the grime gone, she cuddled the girl and carried her back to camp. Wouldn’t Zelma be surprised? How could the poor thing have ended up alone and so far from anywhere? Where were her parents? Worst of all, had someone dumped her?

  Sarah held her close, knowing how it felt to be torn away from one’s mother. She felt a kinship with the toddler,
not just because of their Indian heritage and because they’d both lost their mothers when they were young, but also because she was alone. Sarah had family and friends now, but she’d never forget those lonely, frightening nights when she’d lived at her father’s bordello, locked alone in her room while drunken men raised a ruckus in another part of the big house.

  As she approached their camp, she spied Zelma still in her rocker, but her head was hanging. The poor woman worked too hard caring for all her men. Cody sat about ten feet away, still playing with the hammer and nails. He looked up and waved then must have noticed the girl, because he hopped up and started for her.

  Sarah glanced down and saw that the girl had fallen asleep. How long had she been out in the brush alone?

  “Where’d you get that kid?” Cody stared up at her.

  Zelma must have heard him, because she raised her head. Her eyes, which still were half-mast from sleep, suddenly shot open. She bounced up from her chair, dropping her mending on the ground. “Where in the world did you find that urchin?”

  “Down near the cornfield. I thought she was a wildcat at first. She scared me half to death. It’s a good thing I forgot my gun, or I might’ve shot her.”

  “Lord have mercy!” Zelma touched her hand to her chest. “Don’t say such a thing.” She hurried to her wagon, pulled out a worn quilt, and placed it on the ground beneath the tree and near her rocker.

  Sarah laid the toddler down, but she awakened, her eyes wide. She squealed and clutched Sarah’s dress so hard that Sarah had no choice but to draw her back against her chest. “It’s all right, sweetie. I’m not leaving you.”

  Turning away, Zelma hurried to her cook wagon. She rustled around then pulled out a can of milk and opened it. She poured some in a tin mug and brought it to Sarah. “See if she’ll drink some of this.”

  Sarah took the cup and held it up to the girl’s mouth. She leaned forward and gulped a drink.

  After a few more gulps, Zelma pulled Sarah’s hand back. “Don’t let her have too much. You don’t want her gettin’ all wamble-cropped and spewing it up. Who knows how long it’s been since the child ate.”

  The girl fussed and reached for the cup. Zelma spun away then returned with a small piece of biscuit. “Would you like this, precious?”

  She snatched it and shoved it in her mouth.

  “The poor thing is starving.” Zelma ran her hand down the girl’s face, then her gaze shot to Sarah’s. “Why, she’s burnin’ up. I’m surprised she has an appetite at all.”

  “What’re you gonna do with her?” Cody rose on his tiptoes to see the girl better. “What’s her name?”

  “We don’t know.” Sarah gently pressed on his shoulder, pushing him back. “Don’t get too close until we find out what’s wrong with her.”

  Zelma tapped her lips with her forefinger. “I think you’d best take her to town. Fred said there’s a couple of doctors that’ve hung out their shingles.”

  “Pa!” Cody charged toward Jack and the twins, who strode from the direction of the cornfield. “Sarah found a kid!”

  She picked up the girl and walked out to meet them. “Did you find anything?”

  Jack’s pinched lips told her they did. He nodded, confirming her thought. “There is a camp a few hundred yards from where we found the youngster.”

  “And?” Sarah braced herself for bad news.

  Zeke tugged off his hat. “The mother’s gone.”

  Zach shook his head. “She was thin and looked like maybe she’d been sick. Sad thing, to die alone like that, worryin’ about what will happen to your young’un.”

  “Are you sure she was alone? Were there any signs she might have had a husband? And what if there were other children?”

  Jack pressed Cody’s head against his leg, as if needing the comfort. “There were no signs that a man had been there. We scoured the area and didn’t see any footprints other than the little girl’s. As far as we can tell, she’s an orphan now.”

  Zeke ambled past Sarah toward the wagon. “We came back to fetch some shovels so we can bury the girl’s mama.”

  Sarah walked over to Jack but stayed back so as not to get close to Cody. She didn’t want him catching whatever the toddler had. “The girl’s hot. Zelma thinks she’s sick and that we need to take her to the doctor in town.”

  Jack nodded. “I’ll hitch up the wagon.” He looked sideways at Zach. “Can you take care of the woman’s body?”

  “Yep. We’ll get Pa and Amos to help if we need them, but we prob’ly won’t.” He moseyed off toward his brother.

  “Can I go to town with ya, Pa?”

  Jack glanced at Sarah, and she shook her head. He knelt in front of his son. “We don’t know what’s wrong with the little girl, so it’s best you stay here, if Mrs. Peterson doesn’t mind.”

