Sarah's Surrender

by McDonough, Vickie;

  “Lord, make it possible. Please help Lottie change her ways for herself and her sister.”

  “Who ya … talkin’ to?” Cody lugged Claire over to her. In spite of the cool morning temperatures, his hair was damp with sweat from his energetic effort to entertain the little girl.

  Sarah picked her up and cuddled her. “I was praying.”

  “Oh, you talk out loud to God like Pa does.”

  “Sometimes, but I mostly pray in my head.”

  Cody frowned. “Pa said I can do that, but I can’t figure out how.”

  Ready for a break, Sarah walked to the quilt and sat. She patted the fabric, and Claire bent down copying her. Cody shuffled over and flopped down.

  “It’s not hard at all. You simply think your prayer. I was praying for God to help Lottie, but instead of thinking my prayer, I said the words out loud.” She tapped her lips, thinking for a better way to explain things to the six-year-old who stared at her with serious blue eyes. “Say you want to pray for your pa. You might think: Heavenly Father, please keep my pa safe when he works. Protect him from harm.”

  Cody nodded. “I’ve done that before. Is that all there is to prayin’?”

  “Your father knows far more about it than I do, but I believe it’s that simple. Just think your request or your thoughts of praise. Sometimes we’re in public places, like on a train or shopping, when we feel the need to pray.” Claire toddled toward the edge of the quilt. Sarah rose on her knees and tugged her into her lap, kissing her head. “More than likely, we wouldn’t want to pray out loud and have someone nearby overhear us, so that’s the perfect time to talk to God in your head.”

  Slowly, he nodded. “I get it. Prayer is just like me talkin’ to God like I’m talkin’ to you. Only sometimes you don’t use words.”

  Sarah fought back a smile. She thought about telling him that you always use words, but sometimes you don’t vocalize them, but she didn’t. He understood in his own childish way, and that was all that mattered.

  His sober expression brightened. “Can I go help Pa now that the dishes are done?”

  “Yes, you may. Thank you for doing such a wonderful job of keeping Claire entertained. She loves playing with you.”

  “Aw … she’s not so bad—for a girl.” He hopped up and broke into a run toward the barn.

  Sarah shook her head and chuckled, so glad God had seen fit to send her an orphaned girl instead of a constantly moving boy. She glanced down and caught Claire gnawing on the corner of her apron. Was she getting another tooth? Surely she couldn’t be hungry already.

  One thing was for certain, she’d better change her diaper if she didn’t want a wet dress. She understood why so many people chose to let their toddlers go without a diaper until they could use the chamber pot, but she’d learned from Lara, and her friend diapered her children for sanitary reasons.

  “Come along, sweet pea. Let’s go up to the house and change you.”

  Claire jabbered as they slowly walked together toward Sarah’s house. She studied her new home, loving the look of it. She still hadn’t decided what color to paint it. “What do you think, Claire? Light green, yellow or white?”

  “Aw-wo-lol.” Claire looked up as if answering her.

  Sarah laughed. “I’ve never heard of that color, although I suppose it was closer to yellow than white.” She gazed at the house again. “Maybe we could use both colors. Yellow for the outer walls and white for the trim.” She closed her eyes, trying to envision it, but saw the house in a soft green instead. Last time she’d considered colors, she’d contemplated green. The more she thought about it, the more she liked it.

  At the door, she set Claire down and reached for the knob, but the jingle of a harness drew her around. A buggy headed her way. “I wonder if Dr. Worth is coming for another visit.”

  As the carriage crested the hill, she realized it was a fancy surrey with a fringed top drawn by a fine pair of matching gray horses. A nicely dressed man and a woman sat on the seat—neither of whom she’d met. A thrill of excitement rushed through her. Had some of her neighbors decided to come and visit?

  She walked down the stairs, holding Claire’s hand as she toddled alongside her. The couple looked to be in their early to midfifties. The woman’s dark hair had tinges of silver, and it was pulled up in a tidy bun on the crown of her head. She had a sweet smile on her face and waved as the man drew the wagon to a stop. He hopped down then strode around the buggy and helped his wife to the ground.

  They walked toward her. Sarah smiled, wondering what had brought them here today. The woman’s gaze latched onto Claire and held. Sarah lifted her into her arms and hugged her.

