Romance Rides the Range

by Reece, Colleen L.

  A faint lowing sound drifted up to Matt’s ears, and he sighed, perfectly content. “Must’ve been a hard thing to do, leaving your ma and sister back in St. Louis like that,” he remarked, resting his long, lean body against the trunk of an old oak tree.

  Seth lay down, settled his wide-brimmed hat over his eyes, and clasped his hands behind his neck. “Worse than you can imagine. But my mother knew I had no choice. She was hoping I could save enough money to bring Sarah out West someday.” He peeked out from under his hat. “I showed you her picture, didn’t I?”

  Matt leaned forward and flopped his hands over his raised knees. He smiled patiently. “Often enough.”

  “Do you think she’s pretty?”

  “Oh, yeah. Sure, kid,” came Matt’s distracted reply. This was dangerous territory. He didn’t want to hurt Seth’s feelings, but he really wasn’t interested in thinking about whether the girl in Seth’s wrinkled photo was pretty or not. He glanced at his friend, who had sat up and was rummaging through his vest pockets.

  “I know I’ve got another picture of her around here somewhere,” Seth muttered. “It’s more recent. I sent my folks a letter back in July.”

  “Hmm,” Matt answered, not really paying attention. Watching Chase graze, he thought how dry and unappetizing the late October grass must taste—even to a horse.

  “I sent a picture of the two of us,” Seth prattled on, “you know, when that fancy Eastern photographer, who set up shop next to Judge Barry’s office, was offering a special during the Fourth of July celebration. It turned out real fine, and I sent it to my mother and Sarah—so they’d see I’m doing okay.”

  Matt didn’t answer, but Seth persisted. “I got a letter yesterday from Sarah—and she sent another photograph. You want to see it?”

  Matt yawned. “The picture or the letter?”

  Seth gave Matt a disgusted look and passed him the photograph.

  Matt sat up and glanced at the picture. Against his will his eyes widened. His pulse quickened. This young woman couldn’t be the same girl he’d seen in the photograph he’d dug out of Seth’s saddlebags the year before! She was more than pretty—she was striking. Her clear gaze—no doubt the same color blue as Seth’s—riveted Matt. She seemed to be smiling just for him.

  Stop it! he berated himself. It’s not like you to get moonstruck over a picture! He swallowed and quickly handed it back to Seth. “Real nice, kid,” he managed. “I sure hope you can get her out here, like your ma wants. From what you’ve told me, your sister’s life sounds pretty rotten.” If Matt ever saw that low-down sidewinder of a stepfather, he’d have a thing or two to say to him about the way a man should treat his wife and children!

  Seth sighed. “I don’t know if Sarah will ever come out now.” He held up a well-handled piece of paper. “This letter says that my mother is in the family way. Guess I’ll be getting a new little brother or sister sometime next spring.” He shrugged. “No matter. I’ll probably never see the baby—or Sarah, for that matter.” He stuffed the picture and letter into his vest pocket and stared out across the valley, quiet all of a sudden.

  Matt straightened up, suddenly ashamed for treating the photograph of Seth’s sister lightly. He’d “adopted” Seth so completely that he occasionally forgot the young man had a mother and a sister whom he must love dearly—just as Matt loved Dori. “Hey, Seth,” he apologized gruffly, “I’m sorry. Real sorry about the hard times with your family. As soon as your mother is settled with the new little one, no doubt Sarah will be able to come out to the Golden State.” He smiled and punched his young friend lightly on the shoulder.

  Seth didn’t smile. “Sarah wrote that Mama will need her more than ever once the baby comes. She’s fixed her mind on staying.” He looked at Matt. Misery showed on his tanned face. “My stepfather will work her to death, most likely, or marry her off to one of his disreputable acquaintances.” Seth clenched his fists and drove them into the ground. “And I’m helpless. Helpless to do anything but watch it happen. I almost dread another letter.”

  ❧

  Seth received no more letters. The following spring a telegram came to Seth, in care of the Diamond S Ranch, Madera, California. His sister had been born. But his mother and the baby had died.

