A Lady Like Sarah

by Margaret Brownley

  Blizzard whinnied and pawed the ground. Not to be left out, Noah snorted and let out a loud squeal followed by the mule's harsh cry. All the commotion woke Elizabeth, who immediately began to wail.

  Battling with Mira, Justin was clearly out of his element. Sarah couldn't help but burst into laughter.

  Amusement flickered in his eyes, and his mouth quirked upward. "The things they don't teach you in seminary." He shouted to be heard above the racket.

  It took close to a half hour before the animals settled down enough to continue the journey.

  Sarah mounted her horse. With one hand on the reins and the other on the goat, she followed Noah along a rutted trail, Mira grunting all the way.

  Elizabeth slept fitfully during the next two hours, then she began to wail. Justin found a shady spot and dismounted. Laying Elizabeth beneath a tree, he then lifted Mira off Sarah's horse.

  The goat wobbled around before finding its footing and began to graze.

  "We have milk," Sarah cried after a while, clapping her hands together. She milked the goat and Elizabeth hungrily sucked on the nourishing cloth.

  Justin sat on the grass next to Elizabeth and gently dabbed the milk from her mouth, cooing to her. When Elizabeth cooed back, Sarah laughed. "You two sound like a couple of doves," she said.

  He grinned up at her, but his smile suddenly died. "What's that noise?"

  Sarah stilled. "Sounds like someone cryin'," she said.

  Justin jumped up and hurried through the brush. Elizabeth in her arms, Sarah quickly followed. The sobs grew louder.

  "Over there," she called. She pointed to a man sitting beneath a tree, his hands covering his face.

  Justin walked up to the distraught man. "Is there a problem, sir?"

  The man lifted his head and was clearly surprised to see them. A young man, no more than twenty or so, his red puffy eyes were filled with despair. Unruly sandy hair offered an odd contrast to his neatly clipped mustache.

  The man showed no embarrassment at his emotional display, nor did he offer an apology. He simply glanced at Sarah and the baby in her arms and, hiding his face in his hands, started bawling again.

  Justin dropped down on his haunches, his hand on the man's shoulder. "I'm Reverend Justin Wells and this is Miss . . . Sarah."

  The man moved his hands away from his face. "Logan Hobbs," he said, his voice thick with anguish. Hobbs looked Justin square in the face. "Maybe you can tell me why God took my wife and baby."

  "Your wife and baby . . . Are they—"

  Hobbs nodded. "Measles."

  Justin sat back on his heels. "When did this happen?"

  "A few days ago," Hobbs said, his voice choked.

  "Where?"

  "Fort Smith. There's an epidemic."

  Justin glanced at Sarah, his face suddenly drained of color.

  "So what's your answer, Preacher? Why did God have to go and take my family?"

  "God didn't take your loved ones," Justin said gently. "He received them with open arms."

  The man broke into fresh sobs.

  Never had Sarah seen anyone so distraught, and her heart went out to the man. She didn't know how to comfort Hobbs, how to comfort anyone who had suffered such a terrible loss. Justin knew exactly how little or how much to say, his voice soft, his touch gentle, his words comforting.

  Standing there watching him was like watching her whole world crumble. It was as if someone had removed a blindfold allowing her to see what had previously been hidden. Preaching wasn't just a profession with Justin. Not like being a farmer or blacksmith. It was a vital part of who he was. Maybe she always knew that about him. What she hadn't known—what she didn't want to know—was that if anything kept him from his calling, it could destroy him. She could destroy him.

  Sensing that Elizabeth's presence only added to Hobbs's distress, she moved away and made camp. She couldn't stop thinking about Justin and the impossible situation she had put him in.

  If only she wasn't a Prescott. Why hadn't someone helped her and her brothers through their grief following the loss of their parents? Someone like Justin? Would that have made the difference?

  The town had pretty much turned their backs on her family following her papa's hanging. By the time the truth of his innocence came out, it was too late. George wanted nothing to do with the townsfolk. She pushed her thoughts away with a sigh, but there was nothing to be done about the heaviness in her heart.

