A Lady Like Sarah

by Margaret Brownley

  "Well, if that don't beat all," she said. "You're a preacher, ain't you?"

  "Preaching's easy. It's talking that's hard." She waited for him to continue, unable to move from his steady gaze. "I don't know what the future will hold." His voice faltered, but the look he gave her was no less intense.

  A bugle horn sounded in the distance, its lively tune in blatant contrast to the slow, steady beat of Indian drums. Two distinct worlds clashing with each other.

  "Even if they don't hang me, you and I ain't ever gonna be together," she cried. "That's what the future holds." She was furious at him for making her want something she could never have. Furious at herself. "I'm always gonna be a Prescott, and you're always gonna be a preacher. There ain't nothing gonna change that."

  She pressed her legs into the side of her horse and rode ahead, but it was a long time before she could breathe normal again beneath the crushing reality she couldn't escape.

  At noon, they reached the Canadian River and were lucky enough to find a ferry owned by a former slave waiting to take them across. The man also owned a store where they were able to purchase corn and potatoes. Neither one of them mentioned their earlier conversation, but unspoken words and meaningful glances filled the air with unwanted reminders.

  After crossing the river, they traveled for several miles. Moses' pack slid to the side, and Justin stopped to adjust the mule's harness. Sarah lay Elizabeth on the ground and then walked around to stretch her legs and work the kinks out of her back.

  Something in the distance caught her attention, an ominous cloud on the far horizon. Hoping she was mistaken, she shaded her eyes against the sun. Much to her dismay, her suspicion was confirmed.

  "Quick, grab Elizabeth. Locusts!" She ran for her horse, jammed her foot into the stirrup, and swung into the saddle.

  She waited for Justin to scoop Elizabeth off the ground and mount his own horse. His eyes fixed on the advancing swarm, he frowned. "You think we can outrun them?"

  "Nothin' to it," she assured him.

  Laughing at the dark expression on his face, she took off, keeping one hand on the goat sprawled across the horse in front of her. Despite Sarah's efforts to keep the goat from bouncing around, Mira flopped up and down like an old cellar door, bleating in protest.

  Galloping down a grassy knoll, she glanced back to make sure that Justin could keep pace. Moses seemed to have no trouble keeping up with Noah. The pots and pans tied to the mule's saddle clinked and clanked and one pot flew off the pack, but there was no time to retrieve it.

  Locusts could travel hundreds of miles in the air without stopping, but this swarm appeared to be descending. She felt encouraged. With a little luck, they could miss most, if not all, of the hoppers.

  Several miles down the road, she spotted a cluster of sweet gum trees. She reined in her horse and glanced back. Grasshoppers poured from the sky to the ground in a steady stream. Even from that distance, she could hear the air vibrate with the rasping sound of flapping wings.

  Justin pulled up alongside her. Nestled in the sling on his chest, Elizabeth was crying. "She didn't like that fast ride."

  Sarah reached over to stroke the baby's forehead. "You're safe now. So don't you go worrying none, you hear?"

  A few hoppers began to fall to the ground around them, but they had missed the main swarm.

  "Looks like we better stay here awhile and rest the horses," Justin said, lifting Mira off her horse.

  "I think there's a natural well over there," she said, pointing to the green grass ahead. "We better water the animals."

  While the horses and mule drank, Sarah rocked Elizabeth in her arms.

  Justin had a biblical story for everything and so it didn't surprise her that he would have a tale about locusts. When he finished his story of the ten plagues, she laughed.

  "One plague is enough for me. I'd sure hate to live through ten."

  The locusts had provided a means by which to break the tension between them.

  Elizabeth continued to fuss. "Maybe she needs her britches changed," Justin said.

  She handed Elizabeth to him and dug into Moses' pack for a clean nappy. That's when she noticed that the dress he'd rescued from the wagon train was missing. "Oh, no!"

  "What's wrong?"

  "The dress is gone," she cried, biting back tears.

  "It must have fallen off back there aways." His eyebrows rose. "I thought you didn't like it."

  "I ain't never said I didn't like it." She handed him the nappy and ran for her horse.

