A Lady Like Sarah

by Margaret Brownley

  For the longest while after Justin left, Sarah sat watching the lantern cast flickering shadows on the walls of the cave like uncontained laughter.

  I love you, he'd said, and the words seemed to echo from the deepest part of her. She repeated his words over and over in her head until she was brave enough to believe that he actually had said them and it hadn't been just her imagination.

  "I love you, too, Justin Wells," she whispered.

  She leaned her head next to the jagged rock wall. So this is how love felt. This is what all those crazy feelings had been about. The quickening pulse. The sleepless nights. The longing. The quivering in the stomach. At first, she'd thought she was coming down with a fever or something. She blamed her physical ailments on her troubles with the law, afraid to believe that love was the culprit. Love didn't happen to people like her. At least, that's what she'd told herself.

  "Sarah Prescott, you don't know beeswax from bull foot about love," she said aloud. Love was apparently somethin' that happened when you least expected it and there wasn't a dern thing a body could do about it.

  Justin's declaration of love still ringing in her ears, she jumped to her feet and paced back and forth. Her thoughts dredged from a place beyond all reason and logic, she was almost ready to believe that anything was possible, even love between a preacher and a Prescott.

  Justin loved her. There it was, plain and simple. She never understood why her brothers got all starry-eyed and crazy over the opposite sex. Everything suddenly made sense. Even Robert's mushy poems.

  This can't be happening. She vowed never to make a fool of herself as her siblings had done. And yet. . .

  Justin loved her.

  Even though she wasn't a lady, he loved her.

  And she loved him.

  She was still reeling from the wonder of it all when Justin rushed into the cave, his tall, handsome form seeming to fill every inch of space. Rain rolled off his hat and clothes, forming a puddle at his feet, but it was the look on his face that alarmed her.

  "Get Elizabeth ready. We're leaving. Now." His body tense, he grabbed one of the saddles.

  She stared at him, not sure she'd heard right. Of all the things she imagined he would say when he returned, this was the least expected.

  "You want to leave now?" She rose to her feet. "Because of what happened . . .?"

  "It has nothing to do. . . with the two of us." His face darkened with a pained expression. "Two U.S. marshals are camped less than a half mile away."

  Her mouth opened in dismay. Lawmen in the vicinity was cause for alarm, but it didn't explain Justin's sudden decision to leave. "It ain't the first time we've met up with marshals," she said.

  "They asked me if I'd seen you. They haven't heard from Owen, so they suspect something happened."

  Her jaw dropped. In that instant, she was jolted back to grim reality. One moment she was a woman loved and in love, the next an outlaw who could be neither of those things.

  "Get ready," he urged.

  Swallowing hard, she shook her head. "It ain't right to wake the baby," she said. "I'll leave. You stay with Elizabeth. I can make better time by myself."

  "I'm not letting you travel alone. We're still in Indian territory."

  "We ain't that far from Red River."

  "I won't feel right until I put you on that stage myself."

  She bit her lip. "Then let's stay here and wait till the marshals leave the area."

  "They'll see the horses and know I'm not alone." He leaned forward, beseeching her. "Sarah . . . they described you. Your red hair and blue eyes. They know your name."

  She took a deep breath. "I never meant to put you in such a picklement," she said.

  He gave her a shadow of a smile. "I never expected to be in one."

  "What. . . what did you say when they asked about me?" She hated to think he was forced to lie to protect her.

  "I told them the truth," he said. "I told them I couldn't help them, which isn't a lie. I couldn't bring myself to tell them something that would put you in danger."

  "Do you think they believed you?" she asked.

  "I don't know." He thought for a moment as if going over the encounter again in his head. "I think so."

  "They have to believe a preacher," she said with more confidence than she felt.

  "Maybe. But Frazier has seen you, and there's no telling what he might say over breakfast. We need to go." Saddle in hand, he ducked out of the cave.

  It took almost an hour to give Elizabeth her late-night feeding and make their way to the trail leading south.