  Luke and Jack jogged around the side of the house, both carrying rifles. The couple paused and stared at them. The woman’s eyes widened. Suddenly the man grabbed his stomach. He flashed his wife an apologetic glance and jogged toward the men. He leaned toward Jack and whispered something. Jack pointed toward the back of the house, and the man ran around the corner.

  “Oh dear. I’m so embarrassed.” The woman covered her mouth with her fingers and glanced at Sarah. “Please forgive my Henry. He ate something that evidently disagreed with him.”

  “Don’t think a thing of it. I’m Sarah Worley.” She waved for the men to come closer. “This is Luke McNeil and Jack Jensen.” Luke stopped on her left, and Jack crossed in front of her to flank her right side. Could the couple have come searching for Lottie? She hadn’t been expecting a respectable-looking man and woman but rather a gang of rough henchmen.

  “My name’s Carolyn Powell, and Henry is my husband, like I mentioned.”

  Luke moved closer to Sarah as she offered a smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Powell.”

  The woman lifted her eyes toward the house. Her smile dimmed for a moment before returning. “You sure have a lovely home. Did it take you long to build it?”

  “Over a month, with a six-man crew—most of the time. We’re still workin’ on the barn,” Jack said.

  Luke leaned close to Sarah’s ear, making her breath hitch at his nearness. “Don’t like her,” he whispered. “She’s got a mustache.”

  Sarah elbowed him.

  “It reminds me of the first place that Henry and I lived in before we had our two daughters. Is it true you won this land in the lottery?”

  “Yes, it is.” Sarah shifted Claire to her other arm. Why was this stranger questioning her? Was she merely making conversation while her husband used the necessary? Maybe that was the only reason they’d stopped. No matter, she wanted to treat them kindly. “I’d invite you in, but my parlor furniture hasn’t arrived, so there’s no place to sit. I can offer you coffee if you’d care to walk down the hill to our cook site.”

  Mrs. Powell looked that way then shook her head. “It’s nice of you to offer, but with Henry not feeling well, it’s best we don’t dawdle.”

  “Do you live in the area?” Sarah asked

  The woman shook her head. “No.”

  Mr. Powell hurried back, coming around the far side of the house, moving quicker than when he’d left. “Did you tell them yet?”

  “Tell us what?” Luke asked, his gaze suspicious.

  Mrs. Powell approached Sarah and smiled. She reached a hand toward Claire and caressed her head. “We can’t thank you enough for what you did. And if not for that newspaper article telling how you found and rescued the girl, we’d never have known what happened.”

  Sarah frowned and glanced up at Luke, but she could tell by his shrug that he had no idea what the lady was talking about. Jack gave a brief shake of his head when she looked at him. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re the folks that found our daughter, Ellen—God rest her soul.” She touched the handkerchief to her eyes. “This sweet child is our granddaughter, and we’ve come to take her home.”

  Chapter 19

  No! Luke stiffened as he watched Sarah’s pretty skin go pale. She gasped a throaty sound like an animal caught in a trap as her grip
on Claire tightened. His heart broke for her. She loved that little gal so much that there’d been a time or two that he’d been jealous.

  “What proof do you have that you’re related to this child?” Jack shifted, raising his rifle so that it pointed toward the Powells instead of the ground.

  Mr. Powell lifted his hands. “There’s no reason to get riled. We have papers. I’m reaching in my vest to get them, so don’t get trigger happy.” He cautiously put his hand inside his jacket and pulled out a folded document and handed it to Jack.

  Shaking it open, Jack held it so that Sarah and he could read it.

  “What is it?” Luke stepped behind her and looked over her shoulder. Sarah leaned back slightly, pressing against his chest.

  “It’s a declaration of birth,” Jack said. “An Ellen Powell Wolf had a baby girl almost two years ago.”

  Luke moved around to Sarah’s side again, standing close to her. “That doesn’t prove this little girl is related to you.”

  “What more proof do you need? Isn’t it enough that we came for her?” Mr. Powell shot a nervous glance toward the side of the house.

  Luke wondered if the man was about to head back to the privy.