  "Where are you going? Sarah? Sarah!"

  She mounted and kicked her heels into Blizzard's side. The horse took off like a streak of lightning.

  A couple of miles down the road, hundreds of hoppers pelted her like wind-tossed hail, all but blotting out the sky's yellow haze. Head held low beneath her hat, she slowed her horse to a walk and frantically brushed the darting insects away from her face.

  Barely two inches in length with long wings and brownish bodies, the mass of locusts covered the ground like oozing oil.

  The air vibrated with flapping wings and the sound of hard- shelled vermin being crushed by Blizzard's hooves. A smell like stale ale rose up from their crushed bodies.

  Swallowing her revulsion, she spotted a patch of blue on the trail beneath a dark heap of ravaging hoppers, and she tightened the reins. Unable to reach the dress from her saddle, she had no choice but to dismount.

  Grimacing, her hand over her mouth, she reached down and grabbed the fabric with two fingers, shaking it hard. Already, the hoppers had ravaged the gingham, and the skirt and bodice had as many holes as a barbed wire fence. With a cry of dismay, she tossed the dress down.

  She flailed her hands and arms to dislodge the insects from her body. Swiping the saddle with both hands, she sent dozens of hoppers airborne before mounting her horse again. She then rode back to Justin and Elizabeth as fast as Blizzard could carry her, her eyes burning with tears.

  The loss of the dress saddened her, though she couldn't think why. It wasn't like she planned to wear it or anything. Why, she wouldn't be caught dead in anything so fussy. Still, it was as close to a gift from Justin as she ever expected to get, and she was sorry to let it go.

  That evening she sat bouncing Elizabeth on her lap. The baby stared at her with big blue eyes, and Sarah never imagined it possible to love something so small. A lump rose in her throat and she swallowed hard. What in tarnation was the matter with her? Twice in one day, she'd fought back tears, and that wasn't like her. If her brothers knew their sister had grown all weepy over a dress and baby, they would accuse her of growing soft, they would, and that would never do.

  Justin leaned against the saddle at his back, watching her. His eyes mirrored the merry flames from the small campfire, effectively keeping his thoughts hidden from view.

  Sarah sighed and settled Elizabeth down on a blanket. She stroked the baby's head until she fell asleep. Her mouth curved in a smile; she covered the baby with a light blanket and moved closer to the fire.

  "Not much farther to go," she said. "We'll reach Red River in a couple of days."

  Justin gave a curt nod of his head.

  As much as she fought against it, it was getting harder not to think about what lay ahead. She gazed down at Elizabeth peacefully asleep. "You find a good home for her, you hear?" she told Justin, her voice breaking.

  "Sarah."

  "With a mama and a papa who will love her—"

  "We love her," he said.

  His words pierced her already aching heart like arrows. She searched the face she'd come to know so well these last few weeks, a face that would forever be engraved in her memory.

  Her gaze met his across the flickering fire. "You're so good with her. You're the kind of papa she should have. Maybe . . . if you found yourself a wife—"

  He shook his head and looked away. "Nothing will ever seem right without you." He gave her a beseeching look. "Sarah, I want you to put yourself in God's hands.
"

  "What does that mean?"

  "Come to Rocky Creek with me."

  "No!"

  "Trust that God will help us figure out a way to save you," he persisted.

  Her temper flared. He made it sound so simple, and it was anything but that. "You know nothin' 'bout Texas. A drunken judge, a loony sheriff, and power-grabbin' marshal already decided my fate, and they ain't open to reason."

  "Nothing is impossible with God," he said gently.

  Her anger gradually melted. She wanted so much to believe him, to put her faith and trust in God. He had sent that goat for Elizabeth, but helping an innocent babe wasn't the same as helping a Prescott. "I ain't goin' back to Rocky Creek."

  He gave her a tortured look. "I wish there was something I could do to help you."

  "You can take care of Elizabeth. See that she has a good life. Maybe she'll grow up to be a lady. Wouldn't that be somethin'?"

  "I'll find her good home," he said.

  She frowned. "You ain't planning to put her in no orphanage, are you?"