  Justin walked ahead, leading the little caravan around rocks and other debris that had fallen during the stampede. Elizabeth was asleep in her sling, her little head pressed against Sarah's chest. Holding the reins with a single hand, Sarah wrapped her free arm around the baby. Moses trotted behind, followed by Mira.

  The storm had passed, and the air was thick with the smell of damp earth; the night was alive with sounds. Rain dripped from low-hanging branches. The blast of a cowhand's gun echoed from the distance. An injured longhorn bellowed from a nearby ditch, sending chills down her spine.

  Sarah and her brothers had ridden their share of hoot-owl trails, as they called them, a necessary precaution for outlaws. Even as a child, she hated it, hated being dragged from a warm bedroll in the middle of the night. Hated living in the shadows. But never before had she hated it as much as she did at that moment.

  Nor had she ever been more afraid. Not for herself, but for the precious baby in her arms. For Justin, the man she loved more than she ever thought possible. They deserved so much better than having to sneak through the night like common thieves.

  Like outlaws.

  Like her.

  A rustle in the bushes made her heart pound. "What's that?" she whispered as loud as she dared.

  "Just a rabbit," Justin whispered back.

  It wasn't until she felt a burning in her chest that she realized she had been holding her breath. She inhaled deeply, forcing air into her lungs, and tried to calm her nerves. But it was no use.

  For her there was no escape, no matter what direction she traveled. No matter how fast or slow she rode. No matter if it were day or night, winter or summer, spring or fall, there was no escape.

  She would always be a Prescott. And it nearly broke her heart to think about it.

  They traveled the rest of the night and all the next day, stopping long enough only to care for Elizabeth, grab a quick bite to eat, and rest the horses.

  Neither she nor Justin mentioned the words spoken in love, but the memory underscored every visual interchange, every moment they shared.

  Sarah sensed urgency in everything they did. Even the most mundane tasks seemed more precious as their time together grew short.

  During those last hours on the trail, she couldn't take her eyes off him. Like an artist painting a still life, she studied him, watched him, memorized his every move until his very essence was engraved in her heart, never to be forgotten.

  They were close to the border, and even Moses seemed to sense a change in the wind, braying and pushing against Blizzard as if to get the horse to walk faster. Wild turkeys ran across their path taking cover in the nearby brush. The air vibrated with the grunts of wild boar and the deep lowing of cattle.

  Golden rays of sunshine turned dew into teardrops that mirrored the ones Sarah dare not shed. She knew that if she ever lost control, she would never find the strength or courage to leave him.

  In the heat of the afternoon, they rested in what little shade could be found and waited till the sun sank low in the sky before hitting the trail again, stopping only long enough to tend to the baby's needs.

  On the morning of the second day, they followed the railroad tracks of the Missouri, Kansas, Texas railroad known as the Katy. The tracks looked like two streaks of rust. The train had stopped running since the bridge over the Red River was washed away in the late spring rains. A fingerboard reading Colbert's Ferry Strai
ght Ahead pointed south. It was the ferry that would carry Justin across the Red River into Texas. Bullet holes riddled the sign, seeming to mirror the holes in her heart.

  She and Justin sat side by side on their horses, staring at the pointed finger as if it marked the end of the world. Ail around them, the air rumbled with the excited shouts of drovers.

  "I reckon this is the end of the trail," she said. Unable to hold back her tears any longer, she dug her heels into Blizzard's side and rode to the top of a hill that overlooked the river.

  The hill was dotted with several graves marked by simple wooden crosses, but Sarah knew the peaceful scenario was deceiving. The river could be treacherous, especially in the spring when the waters ran high. Driftwood hanging from tree branches and the high water mark etched into the red bluffs that formed its banks gave evidence of recent floods. Red River had killed far more cattlemen through the years than even the Indians had killed.

  A steel cable stretched from bank to bank, guiding the skiffs that helped control the herds. The river itself could not be seen for the solid mass of hide moving across it. She'd heard tell that, at times, a man could cross the river on foot by simply walking on the backs of cattle.