  “Anyone could come claiming the girl was theirs.” Luke wrapped his arm around Sarah, who was trying hard not to cry.

  Mr. Powell frowned. “Why would they if they weren’t related? Caring for a child that young is a lot of work.”

  Luke lifted his chin. “I can think of several reasons.”

  “Our Ellen has—” Mrs. Powell clutched her throat and looked as if she were going to cry. She raised her lacy handkerchief, touched it to the corner of her eyes again. “She had—red hair and green eyes like the woman you found. Her daughter had dark hair like this girl.” Mrs. Powell’s lip quivered. “We didn’t approve of the man Ellen married, I’m afraid. She got upset with us and left.” She dabbed her eyes.” The next time we saw Ellen, she was about to birth her child. She had her baby and stayed with us for a while, but then she left after we had another disagreement and took our sweet grandbaby.” Her gaze caressed Claire, causing the knot in Luke’s belly to tighten. “We haven’t seen them in over a year and a half. I can’t believe how much the baby has grown.”

  “A man’s word should be enough. Besides, we talked with a Dr. Worth in town, and he told us how to get here.” Mr. Powell bent and clutched his belly. “We need to be going, Carolyn.” He didn’t look to be a grieving father. Maybe his present condition was all he could deal with at the moment.

  “What was your granddaughter’s name?” Sarah asked softly.

  Mrs. Powell smiled. “It’s Elizabeth. Please, may I hold her?”

  The same name as Gabe’s oldest daughter. Luke’s heart felt as if a wild mustang had stomped it to pieces. He could feel Sarah shaking against his arm, and he tightened his grip on her shoulders, pulling her against his side. Claire, oblivious to the disturbing goings on, picked at one of the buttons on Sarah’s dress. The girl sure didn’t look anything like Mrs. Powell—if the woman was even telling the truth.

  “I’m not feeling so good.” Mr. Powell bent over, his hands on his knees. “I think I should head back to that doctor’s office.”

  “I’m sorry, but we really should go. I can’t thank you enough for caring for Elizabeth. You probably saved her life.” She held out her arms. “Please, let me have my granddaughter. You can see that I need to get my husband back to town.”

  Sarah bent her head against Claire’s, hugging her. She sucked back a sob and bravely handed the woman her granddaughter. Claire gazed up at Mrs. Powell then back at Sarah, but she didn’t cry. Was it possible she recognized her grandmother?

  Luke clenched his teeth together. He wanted to shoot something. Punch a tree trunk. How could Sarah be so brave? He wanted to yell how unfair this was. How could God allow this to happen?

  To see Sarah struggling not to cry twisted Luke’s gut. As long as he’d known her, she’d never cried but had taken on each new thing with quiet acceptance. But this was too much. His fist curled.

  Jack walked to Sarah’s side and rested a hand on her shoulder. “We all knew this day might come.”

  “I know.” Her voice quavered. “But I didn’t want it to.”

  “Say your good-byes.” Jack stared at the ground as if those words were the hardest ones he had to utter. Was he thinking of the day he’d said farewell to his dying wife?

  Sarah reached out and took hold of Claire’s hand. “Never forget I love you, sweetie.” She reached down and grabbed hold of Luke’s hand. “Please, tell me where you live, so I can visit her. I can’t bear”—she sucked back a sob—“to never see her again.”

  “We’re from Carthage, Missouri.” Mr. Powell helped his wife into the buggy then hurried around to his side and climbed in. He tipped his hat then slapped the reins against the horses’ backs. As the surrey pulled forward, Claire’s wails filled the air.

  A pitiful moan oozed out as Sarah fell against Luke’s chest, holding him as she never had before. He held her close, resting his cheek against her head as he glared at the Powells’ surrey.

  The horses trotted away, disappearing over the hill. Luke stared at the sky as Claire’s wails eased, softened by distance.

  Sarah’s whimpers cut him clear to his soul. He wanted to rail at the heavens, but it would do no good. What was done was done. Claire was gone, and with her, part of Sarah’s heart had been ripped out.

  “Cody didn’t get to say good-bye.” Jack shot Luke a painfilled glance then strode around the far side of the house, his head hanging.