  “I don’t,” Zelma said.

  “Aw … Yes, sir.”

  “How’s the hammerin’ going?” Jack stood and took hold of Cody’s hand. “Show me what you’ve done before I have to go.”

  Zelma shuffled over to Sarah. “What are you gonna do about her?”

  “I don’t know.” Sarah gazed down at the girl whose eyes had closed again.

  “I know you have a big heart, but you don’t want to get attached. You prob’ly shouldn’t be thinkin’ on keepin’ her, if that’s what you’re doing.”

  Sarah nodded, her heart already entwining with the little one’s. “I know, but right now, I’m all she has.”

  Carson stared out the window at the ever-growing town. At times the almost constant hammering grated on his nerves, but that was mainly due to the lack of business. Which in truth was a good thing. He needed patients in order to stay in business, but he couldn’t wish ill on anyone.

  He rose and walked to the door, opened it, and leaned against the jamb, watching a group of carpenters erecting the building across the street from his. So far, he’d stitched up a half dozen cuts, set two broken bones, and treated a couple of people with stomach ailments. His father would have been proud of him.

  He missed sharing his successes with the man who’d taught him most of what he knew about medicine. If only that irate Indian hadn’t stabbed his father after he’d failed to save the Indian’s wife. He shook his head at the senseless loss. Thankfully, he’d had no encounters with any Indians. He wasn’t sure how he would react. Hanging his head, he blew out a loud sigh. He didn’t like feeling prejudice against Indians. His father could just as likely have been killed by a white man, but he hadn’t been.

  If not for that heinous event, Carson might still be working at his father’s side in Tahlequah in the Indian Territory instead of living in Oklahoma Territory. He’d heard talk in the café he frequented of joining the two territories into a new state, but he doubted that would ever happen. There was too much animosity between Indians and the white settlers whom the government had allowed to move in on lands that had been promised to the Indians forever. Forever sure ended up being a short time. Until his father had been killed, Carson had been sympathetic to the Indian’s plight.

  His gaze was drawn to a wagon moving faster than most. It headed straight for his office then slowed and stopped in front of him. He turned and went to his wash station to clean his hands then dried them and rolled down his sleeves. A man and his wife rushed in. She carried a child he’d guess to be around two—a rather grubby-looking child. His lips tightened. He despised parents who didn’t take steps to clean their children properly. Didn’t they know that filth led to disease?

  He glanced at the mother and was instantly struck with two thoughts—she was definitely part Indian, and she was quite lovely. She looked clean, so why was her child in such a state? He glanced at the father, who looked to be much older than his wife. The man nodded.

  “My name’s Jack Jensen, and this is Sarah. We think the little girl is sick.”

  “I’m Dr. Carson Worth. Follow me. We’ll go into my exam room.” He spun around quickly, struggling with his emotions. This wo
man might be Indian—or more likely part Indian—but she was not the person who murdered his father. So why did his hands shake? He’d like to think it had to do with the sad state of the child, but he knew that wasn’t the whole of it.

  “Set the child on the table, please, so I can examine her.”

  “I’ll try, but she hasn’t wanted me to put her down,” Mrs. Jensen said. She turned the girl around, but when she tried to set her on the table, the girl lifted her legs and screeched, clinging to her mother. The woman looked at him with an apologetic expression.

  “That’s fine. You hold her, and I’ll check her that way.” He grabbed his stethoscope off his instrument tray and came around the table. His lips pursed at the child’s matted hair. Pieces of grass had knotted in it, and although the girl’s face and legs looked fairly clean in spite of the numerous insect bites on them, she wore a necklace of dirt and grime. The girl’s dress was one of the filthiest he’d encountered as a doctor, although both parents were decently dressed. He clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to scold them. While a man could still be hung for stealing a horse, there were no laws to protect children from their unfit parents. Thankfully, the girl had a strong heartbeat, although one touch to her skin told him she was running a fever. Her glassy eyes were nearly the same color as her father’s, but she got her dark skin tone from her mother.

  “Has she been eating?”

  “She ate a little this morning, and she was quite thirsty. The truth is—”

  “That’s all I needed to know.” Carson didn’t want to hear her excuses for neglecting her child—he’d heard them all before. He lifted up the girl’s dress. “At least she doesn’t have a rash. That’s good. Can you get her to open her mouth?”

  The woman glanced at her husband then shrugged. “I don’t know.” She gently tickled the girl’s lower lip. The child intensely watched her mother. As soon as she opened her mouth a little, he stuck in a tongue depressor and took a quick look. The surprised girl didn’t move for a moment, which gave him the time needed to check her, and then she gave a cough and pulled back.