  It was almost dark when she heard Hobbs ride away on his horse.

  Justin joined her by the fire where she sat feeding Elizabeth and yawned. His face was drawn, the fine lines at the corner of his eyes a notch deeper.

  "He okay?" she asked.

  "I think so. I invited him to join us for supper, but he declined. He said he wanted to be alone."

  She sighed. "Poor man. He's lucky we found him."

  "God always sends the right people in time of need."

  Anger spurted up like steam from a kettle. "He didn't send no right people to me and my brothers when we needed them," she retorted.

  "He always sends the right people, Sarah. It's up to us to accept their help."

  She wanted to believe what he said was true, but she couldn't remember much beyond the grief that consumed her following her parents' death. She bit her lip. "You told Hobbs that God didn't take his family."

  Justin sat on a fallen log opposite her. "He didn't take yours either," he said. "But He did receive them."

  A weight fell from her shoulders, and for the longest while all she could do was bathe in the comfort of her new knowledge. God didn't take her parents away from her, he didn't, and knowing that made all the difference in the world.

  "Sarah . . ." His voice was earnest, almost apologetic in tone. "I can't go to Fort Smith."

  She stared at him. "You can't travel to Texas alone."

  "I'd rather take my chances on the trail than chance Elizabeth getting measles."

  "That's crazy talk."

  He shrugged. "Maybe. But I lost two sisters to measles, and I'm not taking any chances."

  She gasped in dismay. "Oh, Justin, I'm so sorry. I rattled on about my own losses and here you—"

  "There was no way you could have known."

  She leaned forward. "Measles is a terrible thing, but travelin' through the Nation ain't no picnic. So far we've been lucky, but luck is unpredict'ble as an unbroken horse."

  "I think running into Hobbs might be a warning from God."

  She swallowed hard, not knowing what to say.

  He rested his elbows on his thighs, his hands clasped beneath his chin. He spoke in a low voice. "Their names were Louise and Claudia. They died in their early teens, within two days of each other. It was a terrible thing to live through. I was only eighteen when it happened, and I went crazy. I started drinking."

  Her eyes widened. "That don't sound like you."

  "I'm far from perfect, Sarah. Fortunately, God doesn't require perfection."

  "Loss can sure ruin folks," she said. Look what it did to her brothers. To her.

  "Instead of turning to God, we try to comfort ourselves with worldly things," he said. "That's where the danger lies."

  "What made you change?" she asked.

  "The right person at the right time," he said. "One night, after getting drunk, I got beat up and was left in the gutter. I was in bad shape. To make matters worse, it was the middle of winter and I was freezing. I stumbled into a church for warmth. A woman stood on the altar and talked about coming to this country in chains as a young girl and how she was now free. She then sang 'Amazing Grace.' That's when I decided I wanted to be free too."

  She studied him. "So who did God send? The one who beat you up or the singer?"

  He laughed. "I guess you could say both of them." His face grew serious. "God works through everything. The good and the bad."

  Sarah closed her eyes. How would it feel to be free? Free from the past? Free from the future? Free to love . . .? With a
heavy sigh, she pushed the thought away, but the longing remained and her heart ached. "I don't blame you none for worryin'. If anythin' happened to Elizabeth . . ." She shuddered. "If you ain't goin' to Fort Smith, then I ain't goin' neither."

  "But I promised your brothers—"

  "I don't care! I ain't lettin' you travel alone with no baby."

  He sighed as if he knew he was in for a fight even as he beseeched her. "Sarah, don't make this any harder than it has to be."

  "You're the one makin' it hard."

  "I can't take Elizabeth to Fort Smith, and you can't travel to Texas."

  Sarah lay the sleeping baby on a blanket, then stood and faced Justin, hands on her hips. "And how do you plan to take care of her? A woodchuck could milk a goat better'n you can."

  "I'll learn."

  "What 'bout outlaws? And Indians? You saw what they can do."