  Luke stood there, helpless to comfort Sarah. All he could do was hold her. This was so unfair. Sarah was a good woman and didn’t deserve the horrible pain she was suffering. He kissed the top of her head and cuddled her as tight as he dared. What would this do to Sarah? How would she get over the loss of Claire? She loved that little girl—and so did he.

  Jack ran back to the front of the house. “Fire!”

  Sarah pushed away from the comforting cocoon of Luke’s arms. “Fire?” She followed Luke and Jack around the side of the house and found flames crawling up the side of her parlor wall and creeping through the open window. “No! No!”

  “Get buckets. Blankets.” Jack raced around the back of the house. Sarah heard him order Cody to stay at the barn and to yell if the fire started in that direction.

  The two Peterson men who’d been working on the barn, rushed toward them then turned and followed Jack toward their camp.

  “Stay back. I’m going upstairs to get blankets.” Luke pinned her with his sapphire gaze. “Don’t come in. I can’t lose you.”

  He jogged to the front of the house, and she followed. “I can help.”

  “No! Stay there.” He rushed inside.

  Sarah gazed in the open door at the flames licking her window. “Oh, God. Please don’t let my house burn. I’ve already lost Claire. Protect Luke.” Her thoughts turned to Claire, and for just this moment, she was grateful the girl wasn’t here. What if she’d been inside napping? Her heart felt split in two, but she’d rather the Powells have Claire than for her to have perished in a fire.

  Luke raced out the door and tossed the blankets at her. “I’m going to saddle Golden Boy so we can get water faster.” He jumped over the porch railing to the ground and raced toward the pasture where the horses had been staked.

  Sarah jogged down the stairs, carrying her new wool blankets to the side of the house. She dropped one and started swatting the fire, but her efforts only seemed to fuel the blaze. Heat seared her face. Tears coursed down her cheeks.

  Amos and Johnny returned, one carrying her soapy dishwater and the rinse pot. Jack raced past the back of the house, holding four buckets, and headed for the river.

  Amos tugged the blanket from her, dropped it in the rinse pot, and then pulled it out and slapped it against the siding, over and over. The stubborn flames refused to yield and continued spreading out of reach at an alarming rate.
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br />   Johnny tossed the soapy water onto the fire, grabbed the empty rinse pot, and charged toward the river. Sarah lifted the other blanket, so heavy with water that she had to drag it over to the grass nearest the house, and dropped it onto the smoldering sod. The fire charged up the side of her house in almost a straight and narrow line.

  Jack returned from the river, carrying two buckets. He set one down and splashed the other on the fire then grabbed the other bucket and repeated the action, his mouth pressed together in a tight line. “This fire was no accident.”

  “What do you mean?” Sarah held her hands to her mouth, watching the flames lick higher.

  Jack waved his hand at several empty bottles on the charred grass. “Powell must have done this.”

  “It’s true.” Breathing hard, Amos tossed aside the smoky blanket and grabbed the one she’d put on the grass. “This fire was set on purpose. No other way it could’ve started.”

  Sarah sucked in a breath then started coughing. “Why would Mr. Powell do this? We gave Claire to them.” She couldn’t bring herself to call her Elizabeth.

  “I don’t know.” Jack shook his head, snatched up the other empty bucket, and ran for more water.

  She stepped back, not liking where her thoughts were taking her. Luke rode up to her on his horse and leading Jack’s mount. Hungry for answers, Sarah touched Luke’s leg. “Jack thinks Mr. Powell set the fire. I don’t understand. Why would he do such a heinous thing?”

  His normally happy gaze grew hard. “Because they aren’t Claire’s grandparents. He probably set the fire, thinking we might realize they were frauds. The fire would keep us busy while they made their escape.”

  Sarah covered her mouth as she gasped. She squelched the instant speck of hope that tried to blossom. “What makes you say that?”

  “I remember Jack said Claire had blue eyes the same as her mother, not green ones like Mrs. Powell said. A real mother wouldn’t forget something that important.”

  “No, a mother wouldn’t.” Tears stung Sarah’s eyes. She should have caught Mrs. Powell’s mistake herself, but she’d been too distraught at the possibility of losing Claire. She pressed her fingers to her aching eyes. “Oh, Luke, I let them take her. I just gave away the little girl I love.”