  Matt’s heart ached with pity and the pain of remembering his own losses. Now the boy who had carved out a special place in Matt’s heart would need his friendship more than ever.

  “He will have it,” Matt vowed one afternoon while returning from town. “For as long as he wants to stay, the Diamond S will be Seth Anderson’s home.” Comfortably slumped in the saddle, Matt gave Chase free rein and let his thoughts drift like a tumbleweed skipping along with the slight breeze. Feelings that had been growing ever since the telegram came surfaced then burst into full-fledged determination. They spilled into a prayer that hovered in the quiet air.

  “God, if there’s any possible way to get Sarah Joy Anderson out of her stepfather’s clutches, please show me what it is. For Seth’s sake,” he hastily added.

  Only for Seth’s sake? a little voice whispered inside him. Matt tried to ignore it, but the face in Seth’s photograph shimmered in the quiet air until Matt whacked Chase with the reins. The unaccustomed blow, light as it was, sent the startled buckskin into a gallop guaranteed to banish the mirage and bring any once-bitten, twice-shy rancher back to his senses.

  Eight

  Nineteen hundred miles east of the Diamond S Ranch, Sarah wearily rose from her corn-husk mattress at the crack of dawn. She shivered in the early morning chill and hastily wrapped herself in her mother’s old dressing gown. The tattered garment not only offered warmth but also the feeling of being enfolded in her mother’s arms, comfort that Sarah sorely needed. Ever since Gus had sold her to Tice Edwards—being sold was exactly what it amounted to—Sarah’s days had been filled with continued drudgery and her nights with fear. Nights in which she racked her brain to think of a way to escape.

  So far none had appeared, in spite of her desperate prayers for God to make a way. Now she sighed and reached for her mother’s Bible. During the final weeks of Mama’s illness, Sarah had let her scripture reading fall by the wayside from lack of time and energy. “Lord, I’m stuck in St. Louis until I can figure out how to earn enough money to leave here,” she whispered into her harsh pillow, careful not to disturb her sleeping half sister. If Ellie awakened, all chances of quiet time for Sarah would flee before the petulant child’s demands.

  Sarah knelt on the rough floor beside the window and stared out into a day as gray as her life. “I need the wisdom of Solomon to know how to endure Tice’s unwelcome advances, God. He’s made his intentions clear—he will court me briefly and then wed me.”

  Fierce determination surged through Sarah’s body. She would not marry Tice. She would kick and scream and tear the wedding gown he had ordered made for her until everyone in St. Louis heard. Surely someone would come to her rescue!

  Who? a little voice mocked. Tice Edwards has this town, including the police chief and who knows how many others, in the palm of his hand. Despair threatened to overwhelm her, but words her father had spoken long ago swept into her heart. Sarah could picture his face, haggard from illness, when he said: “Seth, Sarah, you will be faced with many hard decisions throughout your life. There is only one way to choose rightly. First, consider all the possibilities and the likely consequences. Next, take them to the Lord in prayer. Finally, wait for His answer.”

  He had raised his head with a look so loving and kind Sarah knew she would never forget it. “Most importantly, once you make your decision, go straight forward, not looking to the right or the left, and carry it out. If it later needs to be altered, our heavenly Father will guide you.”

  He hesitated a long moment, closing his eyes as if he needed to gather strength. When he opened them again, a smile lifted his lips, and the blue eyes so like Seth’s and Sarah’s twinkled. “Most folks disagree, but I believe it’s better to make a decision that may la
ter have to be amended than refuse to make any decision at all.”

  That is what Seth did, Sarah thought. A spurt of courage raised her spirits, but again, that dreaded word how sent them plummeting. She shifted her position and opened the Bible, which had been her parents’ answer book to all their problems. A letter fell out. A letter with the words Sarah Joy inscribed on the envelope in her mother’s handwriting. With a quick glance to make sure the rustling paper hadn’t awakened Ellie, Sarah opened the letter.

  Dearest Daughter Sarah, it began. A rush of tears blinded her, but she impatiently brushed them away and read on:

  You may never see this letter. If everything goes well with my birthing, I will burn it. However, I can’t help feeling that God may take me home—both me and your new little brother or sister. There are things I must say to you in case this happens.