  He made a face as if the very thought was as distasteful to him as it was to her. "You have my word," he said. "I hope to find a family in Rocky Creek so 1 can watch her grow up. Tell her about you."

  Sarah shook her head. "Don't you dare tell her about me, you hear? She don't need to know that her godmother was an outlaw."

  "That's not what I would tell her."

  Sarah tilted her head. "What else is there to say? I ain't no lady, and I don't hardly know but a few four-legged words."

  "I would say . . . 'Elizabeth, your godmother had long, silky red hair and the prettiest blue eyes you ever did see. She was funny, and her laughter sounded like music.' I would say that she was the bravest woman I ever met. Honest and kind."

  Sarah stared at him, speechless. No one had ever said such pretty words to her, not ever.

  "Any objections?" he asked.

  Not trusting herself to speak, she shook her head.

  "Anything you want me to add?"

  "Just. . . just tell her that I loved her." With that she rose and settled herself in her bedroll with Elizabeth by her side. It was a long time before she fell asleep.

  The next morning, neither of them spoke. Instead, they let their eyes say what couldn't be said with words.

  On the trail, Sarah caught him watching her and suddenly felt self-conscious. She tucked the hair he described as long and silky into her hat and was careful not to laugh. For the most part, except for the covert glances she gave him, she kept her eyes firmly focused on the trail ahead.

  Sarah learned from her brothers to stay off the main routes, but as they drew nearer to the Texas state line, staying off the beaten path was no longer an option. As the trails began to merge, the way grew more crowded and they met other travelers.

  They stopped to speak to a Scottish drummer parked along the side of the trail. He, too, was heading for Texas, his horse-drawn wagon piled high with pots and pans and other household goods. Gilt scrollwork decorated the sides of his wagon along with a wintry scene that seemed as out of place on the flat prairie land as a grizzly on a train.

  The man introduced himself as Alastair McKinley.

  "Do you happen to have anything for an infant?" Justin asked.

  "Aye," came the welcome reply. The man was dressed in gray pants and a gold-trimmed vest. He opened the back of his wagon and produced a green glass bottle with a cork nipple, along with cotton nappies. "I s'pect this is something as ye little one needs."

  A baby bottle. Sarah couldn't believe their good fortune.

  "You won't find better in Monkey Ward's," the peddler said, an edge of bitterness in his voice. The Montgomery Ward mail-order catalog had cut into the profits of traveling salesmen. For that reason, Justin purchased two bottles, just to show his appreciation.

  At first, Elizabeth refused to take the cork in her mouth. She scrunched up her round face and pushed it away with her little pink tongue. But Sarah persisted until the baby finally caught on, and feeding became less of a chore.

  They passed crews of Chinese railroad workers. Justin seemed fascinated with the men and kept stopping to talk to them, but few could speak English.

  "I never saw such hard workers," he said, guiding his horse next to hers. Elizabeth, asleep in her sling, was nestled against his chest. "I guess Charles Crocker wasn't crazy after all."

  Sarah frowned. "Who's Charles Crocker?"

  "He's a railroad contractor who suggested hiring immigrants from China to build railroads. It was the only way he could think to combat the shortage of American workers. Many thought the Chinese were lazy and weak."

  "Some say the same about preachers," she said with a wry smile.

  He grinned. "Never thought I'd have something in common with the Chinese."

  With a click of his tongue, he pulled ahead of her to make room for the steady flow of wagons filled with buffalo bones coming from the opposite direction. The sun-bleached bones were being hauled to Kansas where they would be turned into fertilizer or bone china.

  Most of the bone hunters regarded them with suspicion until they were satisfied that Justin and Sarah had no interest in stealing their haul.

  They traveled past another one of the many Indian reservations set up by the government. The tepees were made of woven willows covered with thin sheets of elm bark. A group of scantily dressed children watched them with dark, probing eyes. No matter how hard Justin tried to convince them he was a friend, they continued to regard him with suspicion.

  By noon it was so hot they searched for a place to escape the midday sun. Sarah rode her horse up a hill to check out the terrain ahead.