  Justin stared into the fire, his face dark. "I'm not going to Fort Smith." There was a finality to his voice that told her arguing would do no good. He believed God had sent Hobbs for a purpose, and deep in her heart, she wanted to believe it was true.

  She stood. "I'm sorry 'bout your sisters," she said. Without another word, she gently picked up Elizabeth and headed for her bedroll.

  For the next couple of days, Sarah avoided the subject, but it was evident from Justin's determination to learn to milk the goat that he hadn't changed his mind.

  But then, neither had Sarah.

  One afternoon they reached the edge of a dense forest. Noah halted in his tracks. Shaking his head from side to side, the gelding swished his tail and pawed the ground. Justin pressed his legs into the horse's side, but the animal refused to budge.

  "Maybe he's thrown a shoe," Sarah said. She slid out of her saddle to take a look. Too late, she realized her mistake.

  A small band of Indians riding paint horses emerged on the trail a few feet in front of them. Comanches!

  Fifteen

  Sarah froze, her hand on her weapon. Fear gripped her, and her throat went dry.

  There were four of them altogether, all dressed in buckskin breechcloths and loose buckskin fringed shirts. Their black-striped foreheads all but hid the absence of eyebrows. All four wore their greased hair parted in the middle, thick shiny braids hanging in front. But it was their feet that sent chills down her spine. The leader of the pack wore the shaft of a cutoff boot around his ankle. A white man's boot.

  The leader pointed to Noah and yelled, "Puuku!" Sarah's heart sank.

  "What do they want?" Justin asked.

  "Our horses," she said, her voice shaking.

  One brave dismounted and walked over to Blizzard, grabbing the horse's reins. Six feet tall with a strong, muscular body, he looked no less forbidding on foot. As if sensing danger, Mira bleated and kicked her legs and a second brave hurried to help.

  "No!" Sarah yelled. She dived forward, but the brave pushed her to the ground with a single thrust of his powerful arm.

  "Leave her alone," Justin thundered. He nudged his horse closer to Sarah, but already she was on her feet.

  "No!" she cried again. She pulled out the wad of money that Robert had given her and waved it. When that failed to make an impression, she pointed to the goat and then to Elizabeth.

  The leader grunted and made the sign for no. Then he brusquely motioned for Justin to dismount.

  One of the other braves spoke and a lively conversation followed. All four Indians stared at Justin.

  "Why are they looking at me like that?" Justin asked, his face white. He turned his body sideways to shield Elizabeth.

  "I don't know," she said. She tightened her hold on her gun. Her teeth bit down on the metallic taste of fear that filled her mouth. She'd never shot a man, but if one of them made a move toward harming Justin or Elizabeth, she wouldn't hesitate a moment.

  The leader grunted and motioned with his hand in the sign language that plains Indians used to communicate between tribes. She only knew a couple of signs, but it was enough to know they were in a whole peck o' trouble.

  "You better do your thing," she whispered, her stomach clenched into a knot.

  A muscle tightened at Justin's jaw. "You're asking me to pray? Now I know we're in trouble."

  "He's talking about a burial," she said, her voice strained. She recognized the sign for grave.

  His eyes wide with horror, Justin's gaze swung back to the leader. "Talk to them. Say something."

  Sarah made a series of motions with her hands. Then dropped her arms to her side and waited. All four braves stared at her.

  "What did you say?" Justin asked.

  "Hello, good-bye, grave, and spring of year," she said, adding defensively, "That's 'bout the only sign language I know."

  His forehead lined with worry, Justin handed her the baby. "Hold Elizabeth and let me try."

  He turned to the leader. "Thou . . . shalt. . . not. . . kill." He punctuated each word with dramatic gestures. He then pointed toward the sky and the eyes of all four Comanches followed his finger upward.

  "That's a big help," Sarah muttered.

  The leader again leveled his gaze at Justin, then lifted his hand and said something to the others. Without a word, the brave released Blizzard and the two Comanches mounted their paints.

  The leader pulled out an arrow and Sarah gasped. Ignoring her, he held it in both hands toward the sky. He nodded at Justin, made a sign with his hand, and the four of them rode away.