  On the opposite side of the river a distance away from the First and Last Chance store stood a white house with a veranda and two log houses. Behind was a red barn surrounded by livestock. From a short distance away came the hammering sounds of workers rebuilding the railroad bridge.

  Sensing her need to be alone, Justin strolled from grave to grave, saying a prayer for the deceased. Then he rode down the road to check the time table at the stage station.

  When he returned, his face was grim, his mouth set in a tight line. "The stage to Fort Smith is due to arrive here in the morning."

  She bit her lip and looked away. "If you want to keep going, I'll be okay," she said. "I'll camp here for the night."

  "I'll wait until you're on the stage," he said, his words seeming to be stuck in his throat.

  "No need to bother."

  "I'll wait."

  Not wanting to spend what little time they had left arguing, she gave a reluctant nod.

  They camped that night a safe distance away from the river's edge and the trampling hooves of cattle. It was their last night together, but there was no time for sentiment. There was too much traffic and noise. Horses and cattle thundered along the trail leading northward. Buckboard wagons and other vehicles traveled the east-west trail.

  Though they were ever on guard, no lawmen appeared. Yet there was a steady stream of travelers. Many stopped to chat and share news.

  A former lamplighter was on the way to Texas seeking work. He described in great detail the new "electric candles" that lit the streets of his hometown of Wabash, Indiana.

  "Four arc lights," he said, the resentment at losing his job tempered by his obvious amazement that such a feat was possible. "That's all it took, just four, and the town square was lit bright as day."

  The next morning, the sound of rattling wheels and shouts heralded the arrival of the Wells Fargo stage heading for Fort Smith, and Sarah and Justin broke camp.

  By the time they arrived at the ferry station, fresh horses had been harnessed to the stage, and the flat barge had already crossed from the Texas side. The ferry was some eighty feet long and sixteen feet wide. An older man and a young woman disembarked and headed for the stage, leaving the gray-haired ferry operator to haul their luggage on shore, his ebony skin glistening in the sun.

  Then the operator led Noah, Blizzard, Moses, and the goat on board before loading the animals of other passengers.

  The sign read twenty-five cents for man and horse. "I wonder how much they'll charge me for Elizabeth?" Justin said.

  Sarah scoffed. "A pretty penny." Her brothers didn't have much regard for the Colbert brothers. The government now regulated the price ferries could charge, but that didn't stop ferry owners from taking advantage of travelers whenever possible. "I heard tell George Colbert charged General Jackson seventy-five thousand dollars to transport his troops 'cross the river."

  "Maybe Colbert was on the side of the opposition," he said.

  She grinned. "Or maybe he was just greedy."

  He juggled Elizabeth in his arms and tapped her gently on the nose. "I'd say you're worth at least an arm and a leg. If he asks much more than that, we're in trouble."

  Sarah smiled. She loved watching Justin with Elizabeth. No one would guess by looking at them that they weren't father and daughter.

  He lifted his head and caught her staring at him. A world of emotion passed between them before they turned away: he to scan the river and she to battle tears.

  Taking a bracing breath, she focused on Elizabeth. Her chest ached as she gazed at the child in his arms. After a strained silence, she said, "You take care of her, you hear?"

  His gaze collided with hers. "You know I will."

  "Find her a good home."

  He nodded. "The best."

  "Don't forget, she likes to have her forehead rubbed."

  "I won't—"

  "And she likes to be sung to when you're changin' her breeches."

  "I don't know if I can remember all the words to that 'Little Brown Jug' song you sing."

  "Don't you dare sing that to her," she said heatedly. Then seeing his teasing smile, she smiled too.

  She bit her lip. She thought of all the things she wanted to say, but the words wouldn't come.

  "Do you want to hold her one more time?" he asked.

  She stepped back, hands by her side. "No." She couldn't. She didn't dare. If she took that precious child in her arms, she would never be able to let her go. She dug her fingers into her palms and fought for control.