  Justin, who had been trailing behind, coaxed his horse to her side.

  "We're only two days from the Texas border," she said.

  The air seemed to still at the sound of her words. They both knew what that meant. It had seemed they'd been traveling forever, but now with the end in sight, forever hadn't been long enough.

  "Sarah, come with me to Texas," Justin pleaded.

  "You know I can't."

  "I can't bear the thought of not knowing where you are. What you're doing."

  "Don't," she pleaded. Silently, she told herself, Dont think about him. Don't look at him. Don h make saying good-bye any harder than it already is.

  She rode away, taking the lead, her heart so filled with pain it hurt to breathe.

  Late that afternoon, a dust cloud on the trail ahead made her bring her horse to a halt. She pointed and yelled, "Cattle. Probably on the way to the shipping pens in Kansas."

  "Is that a problem?" he called from behind.

  "Depends on whether they're longhorns or shorthorns," she said. "Longhorns are more likely to cause trouble."

  A mile up the road, they came to a dugout that had been cut into the rocky hills by Chinese railroad workers.

  The dugout was a good ten feet off the ground. Sarah dismounted and climbed up to check it out, leaving Justin on die trail below to watch the animals, Elizabeth asleep in her sling.

  The cave used for storage was stocked with supplies. Boxes of candles, hard tack, canned food, and dried buffalo meat were stacked in a corner. There was a table and chairs and best of all, a couple of cots.

  She stood on the edge of the rocky outcrop overlooking the trail below. "It's as good or better than most of the hotels I've stayed at," she called.

  The cave offered little if any protection against thieves, as it could easily be seen from the trail, but it was dry and cool and they decided to spend the night there. They made a bed for Elizabeth out of a wooden crate.

  Sarah sat on one of several cots. The tick mattress was thin and the springs felt hard as rock, but it was better than sleeping on the ground.

  Just before dusk, they heard hoofbeats on the trail. Justin walked to the entrance with Elizabeth in his arms and called down a greeting.

  Afraid to show her face until she knew the identity of the horsemen below, Sarah hung back wher
e she could see without being seen.

  There were two men. One, a Mexican, greeted Justin with a nod but said nothing. He wore a large straw hat and a colorful body blanket draped over the saddle in front of him. A cheroot hung out the side of his mouth.

  The other rider touched the brim of his dark gray Stetson with a gauntlet gloved hand. "Howdy. Name's Wade Frazier. I'm a point rider for the Circle K ranch."

  Sarah edged closer to Justin, and Frazier acknowledged her with a tip of his hat. He had a dark ruddy complexion and a sweeping mustache. He wore leather chaps over brown canvas pants, a pin-striped cotton shirt, a dark vest, and red bandana.

  "You folks been traveling long?"

  Justin nodded. "All the way from Boston."

  Frazier pushed his hat back and stared at the baby in Justin's arms. "Boston?" He glanced at Sarah, then turned back to Justin. "Seems like a hard way for a family man to travel. You running from somethin'?"

  "I'm Rocky Creek's new preacher."

  "A preacher, eh? I reckon that accounts for it, then. Only a saint would attempt to travel across country on horseback with a wife and young'un in tow."

  Justin made no effort to correct him.

  "You and your family best stay off the trail till we get the herd through. It don't take much to spook 'em. We crossed the Red River four days ago, and already we've had two stampedes. Fortunately, we didn't lose any of 'em, but we lost time roundin' 'em up. Once they get in the habit of running, there's no stoppin' 'em."

  "What do we do if there's a stampede?" Justin asked.

  "They ain't much you can do. You got fifteen thousand tons of hide heading your way, you best give them a clear path. The trail narrows through these hills, so we're not gonna be able to circle 'em around until they hit the open range. You should be safe inside the cave. But if you wanna help, you can sing."

  "I'm sorry?"

  "Hearing a human voice helps keep them calm."

  "Well, in that case, I hope they like hymns," Justin said.

  Frazier tugged on the brim of his hat. "Lucky for you, Reverend, cattle ain't choosy about the lyrics." With that he rode off, the Mexican close behind.