  First of all, I know you will grieve for me, but you must also rejoice. My love for you and Seth has been my only joy for a long time. You have been everything a son and daughter should be. Your father and I chose our children’s names long before either of you were born. Sarah—princess; Seth—anointed.

  I did a terrible thing when I married Gus. I knew he could never replace my beloved John, but he seemed sincere and a good Christian. I truly believed his promise to become a substitute father.

  Sarah stopped reading. Pity for her mother who had paid so dearly for her error in judgment warred with anger at Gus. Substitute father? Never! From the moment he said, “I do,” Virginia Anderson Stoddard and her two children meant nothing to him but persons he could exploit. Sarah shook off the past. What was done was done. The important thing was what lay ahead. She returned to her mother’s precious letter:

  Sarah Joy, should it be that I cross over, I urge you to leave St. Louis as quickly as you can and never look back. Find Seth. Put yourself under his protection.

  “How?” Sarah murmured. “Long before I could earn any money, Gus and Tice will have me married and trapped forever.”

  Ellie stirred in her sleep, sending a warning chill through Sarah. She hastily read the final sentences of her mother’s letter:

  Tucked away in the bottom of the flour barrel is a small tin canister. In it you will find enough money to get away from St. Louis. I scraped and pinched to set aside a few gold coins for you. The gold wedding ring your father gave me is also in the canister. If the need arises, sell it. You must get away from Gus. There is no telling what he might take a notion to do.

  Your Loving Mother,

  Virginia Anderson

  Sarah wanted to shout. Her mother had been a faithful wife, but Gus Stoddard wasn’t worthy of having his name on Mama’s last message. Sarah kissed it then swiftly and silently donned her old blue calico work dress and hid the letter inside next to her heart. The words of the “Old Hundredth” came to mind, written centuries before:

  Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow;

  Praise Him, all creatures here below;

  Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;

  Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

  She silently whispered “Amen” and crept downstairs, avoiding the timeworn, creaking boards. Step by cautious step, she stole to the kitchen. Once there she raised the lid of the flour barrel with trembling fingers—then froze when a familiar, hated voice demanded.

  “What’re you doin’, sneakin’ around?” Disheveled and glaring, Gus Stoddard stood in the doorway watching her like a hawk watches baby chicks before pouncing.

  Please, God, help me! If Gus finds the money and Mama’s ring, I’m doomed.

  Summoning the courage generated by her mother’s letter, Sarah turned and said in a colorless voice, “Making biscuits. I woke up early.” She reached into the barrel and filled the battered sifter with flour.

  Some of the suspicion in Gus’s face dwindled. An evil grin replaced it. “Sooooo,” he drawled, “can’t wait to see Tice, huh?”

  Sarah shrugged, as if indifferent to the riverboat gambler and his intentions.

  “I see you’re gettin’ used to the idea. Good. You make a fuss, and it will be the worse for you, missy,” Gus warned.

  Strength flowed into Sarah. She looked directly into Gus’s face and managed to smile. “I won’t make a fuss. I promise.” Truth underlined every word, even though she mentally added, I won’t be here to make a fuss. For the first time since Mama had fallen ill, happiness filled Sarah. No matter how long and hard the path ahead was, thanks to Virginia Anderson, her daughter would be free.

  It was late afternoon before Sarah could retrieve the canister. Once emptied, it took its place on a kitchen shelf with nothing to indicate it had once contained treasure. Finished with her many chores for a few moments, Sarah opened her mother’s Bible again. She riffled the pages and stopped at Matthew 10:16: “Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves: be ye therefore wise as serpents, and harmless as doves.” It was underlined. Sarah resolved to take her mother’s advice and secretly prepare to leave—all the while pretending to accept the inevitable future Gus and Tice had planned for her. Perhaps in that way she would throw them off guard.

  Yet in spite of her determination, it was all Sarah could do to keep her fear and dislike of Tice Edwards from spilling out when he came courting. She had to admit that he never showed her anything but gentle, considerate attention. He took her for buggy rides and painted a glowing, wonderful picture of their future.