  For several moments, Justin and Sarah didn't move. They stared after the four Indians as if they had seen an apparition. Suddenly, it dawned on Sarah what had happened, and she threw her head back and laughed.

  The puzzled expression on Justin's face made her laugh harder.

  "What happened?" he asked, dismounting. "What made them take off? Was it God's commandment?"

  "Hardly," Sarah said between guffaws. "That Indian you buried. . . They must have seen you." She remembered telling Jed about a movement in the trees, and obviously she had been right.

  She jiggled Elizabeth up and down as she danced around. "They spared our lives because you done showed honor to their dead."

  Disbelief flitted across his face then melted into a broad smile. He raised his face to the heavens and shouted, "Thank You, God!"

  She stopped dancing and stared at him. "That's it? No long-winded prayer?"

  He laughed. "There'll be time for that later."

  Sarah grew serious. "Oh, Justin, I thought we were goners."

  He placed his hand on Elizabeth's back. "Me too," he said. "Me too."

  She looked away from him, feeling uncommonly shy. "I-I promised God I wouldn't bother Him again . . ."

  "God wouldn't want you to keep a promise like that," he said.

  She met his eyes. "Are you saying it would be okay if I thank Him?"

  "You can say whatever you need to say to God."

  Sighing in relief, she bowed her head. "God . . ." She opened one eye to make sure she was doing it right. She had never prayed in front of anyone before. Justin gave her a nod of encouragement.

  Gathering her courage, she closed her eyes again and finished her prayer in a rush of words. "You sure did get us out of a whole peck o' trouble, and I'm mighty obliged. Amen." She opened her eyes and felt her heart sink. If the frown on his face was any indication, she sure had a lot to learn about prayin'.

  It was later that she learned what was really on his mind, and it had nothing to do with her praying. "I have no business traveling alone," he said. "I'll go to Fort Smith and take the train to Texarkana. Somehow, I'll find a way to keep her safe."

  When she made no reply, his face darkened with suspicion. "Sarah?"

  "Now don't you go gettin' yourself in a lather, you hear?"

  "Sarah!"

  She backed away. "We passed the Fort Smith cutoff two days ago."

  He stared at her in disbelief. "What? When were you going to tell me that?"

  "Sooner or later you'd have figured it out for yourself."r />
  He threw his head back and roared with laughter.

  Surprised, she stared at him. Then recognizing his laughter as a release from the tension of all that had happened these last several days, she found herself laughing too.

  The light mood didn't last long. That night, she woke in a sweat, her heart pounding so hard it was a wonder it didn't wake Justin and Elizabeth. In her dream, she stood on a wooden platform, a rope around her neck. The dream had seemed so real, she quickly ran her hands along her throat thinking she'd find the rope still there.

  Shaken, she stared at the nighttime sky. "God," she whispered. "What's gonna happen to me?"

  Sixteen

  The following afternoon Sarah reined her horse on the crest of a hill and stared at the valley below. In the distance, a sparkling stream curved through the trees like a carelessly tossed diamond necklace. "That's the Grand River ahead," she called.

  The dock was empty when they arrived, and the ferry was nowhere in sight. Sarah knew from past experience that ferry operators in the Indian Nation could be temperamental. Ferries didn't run in the wind or rain, and Sarah and her brothers once waited for two full days to cross a river because the superstitious ferry operator refused to work during a full moon.

  "Looks like we're gonna have to wait till tomorrow," she said.

  "We'll make camp here," he said.

  Sarah sat on a fallen log feeding Elizabeth, while Justin collected pieces of firewood. A cloud of dust on the trail ahead caught Sarah's attention. Worried, she stood and watched until two horsemen came into view.

  "They don't look like Indians," Justin said. "Maybe they're just travelers."

  She shook her head. Even from that distance, she could see that the men rode fine stallions. Nothing screamed lawman louder than a well-bred horse. "They're U.S. Marshals," she said, heart pounding.

  She glanced around for a place to hide.

  "Act natural," Justin said. "I'll handle them."