  He spread a blanket on the ground and lay Elizabeth on it. Then without warning, he spun around and crushed Sarah into his arms, sending her hat flying to the ground.

  Oblivious to onlookers, he kissed her hard. His lips on hers made her heart pound till she could hardly breathe.

  "Stay with me, Sarah," he said between kisses. "I won't let them hurt you, I won't. God will help us find a way. You have to believe that."

  She was tempted—more tempted than she had ever been in her life—but her feelings for this man far outweighed any selfish notions she had.

  She stared up at the face that she had come to know so well. Seeing the pain in his eyes was almost harder to bear than the anguish she felt.

  "How would it look for a preacher to be hangin' out with a Prescott?"

  The frown on his forehead deepened. Something seemed to die inside of him. "I don't know that I have much heart left for preaching," he said, feathering kisses on her forehead.

  "That's crazy talk," she said, adding in a quieter but no less firm voice, "Preachin' is your life, your work."

  "It's God's work, and he deserves someone who can give heart and soul to the job."

  "And that someone is you," she said. "Don't go thinkin' it's not, you hear?"

  He shook his head sadly, like a man who had seen his last dream fade away. "My heart won't be in it, Sarah. Not if you're gone." He hesitated. "I'm not even sure I'm cut out for the work anymore."

  "Don't say that, Justin. Look how you helped that poor man who lost his wife and child. You even made a believer out of me."

  He smiled at that. "I think you always believed. You just need to learn to trust God."

  "I do trust Him," she said softy, "and I believe God means for you to be a preacher."

  "Maybe in Boston, but not here. People out here are different. Do you know what women talk about in Boston? Fashions! They're obsessed with the latest Parisian fashions. And the men talk about the Red Caps."

  She frowned, trying to understand what he was telling her. "They talk about hats?'

  "The Red Caps are a baseball team. The men come to church on Sunday and afterward they stand around and talk about a game. A ball game! But out here . . ." He gazed in the distance at a drover struggling to free
a bogged cow. "I don't know what I can offer folks out here."

  "I reckon they need God a whole lot more out here than those city folks do," she said.

  "That may be true, but I don't think I'm the right person for the job. Don't you see? I've lived a relatively easy life. Before this trip, I never buried anyone with my own two hands."

  "You lost your sisters," she said.

  "Yes, but I didn't have to dig their graves and leave them in the wilderness. I never had to worry about Indians or stampedes . . . and I never knew what love was."

  She blinked back the tears that threatened her resolve. "I s'pect you've always been a man of good leather," she said. "Now you're more experienced, is all. You got a lot more rings on your horns."

  "Not enough," he said, his voice hoarse. He took her hand and held it in both of his. "I know how to talk about God to people who never have to worry about where their next meal is coming from. What can I possibly offer people who come face-to-face with death at every turn?"

  "Your faith," she said, pulling her hand away.

  He stared at her. "That's it?"

  She nodded. "It's enough."

  "I don't know—"

  "It's enough," she said again.

  The look he gave her reached into her very soul. "I don't know that I can find a better mother for Elizabeth than you."

  "You and her . . . you deserve better than me. I'll be lookin' over my shoulder just like you said."

  "I was wrong. You won't have to keep looking over your shoulder as I'll be watching your back every step of the way."

  She bit her lip and took a deep breath. "It almost broke my heart to drag that baby out of bed in the middle of the night." Each word felt like broken glass in her mouth, but she forced herself to continue. "It ain't right. She deserves a ma she can count on. One who ain't afraid to show her face." Beseeching him, she lay a hand on his arm. "If only . . ."

  He leaned toward her. "If only what?"

  "It would make it easier if I knew you and Elizabeth were together."

  He stared at her, his eyes wide with astonishment. "You want me to keep her?" He shook his head. "You know I can't. . . I have no idea what awaits me in Rocky Creek. Or even if I'm capable of doing the job I've been sent to do. How could I possibly care for a child?"