  “You will love life on the River Queen,” he assured her over and over. “Can’t you just imagine gliding down the river and watching glorious sunrises and sunsets?”

  Sarah nodded. She could imagine it all right—with horror, not anticipation.

  Tice never let her forget him for more than a short time. He wrote flowery letters when he couldn’t come in person. He brought her nosegays, not wildflowers but expensive bouquets from the best flower sellers in St. Louis. He arranged for the best dressmaker in St. Louis to fashion Sarah’s wedding gown. Raging inside, she passively stood while the woman measured, cut, and draped. She must not arouse suspicion, even though she would rather wear faded calico all her life than spend one minute in the expensive gown Tice had selected.

  He also bought her costly little trinkets. Sarah shrank from accepting anything from her would-be husband but privately gritted her teeth and stashed them away for her journey. Anything small enough to carry that she could sell would help. Between visits, Sarah continued her hard, monotonous tending of the house and trying to manage the children. In spare moments she started gathering the supplies she would need for her trip to California.

  Sarah occasionally felt overwhelmed at the enormity of what she was attempting.

  Nineteen hundred miles lay between St. Louis and the Diamond S Ranch near Madera, California. Nineteen hundred mind-staggering miles filled with unknown dangers. At those times Sarah took comfort in rereading Seth’s letters, which soon became ragged. Countless times she looked at the photograph he’d sent and imagined life in the West. Against her better judgment her imagining always included the dark-haired stranger with Seth. Her brother surely couldn’t be wrong about Matthew Sterling’s character. If only Tice were the man the young rancher appeared to be!

  She laughed bitterly. Despite his suave sophistication, Tice Edwards was no better than Gus Stoddard. Marrying him would be like the old saying, “Leaping out of the frying pan into the fire.”

  “Never,” Sarah vowed again and again, thanking God for her mother’s far-reaching wisdom and attention to her daughter’s need to escape when she was gone.

  During one of the times of fanciful musing and the inevitable comparison between Matt Sterling and Tice Edwards, the children swarmed up the stairs, screaming for Sarah’s attention. A few of Seth’s letters and the photograph scattered to the floor. Sarah hastily gathered them up and shoved them into her reticule.

  ❧

  Sarah’s precarious tightrope walk between appearing submissive and secretly plotting her escape ended long before she
felt ready to steal away.

  Her plans shattered one morning when Gus shuffled into the kitchen. His wide grin and triumphant expression set Sarah’s nerves jangling. Tice was right behind Gus, wearing a look of satisfaction that chilled Sarah to the marrow.

  “By tomorrow night you won’t be doin’ this, missy,” Gus announced with a smirk. “Tice here says he’s waited long enough and done enough courting. You’ll be married tomorrow afternoon. Right, Tice?”

  “Yes.” Twin devils danced in the gambler’s wicked black eyes. “I’ve been pining away for you long enough, Sarah.”

  She dropped a frying pan. It splashed soapy water on her apron and the floor, giving her time to hold her tongue instead of screaming and rushing out the open door. She started cleaning up the mess, desperately searching for words. Psalm 50:15 came to sustain her, as other familiar verses had done in the past few weeks: “Call upon me in the day of trouble: I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify me.”

  “Tomorrow? I hardly think that is possible,” she began.

  “It’s your own fault,” Gus growled. “Tice says you won’t even let him kiss you until you’re married.”

  It took every ounce of self-control to keep from shuddering. Kiss Tice Edwards? She’d sooner kiss a copperhead!

  The two men took her silence for consent and strode out, slapping each other on the back and jesting in a crude way.

  But Sarah bit her lip until it bled. Ready or not, she must slip away that night.

  Nine

  From the time he was old enough to straddle a pony, Matthew Sterling’s favorite season on the Diamond S had always been spring. For a short time a green carpet covered the brown and barren hills. The mud and rain took a break. New calves and foals and baby chicks appeared almost overnight. How Matt loved to see the colts and fillies kick up their heels in the pasture then flee to their mamas when startled.